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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781477210628 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/15/2012 |
| Pages: | 236 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.69(d) |
Read an Excerpt
The Escapes and My Journey to Freedom
By Du Hua
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Du HuaAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-1061-1
Chapter One
It is dark, very dark, and it is past midnight. I can see almost nothing in front of me, but I have to run, run, run. The Communist police discover us. I have to run for my life. My feet move rapidly as I am leaving the room. My heartbeat is heavy. I run for a short distance, and then I get tripped by a dead limb. I fall hard and smacked my head on the ground. But I have to stand up and run again. I do not want to be killed by the Vietcong police. I do not want to get shot or caught and sent to jail in the deep jungle, where I'd be forced to do hard labor for the Vietcong. The fear is so tremendous that it conquers my pain. I kept telling myself that my life cannot end right here. I will not let the Communists catch me. I need to keep running. It does not matter how dark it is. Even though I can't see anything, my feet keep moving. I run into a big pond full of thick mud and long grass. Oh my God! What is happening to me? I am frightened and out of breath. I am going to be killed by the Vietcong. I am sure that the Communists have me surrounded, with AK-47s pointed at me. I am trembling- convinced I will die right here in the pond.
That was the flashback of the third time when I tried to flee from the Communists. The escape was once again I'd found myself duped by a deceptive, corrupt organization promising help they never planned to give. In the name of money, many evil men had deceived a lot of people who were desperately trying to escape the country. These groups offered to help people who wanted to flee the Communist regime in exchange for gold and other money and then notified the Communists so the latter could catch and harm the very people they'd promised to help.
I was born in the war zone in the early 1960s in the middle of Vietnam. My great-grandparents came from China and settled in the countryside of Quang Ngai. They'd bought a lot of land for rice fields and were doing very well in this region. At the time I was born, the country was torn apart by the war. Especially in the Quang Ngai province, huge fights constantly broke out between the Vietcong and the Republic of South Vietnam. To a point, this area could no longer be secured. My parents' village had fallen into the hands of the Communists. My family was forced to move a more secure village. My parents lost everything, including their beautiful large home and rice fields. On two bicycles, we had to take what necessities we could. At this time, I was just a very small, four-year-old toddler.
My rough childhood started. Almost every night, I heard the sound of machine guns and explosions. I saw the killing every day. Since my parents had lost everything once they'd moved to the new village, we had to struggle every day. The war had thrown the lives of many poor families off balance. My mother worked very hard so our family could survive.
Then the horror of the 1968 Tet Offensive brought tragedies to the South Vietnamese people. The Communists of North Vietnam deceived the South and launched massive attacks on the day that the people celebrated the most important Vietnamese national holiday—called the Tet Festivities. The armies had agreed to cease-fire during this celebration but the Communists purposely violated. Through these sophisticated and calculated offensives, the Communists intended to gain control and take over the South and they thought they could do that easily. With the national holiday of the New Year, the people and children of the south gathered to celebrate theses special days—to wish that the New Year would bring peace and prosperity to our beautiful country, Vietnam. Instead, the Communists of the north turned the beautiful, spiritual atmosphere into a killing zone. Many innocent men, women, and children were victims. In many cases, entire families were slaughtered because they were caught in the middle of the Communists' sudden attacks.
My village was lucky and did not receive direct attack from the Vietcong. Still, several of my friends and I climbed up on the roofs and watched the fights between the South Vietnamese Air Force helicopters and the Vietcong on the hills. We saw and heard clearly helicopters firing their weapons down the enemies. It was just like a movie, and I remembered it vividly.
The Communists of the North had caused these killings and destructions that imprinted in a small boy's brain. They had no regard for peace or happiness of the normal lives of the innocent people. They took advantage of people, completely unaware, who wanted peace and respected the customs of the whole nation. They had intentionally launched a huge offensive against unarmed civilians without any consideration for human life during the national holiday. It was obvious that these Communists were clearly the worst terrors of our nightmares. They were cold-blooded and possessed evil minds. The regime made every effort to attack and kill the South Vietnamese people without any consideration.
But they failed to realize one thing—the people of the south were brave, much braver than the Vietcong had thought we were. The South Vietnamese armed forces stood up and pushed back these terrible demons and the South Republic defeated the Communists in Tet's Offensive 1968.
After deterring the huge invasion from the north, the people of the south resumed their normal lives; however; the North Vietnamese Communists would never give up their ambition to take over the south. The war went on. My family, like many others, struggled with our day-to-day lives.
I was old enough so my father was able to enroll me in a local school. I was so happy because I was always eager to learn and play. I had a lot of good times with my friends. We made toys together, using soda cans to make toy vehicles and bamboo sticks to make guns. Many nights, we had much fun together under the moonlight.
Suddenly one night, while we were playing, an unfamiliar noise erupted in the middle of the playground. The rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns had totally erased the peaceful atmosphere and turned it into a night of horror.
"Let's run!" my friends shouted.
The shooting continued for next several minutes long. I ran home quickly, and my whole family rushed into a bunker inside our home. I realized that the Vietcong had launched an attack on our village. The horror night was over, but consequently, much tragic news spread through the village the next morning. One of the horrible pieces of news was that my best friend's father had been shot and killed in the night.
Seeing my friend and his family standing around his father's body weeping was terribly painful. Why did this have to happen? I was just a small boy, but I was so upset. A thick cloud of sorrow had covered the brightness of the moonlight and turned the whole village to a place of mourning for my friend's father. He was a good, innocent man. Why had the Vietcong taken his life? Why had my friend lost his father? I had no answer. At this time, I was just a little boy, but I had learned so much about the Communists. Life moved on, and I continued to go school with my friend. I got closer to him and often comforted him or cried with him when he missed his father. Then another horrible event happened. One night, another friend's family of mine was attacked by the Vietcong. They launched a B-40 missile directly into the bedroom where the father and three sons were sleeping. All four were killed; only the mother, who was sleeping in a different room, survived. Again, tragic news hit the entire village! The Vietcong had murdered my friend and his father. I went and saw the bloody scene with all the bodies lying on the floor. It was so sorrowful. The killings brought so much anguish to the people of my village. As a child, my mind was tormented. Why did the Vietcong keep brutalizing my people?
Time went by, and I started my high school year. The war continued worsening and spreading out everywhere in the country. Worries and insecurities were constantly on people's minds. We could not live in peace. One day, the nightmarish scenes arrived at my village. I noticed that a lot of people, including my friends, were running to the side of the Tra Khuc River. I followed my friends and looked into the river. Two huge human bodies floated downstream. I was shocked and scared I told myself, "this is what the Vietcong do." The regime was totally inhumane, heartless, and evil. I felt so sad and I couldn't contain my emotion. I thought that one of those bodies could be my brother, and tears filled my eyes. All of the villagers believed that those huge bodies were American bodies. I wondered what had happened to them and how they had been killed. My heart went out to their souls and to their families, and I prayed that they went to Heaven with God.
I continued to hear more and more gunshots and explosions every night. At times we had to get into the bunker because of loud explosions and the sounds of machine guns. Families in the village received bad news regularly—someone's father was killed, someone's brother was injured in combat—every day. Many of the fathers and brothers belonged to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. My parents had their own son and a son-in-law in the armed forces. These were the people who stood up, defended, and protected the freedom and democracy of the people of South Vietnam. I always admired and respected them. Several of my friends and I got together and made a kids' band. We sang many songs to praise the soldiers who were on the front lines and made the ultimate sacrifices for their families and their country. They were my heroes. As a young boy, I dreamed of becoming a soldier to fight the Communists and protect freedom of my country.
The war grew larger and larger. Its intensity had reached the climax. One time, the Vietcong were trying to blow up the main long bridge of the Tra Khuc River. The Communists employed divers who dove beneath the surface in an attempt to get to the foot of the bridge with hundreds of pounds of dynamite in the middle of the night. Fortunately, the evil deed of the Vietcong was detected and stopped by brilliant South Vietnamese soldiers. Other times, I even saw with my own eyes that military jets dropping bombs in the battlefield which was not too far from where my village was.
One day, my parents received bad news about my brother. He had been injured in combat. My mother cried for days and nights, praying for his safety. After he was wounded, my brother was transported to one of the military hospitals. My mother took me with her to see my brother in the hospital. I was so happy to see him alive. Big bandage covered the wound on his leg, but he was okay.
Then I looked around. I saw so many wounded soldiers. Many were missing appendages. What a devastating scene! There were no words to describe my grief. My mother grabbed my brother and pulled him into her arms. She put her head on my brother's chest and cried hysterically. She was thankful to God that my brother was still there for her. I closed my eyes. I tried to absorb all the pain of a mother, who had just seen her son got wounded from a combat. It was just too much to take. After a few hours with my brother, we had to leave. I said good-bye to my brother and told him I loved him. I also told myself one day that I would become a soldier and join him on the front lines.
The war grew more intense. The summer of 1972 was heated to the maximum scale, with large battles on both sides, and consequently, many casualties. The mountains were no longer green; the flowers no longer bloomed; the sky was no longer blue with all the bombings, fighting, explosions, and destruction. The mothers and wives at home received tragic news; their sons, their husbands would never come back home again. Day after day, people lived in fear and misery. Northern Communists had determined to invade the south, and it seemed like nothing could stop the worst evil of mankind. The people all over the south endured so much suffering. Killings and destructions had become everyday life everywhere in my beloved country.
Perhaps signs emerged that the Republic of Vietnam didn't have enough strength to defend the country. The South Vietnamese Army grew weaker and lost many posts. Then, city-by-city, South Vietnam was defeated. Consequently, the Communists started launching a large attack on the Quang Ngai province. Oh my God! What chaos it was. I was just a little boy, but I remembered clearly the nightmare of the night before the fall of Quang Ngai.
Everybody knew that the Vietcong would be here soon to occupy the region and everyone had to get out of Quang Ngai. En masse, people tried to reach Da Nang, the city that was still occupied by the South Vietnamese Army. It was a hundreds miles away, but millions walked on the only road—Quoc Lo So. 1—toward Da Nang. Everyone's state of mind was in intense; people worried and cried out; no one wanted to leave their homes and their village. My family, just like many others, was getting ready to head out and moved north to Da Nang. My father, brother, and sisters were trying to stack all the food and necessary belongings on the two bikes that we owned. We tied our belongings up, but things kept falling down because there wasn't enough room for the things my mother wanted to take with us. Finally, we did what we could, and then we headed to the street.
We saw hell in front of us. No words could describe one of the scariest situations anyone could witness. As the day fell into evening, the street filled with men, women, and children, along with their vehicles and belongings, mixing with military personnel and transportation. Constantly, we heard people and children screaming, crying, and shooting. This was the most compact, disordered large group of people anyone could imagine.
"I am so scared!" I shouted to my mother. I held my mother's hand tightly as we walked.
Suddenly we heard a big explosion, followed by loud screaming and crying only a short distance away.
"Stop walking!" my mother shouted.
My father looked at her. "What are we going to do?" he asked.
My mother did not answer, but she pulled my sisters and brother and me together, and then she burst into tears, sobbing silently. Then we all cried in the middle of the ocean of people. My mother told my father that we needed to go back home; otherwise, we would all be killed on the street. We would rather die at home than on the street of hell. The chaos was unfathomable.
After traveling less than a kilometer from the village, we turned around and went back home. We unloaded our things from the bicycles, and then we held each other and cried. My mother started talking about my brother. He was still in the South Vietnamese Army and she was cried for his safety. He was probably fighting with the Vietcong in some battle, and he probably got killed.
My mother also thought of my sister and her family, who lived in the south; this part of the country still belonged to the Republic of South Vietnam. We were now separated by two different worlds, and we thought we would never see each other again.
The Communist regime had insisted on invading the south. The regime had ruined and devastated the entire population of the South Vietnamese people. Violence, killings, and suffering consumed all over my motherland.
We met some villagers who had gone far away from the village but had been forced to return, and they told us horrible stories. They even told us that tanks were running over human bodies.
Time slowly passed, and we were all anxious to see what would happen. The next morning, my family woke up after a night of exhaustion and we heard so much noise of rolling sound coming from the main street. Together with my several friends, I ran quickly to the street. Oh my Lord! I could not believe what I saw. A line of big tanks rumbled through the middle of the street, and lines of Communist soldiers armed with AK-47s stood on both sides of the road. They were in position, ready to kill, kill, and kill. I was paralyzed with fear.
It was official—Quang Ngai city had completely fallen into the hands of the Communists. My parents still had no contact with my brother or my sister. The atmosphere was very strange to everyone. It was springtime, but we saw no flower blossoms or young, green leaves on the trees; however, we all smelled fear and death. Time after time, we heard dreadful news from the villagers. The family of one of my friends in the village had committed suicide. The father had killed all three sons and his wife. The father was in the South Vietnamese Army, and his family had opted to die rather than live with the Communists. Also, we heard that the local Vietcong had taken several men of the village away. Whenever this happened, those men would never return home to their families. Now the regime had utter control. The Vietcong could arrest, brutalize or kill whomever they wanted.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Escapes and My Journey to Freedom by Du Hua Copyright © 2012 by Du Hua. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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