The Tet Offensive

Combat raged in Vietnam in the late 1960s, and I flew there as a flight attendant, bringing thousands of troops into the war zone. The communist North and the democratic South were engaged in an all-out civil war.

In January 1968, the North Vietnamese launched attacks below the demilitarized zone (DMZ), the border separating the two countries. This violent confrontation was called the Tet Offensive because it began during the lunar New Year or Tet holiday. As the South Vietnamese and their foreign counterparts observed a traditional ceasefire celebration, the North Vietnamese began their massive assault and moved south.

My airline transported soldiers into two airports that came under fire during the Tet Offensive. One was in Da Nang, a city that lies close to the DMZ, and the other was Tan Son Nhut Air Base, located near the city of Saigon. The attacks from the North continued for six months, and we, as crew members, endured the fright of rocket attacks and flying through flak.

The Viet Cong targeted major airfields and densely populated South Vietnamese cities with an unprecedented barrage of rockets that threatened anyone nearby. As we came in for a landing in Da Nang one night, I looked out a nearby window and saw tracers coming at us. The chemically treated bullets looked like red ribbons painted in the black sky.

Once we touched down and taxied to the terminal, an officer boarded.

“Move it! Move it!” he yelled at the soldiers.

The airport was now under intense gunfire and the men raced from the plane. As sirens wailed, another guy in combat gear rushed up the stairs and entered our plane.

“That means you, too!” he ordered. “Move it! Get out of here!”

The crew bolted from the plane and rushed to a nearby bunker. We hunkered down as we crossed the tarmac, the flight attendants in skirts and high heels. All of us crouched in an underground shelter made of sand bags and waited for the detonations to stop.

In the darkness I squatted next to Robin and Connie. The ground shook as loud roars echoed across the night. The attack reached a blinding pitch as fireballs exploded nearby. My legs hurt from the awkward position of kneeling and leaning into a wall.

As I tried to stretch my legs, I heard another explosion rumble in the night, and I immediately gripped the hairy forearm of a nearby soldier.

We huddled together, wedged into the crypt-like cellar as the shelling continued. My heart pounded, my body shook, and the damp bunker smelled of body odors. Sweat poured from my body and soaked my underarms.

“God, please protect us.” It was a mantra I repeated over and over as I trembled with fear.

Finally we heard the all-clear signal. As I tried to stand, my knees buckled. With help in the darkness from unknown arms, I rose to my feet. We scrambled out of the bunker, escorted by helmeted soldiers, and returned to our plane.

The fuselage was peppered with bullet holes but the engines survived in good order. There were a few shrapnel marks that the engineer covered with speed tape, a material similar to duct tape. The maintenance men in Japan, our next destination, would repair any damage.

Connie looked at me and asked, “What happened to your leg?”

I looked down and saw blood streaming from a wound below my knee. My shredded stocking had fallen to my ankle, bunching around my mud-covered shoe.

“It must be from the bunker,” I answered.

I cleaned my leg with materials from the jet’s first aid kit and applied several bandages. With fresh stockings, l felt almost like new. Or so I thought. Between the hair-raising time in the bunker and the extra hour waiting for the shelling to stop, I was exhausted.

Luckily, we were able to ferry the plane to Yokota. Each flight attendant took a row of seats, lifted the armrests, and added pillows and blankets. We fell asleep within minutes. We were all emotionally drained.

Not all Vietnam flights were as dramatic. During six years of flying into the war zone, I had to run for cover only that one time. Soldiers in jeeps with rifles and machine guns constantly guarded us. When Tan Son Nhut became too dangerous, we flew into Bien Hoa, twenty miles away.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27