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| Resting on descent of Nui Ba Denh |
As I rested and we all worried, a man caught up with us swiftly, and patted me on the shoulder. I looked up to find a strong,
lean man, who also thought I had been here before. He looked down at my leg brace and spoke in VietNamese to our guide and
then looked me in the eye as Heip mused quietly and had to be coaxed into translating what the man had said. "This man
was a soldier from the North, " said Heip reluctantly. "He came down the trail to fight Americans." Here,
then, eyeball to eyeball, was the deepest, darkest, most threatening enemy of all. Heip watched me carefully, wondering
what my reaction would be. I began wiping my hand on my shirt tail to get the perspiration and dirt off, and then held it
out slowly to the soldier. He clasped it with both of his, smiled a very big smile, and said, "Come, you are hurt.
Let me help you down the mountain."
I thanked the man profusely, but said that I needed to rest a while before moving on. He nodded and turned toward the
escarpment and literally jumped into space, bounding from ledge to ledge like a mountain goat. In an instant, he was out
of sight. He and his brothers from the North were the greatest light infantry the world has ever known.
An hour further down the mountain, my knees gave out and I could no longer make them move. I was not able to place my
feet where I needed to and was dizzy and a little sick. John and Heip literally carried me down the last 100 meters. It
was not a good finish, but it was a finish, and I have climbed the mountain. An American Soldier from Monkton who served
here looking up at the mountain 33 years ago, who returned old and fat, had made it all the way to the top.
On the way back toward Cu Chi, we entered a village, and I asked its name. "This is Trang Bang," said Heip,
and I suddenly recognized the name. This is the village where Pulitzer-winning photograph was taken of the little girl, burned
by napalm, running down the street. Heip verified my memory and I asked which road is the place where the photo was taken.
"This is the only road in Trang Bang," he replied. her name is Kim Phouk. She recently stood before the VietNam
Veterans'; Memorial in DC and wept. A reporter asked her what she, after her many operations and years of pain, would like
to tell the pilot who dropped the napalm. She replied that what is past is past. It is time to look to the future, she said.
It came out later that there were no American pilots involved in the strike, but a single South VietNamese plane. Of course,
the tragedy is none the less.
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