After the great victory of the spring campaign in 1975, in September of that same year, I was granted permission by my superiors to attend training at the Military Academy (now the Army Academy). A bus took our group of trainees to Vinh, where we boarded a train to Hang Co station in Hanoi. From there, the academy's vehicle picked us up.
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Ethnic minority people in Nam Nghep village celebrating New Year |
That year, our group consisted of 70 people, all regiment-level soldiers. After one month of review, we participated in an entrance exam with two subjects, namely mathematics and literature. According to the results, 25 people failed, and another 15 did not meet the health standards. In the end, only 30 people could make it. Those who failed the exam and those who did not meet the health requirements would study for an additional year, while the 30 of us were trained for two years at the academy.
Since all of us were soldiers who had just come from mountainous areas, at first, we were somewhat unfamiliar with the school’s routine, but over time, we got used to it. Our class supervisor, Colonel Trang, who had served as a division officer during the wartime, was very kind and supportive. He held us in high regard because we were all combat soldiers.
After some time at the academy, we realized that every Saturday and Sunday night, the academy’s president would visit the school. Through Col. Trang, we knew that the president loved playing Chinese chess. So, a few of us asked Col. Trang to arrange a meeting with him to express our wish to learn the sport from him. The academy’s leader gladly agreed, saying, “You guys can play Chinese chess too? Well, come here on Saturday night, and we’ll play.” From then on, every Saturday evening, my friends Dien (from Hai Duong) and Tan and I eagerly awaited the president.
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Various activities held to welcome a new year |
At first, we were cautious and mostly lost. But eventually, there were wins and losses. One Saturday evening in late 1975, as Tet holiday was approaching, after thorough discussions, we asked the president to play against him five rounds. He smiled and said, “Go ahead and have some candy and tea, and then we’ll start.” In the end, the president won three out of five rounds. After the game, he called Col. Trang over and rewarded each of us with two days of leave, excluding the Tet holidays. We thanked him and left. Then we bid farewell to each other and left for home to celebrate the New Year with our families.
I had longed for this moment, and finally, I was able to return home to be with my parents and siblings. The moment my mother saw me, she burst into tears and said, "So, you're spending Tet at home this year?"
"Yes, I'm home, Mom," I replied.
After I finished asking about the health of the family and offering incense to the ancestors, my father choked up and said, "Your older brother was just reported as killed in action in Laos." My eyes blurred with tears for him. After regaining my composure, I asked, "Are there any uncles or brothers from our village who sacrificed their lives, dad?" After hearing my father mentioning the names of the fallen, I boldly asked, "Dad, I’m home for Tet. May I go to the families of the soldiers who laid down their lives to pay tribute to them?" My father replied, "It would be really good if you could do that, my son."
Knowing that I had just come from the battlefield and didn't have money, my father handed me a little money and advised me to give it as offering to the fallen soldiers. The next day, my younger sister took me around the village, visiting dozens of families to offer incense. At each house, many uncles and aunts thought that I had fought alongside their loved ones, and they asked, "Why didn't you bring him with you?" "Do you know where his grave is?"
The last days of the year passed so quickly. On the afternoon of the last day of the old lunar year, my parents, siblings, and I sat together, making Banh chung (square glutinous cake) and staying up all night to cook them. At the moment of the New Year’s Eve, when the sound of firecrackers echoed everywhere, the joy and emotion were overwhelming! By the fire, my younger siblings kept telling about their studies, occasionally turning to me and asking again, "Do you know where our older brother's grave is?" I could only silently promise to find his grave. Later, my family was able to bring my brother's remains to the local martyrs' cemetery.
Nearly 50 years have passed by in the blink of an eye, but the memory of that first Tet after the great victory in the spring of 1975 flooded back to me. I was filled with emotion thinking about all the comrades who fought and fell in the Southern battlefield, Laos, and Cambodia, at the age of twenties and never to return to celebrate Tet with their families.
By Lieutenant General Pham Thanh Lan, former Director of the Department of Foreign Affairs, Ministry of National Defense
Translated by Tran Hoai