Purple rhododendron flowers at Truong Bon

One day at the end of October 2005, I had the opportunity to accompany Lieutenant General Doan Sinh Huong (Commander of Military Region 4) to inspect combat readiness in particularly difficult communes on the western border of Nghe An province.

- Stop right there, sir.

He reached for his kepi hat, adjusted it neatly on his head, smoothed his collar, and straightened his attire as if presiding over a flag-raising ceremony before striding up the hill. It was almost an hour before he returned, carrying a bouquet of flowers he had just picked from the hill.

The car continued moving and stopped in front of the Truong Bon Youth Volunteer Martyrs' Monument. Taking a bundle of incense sticks from his bag, he silently walked up to offer flowers and light incense for the martyrs.

Only when the car continued to move did I dare to speak:

Why didn't you tell us in advance so we could prepare the incense and flowers properly?

With his pensive expression and gaze fixed on the road, he affectionately patted me on the shoulder:

- I have a personal memory. Decades have passed, but it was one afternoon when we arrived at Om Bridge. The bridge was weak; tanks couldn't cross. We stopped at the local committee. After hearing our request, the commune militia commander immediately said:

- Don't worry, guys. If that's the case, we'll go to the engineering corps and ask for a bulldozer to clear the crossing, then lay two lanes of gravel for the tanks. It'll be done tonight and tomorrow. Your tanks should be able to cross by tomorrow.

That night, the enemy bombed the Om Bridge four times at 7:00, 10:00, 12:00, and 5:30. Between bombing raids, hundreds of militiamen and Youth Volunteers carried stones to pave two lanes of road, just wide enough for tank tracks to roll; near dawn, they covered it with mud to camouflage it and hide it from enemy aircraft.

The next morning, we arrived at Truông Bồn at 8 o'clock. After hundreds of American bombing raids, the soil of Truông Bồn was as rough as a mortar, and when it rained, it became muddy like porridge; everything we stepped on stuck to the ground. The Command Post of the Truông Bồn Traffic Assurance Committee was located to the east, less than three or four hundred meters from the Truông Bồn slope. The Youth Volunteer on duty told me:

- The American planes flew in from the sea, so their bombing coordinates were to the east. Therefore, the bombs they dropped landed on the road and down the slope, if they deviated, they all went west. We were positioned close to the slope to easily count the bombs and handle the situation, but we were too close, so on days when they dropped a lot of bombs, everyone felt chest pain.

That's it! They went right into the bomb craters to count the bombs, to fill them in. That's the "cling to the Americans' backs to destroy the Americans" spirit of the brave soldiers of the South.

Hearing that, I immediately thought of sending one vehicle ahead to hide here, following the example of the soldiers and civilians at Om Bridge, using mud and soil to camouflage itself so that if any vehicle broke down while marching, it could be used as a tow truck.

It took my tank company two nights of struggling with the muddy, crater-strewn road before we finally crossed Truong Bon. During those two days, the young female volunteers brought out whatever delicious food they could find to treat us. Everyone completed the tasks we requested quickly, but fending off the young women's playful teasing was exhausting. One of them pinched my cheek and said:

- "How can a village headman still be breastfeeding like this? Luckily, God gave me dark skin." Then she mumbled: "'Doan' means 'many,' 'Sinh' means 'to give birth,' 'Huong' means 'to enjoy.' I know! When peace comes here, I'll meet those women from Truong Bon who are 'fighting the swamps,' choose one of them to 'give birth' to a whole group and 'enjoy.'"

The whole company burst into laughter.

As the last tow truck finally made it up the hill, unexpectedly, a woman jumped into the truck and gave me a bouquet of flowers she'd bought!

I stood there silently, holding the bouquet. What could I say? Two days, 48 ​​hours together, breaking stones to pave the road for tanks going to battle, so much affection exchanged in this simple bouquet of wildflowers from the countryside, left over from enemy bombs. I brought this bouquet all the way to the battlefield. When the leaves and flowers had all fallen, leaving only a few dry branches, I put them in a small box attached to the side of the tank. Once, a young man in my unit stared at the dry branches without blinking and then exclaimed:

- Hey, it looks just like an everlasting flower!

The dried, yellow, cocoon-like branches of the rhododendron flowers from Truong Bon became immortal flowers in the command tank of my company back then...

That night we slept at the 4th Regiment's camp at the foot of Mount Pu-xai-lai-leng. The 4th Regiment had just been stationed at the border. The camp was still makeshift, with thatched huts and bamboo walls. After a long day of traveling on bad roads, my body ached, and I fell asleep before I even lay down on my sleeping platform.

At dawn, hearing the alarm bell, I quickly woke up. Looking through the bamboo screen into the next room, I was startled to see that Huong had already gotten up. It turned out that he had stayed up all night writing the poem "Purple Bauhinia Flowers of Truong Bon," which, according to him, was a tribute to his comrades. I was fortunate to be the first person to read his poem.

Purple rhododendron flowers at Truong Bon

He returned to Truông Bồn.

Reliving old memories

The place where I met you that day

The sky is filled with purple Mua flowers.

Hoa Mua, this is my first time!

The star remains beautiful in my memory.

Oh, my dear girl

To be remembered forever!

The girl from the past

Amidst the smoke and fire of bombs and bullets

Youthful dedication

Purple Mua flowers at Truong Bon.

He came back to find you.

I hear the sound of folk songs.

The color of the Mua flower and salt

The old memories will never return!

Only one color, green, remains.

Memories of the past still linger somewhere.

The statue of you is tall and majestic.

For millennia, the flowers have bloomed in a vibrant purple hue.

buy.

Nguyen Khac Thuan