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I translated the following story from the original Vietnamese version which appeared on March 11, 2022 at https://baotreonline.com/van-hoc/truyen-ngan/moi-tinh-khong-chien-tuyen.baotre . Trần Hoài Lam, the author, once served as a South Vietnamese Marine Corps officer. After the war he and his family resettled in the United States under the Humanitarian Operation (HO) program which was created to help persecuted Vietnamese leave Việt Nam  in a systematic, orderly, and legal manner.

After three days of fierce fighting against our enemy, we were finally able to conquer our objective. One unit of the Việt Cộng (Vietnamese Communists or VC) was eliminated, but our platoon also suffered severe losses.

My 4th Platoon was ordered to move out and investigate each enemy trench and fortification. The battlefield was a scene of total devastation, with coconut tree trunks riddled with holes caused by fragments from artillery shells. It appeared as if nothing had remained intact, and the strong smell of gunpowder hung over the entire area.

 Kính, my radio operator, and I were walking carefully on the bank of a small ditch. Suddenly, Kính extended his hand to signal something.

“Boss! Watch out, it looks like there is someone in that bush over there.”

“Spread out, look carefully around you and watch out for booby-trapped explosives.”

After giving that order to Kính, I bent forward and ran over tree trunks scattered on the ground. My M16 was loaded and ready. Kính followed me closely. We heard moans emanating from a dense bush. They became more distinct as we approached the spot.

“A female VC!,” Kính whispered.

My battlefield experience warned me never to be too hasty under any circumstance. The enemy could have set up mines around the area, or pretended to be wounded so that we would come closer before they shot at us.

I pointed my finger at the bush as a signal, then observed it one more time  before stepping lightly toward it. Kính had his weapon out covering me. I used the barrel of my gun to move leaves aside, A young woman around 18 or 19 years of age with braided hair was lying on the ground, her head resting on a brown backpack, A bullet had gone into her left shoulder and blood was pouring out of it. Her eyes were firmly closed but moans were coming out from her mouth.

“Water, water … Give me some water!”

The enemy soldier was in danger of losing her life, and right away I knew the first thing to do was to stop the bleeding. I took out my field dressing and used it to lightly wipe away the blood from her wound. Next I used the blade of my bayonet to cut a piece of her shirt, propped her up to lean against me, then told Kính:

“Help me bandage her wound, and remember to do it gently!”

“You are too kind, if I was alone this gal would be dead!” Kính groused as he bandaged her.

I kept quiet. Kính was right. How can soldiers avoid becoming casualties in a battle? Would the VC show mercy toward my own soldiers?

“Water … Please give me water!”

“Shut the f… up!” Kính swore and growled.

I glared at him to show my displeasure.

“Don’t talk like that to someone who is dying! Let’s not harbor any more hatred! Go stand over there and keep a lookout for me.”

I untied from my shoulder the purple scarf which served to identify our unit. I poured water from my canteen to wet it, then used the scarf to gently wipe the face of the young woman. I was momentarily stunned by the beauty of the female enemy. She had a delicate face, with curled eyelashes and a high nose bridge which made her look faintly like a movie star. Her skin was pale green because of her blood loss, but she was quite attractive in a special way.

I brought my canteen to her lips and whispered:

“Drink some water and remember to do it slowly.”

She complied like a young child then mumbled:

“Thank you so much.”

Her voice sounded weary and week.

“I will give you two shots, one with an antibiotic and the other containing something to stop the bleeding. Please make an effort to bear the pain.”

“No need to do that, I have already imposed so much upon you. And I will die soon anyway …”

“Nonsense, this kind of wound is not life threatening.”

“Don’t try to comfort me. A while ago you said I was dying …”

“Because, because … I did not want my soldiers to talk badly like that.”

She opened her eyes wide to look at me thankfully, as if she wanted to say many more things. Then she whispered:

“What are you going to do to me now? Shooting me will be faster than taking me to your superior.”

I frankly did not know how to answer her, but she quickly resumed talking.

“I was born in this vast region of land and rivers. Both of my parents perished from American bombs. Let me be buried here in my ancestral land. Don’t hand me over to anyone else. I beg you.”

“All right, I will do as you wish. But first let me give you these injections, don’t be stubborn.”

She nodded lightly and did not say anything. I pulled up her arm sleeve, revealing her naked white skin. I was absorbed in my task and did not see her blush from shame. I did see her grimace in pain, and I burst out laughing:

“You are a soldier who got shot in a battle without any complaint. Now it is just this tiny needle and you are moaning and grimacing like …”

She interrupted me: “You mean like … a monkey, right?”

I laughed instead of answering her. I lowered her and arranged her neatly on banana leaves. Then I stood up and took out of my rucksack several boxes of dry food, a full canteen of water, a bandage roll and deposited them next to her. I then said with the utmost seriousness:

“My unit will move to another location at any time. You will need these few things that I am leaving you. I hope your people will return to look for you and save your life.”

I poured more water on the purple scarf to wipe her face, then used a few coconut fronds to cover and completely hide the spot where she was laying.

“Say, what is your name?”

“Is that so important to you?”

“Whether I live or die, I want to know the name of the person who has treated me kindly.”

“Then you tell the King of Hell that guy’s name is Lam, Trần Hoài Lam, and please ask him to let me live through this war!”

I heard her laugh before saying in a soft voice:

“Yes, Quyên will pray every night for Mr. Lam to survive this war.”

Quyên was a young woman I met one time and only once in my life from then on. I walked through many intense battles since then and was wounded more or less severely several times, but I survived. Perhaps Quyên had prayed for me every day and asked that I would come out alive as she had promised.

Finally, peace arrived and the guns fell silent. There was no bloody revenge against people like me who had been officers in the Armed Forces of the Republic of Việt Nam. However, we had to report to the victorious authorities and they sent us to the infamous re-education camps.

One day, at the Bù Gia Mập camp where I was doing hard labor, a very big storm arrived causing us to be confined to our shacks. Our guards allowed Ðan, our section chief, to distribute the mail to us. Without family or relatives, I ducked to a solitary corner to avoid feeling sorry for myself.

“Trần Hoài Lam, you’ve got mail!”

The whole room was buzzing with surprise because everyone knew that I was an “orphan”, a “son of the Sisters”, terms reserved for those who never received mail or visitors.

I was very surprised, thinking that maybe there was another person with the same name as mine.

“Trần Hoài Lam, you’ve got mail!”

The section chief appeared to be annoyed as he repeated his call.

I warily approached him.

“Are you sure it’s for me?”

“Your name is written clearly on the envelope, so it must be you. Go ahead, take it so that I can continue my work. If there is some error, just let me know.”

I held the letter, turning it over several times, to make sure my name was truly on it. It was, but the handwriting and the sender name were unknown to me. The handwriting was soft, upright but clear. The sender name was Trần Hoài Quyên. Strangely the family and middle names were like mine, only the personal name was different. I was alone in the world, how could I have a relative?

I was shaking as I opened the letter.

“Brother Lam! You are probably surprised to receive this letter from Quyên, a stranger who sent it to you. But let me say this, and you will know who is Quyên: I was wounded in battle. The wound was not too painful, but this tiny needle made me moan and grimace like a …”

Reading this, I became silent for a long time. I was shocked and moved, and I remembered that battle, that female VC, whose face was covered with mud, her hair disheveled, her head resting on a small backpack, her eyes showing distress.

“Just like you said, that same night my teammates took me out of that battlefield to be treated at a field hospital. After I left the hospital, I applied to be transferred to the city.“

“It was your act of kindness that made me change my mind. Our adversaries are not all cruel, and you are the proof of that. You treated with humanity and kindness your ‘enemy’. Your subordinate was right. How many people have fallen because of enemy bullets, some that I myself could have fired.”

“Peace has returned, but I am not happy because many still harbor hatred. I am very unhappy knowing that you have been sent for re-education. I could not forget you. I asked around trying to get news about you in all those re-education camps. Heaven did not disappoint me, in the end I found out where you are.”

“Brother Lam! Do you still remember what I said before you said farewell to me? ‘Quyên will pray every night for Mr. Lam to survive this war’.”

“I have prayed every night and asked the one above us all to grant you mercy and keep you safe, just as I hoped. I am arranging to come visit you next time. I hope to see you again, and that you will not look at Quyên like a stranger.”

From then on, I was no longer alone. Quyên visited me regularly, each time crying when she saw me. The big tears falling on her cheeks made me want to cry along.

I could not return her kindness until I was released from re-education and was allowed to start the process of asking to emigrate to the United States.

I asked Quyên to marry me and she agreed.

Quyên is now the mother of our three lovely children. She fulfills the duties of a good wife and a loving mother. We live in a modern and advanced country, but she remains the Quyên I used to know. She still wears the traditional shirt that Vietnamese women wear, still has her hair tied with a rubber band in the back. On the nights when the children are sound asleep, she comes to lie at my side whispering and sharing her thoughts.

“Quyên, when did you start loving me?”

“What a silly question! How can I remember? You are making me shy, and I am pouting.”

“I won’t ask any more.” I pretended to be angry and turned my face away.

“Don’t be angry, I will tell you. But I forbid you to laugh, all right?”

She made me promise all kinds of things before she finally answered.

“I started loving you when you turned up my sleeve to inject me with the medicine. I was so embarrassed and wanted to die. Yet you went on and teased me to no end. Did you know that I kept the purple scarf that you used to wipe my face? Wherever I went I put in in my pocket and took it out once in a while to make sure I did not lose it.”

I was moved and kissed my wife’s forehead. I had no idea that she loved me so much.

“You know, one day I washed it and placed it to dry on a fence. The wind blew in and took it away. Heaven and earth! I cried for several days, skipped my meals and sleep to go find it. I don’t know why it came back to me. A friend found it and returned it to me. She said the scarf had flown all the way to our headquarters, about 5 kilometers away. I believed you were always with me to help me overcome danger. When I was wounded, I don’t know what would have happened if it were somebody else. I might be dead then.”

Quyên slept soundly next to my shoulder, breathing regularly and softly. Our story was an unbelievable miracle. Fate had somehow led me to meet her under those circumstances. Just like Quyên said, if she had encountered someone else, she might have been killed, or she could have died from her wound. I kissed her forehead then whispered.

“My love, Heaven determines our fate!”

Next to me, Quyên slept soundly, her angelic face free of any earthly dust.

Our love and happiness survived the war in that way.