In Danang, Where U.S. Troops First Landed, Memories Of War Have Faded : Parallels U.S. Marines were deployed to the coastal Vietnamese city 50 years ago last month. Now, 40 years after the war's end and amid great change, former Viet Cong and an American reflect on that time.
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In Danang, Where U.S. Troops First Landed, Memories Of War Have Faded

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In Danang, Where U.S. Troops First Landed, Memories Of War Have Faded

In Danang, Where U.S. Troops First Landed, Memories Of War Have Faded

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SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

Forty years ago this week, North Vietnamese tanks rolled into Saigon to end what Vietnamese call the American war. More than 57,000 Americans died. Vietnamese losses on both sides were far greater - by some estimates, as many as 2 million. With the reunification of the country came peace and eventually better ties between the Communist state and the United States. Both are wary of Chinese expansion. Michael Sullivan brings us these reflections from Danang.

MICHAEL SULLIVAN, BYLINE: The first American combat troops to arrive in Vietnam landed here in the coastal city of Danang 50 years ago in March - 2,000 Marines tasked with protecting the nearby U.S. air base in the city. The number of U.S. servicemen in country would eventually reach more than half a million. It took the 9th Marine Expeditionary Brigade almost an entire day to bring its men and material ashore in March 1965. And Nguyen Tien should know because he was there watching.

NGUYEN TIEN: (Foreign language spoken).

SULLIVAN: Nguyen was just 24 at the time, but had already been a Viet Cong guerrilla for five years. He was on the beach that morning to spy on the Americans, he says. He remembers thinking they were carrying too much gear and sweating like pigs. How, he wondered, are they going to be able to fight in this heat? But he also knew the arrival of U.S. combat troops meant trouble.

TIEN: (Through interpreter) When I saw the Americans arrive, I knew the war was about to get harder. It was going to be more ferocious and it was going to last a lot longer. A lot more people were going to die, and if we weren't very determined, we weren't going to win.

SULLIVAN: Across town I meet another former Viet Cong soldier in his coffee shop next to a small fountain. He wasn't there that day on the beach, but remembers another day in March three years later - the day of the My Lai massacre. He wasn't in My Lai Tu (ph), as the Americans call it, but he was in the hamlet next door.

VO CAO LOI: (Through interpreter) There was a lot of shelling and my mom thought there was going to be a big deployment, so she said to me run. You can't stay with me. You're already 16, and if they catch you, they'll take you away.

SULLIVAN: Vo Cao Loi's mother stuffed a small bag in his hand - a few clothes, some rice, enough to last a day or so. After the Americans left, she told him, he could return, so he ran to the jungle and watched the helicopters land in the village. And a short time later, he heard the sound of grenades.

LOI: (Through interpreter) There were only women and children left when the Americans landed. All of the men had run away. The villagers were hiding in a few shelters, and the Americans just started throwing grenades inside. They didn't ask the people to come out, and anybody who came up they shot. When I returned after the Americans left, I counted 97 dead in all, including my mother. And inside the shelter, I saw my sister-in-law with her baby still in her arms, and they were dead, too.

SULLIVAN: The day I visit him is the 47th anniversary of his mother's death, which the family marks with prayer at their altar and a feast. He's a gracious host, quick with a smile and a laugh. And I tell him I find his hospitality a bit puzzling. If it were me, I say, I'd still be angry. He smiles again, but this one's a little forced.

LOI: (Foreign language spoken).

SULLIVAN: "Time makes human pain fade," he says. "If we stick to the pain, we can't live. We wouldn't be able to move on," he says, "and we have to move on." But then he stops, unable to continue. Moving on isn't that easy for a lot of people.

LARRY VETTER: My name is Larry Vetter. I am from Sanguine, Texas. I went to Texas A&M University. After graduating from A&M, I was shortly thereafter sent to Vietnam.

SULLIVAN: Vetter now lives in Danang about a half-mile from Vo Cao Loi. He volunteered to serve. His unit was among the first to land in Danang, and he spent three tours in country. He remembers vividly the day he arrived.

VETTER: I can remember specifically wanting to take off my brown second lieutenant bar, and I didn't want to show I was an officer. I didn't want to carry a pistol. I wanted to carry a rifle, and I was ready to go.

SULLIVAN: Four years later, 1969, Vetter's an infantry captain with a far more nuanced view of the war. And he's in the middle of an operation flushing Viet Cong out of a hidden bunker south of Danang. When he has what he calls a watershed moment, triggered, he says, by a very pregnant Viet Cong soldier, he pulled from the bunker.

VETTER: I sat on the beach holding her hand trying to talk with her, telling her things were going to be OK, which is a bunch of BS because she was going into labor. But she laid on the beach, focusing her eyes on my eyes and all her fear, hatred, anger that she had. and I sat there and I made a promise.

SULLIVAN: A promise that started with breaking the rules and getting her to safety.

VETTER: The other prisoners were going down to the battalion headquarters, which was down the beach, and they had South Vietnamese interrogators. And this one I helicoptered off, and I did not say anything about her being VC, but I said woman, pregnant woman, get her to hospital. And so she went in basically free of any kind of stigma of being a VC.

SULLIVAN: Vetter's third tour ended a few weeks later. He didn't re-up, but the woman, he found out later, and the baby survived. When his wife died a few years back, Vetter moved to Danang to help victims of the defoliant Agent Orange. And he holds the occasional barbecue where former marines and VCs swap stories and get drunk. And back on the beach, where he first landed and when Tien watched, things have changed there too, 50 years on.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "FIREBALL")

UNIDENTIFIED SINGER: (Singing) Fireball.

SULLIVAN: The day after I speak with Vetter, there's a concert on the beach - the band off the USS Fort Worth, one of the Navy's newest warships on a goodwill visit to Vietnam. The young selfie-snapping Vietnamese audience knew the lyrics to almost all the songs, but knew nothing about the war really. Like three-quarters of the population, they were born after it ended and see the Americans as friends.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "FIREBALL")

UNIDENTIFIED SINGER: (Singing) Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I don't care what y'all say.

SULLIVAN: Some of those on the beach said the U.S. could be an ally even in Vietnam's conflict with China, over the South China Sea, sparkling in the moonlight behind us. And the sailors - they said they liked it here and were surprised the Vietnamese were so friendly given the history. For NPR News, I'm Michael Sullivan in Danang.

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