Eyewitness accounts before and after the Vietnam War (4)

VII. Cruel drug experiments

At 10 p.m. on April 20, 1970, twelve strippers kicked their thighs in unison in the lobby of the Miami Nightclub on Gatina Boulevard in downtown Saigon under the ever-changing colored lights. Their bras have been removed from their upper bodies, and the yellow silk cloth around their waists rises and falls from time to time as they spin. To the rhythm of the deafening Rolling Stones music, they swayed their hips and made all kinds of naked, carnal movements.

More than one hundred and fifty Americans, Vietnamese, South Koreans, Taiwanese and tourists from other countries sipped various kinds of alcohol or beverages with occasional bursts of shouting, maniacal laughter and the sound of glasses slamming to the ground.

It was a reception to comfort the officers and soldiers of the various allied armies stationed in Vietnam. At this time, Vu Ting Chiu, the owner of the Miami nightclub, was in the distribution room urging two dilly-dallying electricians to repair the air-conditioning unit whose paint had peeled off. The door to the power distribution room opened and in walked a middle-aged man wearing a black silk cooler. Wu Tingzhao twisted over the fat body to see the middle-aged man, hastily instructed the two electricians to step up repairs, and then he walked out of the power distribution room, to the hallway leading to the hall of the corridor. At this time, from the hall came another ear-piercing clamor. “These guys who are carving their way to death!” Wu Tingzhao cursed in a low voice. That middle-aged man leaned over to Wu Tingzhao’s ear and told him a new message. Hearing his words, Wutting Zhao glanced down the hall, told him to go and set up something immediately, and then hurriedly left the corridor and returned to his manager’s office on the second floor of the Miami Nightclub.

Ten minutes later, Wu Tingzhao in a white dress appeared in the hall.

With a microphone in hand, he announced with a big smile that a few hours earlier, American and Vietnamese troops had entered Cambodian territory under the command of General Do Chi Kao, commander of the Fourth Military Region, at the request of Lieutenant General Lon Nol, Deputy Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Cambodia, who had overthrown the coup d’état of Prince Sikha Nguyen in March, in order to assist Lieutenant General Lon Nol’s troops in clearing out the communist bases in North Vietnam.

After a commotion, the lights in the corners of the hall went out, leaving only the two spotlights illuminating the dance floor. At that moment, with the music of the samba playing, three Vietnamese girls with hair all over their bodies, naked, stepped into the dance floor with a rhythm and swaying hips. Their wrists and ankles are wearing Indian-style ring, full, plump breasts can not help but quiver up and down, hanging in their long outstretched nipples on the copper Buddha bells emit a crisp sound; when they twist their limbs, dragged down to the waist below the long hair will be floating up. The hall erupted into a frenzy of shouting and yelling, as officers and enlisted men, who were to go off to Laos or Cambodia the next day, stared at them with bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, a black soldier lunged toward the dance floor with a strange cry, followed by almost all of them lunging in that direction in unison.

The three poor dancers hissed shrilly as they were dragged to the ground by their hair and countless pairs of frantic arms reached for their naked bodies. Vu Dinh Chiu and two waiters crowded onto the dance floor in the midst of the pushing and shoving to persuade them, while a South Korean soldier swung up and slapped him so hard that his false teeth fell out. The Vietnamese policeman who was standing at the entrance heard the commotion and rushed into the hall, rushing to call the police station… In the midst of the commotion, there was only one young man who stood in the corner of the hall and watched the whole process with a smile on his face. He, one of the planners of the consolation banquet, was Nguyen Van Sinh, grandson of the exiled former General Nguyen Trung Thi of the First Military Region of the Armed Forces and a member of the Saigon Tiandi Association. Instead of attending the banquet to comfort the allied forces in Vietnam, he came to personally philosophize about their “heavyweight meatball experiment” with an evil soul twisted by war.

I first met the first grandson of the former commander of the First Military Region, who was well known among Saigon’s generals, at a reception hosted by the Head of State, Dr. Phan Huy Khoi, on 12 April 1965 to welcome the members of the military team from Australia, New Zealand and South Korea.

During the meeting, General Nguyen Chinh Thi approached Ambassador Lucky and me with a young man in tow. Still speaking the same broken English of a few years ago, General Nguyen Chinh Thi greeted us and introduced the young man, Nguyen Van Sinh, his first grandson, to us.

Nguyen Van Sinh was a student at the Military Medical University at the time and looked very handsome and courteous. He wore a green uniform, a maroon beret, and the gold and red star insignia of a medical corporal. In a mouthful of English with a strong American flavor, he excitedly told us that he was writing a thesis on the “synthetic synthesis of pituitary hormone-releasing factor ten and three”. Judging from his spirit, he was neither worried about the soldiers who were sent to the front for fear of failing their exams all day, nor anxious about the government’s turmoil, and always wore a carefree smile. At that time, none of us found the latent violence and shocking cruelty in him; on the contrary, we felt that he was a lovely young man.

One day shortly after the press conference, I once again met Nguyen Van Sinh. That morning we were told by Ambassador Lodge that U.S. State Department Cable 3314 instructed the Saigon Embassy to discuss with Phan Huy Khoi the introduction of a South Korean combat regiment. He asked us to put together as soon as possible before Phan Huy Cuu’s return to Saigon the material on Major General Nguyen Cao Khieu at the time of the February 8 retaliatory air raid and to send to General Nguyen Van Thieu the confession of an arrested Viet Cong element then being treated at the hospital in Zuo Lai concerning Ho Chi Minh’s instructions to disrupt the program.

As I was just about to walk out of Zorai Hospital, Nguyen Van Sinh rode in on a pedal motorized vehicle.

“Major Moore.” He recognized me and greeted me warmly.

However, in the evening at the Wengling Bridge Theatre, I found that he was interested in talking about the United States regarding the introduction of third-country troops. On that occasion I tried to avoid it as much as possible, while politely telling him that I had not received any material or instructions on that subject. His conversation made me realize that despite the great efforts and progress made by the Phan Huy Khoi government in the civil, political and military fields, the friction between officials of the Government of the Republic of Vietnam and the young and strong faction of the group Ouy Ching and the young and strong faction of the Government of the Republic of Vietnam was still very intense. Nguyen Van Sinh told me about General Nguyen Truong Thi’s dissatisfaction with a number of issues and asked for my opinion. Of course, I politely recused myself because I suspected that he was making a test run for certain people in the government, most likely General Nguyen Truong Thi, to stage yet another coup d’état.

A few months later, Nguyen Van Thieu’s words were confirmed. The conflict between young soldiers Nguyen Van Thieu and Nguyen Cao Khieu and the then semi-autonomous General Nguyen Trung Thi finally escalated on March 12, 1966 to a military clash. With the support of militant Buddhist leader Thach Chi Quang, General Nguyen Truong Thi’s troops in Hue and Da Nang openly stood against the Saigon young soldiers. The commander of the U.S. Marine Corps in Da Nang, Lewis B. General Walter was informed that General Nguyen Cao Thi’s air force was preparing to attack the opposition forces in the area, while the opposition forces were also planning to attack the government forces in the area.

Walter rushed to issue a warning, claiming that “American jets would be deployed in self-defense.” As a result, the opposition failed in the coup, as the local and religious nature of Thich Quang’s Buddhism led to the destruction of the U.S. Consulate in Hue. From then on, General Nguyen Trung Thi, who claimed to be a powerhouse, went into exile, and Nguyen Van Sinh never came to see me again.

A few months later, a committee of young and strong soldiers overthrew the government of Phan Huy Cuu, General Nguyen Van Thieu became Chairman of the National Leadership Council and General Nguyen Cao Khieu became Prime Minister.

On March 2, 1967, more than a year after the USAF F-100 Super Sabres and F-105 Thunderbolt jets bombed the Bon Village ammunition depot in North Vietnam, and the Republic of Vietnam Air Force A-IH fighter-bombers attacked Quang Khe Naval Base in North Vietnam, I was transferred to the Saigon Special Police Department as an advisor to the Ocjing Division of the Saigon Special Police Department at the rank of Colonel. A little over a year into the “Thunder and Lightning Program”, I was transferred to the Saigon Special Police Department at the rank of Colonel to serve as an advisor on O Jing affairs.

During this period, my main job was to deal with terrorist assassinations in and around the Saigon Causeway. As a result of the U.S. bombing of North Vietnam, which demonstrated our toughness, Viet Cong support for terrorist activities in the South was somewhat curtailed, which led to a period of relative peace in the Saigon Causeway area.

By then, I was able to speak some Vietnamese and often chatted with the officers in my free time in Vietnamese, and I soon realized that they were surprised that I had remained a tsetse for several years, and several times suggested that I marry a Vietnamese girl. I shied away from this suggestion, as it was inconceivable to them that an American like me who had been in Vietnam for so long and had not married would ever be able to do so; perhaps some of them speculated that I might be suffering from an incurable disease. Whatever they thought!

Ever since the events of that spring, I had been feeling depressed, and perhaps I would have been better off if I had thought that she had almost killed me on a later day. Unfortunately, however, I was unable to extricate myself from that state of mind. When I was working at the Saigon station, I often went around the “human market”, but I never saw that familiar figure again. Sometimes, when I was bored, I went to a bar or some other place to find a girl, but I could not get rid of that inexplicable shadow.

“Hal.” An officer named Min called me.

They always called me “Hal” instead of “Colonel Moore” to show the degree of intimacy between them and me. I understood this, and so let them call me that, as if I were giving them an honor.

“Hal,” Min walked into my office at the end of the day, “would you like to go for a walk tonight?” He asked, a look of anticipation in his eyes.

“Why not?” I said that the dusk of that day after the rain had cleared had given me a fresh, unfamiliar feeling about Saigon, and that was probably why I had gladly accepted Minh’s invitation.

It was getting dark and the air was nice. We made our way to a bustling night market at Long’s Quay and had snacks there.

The cost of living in Saigon is high. A plate of rice, a bowl of noodles, and a bottle of Coca-Cola sell for more than twice as much here as in other Southeast Asian countries, so it’s a real headache for the average Saigonese citizen, and only we Americans, who have no qualms about spending money, appear to be the scapegoats.

However, Min didn’t make me buy food, he called the owner (who it turned out they knew well) and bought me a lot of food.

“Min, I’m buying today.” I said.

“I asked you to come here, so of course I should be the one to treat you.” Min said uncaringly, and then added: “You can also treat me in the future.”

I understood that he wanted me to invite him to dinner so he could dazzle his coworkers. Almost all Vietnamese youths like him feel stylish and decent for having an American friend.

After dinner, we wandered along the black market stalls in the neighborhood. Hawkers shouted and sold, and they peddled cigarettes, perfume, mosquito repellent, candy, canned goods, flashlights, radios, and even women’s underwear, bras, and other thousands of goods are almost all of the United States of America’s origin; among them, many of the goods are also affixed with a “free gift from the American people, not for sale,” the words. I noticed that there were many Malays and Indians among the black market vendors, most of whom were selling handmade jewelry. Also, in one corner of the black market, we saw a truck full of military supplies parked there, with a few Vietnamese children unloading the truck and a vendor apparently bargaining with an American soldier.

“These vendors often go to the barracks to buy things.” Minh told me, “It’s all stolen. The Vietnamese steal it piece by piece, and the American soldiers truck it here, and no one ever cares.”

“So things must be cheap, right?” I asked.

“No, things here are, at times, twice as expensive as elsewhere. There’s only one cheap ‘thing’ in Vietnam and that’s women. If you’re willing to pay, you can get any kind of woman, no matter what kind.”

“This I know very well.” I said : “Those girls standing on the ‘human market’ are indeed too cheap.”

“Who goes to that shithole anymore?” Min gave a disdainful look: “Next to it, the Americans built a new place a long time ago, and that ‘meat market’ you’re talking about hardly anyone wants to go there anymore.”

I seem to have heard about that one a few years ago.

Min was very happy to see that I seemed to be interested and suggested that I go to a dancing place called “Tutogu”.

He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the dancers of Dodagu were the most popular in Saigon at that time.

“Okay.” I said, deciding to check out the place.

What Minh calls the Tuo Toc Quoc Dancing Ground is a three-story building located on the south side of Quay Park. Minh described the area as Saigon’s red-light district, where almost all of the larger bars, nightclubs, dance floors and brothels were located, and the Tuoi Toi Ku dance floor was one of the more famous ones.

It seems that Min is very familiar with this dance floor. When we entered, Min said hello to the caretaker and seemed to have slipped him some money.

The dance floor, I thought, was not much different: an old-fashioned circular hall, bright and dim lights, some crooked naked women painted on the pillars and walls, and a semi-curved dance floor with a few American soldiers holding small, delicate Vietnamese girls, swaying to the sound of slow dance music. Minh walked over to the liquor counter to get two drinks and sat down with me at a table near the dance floor.

“This is genuine mountain whiskey. The only place in Saigon that has this kind of liquor is the Dodagu Dancing Ground.” He said.

“I suppose this wine must be sold at black market prices?” I asked.

Minh showed himself to be an expert: “Of course, it’s a bit more expensive, but it’s the real deal. Like Jameson, Watts 69, Dark Horse, you can buy them in Saigon, it’s just a matter of money.”

By this time, a few more people had been added to the dance floor, Americans, Vietnamese, South Koreans, and Arabs, and almost all of their partners were dancers in busty yellow smocks and purple ultra-short skirts from the Dhotoglu dance floor. A tall, skinny black soldier was holding a diminutive Vietnamese dancer as if he were dancing a step with a lot of tricks, sliding around the dance floor and letting out the occasional debauched, strange laugh. I noticed that the dancers here looked more plump and fleshy than the average Vietnamese girl, especially the high and fluttering breasts, which always looked like they were padded with some kind of elasticity, or like the kind of juice-filled breasts of a woman in labor. In addition, their skin seems to be a bit too rich, and the flesh on their bodies is always trembling when they dance, which makes them even more carnal.

“Hello, Hal.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned to see a young Vietnamese man in a collarless sweatshirt, dark glasses, and American English smiling at me. That face also looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember for a moment.

“Hal, don’t you recognize me?” He took off his glasses.

I suddenly remembered that he turned out to be Nguyen Van Sinh, the military medical corporal who disappeared from General Nguyen Van Thieu after his successful coup. Ever since his grandfather failed in the Hue conflict, I had thought he had long gone to France or somewhere.

He saw my confusion and explained to me, “I didn’t leave Vietnam, after I graduated from college, I went to the front line for a while, and since then I’ve been working at the Zuo Guan Hospital.”

“What about General Nguyen Cheng Thi?” I asked.

“He is currently recuperating in Zurich.” Apparently trying to avoid his grandfather, he turned and asked, “You’re with the Special Police Department, aren’t you?”

Minh hastily stood up and replied. I can see that even though General Nguyen Truong Thi has gone into exile, he is still very prestigious in Saigon’s military circles. If General Nguyen Truong Thi had not directly clashed with the United States in the first place, I think it is very likely that he would have been victorious in the conflict.

We sat and chatted for a while. He told us that he was friends with the owner of the Dodagu dance floor and that he came here often, and that as a gesture of cordiality he had gone upstairs to fetch two chubby girls for us and handed Min and me each a key, inviting us to spend the night there for free.

“Your room is on the second floor.” He said, writing his phone number on a piece of paper on one side and handing it to me, “Please excuse me, I have an appointment, you must call me.” With that, he hurried away, saying something to a couple of Vietnamese men standing in front of the liquor cabinet before stepping out onto the dance floor together.

I turned around and started to talk to the two girls that Nguyen Van Sin had brought with him. Their names were “Velvet” and “Jiang”, they looked very young, both wore the same super-short dance skirt, their white thighs exposed, black collars around their necks, and their plump breasts soaring high, apparently without bras that their nipples appeared as distinctive bulges on their thin, breast-baring blouses. Apparently there were no bras, so that their nipples appeared as well-defined bulges in the thin, bare-breasted smock. Like other prostitutes in Saigon, their hair was permed so high that the front of it covered almost their entire foreheads.

“Why don’t you guys come to the front and dance?” I asked.

My words surprised them because very few Americans knew Vietnamese. In Saigon, you could speak English or French everywhere, so most Americans did not feel the need to learn Vietnamese. As a U.S. agent and military adviser, I had to know the language, and I had been able to understand ordinary sentences for almost a year during my association with Chun.

“We were just taking a shower.” The girl sitting to my left, Jiang, said in ungrammatical English. She was almost in my face, and I felt her fat nipples on my shoulders, while a strong scent of Messing or some other brand of perfume wafted over her.

“con be (chick),” I said, still in Vietnamese: “I understand your language.”

She was stunned for a moment, then awkwardly said to me slowly in the same broken Vietnamese, “I don’t speak Vietnamese well yet.”

“Her home is in Svay Rieng, she just arrived.” Velvet told me in Vietnamese with a smile.

I realized that this was a Cambodian girl, no wonder she kept speaking English with me just now.

Later, Nguyen Van Sinh told me that there were not only Cambodian girls in Saigon’s brothels, but also Laotian, Thai, Indian, Malay, and even some white and black girls. Some of them stayed in Saigon for a long time, while others moved to other countries after a while. Nguyen Van Sinh said that two years ago, the Sta Sing Du nightclub run by French expatriates bought a fifteen-year-old Polish girl from an Italian smuggler for US$3,000, specializing in hosting American military officers and high-ranking Vietnamese officials. This kind of trafficking in women is very popular in Saigon, with at least 90 percent of brothels and nightclubs engaging in the business.

After careful observation, I realized that Jiang did have a face that was characteristic of Cambodian girls, with a high forehead bone, a sharp chin, and dark, dense hair. Out of curiosity, I decided to use the key marked with the A12 notation that Nguyen Van Sinh had left me.

Dhotagu is indeed much more advanced than the “human market” I’ve been to, the four walls are very flat, the floor is covered with mats made of palm hair or some other material, the purple painted bamboo bed is hung with pink mosquito nets, and everything looks very clean; only the ceiling is so short that I can reach out my hand and touch it.

As I walked into the room, I realized that Jiang had been intentionally rubbing her fat and flushed nipples against my arm. I toweled back with my skeleton arm to verify that her towering, quivering breasts were padded, however she dodged it. She grinned cheekily and wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. I turned around and grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her in front of me. What? Two wet stains appeared on her chest blouse, much like milk overflow. I told her to take off her smock, which she did. What appeared in front of me were two incredibly large, full, juice-filled breasts, with deep, dark brown halos of an obvious maternal diameter.

“What’s going on?” I asked, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She didn’t answer, a panicked look appeared on her face and she raised her hands, wrapped them around my neck and pressed them downward, shoving her nipples into my mouth. I wanted to ask her about it, but before I could get the words out, a big squirt of milk came out. Her arms were wrapped around me so tightly that she even shoved her areolas into my mouth, what was going on? I was baffled by this unexpected thing. Gradually, this breast emptied and she switched to the other one. Still stuffing it in my mouth like earlier, while making strange noises like yelps and moans. She lay back down, still wrapping her arms around my neck…

Finally, she subsided, her body limp and limp, and it was evident that she had just been in a delirious state of extreme sexual arousal. In Saigon at that time, the use of various kinds of aphrodisiacs was common. Some brothel owners used to give prostitutes “Thuoc bua me” (a kind of charm drug) or other erotic drugs to keep them spontaneously eager for every customer. Is this Cambodian girl also so aroused by the aphrodisiacs? Judging from her full breasts, she looked as if she had just given birth. But why did she come to Tutakul at this time of the year to engage in this kind of business?

We lay on the ground and talked slowly. Even though her English and Vietnamese were extremely broken and even upside down, I figured out what she meant by her gestures and expressions.

She told me that her original name was “Doi La” and that the name “Giang” was given to her after she arrived in Saigon. Her family is from Svay Rieng, a rice hub in Cambodia, and she has six siblings. Her father works for a rice mill. A year ago, her father was shot and killed by Viet Cong on his way back to Svay Rieng from Kompong Leob, leaving her family in dire straits. Once, she was told by some women mending sacks at a rice bagging station that a new artificial ice factory in Saigon was looking for Cambodian women to work in Svay Rieng for 2,000 South Vietnamese dollars a month. To earn a living, she, her sister Sai Uma and 14 other Cambodian girls boarded a truck bound for Saigon a few days later. However, the truck did not take them to a “synthetic ice factory,” but to the Dodagu Dance House. The owner of the Dak To Koo Dance Hall was Duk Hwan, a Cambodian expatriate living in Saigon. Under the coercion of De Hwan and his thugs, all 14 Cambodian girls from Svay Rieng became prostitutes. Doyla’s nineteen-year-old sister, Sai Uma, and four other Cambodian girls, unwilling to be abused, fled by bus on a rainy night. Because they did not speak Vietnamese and had no money, they were soon caught by the Saigon Triad and sent back to the Dak Toe Kuk dance floor. In order to punish the other girls, Duc Hwan had the five girls, including Sai Uma, beaten up and locked in an iron cage without food for three days. The girls were then sold by Deok Hwan to the Ching Lam gang, a triad organization, for $50 each and resold to other countries. The nine Cambodian girls who stayed at the Dodagu dance floor lost their personal freedom and were “paid” less than 1,000 South Vietnamese dollars per month, even though the customers paid them between 80 and 100 South Vietnamese dollars each time.

I think they were miserable because the price of pork in Saigon at that time was 120 South Vietnamese dollars per kilogram, and the price of chicken was 135 South Vietnamese dollars per kilogram, and the flesh of these young girls was not worth the price of a kilogram of pork or chicken. It is no wonder that Saigon’s Action Newspaper says: “A bottle of American whiskey can be exchanged for a couple of Vietnamese girls.”

I looked at her two large, bulging breasts, and asked her why she was still coming out to pick up customers while she was breastfeeding. She hesitated for a while and seemed to have some concerns. Finally, she told me something horrible.

It turns out that all the dancers in the Dodagu Dance Theater have to be injected regularly with a kind of Empty Pregnancy Oxytocin, which makes them produce milk without giving birth, so as to attract more customers. This kind of strong empty pregnancy lactation agent not only can not need to give birth to even if the woman’s breasts to produce a lot of milk and stimulate the unquenchable sexual desire, there is another side effect, namely: if not in a timely manner to the secretion of the juice out of the breasts will be extremely swollen, and even the occurrence of muscle spasm of the breasts, resulting in bursting like intolerable pain. Therefore, all the girls who have been injected with this empty pregnancy agent, have to constantly milk out of the breasts to alleviate the pain; however, the more they squeeze the milk out of their breasts, the more milk is secreted, the more plump the breasts are, the more developed the nipples are. Pitifully, in order to survive, those prostitutes in the Dhritarashtra dance floor had to sell their own bodies and at the same time, they had to give their milk, which should be used to feed their babies, to the men who came to Dhritarashtra for pleasure. From the expression on Doyla’s face, it can be seen that she is like a lamb to be slaughtered, and she is at the mercy of the sad fate, enduring both mental and physical torture all day long.

It all made sense, and I even guessed the name of the “pharmacist” who formulated the drug that destroyed women as if they were animals.

“Doyla,” I called her by her Cambodian name, “do you know where the Dodagu dance floor got this drug?”

“What did you say?” Her speech was slurred, her face looked confused again, her breasts swelled up once more, and mucus gushed out of her lower body and dripped down the inside of her thighs… I knew that it must be the effect of the drug that had caused her to go into a state of uncontrollable arousal once again. One thing was for sure, such repeated episodes of drug-induced sexual arousal would not take long to turn a good girl into a complete slut with insatiable lust, known medically as nymbhomania.

On June 29, 1966, the U.S. Air Force’s Seventh Air Force flew jets and bombed oil depots in Hanoi, the capital of North Vietnam, and in the important port of Hai Phong as a reprisal against North Vietnam. Hanoi’s oil depots had been leveled and eighty percent of Haiphong’s facilities had been destroyed by bombs.

“The Americans should have bombed North Vietnam like this a long time ago.” It seemed to my fellow Vietnamese that the Americans had finally come to their senses.

“So what will your compatriots in the North think?” I asked. They looked at me in consternation and wonder.

As a United States military adviser, I am not in a position to talk too much with them about issues they do not understand and do not want to discuss. However, I have seen more and more facts that do make me wonder about the nature of the U.S. assistance to the South Vietnamese government in this war. It seems that in this country evil can be excused as an act of necessity. Of course, the most incomprehensible thing to me was that some Vietnamese took pleasure in brutalizing their own countrymen, even to the point of descending into a state of insanity. For more than a decade, I have seen countless of their fellow countrymen being brutalized by them, prisons continue to be overflowing, and atrocities are being committed in the community every hour of every day.

(The word in this paragraph is in the original language and may be a typographical error. Note by South Guo) When I told Min about the dancer at the Dodagu Dancing Ground who had been injected with an empty pregnancy catalyst, he laughed and said to me that the dancer, whose name was “Velvet”, claimed to have just given birth and refused to tell him the truth. given birth and refused to tell him the truth. “Americans are still surprised by this kind of thing, aren’t they?” He asked.

“I personally do.” I replied, “All in all, it seems that the Vietnamese mistreatment of women far outweighs their study of the war, which makes me feel that the suffering of Vietnamese women is too great.”

Min did not take offense at what I said, and even told me with interest about his affair with Velvet: he told me that Velvet was twenty-nine years old, and that she had taken up this career after her husband had been killed by the Vietcong.

“Why is it that the police have not received a single complaint against them for drug abuse?” I asked. I asked, “Did the murdered women willingly put up with the torture themselves, or was there some other reason?”

“I’ve received this kind of accusation before.” Min said nonchalantly, “But within a few days, either the accuser took back the command or it ended with the accuser’s accidental disappearance. That’s why even if the police department receives such a complaint, they don’t ask about it.”

“So, what you are saying is that those women were afraid to press charges because they were threatened by the triad organization, or else they would have been killed by the bandits, right?”

“Most of them didn’t even think of raising a lawsuit because they knew it would be useless. In addition, the owners of Saigon’s bars and dance floors have ties to sectarian forces or underground organizations with backgrounds, so even if the police department intervened, nothing would come of it, let alone for the prostitutes.”

Minh talked about the armed Saigon sects and the gang organizations of the triads. He said that the Government and the police did not have much prestige among the citizens, whereas the Cao Dai, Hoa Hao and Binh Kheon sects could directly control their influence among the citizens and could even instigate a large-scale parade or armed fight. Most of the triad organizations in Saigon are related to these sects and often carry out assassinations, kidnappings and other terrorist activities, so the citizens are very afraid of them. One extremely brutal organization of the Binh Trang sect is the well-known Thanh Linh gang. The Greenwood Gang mainly carries out criminal activities such as drug trafficking and kidnapping. The police clashed with them several times, but to no avail. Parallel to the Greenwood Gang, there is a terrorist group called the “Tiandi Association”. This organization, composed mainly of Chinese expatriates on the Causeway Coast, was an early gang specializing in assassinations, and later expanded into a large group that included many Vietnamese terrorists. Before the signing of the Geneva Conventions, at least 200 Frenchmen had been assassinated by this organization.

During the period when Colonel Lansdale was presiding over the CIA’s work in Vietnam, I came into contact with the heads of many sectarian organizations, such as General Tay Sai Minh of the Cao Dai sect of the Rural Armed Forces, and Sak Chi Quang, the leader of the Binh Chuan sect. However, at that time, my main purpose was limited to assisting President Ngo Dinh Yen in reaching agreements on water suspension with these sectarian armies, so I did not know much about their inner workings. Since General Nguyen Van Thieu came to power, many sectarian forces had defected to the Vietcong and turned their guns directly on the Republican army, and there was also growing discontent among the people with the government. Therefore, the United States, while stepping up its bombing of North Vietnam on the one hand, has also attached great importance to the conduct of the Océan work. A few days after I reported the information about Nguyen Van Sinh to the Saigon station of the CIA, I was instructed by Director Richlin to conduct a secret investigation in my personal capacity.

One morning in mid-July 1966, it was drizzling, and the whole of Saigon seemed to be coalescing in a melancholy atmosphere. I walked to Zuo Guan Hospital in Pavilion City and entered the light yellow building.

The corridors of the hospital were empty, except for two moving vans with patients parked in the emergency room, their families whispering something to the doctor. A middle-aged nurse on duty approached me; she treated me as a patient and asked me to go to the American Consultant Specialized Clinic. I told her I wanted to see Dr. Nguyen Van Sinh, and she told me to sit on a chair in the waiting room and hang up the phone. Ten minutes later, Nguyen Van Tan, dressed in white, came out.

Nguyen Van Tan looked very happy to see me and immediately took me to one of his private offices. As soon as I entered, I saw a Vietnamese man in police uniform sitting next to Nguyen Van Tan’s desk smoking a paper cigarette. He had gotten up from his chair and greeted me when I entered.

“Hello, Colonel Moore.” He said shaking my hand.

It turned out that the man in police uniform was Lieutenant Colonel Phui, a friend of Ngo Chong Hieu and formerly of the Saigon Special Police Department, who was rumored to have gone into exile in Laos after a military coup in 1963; General Yang Minh Minh had issued a Neng Nang warrant for his arrest, which was later nullified by a coup d’état by General Nguyen Khanh. Encountering him at the Zuo Guan hospital on this occasion impressed upon me that the Vietnamese government was far more complex than the Americans had anticipated, almost to the point of being baffling.

Lieutenant Colonel Fai told me that in the November 1963 coup d’état, the Government Guard mutinied first and made contact with the coup command. When he got the information, he immediately drove a jeep to Independence Palace to pick up Ngo Dinh Yen, Ngo Dinh Coward, and others and went to a barracks of the Causeway Special Forces to hide; however, when he arrived at the barracks at 3:00 a.m., leading a company of riot police from the Causeway Police Station, President Ngo Dinh Yen and others had already been escorted by the Government Guards in armored vehicles and taken to Saigon. The next morning, when he heard that the Ngo brothers had been killed and that Major General Le Van Kim had sent troops to search for him, he immediately took a train to Hue and then diverted into Savannakhet, Lao Vinh, where he joined the Vietnamese Army Corps under the government of Prince Phu My. It was only after General Nguyen Khanh’s coup d’état again that he returned from Laos to Hue City in central Vietnam to take up the post of Chief of the Special Affairs Section of the Hue City Police Department.

I was very skeptical at the time that Phui was coming from the side of the First Military Region, which General Nguyen Truong Thi, once commanded, and that there could be a connection with the recent activities of the local Buddhist leader, Thach Chi Quang. He explained to me that the purpose of his visit to Saigon was to conduct official business and to take a statement and other materials from a Viet Cong member at Zuo Guan Hospital.

After Huy left, Nguyen Van Sinh told me that because Zuo Guan Hospital was a hospital with close ties to the Saigon Police General Department, almost all of the windows in the special wards were equipped with strong bars and guarded by police officers, and the people they received were mainly VC patients or wounded sent by the Police General Department.

“New, if I were to ask you to prepare a pair of Empty Pregnancy Catalyst for me, I’m sure you wouldn’t refuse, right?” I asked, purposely pretending to be unconcerned as I picked up one of the pill bottles on the table and fiddled with it.

Hearing my words, he froze slightly, but immediately put on a smile and said, “It was that dancer from Dodagu who told you that, wasn’t it?”

I nodded : “I don’t think you’re going to drown her in a sack for that yet.” I said to him with an intentionally aggravated tone.

“I wouldn’t do that, but it’s up to you to decide if you think she’s really worth anything as to what kind of punishment she’ll get.”

“You mean it’s possible that the owner of Dodagu is punishing the dancers who leaked his use of sex drugs on prostitutes to others, right?”

He didn’t answer positively, but only assured me that he wouldn’t tell Deok Hwan, the owner of the Dodagu Dance Arena, about it.

“As you know, it is illegal to give this drug to women. But in Saigon, almost every brothel can get a variety of aphrodisiacs from abroad. After I told Duc Hwan about this endocrine booster applied to livestock in casual conversation, he offered to pay me well. So I spent some time utilizing the formula for veterinary drug injections and managed to formulate this airborne fertility agent for use in women, adding the right amount of chorionic gonadotropic and other drugs.”

He picked up a recipe for the drug from the table and showed it to me.

“This drug can have very strong side effects and can even destroy a good girl.” I told him how Doyla felt.

“I know the kind of ‘nice girls’ you mean.” He said wryly, “The side effect of this drug is that you can’t really get pregnant again, and that’s perfect for the women at the Dodagu dance floor, so they’ll be happy with every customer at all times without having to worry about conceiving a child. Teh Huan told me that after the dancers of the Tatagook injected with this empty pregnancy catalyst, the customers suddenly doubled, so that he had to recruit through the Greenwood gang another fifteen well-trained Malay belly dance dancers.”

“I’ve heard a lot about this organization, the Greenwood Gang, does it specialize in trafficking women and such?”

“No, they’re just handlers. Almost all the prostitutes in Saigon are handled by them and sent to brothels or nightclubs, from which they get some kind of honorarium, which, as far as I know, amounts to about a thousand dollars.”

“So do you ever collect this kind of honorarium?” I asked.

“I only sell drugs to them for fifteen hundred dollars per milliliter.” He picked up another vial containing a white crystalline powder and added: “You know, although I work in a hospital, I live on a shoestring.”

I stood up and said to him, “If you have been deceiving me up to now, and making up excuses that can only fool the likes of Dehwan, I am very sorry, for I came to you as a friend, and not to try to get information about you. If you think it necessary to keep this secret, I am not bound to know about it.”

He looked at me in surprise, his face flushed a little, and still insisted, “Hal, how can you say I’m cheating on you?”

“New,” I laid out his formula and vials in front of him: “Even though I know nothing about medicine, I do know how much they cost after all. If you’re claiming that you’re making extra money out of it, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to recoup the cost of getting it. How can this make people believe?”

My words obviously struck a chord with him. He hesitated for a long time and then asked me to keep the matter strictly confidential.

I promised him and promised to try to help him as much as I could within the limits of what was allowed.

“It sounds very simple.” He said, “Since Viet Cong terrorists have been operating everywhere since 1959, even in the city there have been frequent violent incidents, and even the safety of police officers has been threatened. Last year’s sweeps and raids resulted in some arrests, but they refused to reveal the Vietcong organization. A few years ago, the police could get them to confess by simply torturing them, however, now more and more people are being arrested and put in jail, so their attitude is becoming more and more stubborn, and some of them refuse to speak a word even to the point of death.”

“I remember that Colonel Fai was very good at dealing with them.” I said, “Before President Wu Tingyan was assassinated, I witnessed how he made the prisoners confess in the police station’s interrogation room.”

Nguyen Van Sinh shook his head, showing disdain and said: “That guy Huy thought he could achieve his goal with torture, but it turned out not to be the case. Especially female prisoners, they have adapted to the whip. Nowadays, every police station is equipped with electrocution equipment, but sometimes they still can’t make them confess, even if they can’t stand the pain, they just talk nonsense, so the police arrested a lot of innocent people. In response to this, the Ministry of Intelligence instructed me to develop a drug that would make people tell the truth in a psychedelic state. This experiment was conducted in secret, and at first we used cocaine and other hallucinogens, but soon stopped using them because they were too costly. Now the use of air-pregnant cataplexy, improved from veterinary drugs, is not a very desirable drug either, and only recently have I added some knockout hormones and resuscitators to the formula. The kind injected by the Dodagu dancers, however, is the former formula, and once that drug is used it produces non-stop milk and causes intermittent hyper-eroticism. According to Dehwan, the dancers all secreted a lot of milk after injecting the drug for some time, and the effect was very obvious.”

“Is that kind of mass secretion harmful to one’s health?”

“It is possible, I had Dehwan fixed to measure the milk secreted by a dancer every day, and the results showed that at the initial stage of the use of the Empty Pregnancy Lactation Agent, a woman could produce about five hundred milliliters of milk per day, whereas after ten days there was a gradual increase, and it has now reached one liter and seven hundred milliliters, and the size of her breasts has obviously increased by more than two times. If injections are given regularly, milk production and development of the mammary glands will continue. This will require food with sufficient calories as a supplement, otherwise dehydration may result to the point of being dangerous.”

He told me that the purpose of Huy’s visit to Saigon was to attend a meeting of the Political Warfare Committee of the Directorate of Security, the purpose of which was to rid the central provinces of Vietcong elements, especially those involved in terrorist propaganda and local “moderates”. The meeting was held in secret due to opposition from the former First Military Region and some U.S. Army generals in Da Nang. The meeting decided to transfer all political prisoners in Quang Tri province to Hue and execute those in Hoi An prison as soon as possible. Nguyen Van Sinh was ordered to be in Hue by August to assist Huy in the “urban pacification” process.

On August 2, I arrived in Da Nang aboard the South Vietnamese Navy’s King Hindoos II tank landing craft and then changed trains for Hue City.

In the gray, three-story building of the Hue City Police Department, I met Nguyen Van Sinh, who had arrived there a day earlier, dressed in a special police officer’s uniform with a major’s epaulettes and a white armed belt around his waist. He was surprised to see me and took me to an office with an air-conditioning unit.

I explained to him that I had come to Hue this time because I was personally interested in his drug trials and asked his permission to show me the whole interrogation. He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. I took out the fake certificate I had been issued and showed it to him, explaining that initially I was going to Bangkok for a vacation but finally decided to come to Hue. He had no choice but to ask me to wait for a moment and turned to leave the room.

A few minutes later, Nguyen Van Tan walked in with Huy. They welcomed me to Hue and readily agreed to let me visit their upcoming special interrogation. However, they had one condition: they could only disclose the results of the trial to the outside world, and the drug trial must be kept strictly confidential. I agreed to their conditions with little thought.

That afternoon they interrogated Do Thi Quynh, a member of the Viet Cong National Liberation Front’s (VCNLF) Women’s Liberation Committee for Thanh Tinh Province, who had been captured a few days earlier. Phuong told me that Do Thi Thanh was only 24 years old, but that she held an important position in the Vietcong and had been responsible for the attack on the “strategic village” in western Thanh Tien province. The raid was coordinated by Laos’ Parasit Abe’s forces. The raid was carried out from Liaobao to Khe Sanh in Quang Tri province with the cooperation of Lao Pallasi Abbé’s troops. The special police unit led by Huy surrounded the VC-occupied town of Doi Luu, 20 kilometers south of Khe Sanh. After five hours of fierce gun battles, the VC evacuated the town, while Do Thi Lo and three other guerrillas, male and female, who were too late to evacuate, took refuge in a brick kiln factory. The owner of the brick kiln, a former chairman of the commune council, immediately reported the situation to the police. Phuy ordered the police to use tear gas on the brick kiln, and before the Viet Cong could return fire, masked police poured into the kiln and arrested them.

Torture room No. 5 is located in the basement of the backyard of the Hue City Police Station. It used to be a French wine kiln of about thirty meters in size, with gray masonry surrounding the walls and thick, slippery green flogging in many places. On the pillars, torture racks and iron beams of the torture room, there were various kinds of torture instruments and ropes for hanging prisoners, and an electric lamp with a green shade emitted a dim and gloomy light.

The metal door of the torture room opened and two bare-chested, shorts-clad police officers brought in Du’s love, whose hands were tied behind her back.

When I first met Do Thi Thang, I could hardly believe that a young girl like that was the Viet Cong terrorist that Phuong had described, because what stood in front of me was not one of the ragged, pimply-faced Vietnamese women I often saw attacking U.S. soldiers with grenades at the Saigon police station; she wasn’t one of the burly, powerful heroines who strafed the sweeps with their sub-machine guns.

Do Thi Thanh is a very voluptuous and soft Vietnamese girl with a pair of beautiful eyes, long eyelashes, and soft lips slightly pouting, looking as if she is vomiting with someone. Although her face was very dirty, but still make people feel her clear skin. She was not tall, her long black hair fell past her hips, one plump breast was exposed from her torn third wife’s dress, and her wide black pants were covered with dust, half hiding her bare feet.

Fai began the interrogation. He first asked Du Thi Siang her name, and she immediately gave a false name without thinking. At this point, the owner of the brick kiln factory, who was standing nearby, exposed her lie and told of her activities in Duru. He said that Do’s love had captured and killed his brother one day a few months ago and threw his brother’s body into the streets of Tulu because his brother had arrested her father while he was a police officer. In addition, the factory owner said that Do, together with her husband, who had secretly sneaked back to Duru from the north, had planned and led the attack on the nearby strategic village.

“He’s telling the truth, right?” Fai asked, pointing at the factory owner.

Du’s love nodded, and looked at the factory owner with great contempt; at the same time, I noticed that she also glanced at the various instruments of torture that were placed around her.

Phuy told her that the police had information that she was a member of the Vietcong Women’s Committee in Thanh Tinh Province, and that if she would cooperate with the government by telling them where other Vietcongs were hiding, she would be released immediately and not be held accountable for the crimes she had previously committed.

Duchess D’Amour remained silent on the other issues, except for admitting what the factory owner had said. When I saw that Hui was ready to torture her, I went over to her and advised her, saying, “You are very young, and the government will forgive you, so don’t worry that the government will sanction you if you speak out. I can personally guarantee that if you tell everything you know, your safety and freedom will be guaranteed immediately, and you will also be offered a job in the government.”

Apparently she was very surprised to hear an American speaking Vietnamese, however she quickly regained her calm demeanor.

She said to me loudly, “Why did you come to Vietnam to interrogate me instead of the United States?”

I explained to her that the Americans had come to give aid at the request of the Government of the Republic of Viet Nam, and that she and her associates were assassinating government officials and engaging in sabotage, which was a criminal act in every sense of the word. However, she did not listen to my advice, but instead reproached me with the words of the Vietcong leaflets and expressed her hatred of me with spittle.

Fai grabbed her by the hair and slapped her hard. She staggered to a standstill, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, her white cheeks quickly swelling. She stubbornly stood there with her chest up, glaring at us with hatred.

“Con giang ha!” (Son of a bitch) Fai viciously cursed her with very ugly words and threatened to beat her to death in the torture chamber. Do Thi Siang fearlessly rebuked Phuy in the same vein and declared that the Viet Cong would come to avenge her, so that a severe torture could no longer be avoided.

At Fai’s command, the two policemen grabbed the ropes binding Do Thi Siang and began to pull down her pants. Do struggled fiercely, cursing them and dragging the two policemen to the ground with her.

Vietnamese women tend to use elastic waistbands for their pants rather than belts, so the two policemen quickly stripped Do Thi Siang of her pants and pantaloons, and then ripped the already tattered clothes off of her.

Du’s love curled up on the damp ground floor, trying to block her breasts with her legs as much as possible, her eyes staring at us in horror. Fai ordered the two policemen to pull her up and forced her to stand naked, humiliating her with many nasty words. Do’s love flushed red with shame and cursed as she struggled in the grip of the two policemen, only to fall down again.

The two policemen held her down, secured her feet apart in two iron hoops on the floor, tied her hands in front of her again, pulled a chain down from the beam to hook the ropes that bound her hands, and yanked on the pulley.

Du’s love’s arms were pulled up little by little, and her body gradually straightened up, and in the end she could no longer wriggle.

Phuy looked at the naked Vietnamese woman immobilized in the middle of the torture chamber and rubbed his hand over her body to elicit insults to her self-esteem. He slapped Do Thi Quynh’s stomach with abandon, digging his fingers into her navel, and mockingly said that the Viet Cong would never know that she would be standing naked like this in that secret torture room, and would never come to avenge her; but she would be locked up there for a long time, and would have to endure all sorts of tortures every day, until she died silently and no one would ever know about it.

Seeing this, I turned and walked out. This kind of dirty interrogation was really disgusting. However, when I came to another torture room, I saw almost the same situation: the police were ruthlessly beating the hanged female prisoner with a cane whip; the male prisoner on the torture bed had his pants stripped off, and a police officer was using a red-hot iron bar to sear his penis. The male prisoner was screaming at the top of his voice, sweat dripping down his body, and an unpleasant burnt odor filled the torture room. This brutal scene reminded me of the torture and killing that went on everywhere before President Wu Tingyan was assassinated.

I exited that torture room and lit a paper cigarette. At that moment, the agonizing screams of Du Thi Sheng were heard from the fifth interrogation room. I knew they were torturing her. When I thought of her being immobilized naked in the center of the torture room, the means used by Fai was self-evident. At the time, I would have preferred Fai to have immediately injected Do Thi Siang with the kind of empty-pregnant lactic stimulant that, even though brutal, is different from bloody torture, rather than see him stick long needles through Do Thi Siang’s nipples into her breasts or brand her pussy with a red-hot iron, as the Vietnamese police often did. That kind of torture, used in the Middle Ages, was gruesome.

Du Shixiang’s screams gradually became hoarse from shrill, and later, only intermittent moans and gasps remained. After a short interval, Fai did not know what kind of torture device was used on her, causing her miserable screams to become unusually harsh.

She pulled in a long, shuddering scream that was creepy. I threw away my paper cigarette, pushed open the door to torture room five and walked in.

The red wire indicating the voltage of the electrocution controller on the torture room table was rising, and one end of each of the two wires was wrapped around each of Du’s love’s two erect nipples. The electric current passed through her two nipples, causing the flesh on her body to twitch incessantly, and whenever the current intensified, her body recoiled and her head tilted backward; her face was pale, sweat seeped out of her body, and her hair stuck to her face. Fai and Nguyen Van Sinh were not moved by her agonized appearance. In fact, they didn’t even think of her as a woman of flesh and blood, just waiting impassively for the confession they hoped to receive.

“If you don’t speak up, I’ll make you do this insufferable dance every moment until you break.” Fai threatened her.

Du’s love was obviously a very strong-willed girl, and despite the fact that she was dying from the pain, she did not show any sign of giving in. Her mouth was wide open, her lips trembling, and the muscles in her face twisted with pain. When Hui increased the current, her body jerked upright and recoiled, and her eyes rolled upwards.

Sometimes Fai turned off the power, let her wake up for a while and then put the current back on. He brutalized the poor woman like a motorized toy, making her squirm and scream.

Gradually, Du’s love’s cries turned into desperate hisses, hardly resembling the sound made by a human being. Her screams disappeared, her head hung feebly to her chest, sweat rolled down her body like dewdrops, and it was obvious that she had fainted.

“Why don’t you use the drugs you have prepared?” I asked.

Fai smiled at me. “That method doesn’t get a confession right away, it takes a long time. That’s why we ended up trying it with various torture devices first.”

He ordered the policemen to dismantle Du’s love and carry her to a board with holes on all sides, then insert her limbs into the holes and tie them with ropes, and then put a thick board under her buttocks so that she would lie there on her back. A policeman poured cold water on her to revive her.

Du’s love was already too weak to speak, just panting heavily and moaning in pain.

Fai intimidated her with very nasty words and inserted a special iron rod with a probe at the front end into Du’s love’s lower body.

I later learned that it was an electric shock device made by the United States for the South Vietnamese police to deal with female prisoners. Once inserted, it can be inserted into a woman’s uterus, and when the metal probe is charged, the uterus will produce violent convulsions, so that female prisoners will feel more intense than the labor pains, and their internal organs will be throbbing with the pain like acid.

This type of electric shock device was delivered to the South Vietnamese Police in 1965, and it was said that there had been a case in which a female prisoner had been electrocuted due to prolonged use of the device. However, it was the first time for me to witness the use of such a device on a female prisoner.

Fai connects the power source to the exposed socket of the taser and walks over to the current controller. He told Du’s love that this torture device was much more powerful than the other electrocution, and advised her not to confess what she should have confessed long ago after she had suffered so much.

Du’s love did not answer, and her open lips were tightly closed. It seemed that she had already realized the torture she was about to suffer and was determined to overcome the physical pain.

The red light on the current controller came on, and Du’s love suddenly widened her eyes, her body recoiled backwards, and a whimpering moan escaped her mouth; as the current increased, the backs of her feet tensed, her wrists reversed, and the flesh around her stomach and thighs shifted from intermittent twitching to very fast-paced spasms. She trailed off a long, shrill scream, her eyes almost glazed over.

I had Fai turn off the power temporarily to give her a little time to recover.

“I’ll tell… everything… to… all of you.” It was clear that Do Thi Siang was on the verge of breaking down, and she tried her best to speak clearly: “I, ouch… say… pull it out…”

We were glad to see that she had given in, and Phuong went over to her and leaned over her face and said, “If you had done that, you wouldn’t have suffered so much. Tell me, where are the other VC cadres hiding?”

Still moaning, Du’s love didn’t answer right away and her eyes were closed. Fai broke her eyelids with her fingers, urging her to speak quickly. She strained to turn her head to the side. Gasping for breath, she said, “Comrades, will definitely avenge me.”

Fai punched Du’s love-covered sweaty chest heavily and unscrewed the power again.

This cruel electrocution lasted until four o’clock in the afternoon. Du’s love was no longer capable of screaming, her whole body lay limp on the torture bed, panting heavily, sweat pooled underneath her into a large wet stain, and only when Hui passed the electric current did she let out a faint moan of pain.

For more than an hour, Duchess Love endured the most brutal torture ever inflicted on a woman’s sexual organs. Although on several occasions she expressed her intention to confess when she was in excruciating pain, she nevertheless became tough again as soon as she was given a little time to recover from the two electric shocks.

On many occasions, I have witnessed the unparalleled fortitude of Vietnamese women when they are tortured, especially when brutal police officers inflict barbaric punishments on their distinctive female body parts, which they are able to endure with greater determination and perseverance than women of any other ethnic group in the world, and with absolutely no betrayal of their beliefs, even when they plead with each other in extreme pain.

Fai finally stopped the pointless torture. She had Nguyen Van Sin inject Du Thi Siang with a high dose of empty pregnancy catalyst, then ordered the police to untie the already fainting Du Thi Siang from the bed and carry her to the cell.

“This kind of woman is the hardest to deal with.” Fai wiped the sweat from the corner of her forehead and said hopelessly, “Even teenage girls have become extremely stubborn now.”

During the torture of Do Thi Sang, Nguyen Van Sinh remained silent, sitting impassively in his chair and watching every step of the process. At this point, he stood up and came over and said, “The hard way of dealing with women poisoned by the Vietcong ideology won’t work. In the battle of ‘Sanyang’, we caught six VC women cadres, one by one, cut their flesh and chopped out their livers, but the result was still ineffective. Therefore, we must now first strike them mentally, so that their spirits will collapse first, and then we will use torture, and they will feel unable to endure it at that time. Without self-respect, they will soon confess.”

“So, does the drug you use fundamentally turn them into sluts?” I asked.

“The purpose of using drugs is to make them lose their self-esteem.” Nguyen Van Sinh said, “When they are unable to restrain that strong unending urge for lust, their will will collapse little by little, and soon they will become what you call ‘slutty women’.”

“But you should not be too confident.” I said, “Because I know that Vietnamese women are strong-willed, so they may not be able to be driven by lust even after being injected with drugs.”

Nguyen Van Sinh showed an undoubted look: “I am very sure about this. After injecting this drug, their breasts will feel hot, and there will be unbearable itching around their nipples and in their pussy, so they can only scratch with their hands uncontrollably, thus allowing them to stimulate their own sexual desire. By the time the drug takes effect, mucus will flow out involuntarily, causing them to gradually reach a state of exuberance, and finally leading to masturbation and insanity. A woman is able to endure all kinds of skin and flesh pains, but it is absolutely impossible to restrain such lasting sexual exuberance. Especially when the milk will be secreted in large quantities later on, even if they want to endure the pain and not discharge the milk, they will not be able to achieve the result of returning to the breast as in the case of ordinary women who have given birth to a child; on the contrary, they will secrete even more milk, which will cause her mammary glands to swell up extremely, resulting in bursting pain, which is simply intolerable. They are therefore compelled to express their milk from time to time, and the frequent action of emptying their breasts psychologically makes them doubt their own dignity, so that I am a great believer in this medicine.”

The next morning at about 10 a.m., I accompanied Fai and Nguyen Van Sinh to the cell where Do Thi Thang was being held.

It was a narrow single cell of only about five square meters, with no windows or beds, and if the cell door was closed it would be pitch black inside. Du Shixiang was huddled in the corner wearing the tattered black clothes, with her disheveled hair covering most of her face. The light from outside caused her eyes to glaze over. She obviously hadn’t recovered yet, her whole body was limp and weak, and her bare feet were bitten by mosquitoes with many blue and purple lumps.

“Stand up!” Fai ordered as she walked over and kicked her with her foot.

Du’s love used her hands to support her body, and then held onto the wall and stood up with difficulty. Her expression reveals that she is enduring great pain, her arms and legs are trembling, but she bites her lips and restrains herself, following us with difficult steps to torture room number five.

She looked exhausted and stood silently at the interrogation table with her head hanging down. I noticed that she went to rub her breasts with her wrists several times, apparently due to drug-induced nipple itching.

Fai walked over to her, tapped her on the shoulder, and asked her how she’d thought the problem through. She shifted slightly and didn’t answer.

Fai paced back and forth in the interrogation room: “I know it’s hard for you, but if you won’t confess, I’ll just have to find another way to deal with you. I have a variety of ways to make you collapse, yesterday you tasted the taste is just the beginning, and you will have to taste more than that every day, to try all the instruments of torture. When you have had enough of your sins, I will kill you here, and no one will know, no one will avenge you.”

Fai threatened Du Thi Siang with all kinds of horrible words and told her about the torture of female prisoners. In order to confirm his words, she asked the police to bring in a young woman and stripped her naked in front of Du Thi Ching. The young woman had been tortured beyond recognition, her body was bruised and battered, several wounds had turned septic, a barbed fishhook was attached to each of her nipples, and empty perfume bottles were hanging from her.

The police dragged the young woman to a bucket and forced her to drink the dirty water in the bucket. When she could not drink any more, two policemen pressed her down and held her by the hair and filled her with water.

The young woman lay semi-conscious on the ground, her belly distended, her limbs stretched out helplessly, moaning in agony. The police dragged her up and tied her back to a post, and beat her bulging belly viciously with a long bamboo board, water spilling out of her mouth and anus with each stroke, until she fainted.

When the torture was over, Fai ordered the police to drag the young woman back to her cell.

“Have you thought about it?” Fai asked, staring at Du, a dagger in her hand, “Do you want to feel that way every day?”

Du’s love didn’t raise her head, as if she didn’t even see what she just saw. “Even if you kill me, I won’t tell you!” She said in a low voice yet very firmly.

Hui smiled wryly: “Do you think we will let you die so painfully? Before you die, we want to give you a taste of all kinds of pain, slowly torturing you, so that you confessed to yourself.”

“It seems that this VC bitch is very sick.” He said to Nguyen Van Sinh: “Let’s treat her first.”

Do Thi Love no longer had the strength to put up a fight, and Phuy and Nguyen Van Thinh dragged her to the torture bed and injected her with potent empty-pregnancy prolactin.

From that day on, they injected Du and the two female guerrillas arrested with her twice a day with empty pregnancy prolactin, and oozed oral megestrol, which promotes breast development, posterior pituitary preparations, which cause uterine paroxysms, and stimulants into the food and drinking water served to them. At the same time, they are regularly taken to the torture chamber under the pretext of interrogation to check the reactions and effects of the drugs.

As expected, these women, who had demonstrated perseverance during the torture, showed signs of fear and anxiety every time they were brought to the interrogation room after being injected with the drug. Although they tried their best to suppress their sexual urges, they could not control their expressions and movements. They hung their heads low, their faces flushed, their legs were tightly clenched together, and they tried their best to look calm and collected.

This situation pleased Huy and Nguyen Van Tan. They began to increase the dosage of the drug, and every day they took them to the interrogation room and even outside to humiliate them, with a few policemen watching from time to time.

Soon they could hardly contain themselves any longer. They were already showing great frustration, despite their tenacity not to speak of the Vietcong in a slip of the tongue.

One night in mid-August, Do Thi Quy was again taken to the torture chamber. This time, in addition to the injections and abuse she had received in the past, five rough and brutal Vietnamese police officers were waiting for her.

In order to conduct a good first interrogation in half a month. Nguyen Van Sinh added ergot infusion, which causes uterine spasms and contractions, to Duc Thi Siang’s daily diet. However, when Do Thi Ai discovered that they were using aphrodisiacs on her, she began to resist the food and water they gave her. As a result, Fai and Nguyen Van Tan had to force her to eat by threatening her with electric shocks every day.

Du’s love had been enduring severe pain with great fortitude, refusing to express her milk, forcing Fai to send two policemen to empty both her breasts with a breast pump every three hours.

At lunch that day, Do Thi Siang realized that there was a thick creamy substance in her diet and dumped the meal by the door. Fai ordered two policemen to grab her by the hair and break open her mouth to force-feed her. Do Thi Siang struggled and cried, her milk soaked her clothes in the squeezing, and she was finally dosed with the drug-laced food by the powerful policemen.

Due to days of rain, the fifth torture room emitted a damp and stifling odor. Under the electric light, Du’s love had been stripped naked and rebound to the post, her fat breasts straining forward and quivering as she squirmed, her two dark brown nipples hard and erect almost an inch high, and the surrounding areolas bulging out of her breasts.

Fai parted her long hair that hung down to her hips and wrapped it around the back of the post and tied it securely so that her head couldn’t bob from side to side, and then began to rub his hands back and forth over her nipples, insulting her in an extremely nasty way.

“We should gather these VC women together to start a human milk company,” Phuong said, insulting Du Thi Siang, “and then take out their milk to make powdered milk for export, or in exchange for bombers.” He took Du Thi Sang’s heavy breasts in his hands and shook them: “If you don’t come clean, we have a way to eliminate the Vietcong, but you’ll have to be locked up like a milk goat, with the police squeezing your milk out of you every day. In the future, I’m going to let you prostitute yourself here, and put a sign on the door, so a lot of people will come here.”

Du’s love apparently didn’t hear Fai’s threat, and the intense swelling caused her to cringe and moan in agony.

She was no longer the strong VC cadre she had been, the effects of the drug had impeded her consciousness, and at this point she had no control over her sanity other than a strong desire for that perverted necessity.

Then I saw one of the most brutal scenes of the Vietnamese police torturing a woman prisoner. The scene was a manifestation of the most extreme behavior of people who are destroying the flesh of their fellow human beings: five burly Vietnamese policemen stripped off their clothes in front of me without any sense of shame, and surrounded the poor woman, insulting her nastily while taking turns to come forward to rape her.

Du Thi Ai’s face rose to a reddish-purple color, her expression was unusually agitated, and she moaned loudly with her eyes in a trance, trying her best to swing her head which was pulled by her hair. However, at that moment, Hui was sitting indifferently at the interrogation table, issuing queries to her from time to time while recording the delirious words uttered by Du Thi Siang in her exuberance.

I don’t know how long it took, but Du’s love’s moans gradually weakened, and the last policeman laughed as he walked away from her.

After the strong onset of the drug and its satisfaction, Do Thi Siang regained her senses and realized this “special interrogation” by Huy. She shed tears and stared angrily at Fai and Nguyen Van Thinh, who were directing her ravishment.

Phuong stood up in disbelief, holding the record material in front of her eyes: “You have taken the initiative to tell where the Vietcong are hiding.” He said: “If you are willing to write a letter of repentance now, you can immediately not be this kind of crime. I promise to send you to the hospital for treatment and then release you.”

Du tried to move her head, but was pulled back by her tightly bound hair. She angrily rebuked Fai for the dastardly tactics he had employed, cursing him as a nasty villain. Yet none of this could undo the important circumstances that had leaked out during her hyperactive delirium.

“It looks like you must have gotten yourself killed.” Fai smiled cruelly.

He had Nguyen Van Sin inject her with a potent dose of oxycodone, then ordered the five policemen to untie Do Thi Siang from the pillar and take her to another torture room to continue the ravishment.

“Although the purpose was achieved,” I said to Teru, “don’t you think this method is too much? She’s a defenseless woman, after all!”

Fai put the material into a file bag, then looked up at me. “She’s killed three village chiefs!” Fai said without indignation, “It’s not too much to ask that we treat her this way. She wasn’t a ‘defenseless woman’ when she commanded the VCs to kill local officials. If you had fallen into her hands, I’m sure she would have killed you with even more brutality than we did. And I’ve seen many officers and soldiers killed by them, and it didn’t look any better than it does today. All the bodies were mutilated by the Viet Cong, using that method to terrorize other government officials and soldiers. In doing that, they were very skillful in taking the point of view of the civilian population at large, so that the civilians even understood their killings, while the government officials and soldiers who were killed were often subjected to fabricated, yet easily believable, ‘crimes’ by the civilians. At the time, it seemed as if the killing of government officials by civilians was laudable and the government had to stand by and do nothing. Indeed, this view was very inflammatory among most civilians.”

As for the imposition of penal laws that are at least contrary to civilization on captured enemies, as was done by Huy and Nguyen Van Sin, experimenting on them with drugs and other human-invented ways of inflicting self-harm on human beings and deriving monstrous self-satisfaction from them, this is a common practice in all walks of life, including within the Communist Party, which claims itself to be a people’s party. Extreme imbalances in the development of the human mind appear at all times (especially when objectively permitted) on all occasions at all times. The acts they commit are morally reprehensible, but the problem is that there are cases where we cannot, or do not want to, condemn them as such, because they are the ones who are doing the work for us, and doing it to the best of their ability. This is despite the fact that they themselves are plagued from time to time by many unavoidable flaws and faults.

If we should condemn Huy and Nguyen Van Tan, should we not do the same for those who invent more lethal and even destructive nuclear and chemical weapons, and those who manufacture more universal instruments of human torture, such as electrocution, rubber suits, shackles, etc.?

What happened at the Hue police station is only one part of the intertwining of barbarism and civilization that is happening and will continue to happen in the world at every moment. Many good people have tried to stop that kind of thing by all means, but they have failed, and the mutilation of mankind itself is still very much in the air, ridiculing the modern civilization that we are so proud of and the unfounded optimism that we have.

On November 15, 1969, a massive anti-war demonstration broke out in Washington, D.C., attended by 300,000 people, leading to the decision of President Richard B. President Richard Nixon decided to withdraw American troops from the Republic of Vietnam. A year later, presidential aide Henry Kissinger began secret talks with the North Vietnamese. Kissinger began secret meetings with the North Vietnamese.

During this period, President Nguyen Van Thieu’s control became even weaker, with three-fifths of the land having been lost, to the extent that a “Provisional Revolutionary Government of the Republic of the South”, which was effectively controlled by the North Vietnamese, emerged in the south in opposition to it. Order in Saigon was again in chaos, as it had been in the mid-1950s, with shootings, robberies, rapes and arson becoming more frequent.

Everywhere in Saigon seemed to be on alert. Barbed wire and gasoline barrels painted white surrounded hotels and other buildings, and soldiers wandered the streets or rested against sandbags that served as barricades. In the evening, there was never enough voltage, and at the best of times the light bulbs gave out only about half the wattage of light, and most people at night relied on this dim light for their meals and conversation.

Outside of Saigon, there were frequent nighttime attacks on government troops by small groups of Viet Cong, and I saw pathetic signs alongside some of the fields that said, “Please avoid fighting in the fields if at all possible!”

On one occasion, the bus I was traveling on was stopped by Viet Cong elements. They herded the passengers into the jungle, taxed them and lectured them on the Party’s communist doctrine. I lied about being a French teacher and was herded as a civilian into the woods with the others to listen to their lecture. The Vietcong lecturer waved his arms excitedly and mechanically repeated the words of a Vietcong leaflet from a few years earlier, calling on the shivering passengers to “unite and fight imperialism!” Like other Vietcong, he always cursed the United States for trying to colonize Vietnam.

In contrast, Saigon’s sex industry has lost its prosperity, with foreign tourists avoiding the gun-ridden land and flocking to Thailand or Malaya or other countries. The prostitutes who used to work in the sex industry are now struggling to stay afloat even for 50 South Vietnamese dollars.

I met Velvet, the stripper from the Dodagu barroom, downtown near Fat Yan Road. She looked fatter than a few years ago, her fat breasts fluttering under her clothes, her face still wearing heavy evening makeup. She told me that despite the unstable times, she was able to maintain her income because she had been injecting herself with empty pregnancy catalysts, which still held a strong attraction for men. When I asked about Doyla, Velvet thought for a moment and then told me that Doyla had been recruited to a nightclub in Hong Kong three years ago.

The empty-pregnancy lactation drug that Duc Thi Love once refused to take was still circulating in Saigon and was very expensive, but prostitutes were competing with each other by automatically injecting the drug to compete with her prostitutes, and many young girls who hadn’t yet reached puberty had even suffered complications as a result of injecting the drug.

Gradually, the Saigonese gave the prostitutes, who prostituted themselves by injecting them with empty breast milk, the crude name of “de sua” (milk goat). The prostitutes did not seem to resent this, knowing the allure of the name for men. To visualize this, they often intentionally wet the bodice of their dresses, while their juice-filled breasts quivered elastically. Later, more de suas appeared in Saigon, to the extent that the name de sua was blatantly written on the windows of some cold drink stores.

However, what all the de sua feared most was not the police and thugs, but the soldiers with loaded guns. Soldiers who were about to go to the front felt uncertain about their future and their lives, so when they passed through Saigon, they went around looking for fun. They learned from the veterans that de sua were some milk-producing prostitutes, so they searched for those girls, and instead of giving de sua any payment, they tortured them, even took them to the front line and never saw them come back, and those who did not obey or resisted were inevitably killed by cruelty.

On one of the hottest days in April 1972, a large number of soldiers were gathered on Tran Quoc Zan Boulevard on their way to the front. I saw those barbaric soldiers strip six young de sua naked and make them board an MGC military truck with a canopy, barefoot and hairless. The six de sua’s bulging breasts trembled as they walked, and the youngest among them was only about ten years old. There were many onlookers, and even a few Vietnamese officers stood by the side of the road leisurely watching the savage soldiers take the de sua to the front.

Velvet told me about the tragic story of a de sua.

The girl was caught by soldiers outside her home. Five soldiers took her back to her home to ravage her, then pointed a gun at her grandfather, who was in his sixties, and ordered, “Old man, rape your granddaughter now!”

The old man was forcibly undressed and climbed on top of his granddaughter, who had already been tortured by the soldiers, until the soldiers left, satisfied. However, one night, a few days later, the soldiers broke into the de sua’s home and took her away, never to return. She was seen being pulled into a military truck and taken to the front.

During the last years of the war in Vietnam, the Saigon City Police still patrolled the streets every day, but it was just routine, and they did not even pay attention to thieves. I was told by a Vietnamese policeman working in the police station that many of them were disillusioned with the war and believed that Saigon would sooner or later fall into the hands of the Vietcong army, so they tried to keep a future for themselves as much as possible.

At 10:00 a.m. on January 28, 1973, a temporary cease-fire was established between South and North Vietnam. Following the withdrawal of the last American military personnel from Vietnam on March 23, the North Vietnamese government made an apparent welcoming gesture on April 1 and immediately released five hundred and ninety American prisoners of war.

The year that followed was unusually quiet, with the first era of “peace” since the French Expeditionary Force left Indochina in 1959. However, that “peace” was characterized by a terrifying silence.

As a nominal civilian, I entered the U.S. Embassy in March 1975 after the Viet Cong army launched a major offensive. President Nguyen Van Thieu had ordered his troops to retreat and regroup in an attempt to strengthen them, and that retreat turned into an unstoppable, total rout in a matter of moments.

On April 21, President Nguyen Van Thieu announced his resignation speech on the radio and on April 23, he fled to Taiwan by plane.

Eight days later, on April 29, as the guns of the Vietcong army began their assault on the outskirts of Saigon, I left Saigon by helicopter, along with U.S. Embassy personnel and 1,000 Americans.

On April 30, the re-installed President Duong Van Minh (who had served as president for several months following an armed coup in 1963 before being ousted by another coup by General Nguyen Khanh) finally announced the proclamation of unconditional surrender over the radio, thus ending the two-decade-long history of the Republic of Vietnam.

VIII. Aftermath

After capturing Saigon on April 30, 1975, the North Vietnamese army quickly unified the rest of South Vietnam, declared Hanoi as the capital and renamed Saigon as “Ho Chi Minh City”. In the following three years, the Vietcong Government did not make any adjustments to the socio-economic structure of the southern provinces, except for putting all former military and political personnel of the Republic of Viet Nam in prisons or “re-education camps”, and even gave official promises, both verbal and written, to the Chinese, Japanese, American and other foreign businessmen operating there.

However, in March 1978, Prime Minister Pham Van Dong of the Vietcong Government, at a time when his rule and purges were relatively stable, suddenly announced a campaign to “fight capitalism” and abolish all private enterprises.

Since most of the enterprises and businesses in Vietnam were run by Chinese residents and possessed a great deal of wealth and real estate, they faced the heaviest blow. The People’s Republic of China, which had supported the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War, protested strongly and reduced or even canceled its assistance to the Viet Cong government. In 1978 alone, some 160,000 Chinese expatriates or refugees of Chinese ancestry were reportedly expelled to China.

That campaign of coercive expulsion of Chinese expatriates served as a signal for the subsequent exodus of large numbers of Vietnamese refugees, and the Viet Cong government demonstrated an unusually hard-line attitude towards all people, especially the subjugated people of the South. Indeed, the notion that the refugee problem was attributable to Vietnam’s post-war economic difficulties and deteriorating relations with the People’s Republic of China is completely paradoxical by those who do not understand Vietnam at all. The first to be expelled from Vietnam were precisely the Chinese businessmen who had been operating and producing on that land for thousands of years and who could play a very positive role in the recovery of the economy.

Of course, the expulsion of Chinese nationals was not unimportant as a turning point in the Vietcong government’s policy; like the expulsion and marginalization of French nationals in 1955, it was a revelation of the extreme xenophobia characteristic of that nation, but the Vietcong government differed from the Ngo Dinh Yen government’s expulsion of foreign nationals by expelling not its own enemies, but a two-decade-old ally who had provided it with substantial support. This time it was not its enemy, but an ally to whom it had given a great deal of support for two decades.

For the Chinese, the Vietcong government either did not have that kind of vigilance before its final victory or it hid it even deeper, because the only pillar that kept the United States from launching an attack on North Vietnam at that time, even when the war was escalating, was the communist China that stood by it. After the end of the Korean War, the Americans were reluctant to enter into a head-on conflict with Communist China and feared that the war would spread to more countries, which is why Secretary of Defense McNamara repeatedly rejected the fierce General Nguyen Khanh’s call for an all-out military attack on North Vietnam.

The expelled Chinese nationals were puzzled by this coercive measure, and before they were able to understand why the Vietcong government had suddenly gone on a rampage, all their possessions had been confiscated by Vietnamese soldiers and police in green uniforms, and most of the Chinese expatriates fled the country with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

The family of Zhou Yimao, a 32-year-old fisherman who fled across the sea to a refugee camp in Beihai, Guangxi Province, China, lives in a rural village in northern Viet Nam. Three months before he fled with his family, the Vietnamese police came to his home to inform him that, as a resident of Chinese origin (he had Vietnamese nationality), he would be arrested and sent to the “new economic zone”. This was in retaliation for Zhou Yimao’s accusation that Vietnamese fishermen had gang-raped his 27-year-old pregnant wife and beaten his three children while he was out fishing. The fisherman, who had been subjected to continuous beatings and threats, finally arrived at the refugee camps in Beihai, China, in April 1978, after two days of terrifyingly taking his wife and three children in a 20-foot-long boat along the coast of the Gulf of Tonkin.

“My father was born here.” Shigeru told Newsweek reporter Bailie Kammie, “So it’s like being in my house these days. So it’s like being in my house these days.”

The Chinese formed Zhou Yimao and nineteen other fleeing fishermen into a “production team” and provided them with a forty-foot-long sampan where they could engage in fishing. They were paid 25 yuan per month, roughly equivalent to the salary of an average worker on a Chinese state farm at the time.

“It’s not a big paycheck,” Mau said, “but I can buy a mouthful of hogs for seven dollars. Anyway, it’s more than I made in Vietnam.”

However, the Mao family’s ordeal was one of the more fortunate among the hundreds of thousands of refugees who fled Vietnam. Thirty-nine-year-old Lang Chon Anh, one of more than 1,500 refugees from the Ganzhuang Forest Farm in China’s Yunnan Province, sixty kilometers from the Vietnamese border, tells an even more tragic story of the brutal persecution of Chinese expatriates by the Vietcong government.

Anh, a former officer in the Vietcong army, says he has no idea whether his ancestry is in China. When he returned to his coastal hometown after his discharge from the army, he was suddenly arrested by the Vietcong police and sent to a place called the “New Economic Zone”. The NEA was located in a pristine tropical forest on the border between Vietnam and Laos, with no food or shelter. The Vietnamese police sent them there and told them to find a way to survive or starve to death. Within a month of Anh’s arrival in the NEA, 20 men and women had died.

Late one night, Ann escaped that primeval forest and fled on foot across the border to the Ganzhuang Forest in China’s Yunnan Province.

“This makes it so that the forest will not get any revenue for three years.” Yu Zhihui, director of Ganzhuang Forestry, said. “We used everything we had to resettle the refugees.”

In any case, however, those who had fled to China and Hong Kong were in a much better position than those who remained in camps in Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore.

In May 1978, the Vietcong government announced that it had relocated 1.3 million urban residents to forested areas and called for 10 million more over the next 30 years. This was another large-scale clean-up campaign, following the expulsion of Chinese expatriates, which was carried out mainly in the southern cities of Saigon, Da Nang, Can Tho and My Dee, with the aim of “eliminating all kinds of bourgeois forces”.

That campaign caused extreme fear among many Vietnamese, especially citizens and businessmen living in cities and those who had just been released from “re-education camps” for having participated in various organizations of the former Government. They fled Vietnam in various ways, although their fate was fraught with peril. Nguyen Hau Hinh, a 47-year-old Saigon math teacher who fled to Thailand, said, “If we could have been in Camp 82 [in Thailand], maybe one day we would have been registered to immigrate to another country. If you’ve lived in Saigon, you’ll understand why so many people from the South are trying to escape. Even if I have to wait for three years in Refugee Camp 82, I will do it willingly.”

Like all Southeast Asian countries, the Thai government has not been as welcoming to the refugees as China has been, and the situation in refugee camp 82, sixteen miles from the Thai-Cambodian border and just north of the town of Yalan in the province of Pachin, is one of the worst of all.

It was a mud pond, smaller than a soccer field, originally designed to hold 800 people, but now home to 1900 refugees. Those who are not registered have crossed the Thai-Cambodian border, either alone or as a family, and have crowded into twenty-seven tents called “tiger holes,” leaving little room for anyone to stand.

Around the camp, on the way to the camp, there are bandits carrying out looting and disturbing activities.

They either robbed, raped or even killed people on the spot, or abducted women, especially beautiful young women who were often forcibly humped on the backs of the statues and dragged away without anyone daring to do anything about it. The great statue of the old has-been humps the people of the old has-been as they walk slowly through the ancient tropical forest. The light of the drowsy sun shines in the streams, on the riverbanks, on the grass and trees. On one side of the statue’s back hung a naked Vietnamese or Cambodian woman in the sunlight, as if they were dangling over the statue’s body asleep, moving from one side to the other, just mechanically swinging their legs in time with the statue’s body. They will be taken to the forest by bandits armed with axes and ropes.

No one knows that the business of trafficking in women is still going on in this seemingly deserted mountainous region.

The Times’ Bangkok bureau chief, David DeVos, was the first foreign correspondent to be allowed into Camp 82 by the Thai authorities. David DeVos was the first foreign correspondent to be allowed by the Thai authorities to enter refugee camp 82, and he did so with a great deal of guidance. On the trail to the border, he found two fly-covered bodies and a pair of women’s flowered pants and printed undershirt in the bushes. The two bodies had evidently been eaten by wild animals, and what was left of them was putrid. After a long period of identification, the bodies were those of an old man and a teenage boy, and the relatives with them, presumably the boy’s mother or sister, had been taken.

They must have fought back and died as a result. David DeVos was unable to bury the bodies. David DeVos was unable to bury the bodies because the odor from the decaying bodies prevented him from getting close. He could only observe and report on the scene with the telephoto lens of his camera.

In Camp 82, many people have contracted malaria or other diseases, and some have remained in camps for six to seven months. The greatest threat to their lives is food and sanitation.

There is not a single toilet in the camp, and when the rainy season arrives, the entire camp becomes a dirty and smelly sludge pond. In the hot and humid tents, where each family is separated by a single curtain, women are often raped by uninvited Thais and left unattended. 82 is loosely organized by a few refugees, and these self-defence groups are virtually useless when rapes or looting take place.

Gavin, a thirty-four-year-old woman with short hair, is unapologetic about her personal tragedy. Her husband, a former Vietcong guerrilla, had disappeared unexpectedly three years earlier. She is survived by two children aged fifteen and twelve. Before this child, according to Gavin, a girl had died of an illness. She had been living in Refugee Camp 82 for almost a year with only her two children. She could not resist the men who appeared in her bamboo bed at night, and her expression told us that she was now so used to that sort of thing that it didn’t matter any more, except that she didn’t want her daughter to suffer the same fate as she had.

However, what she had been dreading finally happened.

Worried that something would happen to her daughter, Jia Wen always kept her underage only son with his sister, and the two siblings were inseparable wherever they went. But one afternoon her son came running back alone from the outside world with a look of both fear and shame on his face. It turned out that his sister had been raped by two robbers.

When Gavin was led by her son to the stream not far from the refugee camp, her daughter, still undressed, sat frozen on a rock with her hands clasped around her knees, and the two men were long gone. Her son stood at a distance, and she slowly approached her daughter’s side. When her daughter spotted her, she hung her head tightly between her legs.

As Gavin spoke to the reporter, it was as if this hatred that had arisen in a moment was even more solid. She took her daughter to the stream to help wash the blood and dirt from between her legs. But she never expected that her daughter would soon be sleeping with Thai men on her own, selling her body for money, medicine and food. Gavin told reporters that there was nothing she could do about it because they were all daughters, “born to be women.”

The Gavin family seldom suffered from disease, and when they did, they recovered quickly because they were able to exchange their bodies for enough medicine. This is a blessing in disguise, as many refugees die tragically from malaria after a long period of time without medicines.

Gia Manh does not know what the future holds, she is neither worried nor afraid of it, she just lives instinctively. She had owned a grocery store in Saigon before arriving at Refugee Camp 82, but three years after the fall of Saigon, her personal possessions were suddenly confiscated by the Vietcong government, which threatened to send them to the “New Economic Zone”. People fled in droves, and she was eventually forced to choose this path. When asked by a reporter what she thought of the refugee camps compared to her grocery store, she said that as long as there was no Vietcong, it didn’t matter where she was as long as she was alive.

The Thai Government is very annoyed with the immigration measures of the United States, which reduced the number of incoming refugees from 168,000 in 1980 to 100,000 in 1981, the last batch of refugees, which numbered about 73,000. The Thai government claimed that they allowed those refugees to flood into Thailand because those developed countries had promised to resettle them. However, there is a limit to the number of refugees that developed countries can accommodate, such as Japan. As a result, the refugees in the camps who had not yet been resettled became “garbage” that no one wanted to accept.

However, the vast majority of refugees still look forward to being registered every day and every night. Javan is obsessed with the belief that since so many refugees have been quickly resettled in developed countries, they, too, will be accepted one day in some Western country, just like those who came before them.

What stood out in the filthy camp 82 were the many children, with their simple faces and innocent gazes; they could not understand what was happening, but they were already living in that camp as adults.

David B. DeVos met a fourteen-year-old Vietnamese boy in Camp 82 whose entire left arm had been sawed off. He told the reporter that he had been vaccinated against malaria when he was four years old, and that many of the children had been vaccinated by American doctors. However, when the Americans left, Vietcong cadres came to the village and said that the Americans had injected the children with a genocidal, extinct drug, forcing all the children who had been vaccinated to have their arms sawed off.

According to the boy, the amputated arms were piled up to the size of two graves. It was too late to realize that it was a dirty trick by the Vietcong to make the people hate the Americans.

Although there is an epidemic of various diseases in the camps and a lack of necessary food and medicine. But there are still more than eight hundred people at the border waiting to enter camp 82, because only then do they think there is any hope of escape.

On August 29, 1979, at 8:30 a.m. Manila time, the U.S. Seventh Fleet aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk began another day of rescuing “boat people” (refugees fleeing Vietnam in fishing boats or sampans) while cruising the South China Sea. The aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk began another day of rescuing “boat people” (refugees fleeing Vietnam in fishing boats or sampans).

Since Typhoon Hope claimed the lives of countless Vietnamese boat people, the navies of the United States, Italy and other Western countries have made promises to rescue the boat people. Five U.S. warships led by the guided-missile destroyer USS Parsons have been cruising back and forth in the waters of the South China Sea since August 6 and rescued 22 Vietnamese boat people in distress within a week.

“Those little boats are hard to spot,” Newsweek reporter James B. Pronghorn said. “Because it’s hard to see them with the naked eye on a radar screen. On one occasion, we spotted a small boat that appeared to be in danger and immediately went to its rescue, yet a Thai fisherman stood on the boat and held up two fish to show that nothing untoward had happened.”

If everything had been as peaceful as the Thai fisherman had indicated, our rescue efforts would not have been of much significance under ordinary conditions, but rather, as the mean-spirited Vietcong government accused us of, “for the sake of a show of force”; in fact, as we soon found out, the Vietnamese boat people encountered far fewer natural than man-made threats, and were mostly killed by pirates and Malaysian and Indonesian fishermen who went on a rampage. Most of them were killed by pirates and Malaysian and Indonesian fishermen, rather than by typhoons, reefs, collisions, etc.

Twenty-six-year-old American pilot Dan McDonald was flying a light Skorsky helicopter. Major Dan McDonald, a twenty-six year old American pilot flying a light Skolsky helicopter, spotted a white fishing boat that appeared to be in distress in the sea at 6.75 degrees north latitude and 104.6 degrees east longitude, and immediately reported the sighting to the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. A report was immediately made to the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. An hour later, the Kitty Hawk arrived. An hour later, the carrier Kitty Hawk arrived at the scene of the accident.

A south wind of seventy-six knots was blowing, the waves were rising, the sea was hazy for hundreds of miles, and heavy clouds were appearing on the distant horizon. The white motorized fishing boat, about seventy-five feet long, was clearly out of control, lurching in the wind and waves, and in danger of capsizing at any moment.

The aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk immediately contacted the white fishing boat over the loudspeaker in Vietnamese. The carrier USS Kitty Hawk immediately contacted the white fishing boat through loudspeakers in Vietnamese, but after half an hour, there was no reply. With the idea that all the refugees on the fishing boat were dead, Chief Petty Officer Cushing led fifteen Navy privates in a dinghy to approach the fishing boat.

As they got closer, the silhouette of the fishing boat became clearer. When Sgt. Cushing ordered the dinghy to pull up to the fishing boat and boarded the deck of the boat, all the men were stunned by the scene they saw: three Vietnamese women were stripped naked and tied tightly to the mast on the bow, their bodies covered with blood, their heads were down to their chests, their faces covered by their long hair, and they appeared to be already dead; there were two naked women’s bodies with their bellies ripped open, and their insides had been emptied out, filling their abdomens with flying fish. The bodies of two naked women on the deck near the wheelhouse had their bellies ripped open, their entrails emptied, and their abdominal cavities filled with flying fish. In addition, after searching the bilge, several naked female corpses and some mutilated limbs were also found.

Just as Sgt. Cushing was preparing to leave in frustration, a huge wave came over and tilted the fishing boat so hard that it almost seemed to capsize immediately. Suddenly, one of the three Vietnamese women tied to the mast moaned. Apparently there was still one survivor of the brutal killings who had not yet died.

The Vietnamese woman was tied to the highest mast rope, her legs pulled backward and upward by the rope, and judging from the large black areolas outlining her pulled breasts, she appeared to be a woman who had just given birth and was breastfeeding. The impact of the waves brought her out of her stupor. She moaned with her puffy eyes half open. Sgt. Cushing and a few soldiers climbed the mast and rescued the dying Vietnamese woman from the violent lurching and rocking.

The long hours of bondage, hunger, cold, and terror, together with the savage ravages she had received before being hoisted to the mast, rendered the boatwoman speechless. Her lips and body were blue and purple from the cold winds of the sea, and she trembled and moaned incessantly, no longer being able to move her limbs.

She was placed in a warm cabin on the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. She was placed in a warm cabin on the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk and changed into clean clothes. It was not until several hours later that she gradually regained consciousness. She told us that the white motorized fishing boat had sailed from a fishing village in Vinh Chau Township, Soc Trang Province, South Vietnam, with thirty men, twelve women and nine children on board.

The Vietnamese woman rescued by the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk, Hoang Thi Vinh, was 28 years old. The Vietnamese woman rescued by the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk, Hoang Thi Van, twenty-eight years old, was joined by her husband and four children. They were all citizens of Saigon or neighboring cities who had fled during the city’s clean-up campaign and had been looted three times by pirates on their voyage to Australia, the last time the pirates, unable to find anything else to take, threw the surviving men and children overboard and gathered the women on the decks to be gang-raped and then killed. Huang Thi Yun and two other women were tied to the mast by them for more than a day, and the two women died under the tight bondage and cold after they were ravaged.

At this point in the story, Cloud’s eyes showed a look of extreme terror, her lips trembled violently, and her voice faded. Her whole body burned, her sanity blurred, and she began to speak in an inverted delirium, falling into a semi-comatose state.

Two days later, Cloud recovered from his extreme weakness and gave us a continuing account of the tragic fate met by the boat people who had fled in that white fishing boat.

Vinh’s husband, Do Van Dinh, a former Saigon police patrolman, was not surprised by the fall of Saigon. Like other Saigon police officers, he took to the streets on April 30 to show solidarity with the Viet Cong tanks and soldiers that had entered the city. He told his wife, who was pregnant at the time, “The country is finally reunited, everything will gradually calm down, and the war is over.”

However, a month later, Ting was taken by Vietcong cadres for interrogation and then sent to a “reform camp” built in the mountains near the Cambodian border. Twelve hundred low-ranking officers and soldiers of the former government were held there, and every day the Vietcong cadres gave them hours-long rehabilitation lessons; they had to listen to the lessons with their backs straight and their hands folded between their legs until the end of the lesson, and if they looked away or stumbled during the lesson, they were subject to punishment. If they look around or fall asleep during the “reform class,” they will be brutally punished. During Du Wenting’s three-year-long “reform” period, Yun gave birth to their third child and welcomed her husband home on her release with a belly that was again eight months pregnant and full of shame.

As the wife of a rehabilitated person, Vinh was often called in by Vietcong cadres to be “scrutinized” during her husband’s three years of “rehabilitation”. One evening, a Vietcong cadre informed the plump young woman that she and her three children would receive government-issued food rations. When Yun followed the Vietcong cadre to the empty office, she suddenly realized what was going to happen, and it did. She did not dare to resist because she knew that the Vietcong cadre could put her in prison or a “reform camp” at any time, regardless of how her three young children lived.

Cloud endured long periods of rape and all kinds of nasty abuse by the Vietcong cadre and others in exchange for food for her and her three children, as well as her eight-months pregnant belly, full of humiliation.

Yun sobbed and told her husband about the ravages those Viet Cong cadres had inflicted on her during her pregnancy. As a reformed releasee, there was nothing Ting could do about it.

Ting’s return has caused resentment among the Vietcong cadres, who are prepared to send him to the “New Economic Zone” in an apparent attempt to permanently dominate the beautiful young woman. After discussions, Dinh and Vinh sold all their belongings and moved to their hometown in Soc Trang province, where they bought a motorized fishing boat in a joint venture with four dozen or so other citizens who were fleeing the fate of the Vietcong in the “New Economic Zone”, with the intention of escaping from Vinh Chau by crossing the sea to Australia or other countries.

They had learned on the radio before their departure that Western warships had begun cruising along the South China Sea to rescue shipwrecked boat people, so they did not anticipate the bad luck that was to befall them at all, and left their homeland under the terrorized economy of the Vietcong government with hopeful visions of what was to come.

Most of the refugees who boarded the white fishing boat were Saigonese citizens and their families, whose similar experiences had led them to choose this risky way to escape from being sent to the “new economic zone” or to prison.

With two barrels of diesel fuel, they quietly left the coast late one night and made their way unimpeded to the open sea, where a Vietnamese fisherman steered a motorized fishing boat southward through the Kalimata and Sunda straits in Indonesia to Australia. All the boat people were so confident that they sold all their possessions before they left, exchanging their money on the black market for dollars to carry with them to ensure that they could buy gasoline and food at any place on the way and to cover their living expenses once they arrived in Australia.

The fishing boat had been traveling for three days in the middle of the ocean, and the food they had brought on board was so plentiful that the boat people, who were constantly vomiting because of seasickness, gradually smoothed out. Leaving the Vietnamese waters, they were in a very open mood and began to talk to each other, and the children ran out onto the deck to play.

At noon, the boat people began to eat lunch. Suddenly, a child who was looking over the side of the boat into the distance shouted excitedly, “Thuyen Chai!” (Fishing Boat) The boat people looked in the direction of the child’s finger, and saw a motorized sailboat appearing in the distance on the sea, coming towards them. All the boat people were overjoyed, for they had been traveling alone at sea for three days without encountering any of the warships they had assumed were cruising the West at all times to rescue the boat people, or even seeing a single passing cargo ship or fishing boat. The long sense of loneliness and the pleasantness of being free from Viet Cong rule made them all gather on deck to cheer and wave at the approaching motor sailer.

The motor sailboat approached and began to pull up to the fishing boat in which the boat people were traveling. On the deck of the boat stood two dozen Thais, bare-chested or wearing a variety of plaid shirts. They looked at the excited boat people without a word.

Suddenly, just at the moment when the motor-sailboat came alongside the white fishing boat in which the boatmen were traveling, a Thai raised a native pistol and opened fire at the cockpit of the fishing boat, killing the Vietnamese fisherman who was steering the boat on the spot; at the same time, Thais armed with daggers, axes, and iron rods jumped on board the fishing boat, herding the boatmen, who were about to escape into the cabins of the boat, to be gathered together under the mast.

The panicked boat people all knelt on the deck under the force of the pirates and watched as they carried the boat people’s belongings to the motor sailboat. Lee, a forty-eight-year-old Saigon taxi driver with a slight knowledge of Thai, tried to negotiate with the pirates, but his neck was cut by a pirate with an axe. Seeing that situation, the other boat people did not dare to put up any more resistance because they did not have a single knife in their hands. They were just counting on the pirates to take as little as possible from them and then leave the fishing boat immediately.

With no prior preparation, most of the boat people’s possessions were kept in their cabins, so every one of them looked anxiously at what the pirates were removing from their cabins. One family saw that the pirates were preparing to carry all their possessions on board the engine-sailer, so they recklessly pounced on the pirates to snatch them. Led by them, some boat people also got up from the deck and fought fiercely with the pirates who came to loot on the rocking fishing boat. As a result, five Vietnamese boat people were injured and thrown into the sea. The victorious pirates started to search the clothes of the boat people because they thought they must have some money with them.

An hour later, the pirates left the fishing boat. The Vietnamese boat people whose property had been looted sat bewildered on the deck, and the relatives of the boat people who had been thrown into the sea wept. The first blow they had received since leaving Vietnam made them hang their heads in frustration. The hope of escaping to a free and soothing country was dimmed in their minds, but not lost. They thought the blow might be a test of their will.

After deliberation, the boat people decided to continue their unwavering voyage with Phan Quyen, a teacher who teaches geography at a high school, in place of the Vietnamese fisherman who was killed by the pirates with a gun. For the next seven days, the pirate ship never appeared again, and the boat people tried to save as much as they could of the pitifully small amount of food left, avoiding all the ships, and kept traveling south.

Although the boat people had decided not to go any closer to the coast until they reached what they thought was a safe place, the only food they had left had been eaten and their fuel was about to run out. So Pan Guiyan had to steer the fishing boat off course and began to approach a nearby island.

At dusk the fishing-boat stopped a few hundred yards from the island, and ten of the boatmen jumped out of the water and swam across toward the shore, where they were going to look for some food and ask for a bearing of where they now stood. Pan Guiyan thought that they had sailed at least five hundred nautical miles or more, and that in a few days they would be able to cross the Kalimata and Sunda Straits into the Indian Ocean, and all the way to Australia. After hearing Pan Guiyan’s words, every boatman was very excited, as if they had already seen the golden beaches of Australia.

Soon it was getting dark, and the enthusiasm of the boat people was soon replaced by deep anxiety, as the ten boat people who had gone to the island to look for food and help still had not returned. The boat people stayed on the deck of the lonely fishing boat, looking at the twinkling lights of the island, a feeling of desolation and loneliness arose in their hearts, and a few Vietnamese children cried out of hunger.

“They’ll be back.” Pan Guiyan comforted the apprehensive boat people, while he himself kept watching the sea with the only remaining one plus binoculars.

The sea was silent on all sides, with only the monotonous sound of waves lapping against the side of the ship. Although the boat people’s clothes were all wet, they insisted on staying on the deck and waiting. A few days of continuous sailing had made the boat people silent, and the joy of leaving the coast of Vietnam was gradually replaced by a feeling of anxiety and uncertainty, so much so that some of them wondered whether they would be able to reach Australia, the country they longed for, as they wished to do.

“Will we encounter another pirate ship?” Huang Thi Yun, who was nursing her six-month-old baby, asked worriedly.

Ting looked at her for a moment without answering. Cloud knew well that her husband loathed the baby that was sucking loudly on her breast and did not belong to him. He had suggested giving that baby to a fisherman in Yongzhou, but Cloud had refused.

But she repeatedly explained to her husband that the baby was innocent and promised to send it to a foster home as soon as she arrived in Australia. Ting ignored her, hating the Vietcong officials who had raped his wife and sent him to the New Economic Zone, and hating the shame they had left him in the form of the baby he was breastfeeding, and even hating the wife who had taken such good care of the baby. He felt that there was no need to recognize what was right and what was wrong, that all the boat people had already answered for themselves by what they had been through. At that moment, his wife’s hair was blown by the wind, and a whiff of sea odor pointed to his cheek.

The night was late, the temperature had dropped so much that the boat people were shivering with cold, and hunger and exhaustion finally gave way to them walking down to their cabins and going to sleep in the embrace.

Suddenly a roar of motors and a cacophony of people woke the boat people, who climbed out of their cabins onto the deck.

A few meters away from the fishing boat there was a military motorboat with searchlights illuminating the deck of the fishing boat, on which stood a number of military personnel dressed in yellow-brown khaki uniforms and carrying guns. An officer stood on the side of the boat, holding a megaphone, and began shouting in English to the boat people.

Pan Guiyan and a few other boat people who knew English began to negotiate with the officer. From the conversation they learned that they had arrived at the Indonesian island of Great Natuna. The motorboat was an Indonesian border patrol boat.

The officers on the Indonesian patrol boat sternly informed the boat people that they had to get out of there immediately and announced to them that the island of Great Natuna would never receive any Vietnamese boat people who escaped to that island.

Pan Guiyan shouted angrily at the officer, telling him that the boat people did not want to stay on that island, but were only asking for some food and fuel to enable them to complete their voyage to Australia. Also he said that a dozen boat people had already gone to the island and the boat people had to wait for them to return.

The officer gave an order to the soldiers in Indonesian, and in an instant the soldiers pulled the trigger, the bullets whistled past the heads of the boat people, and Pan Guiyan and another boat people were shot and fell on the deck, while the others fled down to the cabin in a rush of terror.

After the gunfire stopped, the Indonesian officer started shouting again in English for the boat people to leave quickly to secure their lives. It was clear that there was only danger in remaining there. The Vietnamese boat people had no choice but to set sail in their nearly fuel-poor fishing boats, while the patrol boat uneasily escorted them several dozen nautical miles away.

In fact, the boat people only had to keep traveling a few hundred nautical miles or so westward to reach the refugee camp on Anambas Island, which was the closest place to them, although miserable but much better than what they would experience later. However, the boat people lost their way in their hustle and bustle and headed northwest in their fishing boat.

The next morning, the fishing boats ran out of fuel and the boat people, who hadn’t been given any food for two days, stood on the deck hoping to wait for a passing boat, unaware that all the fishing boats and merchant ships had been warned of the typhoon and were returning to the harbor or looking for shelter to drop anchor.

Thick black clouds rolled in from the distant horizon, the waves grew larger, and the fishing boat lurched and rocked violently. The boatmen realize the impending danger, but there is nothing more they can do. All the fuel had been used up, and the fishing boats, far from the coast, had no communication equipment and no possibility of escape. Du Wenting ordered all the boat people to enter the cabin, commanded a few strong boat people to lower the biggest mast and threw down all the iron anchors. The heavy iron anchors fell into the sea and sank rapidly, the hinges went all the way in, but still did not touch the bottom of the sea.

Soon a powerful typhoon struck the entire sea, and the raging waves caused the fishing boat to heave up and down, sometimes almost toppling it over. The boat people snuggled down in their cabins, their hearts filled with a sense of despair. They had been naïve enough to think that even if they encountered a few storms they would be immediately assisted; it was not until after a few days of difficult sailing and trials that they realized how great a danger sailing in the wide, unpredictable seas meant.

Perhaps because of the heavy iron anchors around the fishing boat, or perhaps because they were on the edge of a typhoon, all in all the seemingly hopeless fishing boat actually survived the typhoon, only to be blown hundreds of sea miles to the north.

The bumpy seas and the three-day-long starvation had left the boat people extremely weak. They gathered in the cabin and Ting and some of the boat people discussed ways to escape. They hung a large white cloth from the highest mast of the fishing boat to indicate that the boat was shipwrecked and that they were in urgent need of assistance.

The white cloth was responded to within hours of being put up, with two red motor sailboats coming quickly from different directions towards the stricken Vietnamese fishing boat. The boat people struggled to the deck and let out desperate cries for help.

“Cuop bien! Tauo!” (Pirate! That’s a pirate ship!) One of the boat people cried out in horror.

The boat people soon saw the pirates standing on the motor sailboats holding all kinds of ferocious weapons, but they were no longer capable of escaping or defending themselves. The two motor sailboats sandwiched the fishing boat in the middle, and more than thirty pirates jumped onto the deck, gathered the boat people together, and then began to search and loot.

The pirates took all the clothes and utensils that were left in the cabins of the boat people and put them on the deck to be divided. Lee, who had been wounded by an axe during the first attack, told the pirates in Thai that all the boat people could hand over their possessions to them, and only hoped that they would be able to replenish the diesel fuel for the fishing boat. However, unfortunately, a gust of sea wind blew up his clothes, revealing the money he pinned on his belt, the pirates grabbed him and asked him to hand over the money clip, but Lee covered his waist with his hands and kept begging the pirates to leave him a way out. In the middle of the fight, Lee’s head and back by the pirates injured, he used all his strength to seize the money clip, thrown into the sea. The vicious pirates rushed over and knocked Lee unconscious on the deck, then grabbed his limbs and threw him into the sea.

Lee fell into the sea not far from the fishing boat, he awoke and swam desperately towards it. At that moment, a much larger shadow swam up from the depths behind Lee. Lee’s wife bent her body over the side of the boat, staring in horror and tuning her voice shrilly. The pirates also saw the black shadow coming up from the depths of the water, and they grabbed Lee’s wife by the hair to keep her from shouting.

Hearing his wife’s screams, Lee instantly realized what was about to happen and began to swim faster toward the fishing boat.

However, everything is already too late, just when Lee just swam to the edge of the boat, an eight-foot (2.4384 meters) long blue shark slipped out of the water quickly, opened the cloth with two rows of sharp as a knife teeth biting at Lee’s leg. With a scream, the blue shark’s sharp teeth closed, Lee’s leg was gone in an instant, the surface of the water was suddenly leaked into the red blood, and the blue shark biting the food turned around, the tail in the surface of the sweep, and then into the water.

Lee’s blood made the other sharks go crazy, nearly a hundred sharks of different sizes swarmed from the bottom of the sea in the distance with unbelievable speed, desperately jumping around to snatch Lee’s limbs, and in a few moments, Lee was buried in the belly of the sharks. Lee’s wife screamed and passed out.

The pirates looked at the other boat people as if they had watched a wonderful circus performance. They stripped Lee’s wife naked, found some money in her shorts, and threw her over the side of the ship.

The mad pirates forced all the boat people to strip naked and stand on the deck to be inspected, women and children being no exception. In this way, many dollars were searched, which had been enclosed in cloth in panties and bras.

After dividing the looted dollars, the pirates gathered and conferred in Thai for a few minutes, then separated the boat people into men, women and children. All of the men’s hands were tied with rope behind their backs; then the pirates began to throw the men one by one over the side of the ship into the school of sharks that prowled the surface.

The sea was abuzz with hundreds of sharks, from five to fifteen feet long, opening their mouths covered with razor-sharp teeth to devour the boat people thrown overboard, and large swaths of the water were deflated into red. In an instant, all nineteen men were consumed by the frenzied sharks. The pirates threw another five young children into the sea. Cloud, naked and holding his six-month-old baby, stood between the ten women, looking on in extreme horror as Ting was thrown high over the side of the ship by the pirates and fell into the sea. At that moment, one of the pirates approached her, snatched the baby from her arms, grabbed one of the baby’s legs and threw it overboard, where it made a half-arc in the air and fell into the sea before it even had time to cry.

Eleven naked Vietnamese women and three girls under the age of 10 cowered in terror under a mast, trembling on their knees on the deck, begging the murderous pirates not to throw them into the sea.

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The pirate leader had the other pirates take turns raping the three young girls.

Soon the three young girls died in agony with their mouths wide open under the gang rape and ravishment of the ferocious pirates, and their bodies were thrown overboard.

While the three young girls were raped, eleven other Vietnamese women were brutally gang-raped by the pirates. In the evening, the pirates tied a seven-month pregnant woman to the mast and took turns humiliating her for fun, forcing the rest of the women to come forward and punch each of them five times on her bulging, taut stomach. Deterred by the brutality of the pirates, ten women were forced to come forward and beat their compatriot with their fists until she fainted.

When the pregnant woman awoke, the pirates rubbed her rounded belly, and the pain made her moan in agony. Two pirates held her two breasts squeezing, in did not see the milk out of the vicious pirates will be two daggers from her nipples into her breasts. Finally, the pirate leader holding a sharp knife, the pregnant woman alive disemboweled, take out the unborn fetus and viscera piece by piece thrown into the sea, and then cut the pregnant woman’s body meat into a piece of the back of the skeleton hanging, so as to intimidate other women. Night fell and the sea was dark. The pirates hung their lanterns on the masts and continued to ravage the Vietnamese women who fell into their hands. In the meantime, they savagely murdered four older women, until, at midnight, the pirates, having given vent to their brutality, locked the six remaining young women in their cabins and returned to their motorized boats.

Early the next morning, the pirates’ motorized boats departed with the plundered fishing boats. The pirates dragged the Vietnamese women, who had been locked in the cabins of the boats, onto the decks for constant ravishment before returning to the Thai coast.

In the days that followed, Cloud was subjected to extreme torture. In addition to gang-raping her, the pirates had to keep drinking her milk. Of course, Cloud’s ordeal was still relatively fortunate compared to that of her five young women. They were often hoisted to the mast and whipped by the pirates, or had their bellies swollen by the salty sea water. One nineteen-year-old aunt had her breasts wrapped in alcohol-soaked cloths, stuffed underneath, and set on fire with her arms stretched out and tightly bound to the mast’s transom. The girl throbbed and screamed in agony as the flames burned her skin while the pirates sang and watched.

Yun remembers that the girl, a typist in Saigon’s former quartermaster’s department, had been arrested by the Vietcong government and spent two years in Chi Hoa prison. Later, she was persecuted for refusing a molestation by a VC cadre, and even her rations were stopped. The Yun family met her in the city of Thinh Laos. She and her fiancé, a “criminal” wanted by the Vietcong government, had absconded to the coastal city to go to Australia. She told Vinh that one of her relatives had fled there before the fall of Saigon. After falling into the clutches of pirates, the young girl’s fiancé was thrown into the sea and buried in the mouth of a shark. She herself was ravished and abused by the pirates day and night, to the point that she was so incontinent that she did not even have the strength to stand up.

On the morning of the third day, the pirates were conferring with each other about something and unhooked the fishing boat’s cable. Cloud guessed that the ship was close to the coast and thought that the pirates would surely kill her before they left, so taking advantage of the pirates’ inattention, she quietly took one of the lifebuoys scattered on the deck and struggled to the side of the ship, trying to escape by jumping into the sea. However, she was already extremely weak, so much so that she was spotted by the pirates before she could climb to the side of the ship. They laughed as they dragged Vinh and the other two surviving Vietnamese women to the mast, tied their arms flat and tight to the mast’s wire rope, and left the fishing boat.

The pirates sailed away in their motorized ship, and Cloud, who was bound tightly to a very high mast, screamed in despair, wishing that they would kill her instead of letting them starve to death alive in such a cruel way. But her begging went unheeded as the pirates’ motorized sailboats faded into the horizon.

Cloud was bound by the pirates to the highest steel cable, his feet yanked backward and upward by the ropes, swaying like a hanging exhibit in the sea breeze.

The terrible night had made the sea so horrible that all life was gone, all hope was gone, and no one could possibly see the fishing boat drifting in the vast ocean, much less the three Vietnamese women hanging naked. The ropes strangled into Cloud’s skin, her limbs gradually went numb, and only her mind remained alive. She even regretted that she should not have made the exodus. No matter what, her husband and four children would always survive if they stayed under Vietcong rule. She was convinced of this, although before the escape she had feared that the family would die at the hands of the Vietcong cadres.

“The Vietcong police are brutal, but they’re not quite like pirates.” Cloud told us, “Many Vietnamese would rather die at sea than stay in Saigon. But that’s a terrible way to die.”

That sole surviving Vietnamese woman registered and was accepted by the U.S. government as a refugee, living in Atlanta, Georgia. She runs a flower store and makes a considerable daily income. She told news reporters that the fear she used to feel is gone, but she often misses her dead husband and children. “Maybe I’m asking a little too much.” She said in her not-so-fluent English, with a very feminine but not without a rueful smile.

Most Vietnamese boat people suffered a fate similar to Vung’s, and the survivors were almost half the number of boat people who died. The U.S. Seventh Fleet rescued a sixteen-year-old boater named Nguyen Van Phuc. He was adrift in the South China Sea, clutching a plank of wood. After arriving in the southern Thai coastal city of Ninka, Phuc said the fishing boat they were traveling on fought with pirate ships, resulting in the pirates winning, killing all one hundred and thirty of his companions, and then throwing them overboard.

Ninety-six of the more than 100 Indo-Chinese fishing boats arriving in the Indonesian archipelago of Amanpas, 160 kilometers north of the Malay Peninsula, have been attacked by pirates on three to five occasions. Indo-Chinese boat people claim that many of the boats they were traveling with were taken away by pirate boats, especially those that had few belongings and were predominantly female.

Although the Thai Refugee Agency would not disclose her name, the twenty-eight-year-old Vietnamese woman told a news reporter about her personal experience of what sounded like an all-too-familiar encounter. Four pirate boats from Songkhla attacked her and other boat people, robbing them of their gold and belongings. Half of the boat people, including her husband and two-year-old son, drowned in the sea, and thirty other male boat people were also killed. After the massacre, the pirates took the women locked in their cabins to the deck and gang-raped them, then threw them over the side of the ship. The pirate captain, who apparently took a liking to the woman, gave her a life preserver when she was about to dock and pushed her overboard, saving her from his murderous crew.

International aid officials say that each Indo-Chinese fishing boat is savagely attacked and looted by pirates more than four times on average. A Vietnamese fishing boat that has suffered twenty-three attacks has nothing of value left at the end of the day.

A Vietnamese worker who survived the ship said: “The pirates began to collectively rape all Vietnamese women, including girls as young as 10 years old. If any of the fathers tried to stop them, they would have been massacred by the pirates.”

A flotilla of three Italian warships rescued nine hundred and thirty boat people, including twenty-six-year-old Nguyen Cao Minh, the eldest son of former government Prime Minister Nguyen Cao Chi, who fled to the United States. The Italian cruiser Vittorio B. The Italian cruiser Vittorio Veneto rescued 319 boat people in four small boats and towed them out of Malaysian waters. Later, Radio Malaysia announced that another 309 boat people had been towed to the open sea. Those boat people had been granted entry to Italy to settle there.

The Italian warships were fueled in the port of Singapore, where the Indo-Chinese boat people told them many stories about the brutal and barbaric behavior of the pirates. An old man in the pirate looting, even swallowed his only remaining a small gold Buddha elephant. And Andrea. Doria cruiser Pio. Captain Pio Bracao of the cruiser Andrea Doria said: “At 1035 hours Singapore time, I witnessed a baby boy, named Andrea Doria, being taken off the coast at the latitude of North China. At 1035 hours Singapore time, I witnessed the birth of a baby boy named Andrea Doria at 3.47 degrees north latitude and 103.55 degrees west longitude, and I witnessed the death of the newborn Italian citizen, Andrea Doria.” The baby boy died of pulmonary complications and was the only casualty among the boat people rescued by the Italian warships.

Of all the countries and regions in Southeast Asia, only Portuguese Macau categorically turned away the Vietnamese boat people. When the four hundred and thirty Vietnamese boat people, who were racing for their lives, arrived at Macao in three small boats after a four-day voyage, Portuguese officials towed the boats away from the coast again and told the boat people to go to the British colony of Hong Kong, which was forty kilometers away from Macao to the east.

As the boat people turned for Hong Kong, they encountered Typhoon Hope, with winds of 130 knots, which struck Hong Kong just after noon, killing eleven people and injuring two hundred and sixty others. However, the boat people traveling from Macau to Hong Kong were all spared, and after a twelve-hour voyage they finally reached the British colony just after midnight.

“The storm was terrible.” A Vietnamese boatman named Yen Hoa Man said, “There are stormy times in Vietnam, but the typhoon was ten times worse. I’ve never seen a storm like that.”

Despite the fact that many of the Indo-Chinese refugees who have fled have been subjected to non-increase and a large number of them remain in camps to this day, a sizable number of refugees have been allowed to enter countries such as the United States of America, Australia, Canada, France, the United Kingdom and Italy, where they are living peacefully.

Twenty-one-year-old Vietnamese girl Joan B. Nguyen came to the United States ten years after the fall of Saigon. Nguyen came to the United States ten years after the fall of Saigon, when she, her parents, and her five siblings fled Vietnam as boat people. She graduated from West Point in May 1985 as a U.S. Army officer and was received by President Reagan. “I am overjoyed at the opportunity to work for my second country.” Joan B. Nguyen told the News.

Joan Nguyen, who graduated from West Point at the same time as Bear Nguyen. Nguyen, who graduated from West Point at the same time. Vu, twenty-one years old, was also a Vietnamese boat person who had settled in the United States. When Saigon fell, he huddled under the couch in his house, listening to the bombs explode in the neighborhood. His family had settled in New York City, and he began learning English from the television. “I don’t think that day will ever come again.” Vu said, “I’m going to do my best to know what freedom means and tell people about it.”

Eighteen-year-old Laotian girl, Pannemani Kampalasol, and her fourteen-year-old brother, Souvannanli, were granted entry into the United States in 1985. Kampalasol and her fourteen-year-old brother, Souphonanlith, were granted entry into the United States in July 1985. Pannemani and Souphonanli were preferred Laotian refugees from the north bank of the Mekong River who were smuggled into Thailand after their parents were persecuted by communists for their work as staff members of the former Prime Minister Phouma.

Although the Vietcong Government had promised to control the outflow of refugees, it was clear that the 750,000 refugees who had already fled Viet Nam and the Indo-Chinese refugees would not be able to return to their homelands, and that the countries of the world would have to do everything in their power to resettle them.