That year I was 13 years old, a spoiled Hanoi student! In the K6 Bach Khoa collective housing area, I was close friends with a friend 5 years older than me. His name was Son, muscular, strong but gentle as the earth. His mother died early, he lived with his father, stepmother and half-siblings. The family was poor and the stepmother only took care of the younger siblings, so he often had to do heavy work in the house and was always hungry. Despite the age difference, he and I were extremely close. Every night, I sat waiting for him to finish drawing water and chopping firewood, then we talked until late at night with some food I brought from home for him to “fight hunger”!
At the end of 1978, he joined the army in an extremely tense situation at the northern border. He was stationed in Lang Son and occasionally “scribbled” letters to me, letters that were even more numerous than those sent to his home.
On the morning of February 17, 1979, our entire neighborhood was awakened when the loudspeaker of the Sub-Region (now called the Ward) announced that the invading Chinese army had crossed the border. That night, the entire population of the neighborhood, including children, packed the Polytechnic Stadium to hear the announcement of the border war. We children had sparkling eyes, clenched our fists, and shouted along with the adults: “Down with it, down with it,…”, “Fight, fight, fight…”
A short time later, Son’s family received the news of his death, on February 17, 1979. Later, the press reported that because we were subjective, we were completely surprised by the attack of the Chinese army. At 5:00 a.m. that morning, 120,000 Chinese troops, after 6 months of preparation, simultaneously crossed the border. At many locations, the Chinese army poured into the barracks without our knowledge. Most of our soldiers on the border at that time were local troops or newly enlisted soldiers like Son. Many soldiers were killed in bed or while brushing their teeth, exercising, etc. A friend of mine who later joined the army and came back from Son’s old unit said that he also died in that state, before he could even pick up a gun to resist.
About 3-4 years later, my friends of the same age as Hoa “Ke”, Mui “Tau”, Minh “Do”, etc. also joined the army and went to “posts” to fight with Chinese soldiers to protect the border. Many times I think, with the country in a “crisis of confidence” as it is now, if another border war happens, can we mobilize young people who dare to sacrifice themselves for the country like that day…
35 years after Son’s death, every time this day comes, I remember the song “Those eyes carry the shape of bullets” by musician Tran Tien. He wrote it while he was marching with a group of soldiers to protect the border and witnessed the people escaping from the border leaving behind many relatives who were massacred by the Chinese army.
No matter what, until the end of my life, on this day I remember Mr. Son and the song of musician Tran Tien …
The army hurriedly went
Going to the border
Also coming from the border
The flocks of children
The army was silent
Looking at the children
Each pair of black eyes were round
Each pair of eyes were shaped like bullets
Each pair of eyes lit up and burned like a thousand bullets
Each pair of eyes from the homeland were given to the army
Soldiers, please keep them
The army hurriedly went to the border
Also coming from the border
Old mothers
The army was silent
Against the flow of people
A pair of eyes saying goodbye many times
A pair of eyes making promises many times,
A pair of eyes lit up, burning with countless flames
Look at the eyes of the homeland watching the army
Soldiers, please keep them
Pour them on the barbaric invaders
