Maquis

Silently they trooped, single file, toward the waiting transport aircraft. Jack’s assigned seat was in a Junkers Ju-52, a type used by the Germans in World War II. He wondered how on earth this plane and many others like it found their way to Indochina. He sat on the rough bench that ran along the side of the Junkers, pressing against the soldier next to him. The Jumpmaster had packed them in solidly.

He checked his Sten gun one more time. He had plenty of ammunition. The roar of the three engines made conversation impossible as they taxied out to the runway. It was just as well. It was not a long flight to Bac Kan. They should be there within the hour. Jack mentally prepared himself.

The paratroopers went rapidly out the door, with Jack one of the first to leap into the void. The static line popped his chute and he drifted down toward the Vietminh camp below. The Paras planned to land in the center of the small village, but prevailing winds carried Jack just beyond. Much to his disgust he landed in a rice paddy, getting thoroughly soaked in dirty brown water. Swearing, he made his way to the bank.

Jack heard shots from the village. He levered a round into the chamber of the Sten and put it on full automatic, ready to engage the enemy. As he reached the head of the main street, bullets whizzed by his head. He dropped to one knee and fired at muzzle flashes from a building twenty yards away.

When he moved on down the street, no more shots came from the building. French paratroops were swarming over the village. Jack saw a large building with a Vietminh flag flying about fifty yards away and headed toward it.

He was not the first inside. He heard the sound of breaking furniture, but no firing. Kicking open the door, Jack advanced into a darkened office, his Sten at the ready. No one was there. On an elaborately carved mahogany desk in the center of the room, he saw papers neatly stacked. He picked up the sheet on top. The bold signature at the bottom was Ho Chi Minh’s.

Jack was excited. It was an intelligence coup, even though Ho and most of the leaders had escaped. He found volumes of materials outlining strategy, logistics and detailed records of communist formations. In the middle of the jungle, he worked far into the night, organizing the documents he had found. It would take a long time to go through all of this, he thought.

He reported what he had discovered to Colonel Sauvagnac. “Colonel, if we can get this stuff out of here and back in Hanoi for analysis, we can set the Vietminh cause back five years!”

“I can’t be concerned with that now, Mr. Latourneau. We have a battle to fight and it’s not an easy one. The enemy is all around us and they outnumber us. I’ve already called for close air support.

“Colonel Beauffre and the main force are scheduled to relieve us, but he has his hands full up at the border. We are to hold until relieved. I’d keep that Sten ready for action if I were you.”

Late in the afternoon, the Spitfires appeared and heavily strafed the enemy positions, which gave them some relief, but the firing went on into the night.

The battle raged on around him as the days raced by. The Paras had developed a solid defensive perimeter, but the enemy reacted quickly and closely invested them. The Spitfires came back several more times. At night, Jack slept with the Sten at his side.

After five days, Jack read the radio message informing them that a relief column of motorized Moroccan Colonial Infantry was on its way. He continued to analyze the captured intelligence data in the command bunker. Sometimes, the shots were closer than he liked and he instinctively reached for the Sten.

More messages arrived, telling them that the Vietminh were holding up the Moroccans at Phu Thong Hoa.  The elite unit fought back and a major battle developed. Then, the command bunker received word that the other prong of the pincer was advancing from the south.

Three days later, Jack heard cheers in the com hut. When he and the others went outside, he saw the Moroccan column advancing toward them down the road. The Paras had finally been relieved. They had been on the ground nine days. 

Jack and two others loaded the captured records into an old Studebaker truck brought down from Cao Bang. Jack accosted the young soldier who was their driver. “Are we ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, sir.” The three men clambered on top of the boxes and rode down the primitive dirt track.