THE BOMBER IN THE LAKE

Twisted wreckage of a US B-52 bomber in a Hanoi lake

“Your driver here,” my hotel clerk says. She's arranged my taxi today, since I’m looking for Huu Tiep Lake in Hanoi. Looking at my taxi, I find it’s a xe om, a motorbike taxi. There are plenty of auto taxis in Hanoi, but for some reason the clerk called a motorbike for this trip.

I grudgingly put on my helmet, and we’re off into Hanoi's crowded downtown streets. My driver doesn’t speak English, and as we motor on, he stops more than once to ask for directions. Apparently the little lake I’m seeking isn’t so well known. I grow impatient, as he doubles back to turn down a crowded alley. After several tight turns the alley narrows; we just miss hitting a pedestrian. Now I know why the hotel clerk didn’t get me a car. These alleys are so narrow, that only motorcycles and pedestrians can enter.

My driver finally pulls out between two apartment buildings, and there is Huu Tiep Lake before me, a small the lake surrounded by a crowded residential neighborhood.  As I dismount, children are walking out the front gate of a primary school. At one corner of the lake, a group of Vietnamese men are playing cards, while they smoke and lounge on plastic chairs.

It’s a quiet everyday scene, in a quiet Hanoi neighborhood. But one visible feature is out of place, and it’s out in the lake. Rising out of the greenish waters of Huu Tiep, clearly visible above the waterline, is the twisted wreckage from an enormous American jet.

Close up of the wreckage in Huu Tiep Lake

A nearby marker explains, “AT 23.05 ON DECEMBER 27TH 1972, THE BATTALION No 72 – AIR DEFENCE MISSILE REGIMENT No 285 SHOT DOWN ON THE SPOT A B52G OF THE US IMPERIALIST VIOLATING HA NOI AIRSPACE. A PART OF THE WRECKAGE FELL IN TO HUU TIEP LAKE”.

One can only imagine what it was like that evening. The city sirens went off as the air raid began, and everyone in Hanoi ran for shelter. They heard distant explosions, as the bombers found their targets. Then out of nowhere, this ton of wreckage dropped down out of the night sky, and crashed right into their tiny neighborhood lake.

Only part of the lower fuselage of the B-52 protrudes above the water line. I wonder, how much more lies beneath? Looking at this twisted wreckage raises so many questions. What happened to the Air Force crew aboard that night, and how many survived? What was their target in Hanoi, and were there any civilian casualties? This is only one section of the huge bomber, what happened to the rest? Since it broke apart in mid-air, other sections must have fallen onto Hanoi as well. Did any wreckage land on any houses?

Among the wreckage peeking above the lake water, are wheels from the bomber’s landing gear. These have been lying half submerged in the lake for so many years, that weeds are now growing out of the sides of the tires. The Vietnamese were so proud of having knocked this giant bomber down from over their skies, that they have left this section of twisted aircraft lying here in the lake ever since, as a kind of strange war trophy from those dangerous days. This lake even has a local nickname, 'Hồ B52', which translates as 'B-52 Lake'.

Wreckage from numerous downed US aircraft are piled together in a bizarre display in Hanoi

The American air assault on North Vietnam was first unleashed in 1964 as the US war began here. This continued until 1968, when the bombing was finally halted by President Johnson. Hanoi’s skies were then quiet for three and a half years, until they got pounded again in 1972. President Nixon resumed aerial bombing as a political weapon, hoping to pressure the communist leadership at the negotiating table. Hanoi was hit again and again, as Nixon tried to force the North Vietnamese communists to end the war. This was cynically known as, ‘Bombing for Peace’.

Although the bomber wreckage in Huu Tiep Lake is a grim reminder of those many years of destruction, it certainly isn’t the only reminder to be found in this city. On another day I head to Hanoi’s Military History Museum, where I find wreckage that is even more jarring.

There the Vietnamese have taken a heavily damaged fuselage from an American cargo plane, and left it standing vertically on its nose. Leaning up against the plane, and surrounding it

USSR made surface to air missile, used to shoot down many US aircraft over North Vietnam

on the ground, is an enormous pile of aircraft wreckage and metal debris. These are the remains of countless American made aircraft, that were shot down all over North Vietnam. There are wrecked B-52 engines, wing sections, an US Air Force F-111 engine, a propeller from a French flown Hellcat, remnants of an F-4 jet, and much, much more. Millions of dollars of expensive military aircraft, have been reduced to debris.
 
US aircraft dominated the skies over Vietnam, and they were occasionally opposed in the air. North Vietnam had its own small air force, but since their aircraft were inferior in numbers and performance, they didn’t often challenge America’s more experienced pilots. To take down the US Air Force and US Navy jets, the North Vietnamese relied much more on ground based weapons supplied by the Soviet Union.

Positioned behind the memorial of twisted wreckage, are many of these Russian made anti-aircraft guns that the NVA used to shoot down numerous US aircraft. The grand daddy of them all is

Logo on US aircraft wreckage in Hanoi's Military History Museum

also represented: a rusty Russian made surface to air missile and launcher, (aka SAM) is still aimed at the sky. SAM’s were what American pilots feared the most. These ‘flying telephone poles’ had such range, that they were even able to take out the high flying B-52s, like the one I saw lying in Huu Tiep Lake. You would think that the Vietnamese would give some credit to their Soviet patrons, who gave them the high tech SAM missiles in the first place. But there's no mention of their appreciation here.

Alongside the missile, other smaller anti-craft guns are on display, along with plaques that boast of how many aircraft each armament shot down. One gun alone lists the dubious claim that it shot down a total of 124 US aircraft. Although that figure isn’t likely to be true for a single weapon, American air losses during the long war in Vietnam were indeed costly. Between 1964 – 1973, more than 3,000 jets and planes were lost over Vietnam. An additional 4,000 helicopters were also

B-52 wreckage and disarmed bombs in a Hanoi park

destroyed. I wonder how many lives, and how billions of dollars, were destroyed this way.

In Vietnam, the USA had the world’s best fighter jets, bombers and helicopters, but even these were not able to bring about victory through air power. 

To be sure, America could have easily destroyed all of Hanoi with just one well placed nuclear bomb, but the war in Vietnam was a limited war. Using nuclear weapons would have caused not only massive civilian casualties, but it may have brought retaliation by the Soviets, or the Chinese. Then this limited war in Southeast Asia could have easily escalated into World War III.

The American people learned in Vietnam, that being a superpower does have its limits. 

DONG HA AND CAMP CARROLL'S BETRAYAL

Ngoc, my fixer, travel agent & waitress

Dong Ha today, in central Vietnam. This was a strategic crossroads town during the war.

After you’ve been in Asia for a while, you get to learn that through western eyes, most of the people that you meet here are actually older than they appear. Ngoc, my local fixer in Dong Ha, is a good example. This young lady looks fresh out of high school, appearing to be all of 18 years old.

“I am 25,” she tells me. Maybe it’s her petite size that throws me off; she’s barely five feet tall. I’m glad to hear she’s older than she looks, since I need to consult someone with experience. Ngoc is my travel agent for the old De-Militarized Zone (DMZ), the infamous Highway9, and everything else I’m doing in this part of Vietnam.

“I work here two year,” she tells me, in between taking and making phone calls in Dong Ha. Ngoc is a busy woman. In addition to arranging my route and driver, she also takes my lunch order. In this junction town, she works in a combination restaurant and travel office, making her both waitress and travel agent. Speaking passable English, Ngoc has found me good deals, arranging reliable guides during my stay. She’s one of those rare people you find while traveling. A little ball of energy, she has the ability to multi-task. Bright, friendly and energetic, she has enough smarts to get ahead in any corporation, but she’s stuck here in Dong Ha. Still, for this town, she has a well paying job.

I come into the restaurant/office at early and late hours, and she’s almost always there. “I work 12 hour every day,” she tells me. As if that isn’t enough, she only gets one or two days off a month. I’m reminded that despite communism’s promise of helping the workers, in today’s Vietnam there is little done to give laborers sufficient days off, or overtime pay.

“My grandfather VC. He die from Americans,” Ngoc told me. She never knew her grandfather; he was killed before she was born. She says she doesn't have any problem with Americans today; Ngoc has arranged many trips around the DMZ for returning American war veterans. Soon after, Ngoc hands me a plate of chicken fried rice at my table. I wolf it down, just as my driver arrives.

“You go with him,” she tells me, pointing out the door. I look at my vehicle for the day, and groan. There are few taxis in Dong Ha, so I’m stuck hanging onto the back seat of a motorbike, and today it looks like rain. My new guide is Nguyen. His English isn't fluent, but he’s able to get his point across. Nguyen is a former ARVN soldier; he was drafted near the war's end.
 
“I work(ed) in office," he tells me, "I work maps." Rather than a frontline soldier, his job was at a base in Quang Tri. Nguyen was luckier than most. Working inside a base, he was relatively safe from the fighting. “(When) I have 18 year, war finish,” he says. His unit surrendered to the NVA when Quang Tri fell. Like the soldier Duc I knew in Saigon, Nguyen was sent to a ‘reeducation’ camp. But since he had only been a soldier and low ranking private for six months, he was released in less than a year.

Bizarre sight: Vietnamese home built right next to old US built hangar on former Dong Ha Air Base

Nguyen hands me a helmet, and off we drive into Dong Ha’s streets. Located near the coast, Dong Ha is just 12 miles south of the old De-Militarized Zone that formerly divided North and South Vietnam. Trucks barrel through town on Highway 1, the main roadway along the coast. This throughway intersects with the westward reaching Highway 9, and from here the Laotian border is only 33 miles away as the crow flies. During the war, that proximity to the borders of North Vietnam and Laos made Dong Ha a very strategic place.

Nguyen winds the scooter through Dong Ha streets, before stopping in a residential neighborhood. I hop off, and I’m puzzled by what I see. I’m right next to one of those old half-cylinder shaped, US built concrete military hangars. These are the exact same kind still in use at Ton Son Nhat airport, but this one is different. It isn’t intact. A large hole has been blown into the side of it, almost big enough to walk through. The concrete on these protective hangars is very thick and strong, this hole must have been created by a massive explosion. 

Vietnamese memorial by ex-Dong Ha Air Base hangar

This was the site of Dong Ha Airfield, once a forward US Marine base. Since Dong Ha was so close to the DMZ, it was well within range of North Vietnamese artillery and it was attacked many times. During one heavy shelling in 1968, the base’s ammunition dump was hit, and the flames and explosions here continued for hours. Most of the aircraft parked here, and much of the base, were destroyed.

I walk around to have a look inside the old hangar. Not surprisingly, there are no traces of aircraft left. Inside I see a couple of workmen doing carpentry in the hangar’s dim light. They don’t even look up, they’re so engrossed in their work. Piles of building materials and other junk are stacked up inside.  Since the damage to the hangar wall wasn’t repaired, that hole in the wall probably occured during the 1972 spring offensive, after the US Marines had already turned the base over to the ARVN. During fighting that year, much of Dong Ha town was destroyed by the advancing North Vietnamese Army (NVA). 

Dong Ha Air Base  was not surrendered back to nature like other bases. Strangely, it was turned into a residential neighborhood. It’s a bizarre sight to see this old military airport hangar closely surrounded by small family homes. One house was built so closely, that it nearly touches the hangar itself. Dong Ha Airfield exists no more, but the town has been rebuilt into a transportation hub. All this areas imports and exports going to and from Laos pass through here, as well as all of Vietnam’s north – south road traffic. There’s a memorial next to the damaged hangar, and at its base, I find a small ceramic bowl, filled with the remains of incense sticks from Buddhists praying here. This used to be an American base. I wonder, who were they praying for?

Decaying memorial on former Camp Carroll

There’s much more to see outside Dong Ha, so we climb onto Nguyen’s scooter, and head out of town. I lean forward as Nguyen tells me about the rural roadways back then. “In the wartime, it was bare. No trees, no houses,” he tells me. The NVA laid mines along the roads, hoping to disable American tanks or trucks. These were sometimes detonated by civilian vehicles. “We had buses, but we afraid of the mine,” Nguyen continues. “Sometimes bus hit the mine, and people die.”

We buzz along Highway 9, and I look at the skies, which have been gloomy all day. They finally open up. Nguyen pulls over, and pops open the seat compartment. I’m relieved to see that he has raingear for both of us. We don ponchos before we get too drenched; soon we’re back on the road. 

He turns south off highway, and his scooter struggles to carry us both up a long hill. Then he pulls to a stop next to some kind of strange, artsy concrete sculpture that appears to be  under construction. I think this is a strange place for a sculpture, out in the middle of nowhere. Then I look at it closer. What this really is, is a war memorial that is falling apart. In recent years, local people came and carted away parts of this memorial to sell for scrap. Most of the surrounding fence is gone, and they’ve cut away all the metal pieces that they that could get. I had already seen this done to old buildings and bunkers on old bases, but this is the first time I’d seen a memorial made by the post-war communists defaced for scrap.

One of the informational plaques has been torn away, but the other is still there, and Nguyen translates it for me as follows, “This Hill 241, had very strong American artillery army base along Highway 9.”

Aerial view of Camp Carroll during the war. (Photo: USACMH)

Hill 241 was the NVA’s name for this post; American troops remember it as Camp Carroll, a heavy artillery base inhabited by US Marine and Army troops. Like many American bases in Vietnam, it was named after an American soldier killed near the base. In this case, it’s named after Marine Corps Captain James Joseph Carroll. During NVA attack, he was mistakenly killed when fired on by an American tank. This type of combat casualty was known as ‘friendly fire’, a really self-contradictory military euphemism. 

Walking around the former base, I see sections of sandbags lying in the dirt, like those I found in the highlands. We encounter one concrete foundation, which is the former foundation for the base mess hall. This strategic base once had 16 heavy cannons, including the feared 175mm artillery guns. These massive cannons could fire 174 pound projectiles as far as 20 miles away. As American troop numbers were reduced towards the war’s end, Camp Carroll was turned over to South Vietnam’s military (ARVN) in 1970. Later, the ARVN colonel in command surrendered the entire base to the NVA, without firing a shot. That same colonel now owns a hotel in Hue today... At the top of the memorial here, the stone lists the year of his surrender, 1972.

Camp Carroll today. It's been reduced to farmland.

On one of the dismantled concrete friezes lying flat on the ground, I can make out the frightened face of an ARVN soldier, with his hands in the air as he surrenders. More than 400 ARVN soldiers were taken prisoner here. After Camp Carroll was taken, Dong Ha, the town I was in earlier, fell soon afterwards.

Nguyen tells me that in the post-war years, the only visitors that bother to come all the way up here were American war veterans that served in Camp Carroll. That explains the dilapidated state of the memorial. The government had no interest in preserving the old base, it is more useful now as a farm. Rubber trees, pepper plants, and cassava grow on a hill that used to be covered with bunkers, tents and artillery. On this gloomy day there aren’t even any farmers present, only a water buffalo chewing on grass.

I ponder the difference that I saw between Dong Ha, and here. Dong Ha is at a major crossroads, so it has been rebuilt. But since Vietnam is now reunited, Camp Carroll’s location is no longer strategic. With the heavy guns long ago captured and carted away, this former military base is now nothing more than a quiet, unimportant hilltop in central Vietnam.