The Last Night of autumn
Major General NGUYEN NGOC LAM
Political Commissar
President Ho Chi Minh Maus Political Commissar oleum High Command
In military life, everyone has numerous memories, joy and sorrow intertwined, marking pivotal moments in their lives, leaving indelible imprints in their memories. For me, receiving the assignment from the Ministry of National Defense to work at Unit 969 (President Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum High Command) and participating for the first time in combat duty at the Mausoleum was an unforgettable memory.
In 1981, after 13 years of active duty in various battlefields such as the Central Highlands, Southern Laos, and the Southwest, and two international missions in Cambodia (in 1970 and 1979), I received the assignment to work at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. On July 15, 1981, I arrived at the unit to assume my duties. The first person I met at the Command Headquarters was Mr. Bui Su, who guided me to the offices I needed to visit. The cheerful and considerate attitude of the comrades, officers, and staff members in the Unit left a positive and beautiful impression on me. After over two months serving as the Assistant to the Organization Committee under the Political Department, I was introduced to the special political mission, the traditions of the soldiers guarding the Mausoleum, received combat training, and visited the Mausoleum.
During the weekly work program of the High Command, I felt genuinely excited, reminiscent of the feelings during the days of preparing for military service or gearing up for a new battle. On November 10, 1981, I was on duty with Mr. Do Huu Ngap. It was crucial to prepare thoroughly for the first duty, as my past experience in battlefields taught me that a well-prepared battle would secure victory and minimize casualties.
In the evening, after receiving our assignments, Ngap spent time instructing me on the specific duties of the assistant on duty, assigning tasks, and then encouraging me:
"The first duty is significant! We'll do our best to ensure that the first shift will remain deeply embedded in our thoughts later on."
That day was the first time I wore the official uniform, and looking in the mirror, I felt neat and mature.
As the night fell, the silent room added to the tranquility of the surroundings.
Ngap was inspecting the duty positions, and I, as a habit after each working day, took a few minutes to visualize the entire day's tasks: what was completed, what was not done or not done well, and what I would work on the next day. Perhaps, this was the first night in the combat zone, being on duty at the Mausoleum, so my emotions were stirred, restless... Memories of those years started to unfold in my mind:
My first day on military duty was February 24, 1968, when I and the youth from the village, the commune, were heading to the military service. The farewell atmosphere was vibrant: flags, slogans, young men and women either laughing and chatting loudly or awkwardly saying goodbye with hesitant gestures, choked with emotion. I also had my own beautiful unforgettable memories.
On April 24, after two months of training, our unit received orders to march south for combat. Due to the demands of the battlefield, our training lasted only two months, with no leave. From Nho Quan, Ninh Binh, following the Ho Chi Minh Trail, we marched for nearly three months, crossing thousands of kilometers to reach the Central Highlands battlefield. The arduous and harsh journey, nights dreaming of church bells, roosters crowing, birds singing... evoked intense homesickness for the homeland. Recalling the memories before entering the military, I was chosen to join the militia force in defense of the homeland against the destructive war by the United States. Although it was fierce, it could not compare to the difficulties, hardships, and casualties as in the battlefield…
Lost in thought, recalling the duty, I stood up, adjusted my uniform, and inspected the duty positions. Every engine room was the same; the operating workers were attentive, recording humidity readings. Some engines roared loudly, drowning out human voices. Many comrades looked at me, some meeting me for the first time. I stopped at room B32 and asked a worker:
"How do you feel about the daily work? Is it stressful?"
The worker confidently replied:
"We're used to the duty. We feel like missing something on days off, the sound of the machines has been an indispensable part of our life."
I smiled at the worker. His joy and confidence resonated with my emotions. It was indeed interesting.
Suddenly, 12 years had passed. When Uncle Ho passed away, my comrades from C2 K4, Engineer Brigade 24 were stationed at a high point in Gia Lai province, the Central Highlands. Hearing the special announcement on the Voice of Vietnam radio about President Ho Chi Minh's death, we were shocked and filled with sorrow. Our unit held the memorial ceremony for Uncle Ho in the trenches amid pouring rain. Tears, raindrops soaked the dark faces, enduring the rain and the scorching sun during those fierce fighting days. Meanwhile, the enemy was both brutal and cunning. On one hand, they used OV-10 planes to broadcast the news of Uncle Ho's death, spreading propaganda calling for our forces to surrender; on the other hand, they used B-52 bombers to drop intense bombs. The sounds of planes and bombs thundered day and night. My comrades and I maintained high combat spirits, courageously guarding the post, firmly defeating all the enemy's schemes. A few days later, our unit organized a counterattack, then launched an ambush against the enemy's tanks near the Gia Nhien stream, close to the Huynh village, achieving a clear victory. On September 11, 1969, during the fierce battle, I was admitted to the Party right on the battlefield. It was a sacred and honorable event in my military life. At that time, I was just over a year into my military service, turning 19 years old.
Leaving the Mausoleum, before me was the vast space of Ba Dinh Square, a historical site. It was late autumn, the night was clear, the gentle breeze refreshing. The atmosphere was immersed in the intoxicating fragrance of tuberose and jasmine. Looking at the two soldiers standing guard at the Mausoleum's gate, I felt their solemnity and sanctity. After inspecting the Mausoleum, seeing that the guards were in their proper positions, maintaining their posture and high combat readiness, I felt reassured about the guard duty, intending to close my eyes for a while. However, that night, I was restless until morning.
The images of the workers, the honorary soldiers, armed guards, standing before the Mausoleum, resembled my days in the battlefield. The discipline of guard duty and combat duty at the post was strict; any negligence or complacency could sometimes cost lives. Here, at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, everyone was the same – maintaining a dignified and disciplined posture, self-awareness, day and night, continuously adhering to the mission, not allowing any mistakes or oversights to occur…
The preparation for Uncle Ho's visitation ceremony began. After monitoring the High Command, unit duties, and technical checks were completed, I paused to observe Uncle Ho more closely. There he lay, his beard, hair, serene face, and rosy skin as if he had just closed his eyes. In my imagination, I wondered how Uncle Ho could sleep peacefully when the country was still in a fierce war, the pain of millions of compatriots in the South adding to Uncle Ho's sorrow. Next to my ear echoed a verse: "Throughout his life, Uncle Ho couldn't sleep well / Now that Uncle Ho sleeps, we keep watch for him."
Exactly at 8 AM, Uncle Ho's visitation ceremony began. Watching people entering the Mausoleum with solemnity and silence, I felt increasingly moved and proud. Each person coming to pay respects to Uncle Ho could see the image of the genius leader of the nation, enhancing their trust in the path he had chosen. I told myself: To make everyone who comes to visit Uncle Ho feel the serene and peaceful scenery, everyone must have a perception of the silent, diligent work of those who guard Uncle Ho's sleep day and night. It wasn't just the soldiers standing in front of the Mausoleum or the soldiers in neat uniforms guarding and guiding visitors to Uncle Ho, but behind them was a team of officials, medical staff, and technicians tirelessly caring for Uncle Ho's body, operating the equipment with safety.
And so, the first duty shift, like the first battle, was successfully completed. There were no cheers of victory as in the battlefield, but my heart was filled with a glowing joy. That first duty shift became a source of encouragement, boosting my confidence as I walked steadfastly through the process of fulfilling the duties of a soldier guarding beside Uncle Ho's Mausoleum for the past 25 years.
