South Annam and Cambodia. He had been sent back to Sidi bel Abbes twice for wounds, but each time, as soon as he was able to make his presence known, his unit commanders in Africa were more than glad to grant his request to leave their company and return to the Orient for another round of service with the 2nd BEP.
The 2nd BEP had been on the go since they'd first set foot in Indochina, being sent out on one operation after another, from Ke Sat to Dong Trieu, Nam Dinh and Kontum. There were battles at Hoa Binh and a dozen others whose names he couldn't recall anymore. Now there was this thing in the wind he had heard called "Hirondelle Operation." Just what it was he didn't know yet, but would within the week as soon as General Salan made up his mind.
Until then, they just wanted to take it easy and enjoy the pleasant weather of the north before the monsoons set in with the winter. Hanoi was a clean city, filled with temples of the hundred faiths of its peoples. Buddhist and Cao Dai sat side by side with the Catholic cathedrals of their colonizers. Everything in the country was touched with the special mixture that France always brought to its colonies, the blending of cultures from all its territories. Moslem Algerians and Moroccans, black Somalians and Thais mingled freely with Vietnamese of the Indigene battalions and the Europeans of every nation. Each brought a bit of its flavor to the simmering pot that was Southeast Asia.
Langer enjoyed the variety. The very differences made the country exciting and fresh. He only wished that he didn't have to pull guard duty with Gus at the former summer residence of a Tonkinese merchant who had been executed for paying blackmail money to the Viet Minh. To the merchant, the blackmail money meant that he could continue doing business as usual, not that he was a sympathizer with the communist cause – few wealthy merchants were. It wasn't that guard duty was that bad, but he knew this was one of the places where many Vietnamese went in on their feet and came out in sacks. It was not a pleasant house to spend a night in. The interrogators of the French intelligence teams and their Vietnamese counterparts could have learned nothing from the Spanish Inquisition of the pious Torquemada. Langer didn't like those that inflicted needless pain, no matter what their reason.
Colonel Thich hated them all. All these ugly foreigners who infested his country, draining it of its individuality, trying to force their ways on them, even to making French the official language in the schools.
The French could be beat. That was firmly believed. He had seen it done when the Japanese occupied the land. It had pleased him greatly to see the once high and mighty French perform kowtow to an Asian. Even if the Japanese were worse masters than the French, they were still Asians and had beaten the French and the British. If it hadn't been for the Americans, the forces of Imperial Japan would still be in power. But once they had gone, the French wanted to regain their favored status, making the rightful people of the land their servants and slaves.
This would not be tolerated. This was not the same Vietnam of 1941. This was a new time and the future was theirs, as was the future of all oppressed peoples who wore the yoke of colonialism on their necks. They would rise up in their millions and claim what was rightfully theirs, though the struggle took a hundred years. That was what they had that the colonialists could never deal with. They had history past, present and future on their side, and they would prevail. If not this year then the next, or the next, until they bled the French dry and sent them back to their own lands to leave Asia in peace.
In effect, the curfew did little to keep those with urgent business off the streets of Hanoi. A million flickers of light gave mute testimony to those who lay awake on their straw mats or sat behind tables graced with fine crystal and the best the vineyards of France
The 2nd BEP had been on the go since they'd first set foot in Indochina, being sent out on one operation after another, from Ke Sat to Dong Trieu, Nam Dinh and Kontum. There were battles at Hoa Binh and a dozen others whose names he couldn't recall anymore. Now there was this thing in the wind he had heard called "Hirondelle Operation." Just what it was he didn't know yet, but would within the week as soon as General Salan made up his mind.
Until then, they just wanted to take it easy and enjoy the pleasant weather of the north before the monsoons set in with the winter. Hanoi was a clean city, filled with temples of the hundred faiths of its peoples. Buddhist and Cao Dai sat side by side with the Catholic cathedrals of their colonizers. Everything in the country was touched with the special mixture that France always brought to its colonies, the blending of cultures from all its territories. Moslem Algerians and Moroccans, black Somalians and Thais mingled freely with Vietnamese of the Indigene battalions and the Europeans of every nation. Each brought a bit of its flavor to the simmering pot that was Southeast Asia.
Langer enjoyed the variety. The very differences made the country exciting and fresh. He only wished that he didn't have to pull guard duty with Gus at the former summer residence of a Tonkinese merchant who had been executed for paying blackmail money to the Viet Minh. To the merchant, the blackmail money meant that he could continue doing business as usual, not that he was a sympathizer with the communist cause – few wealthy merchants were. It wasn't that guard duty was that bad, but he knew this was one of the places where many Vietnamese went in on their feet and came out in sacks. It was not a pleasant house to spend a night in. The interrogators of the French intelligence teams and their Vietnamese counterparts could have learned nothing from the Spanish Inquisition of the pious Torquemada. Langer didn't like those that inflicted needless pain, no matter what their reason.
Colonel Thich hated them all. All these ugly foreigners who infested his country, draining it of its individuality, trying to force their ways on them, even to making French the official language in the schools.
The French could be beat. That was firmly believed. He had seen it done when the Japanese occupied the land. It had pleased him greatly to see the once high and mighty French perform kowtow to an Asian. Even if the Japanese were worse masters than the French, they were still Asians and had beaten the French and the British. If it hadn't been for the Americans, the forces of Imperial Japan would still be in power. But once they had gone, the French wanted to regain their favored status, making the rightful people of the land their servants and slaves.
This would not be tolerated. This was not the same Vietnam of 1941. This was a new time and the future was theirs, as was the future of all oppressed peoples who wore the yoke of colonialism on their necks. They would rise up in their millions and claim what was rightfully theirs, though the struggle took a hundred years. That was what they had that the colonialists could never deal with. They had history past, present and future on their side, and they would prevail. If not this year then the next, or the next, until they bled the French dry and sent them back to their own lands to leave Asia in peace.
In effect, the curfew did little to keep those with urgent business off the streets of Hanoi. A million flickers of light gave mute testimony to those who lay awake on their straw mats or sat behind tables graced with fine crystal and the best the vineyards of France
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