Monday, April 14

ON THEIR WAY TO THE AIRPORT, Pham stopped at the bank so Matt could withdraw the cash he would need when he landed in Saigon. She had to call in favors from her airline friends, but she managed to get him booked on the next flight out from San Diego. While he was in the bank, she searched up and down the radio dial for news out of Saigon. What she heard wasn’t good.

“You look like a bank robber with your wife driving the getaway car,” she said as Matt hurried back to the car.

“Thirty-six hundred was all I could get,” he said. “The rent is paid and we’ve got a hundred or so left in cash hidden in the freezer. That’s everything. It will have to do.”

* * *

Matt took one look around as he boarded his plane and realized it was not a typical flight filled with vacationers and Vietnamese ex-pats visiting relatives. There were only a few passengers, all men in their early twenties and thirties. Some were dressed in fatigue shirts and pants—the “boonie suits” they wore when they served in Vietnam. Many of them sported shoulder-length hair and beards. All were aboard for the same reason. They needed to get to Saigon, collect the people they left behind, and get out fast.

After the usual seat belt briefing and advice on water landings, the captain announced, “Welcome aboard Pan American Flight 842. Our final destination is Tan Son Nhut International Airport Saigon, South Vietnam.” The pilot left the cockpit door open.

Pan Am had scheduled the flight with one goal in mind. The airline was not going to abandon its employees in South Vietnam if the North invaded Saigon. The office managers there had been instructed to round up every employee and their family members and get them ready to depart the country. Some had been sleeping at the office for days, waiting for the flight to arrive. Flight 842 was now on its way to collect them.

“Folks, this is your captain,” the pilot announced. “Air Traffic Control is telling me we may not be able to land at TSN.” The captain spoke with an easygoing Oklahoma drawl and made this news sound as routine as a weather report. It was anything but.

“Seems there were a few artillery rounds aimed at the airfield during the night. They tell me this kind of harassment has been going on awhile, but only overnight when there are no landings or takeoffs. So we should have nothing to worry about. But the upshot of all this is that our flight time and final destination will depend on whether the runway is still there for our arrival.”

Matt absentmindedly fidgeted with the backpack he held on his lap during the announcement and then closed his eyes. He was dozing off when a female voice woke him. It was one of Pham’s stewardess friends.

“Matt! Pham told me you’d be on this flight. Where is she?”

“She wanted to come, but I figured I could move a lot quicker solo. Besides, there are five in her family and me—that makes six—that we have to get to the airport—we can all fit on a Honda.” Matt was joking, but then he turned serious. “I’m going to Saigon to get her family out while there’s still time.”

“Let me see if the captain can get a message to Pan Am on the ground in Saigon. Our office is still officially running, but I don’t know for how long. It’s a mess. Maybe someone there can get word to Pham’s parents, let them know you’re coming and have them come to the office before it gets worse.”

“Great! Pham is working on getting a message through herself. One way or another we’ll reach them,” Matt added hopefully.

“This is the captain again. We’ve gotten word that the situation on the ground has deteriorated. Washington has also designated us a DOD flight, which means we’re now flying under orders of the Secretary of Defense. Officially, no commercial passengers can ride on my bus. That means we’re all in the army now, fellas,” he joked.

A few minutes later came the bad news: “We have been ordered to divert to Bangkok where you’ll be met by gate agents to arrange return flights for you.”

The passengers erupted.

“Are you nuts?”

“Hey, captain,” a passenger shouted. “Give us a break!”

“I didn’t fly twenty-seven hours here for nothing!”

“Hey, Captain! How about I kick your ass outta the left seat and take over? This would be a piece of cake after flying C-130s in-country.”

“Hey, need a navigator? I flew ’52s over ’Nam. I think I can find TSN.”

The passengers began gathering in the aisles in groups, trying to figure out whether force or diplomacy was the right approach to convincing the pilot that it was Saigon or nothing. A few passengers started talking about hijacking the plane and forcing the pilot to take them to Saigon.

In an effort to quell the anger, the captain made another announcement: “Hey, fellas, I’m only here to drive this bus. Even if we land in Saigon, DOD won’t let Pan Am take on commercial passengers, whoever you came in to pull out won’t be going on this flight. You are going to have to rely on refugee flights out of the Air Force side of TSN. That’s assuming the runway will still be open.”

The captain’s words didn’t help, but Matt’s soft-spoken manner and youthful looks did. People never felt threatened by him, so joining the hijack group that seemed to be the most volatile, Matt said, “Let’s at least get the captain to radio Washington. DOD can’t let a bunch of GIs—Vietnam vets—come halfway around the world for nothing. It’s worth a try.”

Pham’s stewardess friend walked Matt to the flight deck and told the captain, “This is Matt Moran, Pham’s husband—you might remember her, she’s a travel agent in San Diego. Anyway, he’s family.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. I can’t violate ATC procedure, much less DOD. They’ll pull my ticket. And I’m too close to retirement for that.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything illegal,” Matt interrupted. “But come on—you can push back on DOD. You can make them reverse their decision. I’m sure the Secretary of Defense doesn’t want to hold a news conference about how American war veterans had to abandon little babies in a war zone because of DOD ‘policy.’”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try,” the captain agreed, if only to get the persistent former Marine off his back.

Then Matt poured it on, “Think about how this will look in the newspapers: ‘Vietnam Vets Hijack Pan Am Flight to Rescue Loved Ones after U.S. Says Leave ’em Behind.’ Oh, and wait until these guys—and their wives—all start writing to their Congressmen …”

“All right, you can knock off the violins. I said I would give it another go. No promises though.”

After twenty minutes or so, Matt emerged from the flight deck flashing a thumbs-up sign to the passengers, and the captain announced, “We’re going to Saigon, boys. We’ve got enough seats for four hundred return passengers. Make that four-oh-one with one in the jump seat. Nah, make that four-sixty if we have children sitting in laps, four-sixty-six if we use the toilets for seats!”

The passengers high-fived Matt all the way back to his seat.