My Father, this exceptionnal man : General Nguyen Huy Anh, chapter 2 "The Angel from Indochina"

photography taken in Bourges. The pilot's macaroon can be seen. It's motto are to be read at the end of this text

My father, this hero. General NGUYEN HUY ANH was an example of nobility, bravery, moral integrity for the South Vietnamese air force and, taken away at the age of 39, remains today a legend in the heart of veterans of this cruel war. Here is his story... and to relate it, I chose to borrow the voices of those close to him.

To relate my father's training in France and Marrakech, I borrow Jocelyne's voice, a french friend of his.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Jocelyne, my father and a friend.

1954, Paris.

This Sunday morning's timid sun is not strong enough to clean up the fresh spring air of its winter's cold residues. However, I feel my heart warm up by the idea of seeing my big brother, Marcel, gone two years ago in Marrakech to learn the dangerous job of a war pilot. Today recalled at the airbase of Avord* in France to perfect his specialization, I can finally see him again after this long absence.

T6 en entrainement à Marrakech

My little room rented for my studies is located near Place Nation. Marcel gave me rendezvous at Place Blanche, in a small café and then, we will go to the Cinemascope, at Moulin Rouge. Excited, I hastily dress up and almost run down the five floors, landing on the sidewalk still wet by morning dew. Despite the early hour, a few cars were already passing on the pavement, in a sound of wet tires.

Paris is already buzzing: the open bakery exhales the smell of hot croissants, the caterer scents the air with the smell of steaming sauerkraut, the bistro is already full of customers sipping their coffee, most noses behind their newspapers.

image source

The newspaper salesman flutters in the streets shouting the latest news ... On the front page, titles shows up : "President EISENBOWER denounces the secret clauses of the Yalta Accords, criticizes the action of ROOSEVELT which would authorize the enslavement of some peoples of Central Europe. " or "We agree with DE GAULLE".

But the ever-changing news of recent instability is but a little interest to me. The Geneva agreement currently being signed has attracted all attention those last weeks ; however, what catches mine today is my meeting with Marcel, this darling brother who has missed me too long.

My resonant footsteps on the sidewalk became nervous and it was almost at the rhythm of Fred Astaire's tap dance that I run down the steps of the subway of Nation.
220px-Astaire,_Fred_-_Daddy.jpg
Fred Astaire, image source

image source

It is short breathed that I arrive at my appointment, Place Blanche. In the crowded cafe, I look for Marcel and finally find him, sitting at the back with a young man, probably a scholar friend. Marcel has changed: His youthful face shows some light wrinkles and his eyes are no longer the same. In short, my brother has matured. But this maturity suited him well and it was with great pleasure that I fell into his arms.

"Jocelyne, my little sister, how I missed you! Come, sit down ... A milk café, as usual?"
I nodded, my words were swallowed by emotion and my throat filled with trapped tears.

"Here, let me introduce you Anh, my dear friend and colleague ; Anh, here is my sister, Jocelyne."

I could then see more closely the face of his friend. An unusual face: He is Asian! I had never seen an Asian other than in books and magazines on Indochina. Adding to my first emotion, another, much stronger, came to torment me: This young man is so strangely ... attractive.
His piercing gaze is disturbing, I look away after a polite greeting, but my heart is drumming. A very embarrassing heat burst up to my cheeks.
"Hey, red suits you well, little sister!" exclaims Marcel, who loses no opportunity to spot out what I try to conceal.

Here IS my big brother. In order to drive away the attention, I quickly inquired about Marcel's life in Marrakech:
"So, Marcel, tell me ... How was it in Marrakech, how was your life there?"

"Fantastic ! I think, Jocelyne, that these Marrakech years will be the most important of my life ... I have learned so much!"

"On the piloting of T6?"

"On piloting of course and especially on men, life, friendship ..."

canteen at Avord

He gave a friendly pat on Anh's shoulder. "Hey, you have to admit that you were always the first guy to aim the beautiful Julie, huh, Anh?"

"The beautiful Julie?" I asked, a little shocked. "Who is the beautiful Julie? She is french?"

Anh laughed, a crystalline laugh that revealed the whiteness of his beautiful teeth and the wings of his nose began to jiggle ... charmingly.
"Oh no, don't you worry, Jocelyne, the 'beautiful Julie' is our daily carrier to Sidi Zouine, the only air field with a concrete track where we train. This plane, we call it 'Julie' because it's the JU 52."

Julie

He winked at Marcel, who went on:
"Did you not see in the newspapers In February, talking about a rescue mission carried out by our beautiful Julie, under the command of Captain Guenez? This mission was a great success and made Julie famous. Huge risks were taken for this mission and ... "

Marcel went on speaking, with enthusiasm and almost without interruption, which suited me well for this left me free to contemplate our Vietnamese friend's face.

That's how I learned about their life in Marrakech, their adventures, their apprenticeship, their planes, the mood of their instructors, Colonel Duval, Colonel Leclere...

Vietnamese pilot students

but most of Marcel's chat sounds like a lullaby to me, until he relates an incident that caught my attention:
"See, my Jocelyne, you have in front of you an expert in Kung Fu!" Marcel exclaimed, pointing to his friend.

" In what ?" I asked, curious.

"In Kung Fu, it's a Chinese martial art ... and it's very, very powerful! Listen to this: One evening, we went out to dinner and have a drink in the Djema El Fna square, close to the "Medina". it was quite late when we decided to go back to the base and everyone left before us. We were only the two of us left that night... On the way home, a group of four men came to us and you know what ? they began threatening us ! You know me : I started to remove my wallet and give it away, it is better to save your skin than the wallet's one, don't you think? "

Marcel gave Anh a wink and continued:
"Anh stopped me and he asked the four men to leave us alone, while positioning himself so that I was the only one in his back. The others shouted and one of them even pulled out a knife ! Here I was really scared, you see? But Anh did not move, and the one with the knife started charging at Anh with his weapon!"

"And then ?" I was anxiously hanged to his words.

"And then, all the others charged as well at the same time! They rushed on Anh and me ..."

" Oh my God !"

"But they didn't have the time to see what was coming in! Anh disarmed the first one with such speed that I couldn't figure out how he did it, and he threw his opponent on the next man, in the same move! So those two found themselves entangled on the ground, useless. Then Anh jumped on the third foe and slap his ears! Damn, he must have heard bells! While he was holding his ears deaf, Anh finished the fourth striker by giving him a majestic round kick in the ribs! Indeed, the four did not take long to flee like mice, ha! ha! ha! The whole thing did not last five minutes! "

"A fight avoided is a successful fight, but when engaged, a quick fight is an effective fight." Concludes Anh in a low voice, smiling.

Regaining my mind, it was with passion that I discovered, with Anh's explanations, what Kung Fu was. Not only a way of combat, but also a way of life.

The film was about to run as we took place in the cozy cinema room, each of the two men at my both sides. Feeling Anh so close to me, I hardly dared breathing ... I did not really follow the film: "the Wild One" with Marlon Brando whose charm, compared to Anh's, is far below. I believe that I really care for this young man from a far away land.

Later, I learned that Marcel was involved in the bi-motor transport specialty, pursuing his training in France while Anh was going to be directed to the "fighter" specialty in Meknes. Anh would go back to North Africa. Years later, the two friends will meet again in Nha trang, Viet Nam... but this is another story.

Before Anh's departure, we met every day, visiting Paris in order to make him discover our beautiful City.
That's how Anh told me a little about his country ... A country so different, so distant, so unreal to me. Anh was admitted to Sai Gon's most prestigious elite school, Petrus Ky High School,

Petrus ky School

where the best students were offered a scholarship and the possibility of high studying abroad. This was the case of Anh who, at the age of 22, spoke three languages fluently, and his grades were all close to excellence.

Marcel was full of admiration for his friend, most of all for his extraordinary memory capacity beyond mortals:
"You see, Jocelyne, he only has to read a book once to retain all its content! He has passed the degrees of learning twice as fast as everyone else, it's an Ace, I tell you! And up there, in the sky, he is unbreakable, even at night, even in heavy fog!"

And besides, he's as handsome as an angel, I thought.

But Anh lifted a careless hand : "No, no, don't believe him, he overestimates me!"

Furthermore, he is humble... Actually, I am more and more in love ...

But ... Maybe having felt it, he one day pulled out of his wallet, a photo of a gorgeous young Vietnamese girl and showed it to us :
"Here is my fiancée. We were both born in the Can Tho area."

There, I felt tears come to my eyes... and my legs became jelly as my heart went frozen inside. A fiancée ! But yes, a handsome young man with such great talents, so charming, so captivating, how only could he be single?

Anh felt my sadness, for he took my hand and said with his soft voice: "You're my best Lady French friend, Jocelyne, and this means a lot to me."
Not very tricky though, I'm the only French Lady he really knows. I couldn't help feeling bitterness.

This is how I let go this beautiful pilot from Indochina, a country always kept in my buried dreams.

End of this chapter, to be followed...

Avord, Plane = MD312 (Marcel Dassault). Line below : Vietnamese pilots, my father in the middle

bonus :

*The Ecole Militaire d'Avord, founded in 1912 in Cher (France), is still very active today. It represents one of the most important strategic bases of the hexagon.

The very famous pilot and writer Antoine de Saint Exupéry was assigned to it in 1922 for his training.

Air base of Marrakech in the 50's

An airbase, the B707, located in Marrakech, is attached to Avord.
It is in this base that my father essentially followed his training, on the following aircrafts:

The T6 (fighter plane) : The only airplane whose piloting was officially taught at Sidi Zouin

photo source mangin@marrakech

The dog bone cessna (observation plane) : My father was luckyt to benefit from this unofficial training.

The Douglas Skyraider (fighter jet) : Same.

My father decorated at Avord

Historical review:

The Geneva Accords mark the end of the Indochina War, which, since 1946, had mainly opposed France to Việt Minh (anti-colonialist movement in which my mother took part, as teenager. It became totally communist years later). The Treaty is written after the fall of Ðiện Biên Phủ, and signed on July 21, 1954.

In 1954, when my father was in the middle of his pilot training, our country was divided in two, by the 17th parallel. It is in this area also called "DMZ" (demilitarized zone) that all main missions of my father will occur, reported in another chapter.

THANK YOU for reading my Dad's story... hope you enjoyed !

source : Mangin@Marrakech
Deep thanks the site mangin@marrakech in which I have found so precious precisions for this post.
Many thanks to Wahya, who lends me some of his photo to illustrate this text.

stars guide you, wings carry you, crown awaits you

previous chapter 1 : https://steemit.com/life/@tiloupsa/my-father-this-hero-general-nguyen-huy-anh-first-chapter-the-slap