As Thieu anxiously awaited news from Washington, creeping paralysis overtook him. He had counted on the military and economic support of the U.S. for so long-even to the point of believing that the U.S. might resume bombing the North with B-52s-that he never anticipated that South Vietnam might have to stand and fight on its own. The ultimate realization that his blind faith in the U.S. would be of no avail, and his underlying pessimism about South Vietnam’s military capability, engendered a despair in Thieu that eventually crippled the country’s entire leadership structure.

Thieu's ability to lead was impaired further by the fact that he trusted nobody and few trusted him. He was so fearful of a coup that much of his thinking was aimed solely at staying in power. To solidify his position, he generally appointed to high-level government and military posts only those who would not or could not act independently of him. As a result, when indecision immobilized Thieu, the entire government nearly ceased to function.

A high-ranking South Vietnamese minister described the paralysis affecting military and political officials who looked to Saigon for guidance:

“While the country was plunged in unprecedented turmoil and on the verge of collapse, the government adopted a strange attitude, a silence that was hard to understand except for a few appearances on TV and radio by President Thieu. People asked themselves questions and they tried to answer them themselves. Rumors circulated in place of government announcements. The Ministry of Information was mute, because the minister himself didn’t know much about the situation and didn’t know what the president’s intention was. Furthermore, he didn’t dare to take the initiative and talk about the things the president might not like or agree with.”

While the people of South Vietnam awaited leadership from Saigon, the refugees at Da Nang, trapped by Communist forces, pleaded for help. But Thieu’s government seemed powerless to rescue even a few of the million refugees crammed into Da Nang. As it had been so many times during the Vietnam conflict, the initiative was left to the U.S. The plight of Da Nang’s refugees, which included some of the seven thousand Americans still thought to be in South Vietnam, spurred the U.S. to action.

An Ill-Fated Rescue

The U.S. hastily chartered three Boeing 727s and sought a 747 jumbo jet. It was hoped that together the four planes could carry thousands of refugees per day in an emergency airlift to Saigon. On March 26 the American military consul for northern South Vietnam ordered the evacuation of his American personnel by way of Da Nang. The evacuation began smoothly enough, but soon panic and confusion took over. After a World Airways Boeing 727 landed at Da Nang to bring out more passengers, an unruly crowd surrounded the airplane. Everyone tried to scramble on board, endangering the safety of the aircraft. It eventually succeeded in taking off.

The following day several Air America and World Airways pilots flew into Da Nang. In their return to Saigon, they complained that their planes had been nearly swamped by mobs completely out of control. It appeared that the airlift was doomed. But Ed Daly, president of World Airways, decided to make one more attempt to fly one of his 727s into Da Nang’s now tumultuous airport on March 29. The refugees, sensing that Daly’s might be the last plane out, erupted into a riot. The plane barely got off the ground, since it had to take off on a taxi-way obstructed by hostile refugees and South Vietnamese soldiers.

Reporter Paul Vogle, who had spent eighteen years in Vietnam, found his trip on board the last plane out of Da Nang to be the most terrifying experience of his life.

“Mobs of people are pushing and shoving, trying to get aboard. The plane is taxiing away from the mob. The crew is scared. The mob is panic-stricken. There’s a man with an M16 pointed at us, trying to get us to stop. We’re loading [refugees]. . . .  People are storming aboard, shouting ... pushing... soldiers, civilians. People climbing up on wings, falling down off wings. Soldiers are firing in the air to frighten other people away. . .  no control at all.

“. . . women and children lying on the ground. Some people trying to lie in front of the wheels. ... The pilot gooses the plane. They’ll die when the plane takes off. People are still on the landing ramps as the aircraft picks up speed . . .  fall off on the ground as it goes, pulled out by suction.”

Although the plane reached Saigon safely with about two hundred and ninety refugees aboard, no one dared suggest a return trip. It turned out that most of its passengers had not been civilian refugees but South Vietnamese soldiers who had forced their way onto the plane. This alarmed U.S. authorities who had counted on the South Vietnamese army to maintain order during the evacuation. Some of these soldiers had shot family members who stood in the way of their escape. At least seven refugees had clung to the plane’s wheel wells and were saved only because the body of a soldier entangled during takeoff had jammed the gear retraction mechanism.

 An attempted sea lift from Da Nang was more successful. The Pioneer Commander, one of the three vessels promised by the White House and the U.S. Embassy, dropped anchor off Da Nang on March 28. It took on ten thousand people, among them nonessential staff of the U.S. Consulate. Arriving right behind the Pioneer Commander were the Pioneer Contender and a U.S. Navy ship, the Miller.

Together the three ships carried over twenty-eight thousand refugees south to the former American naval base at Cam Ranh Bay. Returning the next day for more, the crews found that the Communists were overrunning Da Nang. The evacuation ships were besieged by a crush of refugees as well as by South Vietnamese Marines bitter at being abandoned by their government.

The tragic scene on the beaches resembled that at Dunkirk thirty-five years before, but few of those involved expected that they would ever return to Da Nang in victory, as the French and British had to Dunkirk:

By chance the [South Vietnamese Marines] wound up on two ships ... two thousand or so made it to the Pioneer Commander... some came out in sampans and lifeboats, motorboats, and fishing boats. On nets and stairs, they scrambled aboard the big American ship. Perhaps fifty persons died when they made the mistake of trying to clamber on the ship in front of armed marines. [South Vietnamese] Marines opened up with their M16s and fought with their hands to kill. The toll of those who drowned or were crushed between the Commander and smaller boats is unknown.

Refugees who made it aboard the evacuation ships endured overcrowding and atrocious sanitary conditions. The decks were often covered with excrement and strewn with dead bodies. Many of the dead were simply pushed overboard. Armed soldiers fought over what little food there was while defenseless refugees huddled together, fearful for their lives and few belongings.

Hope Springs Eternal

Four weeks after the fall of Da Nang, the first rockets fell on Saigon. By then Communist forces controlled most of the country. Now Saigon was a last, tiny island of sanctuary. First Hue, then Da Nang, then Cam Ranh Bay had been lost. Although many of the government air bases, military outposts, and fortified areas had simply been abandoned, the South Vietnamese army had also made a few courageous stands against the enemy.

 At Xuan Loc, a provincial capital thirty-eight miles northeast of Saigon, South Vietnamese units held out for more than two weeks against superior North Vietnamese forces and a continuous barrage of mortar and artillery. South Vietnamese defenders at Xuan Loc seemed determined to demonstrate that they could fight despite the poor performance of their comrades at Hue and Da Nang. But their last-ditch resistance was not enough. By April 21 Xuan Loc lay in ruins and had to be evacuated. A South Vietnamese military officer described the North Vietnamese assault:

“There was nothing we could do. The Communists shelled us with thousands of rounds — thousands. Then they attacked this morning with two regiments of infantry. Our casualties were not light, so we ran through the jungle to escape.”

In the aftermath of Xuan Loc, South Vietnam appeared irretrievably lost to the North Vietnamese. President Thieu’s once heralded defense policy-no negotiating with the enemy, no Communist activity in the country, no coalition government, and no surrender of territory-was all but forgotten. Thieu himself resigned on April 21 under heavy political pressure. It was hoped that Thieu’s successor might reverse his uncompromising policy and negotiate a cease-fire with the Communists in exchange for a coalition government.

While announcing his resignation, Thieu vowed to stay on and fight, no matter what the consequences:

 “I resign but I do not desert. From this minute I will put myself at the disposal of the president and people. I will continue to stay close to you all in the coming task of national defense.”

Thieu did stay in Saigon, briefly; five days after his speech he packed fifteen tons of “baggage” into a U.S. Air Force C-118 transport plane and flew to Taipei. It was reported that three and one-half tons of South Vietnamese gold accompanied him.

Air Marshall Nguyen Cao Ky, former South Vietnamese premier and vice president, was not far behind. Ky had told a rally of Catholics in Saigon to “let the cowards run away with the Americans” and promised to lead a defense of the capital. But soon after, he commandeered a helicopter and piloted it to the deck of the USS Midway standing by off the coast. Like so many promises made during the Vietnam War, Thieu’s and Ky’s went unfulfilled.

To be continued in Part Two . . .