How did a guy like me wind up in what was then known as Saigon, Vietnam, in 1966?
Looking out my dirty hotel window one evening I still wasn’t sure. There was a war being fought in the jungles north of us. But that wasn’t what brought me here. I was here for the paycheck. I was hired by an American firm contracted by the U.S. Navy for construction work. My skills as an engineer were in demand.
Right away I knew I did not like Saigon. It was hot, dirty and confusing. We engineers lived in a fleabag hotel called the Mondial. Mainly, I kept to myself and stayed inside the hotel. The more experienced guys warned us not to wander off alone, especially after dark. There were horror stories of American businessmen or contractors like ourselves disappearing down alleyways and never being heard from again. The streets certainly didn’t look welcoming with their unfamiliar shops, signs I couldn’t read and soldiers walking around with guns.
I miss America, I thought as I gazed down onto the busy street below. Nothing—not the job nor the money—seemed worth this kind of loneliness. I missed my family and friends back in the States. I felt miles away from everything friendly or familiar. But still, I had to eat. I tied my shoelaces and double-locked the hotel door behind me. It was time for my daily trek out into the streets of Saigon for dinner.
Once I’d had a decent meal I walked back to the hotel. I strolled slower than I usually did, taking in some of the knickknacks being sold at the various carts around the plaza by the hotel.
These folks aren’t so different from me, I thought. I should try to enjoy the adventure. It was good to be out and about. At least, surrounded by people, I felt a little less alone.
Then I realized the sky had gotten dark. Sundown. How many times was I warned to get back to the hotel before dark? I walked more quickly toward the Mondial. Lord, I prayed, if your angels exist, I’d love to have one of them protect me now.
A cycle-powered pedicab blew past me and I yelled after him, hoping for a faster trip home. He slowed to a stop. “Hello,” I said. “Hotel Mondial.” The cabbie nodded and started peddling off. Something didn’t seem right though. He was taking a strange route back to the hotel. The cabbie spun the pedicab into a very dark and deserted alleyway. There was another man in the alleyway already. He nodded in recognition at the pedicab driver. My worst fears about Saigon were coming true. I was trapped!
I leapt out of the pedicab but the men cornered me up against a brick wall in the alley. I was alone, in the dark. My two would-be assailants blocked the only exit.
As they moved toward me, I could make out a third figure, shrouded in shadows, coming up behind them. He towered over the both of them. Oh, no, I thought. Three against one. I’ll never make it. I’m going to be the subject of one of those horror stories new guys get told.
When they stepped out of the shadows, I saw the towering figure wore a U.S. uniform with master sergeant stripes. “Sarge?” I whispered. The two assailants wheeled around, just now seeing the hulking soldier behind them. They froze in their tracks. I skittered over to him. We walked out of the alley and toward the Mondial. The two muggers didn’t dare follow.
Never was I so happy to see the Mondial. “Thanks, Sarge,” I said when we reached the glass doors. He said nothing in return. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a sidearm. That was unheard of. And since when do master sergeants walk around Saigon after dark? Alone?
I put my hand on the door and turned around. “Hey, thanks again…” I froze with my mouth half open. The soldier was gone. I looked back down the way we came but the towering figure was nowhere to be seen.
As I dragged my weary body through the lobby of the Mondial, I remembered the prayer I’d made earlier that night. The Lord does have his ministering angels, and they do help those in need. Even in a faraway place like Vietnam.
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