We didn’t get nervous until the Royal Thai Army and Marines started shooting at each other.
Major
Ladd, 37th Marine Expeditionary Unit
The ship I was on had been operating in the Persian Gulf during the 1980 failed rescue attempt of 45 American hostages from Iran, known as Operation Eagle Claw. The 31st MEU served as a floating reserve for the CIA, Army Ranger, and Delta Force led operation directed by President Carter. The rescue attempt had gone off the rails from the start, with poor planning, bad weather, and equipment failures leading to a humiliating debacle and the deaths of eight American troops. The mission was aborted, and the Marines of the MEU listened in horror as the disaster unfolded but were given no orders to intervene. Iran’s Supreme leader and face of evil to the West, Ayatollah Khomeini, credited an Iranian version of the divine wind for the failure of the Americans to rescue their citizens, “Who crushed Mr. Carter's helicopters? We did? The sands did! They were God's agents. Wind is God's agent ... These sands are agents of God.” (10)
As quickly as it started, the chaos in Thailand died down within a few days. Thai King Bhumidol Adulydej made a personal appeal to the officials involved and the protestors for peace and calm, and that’s exactly what he got. Evidently even though the people were ready to kill members of the military government, both sides respected the King and obeyed his call for them to settle down. Incredibly, the country returned to peace like a switch was flipped off. It was like nothing had ever happened, but later reports on the situation said that 52 protesters were killed, around 650 injured, and around 170 “disappeared”.
Rather
than keep us all on the ships, an unexpected weekend of Cinderella liberty was
announced. Much like the routine at Camp Courtney on Okinawa, life for an
officer on ship came with some duties. One of those was to supervise a nightly
“shore patrol” team that would stroll the streets from the afternoon till the
last barge left the shore for the ship. The shore patrol would watch for
Marines and Sailors who had too much to drink or were causing trouble. I drew
duty for the first night of liberty, gathered my assigned team, and reported
for duty in town. The evening was relatively tame. With the exercise over, most
of the thousands of Marines and Sailors were gone, and only a handful from the
ships that remained were still in town. It was peaceful, like being at the
beach the week after a major holiday. I walked the streets, on the lookout for
any sign of trouble, but it was quiet. About halfway through my shift, I saw
Tic sitting at a table by the street. I walked over, said hello and told her
what had happened with the exercise. She asked how long we would be around, and
I told her I didn’t know, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long now that things
were settling down. While I had been walking that evening, I had seen a sign
for a tour to the river Kwai, and I asked her what she knew about it. I had
seen the sign before, but after checking a map it appeared to be far outside
the established liberty limit zone that served to prevent Marines from getting
into bad situations. None of the other officers had been interested in getting
in the “deep kimchi” that such a trip would have risked. She said the town
where the bridge was, Kanchanaburi, was a long way and the tours were a rip
off, only allowing enough time for a quick stop before heading back. A friend
of hers drove a cab, and she said if I would meet them as early as I could get
away the next morning, she would be my guide and they would make sure I got
back on time. It was a gamble. If there was an accident, or I somehow got hurt
or in trouble, or didn’t make it back in time, I would have been brought up on career
damaging charges. However, the old adage that, “it’s better to beg forgiveness
than ask for permission” won out as I considered this might be the only time in
my life I would be in the area. I hadn’t come halfway around the world to sit
in a bar and drink beer on what might be my last day in the country.
As
planned, I was up early the next morning and took the first transport boat to
shore. Tic was waiting, and we had a quick breakfast of fruit and juice, then
climbed in the waiting cab. It was about three and a half hours to the spot
where the railroad between Bangkok and Rangoon crossed the Kwai river. It had
been close to 1AM by the time I had completed shore patrol and returned to my
stateroom, so I was tired, but couldn’t wait to see the place I had read about
and seen in the movie. As excited as I was, it wasn’t long before the road
ahead appeared to split in two, and my eyelids felt incredibly heavy, then closed.
I woke to voices chattering in the distinctive
rhythmic tones of the Thai language. The car wasn’t moving, and as I came to I
had the dark thought that they were possibly discussing how to get rid of my
body after robbing and killing me. I sat up and realized they had just been
talking about the best route to take. Refreshed after a much-needed nap, I
watched as the countryside streamed by. Tic was right, this guy was getting us
there much faster than a bus would have. We talked for the rest of the trip.
She told me she was engaged to an airman who had recently passed through. She
confidently explained that when he got back to the US and got settled, he was
going to coordinate bringing her to the States so they could get married. She
asked a lot about the US and what life was like there, and I told her about my
home. I learned more about her, that she was originally from a northern area of
the country and had been sent to Pattaya by her parents to earn money for the
family. She said she worked mostly waitressing and doing “some other things” to
get by.
The
risk of the trip outside the allowed liberty zone was well rewarded when we
arrived. A black sign with neat white letters that spelled out “River Kwai
Bridge” in Thai and English stood beside the road. Directly behind the sign,
the railroad the WWII prisoners of war (POWs) had built long ago crossed over
the river and disappeared into the forest on the opposite bank. The river was about
the width of two football fields end to end, and didn’t appear deep or swift,
as the surrounding landscape didn’t have much of a slope. A series of six or so
vertical concrete piers followed a line across the river, spaced about a
hundred feet apart, with their base on the river bottom and rising around 20
feet into the air. Heavy black iron trusses rested on the piers and held the iron
crossbeams and still functioning tracks that spanned the river. The bridge had
been bombed from the air by allied planes during the war, not packed with
explosives and blown up as the book described. Several of the trusses survived
the bombing intact, but the middle section had been destroyed. After the war,
the Japanese had rebuilt it as part of their reparations for wartime actions.
The bridge wasn’t a work of art, but it was sturdy and functional.
I
sat on the bank and took in the scene, considering the misery caused by the
Japanese and their effort to build the railroad. A nearby well-maintained
cemetery held the remains of British and Dutch POWs who had died during the war.
Each grave was marked by a short, rectangular granite headstone with the name, rank,
and unit of the soldier who lay beneath. Some included the age, with many younger
than was. A white marble slab near the entrance simply stated, “THEIR NAME
LIVETH FOREVERMORE”. A small museum told the story of how the railroad was
constructed and of the men who died in the process. Feeling connected to the
history of the place, I was awestruck just being there. A train was still
functioning on the tracks, and we bought tickets and boarded the next one that
passed, going west towards the Burmese border. The landscape turned
mountainous, and the scenery was breathtaking. From high on the sides of
mountains, we could look down on the lush green canopy below. The train rumbled
on down the rickety line, carrying its cargo of tourists and travelers. At times
it felt and looked like we were riding on a wooden roller coaster track instead
of a structure designed to hold the weight of a freight train. We rode for
about a half hour, then got off at a stop and had a late lunch. When the meal
was finished, a train coming the other direction appeared, and we boarded for
the return trip.
When
we returned, Tic led me down to a dock near the base of the bridge. I imagined it
was the precise spot that was the setting for the British Commando to slit
Colonel Saito’s throat in the book I had read while sitting on the front porch
of the farm half a world away. A man was on the dock tending a shallow boat
tied up near the base of the bridge. His craft looked like a colorful double
sized canoe, but its bottom was flat, and it had what appeared to be a small
automobile engine perched precariously on the stern, with a long shaft sticking
out behind the boat that ended in a propeller a few inches below the surface. He
waved us onto the red benches, fired up the odd-looking engine, and we were
soon skipping over the water on his boat heading north as grass topped huts,
fishermen, and kids appeared on the banks. He took us a few miles up the
winding river, past rice paddies, jungle, and fields before returning to the dock. Our adventures had filled
the day, and Tic had been a wonderful tour guide.
Worn
out, we headed back to Pattaya so I could get back on ship before the curfew.
When we arrived, I paid the driver what we had agreed on, and then gave Tic the
rest of the cash I had in my wallet. I knew she had taken a day off to take me
to the bridge and it had cost her much needed income. She walked with me to the
landing where the barge was waiting. In a voice that reminded me of my last conversation
with Christina years earlier on the French Riviera, she told me she would miss
her “Mah-Reens”. I wished her well and told her I appreciated her taking me on
the adventure. She was quiet for a
moment as we walked, then asked me, “Do you think I’m dirty?” I replied simply,
“No, I don’t think that at all.” We reached the landing, I gave her a hug and
said goodbye, and stepped onto the transport boat for the San Bernardino. She waved
and watched as long as I could see her in the darkness. She was a special
person and would make someone a great wife and mother one day. I hoped the
airman lived up to his promises to her.
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