Chapter 4: Chapter 4 The old Colonel's notebook — Ink on an Old Map

The house stood deep in a small, quiet alley in a military compound on the outskirts of Hanoi. Brightly blooming bougainvillea covered the fence, hiding the age of the decades-old house. Lê An rode her old motorbike into the yard shaded by old crocodile trees, carrying a basket of fresh fruit.

On the way in, An observed the smallest details with professional habit: the blue-painted iron gate that had peeled off in pieces, the blue ceramic house number plate engraved with numbers in subsidy-era script, and a clothesline of faded military uniforms running across the corner of the yard. Every detail reminds of a long-gone golden age, when this house was still bustling with the sounds of people coming in and out to congratulate and report merit. She took a breath, trying to dispel the feeling of nervousness rising in her chest. This was not an interrogation, she told herself, just a friendly visit from the niece of an old friend.

Welcoming her at the door was a kind old woman, an old nurse who had devotedly cared for the owner of the house for many years.

"Hello, ma'am." An bowed politely. "I'm An, Uncle Bach's biological niece. Uncle Bach called to talk to you first. I would like to ask for permission to visit Uncle Hung for a moment." The nurse smiled and nodded, accepting the fruit basket. "Mr. Hung is watering the plants in the backyard. You can go in. But remember not to make him too emotional, his blood pressure has not been stable lately."

An walked through the living room, simply decorated with sparkling medals hanging on the wood-paneled wall. The owner was Colonel Trần Hùng, former head of the Logistics Operations Department of Military Region V in the late 1960s. He had been Uncle Bách's direct commander and was considered one of the best strategic minds in the Central region.

In the sunny backyard, an old man in his eighties, with a muscular figure despite the traces of time, was slowly using a coconut shell to water several pots of orchids. His hair was as white as ice, but his eyes still retained the sharp, sharp features of a person who had experienced hundreds of life-and-death battles.

An stood silently behind him, watching him tend each orchid with hands that had once squeezed triggers and signed combat orders. A strange contrast existed between the gentle old gardener and the sparkling medals inside. She remembered her father saying that old soldiers often carried two people within one body: the one who had once given orders and buried the dead, and the one who simply wanted to water plants in peace and count the days remaining. She did not know which person she was about to awaken.

"Hello, Colonel," An spoke softly so as not to startle him.

Colonel Hung stopped, turned back to look at An, his eyes squinted under the sunlight. "Ah, this is Mr. Bach's niece, right? He told me to work at the National Archives Center. Is the work hard?"

"Yes, it has its own interesting things," An replied politely, stepping forward to help him hold the coconut shell. "I work on classifying historical documents. Actually, I came to visit you today. In addition to asking about your health, I also have a small thing I want to ask you for advice on."

Colonel Hùng smiled gently and motioned for An to sit on the stone table and chairs beneath the almond tree. "Just ask. I'm old; sometimes my memory fails me, but I still remember the old battlefield stories clearly—every tree stump and blade of grass."

An took a deep breath, pulled a piece of paper with black ink and the letters "D-a-n T-r-a-m" from her bag, and placed it carefully on the stone table in front of the former commander.

"Dear uncle, during the recent declassification of documents of Military Region V in 1968, I accidentally discovered a place name that was blackened with specialized intelligence ink. Through analysis, I read that the name below is Đan Trầm. Its coordinates are located in a narrow valley in the Northern Central Highlands. You used to be in charge of operations and logistics in that area, have you ever heard of the name Đan Trầm?"

In just a blink of an eye, the gentle smile on Colonel Hung's lips froze. His sharp eyes suddenly flashed with extreme surprise, then immediately turned into a terrifying coldness.

He reached out, grabbed the paper on the table with a speed that one would hardly expect from an old man in his eighties, crumpling it in his scarred palm.

"Where did you get this?" His voice was hoarse, lacking any warm timbre. "Who gave you permission to investigate these coordinates?"

"Yes... I just discovered it by accident during the process of classifying maps." An was startled by the old man's overreaction, but still tried to stay calm. "I looked up all the land records, but there was not a single line mentioning Đan Trầm, as if it had never existed in this world. Why was a village wiped out so cruelly, sir? What did they do wrong?"

"Shut up!" Colonel Hung slammed his hand down on the stone table, his scream echoed off the fence. His blood pressure seemed to be skyrocketing, blue veins appeared on his forehead. "What do you know about cruelty? War is not a romantic novel for you to sit in an air-conditioned room and satisfy your curiosity. There are things that are not allowed to be dug up, because the price to pay for that truth is too high!"

The nurse ran out of the house in panic when she heard shouting. "Mr. Hung! Please calm down! Have you taken your blood pressure medicine?"

She hurried to the tea table and reached for the medicine bottle on the shelf. In her panic, her elbow knocked over a stack of old books and newspapers, along with several tattered leather-bound notebooks beside the teacup.

"Shock!"

The glass cup fell and shattered, dragging a series of notebooks onto the red tile floor.

An quickly bent down to pick it up for the nurse. Amidst the clutter of papers, a small notebook with a dark brown leather cover had its spine torn open, revealing a yellowed page.

An's eyes, which had been trained to quickly scan the text, immediately caught the handwritten lines with red ink, as bold and sharp as fresh blood, in complete contrast to the pages written in pale blue ink around her.

The notebook page bears the date: "April 15, 1968".

The content is only three lines:

*"Operation X-14 Relocation officially begins.

*Goal: Clear Đan Trầm valley to build T-9 logistics station.*

*Command request: Level 1 security. Do not leave any witnesses. Completely destroy the area."*

Without leaving any witnesses? Completely scorched earth?

An felt as if the air around her had been sucked dry. Those cold-blooded words were written from the perspective of a military operation aimed directly at an innocent civilian village. Đan Trầm had not been destroyed by the enemy; it had been wiped out by its own soldiers simply because it lay where a logistics station was planned.

"Give it here!"

A strong tug from above. Colonel Hung stood up, his face pale with anger and pain. With unbelievable strength, he snatched the notebook from An's hand, clutching it tightly to his chest as if protecting a life, breathing rapidly.

"Uncle... Uncle Hung..." An stammered, still unable to escape the shock. "X-14... What do you mean by leaving no witnesses? What did you guys do to the people there?"

"Get out of my house! This instant!" Colonel Hung pointed towards the gate, his eyes flashing red blood. "You don't know what fire ant nest you're poking into. Don't ever come back here, and never mention the name Đan Trầm again. He died along with the sins of our generation. Go away!"

The nurse was scared and pushed An towards the door. "Go home, please don't agitate him any more. He might have a stroke!"

Pushed out of the iron gate, An stood still on a small alley full of fallen bougainvillea flowers. The sound of the door being locked was dry.

An stood silently in the middle of the alley, fallen bougainvillea petals around her. With trembling hands, she pulled out her work notebook and recorded every detail while it was still fresh: the date, the red ink, the commanding words, and the unusual reaction of a man who had once commanded an entire military region. As an archivist, she understood the basic rule of her profession: a single clue, no matter how sharp, was only a hypothesis until compared with an independent source. Colonel Hùng's notebook was the first source. She needed a second—a living person, another map, or a document from outside this house.

Đan Trầm Valley. Operation X-14. Logistics station T-9. Leave no witnesses.

Four fragmentary pieces but enough to create a horrifying picture of the brutality of war, where the lives of hundreds of people were crushed by a single stroke of the commander's pen, and then bleached white by accidental streaks of black ink. Nam was right, she was touching a forbidden area of history. The people involved in it were still alive, carrying deep guilt, and they had used every power and every trick to suppress the truth.

An started the car engine and drove away in the bright afternoon sunlight of the capital. She knew she couldn't stop anymore. The search for documents in Hanoi ended with the refusal of a living witness. The only place where the answer can be kept is not on paper, but under the soil and rocks of that forbidden valley.

The next morning, the Thống Nhất train SE3 would depart at dawn. An would go south, straight into the dry and rocky Central region, where mist-covered mountains concealed an anonymous village screaming to reclaim its right to exist in human memory. The real journey had begun.