When General Paul Ely recently assumed command in Indo-China, TIME Correspondent John Mecklin flew down from Hanoi to Saigon to cover his arrival. As the newsfronts keep shifting in this hot war, Mecklin moves with them. His beat has taken him into the Red River Delta, eastward to the South China Sea, westward into the remote villages of Laos. He has traveled by cyclo (a kind of bicycle wheelchair), by jeep, C-47--and on foot.

In November, Mecklin watched from the air as French paratroopers dropped from the planes around him to capture the tiny Communist stronghold that later became known throughout the world as Dienbienphu. A few weeks later, he stood on the bridge of a French flagship while the commanding officer ordered the landing barges away in the first phase of Operation Atlante (TIME, Feb.1). Mecklin also made quick flights to Seno and Luang Prabang to cover distant phases of the war close up. "Hardly a week goes by," he says, "that you don't do some flying, nearly always in a plane that needed an overhaul 200 hours ago, with a pilot who hasn't had any sleep for days and keeps himself in shape with vin rouge." By March, when Mecklin moved to Hanoi's dreary Press Camp to cover the fall of Dienbienphu, stiff censorship had set in.

Mecklin's bid to visit the besieged garrison was flatly rejected. He was forced to cover the news by constant vigilance at French army headquarters in the Citadelle, by haunting the lobby of the Metropole Hotel, by quizzing legionnaires at the Taverne Royale sidewalk cafe.

In April, Mecklin flew a night airdrop mission with the French over Dienbienphu. His closeup description in TIME (April 19) was punctuated by the winking fire of the Communist antiaircraft batteries below. He also hopped over to Haiphong to talk to the American CAT pilots who were airlifting everything from ammunition to Scotch whisky into the surrounded fortress.

"On the flight back," he cabled, "I got a glimpse of highway battle--a peasant village burning furiously, shells bursting in the paddies, the artillery fire directed by an observation plane circling overhead. Like traffic waiting for a train to pass, long lines of cars stretched from points about two miles apart where they had been stopped by troops." Shortly thereafter Mecklin was to report at firsthand just such a highway battle, typical of IndoChina's hit-and-run war. Accompanying General Rene Cogny, he took part in an inspection tour of Namdinh and Binh-luc. The following day, Mecklin risked mortars and snipers to cover an armored operation which leapfrogged out to rescue two besieged Vietnamese outposts. That day his friend, Photographer Robert Capa, who had gone 75 yards ahead of him up the road, was killed by a mine (TIME, June 7).

Correspondent Mecklin began covering the world's wars in 1942. He made five convoy crossings of the Atlantic, reported the Sicily landings and the St.-Lo breakout from Normandy. Mecklin was captured by the Germans in September of 1944, when he was racing through France with Patton's Army. He was released after three days, spent a week with the French underground before rejoining the U.S. forces. Among his prized souvenirs is a butter knife with the initials A.H. on the handle, taken from the ruins of Hitler's Berlin bunker.

Even at home, Mecklin can't quite escape the relics of war. His Hong Kong house is on a hillside near an abandoned British antiaircraft battery site. The emplacements form a perfect play yard for his two young sons, Davy and Sandy.

Cordially yours,

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