The Refugees: 'We Were Scared'

Countless thousands of the half million or more people who fled their homes in the abandoned provinces for government-held territory made their way to the coastal city of Danang. TIME'S Saigon Bureau Chief Peter Range flew there last week and filed this report:

A beautiful, clear half moon eerily illuminated the long, solemn march south, down Route 1 between the South China Sea and the stark, lovely silhouettes of the Annamite chain to the west. Trucks piled high with baskets, furniture and clothes were packed with 50 and 60 people in the rear. An army deuce-and-a-half rolled by, claxon blaring, three dozen faces peering from the back and five more Vietnamese sitting on the hood. Three old Citroens, looking like something out of an old French police thriller, glided silently by with no fewer than 20 Vietnamese inside. For the ride from Hue to Danang, these families had paid $45, up from the normal fare of $9. A three-wheel Lambretta taxi designed for eight small people passed, carrying 16. A wheel fell off the axle, and everyone abandoned the taxi in the middle of the crowded highway.

Up near the Hai Van pass, which divides Quang Nam from Thua Thien province, the highway was a string of bobbing headlights, a coiled serpent of dainty dots winding down from the ridge into the plain. The cool night air was heavy with dust and fumes from many engines. A return convoy of empty trucks, Lambrettas and Citroens going back to Hue for more refugees (and more business) was halted for an hour as the refugees descended through the pass. Drivers stretched out on straw mats on the asphalt, eating bowls of rice in the glare of their own headlights. Beside the road, some families who had walked the 45 kilometers from Phu Lap sat on straw mats around a single, thick red temple candle. A small kettle sat atop a tiny clump of burning sticks, boiling water for tea. But they had had no food all day and were still 25 kilometers away from sketchy and still unorganized relief efforts in Danang.

Luong Dueng, 19, who lost a leg in combat several years ago, had made the entire march on crutches, but he grinned while he smoked a cigarette. "We left because everybody else did," he said. "We don't know why, but we were scared."

At least 100 people have been reported killed in the crush at the precipitous Hai Van pass. A student and a policeman got into an argument and the student went over the edge, reported a New Zealand relief worker who interviewed refugees. One truck carrying at least 30 people was squeezed off the road and toppled over the precipice, which drops 1,000 ft. in some places.

At one point last Thursday, a reverse convoy of trucks commandeered by the army virtually halted all southbound traffic. Several hundred trucks were moving four abreast up the pass, blocking all southbound traffic. Dr. Richard Matern of the Save the Children Federation was trying to return to Hue to pick up his drug dispensary. "Traffic was backed up two miles, so I got on a Honda and went up to the top. There were no soldiers or police organizing things. A bunch of troops had left their trucks and were eating lunch. A couple of beautiful Vietnamese girls were singing and talking to them. Well, I figured we would never get to Hue, so I sort of started directing traffic. Things started moving and a couple of young MPs came and took over." qed

Down on the Danang waterfront, 50-ft. fishing launches berthed smack in front of the American consulate, disgorging refugees. Five hundred arrived in ten boats, and many of them began unloading television sets in their original crates, Hondas, four or five bicycles per family, an occasional room fan. They had paid $14 per family for the 19-hour water-borne escape from Hue. The normally graceful quays along the river were a mass of humanity camped beneath the green tamarinds amid a bazaar of blankets, ponchos and suspended cheesecloth. "These are the rich ones," mumbled a relief worker when he saw two little girls wearing sweaters. By local standards, he was right.

Danang will get pressure from the north. "We're really worried about having enough rice for everybody," said Le Ba Dinh, who operates the Quang Tri Friendship Association in Danang and has taken in 350 refugees. "We're getting refugees out of the south too, from Quang Ngai and Quang Tin."

It was an unreal sight. Danang residents played netless badminton by the roadside, while the homeless streamed past, casting dancing shadows from the little trash fires that housewives light beside the road at night. "When they get here, they don't know what to do," said Ngo Van Chung, a relief worker surveying the confusion on the edge of town. "They don't know where to sleep or what to eat."

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