TOWARD THE FINAL AGONY

At 4:30 p.m. the C-5A transport, the world's biggest plane, lumbered off the runway at Saigon's Tan Son Nhut Airbase, carrying 243 Vietnamese orphans destined for adoption in the U.S. and 62 adults. The children were the first to leave Viet Nam in an official and well-intentioned American program to evacuate 2,000 orphans and bring them to the U.S. Minutes after takeoff, the pilot radioed that his rear loading ramp was defective; he had lost control of his elevators, rudders arid flaps. Seven miles out of Saigon, he made a sweeping turn and headed back to Tan Son Nhut. But the giant plane was rapidly losing altitude, and at 5,000 ft. the pilot saw that he could not make the 1 1/2 miles still to go to the runway. He decided to try to put down in paddy-fields. When the plane thudded down, it skidded over one paddyfield, skimmed a river and collapsed into a second paddyfield. Both wings snapped off, a fire erupted and finally the plane, six stories high, broke apart. Bodies were strewn about the paddy fields and swampland. Some 190 of the 305 people on board were killed, perhaps 140 of them children; survivors were rushed to Saigon hospitals.

It was a ghastly symbol of the unending agony of Viet Nam. In a country seemingly fated for tragedy, even a basic humanitarian gesture had ended in disaster, the result of yet another failure of the American technology and know-how that a decade ago had been billed as the key to the country's salvation. High U.S. Air Force officials suspected that sabotage might have caused the C-5A crash, not faulty technology. Whatever the cause, for Americans last week the mournful events in Viet Nam represented the disintegration of a long and painful effort. For South Vietnamese they represented far more: the virtual loss of social cohesion and political identity as the last vestiges of normal life disappeared in the face of the Communist juggernaut.

As setback piled on setback, almost too rapidly for comprehension, only one thing was clear: the strategic retreat ordered by South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu, supposedly to tighten up his defenses against the Communists, had developed into a human tragedy of colossal proportions. These were the major developments:

MILITARY COLLAPSE. While South Vietnamese troops fled in disarray, the Communists continued their relentless advance southward and eastward, mopping up with embarrassing ease the coastal cities that remained in government hands. By the end of the week four more provinces had fallen to Communist control for a total of 17, fully three-fourths of South Viet Nam's territory. Six full South Vietnamese divisions had disintegrated. The Communists occupied such refugee-swollen coastal cities as Qui Nhon and Tuy Hoa, Nha Trang and Cam Ranh. Although they slowed their advance toward week's end, presumably to consolidate the huge areas that had unexpectedly fallen into their hands, they were also infiltrating men into the south at the rate of about 1,000 a day in preparation for what most analysts believed would be an assault on Saigon. Already there were clashes at the district town of Xuan Loc, just 40 miles east of the capital on strategic Route 1 and at Chon Thanh, 45 miles north of Saigon, which was captured by Viet Cong forces after a heavy siege.

POLITICAL BATTLE. In Saigon, pressure mounted on Thieu to resign. The usually docile Vietnamese Senate, in the first opposition action it has ever taken, unanimously passed a resolution calling for "a new leadership" for South Viet Nam. The Senate blamed the President for the current debacle, charging him with "counting exclusively on a military solution" to solve "a war with many political characteristics." Thieu, the resolution said, was guilty of "abuse of power, corruption and social injustice." Though the resolution did not specifically demand Thieu's ouster, more than 20 of the 41 Senators voting for the resolution called in their speeches for the President to leave office. Viet Nam's ranking Catholic, the moderate Saigon Archbishop Nguyen Van Binh, agreed with the Senate and prayed aloud that Thieu would resign.

Thieu's response was a characteristically confusing combination of compromise and repression. After remaining in virtual seclusion for most of the week, he announced that an entirely new Cabinet, what he called a "fighting Cabinet," would be formed. The new Prime Minister would be Nguyen Ba Can, speaker of the lower house in the National Assembly and known to be solidly in Thieu's camp. Can will replace the more independent and prestigious Tran Thieu Khiem, the most senior military officer in South Viet Nam, who, significantly, was expected to join the anti-Thieu opposition. Hours earlier, police had arrested more than ten people in various parts of Saigon on charges of plotting a coup to overthrow Thieu. Several of those arrested were associates of former Premier and Viet President Nguyen Cao Ky, who two weeks ago called on Thieu to relinquish his powers to a more broadly based leadership.

REFUGEE DISASTER. The country was awash with homeless people fleeing desperately from the Communist advance. Hundreds of thousands, exhausted and dispirited, arrived in areas where they hoped to get refuge only to find that North Vietnamese and Viet Cong troops were about to take over. Communist forces in such coastal cities as Tuy Hoa, Nha Trang and Cam Ranh abruptly cut off escape routes. In international waters just offshore, U.S. cargo ships waited, unable to move in any closer to pick up the fleeing people. About 60,000, mostly defeated soldiers, made it to Ham Tan and Vung Tau, a coastal resort 50 miles southeast of Saigon that the French called Cap Saint-Jacques.

Fearful that the flood of refugees would only complicate the defense of Saigon and probably bring countless infiltrators in its wake, the government tried to seal off the capital. The road leading from Vung Tau was blockaded, and plans were afoot to resettle refugees in the Mekong Delta. But little was being done to provide food and shelter for the throngs at Vung Tau or even regroup the disbanded soldiers when they arrived.

There were some brave attempts to rally confidence. In a television speech beamed from Saigon, President Thieu aggressively, if unconvincingly, declared, "We must attack and retake the lands captured by the Communists." General Frederick C. Weyand, U.S. Army Chief of Staff who last week ended a seven-day visit to Viet Nam undertaken at President Ford's request, confidently told newsmen that ARVN "still has the spirit and the capability to defeat the North Vietnamese."

Privately, however, Pentagon officials--including Weyand himself, according to some reports--were deeply pessimistic about South Viet Nam's ability to defend what remains of its territory. True, the government has the equivalent of seven divisions within a 50-mile radius of Saigon, including the 4,000 men of the airborne division that moved down from Danang two weeks ago; there are also some 175,000 popular-force and regional-force soldiers, but Saigon's combat-ready troops are outnumbered by the North Vietnamese forces that have been massing in the capital military region over the past several weeks. Small Viet Cong units have begun infiltrating the capital's suburbs. Moreover, because they are attacking fixed defensive positions, the Communists have the tactical advantage. They could attack Tay Ninh west of Saigon and then move southward into the Mekong Delta, thereby encircling the capital and breeding even more panic there. Or they could try to move troops down the major routes from the north directly into the capital. U.S. intelligence, in fact, reports that two full divisions began moving south from North Viet Nam in recent days, leaving no more than three divisions to defend all of North Viet Nam, compared with at least 16 on the offensive in South Viet Nam. The situation is so bleak for Saigon that some Pentagon analysts hold that there may not be a battle of Saigon. Totally overwhelmed and demoralized, ARVN may just refuse to fight, forcing Saigon to negotiate a surrender.

The government's losses thus far dramatically convey the totality of the military collapse. In the five northernmost provinces constituting Military Region I, the government a month ago had 152,000 troops. By last week 100,000 of them had been put out of service by the Communists. Most simply fled, joining the rush of civilian refugees that streamed desperately southward. In Military Region II, the twelve provinces of central South Viet Nam, the losses were equally staggering. One of the best infantry divisions, the 23rd, was completely annihilated in the battle for Ban Me Thuot, with no more than 700 of its 9,000 troops able to regroup in Nha Trang. Throughout the central region, five of seven ranger groups were put out of action, two of four cavalry regiments and eight of twelve artillery battalions; 100 air force planes were also lost. In all, roughly half of Saigon's 179,000 troops in the area were out of action. Of 8,000 regional and popular forces in Pleiku, only 55 men were able to reassemble in Tuy Hoa. "The headquarters are full of officers," said one Vietnamese journalist, "but all their soldiers have gone."

The defeated soldiers posed almost as great a danger to security as the Communist divisions inexorably sweeping toward the coast. In some places, groups of soldiers acted more like conquerors than the remnants of a routed army. Just before the Communists took Danang, there was looting, pillaging, murder and madness. In their panic to get away, soldiers elbowed past women and children to board the planes and boats that managed to evacuate 90,000 people from Danang in the hours before the city fell to the Communists. In some cases civilian refugees were killed by troops stampeding away from the enemy. "True enough," said one Army tactician, "the Vietnamese soldiers fight with their families along, but they even deserted their families to fight their way aboard a plane or a boat."

On board the American ship Pioneer Commander, sent to Danang to take refugees to Cam Ranh, 300 miles to the south, passengers were shot or pushed overboard by soldiers trying to make room for themselves. Other evacuation vessels, including flat tug-drawn barges, took three days under the scorching sun with neither food nor water to make the Danang-Nha Trang trip. The vessels were so packed with people that most had to stand for the entire journey, except for those who died en route. Six children and two elderly men were taken dead from one barge after it landed in Nha Trang. Two colonels aboard the boat were subjected to cruel torture by renegade soldiers. One, a former province chief now on a Cabinet member's staff in Saigon, was robbed and forced to kneel and pray for his life. Another was robbed and stripped to his underwear.

In Cam Ranh Bay, a once impregnable U.S. base visited by President Lyndon Johnson in 1966, leaderless marines went on a rampage when their evacuation ships arrived from Danang. They took over cars and Jeeps at gunpoint, robbing fellow refugees at random. Soldiers even fired on American helicopters and chartered aircraft seeking to land in Cam Ranh. The situation was so bad that field commanders in the military region around Saigon were ordered to execute rioting troops on the spot; one commander in Binh Tuy province east of Saigon ordered some troops shot for indiscipline.

Before the fall of the coastal resort of Nha Trang, TIME Correspondent William McWhirter cabled: "The real enemy that is now engulfing the country is not those 16 North Vietnamese divisions but the spreading upheaval, fear and chaos among its own people and its armies, who are growing as desperate and afraid of one another as they are of the invasion. People are resigned and preparing for the worst. They seem to have forgotten what it was that fortified them all these years, if anything more than a basic trust in U.S. military strength. For Americans, it is like watching a skin transplant that didn't take disintegrating in front of them. For the South Vietnamese, it is something far worse. It is the loss of family and nation, and none of them seems to know what to do about it. It is now everyone for himself. One fears that it will become even more destructive unless it is checked somehow."

Nowhere was this more apparent than in Nha Trang itself, a city that until last week had remained virtually untouched by the war. Long a balmy retreat for G.I.s and Vietnamese alike, the city of 200,000 was on Route 1, the principal north-south road in South Viet Nam, and the recently established headquarters for all of Military Region II. By last week it had fallen victim to the evils that had already become all too familiar since the Communist offensive began.

By early last week 200,000 refugees, many of them defeated soldiers from farther north, had arrived in Nha Trang, doubling the city's usual population. Everyone had heard of the agony of Danang, not only of its loss to the Communists but of its civilian panic and, worse, the violent behavior of its soldiers. The city made an effort to seal itself off from the war. Newly arriving refugees were barred from entering the town.

Instead they were rerouted to another checkpoint where they were promptly pointed back in the direction from which they had just come; soon they were pathetically moving back and forth between the blockades.

The airport itself was sealed. Still, the comparatively wealthy managed to get out by buying small fishing boats in neighboring villages at handsome prices. Many were quick to take as an ominous sign the discreet departure of the Poles and Hungarians, local representatives of the moribund International Commission of Control and Supervision.

"All of a sudden everything is changing," remarked one well-to-do Vietnamese company manager. "The people are afraid of the V.C., they fear the soldiers at loose like this, and they hate the government, which has only tried to profit out of the people. It's going to happen here, just like Danang."

Madame Bui Huu Khiem, owner of La Fregate, the best hotel in Nha Trang, with a brand-new $100,000 air-conditioned wing, quickly made her own plans. A 1954 refugee from the North, she turned the hotel over to the Red Cross and prepared to leave on an American flight the next day. "If the V.C. take over, all the people here would point me out as a rich woman and I would get shot," she said fatalistically. "If they don't, then our soldiers who have guns but no commanders might do it. When they get hungry, they kill anyone they want."

Meanwhile, more bad news began to arrive. North of the city, ARVN had been making its first real effort since Ban Me Thuot to stem the North Vietnamese. For almost two weeks, the ARVN 22nd Division had held the Binh Khe pass, gateway from the highlands down to the coastal plain, against two North Vietnamese divisions. The price had been high: nearly two-thirds of its men had been killed or injured. Early in the week the outgunned and outnumbered division gave way, leaving open the route to Qui Nhon, third largest city in South Viet Nam (pop. 230,000) after Saigon and Danang. If Qui Nhon went, so would Nha Trang, 100 miles to the south.

The following morning, the crowds outside the gates of the American consulate in Nha Trang began to swell as people tried desperately to get seats on the evacuation planes being run for American personnel and their Vietnamese families. The Vietnamese province chief had moved out at midnight. The bank had closed, though crowds waited vainly there. The American consulate had managed to evacuate all its staff to Saigon. But the vast majority left behind began to stir and panic; wholesale looting took place in town, and at the airstrip the rush by ARVN soldiers to get on evacuation planes prevented several scheduled flights from landing.

The enemy was moving faster than anyone had anticipated. By noon there was contact at the ARVN rangers' camp just twelve miles away. By afternoon it was already clear that the city would fall. The refugees, many of whom had already undergone untold suffering to get to Nha Trang, realized that further flight was no longer a guarantee of safety. Literally hundreds of uniforms were stuffed into trash barrels or sold to street vendors as terrified soldiers hurriedly sought to shed their now incriminating identities.

With the evacuation of Nha Trang, there was a sudden slackening in military actions. But Nha Trang, left by government forces, was an "open city" for days. ARVN had gone but the Communists had not yet arrived. Finally, on Friday, Communist troops took charge of the city, along with Cam Ranh. In Military Region III, the area around Saigon, there were some skirmishes, including one involving tanks. Among U.S. analysts, the less optimistic spoke of an attack on the capital by the beginning of next week.

In Saigon there was a tense, eerie quiet, as virtually everybody waited to see what the next Communist move would be. "There should be riots, riots, riots over this outrage, but there is nothing," said an angry young refugee from Hue. "No one is doing anything." The only concerted activity in the capital seemed to be the effort to leave it (see box page 12).

The 6,000 Americans in Saigon were actively but quietly planning their departures, not only to avoid panic but also out of fear that the Americans who remain behind will become scapegoats for the anger and frustration that is welling up within the Vietnamese. "When push comes to shove," warns a longtime U.S. resident, "things get very nasty in Viet Nam. People are not interested in knowing whether you are a good American or a bad American. We are their only hostages."

As the situation grew ever more tense, a strange animosity developed between the American community and the U.S. embassy. Many private Americans are alarmed over the situation and feel that the fall of Saigon may come in a matter of days, rather than weeks. Some U.S. businessmen, obviously concerned for their own and their families' safety, felt that the American embassy purposely down-played the seriousness of Saigon's plight. There was even some suspicion, diminished by week's end, that Ambassador Graham Martin, a bitter-end Thieu supporter, had neglected to arrange for the evacuation of the 6,000 Americans remaining in Saigon.

But however great the tensions among Americans, they were nothing compared with those among the Vietnamese. For them, the people who cannot escape to another land, there are only two even halfway-hopeful options: 1) organize a defense of the region around the capital and the Mekong Delta, or 2) negotiate with the Communists. A third course, the present one, is to sink further into a paralysis of nerve and action that will probably lead to complete chaos and final collapse.

Whether the South Vietnamese decide to fight or negotiate, President Thieu, as many Americans and Vietnamese privately concede, will have to step down. For one thing, most Vietnamese, including many former supporters of Thieu, blame the President for the utter collapse of resistance to the Communists. Newspapers are printing full reports of the country's military failures in defiance of censorship. It is openly acknowledged by government officials that the army is unlikely to fight without a massive restoration of confidence in the leadership, and that means a new President. Said General Duong Van ("Big") Minn, the Buddhist leader of the 1963 coup that toppled Ngo Dinh Diem and a possible successor to Thieu: "In Germany, Willy Brandt had only one spy in his Cabinet; he had to resign. That catering company prepared only one bad meal for Japan Air Lines, but the man responsible had to kill himself. Now look at Thieu..."

Internal dissatisfaction with Thieu, however, is only one half of the problem; the other half is Hanoi and the Viet Cong's

Provisional Revolutionary Government. Last week the Communists announced in Paris that they are willing to negotiate with any Saigon government--except one led by Thieu. Timing their announcement to put as much pressure as possible on Thieu, the Communists reiterated their claim that they are fighting only to force Saigon to implement the 1973 Paris accords, especially the setting up of a National Council of Reconciliation and Concord consisting of representatives from Saigon, the Viet Cong and various neutralist groups composing a "third force."

Thieu's decision to replace his Cabinet was clearly an effort to relieve some of the pressure. He also went on the air in a spectacularly belated effort to rally his people and declare that he would never accept a coalition. "A coalition is like a sugar-coated poison pill," he said. "When the sugar melts, the poison kills you." Thieu's moves are unlikely to work.

Most Vietnamese feel that eventually, perhaps in a matter of days, he will be forced to resign in favor of a new President more acceptable to the Communists. One frequently mentioned possibility is Tran Van Lam, the former Foreign Minister who signed the Paris accords for South Viet Nam. In an interview with TIME'S Roy Rowan, Lam said, "We are ready to negotiate," but he also expressed a determination not to surrender. "It's still not too late," he said. "The Communists will have to disperse their troops. There is an equality of force in the third military region.

We have to fight, but with no help this country will be occupied by the Communists." Lam added, "I have nine children. Eight of them have already learned English. Don't force the ninth one to learn Mandarin or Russian."

Another commonly mentioned possibility to succeed Thieu is a military directorate: an army group consisting of the most influential military figures in the country, including "Big" Minh. The military directorate might consolidate a defense but, given the long-term military disadvantage of the Saigon side, its aim would of necessity be a negotiated settlement with the Communists.

What might the settlement be? Clearly, Hanoi and the P.R.G. would hold the advantage in any negotiations; clearly, too, their long-range objective is the establishment of a Communist government in South Viet Nam. But as many Vietnamese politicians and foreign observers believe, they are unlikely to press for their maximum objective even if they score a complete military victory. The areas that remain under Saigon's control are traditionally the most strongly anti-Communist regions of Viet Nam. Hanoi and the P.R.G. will probably not risk pressing immediately for a system of government that would outrage hundreds of thousands of people. The Communists in fact might legitimately fear a reversal of the past 20 years: former Saigon supporters harassing a Communist government much as Communist guerrillas used to harass Saigon. As one Hungarian official of the I.C.C.S. said privately last week, "The imposition of a Communist government in Saigon would mean civil war." A French official in Paris had the same opinion: "Sure the Viet Cong could take Saigon now, but in six months they'd have another civil war on their hands."

Beyond that, the Communists for well over two years have repeated again and again their allegiance to the Paris accords. Reports filtering out of newly occupied areas, like Danang, indicate that the Communists are setting up administrations that include third force representatives and leave a place for representatives of the Saigon government; the South Vietnamese flag has even been left flying over government buildings, though now it shares billing with the single-starred Viet Cong banner. The Communists apparently feel that with their basic strengths in organization and leadership, they will eventually be able to gain dominance within a coalition government. Thus the Communists recognize, for the time being at least, that there are still two legitimate governments in South Viet Nam.

That of course could change, especially if Saigon continues to disintegrate and the Communists unexpectedly decide to seek a total military victory. Still, negotiations leading to the establishment of the National Council of Reconciliation and Concord would seem to be Saigon's best chance now of ending the war while still retaining a legitimate place in the government. Ironically, tragically, such an arrangement could probably have been reached in January 1973, just after the Paris accords were signed. At that time Saigon probably held the military advantage. Now, 175,000 deaths, millions of refugees and untold suffering later, it is about the best that Saigon can hope for.

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