Chapter 169: The Counteroffensive Begins

It was nearly impossible to stop the invading enemy forces in Vietnam. The French couldn’t do it, nor could the American forces a hundred years later.
The U.S. military exerted every effort to block the North Vietnamese troops moving south along the mountain paths, but all they achieved were repeated failures and painful lessons. Waves of Vietnamese soldiers poured into the south via the Ho Chi Minh Trail, bringing with them large numbers of vehicles, artillery, and tanks.
Only a portion of this heavy equipment and troops were stopped by the U.S. forces, and the French army of that era was equally unable to halt the advancing enemy forces.
Hundreds of enemy soldiers had already entered South Vietnam through unmarked mountain and jungle paths. Lurking in the countryside and mountains, they rarely clashed with the French, but still, the French heightened their defenses.
They built many small outposts along the border between Central and Southern Vietnam, but senior commanders were unaware that these outposts were ineffective.
This was a typical border outpost: a French lieutenant along with seven or eight French soldiers and over twenty Vietnamese soldiers guarded this outpost in the rainforest.
Both the enemy and the guards felt extreme despair about their situation. Standing in the outpost, one could see no one except their own comrades—they even wished the enemy would appear sooner.
The purpose of this outpost was to provide cover for the rear supply base, which in turn supplied logistical support to the outpost—much like the U.S. forces’ situation in Vietnam.
The nearest village was thirty miles away, and the mountains only revealed traces of mountainous ethnic groups. Every patrol by officers and soldiers brought no joy.
Such monotonous life stripped them of all pleasure. Though the green mountains and clear waters were beautiful, they had endured this life for four months.
There were no women or men to be seen, little meat to eat, and vegetables were rare luxuries. It was under such difficult conditions that alcohol became the most popular thing at the outpost.
Even before entering the outpost, one could smell the strong scent of alcohol. Boxes of wine were opened and thrown on the ground, but now only empty bottles remained.
The Vietnamese preferred local liquor; a whole jar of it was their only source of pleasure.
Every officer and soldier wanted to curse. They longed for a leave of absence, but that was almost impossible. Their commanders threatened to send them to the battlefield in Tokyo if they made such requests again: “Indochina sends hundreds of troops to Tokyo every month. I don’t want you to die there.”
But the French lieutenant would rather die in Tokyo than continue living such a monotonous life. Yet aside from wine, he found nothing to express his pain.

What angered him even more was that the supplies at the outpost were getting worse and worse—the dry rations sent were harder than stones, and there were hardly any medicines needed. The idea of sending an actress to visit the outpost was outright rejected. Military discipline also deteriorated under such lax conditions. By French military standards, the standards at this outpost were so poor as to warrant a military court trial, but with these remote border outposts, you couldn’t really blame them. The sun remained the same, the river water remained the same, the mountains remained the same—nothing had changed. The lieutenant felt increasingly anxious and was forced to go to the rear, where he brought back two boxes of wine. His salary was already good, with additional allowances for serving in Indochina, and he even earned extra income in such a remote mountainous area. This allowed him to drink without restraint. But he brought even better news: “The war situation has changed! General Guibaud is leading 10,000 soldiers to attack Bắc Ninh!” “That has nothing to do with us!” shouted a Vietnamese soldier who spoke French. “We’re still going to suffocate here. How much longer will we have to stay in this hellhole? A month? A year? Or a hundred years?” “No, no, no—this is good news! Perhaps this attack will bring about a major change in the war.” The lieutenant clearly saw the implications of this news: “Then we can apply for leave. I want to go back to Paris and rest for half a year.” “That’s impossible, lieutenant,” said a French sergeant with a smile. “At most, you can get three months of special leave.” “I can get married. Even if I divorce right away, I won’t want to go back to Indochina. Which Frenchman could endure such painful times?” Serving in Indochina wasn’t a pleasant memory, and serving in Huế and Đông Dương was nothing short of a nightmare within a nightmare: “I’d rather face a military court than stay in such a place any longer.” He might face a military court for saying that, but everyone agreed with him: “We should get some rest.” If there were proper logistical support and a proper leave system, perhaps they wouldn’t be so exhausted. But now, everyone, whether French or Vietnamese, was growing anxious. After all, this was a place where supplies arrived once a month and letters from home came once every two months. There was no entertainment, just monotony—and constant danger: nine people at the outpost fell ill due to mosquitoes and other factors. “Outposts like ours have no tactical value at all,” the lieutenant said, his shirt soaked with wine. “We can’t stop the Black Flag Army’s attacks.” It wasn’t a malicious attack—it was just a simple fact. Thirty soldiers had no ability to resist. The Black Flag Army could take over the entire outpost with just one attack. Moreover, the engineers who built the outpost had clearly placed it on the top of a mountain—seemingly for better defense, but also making it extremely difficult for everyone to descend. “We have so many outposts along the border, but every single one is in the same situation as ours.”

All the outposts were simple strongholds the size of infantry platoons or squads, and they didn’t even require heavy artillery—Black Flag Army’s muzzle-loading guns could break through them. Each stronghold was manned by anywhere from seven or eight to thirty or forty French-Vietnamese troops. Due to prolonged guard duties, the soldiers in these outposts were extremely exhausted, and such scattered forces were practically handing themselves over to the Black Flag Army: “There are only three company-sized strongholds along the border. If we don’t concentrate our forces, all of them will be easily captured by the Black Flag Army.” In the eyes of the senior commanders, all these strongholds would form an impregnable defense line, but such a line existed only in their dreams—they didn’t understand the actual situation. They didn’t realize how difficult it was to provide mutual support in such mountainous terrain; even a ten-mile route could take as long as six hours to cover. All the strongholds were isolated, and the defense line drawn on the commanders’ maps seemed as fragile as paper. “So we must rely on our comrades in the Tokyo area to break through successfully, eliminate the Chinese forces in Beining, and thus bring this war to an end.” Their plan was simple: if the Black Flag Army suffered a defeat in the Tokyo area, they wouldn’t send troops southward. They didn’t understand the relationship between the Qing army and the Black Flag Army; they only knew they didn’t want to endure such hardships anymore. “Let’s drink to our victory in Beining!” “Cheers!” “Can we win?” “We have ten thousand men—we can win. Within a week, we’ll hear good news about capturing Beining.” “This is the best news I’ve heard today, Lieutenant. Let’s drink.” Military discipline had collapsed; these French and Vietnamese men used alcohol as a source of joy, but the lieutenant felt the ground tremble slightly. He glanced out the window but saw nothing, but soon he felt the same tremor again: “It’s the Black Flag Army!” “The Black Flag Army!” The soldiers in the outpost panicked. This was a second-line guard post, not directly facing the enemy, but everyone knew the battle had begun. Soon, gunshots could be heard faintly from all directions. Then a sergeant shouted loudly, “God! Outpost Number 7 has been captured.” Outpost Number 7 was the only company-sized outpost in the area, but through the telescope, all that could be seen was fierce fire above it, and most importantly, the tricolor flag had been taken down. No one knew how many Black Flag Army troops had launched the attack, nor did they have any communication means. But soon, a few fleeing soldiers arrived from the front, bringing bad news. “Tens of thousands of Black Flag Army troops have launched a full-scale attack. They’ve crossed the entire border line; at least five outposts have already fallen.” “They brought several large cannons. There are about twenty thousand enemies involved in the attack.” “More than twenty thousand. They have at least forty cannons, including many heavy mortars.” “The enemy’s attack is unimpeded. All our outposts have no choice but to retreat.”

But just as the officers at the outpost were preparing to withdraw, continuous gunfire came from the rear: “The Chinese have launched a full-scale attack.”
“It’s obvious they’re targeting our offensive in the Beining area,” said the second lieutenant anxiously. “This is the worst possible news. I’m a poet.”
“Second lieutenant, what should we do? There are at least two battalions of enemy troops right in front of us.”
Although there were quite a number of French and Vietnamese troops in the same area, they were scattered across numerous outposts and were quickly wiped out by the Black Flag Army; many outposts fell after just a few minutes of resistance.