January morning light gently filtered through the leaves of the flooded forest, the "Prey Roniem," in the north estuary of Tonle Sap Lake. A group of long-tailed Macaque monkeys rattling nearby tree branches and screaming aloud to warn each other of the eminent danger. It could be a large snake crawling, lurking nearby looking for prey. It could be my pursuers, the Khmer Rouge’s soldiers!
I sprang up instantly from my deep sleep and fall back instantly with extreme dizziness and aching pain. I laid still, holding my breath tight in my lungs in my attempt to fight off the excruciating pain and stop myself from moaning out loud. I then listened carefully for sign of any possible danger. Revolutionary music, a direct copy of Mao’s Chinese communist song, blared out loud to what I thought was northeasterly. It must be coming from Ta Source Hill, the last place where I have had my last meal before the botched execution the day before. The radio-cassette the music being played on must be the same one my family has been hiding for years, while living at Tapang village, until we gave it up to Angkar recently. I could not help but thinking that it was the reason why my family and others were butchered by the Khmer Rouge soldiers, Angkar’s finest. We decided to hide the radio cassette and then only to give it up in the end, hoping for a quid-pro-quo. Angkar must have killed us for that simple offense, for hiding and keeping a contraband--a simple cassette radio without a single battery. I did not know at the time that Angkar had a great big plan for us "Mith Tmey" or "Comrade New People." Angkar’s plan was to "work and then starve us Mith Tmey to death; if we refused to die, then Angkar (the Organization) will annihilate us in the end." The cassette radio was just a coincident and nothing more.
I looked up at the monkeys, which continued to yak at my miserable soul. They wanted me out of their turf, pronto! I moved out slowly and painfully on my two bare-and shaky feet. With the help of a crude walking stick I named "Cave Man Club," which became my most trusted companion for weeks to come, I made my way past the tangle web of sharp-thorned forest. By using sun and the far distance music as guidance, I arrived at an open field a few hours later. Exhausted, I leaned on a nearby tree and peered out to the open-endless expand and beyond. This field called "Viel Smeth" with its huge open space stretch across between the dense-flooded forest of Tonle Sap Lake and villages further up north. This field usually flooded during the raining season and once consisted mainly of wild rice specie, the "Smeth." In just a few years under Angkar’s reign, this field has been transformed into a gigantic rice paddy for the crawling rice crop, which cover almost the entire area with lust green rice stock. No one should get lost in this field, but the likelihood of getting a heat stroke here is a strong possibility. There is not a single tree in this field. There are a few small brushes here and there, but rarely any larger brushes that are higher than four foot tall. National Highway 6 is just a few miles north from where I stood, I knew, and a distance relative home at a village called Kok Po.
For me, traveling on this open field was much more problematic than in the enclosed flooded forest where I remained hidden the previous night from my pursuers. I would be very exposed in the open and could be easily spotted by local people who tend the rice crop here. They might report to Angkar’s soldiers, whom I was certain were looking for other possible survivors and me. I was very concerned and was not so sure what to do next. I did not want to risk it by being exposed out in the open field. Fortunately, I know my local geography well since I have been working and living in the area in the past. That assured, I headed out with a strong determination to find shelter and safety beyond. I must survived, I told myself over and over again. I have to survive, although I did not know why at that time.
I pretended to be one of the farm workers by acting like I know what I was doing in the area. I tried to avoid as many people as I possible could while working my way north. Occasionally, I accidentally ran into people. I was actually frightened of seeing people again, but tried very hard to remain calm and act normal. I considered every living human being as a potential risk to my life. I tried my very best to put a big smile on my face at those people I accidentally met along the way as I walked past them. I must have looked absolutely awful to them with my recent injuries. It was painfully difficult for me to get across the field. I was frightened the whole time, especially when I came across people working out in the paddy.
It was a very hot and humid afternoon. There wasn’t any breeze to help relieved the heat wave I was experiencing. I didn’t have my shirt on at that time, not because it was too warm, but because I was afraid to wear it. Bloodstains were still visible on my gray colored shirt. I tried to wash the dried bloodstains several times, but the stains did not come out. I just throw the shirt away, buried deep in the mud, fearing it might get me into trouble. Besides, I did not need a reminder of what has just happened to my family and me earlier. I was in fact bare footed, no shirt with only a muddy and torn up short on my body. I must have appeared absolutely pathetic at the time.
The strong heat and high humidity were slowly killing me or at least I felt like dying. My life was very miserable. I was feeling dizzy and also starving at the same time for food and water. I must have passed out a few times while I was walking. I became bewildered, confused, and often disoriented as I found myself lying on the ground without knowing how I got there in the first place. It was like a dream or rather a nightmare. I could see the trees and ponds filled with cool water and fish. But I could not seem to reach them no matter how hard I tried. They were just in my imagination. There was simply a mirage. There was nothing there except muddy field and green rice plant as far as eye can see.
I stopped for a water break and drank the muddy water, anything to refresh and cool myself down. Water does help, but it was mostly mud and leeches each time I scoop the water with my hands. I used some of muddy water to wash my face, but it didn’t help much. I got my face even more dirtier when it started to dry up. I was too tired to be concerned about the mud on my face, but as it turned out, it was a great protection against sunburn. No wonder the water buffalo love to wallow in the mud so much.
By late afternoon, I made it to the edge of the field at long last. I knew then that I was getting closer to "Kok Po" village and a distance relative’s home. There were only a few people still in town at that time since most of them were probably still at work out in the open fields. I could hear children crying and dog barking in the distance. I didn’t go into the village immediately. I hid and waited in a small brush hear by the distance relative’s home to observed the situation before I make my move. I just fell asleep right there until late in the evening.
It must have been about 8 O’clock. It was a fairly dark night. Strangely, there were people moving, going about. The traffic was unusually high this late in the night. This was, I reasoned, the main thoroughfare road that goes to the south, east, west, and back to north. Angkar was either making these people work late or moving them out again. It was a routine thing for Angkar to do. In the end, the evacuees would end up like the rest of my family, friends, and neighbors did--butchered to death for no particular reason.
I was still hungry and very thirsty, but there wasn’t much I could do. I did not want to take any chance and take too much risk in trying to find water to drink and food to eat. Water might be easier and more plentiful if I could find the local well or pond. Food, however, will be very difficult, as the entire country seemed to be on a starvation diet. There hardly anything available fit for human consumption. With that thought in mine, I decided to wait for the right moment, whenever that may be, to make my move toward the distance relatives’ home. While in hiding, I got bit by all kinds of insects, including the most tormenting red ants. To my pleasant surprise, mosquitoes were not as bad here further north. On top of all that, a small dog was barking and sniffing right at me. Perhaps this little dog thought that I was a rabbit or something I wasn’t sure. I did not know that a dog could manage to survive as specie under Angkar’s reign. I know that in Tapang village and surrounding villages, dog no longer existed. The hungry people, both new and old people, ate them all alike.
The dog continued to bark until I landed him on the head squarely with a round stone. That seemed to take care of him. He took off running with squeaky yak and in pain.
"Back again and you’ll get more of that" I whispered softly to reassure myself of who the top "dog" here.
The family home I was observing related to my aunt Thet, the wife of my now long-dead uncle Vin who was shot point blank and killed by the Khmer Rouge in 1973. I was hoping to get help from them or at least get something to eat before I was to die. Even a dead guy deserves at least the last meal. I was not about to die anytime soon, but if I was going to die, I hope to die with a full stomach--not emptied one. I was not sure if the family would help or report me to Angkar. Under Angkar’s reign anything is possible. People were taught or brainwashed to report on one another. It was a duty, even against a relative, that all must obey or face severe consequences. In desperation, I decided to go in and sought their assistance.
The right moment came when a familiar face walked into the house. Samon, Aunt Thet younger sister, knew my family and me well enough. I last saw her and family about a year ago when I came through here on a fishing assignment. I did drop of some catch, Angkar’s property, for the family. For that reason, I felt the family owe me at least a meal, if nothing more.
I moved in as quickly as I possibly could for fear of being seen. The jerky motion during my attempt to reach the house only aggravated my recent injuries. I moaned quietly with pain, bit hard on my lower lip, and pushed my swollen and bruised legs forward. The swell on my neck has not go down a bit, but getting worse because of my movement. Tears drops came rushing down my cheeks as I tried hard to fight the excruciating pain. I thought about my future. I asked myself would I survive? I told myself that I must live! I want to live! That thought gave me a burst of energy and I push forward when I step quietly onto my relative’s front porch.
In the stillness of the night, I knocked on the door with a slow movement. Aunt Samon, the woman I knew as Aunt Teth’s sister, opened the door and immediately stepped back quickly as though she was seeing a ghost. I said "hello" and almost fall down to the floor when Aunt Samon grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me inside. I yelled in pain trying hard to suppress the pain and my own yell at the same time. Aunt Samon was so shock to see me like that. The family knew me well enough. She was visibly shaking with fear. She knew full well that my family were taken away by Angkar toward the south of her village earlier, but she did not know anything else. She brought me into the house and gave me a drink while everyone in the family gather around waiting to hear what I have to say. I couldn’t say anything, but lay back on the floor feeling drained of energy. More teardrops came pouring down like water falls as I wept. I did not wipe them clean and let them rolled on. I felt so sorry for myself, right in front of the shocking family. They knew something was wrong, when they first saw me.
After a little while, I calmed down. I explained everything to the family. Just by looking at their plain-shocked eyes, I knew that they didn’t want to believe me or just didn’t want to know about it. By having a fugitive on the run in their house, they could be in serious trouble. I understood then that I must not count on or depend on anybody except myself.
Everyone must think of himself or herself first under Angkar’s reign and that was the rule for survival. It was difficult for my distance relatives to risk their lives for my poor, unfortunate soul. I can not just expect people to get involved in a problem that could lead to the destruction of their entire family. And so, I couldn’t expect Aunt Samon’s family to help saved my soul. It would be asking way too much of them. I understood the situation very well and knew that I must move on as soon as possible. If I’m lucky, I’ll survived.
Aunt Samon hesitantly offered me a little cooked rice and dried-salted fish to eat. The family did not have much to begin with. Most likely, she did it out of respect for my now dead family more than anything else did. Her family didn’t actually kick me out, but I got the impression that they were not very comfortable having me in their home. It was understandable. I would not want a guy, who was just walked out of a graveyard earlier in my home either, if I were in their shoes. I decided to remain there only briefly, just long enough to stuff the stale rice and fish in my mouth and moved on out again. I still have my pride and dignity in tack, mostly. The family looked at my departing shadow in the night with a great sigh of relief. I only hope that they will not report my being there to Angkar. If they were wise, they would not report.
I tried very hard not to cry, but after I left the house tears just came pouring out of my eyes. I wept quietly as I walked hopelessly alone in the dark night. What a young and emaciated 15 years old was supposed to do? What can he do? Hopeless situation required drastic action. But what kind of drastic action? I did not know what to do. I could not think straight when I lapsed in and out of consciousness. Hopelessness engulfed my miserable spirit. I was ready to give up because crying did not help my situation. I tried so desperately to be strong, but I was beginning to lose sight of hope and the will to survive. I was still in awful pain and my staggered walk only aggravated my agony even more. I could not think clearly. I did not know what to do next. I felt so utterly lost and alone. I felt so confused.
I sat under a tree not far away from Aunt Samon’s home. That same damn dog was still barking and chasing behind me. I let it be because I didn’t feel like giving it a round stone treatment on the head again. At least the rare dog (rare during Angkar’s time) still acknowledged that I was still alive, a walking wounded, but very much alive. He would want me to fight on for my life, wouldn’t he? I let the dog bother me a while longer and soon he edged closer and closer. For the kill? He such a tiny little rascal, what can he do. I dared him a few times. Soon I made a new friend--without having to resort to the round stone on the head as before. The skinny little fellow actually cheers up my spirit a little. He calmed my thought process down. I have not seen a single dog since 1975 and this little fellow was right in my arms, snuggling on my bare chest and was about to fall right to sleep. How could he trust a total stranger so much? I could not understand it. Could I have done the same? With a total stranger? May be not for me, I thought. I could never trust a total stranger.
I let the dog go, but he continued to follow me for a little while as though to bless me with a safe journey. Was he a sign or something? I was not sure. I kept on walking and only looking back occasionally to see if he was still behind me. He just disappeared.
I saw a herd of Krobey (water buffalo) feeding along the road drainage. I suddenly remember the town of Krobey Reil, which not too far away to the east. I remember a good family friend, brother Som. Long before the communist took over the country, he was a head Buddhist monk at a local pagoda. Brother Som, whom I saw a mere three months earlier, was engaged to Sa-oum, my sister-in-law, older sister who also died amongst my group in the massacre. He did not know that his fiancée was killed. They were to be married soon, perhaps in April, just four months away. I thought that I should bring him that unfortunate news at least. Perhaps he will help me of his Buddhist kindness. I was hopeful once more.
Krobey Reil was the first town that I came to settle in early 1975, the place where I first met my now dead friend, Laive. I have not seen the town for more than two years, although I saw Som a few months earlier. Things have changed so much now. In the darkness and still of the night, it was very difficult to recognize the landmarks I once knew so well. I kept on walking toward what I thought was Krobey Reil town using the dark night as my cover. After a while, I decided to ask an old man who was herding the water buffalo on the same road. In the darkness, he looked at me from head to toe as though he could see me. My eye sight during the night was pretty bad, from lack of essential vitamins and I could barely see his shadow. He then pointed out the direction without having to utter a spoken word. I nodded my thanks and could almost see the old man wide grin as a reply. I followed his direction and prayed hard.
It took me a while to find brother Som’s home in the dark. By about 10 or 11 O’clock that same evening, I arrived at brother Som’s doorstep. It was very dark by then and people were sound asleep. I hesitantly banged on the door of the house that I hope was brother Som’s. After a few tense moments, a small oil lamplight appeared through the crack in the door. Soon after, the door swung open with a slight screeching sound.
"Yes, who is it?" A familiar voice boomed in the darkness that raised my hope and spirit.
I just collapsed and my body was pushing the door at the same time. I was instantly caught by the medium-built man. Brother Som did not recognize me at first and kept asking who I was and what I wanted. It took him a while to sink in and absorbed the shocking news I just told him. He was trying to be strong, but both his eyes betrayed him. He was speechless and just sat there quietly as though he was going through a private mourning for his dead fiancée. He could not believe what I just told him, that Angkar killed his fiancée. He kept on mumbling about something I could not comprehend. It sounded like a Buddhist prayer for the dead. He was a former head monk after all.
Most of brother Som's siblings and father were home. They quickly brought water to help wash me and immediately cleaned my wounds. They worked on me most of the night without little sign of hesitation. They were not total strangers, but they were no relatives of mine. Their generosity to me was much better than my own relatives I met earlier. They did not have much to give, but they gave their heart-felt generosity to me. I was grateful, very grateful indeed.
By the time I woke up the next morning, brother Som and the rest of his siblings were gone, probably off to work someplace. A blanket covered my body while my back laid flat on the floor. The pain seemed to subside considerably and the swelling eased somewhat. Scrap of left-over food lay nearby where I slept. I ate it, as there is no tomorrow. I was so hungry. I wanted more. Then come the agonizing vomiting that did not want to stop. My body seemed to reject what I just consumed. I was absolutely miserable.
Brother Som came back in the early afternoon to check on me with more food to share. A fresh cucumber and a young-green watermelon were handed to me. It was not much, but I was so grateful. He told me to stay where I was until he gets back from work and figure out what to do with me. He told me that he was going to try to ask permission for me to stay in Krobey Reil with him and his siblings. He was going to have to lie about my background, something a Buddhist monk, former or otherwise, would not normally do. These are trying times under Angkar strict rule. He told me that he would do his best to help me where possible. He asked me again not to leave the house for any reason.
Two days has passed so slowly since I arrived at Som’s home. I felt better as each day progresses. The swelling went down and the pain was all but gone. Dark blue and black bruises were visible everywhere on my skinny body. The deep dent on my lower right skull, a scary fracture, was still soft to the touch and the most painful. I began to have severe and paralyzing one-sided headaches as the area began to heal itself. This injury, along with others less severe, became a legacy and a reminder for the rest of my life.
Time seemed to pass by very slowly while I played a waiting game, fighting for my survival. I was hopeful that Som would bring the good news soon. I often asked brother Som about the official approval for me to remain in Krobey Reil. Each time, he would just shake his head and said, "I don’t know yet. Wait a little while." On the third day, at about 6:30 in the evening, Som came back with a gloomy face. I knew then that it was time for me to move on out again. Som brought me his ration of watery rice, a few grains of salt and another small cucumber.
"Please eat this, Nack. It is all that I have to share." He took a deep breath and then continued. "Angkar (the town chief in this case) won’t allow you to stay here. I asked. You must leave before all of us got into deep trouble. I am so sorry, but I know you can understand." He left the house soon after as though he did not want to force me out of his home.
Stunned, I looked all around me hoping for Som’s siblings to help me. At the same time, I was praying that there would be a resolution. All ignored my pleading eyes. They have no choice. I must go and the sooner the better for all of us. I reluctantly stepped out of the house and walked wearily with no particular destination. Brother Som caught up with me. He looked at me with two very sad and watery eyes.
"I’m so sorry, Nack." He whispered.
"That all right, brother. I do understand. At least you tried to help and I appreciated that a great deal." I hopelessly replied.
"You go to Dorn Swar town and see if anyone there can help you." Brother Som suggested, knowing that I have other family friends there. The town is about 5 miles away, a good hike.
I turned around and just shook my head in agreement. I walked away without looking back. Som followed, touched my head and then said his Buddhist prayers. Then he left. Deep in his heart, he knew that I would never make it alive. He did not have to say it. It was in his eyes. He was wrong, very wrong as he found out in a shocking way some 14 years later.
I found myself on the road alone and at night once again. I was still afraid of the dark and still could not see very well in the darkness, but darkness has become my best friend and cover. I trekked on relentlessly, determine to survive no matter what it takes. I head west toward Dorn Swar town. The cool dark night and three days of rest and recoup at brother Som’s home help boosted my energy level to an all time high. My spirit, however, was still low. I kept on walking tirelessly and hopelessly.
Brother Som gave me one of his old shirts, despite the shortage himself. It helped. I kept on praying to the spirit of my now dead family to help guide me through this dangerous time and place. That night I slept in a bush along the road. Periodically, I was awakening by unknown noises made by oxcarts and mass of people on the road nearby. I was also often awaken by the nightmares, each and every time I was being chased by the soldiers who tried their best to end my life. The Khmer Rouge executioners who seemed to be on my trail haunted me. In actuality, the Khmer Rouge executioners were on my trail, looking to finish their job conclusively. I was afraid to go back to sleep because I kept on seeing and hearing things, both real and imagined. I was scared, terrified actually.
I have never been so alone and utterly lost before. This must be what it felt like for orphan around the world without caring parents or siblings. I was a genuine orphan, made possible by the mighty Angkar. Deep in my heart, I knew that I was never alone. The spirits of my loved ones were cheering and rooting for me. I was most certain that they were still with me always. That thought gave me a boost and a renewed hope.
The next morning, I started out early, even before sun rises. Dorn Swar was ahead and I was focus on getting there. The early morning sunlight gave me some advantage in finding my way around. I was amazed to see more and more people being herded toward Ta Source Hill, the killing center. I prayed for them, knowing that they would all be doomed soon or later. They would be condemned to hard labor by continue digging the huge canal system toward Tonle Sap Lake that my family and thousands other had started. They would then be sent to their death—just like the rest of my family and neighbors. I was frightened and felt exposed as I was walking in the opposite direction.
"Boy, where are you going?" It was more of a demand than a question from one of the young and sternly-looking Khmer Rouge escorts with a Chinese-made AK-47 assault rifle in his hands.
"I am looking for my buffalo, Mith (comrade)" I replied calmly trying very, very hard to fight my nervousness and fear.
"What’s wrong with you? You look all beat up!" Again, the monster looked at me from top of my head down to my bare feet.
"Well, why do you think I am looking for the lost buffalo now? Mith Choeun beat me up very badly because I lost the damn buffalo I was supposed to watch!" I lied as anger swelled deep inside me the longer I look at this Khmer Rouge monster.
He waved me off and did not want to argue with a smart mouth. He bought it! Off I went quickly without looking back. I changed course slightly, just in case they try to find me again. It took me a while longer that way, but better be safe than sorry.
I arrived at that family friend’s home in Dorn Swar at about noon. There was no one home except a grandmother who was taking care of few small kids. Although I knew the family, I did not remember the name of the family. I knew everyone in this family, including the grandmother, by face. When the grandmother saw me, she immediately put a finger on her lips with a "shhhh" gesture. I knew that she wanted me to be quiet. She then pointed her finger to the back of the house. She quietly told me that Wang (the spouse of my brother’s brother-in-law) has survived the killing as well and was being hidden in a pile of haystack in the back. I was so surprise and excited to hear that Wang also survived the ordeal. I thought that I was the only survivor. I felt very happy to know that she was also alive. I was not alone!
I rushed quickly to the hiding place in a pile of rice straw behind the house. When Wang saw me, she almost choked me to death with her hug. She reached out, crabbed me, and cried out openly. She wept and wept, trying to suppress the noise at the same time. I could not help but to cry along with her. It was a very painful reunion for both of us. She had lost her only family, a baby girl, her spouse, and her younger sister. It was the end of the world for both of us. She did not have anyone left and neither did I. She embraced me tight, large droplets of tears were dripping on my face and body. It was a bittersweet reunion for us both.
After a long while, thing calmed down a little. She tried to tell me about how her baby died in her arms. I asked her to stop it. I did not want to hear it. I was there as well, I reminded her. She refused because she wished that I should know all about it, as though I wasn’t there at all. Her tears kept on pouring down as she painfully retelling the horrific ordeal.
Her baby daughter’s head was smashed to bit by the impact of the massive blows by the soldiers. Blood and pieces of brain tissues from her baby’s head scattered all over her body and face. Wang’s stained cloth riddle with spots of darkened blood, much like the shirt I buried in the mud earlier. Most of the blood, she said, came from her very own child. She witnessed the whole thing before the soldiers knocked her unconscious. She was terrified when she woke up and saw her dead infant in her hand, with very little of the skull left intact. Next to her were her sister and the rest of our relatives. As I did, she crawled away and fled from the scene of the massacre soon after. Her face and body were riddled with black and blue bruises, much like mine. Her injuries, miraculously, were less severe than mine were. She survived the massacre, for the moment.
She became lost in the forest as I did for hours before she could make it out to Veil Smeth (the same one that I have crossed). She was badly injured, but she kept on going. While crossing the field, she met with four farmers along the way. She got to know those farmers well enough to trust them. She told them everything that has just happened to her. Those farmers felt sorry for her very much, but they could not help her any more than offer her some food and ask her to move on. They told Wang that "if you were a man they might take her in" with them and hide in the forest nearby. Wang asked me to go back with her to see those men again. She was hoping that they might consider taking us in after they see me. The next evening, we decided to go and see those men on the farm. We could no longer impose on the generosity of our family's friends. We put them in great danger the longer we remained in hiding there.
The family's friends in Dorn Swar were very helpful to us both. They hid us, protected us, and gave us some cleaner cloths, hat, and a bit of dried rice before we leave. They fed and care for Wang for more than three days. They did not have to do that, but they took us in and did the best they could for us. This family in Dorn Swar town and brother Som’s family of Krobey Reil became my family after that. I would not forget them or their kind gesture in this very terrible and difficult time. They helped save and made my life possible. They took a great deal of risks for Wang and me that much I know.
Wang felt much better now that I was around to console her. She was talking more freely and comfortably than before. Wang tried very hard to find the way back to get to those men on the farm, but somehow we became lost. We decided to ask people near by to find that farm again. It was fortunate that Wang remembered the name of the farm. It was called "Tek Thlar" (or Clear Water). However, Wang did not know that there were two Tek Thlar farms. There was the Tek Thlar Leu (Upper Clear Water) and the Tek Thlar Krom (Lower Clear Water). Wang was not sure which one. Wang decided to pick Tek Thlar Krom because it is closer to the Tonle Sap Lake Forest that she came out of.
After we had the direction, we proceeded immediately. At about 5:00 that same afternoon, we arrived at the farmers' camp. They simply refused to take us in! Distraught and hopeless we sat there and refused to move. The farmers gave us some food and sternly nudged us away. "Go to Battambang town," they insisted. Reluctantly, we went west toward Battambang province, hoping for the best.
We were no more than a mile away when one of the older men, Moeun, came running after us.
"Sister! Ah Khaoan (little brother)! Wait up!!!" Moeun yelled from afar from the top of his lungs. We stopped and looked at each other with a puzzle look.
"Please, come back and join us. We had to make sure." He said while trying to catch his breath.
I did not understand what it was all about and did not really care. All I care was that these strangers take us in and protect us. As it turned out, the men were part of an underground resistant group. They thought that we were spies! They have to test us out to make sure that we were not spies but real victims.
They took us into the wood, to the hiding place to rest for the night. To my surprise, there were at least 20 to 30 others being kept in this hideout. Most of them were survivors of massacre much like mine. Others were fellow escapees who can no longer stand the abuses by Angkar. Wang and I were at last among what Angkar called "Chau Prey" or "Forest bandits."
For the next 17 days I found myself hiding out in the famous flooded forest of Tonle Sap Lake among others, all adults of both sexes. More and more people kept entering the forest, running away and escaping from Angkar’s death squad. The number swelled to over a hundred and then two hundred's people. It has an appearance of the famed "Sherwood Forest" of England, completed with home made bows and arrows for hunting, fishing, and for self-defense. I still have and carried my long-time companion, the "Cave Man Club" with me, both day and night, for protection. It was my weapon of choice.
Everyone has an organized chore to do. Whether it was finding food or taking care of security detail, we all have chore to do. I was assigned and spent most of my time on the look out for trouble from the tallest trees on the edge of forest. When people approached the area, I would send the signal down below to security detail group for each sector. The security detail would check thing out to make sure it was safe.
One day, two men approached the area cautiously. I knew it was trouble immediately. My signal would nap two Angkar’s spies sent to snoop the area out. One of the men was identified as the most notorious chhlob or spy from the local area. He was credited with the killing of hundreds or perhaps thousands of innocent men, women, and children. Five people identified him as the one who killed their respective families. The other man was a local district chief, the man who was well known to order the death of ten of thousand's people in the region, perhaps even including my family. They were not the top Angkar cadres, but close enough. It was the biggest bag for me and revenge, which was why I decided to live in the first place, was within my grasp. Pay back time!
The judgment from the "people's court" was swift. Guilty! The punishment handed down was even more than a lengthy drama. The two men seemed to know their fate and started to beg for mercy. The tide has turn and it was their turn to be the victim for a change. They were no longer looking so tough, now that they were in a jam. These powerful men who have the power of life and death as Angkar cadres, who had exercised that power like they were Gods, were now looking like two pathetic and wimpy men. They wept and begged for mercy. I wondered how many innocent lives, both young and old, they have personally destroyed. They all enjoyed their work so much that they felt invincible. Now that it was their turn to be at the receiving end, they were just human--not the "super human" that they thought they have been. They were absolutely nothing at all!
They were barely conscious, beaten and kicked by others, before my trust companion--the "Cave Man Club" found its mark. The men’s heads spurted with red liquid from the cut sustained by my first best swing. I did not care. Here was a chance that I "live for" and it was my turn. Pay back time! My heart was a beast filled with nothing but hatred and anger as I continued to beat the two men mercilessly. I was actually pleased in returning the favor, a bit over dues, but I felt good. I was pumped up and it was quite an adrenaline rush. There was nothing as I ever felt before, nothing! Revenge can be so bitter sweat, I thought. I was ready for more.
The red blood was pouring bright red on the ground from the men who could only beg for mercy with their hands. The men who were once fierce and most cruel commanders were now no more than two helpless souls. They did not look so mean any longer. My "Cave Man Club" slowed down as the adults around me continued to cheer and urge me on. I suddenly stopped and then wept out loud.
"You are avenged!" I cried out loud skyward for my now dead family, friends, and neighbors. "This one is for you!" I screamed as I let lose another blow.
The two men went limped as others dragged them across the field into the nearby wood. I followed the cheering crowd and ready to do more damage, but Moeun, the wise farmer, stopped me cold in my track.
"It is enough, Ah khaon!" Moeun tried to calm me down. "That is enough. No more. You done enough for today." He held me tight in his arms.
I just wept out loud to release my anger and frustration. I was a beast, but I did not know it. I became just as the Khmer Rouge, a mad beast, and Moeun saw it in my eyes and in my actions. I was a mad beast, but my vengeance on the two Khmer Rouge cadres did not ease or end my suffering, I knew. I craved for more revenge and I would soon get what I wished and lived for.
I never knew where they throw away the two Khmer Rouge cadres dead bodies, but was sure that they would face another judgment in hell. I will meet them there later after I am done here.
After nearly 17 days in hiding, the rice and other food supplies were no longer available for the large group, which had grown rapidly to more than 250 men and women. I was the only teenage boy, at the age of 15, among the group. Water buffalo meat was the main staple and was still plentiful. We butchered one of Angkar’s finest buffalo each day, but we needed additional ration. Buffalo meat was the main food that sustained us in our hiding place in the flooded forest. We needed rice to supplement the mostly meaty diet. We must find more food and new shelter soon before the area became submerged with floodwater from the Tonle Sap Lake. We have to develop new strategy if we were going to survive. Tough choice was ahead of us, we all knew. We wanted to survive.
The top leaders (former farmers/water buffalo keepers), including Min Moeun, Peth Doeum, and Chea Sek, decided that it was time to move against the local Khmer Rouge garrisons. It was time to liberate the area for we have no other choice. We may be dead trying, but we did not have much choice. We were desperate. Food supplies and weapons can be found there, we all knew. We had to try our best, for all our sake.
The general meeting was convened. The three leaders spoke of their plans and strategies. We all trusted their leadership because no one knows any better. I did not for sure. The following night, on January 15, 1978, all of us -- over 250 men and women -- broke up into three separate groups. Each group went out to attack three separate Khmer Rouge targets concurrently.
Despite our lack of organization and weapons, we were willing to go against an army with only sticks, stones, a few knives, and two recently dug up grenades. I was attached with the command team, including the three leaders and fifteen others. We were to serve as one of the group reinforcement or back up support. It was considered to be a "safer" group for the leaders and the rest of weaker members, including myself. We headed toward Ta Source Hill, a place I know very well. That was the place where my family, neighbors, and I worked on a massive canal project. It was the place where we had our last meal before the massacre.
I, the youngest of the attackers, only have my trusted companion—the "Cave Man Club" with me. I was more than ready and was actually more than eager to go against my sworn enemy, the Khmer Rouge. I was fearless (before the actual attack) and Khmer Rouge’s blood was what I was after. It was another chance for me to get a revenge for the death of my love ones, friends, and neighbors. I was wide-awake and alert at 2:00 AM. My heart was pumping, along with an adrenaline rush. I eagerly and quietly waited for the signal to attack in a hiding position behind the rice paddy dike.
The element of surprise was gone when the two old and rusty grenades, thrown by the lead group, failed to explode on impact as expected. None of them work! Two, three ten very slow seconds went by, but absolutely nothing. The stillness of the moon lit night suddenly became a total chaos. People were screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs. The attacker rushed in toward the first defensive line. The Khmer Rouge guards opened up with their Chinese made machine guns. Hail of bullets, including bright red tracers, arched toward our direction. It has an appearance of a major monsoon shower when the hot leads coming my way, only this lead shower could very well get me killed.
The first group of attackers rushed in up the gentle sloped hillside. My group of misfit backed-up people followed close behind. We were all screaming out loud during our mad rush toward the Khmer Rouge positions. Bodies began to drop like flies. Many were mowed down like weeds. Bodies were cut down and fell in place as you see in old D-Day invasion film footage in Normandy. The wounded screamed in extreme pain. More people fell. More rushed in, almost blindly. Much more severe machine gunfire erupted and then large explosions followed. The night turned bright red, explosions after explosions rocked the ground sending plume of smoke and flashes of hot metals.
The feared B-40 rocket propelled grenades (RPG), which were designed to knock out a tank effectively at more 2,000 yards away, were being used by the Khmer Rouge soldiers at close range with devastating effect. This type of RPG was a standard issue and one of the most favorite weapons for the Khmer Rouge of all time. They seemed to use the RPG more and more to drive the attackers away than the standard AK-47 assault rifle. No wonder this RPG was known as the most feared weapon for the American GIs during the Vietnam War. It can do serious damage to a tank from a long range, imagine what it can do to human flesh and blood. Even during the smoke of battle I could see bodies went flying sky high after an indirect hit. "What the hell am I doing here?" I thought, but still running up the hill at the Khmer Rouge’s position with others.
Thinking about my now dead family, extreme anger welded inside me. I was soon oblivious to what was happening around me. Neither the whizzing bullets nor the dead comrades around me stop me from rushing forward. I was focused only on two tasks. Get to the Khmer Rouge’s position and let the first one have it. I was intensely focused on my objective and wanted to be the first to get there. I was burning and boiling inside with hatred. Life meant absolutely nothing to me at that moment-in-time. I decided to live only to kill the Khmer Rouge, to seek the revenge for the death of my loved ones. That moon-lit January night; I was a savage animal with nothing but rage and a big thirst for the Khmer Rouge’s blood. I was not fearless. I was scared as hell.
My adrenaline was pumping and my heart rate went off the scale. I was breathing hard. I was so close to the front line that I could see the blasts and flashes from the machine gun muzzles. The Chinese-made B-40 RPG whizzed by my head with a trail of smoke and flame and then a loud explosion that sent me involuntarily to the ground. Dazed and confused, I got up and rushed forward again. Nothing can stop me now. I felt invincible. The spirit of my loved ones will protect me, I told myself over and over again as I rushed closer and closer toward my objective.
A few more steps forward, I could almost see the frighten expression on the face of my first victim. He saw me and I saw him. The boy soldier was no older or bigger than I was, perhaps a little smaller. Many of Angkar’s killer soldiers were young and perhaps brainwashed to kill without a sense of hesitation or remorse. The boy soldier might be one of many that massacred my entire group of 79 unarmed and innocent people a couple weeks earlier. His dark-round face and fearful eyes under his Mao’s cap appeared to shine in the moon lit night. He stared at me frightfully, almost pleading. He appeared to be a person who had just woken up from a deep sleep. He might have fallen asleep during his watch when the attack began a moment earlier. Lucky me, he would have took me out first if he was more alert.
The boy soldier scrambled to lift and aim his seemingly over-sized weapon, a standard Chinese-made AK-47 assault rifle, at me. In a split second, my trusted "Cave Man Club" found the right side of his head first with a full fury. The impact sent the Mao’s cap on his head flying and his small body went limp to the ground. I raised my club again and gave him another blow on his head very quickly to make sure that he could do no more harm to anyone.
I did not even bother to think about my action or future impact. I just scored perhaps my second or third kill. The first two were the District Chief and his Chhlob companion earlier, which were not entirely my kills. Those two were considered as vengeance. This boy, this soldier boy, was a self-defense. It was either kill or be killed. My choice was simple. I must kill and at the same time get "two birds with one stone" as well. I defended myself and avenged my family’s death at the same time. He got what him and his Khmer Rouge kind deserved, no more and no less.
I was ready to do more before my life was snuffed away from my body. As I extended my left hand to reach for his AK-47 lying on the ground, a dark figure rushed toward me with his weapon rose. The larger and older soldier pulled the trigger and it went "click." He rearmed his weapon repeatedly while rushing toward me. Again, he pulled the trigger and again there was nothing. I still could hear the clicking sound repeatedly from his rearming and pulling the trigger. His weapon was either jammed, missed fired, or was out of bullet completely. Lucky me, again.
I was wise enough to know that I could not compete openly with an adult soldier, armed or not. When I noticed that he was actually looking down at his jammed weapon with a great disappointment and disgust for just a moment, I took full advantage of the split second opportunity. It was long enough for me, a different between life and death for both of us. It was either him or me. I remembered giving my club the best swing I could muster at the man’s head and then there was a moment of silence. A sense of satisfaction engulfed my soul.
My first hand-to-hand combat had scored two kills. No more than five minutes went by. I did not have a scratch on me, miraculously. I was still standing and seeking my next score. One of the people from my group, a woman, found and grabbed one of the AK-47. She rushed out and started to open up toward Khmer Rouge’s bunker. I followed her close behind and almost pushing her because I was running faster than she was. Even during the roar of gunfire, I could hear a loud "snap" sound. The woman immediately in front of me fell backward with her arms out stretched. Her dead body sent me flat on my back and struggle to get out from under her dead weight. She was right on the top of me as we both fell backward. More bullets riddled the area hitting her dead body on top of me, which was acting as a shield. A liquid substance began to flow on my body. I was so sure that I was hit as well. I was terrified for a moment and thought that I was wounded and bleeding. How come there was no pain? I did not even have a scratch. The woman was my guardian angle, who ever she was.
The fight raged on for a few more minutes that seemed to be an eternity. Mostly it was a hand-to-hand engagement now. The attackers, armed with just sticks and stones and sheer number, overwhelmed the first line of the Khmer Rouge defenders of mostly young teenage soldiers. There were heavy casualties on both sides, I am certain. Many from my group died or were badly wounded during the attack. However, it was a total failure on our side.
Although we obtained a few pistols and rifles, we were unable to reach our primary objectives, which were to get food, capture weapons, and take over the garrison. It was a suicide and desperate attempt. Yet, many of us were able to injure or kill quite a few soldiers during the attack. I may have killed at least two and hurt a few Khmer Rouge soldiers, Angkar’s finest, with my homemade "Cave Man Club." At the age of 15 and weight no more than 60 pounds, at a little over four feet tall, I was the youngest and smallest of all the attackers. Nonetheless, I fought just as bravely or even braver than any of the men or women there during the attack. Simply hatred and the need for the revenge of my dead loved ones and nothing more fueled me. As far as I was concerned, I have succeeded in my own personal objective. I did my best.
The retreat order was given and people began to pull out quickly. The Khmer Rouge machine gunners continued to pour the disperse fire toward the retreating attackers with only a few bursts of return fires. Tracer bullets seemed to light up the sky and bodies continued to fall all around me. It was a miracle that I was still standing under the heavy spray of bullets. Fear finally shook me up and got me running scared. I ran very hard. Foolishly, I was the last one to retreat! Running down the hill was much easier and faster than when I went up hill. I ran even faster when I saw that my fellow attackers were really moving back. I was running for my life!
The fates of those who were wounded were unknown. They were better off dead. The Khmer Rouge was never known for their mercy or Geneva Convention on Prisoner of War--not especially when their comrades were killed. All found alive would be butchered without the "waste" of a single bullet. The captured attacker’s fate was sealed. Their fighting day, their struggle for survival and freedom, would ended unceremoniously that same night, following a prolonged torture.
Exhausted and scattered after a long night of fighting, the survivors began to regroup the next morning at our hideout base camp as planned. Those who did not show up would be considered dead, since there is no such a thing as MIA or POW. The head count proved to be a staggering and massive lost. Everyone was still shocked and extremely exhausted. We all looked to Moeun, Doeum, and Sek, our three leaders, for answer. What is there for us to do next? What can we do?
"First, we must regroup. Second, we must post guards right away for our security." Moeun said gloomily. "I need a few men to guard the entry into this area. Any volunteer?" He asked.
People just looked at one another and then a few hands raised reluctantly.
"Here is the plan. We need to link up with freedom fighters along the Thai-Cambodian border. We have been in contact with them. We all will go to the border area together, but in smaller group." Doeum said while Sek shook his head in agreement.
"Let’s get moving now. We will not be safe here very long. They (Angkar/Khmer Rouge) will attack us." Sek, the former Military Policeman, added while the volunteer guards took off to watch the entry points.
The rest of the group began to move in a westerly direction along the edge of the flooded forest. Wang told me to "stick with the three leaders no matter what" before she departed with other women in the group. She thought that I would be safer with the leaders since they seemed to care for my well being. I remained with the three men and tagged along where ever they went. The four of us were the last to leave the area.
Within about 20 to 30 minutes after the group dispersing, I heard automatic rifle shots in the direction where our guards headed.
"Did you hear that?" I nervously asked Moeun.
"Yes, don’t worry." Moeun calmly said, but I sensed his concern.
The first thing I saw was Doeum melted into the forest nearby and then loud explosions a distance away. I looked to my right and instinctively ducked down to the ground. What I saw terrified me. The distinctive figures in Khmer Rouge uniform and Mao’s cap can be clearly visible in broad morning light. They were only a few hundred yards away, close enough to see that they were Khmer Rouge soldiers. More mortar shelling and automatic rifle bursts ensued, directing at my position. The counter attack by Angkar was finally here. It was a lot sooner than anyone had thought, but it was here. I wasted no time in following Doeum, Sek, and Moeun into the thick flooded forest of Tonle Sap Lake.
Many in my group of resistance fighters, as we called ourselves, were killed or captured during the army's full-scale counterattack that same morning. Our hideout in the wood was shelled day and night for three consecutive days until hardly anything was left standing. No one could have survived the massive bombardment, I thought. I decided to stick with the three leaders wherever they would go. They were scared as hell, perhaps even more so than I was. "Some leaders they are", I thought.
We would crawl on our belly and back and kept our head down low to escape the massive mortar and artillery shells. We have nothing to eat except little of my left over rice and buffalo meat, which I carried with me at all time in an old army issue cooking pot. There was nothing to drink except licking the dew from leave. Our little morsel of rice and buffalo meat soon ran out completely. This went on for three days before the shelling eased.
Occasionally, shots were fired and screaming could be heard in the distance. The scream really bothered me. I knew that it was our fellow fighters who was screaming before their lives got snuffed out. Those who allowed themselves to be captured would suffer the cruelest of treatment by the hand of Angkar’s soldiers. I immediately thought of Wang and her fate. She would be tortured before being killed for sure. I would never to see her again. Her fate, to this day, is still unknown. I have to assume that she is dead.
I could only pray for Wang and others and could do nothing more. I was praying very, very hard for my own survival to fight again another day. However, after three days of lying on the wet, damp ground, exhaustion finally consumed me completely. I fell asleep--even during the shelling. Nothing else would matter now. I am still alive and breathing, but what is my fate? The future will be here, no matter what, and my fate will be decided. Until then, sleep was all that I can think of at that moment. I looked at my battered "Cave Man Club" for the last time before I tossed it aside. I soon fell asleep, a victim of sheer exhaustion and spent energy.
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