A Hero in our Midst

Chien Van Tran, a man slight in stature and in life's senior years, labored inconspicuously as a Hazardous Material Supervisor for a contract company responsible for providing installation and infrastructure support for Bagram Airfield, one of Afghanistan's largest military bases.

Tran's slight build, sharp mind and energetic appearance mask his age, but it wasn't until a boss inquired about an emblem Tran so proudly wore on the front of his faded blue "boonie cap," did his coworkers realize that there was something special about him. Tran had a story to tell.

"The emblem?" Tran recalls telling his coworker. "It is an Army of the Republic of Vietnam Special Forces Master Jump Wing. I wore it when I was in the ARVN Special Forces and when I received a Silver Star from the Americans."

His secret was out.

Rewind to Aug. 28, 1968.

It is the height of the Vietnam War with America already in its fourth year of fighting. The United States has roughly 550,000 troops on the peninsula and congress approved $77.4 billion to support the government of South Vietnam from the threat of the People's Republic of China and Union of Soviet Socialist Republics-backed communist North.

Tran, then, a 32 year-old ARVN Special Forces Staff Sergeant, was assigned as an interpreter with the Aero Rifle Platoon, Troop D, 1st Squadron, 10th Cavalry, that provided combat search and rescue (CSAR) and quick reaction support to the U.S. Army's 4th Infantry Division.

Tran received an early morning alert that a two-man light observation helicopter had gone down about 40 kilometers to the north of Pleiku. Tran's team was tasked with locating the downed aircraft, securing the crash site and extracting the pilots who were hopefully still alive.

The 25 Cavalry Soldiers along with Tran piled into transport helicopters for a short 30-minute jaunt over enemy territory for a recovery mission they hoped would be quick and uneventful.

Unfortunately, luck was not in their favor that day.

When their helicopters touched down in a clearing near the crash site, the men promptly jumped into the 90 degree weather taking up defensive positions around the downed chopper which was already starting to draw enemy fire.

As fate would have it, the men were dropped on top of an underground bunker complex hidden under the thick jungle canopy, and in what seemed to be into the hands of the entire North Vietnamese Army.

Soon after landing, Tran's commander was wounded in the leg and the platoon's radio operator lay dead.

Worst of all, the North Vietnamese enemy were coming to the realization that they had the upper hand.

"The NVA knew we were outnumbered," Tran said. "We had M-16s, M-60s and M-79 grenade launchers, that was it, so all they had to do was listen to our gunfire to determine how many of us there were."

Staff Sgt. Tran took immediate action by grabbing the radio and directing the defense, becoming the de facto leader of the rescue mission.

Tran ordered his men to advance on the bunkers to silence the enemy gunfire, destroying seven enemy emplacements himself.

The underground bunker system was later determined to belong to an NVA field hospital and served as home to nearly 1,000 communist soldiers.

A fact which was becoming all too obvious to Tran, as he observed groups of NVA soldiers gathering to organize a counter attack to crush the rescue attempt.

Tran used the field radio and began calling for artillery and air support.

Tran's quick thinking and initiative brought the enemy counter attack to an end, permitting the recovery aircraft to swoop in and pick up the pilots and rescue team.

When all was done, one ARVN soldier was dead, one wounded and the two injured pilots were safe and receiving medical treatment. They brought back 11 NVA soldiers, including a female nurse, and several bags of Russian and Chinese medical supplies.

After a two year wait, ARVN Staff Sgt. Chien Van Tran was awarded the U.S. Army's Silver Star for his gallantry in rescuing the American pilots.

But this is hardly where Tran's story ends.

By 1968, President Lyndon B. Johnson was under intense pressure from lawmakers and the American public to end U.S. involvement in Vietnam.

Congressional funding for the war gradually dropped as military leaders shifted their focus to training and equipping the ARVN while gradually withdrawing troops in a policy called "Vietnamization."

By 1973, 95 percent of the American troops were gone from the Vietnamese peninsula.

Tran, as with most South Vietnamese conscripts, continued to fight against the North until April 30, 1975; the day Saigon fell, the South surrendered and the arrest and execution of former ARVN and government officials began.

Tran weighed whether it was better to be caught by the communists with ARVN-issued identity papers or no documents at all. Either way, it was a "lose-lose" situation that would likely result in severe consequences as the North sought retribution.

On the advice of his mother, Tran decided to flee, destroying everything related to his past.

He burned his photos, his identity papers, family keepsakes and his cherished U.S. Army Silver Star.

As feared, he was eventually arrested and unable to convince the authorities he was simply a vehicle driver who had no government issued papers and was incarcerated.

For 14 long months he was held prisoner in Saigon. Drawing on his Special Forces training, he studied his prison surroundings and planned for his escape.

In the dead of night, telling none of his fellow inmates, Tran dug an escape route under the prison wire, aided by the soft ground, poor visibility and stifling noise provided by the intense monsoon rains.

Fleeing prison was the easy part of his plan. It was the second part, escaping Vietnam and making his way to America that was going to prove difficult, considering he had no plan for that.

Once back in Saigon, a city big enough to be anonymous, but not so large that it wasn't impossible to bump into former friends and acquaintances who may be inclined to report you to the authorities, Tran pondered his future.

This was a time when neighbors were turning against neighbors, often with deadly results. Any trip out in the city was risky and it was during one of these outings that Tran's past was about to catch up with him. Tran ran into an old family friend, a former policeman he knew since childhood, a man he regarded as his uncle.

Mr. Binh, as Tran called him, was a man of means. Besides being a police officer for the former regime, he was also a successful restaurant owner. Binh offered Tran a free meal and a business proposition.

"We were both very afraid of each other; not knowing what could and couldn't be said in the event the other was to share information with the police," Tran said. "Mr. Binh wanted to figure out if I could be trusted."

Binh asked Tran if he had indeed escaped from prison, a fact which Tran reluctantly acknowledged.

"It was after this that Mr. Binh told me that I must leave Vietnam or the Communists would kill me.

That is also when he offered me the deal," Tran said. "Mr. Binh said that he would pay for my escape to the Philippines, but only if I would take him and his family, … all 37 of them."

At this time getting one person out of Vietnam was considered nearly impossible. Attempting to get 37 would be considered suicide.

"Mr. Binh knew I was reluctant to accept his offer, but he told me he had faith in me and that if anyone could accomplish it, it would be me," Tran remembers him saying. "How could I say no?"

Faced with the choices of certain death or the better option of possible death, Tran began formulating a plan.

"I made the decision that I would never be imprisoned by the Communist again," said Tran. "I would rather die."

Tran decided that they would attempt their escape by sea … after he figured out a way to secretly transport himself and 37 others through 150 miles of police checkpoints to the eastern seaport of Ca Na; but first the boat.

Tran found a fishing vessel for sale in Ca Na which he figured was seaworthy and capable of transporting 60 people. For the equivalent of $110 U.S., the boat would be ready in 20 days with no questions asked by the boat seller.

Although the seller didn't ask Tran about his intent, he did have a pretty good idea what the boat was going to be used for.

This was a time when 1.5 million fellow Vietnamese were also looking to escape by sea. The United Nations High Commission for Refugees estimates that between 200,000 and 400,000 "boat people" died at sea.

The seller told Tran that he would need to report the boat stolen 24-hours after Tran headed out to protect himself in the event Tran's group was captured by the authorities.

Tran returned to Saigon telling Benh about what he had found and the cost of the boat. Binh readily agreed to the price and gave Tran the money to purchase it.

The dilemma now facing Tran was how to get everyone to the boat which was 150 miles north.

Getting to Ca Na was no simple matter. For this, Tran needed a fixer; someone who specializes in getting people where they need to be without being detected.

It required the group to travel to Ca Na by train, with a handful disembarking at each stop along the way to prevent being detected by authorities. They would then trek several miles through the woods to meet a waiting truck on a parallel highway which would then take them to the waiting boat.

The fixer agreed to transport Tran and his soon-to-be passengers under two conditions. First, he must agree to take four additional people with him. And second, he must pay $66,000 for the 150 mile trip, an amount Tran was sure Binh could never afford.

"I returned to Saigon to give Mr. Binh the bad news," Tran said. "To my surprise and without hesitation, Mr. Binh said OK."

Twenty days after Binh first offered to finance the escape, the group, now totaling 42, set out under cover of darkness for the 800 mile voyage to the Philippines. Armed only with a hand compass and a basic map, Tran steered the vessel west.

"We had two barrels of water onboard which lasted us only two days," Tran recounted. "Thankfully, since it was the rainy season we zigzagged our way to Mindoro Island aiming for rain showers along the way.

The group was able to stave off dehydration by wringing out their clothing and drinking the rainwater, but it came at an expense. A trip which Tran expected to take four days ended up taking longer, but on the evening of the sixth day, they safely reached Mindoro Island.

The group was now free and in the Philippines, but Tran's final destination still lay 7,000 miles further west.

Penniless, devoid of family and without a country to call home, Tran made his way to the Philippine capital of Manila in search of the United States embassy located there.

Tran was fortunate. He was granted a meeting with an embassy staff official who was willing to discuss a request for asylum.

Tran recounted his years with the ARVN Special Forces, the circumstances behind his Silver Star and his story of escape from the Saigon prison, but to the official, Tran was simply just another one of the 1.5 million refugees who fled Vietnam's oppressive communist regime.

"The embassy staff worker asked me for proof, that what I told him was true," said Tran. "But I had nothing, I destroyed everything so that the communists wouldn't know anything about me."

After several grueling minutes in desperate thought, the answer finally came to him. The Silver Star!

"I told the man that I knew how he could verify my story in 10 minutes and how he could confirm everything about me," Tran remembered. "I memorized the document number on my Silver Star orders; it was General Order Number 1641, dated March 1970. I told him it should be on file somewhere with the Army in Washington D.C."

The following day, Chien Van Tran was on a flight to the United States, shoeless, penniless and with only the clothes on his back, he set out in search of his American dream.

Tran made Houston, Texas, his home and eventually married, received his American citizenship and raised three daughters before retiring from the Houston Public Works Department.

After 25 years of exemplary employment for the city, Tran garnered the admiration of the mayor who declared Feb. 1, 2002, as "Chien Van Tran Day."

Tran's story doesn't end here, either.

Tran felt he could do more for the country he now calls home and wanted to find a way to once again support the United States Army.

At age 68, he applied to FLUOR for a position as a hazardous material supervisor in Afghanistan where he is now going on his ninth year.

Forty-five years after first receiving his Silver Star for gallantry, Tran is still supporting the United States Army and at 77 shows no signs of slowing down. After meeting Tran and hearing his story, few would disagree that Chien Van Tran is a Hero in our midst.

Related Links:

Army Heritage Center Foundation

The Official Home Page of the United States Army

4th Infantry Division Website

Combined Joint Task Force 101 on DVIDS

U.S. Army Center of Military History

Regional Command East on Facebook

101st Airborne Division Website