id Ll 0 em || eRe a By RAE MURPHY ie THE old man knew we were in his room, standing over his bed, he gave nc sign. He lay on his back with the sheet drawn tightly around his neck, his eyes closed. The doctor who accompanied’ us on the rounds in this hospital in Haiphong took the opportunity to take the man’s pulse while he described his injury. He was a fisherman, who was with his orphaned grandson in his small sampan when the at- tack came. His grandson, who was the old man’s only known relative was killed instantly, and the man’s injuries while not fatal were quite extreme. “He knows his Grandson is dead.” The doctor said. “He also wants to die. It is sometimes hard enough to save those who want to live.” Without any fur- ther exchange we left the ward. I thought back to. the evening before in Hanoi, when a few Vietnamese were telling me over supper of the traditions ‘of na- tional resistance to foreign do- mination that has etched itself so deeply in the history of that country. I had proposed a toast to the effect that I felt this mo- ment in Vietnamese history would be recorded as the finest. My companion replied that per- haps it will be so recorded in history and in a rather flat voice continued: “history will not let this generation rest or die until the war is over.” There were three patients in another room in the hospital. All together there were less than 50 patients in the whole 700-bed building, which had been under increased bombing and was now being dispersed around the countryside. Only those too seriously injured to be moved remained. The patient I was introduced to in the ward had close cropped hair which I assumed belonged to a young boy. It was as I was shown the wounds on the back and legs that I realized it was the mangled body of a teenage girl. There were several pellet burns on her, and bandages covered inflamed areas where pellets had been removed. “She is completely out of dan- ger,” the doctor said, “and will be evacuated this afternoon.” In Vietnam I learned some- thing of the effects of the pellet bombs, which is only one of the several varieties of anti-personnel bombs used by the Americans. They are small bombs packed into what is called the mother bomb. The mother bomb is dropped and explodes on im- pact. The first explosion scat- ters the smaller bombs over a wide area in all directions. The smaller bomb explodes in turn, driving small balls with rifle force, again in all directions. In the bombing raids I wit- nessed in Hanoi these pellet bombs were widely used and they caused many Civilian casu- alties. A further grotesque feat- ure of these weapons is that the mother bomb has often a timed detonator. When a _ Street is time-bombed, rescue work can- not properly begin until the area has been cleared by army sap- pers. Sometimes a bomb is buried in the debris or is overlooked for some other reason and they can explode within hours or even days after the raid. One afternoon I wandered down a street that had just been the centre of an attack. In one compound, the two story home which fronted on the street had received a direct hit and was completely gutted. The small courtyard behind the house was covered with debris and people moved through the damaged buildings piling furniture and clothes and cleaning the rubble. A blood-stained child’s hat was discarded beside a tree, and to one side the area .was being washed with a strong ammonia disinfectant. An old man who had crouched beside the wall DECEMBER 1, 1967—PACIFIC TRIBUNE —Page 6 The ‘Mother bomb’ drops, re- leasing hundreds of sraailer bombs in all directions. These explode sending thousands of pellets into everything living. An- ti-personnel bombs have no effect on structures but are designed strictly as terror weapons against population centres. ‘ Nine-day old victim of pellet bombing. Lyndon Johnson says his only target are ‘steel and concrete’. during the raid was torn apart in that spot. Beside me a group of women were squatting in a small circle talking among them- selves. Obviously in shock, she alternately caressed her child and patted her own head. Nobody in the courtyard was crying, there was too much ac- tivity. Through one doorway I saw a casket iaid out on the table. It was draped in red buit- ing and beside it stood bouquets of gladiolas. My attention was distracted by .my_ interpreter asking me to photograph an old- er woman with a bandaged child in her arms. The child was not too severely injured and put on a bit of a smile. We left shortly after this. The sky that day was cloudless, and not a breeze stirred on the ground. It was still early enough in the day for many more raids. Such fiendish- weapons as those dropped on Hanoi do not begin and end with one type of pellet bomb. They come in all sizes, shapes and descriptions. One can imagine the ingenious American engineers and scient- ists who designed such. bombs, returning at night to their split- level bungalow, having a mar- tini, patting their kids on the head and then going off to a community meeting.