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National Geographic : 1964 Sep
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and soon Pham Van Giau arrived carrying a wooden icebox from his own home for our comfort. An ice chest was not standard equip ment for service car VS 3732. The station was alive with predawn bustle and excitement. Baggagemen, sweating in the humid 90-degree calm of morning, darted be tween the oil lamps of black-pajamaed sales women offering breakfast snacks to depart ing passengers. Our train guard, 30 men evenly distributed in three armored cars spaced along the length of the train, noisily banged their steel-sided cars as they loaded ammunition. The train also was carrying 200 soldier replacements to Da Nang, 580 miles northeast. Mr. Hau led me to meet the stationmaster. As we talked, the phone rang. It was a call from the trackwalker who had preceded the train out of the station. He reported that the track was clear of mines on the first five miles beyond Saigon. At exactly 5 a.m. we boarded. Mrs. Hau cried, left us briefly, then hurried back with a bag of bonbons for her husband. Our wooden French-built car was quite comfortable. At one end the cook was installed in a little cubicle with his ice chest and a two burner bottled-gas stove. Then came two more cabins, each with double-deck bunks and washroom; another sleeping compart ment with a double-deck bunk, and finally a dining area with a table that seated eight. Peasants Flee to Safety in Saigon At the head of the 12-car train were three flat-bed "sleepers," ballast cars that would det onate any pressure mines and save damage to the engine. Immediately behind the flatcars came the spanking new General Electric lo 425
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