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During the years of war, my life was closely tied to a mobile existence. In the morning, I would take off from Da Phuc Airfield (Hanoi), engage in battle, then land at Yen Bai for lunch. After that, I would take off again, sometimes landing at Tho Xuan (Thanh Hoa), Kep (Bac Giang), or Kien An (Hai Phong). Besides the ammunition I carried, I always had a pair of shorts, a face towel, a parachute knife, a pen, and a diary stuffed into my flight suit pockets. That was the entirety of a fighter pilot’s belongings, and with them, I roamed everywhere. The ready-room rooftops at the airfields were always lined with toothbrushes, so wherever we landed, we had what we needed. Life was that simple.

Wherever I went, bombs and bullets seemed to follow. In a single day, I would have to maneuver up and down countless airfields. My comrades were the same—landing right after enemy bombings, landing while the enemy was still attacking, or touching down only for the enemy to strike immediately afterward. If there was even a moment’s opportunity to land, we had to seize it immediately. A single moment of hesitation, and we would be hit. Every action required not only speed but also meticulous accuracy. Numerous pilots, upon landing, would inadvertently roll into bomb craters, plunge into depressions, or overturn their aircraft in various precarious manners.

Panic ensued as everyone rushed to organize an emergency rescue team. Although it took some time for the rescue vehicle to arrive, upon reaching the pond, the team found no trace of the pilot. Their calls went unanswered, and a thorough search through the reeds and bushes along the pond’s perimeter yielded no results, leaving everyone in a state of confusion.

Hoá ra, anh Lanh đang ngồi luộc ốc ở nhà gần đó. Số là sau khi “lăn tùm” xuống ao, Lanh mở buồng lái, cởi giày, cởi quần bay đeo hết lên cổ, nhảy ra cánh However, it was later discovered that Lanh was comfortably seated at a nearby house, busy boiling snails. After his aircraft had submerged, he had managed to open the cockpit, remove his boots and flight suit, drape them around his neck, climb onto the wing, and wade to safety. Noticing a plentiful supply of large snails in the pond, which are common in the vicinity of Gia Lam Airfield, he collected several dozen, stuffed them into his flight suit, secured it, and took them home to prepare a meal for everyone.bay, lội ngay lên bờ. Ngoái lại xung quanh thấy có rất nhiều ốc nhồi (các ao ở quanh sân bay Gia Lâm sẵn khoản này lắm) liền bắt mấy chục con, cho vào ống quần bay, túm lại xách về để “chiêu đãi” bọn tôi.

By the time the emergency rescue team returned, they found us happily feasting on snails. Three bricks stacked together, a tin can placed on top, and within minutes, we had ourselves a battle against this local delicacy. The scene erupted into laughter, shouts, scolding, and even cursing— every emotion mixed together! That was war. Anything could happen at any time, and at any time, anything could happen!

Perhaps the most touching experience was when I landed at Mieu Mon Airfield and had to take refuge deep in a mountainous village. It was freezing cold. The homeowner lent me a cotton blanket to keep warm. The next morning, when I arrived at the dining area, I saw six bowls of noodles sitting on the table. I thought to myself: There must have been a group that traveled by land overnight to reinforce us. So I waited, but no one showed up. When I asked, I was told, “Those are yours!”
Heavens! It turned out the kitchen staff had never cooked for fighter pilots before and had nothing available except noodles. The budget for my breakfast was 2,500 dong, which apparently equaled six bowls of noodles, so the y simply served it all to me at once! 

(Colonel Nguyen Cong Huy, MiG-21 Pilot,
Former the Deputy Division Commander and Chief of Staff of the 371st Air Force Division