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birth, we departed for Battambang by Molotova. I play the role of a Vietnamese expert

on a business trip. There is also a guide, an escort, and a driver. They were all Cambodian

soldiers, dressed in military uniforms, armed with AK 47. The route is three hundred
kilometers long and must pass six checkpoints. The road is unbelievably bad, much

damaged, sometimes the car has to drive cross-country. The bridges that were knocked
down by the Khmer Rouge during the retreat were temporarily repaired with forest trees

and planks. Bridge guards and scouts along the road are armed with all kinds of guns,

from AK 47 to MI6, from M79 to B40, from Carbin to Colt 45, from Shotgun to K54, of all
sizes of all kinds of varieties. It is difficult to distinguish whether they were Heng

Samrin's soldiers or Khmer Rouge guerrillas. On the heights on the side of the road, there

are posts of Vietnamese soldiers with cannon emplacements with red and yellow stars.

The air was dry and hot, along with dirt flying into the car, suffocating everyone. It

was already afternoon. The west side was fiery red. The villages are silent in the darkness;
the paintings are bright... Near the town of Battambang, there is a very vicious

checkpoint. The car had to stop in the middle of a remote road, about 10 kilometers from

the city, waiting for it to get dark before passing. The checkpoint blocked the gateway,
and in addition to the joint control component, there were also undercover Vietnamese

intelligence personnel. The license plate had to be plastered so as not to recognize the
agency. Vehicles must turn off their lights and can be shot at any time by both friend and

foe. Arriving at the checkpoint, the trees in the way and the iron horses were closed, the

staff had gone to bed, and only one guard remained. The driver got off, went to talk to
the guard, offered a cigarette, and bargained. The night was thick and dark. I sat in the

car like a fire. Ten minutes later, the guard opened the door for us to enter the city.

Battambang slept quietly in the sparse yellow streetlights. Military vehicles patrolled,
pointing their guns to the sides. Without a shadow of people, the streets seemed to be

dying in the context of war. In the distance, several explosions erupted and then went

out. My father and son were sent to a temporary shelter in a homestead near the Coconut
Tree market. Part afraid of police outcasts, part thinking about the road ahead, I couldn't

sleep all night!

In the early morning of December 26, 1984, the journey up the Thai border began. At

noon, we arrived at Kubota. Mang (village) Kabore is a small remote district about 10
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