The first of the evacuees were running up the ramp when I heard the hiss of the Katyushas, followed a second later by an explosion as the first of the rockets detonated on a far runway.
It was clear to the evacuees that this would be the last plane out of the airport. What was left of the armed forces was evacuating itself with whatever aircraft was serviceable. I was running as fast as I could, my lungs in a knot. When I set foot onto the ramp, I paused to let Linh and Duc pass by. When they did not appear. I turned and saw they were no longer behind me. A mass of tormented humanity faded into the dusty distance. Even though I was escaping, I shared the torment.
No that’s not an account of Kabul in 2021. It’s Saigon in 1975. We’ve learned a lot in 46 years!
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