House hunting in a small Vietnamese city, like I’ve recently been doing here in Pleiku, is pretty stressful. There are no letting agents—just a Facebook group that moves at lightning speed. Thankfully, getting out to actually view places has been rather fun for me to offset the stress; it’s given me a chance to explore parts of the city I hadn’t had any reason to visit before. One viewing took me down the old French airport runway, now a public road, and another led me near the current airport onto the road that once led to the American 71st Evacuation Hospital. I get a bit of a buzz out of seeing these sites.

This gives me a good excuse to write up this topic because it took place at the 71st Evacuation Hospital (here). The site has no shortage of stories, such as the lives of the nurses who served there, like Diane Carlson Evans. Today, though, I’m sharing a snapshot of something more off-beat — a pirate radio station that was run by some rogue engineers. It’s a far cry from the official radio propaganda I’ve written about before, and just the kind of offbeat details I love learning about when digging into the history of Pleiku.

At the time the pirate radio was on the air – 1971 – the Vietnam War still had a good four years to go, but for the U.S. Army, things were beginning to wind down. Under the policy of “Vietnamization,” introduced by President Nixon, the U.S. was gradually transferring the responsibility of the war to South Vietnamese forces, aiming to reduce American involvement. The 71st Evac Hospital had reduced their staff considerably, giving the buildings that were no longer used over to the Signal Corps. The area had an eerie liminal quality that was captured in photographs by Joel Dinda who was with the Signal Corps and living in the Hospital grounds. The atmosphere of these photos brings to my mind the style of Wes Anderson film, which I also find a fun lens through which to think about the story around the pirate radio station.

“By 1971 the 71st was but a pale ghost of itself, and most of the hospital complex had been either ceded to the local Signal Corps folks (that would include me) or completely abandoned. So I spent my Vietnam year living in a hospital ward… All in all, we Signal folks thought the medical operation a mysterious and wonderful thing; we shared the complex but had little interaction with the professional staff, and less with the patients. ” – Joel Dinda

One of those signal folks was the main character of our pirate radio story: SP5 Schmidt of the 146th Signal Company. SP5 meaning Specialist 5-stripes rank.

“Since the war was winding down (for us GIs at least) a lot of equipment was being turned in to our shop from field sites reducing their inventory as they shut down. That provided a marvelous opportunity for me to scavenge an excess intercom for conversion to what would become the Peanut Whistle of the Central Highlands, so named after the HAM (amateur radio) nickname for a low power transmitter.” – SP5 Schmidt

Schmidt and a group of co-conspirators from the his company used their vocational skills to cobble together a homemade broadcasting setup and started transmitting their pirate radio station on 95FM. They called it the Peanut Whistle of the Central Highlands, and each volunteer took on their own radio persona to remain anonymous – because what they were doing was strictly against the rules. Schmidt went by “The Choo-Choo-Cherry Kid” (a name inspired by his drink of choice: vodka mixed with Choo-Choo-Cherry powdered drink mix from care packages). Other DJs went by equally whimsical names like Goofy Grape and Rah Rah Root Beer. One of the crew had even been a professional DJ before being shipped off to Vietnam.

The station didn’t exactly have a massive range—about two miles, depending on conditions—but that was enough to cover the medevac hospital and, the nearby Pleiku Airbase, and on a good day maybe Camp Holloway.

If you hop over to Schmidt’s website (my main source for this article), there’s more information about the pirate radio as well as a modest collection of photos and even some audio. One photo that caught my eye was of the officers’ latrine, which got hit by a 122mm rocket. Luckily, no one was using the facilities at the time. This was possible because the hospital was close to Rocket Box, the area I wrote about last time when I went to see one of the rockets in the museum. It’s funny how these things connect.

The Peanut Whistle wasn’t the only pirate radio station operating in Vietnam during the war. One of the most famous was Radio First Termer, run by a DJ who went by the name Dave Rabbit. Broadcasting from a brothel in Saigon, Rabbit pumped out heavy rock and anti-war commentary, gaining a lot more fame than our Choo Choo Cherry but maybe that was due to his inner-city location.

Fortunately, CCCK and his friends were never caught by the military police or other radio authorities. They even managed to throw pool parties at the medevac hospital’s pool—I was surprised to learn a pool even existed. I find a lot of joy in stumbling across these quirky stories, it adds a lot of colour to the history of my adopted home, Pleiku. There’s something absurd about this story—especially through the lens of the liminal looking photos.

You can listen to some of The Peanut Whistle of the Central Highlands on YouTube.

At VUS, where I teach, we have a lesson for secondary students on the topic of what their town was like in the past. Of course, this is perfect for me, a self-declared local amateur historian. But a recent comment from my teaching assistant stopped me in my tracks. She mentioned that when she was young, there were no cinemas in Pleiku. This caught me off guard—surely there had been cinemas in the past, hadn’t there?

Before 1975

Some digging revealed that Pleiku did indeed have cinemas, even before 1975. And not just one, but at least two large theaters: Diep Kinh, Thanh Binh. They were on Hoang Dieu, the main road now called Hung Vuong, less than 300 meters apart. These theaters even had mezzanine seating, classy! (source)

Before 1975, Diep Kinh cinema was built at this intersection, named after the theater owner. Gradually, people got used to the name Diep Kinh so it also became the name of the intersection [note: the corner of Hung Vuong and Le Loi]. At that time, a cinema was something extremely luxurious. Therefore, since the cinema opened, many restaurants and hotels have sprung up one after another at Diep Kinh Pleiku intersection. – VAN CONG HUNG

When talking about Diep Kinh at that time, many old men and women remember that it was a gathering place for “flower girls”. Every evening, they would put on beautiful makeup, gather at the Diep Kinh intersection and sit in groups. The bustling crowd caused many fights between protection gangs when some shaggy customers appeared, teasing the girls or defaulting on their payments, causing trouble. – VAN CONG HUNG

According to Bao Gia Lai, Thanh Binh was on the site that is now the dance studio on the corner of Hung Vuong and Nguyen Thai Hoc.

A third cinema is mentioned “Diên Hồng” which was renamed Thống Nhất after the war. I can’t find any photos or the location of this cinema (maybe somewhere around Cu Chinh Lan street).

After 1975

After 1975, there were 3 cinemas in Pleiku, the largest and oldest Diep Kinh, then Thang Long and Dien Hong. Except for Diep Kinh, which took the owner’s name, the other 2 were also private but had the generous names Thang Long and Dien Hong. After being taken over, the government renamed the cinemas Nhan Dan (Diep Kinh), Thong Nhat (Dien Hong), while Thang Long was transformed into the Provincial Cultural House, now the Dam San Music and Dance Theater. – VAN CONG HUNG

At that time, there were several sources of films, foreign films were mainly from the Soviet Union, occasionally Polish films, Czechoslovak films… which had to be approved in advance. The approval board was set up by the Department of Culture and Information, I was occasionally invited to attend, and enjoyed it very much.  – VAN CONG HUNG

The film was shown in Pleiku town until it was strung up before being transferred to the districts for the mobile projection teams, so it was normal for the film to be spliced ​​or interrupted while showing. The dubbing versions were torn or blurred, so to be good at dubbing, one had to know how to… lie. I was sometimes invited to narrate for the mobile team showing at the outdoor theater (now a corner of Dai Doan Ket Square), and I also had to… lie, sometimes making up half of the film without anyone knowing. – VAN CONG HUNG

In part 1, we explored how Mayréna lead an expedition into the wild jungle near Kontum, Central Vietnam. Here he succeeded in thwarting a rival Prussian expedition and thus secured French dominance in the region by forging alliances with chiefs of the Sedang Tribe; the last tribe standing in the way of a road from Quy Nhon on the Annam Coast to Attapeu in Laos.

In this second part, we will delve into how Mayréna seized the moment to declare himself king of an independent Sedang kingdom — a bold move that would set the stage for his own downfall.

Earlier in their mission, Mayréna had informed his guide and interpreter, the missionary Guerlach, that the governor-general of French Indochina had strictly ordered Mayréna not to act in the name of France. Recall that this mission was entirely unofficial, in order to avoid causing diplomatic problems. So when initially Mayréna was asking the Sedang chiefs to sign allegiance to him personally, it did not ring alarm bells for Guerlach.

The expedition would set up their forward base at Kontum which was well established – having the Christian mission, 4 converted Bahnar villages and a small Vietnamese population. Mayréna would take three forays from Kontum to the Sedang land, collecting signatures from various village chiefs on treaties while missionaries translated and signed as witnesses.

Over time Guerlach grew increasingly uneasy with this approach. Although he signed the treaties as a witness, he would later clarify this was in no way an endorsement. His letters suggest he felt Mayréna was not acting in the best interest of France, and after the second foray to the Sedang land, Guerlach seemed to distance himself from his countryman. For the third and last foray, it was Father Irigoyen, a missionary stationed at Kon Trang, who acted as interpreter for Mayréna. After this Mayréna would not see the Sedang people ever again.

At this point I want to step aside from the story to explore how and why all this happened. Mayréna’s own account was that after he had impressed the Sedang with his skill with a sabre, he was asked to lead the Sedang against a neighboring tribe, the Jrai, and upon his victory the chiefs spontaneously declaring Mayréna king totally unprompted. Although this is blatantly a lie, evidence from more reliable sources does indeed back up that the Sedang chiefs did indeed crown him king of their own freewill. Was this due to Mayréna’s charisma, or was he merely a clever opportunist who exploited the hard work of those like Guerlach? After all, it was the missionaries like Guerlach who had lived among the Sedang, learned their language, and won their respect through years of hard work. Maybe it was simply a matter of time until they won over the Sedang – and Mayréna turned up at just the right time.

I, Blak, first chief of the village Dry or Drey, declare that my village and its inhabitants; its lands and its rivers is a village of the kingdom Sedang; furthermore I declare to call and recognize His Majesty Marie, king of the whole kingdom Sedang, and my king; furthermore, I declare that, from time immemorial until this day, I have never called and recognized a king chief of another country; today only, I, first chief of the village of Dry, call and recognize His Majesty Marie, king of the whole kingdom Sedang, and also king of the village of Dry, and its dependencies; again I declare to have heard and understood all the things that the king of the kingdom Sedang orders to be observed in each village of the kingdom Sedang [snip].

and the undersigned, P. Irigoyen, apostolic missionary, declares that the above French translation is the literal of the Sédang Convention passed before me by the village of Dak Dry.
Signed: P. IRIGOYEN, Apostolic Missionary.

My theory is that the Sedang may have overestimated Mayréna’s standing within the French Empire. The chiefs likely sensed that their traditional way of life was under threat and would not survive the march into the 20th century. Surrounded by powerful empires, they must have realized that securing a strong ally was essential for their survival. Unfortunately, their error was in believing that Mayréna was the ally they needed. With the confidence and charisma of a seasoned conman, he convinced them of his influence and power.

One thing is certain: the Sedang people were never called upon to demonstrate their loyalty. I suspect it would not have been easily given, as their commitment to Mayréna’s supposed kingdom was likely tenuous at best. Perhaps Mayréna was well aware of this and understood that their loyalty was irrelevant to his true intentions. His plans were never about building a lasting kingdom for the Sedang; rather, they were about using the illusion of one to serve his own ambitions.

Back to the story, after the third foray with Irigoyen, Mayréna left the highlands and returned to civilisation. The likely reason being that without Guerlach’s support Mayréna would not be able to set up more meetings with more chiefs. Or maybe he just felt he had gathered enough signatures to lend weight to his scheme. Whatever the reason, he quickly put a lot of distance between himself and his supposed kingdom, travelling first to Hong Kong. Here, he would write prolifically to quickly put spin on what he had done.

Mayréna boasted that he was received as royalty in Hong Kong, likely embellishing his exploits to gain favor and attention. With his newfound status, he wasted no time in exploiting his self-proclaimed kingship to its fullest. He began selling titles, land, and mining rights, to gullible buyers enticed by the promise of influence and wealth in his so-called kingdom. Many of these transactions were dubious at best, as Mayréna had dubious power to offer such assets. Regardless, he pocketed the profits and indulged in a life of luxury, parading his fabricated success while living off the proceeds of his fraudulent schemes. His reign, built on deception, became less about leadership and more about how much he could extract from Europeans.

To a world that had never heard of Sedang people, Mayréna had to justify his right to rule, Mayréna wrote at length to passionately argue that the tribes were not, and never had been, subjects of Annam or anyone else. Thus by choosing him as their king, he claimed an unassailable sovereign right to govern.

The independence of these countries is incontestable. It is affirmed by the missionaries, by the people of the country who declare that they have never accepted foreign leaders, it is incontestable according to the geographical configuration of the country, because three chains of high mountains, successive chains, protect it on the side of Annam and Siam; they are natural and impassable walls, where, with a hundred men, one could stop an army. – Marie-Charles David de Mayréna,

Mayréna went to great lengths to create an aura of legitimacy around his so-called kingdom, producing a variety of paraphernalia such as stamps, medals, and even currency. Many of these items bore inscriptions in the Sedang language—a surprising touch that suggests he must have carefully transcribed the language from Guerlach’s notes before leaving. However, this level of detail was largely wasted, as you could probably count on one hand the number of people who could read and write Sedang at that time. Ironically, none of these symbols of his “kingdom” ever made their way back to the Sedang people.

After Hong Kong the king travelled to France hoping for an audience with the president and aiming to open an embassy. He conducted many press interviews at this time but also the press dug up his past to smear his name – recall he’d fled France due to misconduct in the banking industry.

His downfall would begin in April 1889, when a Belgian financier named Somsy agreed to give the self-styled king arms and money in exchange for mineral rights in Sedang. But on his return journey to Vietnam, the French Navy blockaded the ports in order to prevent him reaching Sedang. The arms were then seized as contraband in Singapore. Mayréna’s dreams crushed, fled in to British Malaya.

In British Malaya Mayréna would embrace Islam and take several local wives. On November 11, 1890, the life of King Marie I came to a mysterious end. Reports of his death on Tioman Island vary, with claims ranging from poisoning to snakebite or death in a duel.

In early March 1890 – only 2 years after the “founding” of the Kingdom of Sedang – The Resident of France in Quy Nhon lead an sizable force into the Central Highlands to inform the Sedang Mayréna was dead and he would be taking control of the region. This was the start of Kontum being integrated into the French colony. Within the next few years, the French would go on to push to Attapeu and all the way to the Mekong, joining up with their Cambodian colony and taking the southern part of Laos from Siam.

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Does any legacy of the so-called Kingdom of Sedang survive today? The short answer is no. While there are a few pieces of memorabilia, such as stamps you can view in Hue museum, in the region itself there is no sign that such a kingdom ever existed. In the 1990s a group in Canada decided to pick up the idea of the failed state. They founded the Assembly For the Restoration of the Sedang Nobility in Montreal on November 2, 1995. They seem to have no connection to Mayréna or the Sedang people or the region. At the time of writing, Their website has not been updated since 2006.

In many ways, The Kingdom of Sedang seems to have been a stunt pulled by a showman and opportunist, a man eager to gain fame and fortune by hook or by crook. For me, the story reminds me of modern-day phenomenon of self-declared micronations like Sealand and Liberland. Indeed, the Kingdom of Sedang wasn’t the first of this kind, for example in 1860 there was The Kingdom of Araucanía and Patagonia. These audacious ventures tap into a deep-rooted human fascination with power and ambition, time and again capturing the public imagination in a way that is both intriguing and entertaining.

In this 2 part post I’m going to recount a remarkable episode in the history of Kontum province, central Vietnam. It follows the escapades of a French cavalryman turned confidence trickster, Marie-Charles David de Mayréna, who ventured beyond the frontiers into lawless winderness. When he got there he did something very unexpected. He declared himself king.

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Born in Toulon, France in 1842, Mayréna started his career in the French cavalry where he was involved with the annexation of Vietnam- here he would gain experience which he would draw from with his later ambitions. In 1868, he resigned from the army and returned to France, settling in Paris. Strikingly tall and handsome, Mayréna was a natural seducer and duelist, often seen prowling the Grands Boulevards. His commanding presence, combined with his flair for storytelling, made him a magnet for intrigue and opportunity, as he schemed to make his fortune. After setting himself up as a banker on the Rue de Châteaudun, he was forced to flee the country in 1883 following questionable stock market transactions and a complaint of fraud. He ended up back in Vietnam because he had nowhere else to go.

In Vietnam, Mayréna hopped from one con to another, for example in one scheme he secured government funds for a rubber plantation in Ba Ria, near Saigon. The rubber plantation never existed. His personal life was no less scandalous—he seemed to marry a new woman in every town he passed through, despite already having a wife in France. One such lover, Mayréna claimed, was a princess of the ancient kingdom of Champa, cheated out of her inheritance by Vietnamese warlords. This romanticized fiction was foreshadowing of his later grand ambitions.

In January 1888, word had reached him of an impending Prussian expedition from Siam through the lawless region between the Mekong and the rugged highlands west of Annam – the French colony that is now the Central Coast of Vietnam. The Prussians, looking to exploit recent unrest in Annam, were seeking alliances with local tribes to establish themselves a colonial foothold. They set out from Battambang with a Siamese armed guard headed for Attapeu which would be their base to penetrate deeper into the wilderness.

Like many modern conmen, Mayréna had a sixth sense for turning political turmoil to his financial advantage. Acting quickly; he petitioning the Governor-General to let him intercept the Prussians. The official rebuffed him, due to diplomatic concerns. Undeterred, he quickly reshaped his proposal and offered to lead an unofficial expedition into the highlands west of Annam’s Binh Dinh province. His objective was to secure treaties with the local chiefs before the Prussians could. This time, the Governor-General approved his plan.

The French had already made some inroads into the highland territory, largely due to the efforts of Christian missionaries. These missions had established routes from An Khe in Binh Dinh to Kon Tum, fostering connections with the Bahnar and Rengao peoples. However, standing between the French and Prussian interests in Attapeu was the Sedang tribe. Whichever side could win over the Sedang would gain the upper hand in the region.

So it was that this ambitious expedition was set in motion. Mayréna and a friend, Alphonse Mercurol, set sail from Ba Ria and arrived in Quy Nhon City, Binh Dinh, in March 1888. Mercurol, like Mayréna, had been a soldier, though dishonorably discharged. Their journey was delayed in Quy Nhon after a mishap with wet gunpowder—while attempting to dry it, they accidentally set it on fire, and Mayréna was badly burned trying to contain the blaze. This setback gave the Prussians a lead and heightened the urgency, as the looming highland rainy season would soon make any expedition nearly impossible. Nevertheless, on April 21, 1888, they finally left Quy Nhon and ventured into the wild west of Annam.

It was indeed a real column that was heading West! At the head, went David de Mayréna, the Colt at his belt, mounted on a large Arab horse, survivor of the mounts of the Chasseurs d’Afrique of the conquest, then Alphonse Mercurol, Paoli [a cook], the two “congaï” [girls], the four Chinese, prospectors of future gold mines! the interpreter of the Sûreté Pham-Van-San, 18 Saigonese and, finally, 80 coolies carrying baggage! Mayréna has the four hundred piastres that the government coffers generously granted him, weapons, a barrel of powder, canned food of his food officer! Before his departure, he received the wishes of a good journey and the wishes of success from his compatriots of Qui-Nhon – Father François-Xavier VAN CAMELBEKE, Quy Nhon

From Quy Nhon, Mayréna and his party journeyed toward the village of Chief Pim. Educated by missionaries in Kontum, Pim was literate and maintained a friendly relationship with the French. It was at this pivotal location that the expedition would coordinate with the Christian mission, in the form of Father Guerlach.

Guerlach was quite the character himself. A missionary based near Kontum, he had mastered several local languages and earned a formidable reputation. During the Cần Vương Revolt of 1887, when Vietnamese rebels targeted Christians, Guerlach—known as Boc Can to the Bahnar—led 200 Bahnar warriors to rout the Vietnamese forces. He later commanded 1,200 warriors against Jrai bandits, this was said to be the largest highland force ever assembled. His influence and respect among the Bahnar and Rengao tribes were unparalleled.

After eleven arduous days of travel, Mayréna’s party ascended from the coastal plains into the high-altitude interior, finally reaching the village of Chief Pim. Nestled among the wooden stilt houses typical of the Montagnard tribes, they were met with the modest yet sincere hospitality of their hosts, providing them with shelter and a brief respite from the trials of the journey. From this temporary refuge, Mayréna’s group sent word to Guerlach, to support the expedition.

I am at Pim’s, and I have not come to ask you to do the corvée of your Christianity here; but you would be very kind to send me some Catholics and your two elephants. I had 100 coolies, but, to use a parliamentary word, the incapacity of the Résident was the cause that at Pim’s they fled. – Mayréna, May 1st 1888

Mayréna’s charm initially proved irresistible to Guerlach, who, as a staunch patriot, was easily persuaded that their goals were aligned. Mayréna deftly presented himself as a champion of both French interests and the Christian faith, convincing the missionary of the nobility of his mission. In response, Guerlach offered significant support, swayed by Mayréna’s apparent dedication to their shared ideals. However, later when Mayréna’s true motives emerged, Guerlach would grow increasingly disillusioned, distancing himself from the conman once he recognized the self-serving nature of his schemes.

On May 10, the entire caravan left the village of Pim and took the road to Kon Jeri Krong(1), where the staff of the commission was installed on Sunday, May 13. Ten days were devoted to rest, installation work and preparations for the first excursion. On May 23, in the evening, we went to sleep at Kon-Tum; on the 24th, we were at Kon-Trang(2), the residence of Father Irigoyen. To celebrate the arrival of our compatriots, the Father gave an ox that the people of the village tied to the post, and the Rolang dance was performed to a large orchestra of drums and tom-toms. Here the expedition truly begins. The caravan consisted of three Frenchmen: Mr. de Mayréna, Mr. Mercurol and myself, two Annamites on horseback, ten savages from my household, who carried our baggage, a pack horse, six Saigonese matas [police officers] who were not very resourceful, except for Doi and finally four Chinese, delegated by Chinese traders from Saigon, to check the presence of gold mines- Guerlach, November 13, to the newspaper Le Courrier d’Haïphong

(1): from this document, it seems that Kon Jeri Krong is now called Kon Jơdreh, a Rengao village near Kon Tum City.(2): Kon Trang is here.

Letters by Guerlach meticulously detail their journey, documenting each village they visited, the exchange of red beaded necklaces for rice, and the nights spent in communal houses. Guerlach was also able to sent locals ahead of the expedition to clear a road as well as keep it safe from bandits. Over the course of three arduous weeks, they steadily approached their final destination – the the Pekau river. At last, they were able to make contact with the Sedang people, as Mayréna himself recounted in a letter.

I explained to the Sedangs that I was going to meet Europeans [the Prussians] who wanted to enter their country. My character pleased these untamed nations. It rained as it rains in India, the rivers were transformed into torrents; I remained in the rain, I crossed the rivers by swimming. I thus reached the Pekau. Having crossed this great river, I stopped at the village of Kon-Gung. I was looking for a solution, when the chief of this village, named Sui, made me find it by offering me a war performance. They were very proud of their skill in handling the sabre. I let it happen, then I provoked the victor. After a few parries I succeeded in touching him… I therefore offered to the chiefs and warriors to take me as war chief (tenul bla) or (Kedra bla) — both are said — which was accepted. I was successively appointed by all the villages bordering Pekau. I then had warriors placed blocking the road. He was no longer a French explorer, he was a Sedang chief opposing an invasion. The Prussians learned of this new state of affairs, and withdrew to the right bank of the Mekong, saying that they had the fever – Marie-Charles David de Mayréna, October 8th 1888

The expedition had successfully outmaneuvered the Prussians, eliminating the threat of their influence in the region, but for Mayréna, this was just the beginning. Mayréna’s success emboldened him, revealing selfish ambitions that may have been the force that was driving his actions all along. In part two, we’ll delve into how Mayréna declared himself king, and how this bold move brought him fame and fortune before ultimately leading to his downfall.

continue to part 2.

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Sources

My main source for this post is a collection of letters written by those involved collected as a book in 1927 in Bulletin des Amis du Vieux Hue, 14e Année No 1-2 Janv-Juin. If you find getting stuck into the gory details in letter form fun, I highly recommend reading this in its entirety as I found reading it incredibly entertaining and I had to leave out a lot of details here.

• History of the Mountain People of Southern Indochina upto 1945 – Agency for International Development, Washington DC
• https://nghiencuulichsu.com/2015/09/30/vua-bip-phap-xung-vuong-tren-cao-nguyen-dat-viet/
• https://cand.com.vn/So-tay/Vuong-quoc-Sedang—Tro-bip-bom-cua-oc-phieu-luu-thuc-dan-i312710/
• on Guerlach: https://antontruongthang.wordpress.com/than-h%E1%BB%AFu-chung-s%E1%BB%A9c/guerlach-b%E1%BB%81-tren-mi%E1%BB%81n-truy%E1%BB%81n-giao-kontum-1858-1912/

Further reading

• de Mayréna’s memoires of his time in the army in Vietnam: Souvenirs de la Cochinchine