Retell the Poem about the Unshielded Squad of Vehicles in the words of a driver-soldier

Prompt: Retell the Poem about the Unshielded Squad of Vehicles in the words of a driver-soldier

Exploring the Chronicles: A Tale of a Glassless Convoy and the Odyssey of a Driver-Soldier

1. Narrating the Poem about the Glassless Convoy through the Words of a Soldier-Driver, Sample 1:

Our transport convoy shares a common trait - not a single vehicle adorned with glass. Enduring countless rain and bomb showers on the road to the front lines, our car windows shattered entirely. The steering wheel remains calmly held within our cockpit, allowing us to leisurely gaze at the land, the sky, and the road stretching towards the war-torn South Vietnam.

Without glass, the wind freely rushes into the cockpit. The wind stings the eyes, but we persist, gazing clearly at the dirt road, red as if plunging into the heart. In the daytime, wild birds dance in the sky, and at night, bright stars suddenly plunge in, flooding our cockpit with radiance.

Driving on the Truong Son Road is an immensely challenging and perilous task. Rainy weather turns the inside of the vehicle into a soaking wet environment, mirroring the outside world. Nevertheless, we press on for hundreds of miles. The rain will eventually cease, and the wind's embrace will swiftly dry our clothes!

Recounting the Poem about the Glassless Convoy in the Words of a Short Story by a Driver-Soldier

The rain is relentless, and the sun offers no respite. The Truong Son land beneath the scorching sun crackles as if baked. As our convoy passes, red dust swirls into the sky like a tornado. Our clothes and hair are dusted white, making us look no different from the elderly. Covered in dust, the vehicles continue to move. Arriving at a certain forest with streams and valleys, we stop to wash our faces. We look at each other, one laughs with a muddy face, another with laughter echoing loudly, youthful, embracing life with joy!

Enduring the intense years of war, vehicles salvaged from fallen bombs have gathered here to form the glassless convoy. On the Truong Son Road, we meet, hands shaking firmly, conveying the warmth of comradeship, sharing warmth and strength. All of us embody the determination to liberate the South, unify the nation, and fulfill the earnest wish of Uncle Ho - the venerable Father of the nation, before His departure.

Ensuring the South is not isolated in the fierce battle against the enemy, the troops and people in the North are exerting all efforts to support and bravely fight alongside the Southern people.

I am a driver-soldier. In late 1968, I was reassigned to the 1st transport truck battalion, belonging to the 59th brigade, 35th regiment, 471st division, under the command of the 559th Headquarters. The battalion's mission is to transport goods to the Southern battlefield. Not only delivering goods to the frontline swiftly and timely for the combat, but we also have to supply uniforms, equipment, medicine, and other necessities needed by the troops and people in the South.

In those difficult years, the people in the North devoted themselves to the flesh and blood of the South. For the cause of liberating the South and unifying the country, the Northern brethren did not hesitate to endure hardship and sacrifice. Every youth eagerly set out to join the fight. On the day of departure, they waved goodbye, promising to fulfill their mission and return to the motherland.

Of the harvested crops, the people retained only a small portion. The majority was sent to the South for the fellow countrymen and the soldiers. The government also received support from friendly nations who endorsed the war.

We hit the road regardless of day or night. As long as there's cargo, we're on the move. Convoys of vehicles crisscross the Truong Son route, bustling like a festival. The genuine affection of the people in the North for the officials and people in the South seems boundless.

Stories of the Retelling the poem about the no-windshield squad in the words of a driver-soldier, the best ones

In that year, discovering the vital Truong Son artery, the U.S. forces conducted fierce destruction. They carpet-bombed to obstruct the supply line. The road was heavily plowed. Many of my comrades sacrificed their lives.

The armored vehicles in the enemy's rain of bombs and bullets were all damaged. None of the windows remained intact. The window frames were shattered by the force of the bombs. Headlights were burnt out. The truck bed bore bomb craters. The front of the vehicle lost its headlights long ago. After the return trips, our vehicles were grotesquely deformed.

Nevertheless, we never lost heart. Comrades encouraged and reminded each other, all pledging to steadfastly grip the steering wheel and excellently fulfill the assigned mission. If they break the road, we fix it. If they fight during the day, we drive at night. The convoys line up one after another towards the front line. The Truong Son route, like a spiritual thread, connects the South and the North seamlessly. Everywhere is lively with people. It can be said that all strengths are concentrated here to protect the route, safeguarding the nation's lifeline.

Sitting in those windshield-less vehicles, the sky feels close to me. Even without wind, as the vehicles move, the wind rushes in relentlessly. The wind blows fiercely on the face, stinging both eyes, tousling our hair. Every time I step out of the driver's seat, my hair stands up as if it's been coated with some kind of hair gel.

At night when the vehicles run, stars twinkle brightly in the high sky, clearly visible because there's no foggy windshield. Mischievous birds sometimes fly right into the driver's cabin. Occasionally, they startle me, mistaking them for enemy aircraft shadows.

The most feared is the road dust. Without windshields, the dust sprays our white hair like elderly folks. Our heads and noses are covered in a layer of white powder. Only our eyes remain a different color. Every break, looking at the soldiers, everyone looks like they've aged, but they laugh heartily.

After the dust, there comes the rain. The Truong Son rain is sudden and intense. No warnings, rain pours down from the distant mountains. Without windshields, the rain flows and soaks in. Sitting in the vehicle, I feel like I'm outdoors. But rain or shine, the vehicles keep moving. Clothes get wet and dry again, no need to rest, just keep going. We've been accustomed to this life for a long time; why bother about the misty wind.

The most joyful moments are when comrades from all directions gather. Convoys line up for miles. We warmly shake hands through broken windows, inquire, and encourage each other. I congratulate them on completing their mission. Returning soldiers encourage and wish me luck.

The pitstops in the middle of the jungle connect many hearts. Though from different units, from various regions of the country, meeting here, around the flickering campfires and sharing joyful meals, we see each other as comrades and brothers.

The Truong Son road was built with human effort, with the hands of thousands of patriotic youths. On high mountains, deep valleys challenge every spirit. Steep slopes so high that looking up strains the neck. I vividly remember a night journey over the treacherous Po Phien slope. The slope towering challenging the comrades who had transported goods on this road before. That night, heavy rain, and the road eroded extensively. The platoon leader ordered us to stop and find a hiding place. We resumed driving the next night. But we were in the middle of an open area, no safe hiding place for the entire convoy. Plus, if it keeps raining like this until tomorrow night, we might not be out of danger. I advised the platoon leader to have the convoy pass the slope. After a moment's thought, the platoon leader agreed.

I take the lead in driving. Calmly, I press the gas pedal hard. The vehicle roars forward. Aware of the slippery ground, I try to maintain an even pace on the gas. The wheels grip the road firmly, keeping the vehicle steady. Suddenly, the vehicle violently shakes as it hits a deep groove. I press the gas harder to overcome it, but it's futile. The vehicle loses traction. I slam on the brakes to stop the vehicle, but the road surface feels as slippery as oiled. The rear of the vehicle veers to one side, and the front spins sideways. Behind us is a ravine a thousand meters deep.

'Surely, the vehicle will plunge into the ravine.' I think so and silently hope for some force to support. Suddenly, the vehicle halts. I hear the platoon leader shout loudly: 'get the vehicle up fast!'

The shout jolts me awake. I exert all my strength to press the gas pedal hard. The wheels grind against the road, slowly lifting the front of the vehicle, mud splashing on both sides. The engine roars fiercely. The vehicle stops, then slowly turns its head up the slope. I take a deep breath, press the gas again, turn the steering wheel evenly, bringing the vehicle up. Finally, I safely bring the vehicle to the top of the slope. Stepping out of the vehicle, I breathe a sigh of relief, peeking. Seeing the platoon leader and my comrades muddy, I am deeply moved. It turns out that when they saw my vehicle sliding down the slope, the platoon leader and the soldiers quickly went to find rocks to wedge. Each person put a stone under the wheels. From one stone to another until the vehicle was completely up on the slope.

That night, our convoy successfully crossed the slope thanks to the cleverness of my comrades, promptly bringing the vehicle to a safe haven. Calmness, courage, quick and accurate handling of situations are essential qualities in a military driver. The frontline driver must not only remain calm and steady in the driver's seat but also needs strategy, flexibility in dealing with real situations. Sometimes, they even have to act as a 'strategist' proposing to the higher command plans to open blocked routes. They must know how to coordinate combat with engineering units, with the anti-aircraft forces, fully understand the tricks and rules of the enemy's activities in the air and on the ground to deliver goods to the destination. That is the lesson from the platoon leader that I still remember to this day.

War demands sacrifices. Each time we hit the road, we knew the risk. Our dearest comrades, who fought side by side with us through thick and thin, sacrificed their lives. They departed like true soldiers, without regrets.

On that day, after a night of transportation, as daylight broke on our way out, our unit had to hide the vehicles from enemy surveillance. In the afternoon, enemy scouts detected us, and airstrikes were called in. In the aftermath of the enemy's intense bombing, three comrades, including the platoon leader, asked him to inspect the site. I tried to stop him, suggesting that I go first, but he refused. Upon reaching the hidden vehicles, he triggered a booby-trapped bomb. The explosion sent him tumbling down a deep ravine. He left us, and his comrades mourned deeply. Love and hatred are the driving forces urging us to desire the liberation and unification of our homeland. To turn this dream into reality, there is only one way: a firm grip on the steering wheel, a steady hold on the wheel. Therefore, as challenges rise, our determination to triumph grows stronger.

It's impossible to recall every situation on the transportation route. Night after night, convoys crossed bomb-laden fields, mines, and areas targeted by enemy aircraft circling day and night. A chaotic mix of rugged terrain, continuous airstrikes, and attacks on key points along the Truong Son road. Hills turned to mud, rock walls to lime, muddy rivers, and deep ravines stacked with the wreckage of burned-out vehicles. Despite lurking enemies, dangerous roads, and countless sacrifices, nothing could stop the convoy from advancing.

The vehicles kept moving. Loaded convoys continued to run day and night. All for the beloved South. All for the sacred cause of liberating and unifying our nation. Every time I sat in the driver's seat, I remembered our comrades, recalling the sacred mission that reminded me to keep a steady hand on the wheel, to live and fight worthy of those who had departed to protect this sacred motherland.