WAITING FOR THE FALL

As if to hurry him along, several insurgent rockets whistled in and exploded within 200 yds. of his plane. Cambodian President Lon Nol could delay his departure no longer. Accompanied by his wife and 26 supporters, he climbed aboard an Air Cambodge Caravelle last week for what will undoubtedly amount to permanent exile.

For weeks other Cambodian leaders had been telling Lon Nol that only his departure could open the way to eventual accommodation with the surging Khmer Rouge, who control virtually all of Cambodia's countryside and have brought the few remaining government-held cities under rocket bombardment. Even as he tearfully made his exit, Lon Nol insisted that his absence would be only temporary; he had elicited a face-saving invitation to the exotic isle of Bali from his friend Indonesian President Suharto. In reality, however, Lon Nol, 61, was finished. After a two-week rest in Indonesia, he planned to go to the U.S., where he would surely be a long-term guest.

Thus ended the five-year rule of the army marshal who led the 1970 coup that sent Prince Norodom Sihanouk into exile in Peking and turned his kingdom into a republic. Sihanouk was mercurial and eccentric. Lon Nol, who was partially paralyzed by a stroke four years ago, was withdrawn and mystic. As Lon Nol's regime became tainted with corruption, Sihanouk managed to ingratiate himself with the Khmer Rouge. The Prince may yet make a comeback in Cambodia, but most likely as a figurehead under the tight control of the Khmer Rouge.

Lon Nol's successor is a brusque and austere army lieutenant general, Saukam Khoy, 61, who most recently was president of the senate. In an interview with TIME Correspondent David Aikman, Saukam Khoy declared: "I shall go to the soldiers and the people to find out the situation and inspire them with confidence. Do you like horses? Horses have to be spoken to in order to have confidence. If your horse has confidence in you, he will let you mount him. You must caress your horse, calm him."

One of Saukam Khoy's first acts was to summon all of Cambodia's senior generals for a seven-hour meeting to determine whether anything could be salvaged from Phnom-Penh's parlous military situation. By the time the conference broke up at 1 a.m., Saukam Khoy had decided to give a morale-boosting pay raise to all military personnel (a one-star general makes only $25 a month), though nobody was sure where the money would come from.

Besides looking for ways to buttress his sagging armed forces, Saukam Khoy announced that he would seek a cease-fire with the Khmer Rouge and negotiations to establish a coalition government. The only response from the shadowy Communist insurgents was a step-up in their attacks throughout the country. After withstanding a prolonged seige, the government last week finally abandoned the city of Kompong Seila, 70 miles southwest of Phnom-Penh, and airlifted 2,000 civilians and troops out of the city. The Khmer Rouge advanced within mortar range of the airport at Battambang, the country's second largest city (pop. 200,000), temporarily halting the ammunition and supply flights on which that city depends for survival.

The noose that for months has dangled around Phnom-Penh's neck drew painfully tighter. To the southeast, 30 miles down the Mekong, the government lost its last two strongholds. After a siege of three months, the insurgents overpowered stubborn resistance, often in bloody, hand-to-hand combat, to capture the twin towns of Banam and Neak Luong. The victory freed some 4,000 Khmer Rouge troops who were reported to be making their way up the Mekong in sampans for the looming assault on the capital. To the east, the attackers overran several government positions to come within mortar and rocket range of the main navy base at the Chrouy Changvar promontory on the Mekong River. To the southeast, the Khmer Rouge pushed within eight miles of the city limits.

The most crucial sector was on the northern front, which protects Pochentong airport. The U.S. was bringing in about 1,500 tons of ammunition and food and medical supplies daily. If that flow was cut or seriously disrupted, and stockpiles were depleted, Phnom-Penh would collapse quickly. It is likely to do so in any case when U.S. aid runs out at the end of April; Congress is not expected to grant President Ford's request for an additional $222 million when it reconvenes this week. The fact that the city's fate is virtually sealed may be one reason that the Khmer Rouge show no willingness to negotiate with Saukam Khoy, whom Sihanouk has placed on his latest list of "supertraitors" earmarked for execution.

"It's not to continue the war but to keep the Khmer Rouge from entering Phnom-Penh that we are asking for aid," Saukam Khoy said last week. Some of the defending units had no more than six or ten mortar rounds left to repulse the next attack. Young front-line commanders often kept an ear on the radio, hoping for news that the U.S. Congress would change its mind and grant new aid.

Phnom-Penh, once one of Indochina's most elegant cities, is seized by anxiety and foreboding. Its population of 500,000 has been swollen to 2 million by refugees. Despite the ever present danger from random Khmer Rouge rocketing, children still sing in the streets in the early evening and decorations are going up for the Cambodian New Year, April 13. But after the 9 p.m. curfew, the only sound is the chatter of small-arms fire punctuated by the thump of rockets and howitzer shells. By day, the city is ever more pathetic and dangerous. There are serious food shortages. Men dressed in army uniforms use M-79s to threaten shopkeepers, then take whatever they wish. Children who sell gasoline by the pint fight among themselves to pour their wine bottle's worth into the tank of a car for a few hundred riels, about 300. The homeless, the maimed, the wretched, the exhausted squat on the streets, huddle under makeshift canvas stalls.

Missionaries, medical staffs and businessmen are flying out to safety. The staffs of the French and British embassies have been given American assurances that they will be airlifted out by U.S. Marine helicopters before the fall of the capital. But many worry that Cambodian troops may interfere with the evacuation. The U.S. showed its own wariness last week by evacuating some 75 embassy staff and personnel to Bangkok. The Japanese were even more cautious. Following up initial preparation taken in February, the Tokyo foreign ministry had already ordered its embassy closed. At week's end the Japanese ambassador flew with his entire staff to Bangkok.

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