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Neither war nor prison nor red tape could separate this committed couple
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 The beige Nissan Maxima and white Chevy Camaro sport similar Virginia vanity plates: KIMRON1 and KIMRON2. The fused name mirrors the unbreakable unity that Kim and Ron Humphrey have shared for 32 years—despite the wracks of war, torture, imprisonment, and bureaucracy.
They met in the battle-torn Mekong Delta of Vietnam in 1969. Kim: a young Vietnamese mother of eight, widowed by the ambush slaying of her husband, a South Vietnamese army officer. And Ron: a Korean War vet from Washington state, now engaged in “psychological warfare” under the State Department and the CIA. His childless 16-year marriage, already precarious, had crashed beyond repair when he accepted a two-year assignment to Vietnam.
To support her young brood, Kim did domestic chores for Ron. Then, because she could speak some English, Ron hired her to do office work and translation. By the end of Ron’s stint, the two had fallen deeply in love.
From the beginning, danger stalked their relationship. One day, as Ron navigated a small airplane over an area rife with Viet Cong, Kim perched upon a box of leaflets in the back while shouting messages through a loudspeaker. Suddenly, Ron recalls, sprays of bullets pierced the plane—one lodging in Kim’s box seat.
Another time Kim unwittingly learned of a planned ambush on Ron and tipped him off. Soldiers sent to check out the tip were slaughtered by the exploding land mine.
“She saved my life,” says Ron. And he would eventually return the favor.
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