Cambodia & Border Conflict: Pich Ngorl, Courage Until the Last Breath

Rompus, district of Sandan, Kampong Thom province. Under the modest roof of a wooden house, Sun Leung recalls, with a trembling voice, the memory of her husband, Lieutenant Pich Ngorl.

Pich Ngorl

Today, the pain remains sharp, burning like in the first days. This Cambodian soldier, fallen at the front in July 2025, embodies the uprightness and courage of a generation of silent men, ready to do anything to protect the land of their ancestors.

Simplicity

Born in Sout Nikom, in Siem Reap province, Pich Ngorl grew up with simplicity. A wedding cook before putting on the uniform, he was known for his kindness and sense of service. "He was a gentle and generous man, always ready to help others," recalls Sun Leung. In 2014, he married her — a union woven with love, faith, and modesty. From their home were born four children, two boys and two girls, to whom he promised a better future....

Commitment

When Thai incursions broke out on the northwest border of the country, Pich Ngorl, a member of the 382nd battalion attached to the 8th brigade, was sent to the front line at Phnom Troap mountain. His superior, aware of the sacrifices of the young father, allowed him to return every evening to see his family. At dawn, before the light caressed the hills, he would take the road back to the front, calm in face, determination intact.

On July 24, 2025, at six in the morning, Pich Ngorl returned to his unit. Three hours later, the first shots rang out. The roar of weapons joined the wind’s breath on the mountain. The combat intensified, brutal, unpredictable. Deprived of food and water, the soldier held firm, interspersing between two bursts calls to his wife. The night of July 25 to 26, he confided in a weak voice that he was wounded in the shoulder. Sheltered behind a pile of rocks, he still managed to crawl to a shelter near the commander's kitchen, before losing consciousness.

Around two in the morning, Sun Leung finally managed to reach him after hours of anxiety. "Where are you?" she asked. "Still on the mountain," he murmured. Alone. He had just woken after four hours of unconsciousness. When she begged him to come down, he explained he had lost too much blood, had neither drunk nor eaten for two days, and that his strength was fading. "Take care of our children," he said with a faltering voice. "I don't think I can hold on." Then suddenly, through the line, the dry sound of a burst crackled. And silence. The line went dead....

Tragedy

Two days later, on July 27, 2025, the news came. A messenger informed Sun Leung that her husband had fallen in battle. The body lay at Anlong Veng hospital. She sent her brother-in-law to recognize him: "The body was already swollen, the smell unbearable," he said. Despite the pain, the family undertook the last journey. At one in the morning, July 28, Lieutenant Pich Ngorl's remains crossed the threshold of his house one last time, wrapped in white scarves and muffled village cries.

The next day, July 29, flags were at half-mast, soldiers saluted, elders prayed. In an atmosphere of solemnity, doctors confirmed the truth everyone feared: the soldier's body showed five bullet wounds, in the torso, head, and shoulder. Five indelible marks of duty fulfilled to the end.

His widow recounts without hatred but with dignity: "He died protecting our country. He never backed down, even injured."

And in this modest Kampong Thom village, the memory of Pich Ngorl does not fade. His children grow up under the shadow of his name, a symbol of courage that nothing can diminish.

Beyond personal grief, his story joins that of the many anonymous soldiers who defend the kingdom's peace in the silence of the borders. In the official documents of the Cambodia Documentation Center, his name now shines among those of fallen heroes — a witness to unwavering commitment, an indestructible love for the homeland.

Every July 24, at daybreak, Sun Leung places an offering of rice and a candle on the altar. "It was at that hour he left for the front," she murmurs. The flame dances softly, like a kept promise: that the sacrifice of Pich Ngorl will never be forgotten.

By Chheng Veng — translated by Lim I-Phing, Documentation Center of Cambodia