Naturally we submitted a report on all our workable "inventions," many of them old tricks that worked well in Russia and similarly in Indochina. None of them was, ever appreciated, let alone introduced. Our generals were still firmly convinced that the military academy at Saint Cyr had bestowed upon them all the knowledge one; should have about warfare and the descendants of Napoleon should not borrow ideas from the ranks, and especially not from the Germans.
Unfortunately, the last two generals known to have taken part in perilous patrol missions in enemy territory were Rommel and Patton—both now dead. The French generals conducted the war the way they would have conducted it in the forests of France or in the Sahara desert. The jungles of Indochina made no impression on them. They were refined, cultured, and dignified men who; knew by heart every significant work on warfare except: Mao's doctrine of guerrilla wars. No French officer with-dignity would even touch Mao. For them the jungle meant only a sort of overgrown Bois de Boulogne, and guerrilla warfare was only guerrilla warfare.
The woman who waved down our jeep was standing on the roadside shading her eyes from the searchlight. She wore a shabby workman's overall fastened with a thin belt around her waist and crude rubber sandals. A small paper bag lay beside her in the grass. When I stopped she walked up to the jeep and wiping the loose hair from her forehead she said hesitantly, "Excuse me, officer, are you going to Hanoi?" She spoke educated French but her voice sounded weary.
"Yes, we are." I nodded, eyeing her with mixed feelings.
"May I come with you? I am very tired."
I looked at Riedl and he said in German, "She isn't Veronica Lake but let her come. I will check her bag."
"Do you carry any weapon?" I asked her, feeling a little awkward the moment I spoke.
"Me?" she exclaimed with wide open eyes. Then she shook her head and replied with a smile, "Oh, no, monsieur. I am not fighting the French Army." Her last words caught my attention for native Indochinese would have said "Legion," not French Army. I helped her aboard.
"Thank you," she said, "may I put my bag in the rear?"
Riedl took her bag and glanced into it. "I hope you don't mind, but we have certain regulations." The girl did not mind.
"Thank you very much," she repeated. I gave the word to move on.
For some time there was silence between us. She was probably a middle-class refugee, I thought, remembering her cultured French. We were accustomed to natives trying to thumb a ride and had our orders not to pick up anyone. There were too many pitfalls; not only the wartime Japanese but the Viet Minh, too, had its kamikaze squads. We had just heard of a young terrorist who had been given a ride on an ammo truck—gross negligence on the part of the guard. The passenger had been a quiet little boy who told a sad story about his family having been tortured and executed by the Communists in Cambodia, and about his long way across the jungle^ He had said that he wanted to join the army and avenge the death of his family. The troops had been impressed; they had given him food, money, and friendly advice.
When they reached the middle of a vital bridge, the passenger had suddenly pulled a pair of grenades, and, before the terrified troopers could do anything, he had dropped them into a narrow gap between the ammunition crates. Shrieking "Death to the French colonialists," he had dived into the river. An instant later the truck exploded, destroying the bridge and a company of infantry moving alongside on the narrow gangway.
"Have you come far?" I asked the girl finally, to break the silence.
She did not turn but answered tiredly, "Yes, I have come a long way."
No, she was not a country girl, I concluded. She could have been anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, and she was slender, almost fragile, despite the odd-looking overalls she wore. She looked childishly underdeveloped and was not very talkative.
"Where are you going?" Riedl inquired after a while.
"To Hanoi," she replied, "if you will take me that far."
"Have you been in Hanoi before?"
"Once—a long time ago," she said with a persistent melancholy in her voice.
My cigarette was burning away and I reached for the ashtray. "Please don't put it out," she exclaimed, reaching for it.
"I am sorry," I said somewhat puzzled, offering her my cigarette case and lighter. "I should have asked you if you wanted a cigarette."
She accepted a cigarette. When she lighted it, I caught a glimpse of her hands. They were very small and slender but rough with broken fingernails and some scars of old cuts and bruises. They seemed to be the hands of a manual worker yet she was in no shape to do heavy labor. There was something strange about her. Her cultured way of talking contrasted with her appearance.
She inhaled the smoke deeply, then leaned back, resting her head on the back of the seat. "My name is Hans and my friend is Helmut." I got over the formalities.
"My name is Lin," she said. "You are not Frenchmen, are you?"
"No, Lin—we are Germans," I conceded, surprised.
"I have noticed that from your accent."
"Indeed?" "
"Uhm____"
"But you are not a native here either!"
"I am Chinese," she stated.
"Sure, Lin. And if you are Chinese then we are Papuans."
Riedl turned on his flashlight and calmly began to examine the girl's face. Lin certainly possessed some Chinese features, especially her dark almond eyes but her face lacked the strong cheekbones, the roundness so common among Chinese women. Despite the poor light I could see that her face was heart-shaped and her skin almost white.
"My father was British," she admitted finally. "I was born in Hong Kong."
"Hong Kong is not China but England," I remarked. "But still I cannot see how you happen to be on the road between Lang Son and Hanoi."
"Is it so important?" she asked.
"Quite important. For your information, you happened to be walking along a restricted area where the sentries shoot at anything that moves after sundown."
"I must have been lucky," said she.
"Rather!"
She sighed. "My story is a long one."
"We have a long way to go."
She shifted her eyes toward me. "Are you the people the Chinese militia calls 'Yang-Kou-Ce'—the White-Faced Devils?"
"Maybe, Lin." I shrugged. "We are not very popular with the Chinese militia."
"I know that," she stated firmly.
"How do you know that, Lin?"
"I am coming from China."
"Without a visa, I presume."
"I've been in a prison camp of the militia." She added tiredly, "For over a year."
"How come?" Riedl cut in.
"They did not ask me whether I wanted to go. I was a prisoner of war, I suppose."
"Did you fight them or something?"
"Me?" She turned sharply. "How old do you think I am?"
I cast a glance at her, pushed the horn twice to signal halt, then pulled up to the roadside and switched on the small map light. Behind us the armored car ground to a halt. Leaning from the turret, Karl yelled, "Anything wrong, Hans?"
"Everything's under control, Karl!" I shouted back. "Just a short break."
"This is a helluva place to have your break," he growled, sweeping an arm about the dark hills which loomed on either side of the road.
"We are overheating," Riedl advised him.
"No wonder with such a cutie riding along," Karl remarked in German. The men in the troop carrier laughed.
I turned the flexible lamp toward the girl. She kept looking at me without a tremor in her eyes. Only her brows arched slightly, as if questioning me on their own. Her lips, slightly apart, revealed small, pearl-like teeth. I surveyed Lin's face almost minutely but found myself as confused as ever regarding her age. I saw wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, which seemed alien there, parasitic. Her face was frail, her eyes dark and bright. The meager rations in the Chinese camp had had their effects. In some ways she appeared only a child, then older
again a moment later. Her dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders in waveless strands; she looked uncared-for indeed. Yet I had the feeling that once she must have been very pretty. The bow of her mouth was perfect. She had a prim little mouth, the sort which could relax in a bewitching smile or a kissable quirk. Properly dressed and cared for, she should have been attractive.
My eyes relaxed on her lips and I saw them curving down in a wry smile. Then she sighed and turned away. "I know it is hard to believe but I will be eighteen in September," she announced quietly. My kindest estimate would have been that she was twenty-five.
I switched off the lamp and started the engine. For some time Lin sat staring into the darkness. "You don't believe me, do you?" she spoke finally.
"Why should you lie to me, Lin?"
"I have no reason to lie to anyone!"
She fascinated me. It might have been that quiet, persistent resignation in her voice, her sadness, her way of talking. I sensed some mystery beyond her enigmatic smile and wanted to know more about her.
It was past nine when we arrived at the outskirts of the city. I pulled up and asked Riedl to take over the jeep. "I am taking Lin to eat something," I told him in German. I helped the girl to the pavement. Riedl slipped behind the wheel and handed the girl her bag.
"What's in it, Lin?" I asked, reaching for the bag.
She handed it to me with a smile. "Just a few old clothes. No bombs."
"Nothing valuable?"
"Nothing at all."
I threw the bag into the open field. "Why did you do it?" she asked me. "I might need them."
"Let me take care of what you need, Lin," I said matter-of-factly and turned to Helmut. "I will be back by six."
"Take care, Hans!"
"I will, don't worry."
I took a cab to Ba Dinh square, then we walked until I found the shops I wanted. Half an hour later Lin had a lovely, light-blue "Ao Dai" and a pair of matching shoes.
"Are you satisfied?" I asked and she blushed.
"Satisfied? I don't really know what to say."
"What have you eaten today?"
"Not very much," she admitted reluctantly. "I wouldn't mind a sandwich or something."
I took her to a small restaurant. At the entrance she stopped and asked me with concern, "Won't I embarrass you?"
"Embarrass me? Why?"
"I am ... not very ... clean."
"They have a ladies' room and we have time."
Lin took her time but when she returned a good half an hour later, she looked much younger indeed and she was beautiful. "'Do I look a bit more acceptable?" she asked turning on her heels childishly.
"Acceptable, Lin? You look smashing!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she bowed, casting a deep level look at me. I reached for her hand and she accepted my hand gayly. "Let's go."
The bar was almost deserted. I led Lin to a secluded table in a quiet corner. "Please, Hans," she addressed me by my first name for the first time. "Some sandwiches will be fine—for me, of course."
"You should have a proper meal."
I ordered curried chicken with rice, salad, fruit salad, some wine, and coffee. Lin glanced around with face flushed and eyes gleaming. "It is so heartening to be among people."
The waiter came, placing a bottle of wine on the table. He filled our glasses. Lin unbuttoned the uppermost part of her tunic and showed me a small crucifix on a thin silver necklace, apparently very old. "An old missionary sister gave it to me in the brick works where we used to work," she explained. "She told me that this little cross brought her father back from the Boer War, her husband from Flanders Field, and their son from the Second World War. She gave it to me in the belief that it would show me to freedom."
"And it seems it did. . . . Where have you been in China, Lin?"
"Near Kweiping."
"I am glad you weren't somewhere in the Sinkiang."
She shook her head slowly. "I don't think I would ever have returned from there."
"Was it hard?"
"They were savages!" she burst forth. "You have been a soldier for many years, Hans, but I don't think that you have seen so many dead people in your life as I have seen in two years. The militia just kept moving from village to village, holding trials, sentencing people to death—sometimes two hundred people in half an hour___"
The waiter returned and I was glad for his timely appearance. I felt that our conversation had begun to slip toward painful remembrances and I did not want to upset the girl. When the waiter finally left, I saw Lin was staring at her plate. "Anything wrong, Lin?" She raised her face. Her eyes were filled and she was trying hard to fight back her tears. I placed my hand gently over hers. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Only . . . you see, I haven't seen a table like this for such a long time and. . .." Her lips curled down and quivered.
"Then why don't you carry on?" I suggested softly.
Lin ate like one who hasn't really eaten for years. She seemed at a loss and couldn't decide what to take first. She touched everything, mixed up salt and sugar, slipped her fork, and almost upset the wine. Then she glanced up and her cheeks reddened. "I ... I have forgotten how to eat properly. . . ."
"Take your time, Lin."
A second wave of color flushed her face.
"I am embarrassing you."
"You do nothing of the sort."
When Lin finished her meal with a long, deep sigh of satisfaction there was not much left on the table. "Would you like a drink now?" I asked, reaching for the bottle.
"I might try."
"Cheer up a little, Lin. . . . Things will be better from now on."
As we drank the wine, I looked at her. In the strong light she seemed much younger than before. I knew that she was from a decent family, and I wanted to know more about her past. I had already made up my mind about her immediate future. I would take her to the only possible place I could think of, Colonel Houssong's house. I was certain he wouldn't object. Later on we might contact the British Consul. After all, Lin had been born in Hong Kong and her father was British. She did not tell me where her family was. I suspected that her parents were dead, but her father ought to have relatives somewhere.
I excused myself and went to the phone. Colonel Houssong listened to my story without interruption, then asked me to hold the line. I knew he was consulting with his wife. They had a sixteen-year-old daughter, Yvette, and a fifteen-year-old son, Jacques. Madame Houssong, I knew, was generous to charities, and she was spending much of her spare time and household savings on refugees.
The phone clicked, and I again heard the colonel's well-known, throaty voice. "Well, bring her over, Wagemueller," he said. He could not refrain from adding teasingly: "Your humanitarian aspirations are truly overwhelming. You should have joined the Salvation Army instead of the Waffen SS."
"Oui, mon colonel. ... It might have been a better idea."
I returned to the table and sat down. "Lin, you are coming with me."
"With you?" she exclaimed. "Where to?"
"To some place where you can sleep."
She blushed. I gave her a mysterious look and her eyes widened.
"I ... I cannot do that," she muttered, barely audible. "I... please. .. ."
"I hope you are not afraid of me, Lin?"
"Still. . . ." She lighted a cigarette nervously, then averting her eyes she asked, "Are you ... living alone?"
I laughed. "I am not taking you to my place or to a cheap hotel, if that's what you are thinking, Lin." Instantly she seemed relieved. "I am taking you to a very nice family where you will find a girl of your age and a temporary home. Then we shall see what we can do about your getting a British passport."
"I am so sorry. . . ."
"1 understand you, Lin. Don't worry."
The colonel's family was waiting for us. They all eyed Lin with sympathy as she sat on the edge of a chair twisting her hands. She looked like a frightened little bird. "Please, excuse me." S
he was finding it hard to form her words. "I really ... I did not want to disturb you. . . . If only I could stay for the rest of the night...."
"Of course you will stay!" Madame Houssong reassured her cheerfully. "We have enough rooms."
Yvette stepped forward. "I am Yvette," she said reaching for Lin's hand. "Do you really come from China?"
"Yes, Yvette."
"It must have been awful. . . ."
"It was hell" Lin exclaimed. The surprise in Yvette's face dissolved in a warm smile. She embraced Lin lightly and I saw her parents exchanging glances. "Now you will be all right, cherie," she said softly. "You will stay with us."
Lin made a swift half-turn, raising her hand to her eyes. Her shoulders quivered under the sudden strain of emotions which she tried to control.
"Let her relax!" Madame Houssong ushered Yvette aside.
The colonel interposed. "Why don't we go into the salon?"
Lin turned. "Please, I feel ... so filthy. . . ." she muttered. Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed.
"Do you want a bath?" Yvette asked.
"I would like it very much," Lin replied, her face now ablaze. She felt embarrassed, but Madame Houssong came to her rescue. She called the maid and ordered her to prepare a bath for Lin. The maid took the girl to the bathroom and we sat down. The colonel prepared drinks and questioned me briefly about our trip. Then Yvette turned to me.
"How old is Lin?"
"She will be eighteen in September."
Yvette turned on her heels and disappeared into the other room. When she returned her face was flushed with excitement and she was carrying a pile of clothes which she cheerfully dumped onto the couch. "I think we can give these to Lin," she explained. "I really don't need them and we are about the same size." Her generous offer warmed my heart and I noticed a smile of approval on her mother's face. "Tomorrow I will buy her a pair of nice shoes."
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