Tim pursed his lips. He hesitated to respond. 'Well… that won't happen again.'
After the riot he'd found her on the opera house steps with mascara streaked down her cheeks. She castigated him heavily for his errant adventure. He'd felt bad, but never leave her? He was a foreigner with a get-of-Vietnam-free card; a potential saviour to her. If it came to having to flee the country she was sure to call in her favours. He had no idea if he could help her. He supposed they’d cross that awkward bridge later.
He stood. Nancy's hands glided from his shoulders around his back. She pressed herself against him. He put his arms around her narrow waist. His eyes wandered to the telephone as they stood in a silent embrace. He only took his focus off the telephone when Nancy stepped backwards and smiled up at him.
'Forgiven.' She giggled.
He forced a smile. Had he become her guardian? It was almost as if he were her boyfriend except for physical intimacy. He doubted it would be difficult to make that transition, but he didn't want to lead her on. He wondered if he should say something to draw a line. Would it make things less, or more awkward?
With a smile full of bliss, Nancy took his hands, squeezing them. She looked too content for him to spoil it. Besides, he'd not leave her in trouble. If he did have to flee Vietnam, he'd do what he could for her.
'Don't you have family here?' he said.
Nancy shook her head. 'My mother die four years ago. My father go away when I am young. I just have one brother. He working Australia.'
'Well, at least you don't need to worry about him. Now, how are we going to get to Hanoi?'
Tuấn
5th March, 14:15
Tuấn checked the time on his cell phone. It was well past lunch time. Nobody had instructed the students to return to class; there was no point. The university cafeteria was designed to accommodate a few hundred students. Only a few dozen students occupied the hall, they sat shoulder to shoulder crowded around a single row of tables.
Two cooks in their white overalls sat with the students. Professor Long- the University Dean, and several lecturers joined them too: sitting or standing on the periphery. They frowned, nervously stroking their chins and shaking their heads in disbelief, they mumbled among themselves. The focus of their attention was an old 1990's style battery powered radio brought down from the staff room. A long silver aerial extended a metre above its bulky case.
Tuấn focused on Mr Cường. The top button of his shirt was undone, the knot of his tie pulled down a couple of inches, his arms folded across his chest. Mr Cường usually dressed immaculately. The teacher's head was inclined as he listened to the radio, his brow furrowed in concentration. At any sound- whispering, a sob, or the squeak of chair legs on the tiled floor, his eyes would narrow, jaw clench and nostrils flare noticeably.
The female broadcaster spoke with urgency. Her voice would waver, sometimes becoming hoarse and she would clear her throat. Tuấn didn't often listen to the radio; it was for old folks. He would get news alerts on his phone. Music was available through digital means. Radio was antiquated- not far removed from the gramophone his grandmother once owned.
The morning broadcasts largely repeated the same news; the Chinese People's Liberation Army had crossed the northern border at two locations. Using highways in a lightning attack stabbing a hundred kilometres into Vietnamese territory- taking the airport at Yên Bái, less than fifty kilometres from Hanoi. A naval landing led to fighting in the streets of the old capitol, Hai Phong.
The broadcaster repeatedly admonished the Chinese for their cowardly and illegal act, while enthusing that Vietnamese forces were rallying in preparation for a counter-strike. A reporter in the field had spoken of brave police, soldiers and civilians who had barricaded the streets of Hai Phong and put up stout resistance; evoking the spirit of the people's struggle against Colonial French forces in the same city more than seventy years previous.
At lunchtime, the news was of military bases throughout north and mid Vietnam being bombarded. The afternoon reports were closer to home. They listened to the broadcast in stunned silence;
'In the South, we have seen through American satellite images broadcast on VTV, that the Chinese aircraft carrier Liaoning, accompanied by battleships, destroyers and support vessels, had by 8pm local time yesterday, moved within forty kilometres of land near Vũng Tàu.'
Many students held hands; exchanging worried looks. Some male students wanting to look tough, sat leaning forward as if ready to jump from their chair and attack the radio at the next provocation. Their fists clenched and jaws set resolutely but their wide eyes betrayed their fears. Tuấn remained still. His mind racing to comprehend what the Chinese may do next.
'Vietnamese forces led by the Vietnam People's Air Force, have struck back at the Chinese advance, disrupting their supply route. Ensuring the aggressors cannot maintain a prolonged campaign.' The broadcaster spoke hurriedly. Urgent bickering could be heard in the studio background.
Tuấn struggled with the reality of the news, it seemed more like a radio play like War of the Worlds. China and Vietnam had been butting heads over the South China Sea for years, but this was a ridiculous escalation. He needed to do something, but what? The idle awkwardness gnawed at him. The danger as yet invisible was palpable in the notable absence of most students and tutors. He forced himself to ignore the instinct to flee. Anyway, where would he go?
The broadcaster stopped mid-sentence. Engaging in a muffled exchange with someone in the studio. Seconds later her voice returned; even more strained and desperate than before.
'We have news that Chinese naval forces have bombarded and completely destroyed Cam Ranh bay naval base, and launched bombardments against Naval installations at Phu Quoc and Nhon Trach. The 935th Fighter regiment is engaging Chinese air and naval forces in the south around Vũng Tàu.'
There were gasps. Many covered their mouths with both hands. The tough boys grimaced and exchanged sternly resolute looks. Tuấn shook his head; dismayed at their impulse to maintain their masculine shells. One of the teachers with no such qualms ran from the dining hall sending the door handle crashing against the wall. The embattled naval installations were those poised to protect Ho Chi Minh City. Vũng Tàu was the gateway by sea to the former Southern Capitol.
Tuấn felt cold; almost feverish. His palms clammy. He tried to focus; the room drifted out of focus as if he was underwater trying to make sense of the world above. He gasped. Taking long breaths through his nose and out through his mouth the world began to stabilise. He looked to his teachers; one stood petrified, staring at the radio like it was a terror. Another covered his eyes with his palm. They could offer no better direction than anyone else. Those not in shock were jabbering in panic.
'God save us!' someone cried.
'Where are the Americans? Why don't they help?' a boy shouted.
From cross the table Tuấn locked eyes with Phượng. She sat with her fingers clasped in her lap and the corners of her mouth downturned. A tear trailed down her cheek. He looked away; unsure how to acknowledge her barely constrained emotion.
'They're coming for us!' A male student cried out. Leaping from his chair he scrambled to the door. Turning at the doorway, his features knotted on the verge of tears. 'If we stay, we die!' He fled the hall, sending the door handle crashing against the wall a second time.
Separating themselves from the students, the teachers bunched together talking in low voices. A first year student abruptly stood as if jolted by electricity. He looked down at the girl he'd been sitting next to, his lower lip trembling.
'Loan. If we will die soon, I want you to know I always loved you!'
Several boys erupted with a cruel laughter. Finding relief in the levity of the boy's desperate exclamation. Loan shielded her eyes with her hands. The boy's face flushed. Tears of frustration ran freely down his cheeks. With fists clenched, he stamped his foot and emitted a pitiful howl. The boys laughed even harder. Someone threw a pencil at him. It struck h
is chest and clattered to the floor. With his eyes screwed shut the boy openly sobbed. His humiliation was complete.
Tuấn felt the corners of his mouth prick in a hint of a grin. Silently reproaching himself, he rubbed his lip to massage away the smirk. He didn't find bullying amusing, but in the apprehension of an impending apocalypse the small moment of silliness eased the tension. Even a couple of teachers smirked.
'Quiet!' The Dean barked.
The teacher nearest the radio turned the volume down. All turned to the Dean; their humour dissipated in an instant. Perhaps hoping he had some revelation which would avert their doom. Perhaps conversely he was going to tell them they should prepare for death. Either way, he had their undivided attention.
'Students, it would seem there is little point keeping the University open. People are fleeing the city. It will worsen. You will want be with your families. Those of you with nowhere better to go may stay in the hall today while we box away important documents and trophies for protection. We will reopen when the situation normalizes. Good luck to you all.'
Silence. One of the cooks carefully removed his apron, folded it, and placed it on the table before calmly walking out of the hall. Everyone watched him leave. The moment the door shut behind him, the room burst into chatter.
'What are you going to do?'
'Where will you go?'
'Is there anywhere safe?'
Tuấn looked again to Phượng. She had her arm around the shoulder of a girl, reassuring her. Gradually, students decided their course of action. For most it was to leave. Tuấn felt a slap on his shoulder. He turned to see Khôi, a boy from his class. They hadn't been close, but had played tennis together a few times during their first year. Khôi's family lived a few minutes’ walk from Tuấn's grandmother.
'Hello, brother.' Khôi managed a smile. Tuấn stood up and forced a smile in return.
'Hey, Khôi. What are you thinking to do?'
'Go to my family. I think we'll leave the city.' Khôi bowed his head. His long black fringe shielded his eyes. 'I just wanted to say goodbye in case we don't meet for a long time.'
'I understand.' Tuấn offered his hand.
Khôi shook it firmly. Smirking shyly as if caught cheating at some childish game. 'What will you do?'
Tuấn pressed the bridge of his glasses, pushing them back into place. 'I think I'll stay. My Grandma won't be going anywhere. I'll look after her.'
Khôi's eyebrows twitched. He pursed his lips. 'What about your parents? You won't go to them?'
'They'll be fine.' Tuấn said quickly.
'Brother. Be safe. We'll play tennis when we meet again.' Khôi shuffled backwards. Eager to begin his escape.
'Sure. Be safe.' Tuấn watched his classmate stride from the room; leaving without a backward glance. As soon as he passed the threshold of the hall he broke into a run.
Phượng stepped beside Tuấn. She took hold of his forearm. Her touch felt cold. Her face was expressionless but her eyes were wide, giving a nervous appearance.
'Khôi will be ok,' she said quietly, 'his father is a policeman, isn't he?'
'He is.' He studied her face. She was hard to read sometimes.
'You’re staying aren't you?'
'Yes. I don't think grandma will leave. It won’t be easy to leave the city now anyway.'
Phượng clasped her arms around him, and rested her forehead against his shoulder. 'I'll stay too,' she said, tightening her embrace.
Tuấn patted her back. He noticed the scent of her hair- a floral shampoo. Finding it somehow comforting, he took a slow long inhalation. Reacting to the expansion of his chest as he inhaled she looked at him with an eyebrow raised. She released him and stepped back. Did she think he disapproved of her embrace? He immediately regretted the distance between them. It wasn't often he experienced or welcomed tactile comfort, but this time the sensation made him want to close his eyes and fall into a long sleep. Having it snatched away left him feeling momentarily abandoned.
Students filed out of the hall alone or in small groups. Some with goodbyes and well wishes; others left wordlessly. The remaining eight students took to seats around the radio. Besides Phượng, the only remaining student Tuấn knew was a girl called Thuỳ, who he knew in passing from her pursuit of a popular handsome student from his class. Others had familiar faces, but if he had known their names they were forgotten. A cook remained along with the Dean and three other teachers including Mr Cường.
The Dean clapped his hands. 'Okay, you students stay here. We'll go and sort things out in the office and library. Mr Cường please stay with them. Call me if there's any development.'
Without any further comment the Dean left. Flanked by the two teachers. There was a silence until Mr Cường sat down by the radio and carefully turned the volume dial.
'Why don't you fetch us all some coffee?' he asked the cook, who obediently headed to the kitchen; busying himself with the clank of china.
The same news reports repeated with little new information. Mr Cường removed his glasses and retrieved a small cloth from the pocket of his suit jacket. He cleaned the lens; squinting as he inspected the cleanliness before putting them back on, then folding his arms.
'Excuse me, teacher,' Thuỳ said in a small squeaky voice.
Mr Cường raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
'Teacher, what will you do?'
Mr Cường wiggled his jaw left to right as he considered his reply. 'My place is here. I will wait for the school to re-open.'
'Teacher,' another student chimed in, 'did you fight in the war against the Americans?'
Mr Cường snorted a single derisive laugh. 'Boy, how old do you think I am?' He grinned, his teeth slightly yellowed from nicotine. Tuấn had never seen him smoke but his clothes always held the scent. 'I was a child when the Americans left. However, I fought the Khmer Rouge in 1979. I was younger than you are now. Eighteen years old!'
'How did you survive?' the boy asked.
Most of the students leaned forward from their chairs; eager for the valuable wisdom. Mr Cường regarded them each in turn through narrowed eyes. His nose twitched and his mouth made a circular chewing motion as if he were deciding if they were worthy of his knowledge.
'I did whatever was ordered.' His eyes were cast down as if recalling battlefields some four decades past.
'Did you kill anyone?' the same student said.
Mr Cường looked up, glaring. His face then softening. He shrugged one shoulder. 'It's hard to know. The enemy hide. You hide. You shoot. They shoot. Later you see bodies, but who killed who you cannot say. It's better that way.' Mr Cường let out a raspy chuckle
'Will the Chinese really come here?' Thuỳ said.
'I don't see how we can stop them.' Mr Cường said in the matter of fact tone he used in class.
'So we're doomed?' Her small voice became shrill.
'No.' Mr Cường replied firmly, stabbing his index finger onto the table top. 'Their army will be huge, with offensive capabilities beyond ours. They will take the city if that's their intent. But it doesn't mean defeat.'
Tuấn looked at the other students. Their confused expressions mirrored his own. The cook returned with a trembling tray of coffees which he placed with a clatter on the table. The teacher took up a cup and sniffed it. The steam instantly misted his glasses. All eyes remained intent on Mr Cường. Waiting as he took a tiny sip of the dark coffee, licked his lips and slowly placed the cup on the table top.
'An army can't occupy where people are determined to be rid of them. Spanish Partisans helped kick Napoleon out of Spain. The French Maquis helped defeat occupying Nazi forces. Some of you have grandparents who defeated the Americans here.'
'But who can defeat the Chinese?' another boy whined.
Mr Cường frowned in irritation. 'Each of you will have to play your part. This city bears the name of our nation's founder. This is our Stalingrad.'
'What's a Stalingrad?' It was Phượng who
asked, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar name.
'The point is, my young friends,' Mr Cường continued, 'we are all responsible for ejecting invaders. As we did with the French, Americans, Cambodians and Chinese before.'
'But...' Thuỳ's voice cracked. She cleared her throat with a cough into her hand. 'Teacher, we don't know about fighting.'
'True,' Mr Cường grunted, wrinkling his nose. 'Youths today are lazy. Spoilt too, but you can learn. You've all partaken in military drills each year.'
'I never fired a weapon!' Thuỳ protested, 'We just did exercises and carried the heavy gun. I hated army week!'
Mr Cường sighed. Drumming his fingers on the table. 'Many will resist the Chinese. When the time comes, young people like you will form the cells of the new Viet Cong.'
‘What’s a cell?’ someone asked.
Teacher grunted. ‘A group of operatives. Usually four. Working independently and secret even from other cells. Except in combined operations of course. It's time you sought comrades. Store food, weapons too if you can get them.’
'Then what?' It was Phượng who asked. Tuấn frowned at her. Was she serious?
'Then come to me. I have some contacts...'
The canteen door opened. The Dean walked in carrying a stack of ledgers which he placed on the nearest table. Mr Cường looked fixedly at the radio, dissuading further questions. Tuấn's thoughts wandered to his Grandma. He considered driving home to make sure she was okay, but Phượng's fingers around his wrist held him so he joined teacher in staring at the radio.
'What's that sound?' someone said. Teacher lurched forward, spinning the volume wheel on the radio to silence.
At first it sounded like a faulty air conditioning unit, then became more distinct as the sound of airplane engines. Everyone stood. Cautiously approaching the hall windows in apprehension of what they might find.
Tuấn's eyes scanned the overcast sky. The source of the droning engines hadn't yet come into the field of vision of the south-west facing window. Breath steamed the glass in small circles. The first plane came into sight; too big to be a fighter. It was followed by two more forming a 'V' formation. Tuấn held his breath.
The March of the Dragons Page 7