The March of the Dragons

by Andrew McAuley

  The sentry post was a little white booth with glass windows on each side. It stood out boldly on the pavement; a useless defensive position. Zhang resisted the urge to shrink into the protection of the turret. It would seem foolish to be the first person in the battalion to die, but it was important that his soldiers saw him leading unafraid.

  The right turret hatch swung open. The sudden movement made Zhang's hand twitch in an automatic desire to snatch up his sidearm. The sergeant emerged from the turret pulling himself up like a sewage worker from a manhole. He nodded a greeting. Zhang scanned the windows along the street.

  ping! ping!

  He frowned at the sound. Muffled by the earphones, he didn't initially recognise the playful ringing as the ricochet of bullets off the APC armour. It wasn't until with a bewildered expression and cry of alarm that the Sergeant ducked back into the turret that he realised they were under attack.

  'All stop!' the sergeant shrieked.

  Zhang eyes darted, searching. Holding his breath, he waited for the next shots. Seconds passed. Buildings of various sizes were crammed together along the length of the street. So many places someone could hide. His knuckles turned white from his grip on the lip of the hatchway. He was a prime target.

  He saw the muzzle flash in the same instant he heard the ricochets. The bullets struck the turret and the barrel of the APC's main gun. The weapon's feint put! put! echoed along the street, but Zhang had spied the attacker at the entrance to a basement motorbike park beneath a small office building just thirty metres away.

  Shielded by a thick concrete pillar at the entrance, the sniper was further protected by the downward slope. After three quick shots, he ducked out of sight.

  Zhang turned in the turret to the infantry behind the APC. 'First squad!' He pointed to the parking entrance. 'Standby by to assault that position!' He hammered on the top of the turret for the attention of the Sergeant. 'Suppressing fire. Two o' clock!'

  The turret rotated with a mechanical whir. Both barrels inclined to street level, then unleashed a storm of death. The automatic fire rang through Zhang's helmet like it was a bell. He'd heard it many times previously, but this was the first time he'd heard it fired in anger as the cannon screamed 'you die! you die! you die!'

  The pillar of the parking lot exploded into a chalky dust. The steps to the building above chipped and flew apart. The green tinted glass doors atop the steps shattered. The entire entranceway of the garage was sprayed with sparks; sending dust and fragments of masonry in all directions.

  'Advance!' Zhang screamed into the microphone. The APC lurched. He had to grab the hatchway to steady himself. The turret pivoted and continued to belch fire. Heavy calibre machinegun rounds fired directly into the parking bay. Vision was obscured through an emerging cloud of dust. He allowed the shooting to continue until he was satisfied that every corner had been strafed.

  'Ceasefire!' he ordered. He made a chopping motion; directing the first squad to advance.

  They approached with caution. Boots crunching chunks of stone and tile which had been violently thrown into their path. One by one the seven men disappeared into the grey cloud. Zhang felt the pounding of his heart against his ribcage; only then did he give thought to his protective flak jacket discarded somewhere inside the APC.

  The squad emerged after just a minute. Two of them dragging the body of the sniper; a Vietnamese soldier wearing a lime green uniform with gold epaulettes on his shoulders. His corpse was dropped facedown at the roadside. One of the soldiers used his foot to roll the carcass onto its back. He'd been maybe twenty-five years old, a trickle of blood ran from his temple. His tunic was shredded. His bare chest dusty and scratched red.

  'Shrapnel got him,' one of the soldiers impudently suggested. Zhang already knew it. If he'd been hit by cannon round it would've torn him in two.

  'First squad advance on the right side of the street. Second squad advance left side. Third squad and all APC’s advance in support.'

  Somewhere he heard a baby crying. His eyes passed over windows but he couldn't locate the source. Then the sound was drowned out by the growl of engines.

  He was now inside Ho Chi Minh City proper. It seemed the Vietnamese forces were already scattered and defeated. One kilometre remained to the objective, which they'd hold until further orders. If the Vietnamese had any sense they'd surrender. What were they thinking in continually provoking China? They hadn't the might to back up their sabre rattling. Now they were paying the price.

  Phượng

  8th March, 10:20

  Thirty minutes had passed since the uniformed guy drove past Vân's apartment; blasting his motorbike's horn and shouting that the Chinese were coming. The two girls remained at the window since. Phượng began to wonder if they really were coming. The rider hadn't returned, and the street was deserted. Those wishing to leave the city had gone. Those remaining shuttered their windows and barricaded doors.

  'Want some green tea?' Vân said.

  'Please.'

  Tucked into a heavily residential area of District 5, Vân's second floor apartment was situated at a bend in the street; trees, neighbouring apartments, balconies and electrical pylons partially obscured the view. They heard helicopters pass over a few times, and the occasional motorbike engine. Otherwise the world seemed eerily abandoned. Vân walked to the kitchenette, filled the kettle and selected two upturned mugs from the draining board.

  Phượng forced herself away from the window. Perching on the edge of a threadbare armchair. She Picked up the TV remote and clicked through channels showing only static.

  'It's no use,' Vân said, 'all the channels went out at the same time. They must have destroyed a central transmission station.'

  'I thought channels are through satellite now.' Phượng continued to press the buttons.

  'Does that make it more, or less likely the TV will come back on?' Vân tapped her red nails against her wide red leather belt.

  'Point taken.' Phượng set the TV remote down on the arm rest. She looked to the window. From the chair she could see only the peeling yellow paint of the house opposite. She needed something to distract her. The waiting was unbearable.

  Vân filled a saucepan with tap water, set it down on the kitchen worktop, then filled a jug. Rummaging in a cupboard she produced two more saucepans.

  'What are you doing?'

  'Well,' Vân said, her head inside the next cupboard, 'they cut off cell phone coverage, internet, and TV. I guess water’s next. I'm not going to die of thirst.'

  'Oh.' Phượng swallowed. 'I thought we were all going to stay at Huy and Dũng's apartment. Safety in numbers.' Had Vân changed her mind about the plan? Phượng had little desire to return to her own apartment. Her roommate will have likely fled just as Vân's had. Huy's smirk had been a borderline leer when she suggested they stay at his place. He scoffed at her suggestion that the boys share one bed, and the girls the other. She didn't want to go there without Vân.

  'Yeah, sure. If you insist. But we're not going anywhere yet. I don't want to get caught in the street by the Chinese army. Do you?'

  'No. But, if we go quickly...'

  Filling the last saucepan Vân flicked the tap off and turned to Phượng. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her ponytail swaying like a pendulum as she shook her head like a disappointed parent. 'We're staying put. There's food enough for a week. Best of all; no Huy.'

  Looking at her hands clenched between her knees, Phượng nodded. She wondered if she should stand up to her, but decided it was futile. Vân was fiercely independent; she’d made her mind up and there would be no changing it. Staying at Vân's apartment wasn't so bad compared to the dark and dirty room the boys shared. But she felt safer with the boys- here they were just two girls.

  'So, how are we going to fight the Chinese army? When they eventually arrive.' Vân poured boiled water into two tea cups.

  'I... I haven't really thought...' Phượng cleared her throat, 'it depends what instructions
we get.'

  Vân crossed the room with a steaming cup in each hand, offering one to Phượng. It was hot to touch, Phượng winced, almost fumbling with the scorching china. She set it down on the armrest.

  'You don't have a clue, do you?' Vân sat in the remaining armchair. Taking a sip of tea, studying her with unblinking eyes. 'Why don't you tell me who’s giving the instructions?'

  'I can't. He insisted that cells operate independently, and only the leaders know the person above them.'

  'Hmmm, makes sense. I'll have to trust your judgement. Even if you did choose that asshole Huy.' Vân's scowl spread into a smirk.

  'Sorry,' Phượng giggled.

  Vân silenced her with an upheld palm. Phượng also heard the buzzing, but dismissed it as a motorbike engine before realising the hum was deeper. More like a large truck. She wondered if that was how a tank sounded.

  Vân cocked her head, pursing her dark red lips. The girls cautiously approached the window. Whatever was making the sound wasn't yet in view. There was another sound; a voice, as if through a loudspeaker like the traders who peddled the streets with recordings loudly declaring their wares.

  'Is it Chinese?' Vân whispered.

  'Maybe. I can't hear it clearly. It’s getting closer. We should shut the window.'

  'The Chinese can see through glass,' Vân snapped.

  'I meant the shutters.'

  'I want to hear what they're saying.'

  Phượng's fingertips pressed into the windowsill. She could make out a few words of Vietnamese. As it grew nearer it became clearer.

  'The People's liberation army come as friends. We have defeated corruption in China. Don't be fooled by your government's propaganda! We will share resources and advance Vietnam into a new age together! Don't be afraid. The People's liberation army come as friends...'

  The short pre-recorded message repeated. The Tinny engine whine grew louder. The shadow of the vehicle fell across the first floor of the buildings on the far side of the street. Phượng caught a glimpse of a dark green box-like vehicle. Both girls ducked below the windowsill. Vân's eyes mirrored Phượng's worry. If the Chinese looked up and saw the open window they'd know someone was home.

  'The engine's stopped,' Vân said, her dark eyes wide.

  Phượng shivered. She'd never seen Vân frightened. The engine hadn't stopped, but timidly hummed as the vehicle sat idle. The loudspeaker continued blasting its propaganda.

  Vân slowly rose. Craning her neck and raising her eyebrows as if it would elevate her field of view.

  'Get down!' Phượng hissed, tugging Vân's arm.

  ‘Shhh!’ Vân put her index finger to her lips. Turning back to the window she leant across the windowsill. 'I can see them,' she whispered.

  'What are they doing?'

  'There's two guys. Nailing something to a pylon.'

  'Can they see you?'

  'I don't think they're interested.'

  Phượng stood and squeezed between her friend and the window frame. A loud metallic clunk made her jump before she realised it was the slamming of a door on the armoured vehicle. The engine grumbled, then the green beast moved off again. Still spouting its poisonous message.

  Daring not to move from the window, Phượng strained to listen. The recorded message faded. There were no further sounds; no vehicles, no marching boots on the tarmac.

  'Shall we go see what they nailed up?' Vân whispered.

  It was clearly some kind of poster. Pasted onto a stiff wooden board then crudely nailed onto the pylon. The curiosity was too much.

  'Yeah. Let’s see.'

  Striding back to the kitchenette, Vân yanked open a drawer. Her hand dove in and came out clutching a steak knife. She extended the handle toward Phượng. After a moment's hesitation, Phượng took the knife. It wasn't very long. She touched its edge; it wasn't overly sharp, but it had a fine point. With enough force behind a thrust it would work as a weapon. Vân produced a longer meat slicing knife for herself. Their eyes locked for a moment. They said nothing.

  They slipped on their shoes, then Phượng followed Vân from the apartment. She purposely didn't pull the door shut behind them so they might get back inside quickly. They crept down the staircase like a pair of children creeping downstairs at night to catch a glimpse of TV after they were supposed to be tucked into bed. The ground floor was occupied only by their two motorbikes; the other tenants had evacuated the city.

  Vân stopped at the communal entrance. With one hand on the door handle, she turned to Phượng. 'We're just going to look. If anyone comes, we go back. Vietnamese or Chinese, I don't care.'

  'Why worry if they're Vietnamese?' Phượng scrunched her face.

  'Because we're two girls and there's no police anymore.'

  'Oh.' The Vietnamese soldier had warned to remain indoors, but if they were quick they were sure to be safe.

  Vân opened the door. Glancing left and right before jogging across the street, keeping the knife pressed to her side to conceal it. Following close behind, Phượng imitated her method.

  The metre-high poster depicted a painting of a smiling Chinese soldier kneeling beside a boy wearing a red t-shirt with yellow star of Vietnam on it. Both soldier and boy held mini flags of both China and Vietnam. The bold writing on the poster read;

  Celebrate the joining of Vietnam and China!

  All citizens are entitled to free weekly rations courtesy of the PLA!

  District 5 citizens procure food from An Dong Market on Wednesdays!

  In partnership we will overcome all!

  'What the fuck?' Vân spat.

  Phượng frowned, glancing behind. Although nobody was around to hear, the use of harsh language embarrassed her.

  'They must have made this poster before setting foot in Vietnam,' Vân said, 'they've been planning this for a long time.'

  An Dong market was two minutes by motorbike. Phượng drove past it on the way to Vân's apartment. There was no way the Chinese advance had reached it and set up food distribution already.

  'Do they think they're liberating us? What the hell?' Vân scowled at the poster.

  'We've seen it. Let's get back inside.'

  'Good plan,' Vân spun about, her ponytail arcing behind her she set off striding. Phượng had only taken one step when she heard another engine- a motorbike she was sure. Vân froze for a heartbeat before spinning back toward Phượng. 'Run!'

  Held up by her two-inch platform sandals, Phượng wasn't able to make as good speed as her friend in trainers. Vân was quickly at the doorway beckoning her to hurry when the motorbike turned into the street not thirty metres away.

  The doorway was less than fifteen paces. She paused to snatch the sandal off her right foot. She didn't have to look again to see that the bike was almost on her. She kicked off the remaining sandal and burst into a run.

  She stumbled. She put out her hands as her face rushed toward the tarmac. The gritty surface burned her palms.

  'Hey! Hey!' It was a man's voice.

  'Get away from her!' Vân screeched.

  Phượng turned toward the threat. A big green motorbike with two huge soldiers had stopped a few metres from her. Both soldiers wore camouflage pattern clothing and heavy looking army helmets. The rider had plastic goggles pulled atop his helmet. Both had rifles slung over their shoulders. The driver waved his palms down in a calming gesture, smiling like the soldier in the poster. The passenger stepped off the back of the bike.

  Vân rushed to Phượng's side, pointing the large knife toward the soldiers. 'Don't come near us. I mean it!' she snarled.

  The second soldier unslung the rifle from his shoulder. In one quick motion the barrel was levelled at Vân. The driver made the same calming hand gesture to his companion. The weapon remained levelled.

  'She has a knife. I can legitimately shoot her,' the second soldier said in a flat tone.

  'Shhh, don't be so crazy,' the driver kept his eyes on Vân, 'look at them! They're frightened
. Besides, they're no good dead. I like the feisty one.' He bared his teeth in a grin like a chimpanzee.

  Phượng stopped herself from pleading for their release. The soldiers had no idea that she could speak mandarin. It didn't seem wise to reveal it. 'Vân, lower the knife, or they’ll shoot you,' she hissed in Vietnamese.

  With Vân's knife lowered, Phượng's eyes scanned the road for her own blade which had flown from her hand when she fell. It sat uselessly against the curb more than two metres away.

  'What do you want with us?' Phượng shouted in Vietnamese.

  'You have the loud one,' the driver said to his friend.

  Phượng closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. If she launched herself at the soldiers maybe it would buy time for Vân to flee. But she knew Vân wouldn't abandon her. Was there another option? She couldn't think clearly.

  'I'm not going to screw either of them,' the second soldier sneered, 'crimes against the populace are to be met with the harshest punishments. You know what that means?'

  'Yeah,' the driver said, looking behind him and then up at the windows on either side of the street, 'but we won't get caught. We’ll take them someplace quiet.'

  'What're they saying?' Vân said through gritted teeth. Her blade twitched at her side.

  'When I say, run. Don't think of anything else. Just run,' Phượng said, not taking her eyes off the driver.

  'What're you gonna do?' Vân’s voice quavered.

  The second soldier struck out at the back of the driver's helmet; knocking the brim over his eyes. 'Stupid bastard! You're not getting me shot over a couple of lousy Viet girls.'

  'aw!' protested the driver, readjusting his helmet.

  The second soldier marched forward. Stooping to scoop up Phượng's discarded knife. He tucked the blade into his belt and advanced on Vân. Holding his rifle with one hand; barrel pointed at her. His other hand outstretched in askance.