Zhang decided against refusing photography here. It was best to show the strong and soft side of the occupation.
'They’ll be processed and taken to the central holding centre for questioning. If they are deemed to be disruptive elements, they’ll be held. Otherwise they're free to go.'
The frowning journalist didn't seem impressed with the answer. He looked over the prisoners with a pained expression; as if they were blood relatives instead of strangers. 'There's a lot of teenagers here. Women too.'
'Don't worry. They're not going to Guantanamo bay. We're not as inhuman as that, Mr Campbell,' Zhang growled, 'in any case. Our patrol is finished. I’ll arrange for you to be driven to headquarters so you can make your calls.'
He turned away as the journalist’s mouth opened to respond. Removing his helmet, he tucked it under his arm. There would be time to get a cup of green tea, file a report then back on the road.
Phượng
17th March, 06:28
She wondered what her parents and sister were doing. It had been weeks since they'd spoken. It would be 4:30pm in Ontario, where they'd been living these last two years. After graduation she was to go and live with them. It didn't seem likely now. Canada didn't hold much appeal anyway; Vietnamese are not used to the cold, but she missed her family and she was curious about snow; what did it feel like? Did it have a smell? A taste?
It had been a sleepless night. Vân complained her restlessness was keeping them both up. So she got up and dressed and showered before dawn. Huy slept soundly, but she noticed Dũng's eyes watching her from his makeshift bed on the floor.
She took time to brush her hair and tie it in a bun. Applied a little make up; eyeliner, a faint lipstick, painted her nails and put on her favourite ear-rings; a pair of small silver leaping dolphins- arched like a crescent moon. She picked a dress with white and black horizontal stripes. The hem reached half way to her knees. It was a simple dress, she wanted comfort and ease of movement. A thin black denim jacket complemented it. Lastly, a simple pair of black flat-soled shoes with a white plastic bow over the toe. Not the best shoes for the outfit, but practical.
She posed as if for a catalogue in front of the mirror. The morning ritual was usually just to wash, brush her hair and dress in the first matching clothes she put her hands on. If this was to be her last day, she wanted to look like a woman.
'Got a date?' Huy asked groggily, sitting up in his bed.
'I guess we all do.'
Date? She wondered about Philippe; the Frenchman she dated for a few weeks right after her parents first went to Canada. Philippe ran a small restaurant in Phu Nhuan district. Eight years her senior, he was friendly and knew a lot about the world. Eventually she realised he was just a replacement for her family; a security blanket of sorts, so she ended it. What happened to him? Had he left Vietnam when the troubles started? She'd had a possible future with him, unlike with Tuấn who thought of her only as a little sister.
She shivered despite the morning heat. Was it portentous that she thought of her family in Canada and her ex-boyfriend? Two paths she could have followed but didn't. Was this how someone's life flashed before their eyes?
One of the boys sneezed loudly, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She looked at her watch. It was almost seven. 'Alright, everyone up! We need to be on the road in half an hour.'
'Yeah, game time!' Huy cheered.
***
They stopped their bikes on Điện Biên Phủ Street, under the shade of trees lining the road beside the park. The boys shared Huy's Suzuki bike. The girls rode their own bikes. She checked her watch again; 7.48am. She'd been nervous about the timing. Her orders were precise about the time.
It was eerily quiet. She felt like dozens of hidden voyeurs watched them. Shops and cafes on the opposite side of the road were closed. The park was empty except for one man practicing Thai chi. Normally the city's parks would be full of people enjoying morning exercises or walking their dogs. Her stomach rumbled. They'd skipped breakfast. Nobody felt like eating. It wasn't hunger that troubled her. She gripped the handlebars of her bike tighter, hoping it would overcome the trembling of her fingers. Huy lit a cigarette. If he felt nervous, he hid it well. Was it a game to him?
Some eighty metres down the road, at the intersection with Hai Ba Tru'ng Street, sat a Chinese tank. Her instructions said there was always a mobile checkpoint somewhere between the 'hard rock cafe' and the park. It was comforting to know they were part of a greater effort. It seemed so isolated before with just her cell and Tuấn. Now their classmate Đức was involved, and the remnants of the Police force. Had Tuấn received similar orders to hers? She hoped they'd be working together, but nobody else came.
'Don't think,' she mumbled to herself, 'just stick to the plan.'
She looked at Vân. Was she ready? She'd also made herself up. In her case that was nothing new. Even wearing her surgical mask her eyes stood out; she wore long false eyelashes, eyeliner, and her eyebrows carefully plucked into thin curved lines. Aside from makeup, Vân had opted to dress casually; like the boys in a t-shirt and jeans.
Vân snatched off her mask. 'Are we really doing this?'
Phượng nodded.
Vân took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'Okay. Let's get it over with.'
'Huy?' Phượng's voice came as a croak, betraying her nerves. She coughed into her hand to clear it.
'Are you sure?' said Huy.
'Yes. Of course. Dũng?'
'Uh... yeah, okay.'
None of them were ready she knew. How could they be? She unhooked her mask from over one ear, letting it hang from the other.
'Does everyone know what to do?'
They all nodded. They'd been over the plan several times the night before. Even drawing maps and diagrams. If only the real thing went so smoothly. Her comrades watched her. Were they waiting for words of encouragement? A speech? She should’ve thought of something before.
'Remember there's probably only three or four of them. One will always stay inside the tank. We must be quick.'
'I can't believe we're attacking a bitching tank! It’s crazy!' Huy’s laugh was high pitched and unusual. It made her uneasy.
'Weapons ready.' Phượng stepped off her bike. Opening her under-seat storage compartment, she picked out her pistol and slid it inside her jacket. She had unpicked some of the stitching on the inside pocket so the barrel would fit through the hole, acting as a holster. The weight of the weapon dragged down on the denim. The spare magazine in the right pocket did little to counterbalance the weight.
Huy raised his vest front to reveal the grip of his pistol protruding from the top of his pants. 'My hand knows how to go there quickly,' he grinned.
Dũng raised his t-shirt to show his pistol also secured in the same style.
'Where's yours?' she asked Vân.
Vân had a stylish faux leather handbag on the hook between her handlebars. She took the handbag down and unzipped it to show the weapon inside.
Phượng’s watch showed 7.55am. 'Alright. Let’s do this. Good luck.'
Vân revved her motorbike. Her eyes wide and watery seemed to ask 'are you really sending me to my death, sister?' Then the bike started off with a puff of smoke.
Phượng almost cried out for her to stop. Feeling a soreness in her throat, she watched her friend drive half way to the junction before starting her own motorbike. Huy sat astride his bike with Dũng behind him. The trio moved off together.
Vân slowed for the checkpoint. One of the soldiers signalled her to pull over to the side of the road. Two soldiers stood beside the tank. Vân stopped her bike in front of them, and they walked casually toward her. A third soldier stood on the park side of the road with his machine gun tucked into the nook of his arm. He waved the pair of oncoming motorbikes to pull over.
'There’s no traffic,' Huy said, 'if they're bored, searches will be thorough.'
One soldier stood in front of Vân, the other to her right. Stopping s
everal metres behind Vân, Phượng shut off her engine. Up close the soldiers looked terrifying. All three wore camouflaged combat uniforms and carried a lot of equipment; bulletproof vests, and pouches crammed with various things, many of which Phượng couldn't identify, perhaps grenades, pepper spray, flares maybe? Spare magazines for their machine guns and pistols filled their belts alongside combat knives.
'I.D!' the soldier to Vân's right snapped as she rummaged through her bag. As he leant forward to peer into her bag, she pulled out her ID card. He impatiently snatched it and gestured for Vân to remove her mask. The second soldier approached Phượng.
'I.D!' The soldier placed his gloved hand on Phượng’s handlebars, diverting her attention from Vân. She stepped off her bike. Opening the compartment where she kept her ID card. Her eyes straying back to Vân; the first soldier's eyes flicked between Vân and the ID card. Was she going to make her move? It seemed to be taking too long.
Vân's hand darted into her bag and in one fluid motion come out gripping the pistol which she levelled directly at the soldiers face. His eyes widened, his mouth formed a surprised 'o'. The pistol blasted a brilliant flash. He somersaulted backwards; landing head and shoulders first on the tarmac.
Phượng flinched. The shot was louder than she had expected. Transfixed, she watched the surreal event. The second soldier turned to the sound of the shot; already raising his weapon at Vân's back. Phượng's fingers touched the hilt of her pistol. Time seemed to slow, yet even so she was painfully aware that by the time her fumbling fingers would close around the pistol's grip and pull the weapon free, her friend would be dead.
She screamed in frustration as the barrel caught inside her jacket. She was too late. Gunshots blasted out. She shrieked. The soldier lurched sideways just as Vân spun around.
'No!' Phượng screeched. It took a second for her to realise it was the soldier, not Vân who'd been shot. He stumbled and fell.
Huy sat astride his bike; his gun pointed at the fallen soldier. The pistol jerked in his grip once more, belching a tiny flare.
There was one soldier left. Phượng's pistol was now in her hand. Vân was faster; pushing her bike over, she strode directly toward the soldier who stood petrified. His eyes wide under the rim of his helmet. Vân squeezed off shots again and again. The soldier crumpled. He lay twitching as both Vân and Dũng shot at him. Advancing until they stood right over him. The slide of Vân then Dũng's pistols sprang backward. Both magazines spent.
'The tank!' Huy cried. Lurching from his bike it fell to the ground in his wake. He raced the seven or eight steps to the tank and pulled himself up onto the hull. Climbing to the turret, he struggled to open the hatch.
‘Is it locked?’ Phượng called. A metallic creak caught her attention. Near the front of the tank another hatchway was flung open. A head popped out, clad a black helmet. The face turned toward her. It cursed in Chinese.
She pointed her pistol at him, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The trigger was so tight it wasn't moving. She squeezed again. She opened her eyes to see the head disappear back into the tank. She cursed herself; she'd left the safety catch on. Her thumb belatedly found the catch. She flinched as an ear-shattering blast assaulted her; almost knocking her off balance. A bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk somewhere between her and the tank. She shrieked, almost dropping the weapon. Only then realising she’d been squeezing the trigger when she removed the safety.
The hatch over the front of the tank groaned as the crewman began to close it. Huy was there before it could shut. Wedging his foot between the rim of the hatch and the lid, he kicked it open. Pointing his weapon down the hatch he fired his pistol.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The slide shot back, ejecting the last bullet casing.
'Got him?' Vân called out.
'Yeah!' He twitched visibly as he peered into the turret, as if expecting to have to dodge a stream of return fire.
'Is that all of them?' Vân shouted.
Huy remained with his feet either side of the hatch. Breathing heavily, he whispered something to himself, Phượng couldn't catch what it was.
'Phượng!' Dũng called out, 'Come quick!'
Dũng and Vân were still standing over the soldier they’d shot. She rushed to join them. The soldier's eyelids fluttered. His left hand twitched. It looked like his bulletproof vest had stopped the majority of shots, but dark blood seeped from wounds to his neck, hip and thigh. All three students trained their pistols on him.
'You gonna sh... Shoot him?' Dũng said.
Phượng glared at him. Why her? She saw the slide of his pistol was still open. He hadn't reloaded. She was the leader; it would be down to her anyway. Should they shoot him? He was clearly critically injured. He wore canisters on his torso, probably grenades. If she hit one, they might explode. Could she take the chance of letting him go?
A blast made her jolt. The soldiers face disappeared in a haze of red. Ducking with her hands arms over her head she cried out. It took a couple of seconds to realise Vân had shot him.
Vân lowered her gun, turning to face Phượng. 'I'm not going to get identified and executed for him.'
Phượng stared at her open mouthed. She had no idea her best friend could be so strong and cold. Was it really the same person? A creak from the tank made them all jump. Pistols aimed at the vehicle as a hatch opened. It was to sighs of relief that Huy climbed out.
'Nobody else inside. I got this though.' Huy held up a machine gun.
While she had been procrastinating over the wounded soldier, Huy had been doing what they came to do. They were short on time. Reinforcements could arrive any moment.
'Get the rest of the weapons, quick!' Phượng yelled.
She went to the body of the first one Huy shot. He lay on his front, bleeding from a wound at the back of his head just under the rim of his helmet. She struggled to roll him onto his front, then fumbled with his vest. In her haste her fingers and eyes didn't work in coordination. She tugged at pocket straps, ripping the Velcro open. She tried not to look at his face, but found her eyes drawn there. His eyes were open, but the pupils rolled back to his eyelids. His mouth hung open in disbelief at his demise. He looked young; probably only a year or so her senior. Old enough to kill. She steeled herself and tugged ammunition clips from pouches around his body. She took the pistol at his hip, two canisters she presumed to be grenades from his flak jacket, then picked up his machine gun. It weighed much more than she expected.
'How are we going to hide these on the motorbikes?' she couldn't remember from military training week how to disassemble an AK-47, and this was an entirely different weapon. They couldn't ride through the city bearing weapons like knights parading with lances.
'Wait,' said Huy, rushing back to the tank.
'Hurry!' Phượng snapped. The sound of the shots surely travelled; no doubt eyes were on them from windows overlooking the street. The sound of a motorbike engine approaching startled her. She turned to the sound. The big machine gun felt awkward in her grip, she braced against her hip.
The approaching bike was driven by a middle aged man wearing a smart shirt and tie. The bike skidded to a halt. The rider raising his thin arms in surrender.
'Go, Anh!' Phượng shouted, 'quickly!'
He needed no further encouragement. Turning about in the road he took off at speed back the way he came.
Huy emerged from the tank with a large green holdall. He emptied its contents; a rolled up sleeping bag, blanket, a few tins of food and personal possessions. The bag looked long enough for the weapons. He stuffed the machine gun he was holding into the bag along with the spare magazines and pair of grenades he'd collected. Vân and Dũng rushed over, hurriedly adding their weapons, leaving just enough room for Phượng to stow her own.
Huy zipped the large bag closed. Lifting it with a grunt, the veins in his arms showing the strain from the weight. 'Wait,' he said. Dropping the bag, he unzipped it and began to
rummage around inside.
'What are you doing?' Phượng hissed.
'Hurry,' Vân urged.
'Got it,' Huy said, holding aloft a fist-sized spherical grenade. He winked before climbing again onto the tank. He yanked out the pin and dropped the grenade through the hatch. He used his foot to slam the lid before jumping back onto the road.
They all dove to the ground. Phượng covered her ears, wincing her eyes closed. She started to wonder if the weapon had been correctly used when the boom came as a muffled echo. She lifted her head; the tank seemed undamaged except for wisps of smoke wafting from the air vents. Realising she was the only one still on the ground, she pushed herself to her feet.
'I'll take the weapons,' Huy grunted as he lifted the bag, 'you take Dũng.'
'That bag stands out too much,' Phượng said.
'No choice. We gotta get going.'
A sound like popcorn, popping in the microwave caught her attention; gunfire. Perhaps a couple of streets away. 'Let’s go!' she gasped, hurrying to her bike.
Huy was already astride his bike with the handles of the bag slung over his shoulder. One hand steadying the bottom of the bag which rested on the bike seat.
'Meet back at HQ,' He said. With a twist of his wrist, his engine whirred and he sped off.
Dũng slung his leg over the saddle behind Phượng. He gripped the bar behind the seat rather than hold onto her. Vân drove by as Phượng was turning her bike about. Then all three bikes were speeding away from the scene of the crime.
They were half a block away before she realised it would look less suspicious to not drive at full speed, but the pressing urge to put distance between herself and the killings took priority, so she kept the throttle on.
Gunfire echoed from somewhere, perhaps the next street over. They'd survived their first mission, but the hardest part might be getting home alive.
Tuấn
17th March, 07:55am
The CCTV camera over the gate whirred in rotation toward the visitors.
The March of the Dragons Page 17