Lâm put a cigarette to his lips with a trembling hand. 'I need my light.'
Tuấn plucked the zippo from his pocket, lighting the cigarette for his friend. The elevator doors opened at ground level. Minh had moved inside the reception area. The guards and secretary sat on chairs with their hands on their knees; heads bowed in submission. Thuỳ sat behind the reception desk, looking withdrawn and beaten. Her eyes pleading Tuấn as he walked by. He ushered the three administration staff to sit on the floor near Minh's prisoners. Machinegun fire could be heard in the distance. Somewhere nearer single shots rang out.
'We're leaving,' Tuấn said, striding to the building's entrance.
'What about them?' Minh gestured at the prisoners with his weapon.
Tuấn shrugged. 'Leave them.'
'We can't,' Minh said.
'What?' Tuấn seethed.
'We can't cut them loose. They've seen us.'
The two younger admin staff cried in alarm. The secretary sobbed. The Chinese soldier sensing the fear of his fellow prisoners twitched in his seat. Minh kept his weapon levelled at them.
'They've seen us,' Minh continued, 'they'll turn us in.'
'Please, little brother,' the elder clerk pleaded, her voice rasping, 'we're Vietnamese. We won't betray you!'
'Shut up, slut!' Minh snapped.
Closing his eyes, Tuấn lifted his glasses and caressed his eyelids.
'He's right,' Lâm said, his voice low and regretful, 'we can't take the chance.'
Tuấn curled his lip, scowling at his comrades. 'What's this? A democracy?'
The Vietnamese prisoners looked like normal people. The order for everyone to return to their workplaces brought a dilemma to those in positions the Chinese might subjugate. Each Vietnamese prisoner's face showed innocence. Even the security guard looked a simple and fearful man.
'We're not murderers,' Tuấn said, 'if we start shooting civilians, we'll turn our own people against us.'
Lâm nodded, looking relieved. Minh wrinkled his nose. The elder clerk clasped her hands together. 'Thank you, brother! Thank you! Buddha watch over you.'
'Be warned,' Tuấn spoke in a measured tone, 'from now on nobody works for the Chinese. You don't help them. Either leave the city, fight, or hide. We will be shooting traitors.'
'Yes, little brother, thank you!' the elder clerk dropped to her knees, taking Tuấn's hand, kissing it. He shook his hand free from her grip.
'One minute after we leave, you all flee. Got it?'
The prisoners nodded their affirmation.
'What about the soldier?' the male clerk said.
'Yeah, what about him?' echoed Minh.
'Forget him. Let's go.' He turned to Thuỳ. 'You too. Now.'
The four insurgents walked briskly across the courtyard. Lâm openly brandished his newly acquired machine gun. Sporadic gunshots still echoed between buildings. Tuấn regretted not picking up the assault rifle from the dead Chinese girl; even if there was little or no ammunition left, carrying a weapon of such power was sure to feel more secure than what felt like a water pistol in his hand when facing with the wrath of the assault rifle.
On the street there was no sign of movement. Minh broke into a run, the rest following a moment later. The hurried pounding of their feet sounded like an alarm to their presence, but they didn't stop running until reaching the villa.
Tam welcomed them at his gate with a smile. His eyes fell on the machine gun. He sucked in his breath, frowning. He steered the youths inside. Poking his head past the gate he looked up and down the street then shut the gate. 'Inside quickly please, quickly!' He urged, waving his arms toward the villa. 'Make yourselves at home, but surrender your weapons. Take your shoes off before you enter!'
They dropped their shoes on the doorstep before entering. The Villa's floor tiles shone like highly polished marble. The large open living room was a playground; a big screen TV, ping-pong table, a piano in the corner, beanbags for seats.
'Please, make yourselves comfortable,' Tam said, 'I think with the... growing excitement outside, it may be tomorrow before you can reasonably leave.'
'But my parents will expect me!' Thuỳ protested.
'What is going on out there? Sounds like a full scale war,' said Tuấn.
'Oh, yes,' Tam beamed, 'the first stage of revolution. It's not all down to you little miscreants! By now Chinese forces throughout the city should be burning.'
Zhang
17th March, 10:00
Orders, requests and confused chatter clogged the open channel through Zhang’s headset;
'We're taking sniper fire, Send back-up!'
'Repeating target coordinates...'
'Second squad advance to point!'
'Fall back. Artillery support incoming.'
He switched out of the channel. His orders were to proceed along Phan Đình Phùng Street to the bridge between District 3 and District Phu Nhuan. He could see from the map on his tablet that the two districts were separated by a long twisting river spanned by several bridges. At the Phan Đình Phùng bridge an ambush had pinned 'Horse' section from his battalion. Enemy snipers were preventing efforts to cross the bridge.
The occasional chime of bullets striking the vehicle's armour forced him to shut the hatch and remain inside the turret. His orders were urgent, so assaults on the APC went unanswered.
'Lieutenant, there’s fighting around the cathedral. Should we engage?' The driver shouted.
'Negative. Proceed as ordered.' He was bringing his whole command; Dragon section, consisting of three ZBD-04's and their infantry platoon of three squads. Where possible the tracked wheels were kept whirring at their maximum speed of 60kph. Zhang tugged at his collar popping the top button free. With the engine running hot and rumbling its mechanical complaints, the claustrophobic interior of the vehicle quickly became a furnace. The hot air felt heavy to breathe. Clothes stuck to skin, boots filled with sweat. They rationed the water carefully to combat dehydration. Even the water tasted half boiled and stale.
He wiped his brow in his sleeve. The helmet was intolerable. His ears were wet and he could feel sweat trickling down his neck. He looked at his monitor; the road ahead looked clear. He could hear the soldiers in the belly of the APC chattering, but over the engine’s whirr he couldn't make out their words, but surmised they were grumbling about the heat.
He unlocked the hatch and threw it open. Without hesitation he presented his torso vulnerable to the dangers outside of the protection of the armour. He closed his eyes and sucked the air in through his nostrils until his lungs were full and held his breath a moment; savouring the freedom of clean air.
The road ahead was straight- permitting a view almost half a mile. Doors and windows were shuttered. Not a breath of wind to stir even a discarded rag from the sidewalk. There were no street vendors, no curious faces at windows. Zhang’s fingers gripped the rim of the hatch. His knees bent ready to drop into the turret in a heartbeat if needed to.
'Dragon two and three,' Zhang spoke into his microphone, 'stall to two hundred metres behind.' If there was an ambush, it was best they didn’t all run into it at once.
The following APC's slowed their speed allowing Zhang's vehicle to scout ahead. They slowed at a crossroads. The GPS showed a right turn, then straight on to the destination. He barked the direction into his microphone.
The vehicle pivoted into the next street revealing an apocalyptic scene. A half dozen bodies scattered along the pavement; all Vietnamese civilians. Smoke trailed from the ground floor of a house.
'Keep speed to twenty,' Zhang ordered.
A charred petrol station smouldered on a street corner. A blackened ZFB-05 light armoured car sat on the petrol station's forecourt, its tyres melted into the tarmac. The driver side door hung open. A shrivelled, twisted black thing that was once a man stared out at them with mouth open in a silent scream. Rubble littered the street; concrete, bricks, glass and pieces of twisted metal blasted from buildings where various sized holes remained.
>
A woman lying under the buckled remains of her bicycle twitched and her eyelids flickered open. Zhang had taken her for dead. Her hair was matted red and her right leg bent unnaturally. She stretched her arm toward Zhang, yet didn't plead or cry out. Was she an insurgent or an innocent? Once the APC rolled past her she lay her arm back down.
At the next junction a roadblock partially blocked the road; an APC parked across two lanes. The red and white striped barricades had been scattered. Zhang’s driver slowed to manoeuvre around bodies. The three dead were all Chinese soldiers. There were no apparent Vietnamese casualties, indicating a surprise attack or snipers. One had been shot multiple times including through the face. All their weapons were missing.
Beyond the roadblock there were no more bodies, but sounds of gunfire and the occasional mumble of a distant explosion remained. Between two high rise buildings Zhang glimpsed a hovering helicopter gunship a half mile away, unloading its arsenal on some hidden target. At this distance its gunfire was a tinny rattle. Had the Vietnamese uprising begun to fizzle out? He'd read about the Tet offensive and the tactics the Vietnamese had used against the French and Americans. They wouldn't fight a prolonged battle. They'd strike then melt away.
'Dragon One. Horse One,' Zhang called into his microphone.
'Horse One. Go ahead.'
'Dragon section inbound. ETA two minutes. Situation report?'
'Sniper threat remains. We've isolated the street. He can't escape.'
Zhang frowned. 'Isolated, how?'
'Three bridges converge on the point. We've armour on each and gunships circling.'
Looking through his field glasses, Zhang could see the bridge ahead. The road sloped gently upwards toward the bridge. The buildings either side were of an older style; mostly three-storey residential buildings. Gaudy signs and advertisements hung over almost every doorway.
They slowed again on approach to the bridge where the ZBD-04 'Horse One' was parked with top hatches all closed but rear doors open. The infantry crowded behind the APC, taking cover from its armour.
'Halt alongside Horse One,' Zhang ordered. 'Dragon Two and Three, line up on our right flank.'
The APC's parked along the width of the bridge, providing a steel wall of cover for the infantry.
'All squads disembark. Remain in cover. Everyone take water.'
On the opposite side of the river many of the buildings were obscured from view by giant billboard advertisements; a smiling girl holding a cake, and the laughing cow stared back at him from the huge posters. There was a score of windows from which a sniper might get a good view across the bridge.
Tang!
The rude sound startled him. The report of the shot followed a moment later. In the lid of his turret hatch was a small indentation where the bullet struck. Too close. He pulled himself out of the turret and onto the hull, then jumped down the rear of the vehicle.
Near to thirty soldiers from the four APC's sheltered behind the vehicles. Those from Zhang's Dragon section removed their helmets and poured some of their canteen water over their heads to refresh themselves, gulping in the air as Zhang had done.
'Stay in cover. Keep your heads down,' a sergeant warned.
'Lieutenant!' A moustached man who Zhang recognised as Lieutenant Chan marched toward him. Chan wore the more comfortable infantry style helmet rather than the black helmet armoured crew wore. In this heat, his crew probably hated him for it.
'Lieutenant Chan,' Zhang saluted.
Chan returned the salute more casually, his fingertips merely connecting with his eyebrow for the briefest of moments.
'Now you're here, we can press across the bridge under cover and search house to house.'
'House to house? You haven't located the sniper?' Zhang said, bewildered.
'Absolutely no,' Chan baulked, 'they shot two of my men. When we tried to retrieve them a bazooka round was fired from somewhere on the right side of the street. It missed, but it was prudent to withdraw!'
Zhang moved to the edge of the APC. Pushing a private aside, he looked down the gap between two APC's. He could see along the road until it dipped on the far side of the bridge. There was no apparent movement. He could see the body of one soldier. Nothing else looked out of sorts.
'There are better ways to flush them out,' he muttered.
'I called an air strike. Command won't destroy a residential block to get one or two snipers.'
'We don't need airstrikes,' Zhang said, his eyes still searching the far side of the bridge. 'Let me show you where they are.'
'What? How?'
Zhang turned on the older officer. 'You've sat here with your head to the ground and your asses in the air! We’ll try my way. Just keep a look out for the muzzle flash.'
He turned away. Chan clamped his hand on his shoulder. Zhang shrugged it away. Striding around the row of APC's, he raised his field binoculars again. Looking from window to window and across the rooftops.
'Fool, you'll get yourself shot!' Chan hissed.
'Just watch for flashes, Lieutenant.'
He placed the field glasses on the ground. Bracing himself, he stretched into a racing stance, took three deep breaths and launched into a sprint. His fists furiously punched through the air as he ran. His breath released in fast puffs. He wasn't concerned about reserving energy; he didn't bother trying to zig-zag to avoid shots. Relying on speed and the hope that the sniper- having missed him once already, wasn't good enough to hit a moving target.
He heard the clap of the shot but not its impact. His eyes focused on his goal; an open garage door on the first building on the far side of the bridge.
Another shot. This time he saw the small eruption of gravel and dust two metres ahead. He ran through the knee-high cloud before it had the chance to settle. He felt a strong rush of wind accompanied by a shrill whistle. The next instant he felt the pressure of an explosive force from behind, throwing him off-balance. He glimpsed an orange flash as he rolled to break his fall. Dust and tiny stones rained on him. Breath was knocked out of his lungs. Exposed and desperate he pushed his palms against the concrete propelling himself up and forward; continuing his desperate run for the garage entrance just ten metres away. He realised on approach that the missile shot probably come from that very building.
'Covering fire!' Chan's voice screeched through his earpiece.
Even with his ears shielded by the helmet the sound was immense. He felt he was in a rain cloud during a lightning storm. He kept his head lowered as he ran. Bullets and shells sliced the air overhead. As he reached the garage entrance chunks of masonry fell about him. Devastation wrought by 30mm cannons and 100mm main guns on the APC's could tear the building apart.
He dashed through the entranceway. Dust fell in thick clouds. The walls shuddered. A crack in the exterior wall spread before his eyes. Paint pots and cans of varying sizes tumbled from shelves. Outside, chunks of concrete as big as his head crashed onto the road. A brown haze of dirt spread from the debris impacts. A concrete beam across the ceiling split, showering small grey fragments onto him. He dove to the floor.
'Cease fire! Cease fire!' he screamed.
'Cease fire!' Chan echoed.
He scrambled backwards, propelling himself with elbows and feet, his backside scraping the ground. His eyes fixed on the far wall which he was sure would collapse any moment. Something fell across his right side- pinning him to the floor. The firing stopped.
The building creaked and groaned. A fog of dust hung thick in the air choking him. He heard a sound like handfuls of stones being thrown down a rocky hillside. He tried to sit but he was still pinned by something across his shoulder, his eyes burned from the grit, clouding his vision. Had the damn building fallen on him?
Coughing, he rubbed his eyelids. It took a few moments to make out the browned metal of an old rusted shelf pinning his right arm and leg. He pushed it with his left arm and was able to lift it some twenty centimetres; enough to start wriggling free.
'Horse One.
Lieutenant Zhang?' Chan’s monotone voice came through his earphone.
'Zhang... I'm alive.' He coughed. The taste of the grit thick on his tongue. With a final exertion he squirmed free of the shelf. His palms were scratched. His uniform covered in a layer of dirt. Standing, he steadied himself with a hand against a wall. He unclipped the canteen from his belt and took three long gulps. Swishing the last gulp around his mouth then spitting it on the floor.
From outside came the familiar whir of tracks and rumble of engines. An APC stopped directly outside the garage. A squad of infantry close behind it. Steadying himself, Zhang walked around debris to the entrance. Crumbling from above evidenced the massive onslaught unleashed by the four APC's.
Zhang recognised the nearest vehicle as Dragon One. The infantry surrounded him. Admiring him with grins and nods of approval. The sergeant clapped his hands, the sound muffled by his fingerless gloves.
'Enough,' Zhang said, 'we need to confirm the kill.'
'There were at least two,' the sergeant said, 'one sniper, one bazooka.'
'They're gone. The building is Swiss cheese!' one of the privates chimed in, lowering his eyes when Zhang glared at him.
Zhang turned to survey the damage. From the street facing side some chunks of masonry had been blasted out and the Vietnamese flag hung shredded from its pole. On the river facing side, the first and second floor walls had almost completely crumbled and the rooftop sagged. The adjacent building, a thin glass-fronted office block stood one storey higher and had partially collapsed in on itself.
'The sniper was definitely in this building?' Zhang said.
'Yes, sir,' replied the sergeant, 'the bazooka shot came from the rooftop. '
The remaining three APC's took up defensive positions along the street. The infantry battering in doors of the nearest buildings, searching for other threats.
'Okay Sergeant. Let’s confirm those kills before Lieutenant Chan tries to claim credit.'
First squad proceeded up the staircase to the first floor. Stepping over debris, their boots crunching smaller fragments. The stairs brought them to the balcony running around the outside of the first floor. Gaping holes dotted the walls. One of the support beams on the balcony had collapsed. Steadying his pistol with both hands, Zhang followed the squad's point man.
The March of the Dragons Page 19