'You're encouraging students from your class to fight!' the professor's pitch raised to a near screech.
'In the old days, everyone did their bit,' Mr Cường said. His eyes locked with the professor's.
'What bit are you doing?' the professor snorted, 'were you on the streets throwing home-made bombs?'
Mr Cường blinked. 'That's not my task. I'm a liaison. I have my job. I do it. It's not open to dispute. I would trust however, that you will keep your silence.'
Professor Lê snorted. 'I don't agree with your methods, but I'm no traitor.'
There was a timid knock on the door. The downcast face of a young female student filled the door's narrow window.
'Tran come back later. Class isn't for another hour.' Professor Lê waved her away.
'No. Come in girl,' Mr Cường called out, 'Professor, you should rest. If you have no objection, I'll make use of the privacy of your room for a little while.'
'Teacher, are you ok?' Tran crept into the room. Concern etched across her face.
'Help the Professor to the first-aid room will you, Tran?' Mr Cường said.
The professor puffed air in his cheeks. He shook his head, then rose, allowing himself to be escorted by the girl. Halfway to the door he turned. 'Don't you students get yourselves into anything you can't get out of.'
Mr Cường waited until the door shut, then smiled meekly at Phượng. 'There's an argument for and against every situation.'
She didn't answer. She could still feel those hands on her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she did so she could visualise that little cur atop her, sneering. Forcing the image from her mind, it was replaced by that of the injured soldier. The moment Vân blasted his face off. Opening her eyes, she found her two companions regarding her with expressions of concerned puzzlement. She lowered herself into the seat the professor had occupied. 'I just want to go home and rest.'
Mr Cường nodded. He reached across the desk to touch her hand but she quickly withdrew it.
'Sir, please say what you will quickly and excuse me for the day.'
'Alright. The university is no longer tenable for our purposes. I don't want either of you attending class anymore. My instructions will be sent by messenger. If you hear nothing and judge that the command structure has broken down, you should act on your own initiatives.'
Phượng sighed. 'When will this all end?'
'When the Chinese leave,' Tuấn said in a harsh tone, then relaxed his face with a faint smile, 'when we make them leave.'
Mr Cường rapped his fingertips on the desk. 'I've heard Tuấn's report about his mission success. I've heard through other sources that your objective was met. Aside from that, how'd it go?'
She shuddered despite the heat, and rubbed her arms with her palms. 'We killed them. We took their weapons.' She shrugged. Her eyes fixed on the floor between her feet. 'It went as planned.'
'Go home and rest. Both of you.' He walked to the window, looking into the courtyard. 'The traitors are still there, but it looks like their Chinese masters are keeping a closer eye on them. Both of you leave together. Instruct your soldiers to stay at your designated bases. No travel unless it’s compulsory.'
Soldiers? Phượng supposed it was true; they had become warriors. She had seen men murdered in front of her. She had fired a weapon in anger, and fought hand and foot with traitors. She was no longer a student. What life would be left to her once it was all over? She jumped at the touch of Tuấn's hand on her shoulder.
'Let's go, sister.'
Her feet felt heavy as she walked to the door. A queasy feeling churned her stomach. Did she really have to walk past those guards again? Mr Cường nodded as they passed him; his final salute. Was that it? No parting words of guidance? When she turned to close the door behind them, he stood with his back to them, his forehead in his palm.
***
In the courtyard, the six militiamen stood aside from the entrance. All cast hateful looks in her direction as she crossed to the parking area. Her moped had been moved to just outside the parking area. Her helmet hung from the handlebar. The Chinese soldier waved at her from beyond the gate.
'I'm sorry for what happened,' he called out, 'it won't happen again.'
'What's he saying?' Tuấn whispered.
She felt her pocket for the moped key, then noticed it still in the ignition. She sat on the bike. Her fingers trembling as she tried to fasten her helmet strap. Leaving it undone she started the moped and drove out the gate. Closing her eyes as she passed the guards; feeling she might be sick if she had to lay eyes on them again.
'Hey, wait!' Tuấn called.
She accelerated down the road. She passed the three soldiers at the end of the street. They didn't try to stop her. She wouldn't have stopped if they dared try.
Timothy
20th March, 15:00
At first he only heard his own breathing through the telephone receiver, then a clicking as the phone struggled to make the connection. Tim paced the three steps from the wall-mounted phone that the chord length would allow. There was little privacy on the base. The phone was situated in a corridor, and personnel walked by constantly. His minder stood a respectful two or three metres away pretending not to listen. He'd followed Tim around the base as his 'personal guard'. He hadn't said a word; making only physical gestures.
'Come on,' Tim muttered, 'I'm not trying to place a call to the bloody moon.' He heard a ringtone. He counted the rings while scuffing the heel of his shoe on the floor. Three blasted days he'd been kept on the base as a virtual prisoner for 'safety' reasons. Only now had they allow him his phone call.
'Hello?'
He cradled the receiver with both hands. He hadn't heard Gail's voice in almost two weeks. It sounded unfamiliar over the crackling telephone line; like an echo from a half remembered past.
'Hello?' the voice raised in irritation.
'Gail,' he whispered, hunching his shoulders around the phone.
'Tim?'
'Yes... it's me.'
'Oh my god, Tim! Where the hell are you?'
He glanced at his minder who was looking away. 'I'm in Vietnam still.'
'I know you're in Vietnam!' she snapped, 'why are you still there? Can't you get out?'
'It's not that simple.'
'What? Are you hurt? Are you ok? Where are you now?'
'Shhh. It's okay. I'm alright. I'm with the Chinese. On a base.'
'What?' she shrieked, 'are they holding you? I'll call the foreign office...'
'No, no. Gail, listen- nobody's holding me. The phones are out. The Chinese have the only working phones. They're letting me use one.'
'Are they getting you on a plane?'
Tim rubbed his forehead. He slumped against the wall.
'You tell them that if you're not on the next plane outta there they'll have the British ambassador on their case.'
'Gail...'
'Why didn't you leave when you had the chance, Tim, why? Your Mother's been worried sick.'
'Gail, just listen!'
Her breathing sounded hard through the phone line. He visualised her paused mid rant, waiting for the opportunity to recommence firing.
'Look… the Chinese are letting me do my job. They're putting me up in a good hotel, but I've been on their base the last couple days. I'm safe.'
'What?' she shrieked. 'You're working? You should be on a plane out of there!'
'I'm doing what I came here to do. It's alright.'
She groaned. 'Oh, Tim. There wasn't a war when you went there. Just come back. Everyone's worried.'
'We talked about this. I have to do this.'
'This isn't a game. You come back right now. You're not cut out for this.'
'What? It's not really any more dangerous than your climbing really. I've got guards. They drive me around in a tank for god's sake.'
'Oh no. Don't you do this!' her voice started to crack, 'don't you compare this to my climbing. It's not the same. You might be having a
lot of fun out there but I… I'm here having to console your parents... and...' she sniffed.
'It's safe. Don't worry. Tell Mum not to worry. It's just the phones were down that's all.' He forced a chuckle, then looked at his minder who was tapping his wristwatch.
'If you don't get back here soon...'
'Look... I'm being told to get off the phone. I'll call again when I can.'
'Tim, you selfish bastard!'
He sighed, screwed his eyes shut, and tapped the telephone handset against his forehead in frustration. 'Just give me a month. It won't be so bad, and who knows… I might get a Pulitzer or something.'
'Oh, Tim...'
'I gotta go. Love you!' He slapped the receiver onto the telephone base and slumped against the wall. First time they speak in two weeks and that's how it goes?
The minder politely cleared his throat. Tim stood upright, straightening his shirt.
'Happy in your work? You little shit.'
The minder smiled, gesturing for him to walk ahead to the exit. Waiting outside was the jeep he'd been couriered around in. The driver smiled like a lunatic. The base was huge. He'd had the tour, and figured it must cover a few square miles. It encompassed several large abandoned warehouses and factories which served as barracks, stores and even servicing depots for vehicles. Then there were countless rows of tents which functioned as canteens, entertainment venues, field hospitals, bunkhouses, latrines and every other conceivable facility a soldier might need.
Tanks, trucks and various armoured vehicles were parked in perfect rows. The gun barrels the tanks elevated at 45 degrees in salute. There were rows of helicopters; big transport helicopters and gunships bristling with missiles and machine guns. Even the blades from the helicopters were perfectly aligned. The pictures he took looked more like they were from a parade than a warzone.
Anyone attacking the base would have to cross rolls of barbed wire, a ditch and a three-metre-tall palisade made up of concrete slabs with sandbagged guard towers at regular intervals. He'd been told there were four entrances; one on each side. The camp formed a perfect square and accommodated an entire corps.
The minder gave the driver some instruction and the jeep set off. The roads through the camp were mostly widened dirt tracks. The driver treated the road as a rally track; grinning as he sent the jeep skidding, spraying dirt when navigating bends. When crossing small humps in the road they were bounced a few centimetres off their seats. The minder paid no attention. He sat in the rear with his arm draped over the back of the seat, his head wobbling about with the movements of the jeep like a bobble-head car toy.
The driver kept grinning as they skidded to a halt outside their destination; a porta cabin near one of the base entrances. Sandbags were piled to waist height around the cabin. A single guard stood outside. The minder ushered Tim inside to where a portly man sat behind a cluttered desk. He wore a smart olive uniform with a pen in the shirt pocket. He stood and made a curt bow.
'Tim!'
He steadied himself against the bodily impact of the girl that threw herself at him. Her arms wrapped around him, squeezing.
'Whoa! Stay calm, dear,' he chuckled, gently patting her back.
'I thought I'd lost you,' Nancy said.
'You can't get rid of me so easily.'
The fat guy smiled, nodding contentedly as if he'd arranged their reunion.
Nancy pulled away. Keeping her hands on him she looked up at him with begging eyes. 'Have they treated you ok?'
'Yeah. I've had the VIP treatment.' He nodded towards his minder. 'Even tweedle-dum has been quite accommodating.'
'I was worried when soldiers came to my house,' she pouted.
'They were going to fetch you a few days ago, but they've been pre-occupied apparently.'
Her fingers tightened on his shirt. 'There's been fighting in the city.'
He glanced at his minder who leaned casually against the wall. 'I figured something was up. They've kept me under guard for my... safety. How long have you been here?'
'Just this morning. They ask me many questions then tell me wait here.'
He looked between the minder and the fat administrator. The minder wore the same disinterested expression he always did. The administrator smiled.
'Uhh, so we can leave now?'
The fat head nodded, still smiling, not understanding a word.
'We'll take you to your hotel, Mr Campbell,' the minder spoke in perfectly pronounced English. Tim had suspected he'd understood English, but hearing him speak it for the first time still surprised him. It annoyed him too; a betrayal of their silent relationship of jailer and convict, and their shared lie whereby Tim could say whatever he liked and the minder pretended not to understand.
'And her?' Tim squeezed Nancy's shoulder.
'Your girlfriend will go with you,' the minder said curtly.
'She's my assistant.'
The minder shrugged. 'Let's go. I have other things to do.'
Nancy sat in the front of the jeep; Tim in the rear with the minder. The jeep drove slowly to the base's iron gate and through the outer checkpoint; a small one-room building surrounded by sandbags. A red and white striped barrier pole across the road raised at their approach whereupon the jeep shot off. On this rougher road the jostling and bumps were almost constant; forcing the passengers to cling to their seats while the driver laughed manically.
The road to Saigon was flanked by rice paddies, streams, and varied houses; from colonial style three storey buildings, to those made from breeze blocks and left over building materials with corrugated iron sheets for a roof. A few dogs ran around the roadside. There was no indication of human life between the PLA base and Saigon.
Entering Saigon, the streets were equally deserted. More so than when he was last in the city. The few people he spotted ducked into doorways or ran down alleyways at the sight of the approaching vehicle. Litter blew across vacant streets. The only vehicles they encountered were PLA armoured patrols. The jeep barely slowed for red lights; there was little need to, and the driver seem to relish driving like he was playing Grand Theft Auto.
'Before I had an armoured escort,' Tim said to the minder, 'the only protection we have now are your handguns, and the driver's foot on the accelerator.'
'I don't worry about being set upon by lambs.'
Tim opened his mouth, but contemplating his minder's stoical expression decided against arguing.
The jeep skidded to a halt directly outside the Hotel Continental. The driver turned in his seat and made pulling motion with his hand like a train driver sounding his horn. 'Ding! Ding!' he cried.
'Last stop,' Tim smirked. 'Thanks for not getting us killed, you bloody maniac.'
The hotel lobby was immaculate if spartan. Light from chandeliers reflected on the highly polished floor. Large vintage-looking vases were placed at intervals around the room. The small reception desk was tucked in a corner; staffed by two young girls wearing the traditional Ao-Dai dress in red and gold colours, and a red suited boy. Two PLA soldiers stood either side of the staircase; as motionless as sentries outside Buckingham Palace. One of the pretty young receptionists approached Tim. The minder brushed past him to intercept her.
'I've brought the journalist, Campbell. He has room 211.'
'Of course.' The girl bowed her head and gestured to the staircase. The boy rushed to lead the way. The minder pushed him aside.
'Just give me the key,' he snapped, snatching the key.
Bowing, the boy retreated to the desk.
'Am I the only guest?' Tim asked nobody in particular.
'No sir...' the receptionist smiled, casting a cautious glance at the minder. She didn't seem to want to venture more. The minder started toward the staircase.
'Oh god! Don't tell me you're staying with us?' Tim blurted out.
The minder turned.
'Tweedle-dum has other things to do.'
Almost everything in the room was a shade of cream; the long curtains, walls, carpet, and be
dding. The air-con was already switched on to just the right temperature. There were two beds- both slightly wider than a standard single bed and separated by a small table topped by tea making facilities. The furniture was of a semi-classical style. The room hand a good view over the Opera house and the main streets of District 1.
Tim sniffed. 'Not bad for a fancy hotel.'
The minder walked to the bed atop which lay a briefcase. He opened it and stood aside so that Tim could see the contents.
'Here you have a working telephone. Keep it with you. It can only receive incoming telephone calls.'
Tim reached for the phone but the minder’s glare stopped him. The phone was a blocky throwback to the early 2000's; certainly no next generation smart-phone. Next the minder pulled out a tablet with an attachable keyboard, then a laminated ID card with Tim's passport photo copied onto it.
'Wear the ID at all times. The tablet is programmed with all software needed for your reporting. Email is disabled except to our press office. Inside the wardrobe are your belongings and a bullet proof vest. Always wear it.'
'Wow. Thanks for the gifts.' Tim smiled.
The minder's face remained impassive as always, which made his eyes look cold and unsettling. Tim imagined he’d watch a puppy drown with the same blank expression. He wore rank insignia of any kind, just the camouflage jumpsuit they all wore. He certainly had no qualms about travelling without a bullet proof vest himself.
'I didn't catch your name...'
'Have a nice day, Mr Campbell.' He tossed the room key onto the bed and walked out of the room. Nancy closed the door after him, locked it, then pressed her back against the door.
'We're safe at last!' she gasped.
'Oh, I think we were already safe.'
'You were. You're the westerner.' She stared at him with an intensity he hadn't seen on her before.
'Did anything happen to you?'
'No.' She looked at the wardrobe. 'I bet they give only one protective vest.'
Tim opened the wardrobe door. He found his bag at the bottom of the wardrobe as promised. Rummaging through it indicated that everything seemed to be there. Nancy was behind him, her fingertips resting on his shoulders.
The March of the Dragons Page 21