He decided that Thuỳ's failures were his own. He must apply himself to helping her. He couldn't teach courage, but perhaps she would be best suited solely as the medic. He noticed Lâm studying him with head cocked to one side. Tuấn shifted in his seat; irritated that Lâm was trying to read him.
'Let’s take inventory of the weapons,' he said, eager to cast off the mechanic's scrutiny.
Lâm fetched the weapons from their ephemeral hiding places; the bottom of a tool box for the handguns. The machine was gun wrapped in blanket beneath a rusty shelving stack. Lâm unravelled it’s cover with a careful reverie, like it was a holy relic. It looked like an AK-47, but black in colour and with a scope and a streamlined stock. The curved magazine already was half spent. There was only one spare.
Then there were the handguns; five in total. Lâm had procured an old, scuffed six-shooter from a black market dealer using Gran’s money. The handle had been loose but Lâm fixed it. The revolver was a reserve weapon. It was heavy, ugly and looked like it might explode as easily as shoot.
Lâm laid out the seven remaining magazines for the pistols, quickly deciding that Thuỳ would be the one didn't have a spare.
'Who gets the big gun?' Lâm said. Minh looked up from the radio, suddenly interested.
'It doesn't matter. Gather round,' Tuấn beckoned Minh and Thuỳ. They shuffled over across the floor to squat around their weapons cache as they might have sat around a picnic during better times.
'It's too dangerous on the streets right now for us to keep commuting,' Tuấn said, looking at one face than the next, his gaze lingering on Thuỳ. 'We’ll all sleep here until it's safer to travel.'
Thuỳ shrank back. Covering her mouth with her fingers.
'Thuỳ?' Tuấn said softly.
'I can't stay, my parents -'
'Won't be able to punish you if they don't know where you are,' Minh interrupted in a strained tone.
'I've been gone three days already! They'll think I'm dead!'
Closing his eyes, Tuấn wiped his hand across his forehead. Was it a mistake to bring her in?
'Just stay the next few nights. Then we’ll see.'
'I don't want to. My parents are so strict.'
Screw your parents, he wanted to say. 'I'm asking for three days. These are hard times. They'll understand. You can say we were made to sleep at school. I'm sure teacher would vouch for you.'
'Okay,' she mumbled, looking down at her hands, her hair falling across her face.
'Thanks Thuỳ. Now we need to inventory and better ration the food -'
Clang! Clang! Clang!
They all jumped in a fright at the three tinny, urgent raps on the gate. Tuấn and Lâm exchanged puzzled looks before Lâm lunged; throwing the blanket over the assorted weapons. Tuấn walked to the gate, glancing back checking that the weapons had been cleared away. He only raised the gate a couple of feet when Dac rolled underneath. Tuấn released his breath. His pulse still raced. He could feel the beating of his heart.
'Dac, you’re back early!' he scolded, irritated at the shock the boy had caused.
The boy rubbed his hands together to clean off grit he'd picked up on his palms. 'Soldiers,' he said.
'What? Where?' Lâm asked urgently.
'Outside a shop.'
'Coming this way?' Lâm snapped.
Dac wrinkled his nose. 'No.'
Tuấn ducked under the gate. Outside there were no sights or sounds of danger. The only person he saw was on old woman scowling at him from a window across the street. Hearing only the voices from the workshop he ducked back under the gate and pulled it back to the ground. 'Nothing outside.'
'Dac says they're the street behind the workshop,' Lâm said, 'tell him what you just told me.'
Dac hunched his shoulders. With hands in his pockets he twisted at the waist, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
'Go on,' Lâm prompted.
'They're Vietnamese.'
Tuấn rushed to the boy, squatting in front of him. 'Tell me boy,' he said quickly, taking hold of Dac's shoulders, 'do they have uniforms like soldiers?'
Dac shook his head and made a half-hearted effort to wriggle free of Tuấn’s hold.
'Do they have guns?'
'Just sticks.'
'Traitors!' Minh spat.
'Any vehicles? A tank or something?' Tuấn lightly shook the boy’s shoulders as if to rattle information from him.
'One truck.'
'How many soldiers?' said Lâm.
Dac frowned, seeming unsure. He continued to wriggle.
Tuấn released him. 'I think we should hit them,' he murmured. Was he asking their permission or ordering them?
'Why?' Minh said, 'if they aren't coming this way they're no threat. I thought we're following some greater plan. We don't have an order for this.'
'Our duty,' Tuấn spoke slowly locking his eyes with Minh, 'is to defend the city. The enemy are in our ward.'
The comrades looked at each other. Silent in their own thoughts. Tuấn wondered if the trauma of their first encounter had sapped their will to fight. Minh swayed his head left to right as if weighing up the pro's and con's. Lâm rested his arm protectively on Dac's shoulder. Thuỳ’s woeful eyes regarded him almost accusingly.
'I'm going to take a look,' Tuấn said, 'if it looks easy, we go in. '
He flung the blanket covering the weapons aside. Picking up a pistol he pushed the barrel down the front of his jeans leaving the handle exposed. He un-tucked his black t-shirt to cover the hilt. Selecting a spare magazine, he slipped it into his back pocket.
'I'll be back in two minutes. Be prepared to move. Lâm take the machine gun.'
His warriors scrambled over the weapons. From the workshop entrance he watched them for a moment; given purpose they acted quickly and without question. He'd have to remember that. Raising the gate a few feet, he ducked underneath.
He jogged to an alleyway connecting the two streets. Uncollected bin bags littered the alleyway, producing a nauseating stench. Nearing the far side of the narrow alleyway he could hear voices.
He peered around the corner; some forty metres down the street was a blue flatbed truck. The driver sat in the cab; his bare feet dangling out the open window. The truck, probably commandeered from the Police or a private business was parked outside a small grocery shop. The shop was opened up- he presumed forcibly by the militia. He could see several green uniforms outside the shop. They were bunched together. Voices were raised, threatening, demanding.
'We know you have more food! If not here, where have you hidden it?'
Tuấn couldn't make out the shopkeeper’s response.
'If you don't get us something better than this trash, you'll be arrested,' another snarled.
'We'll leave you some. Think of your family. You can't help them from a cell,' a feminine voice warned.
Deciding he'd heard enough, Tuấn jogged back to the workshop. His comrades waited, weapons in hand. Their expressions a mix of determination and poorly masked fear.
'We're going. It's just a bunch of bullies. We can handle them,' Tuấn spoke quickly, waving them on to follow him. 'Don't bother concealing the big gun- we'll be there in a moment. Let's go!'
He ducked back under the gate followed by his comrades. The old woman was still at her window, her expression stern and disapproving. He put a finger to his lips. She pulled the window blind down.
Tuấn led his group down the alleyway. They tried to move quietly but their combined footfalls resounded through the alley much more than Tuấn's alone had. He held up his hand for them to stop just short of the end of the alley. Looking around the corner again he found the scene much as before. He turned back to his team. They tried to mask their apprehension; even Thuỳ. All breathed heavily despite the short distance they'd come. They watched at him with wide eyes, waiting for his guidance.
'Let's do this quickly,' he whispered, 'remember they only have batons. It’ll be easy. Minh and I will go first. There's one i
n the truck. We'll secure him and herd them together.'
'What do you mean, secure?' Minh hissed.
'I mean no unnecessary shooting. Everybody clear?'
They nodded.
'Lâm, follow a few seconds behind so we're not bunched together.'
Lâm gave a thumbs-up. Tuấn stepped out from the alley. Walking side by side with Minh in quick steps. Goods from the shop were being tossed into the street. Red and white striped batons rose and fell with shouts of anger and cries to stop. The truck driver leaned out of the cab window, his attention on the commotion.
Tuấn put his hand on the grip of the pistol as they neared. Their steps were masked by the ransacking of the store. The driver only turned when they'd closed to within five paces. His eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropped.
Tuấn rushed the cab. Yanking the door open, and pointing his pistol at the driver's chest. The driver froze; his fingers hovering a few inches above a shotgun which lay across the dashboard. Tuấn pulled back the pistol's hammer. The driver cried out, raising his palms in front of his face.
'Shut up, get out!' Tuấn growled.
'Shit!' said Minh.
The sounds of struggle from the shop ceased.
Tuấn squeezed the trigger. Red splashed the cab’s passenger side window. The driver was thrown across the seats. Tuấn spun about, brandishing the pistol. He was faced by five traitors; all wearing the green uniform with the yellow star armband. Most wore green military style baseball caps. All carried the striped baton. None of them moved. He heard Thuỳ and Lâm's shoes slap the tarmac as they raced down the road.
The shopkeeper lay on the ground in a foetal position with one bloodied hand cradling his forehead. He looked up at Tuấn with one eye, the other being a swollen bloodied mess. The shop was less than half the size of Lâm's workshop. Goods scattered the floor; boxes of washing powder, toothpaste tubes, magazines pages strewn about. Everything a store stocks except food.
'Are you okay, anh?' Tuấn called out.
The shopkeeper nodded. His wife cowered at the rear of the shop, clutching a stained pillow to her chest. Beside her a moped lay on its side- presumably their vehicle which they kept inside the shop.
Thuỳ rushed to Tuấn's side, pointing her pistol at the enemy. The barrel drooping toward the ground as her thin arms struggled to keep the heavy weapon aimed straight. One of the traitors dropped his baton and fell to his knees. Clasping his hands in prayer.
'Please, anh! Don't kill us! We're Vietnamese!'
'Idiot, that makes it worse!' Minh snarled.
Batons clattered as they were all dropped. The volunteer police held their hands aloft in surrender.
'The Chinese made us wear these uniforms,' a cowering young man squealed.
'Don't lie!' Minh spat, 'they didn't make you beat and rob this old man.'
Tuấn looked at the faces of their captives; a youth of about twenty, paralysed with fear, his lips peeled back over his gums in a horrific grin. A girl; short, a little plump. Her face mostly hidden in the shadow of her peaked cap. She tried to inch behind her comrades. The first to surrender had his hair shaved at the sides and gelled into spikes on the top. He wore trainers instead of army boots. The next was aged around thirty, with nervous eyes darting from one captor to the next. The last was short burly guy in his mid-twenties with shirt sleeves rolled up, his flat impassive face betrayed no fear, his eyes narrowed at his captors.
'What do we do?' Lâm whispered.
'Let us go! We won't say anything,' the spike-haired youth begged.
'I said shut up!' Minh stepped forward jabbing the pistol barrel at him.
Tuấn licked his lips. They were Vietnamese; by appearance like any other. They could be his friends, neighbours, fellow students. They disgusted him. They'd given up the right to call themselves Vietnamese. Cowards, bullies, thieves. Traitors.
'What do you want to?' Lâm repeated.
'Please, just let us go,' the youth persisted.
Tuấn shot him.
The youth was splayed backwards. Flecks of blood peppering the shop ceiling and wall. Someone cried in alarm. The girl shrieked. A black, coin-sized hole in the centre of the youth's forehead oozed a trickle of blood. A pool of crimson spread over the tiles from the back of his skull.
Tuấn noticed Minh staring at him with eyes bulging with shock and disbelief. Tuấn glowered at him. What was his problem? He’d pressed for a decision, now he had it. 'We execute them.'
The burly one snatched the nearest item from the store- a small plastic basket of clothing pegs. He hurled it at Tuấn. The same instant launching himself at his nearest opponent; Minh. His hand closed around Minh's pistol yanking it upwards- almost wrenching it from his grasp. With his free hand the traitor grabbed Minh's hair, jerking his head back. The violent motion flinging Minh’s glasses from his face.
Tuấn took aim. Wary of the proximity of his friend, he hesitated. The burly traitor's eyes widened, fixed on the gun. He yanked Minh by the hair; trying to put the flailing student between him and his would-be executioner. Too late. Tuấn squeezed the trigger. Blood erupted from the turncoat’s neck. He loosed his grip on Minh, who collapsed to the floor.
The wounded traitor lurched forward. Clutching his neck with both hands; blood spraying between his fingers in great spurts. The blood stream jetted over Minh's shirt and as far as to splash Tuấn's jeans. His fingers failed to contain the gushing. Even with the remaining moments of life erupting from his neck, the traitor continued to stumble toward his killer. A gurgling sound came from his throat.
Tuấn stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Striking the thug's forehead with the pistol butt sending him tumbling to his knees. Three more strikes brought him down. The thug’s red hands fell limp. The blood-flow reduced to a slow leak. He stared; dead eyes wide and disbelieving of his fate.
Tuấn held the pistol up as if to strike again. Slowly he lowered his arm. His shoes and jeans were stained dark. His right arm up to the elbow soaked red.
'Troi oi!' Minh stared at Tuấn in stunned horror.
Tuấn blinked, shook his head, and turned to the remaining prisoners. The three of them were standing as dumbfounded and horror stricken as Minh. Clinging to each other. The female's mouth gaped in silent scream.
Lâm blinked constantly as if he might flutter the scene away. Thuỳ stood beside him, arms at her sides, her pistol close to slipping from her loose grip as her terror filled eyes struggled to take in the scene. The beaten shopkeeper had crawled across the floor to his cowering wife. He glowered at Tuấn, his arms protective around his wife.
'Anh, take your wife and go. Go to wherever you hid your foodstuffs and don't come back... Thuỳ, train your weapon on the traitors.'
Nobody moved or made a sound.
'Thuỳ!' Tuấn walked to her, snatching her pistol. She jumped with a start as if snapped from a daydream. Tuấn snatched her wrist and slapped the pistol grip into her palm. Her fingers closed around it's handle. She struggled to gather herself, sucking in breath.
'Thuỳ! Cover the prisoners!'
She nodded. Raising the weapon, her arms trembling.
'Anh, go please,' Tuấn urged the shopkeeper, 'soldiers could arrive any moment.'
The shopkeeper pulled his shaking wife to her feet. Minh helped him pick up the moped. The man seemed to glare at Tuấn through his one good eye. His wife kept her face averted, her arm firmly clasped around her husband.
Tuấn waited for the moped to start up and bump off the curb before turning his attention back to the traitors. The three condemned prisoners huddled together, shivering. At least one whimpered.
'Please...' one of them begged. Tuấn wasn't sure which.
'I want to save ammunition on the assault rifle,' Tuấn muttered, 'just use pistols. Minh, line up.'
Minh stepped beside Thuỳ; levelling his weapon on the traitors. The three militia cowered. Gritting their teeth against the inevitable.
Tuấn cleared his throa
t. 'You three are guilty of supporting the illegal Chinese occupation. Guilty of attacking civilian property. Guilty of taking up arms against your countrymen. Guilty of treason. The sentence can only be death.'
Thuỳ still struggled to keep her barrel up. She looked to Tuấn with an expression as imploring and desperate as those of the condemned. Sweat trickled from her temple and over her cheek. Tuấn shook his head.
'On my order…' Taking two deep breaths, he pointed his pistol at the writhing jumble of limbs before him. His barrel levelled at the head of one of the men. He turned his face, aiming through his peripheral vision.
'Fire.'
He squeezed the trigger four times. He saw the flash of Minh's weapon. Only after he fired his last shot did he see Thuỳ's barrel flare. Her aim was low. She closed her eyes the moment she pulled the trigger. Tuấn saw the impact of her shot on the tiles. Tuấn put his hand over her barrel and lowered her arms. She sucked in shuddering breaths. Dropping the pistol, her hand went to her chest. She stumbled backward; almost falling off the curb. Lâm steadied her, hooking his arm around her waist he guided her away from the scene of the onslaught.
There was movement among the bodies; it was the girl. She groaned. Half covered by the body of the spectacled militiaman; his cheek resting on her shoulder. Tuấn pointed the pistol at her head and pulled the hammer back. Her eyes flicked open. She didn't say anything, just stared at him. He couldn't read any expression in her eyes. He thought of a deer looking at a hunter aiming his rifle; knowing it stood no chance; it stood still because it accepted its fate. He tightened his grip. Willing himself to pull the trigger. The gun felt heavy in his sweaty palm. The girl coughed. Blood flecked her lips, but her eyes remained fixed on him. Tuấn felt a hand on his arm.
'Screw her. Let's go.' Minh gently pushed him.
Tuấn stood firm. His trigger finger tensed. He eased the hammer back in place. Perhaps it was enough.
'Yeah, forget her.'
Lifting the front of his t-shirt he slipped the barrel back into his waistband. The girl continued to stare as he stepped away. Her gaze remained focused where he'd stood a moment before. He allowed Minh to steer him from the slaughterhouse. He stooped to pick up Thuỳ's pistol. A few steps away from the shop they quickened their pace.
The March of the Dragons Page 23