She turned the bag upside down, emptying the contents. Her nimble fingers snapped up the scissors. Minh's sticky blood soiled the shirt onto his skin. There was some resistance as she tried to lift it. She cut the shirt open to the neck, then peeled the two halves aside.
Picking a clean rag from her supplies she wiped away some of the blood, revealing a hole about 2cm in diameter below his ribcage. A little blood still seeped from the wound. That was good. It meant his heart was still beating.
'Turn him on his side,' she said.
Tuấn pushed him by the shoulder while Lâm gently rolled him at the waist. She leaned over Minh. Finding a hole in his back; the entry wound. The bullet had passed right through. That was good- unless it had nicked his intestine or kidney. Either of which was beyond her ability to fix. She just need to stitch him up.
She looked at the droplets leading a trail out of the temple. He'd been bleeding for some minutes. He could've lost two litres of blood. Maybe more. He'd need a hospital. First she had to stop the bleeding. No- first check the breathing!
'Turn him onto his back again,' she said.
Placing her cheek near Minh's lips, she felt a feint breath from his nostrils. She checked his mouth for blockages and turned his head back to the side.
'Keep his head like that. It'll stop him choking.'
She turned her attention back to the wound. She picked the water bottle out of the pile of supplies and upended it over the wound. She rubbed her fingers around the hole, trying to clean it. Blood continued to seep.
The eyes of the other two felt heavy on her. She licked her lips. Thinking the process through in her mind. She'd never trained in how to fix a bullet wound. She had a first aid certificate; the result of half a day's tuition, and some knowledge of herbal remedies and simple treatments her grandmother had taught her years ago. The rest of her medical knowledge was from watching medical dramas on TV. Despite it all, she would save Minh's life. First stabilise him. Then consider the next step.
Her hand hovered around the scattering of supplies, searching. Then snatching up a blue tube, she hurriedly unscrewed the top. Superglue; it wasn't perfect, but it worked as a haemostatic. She squeezed the tube onto the wound like toothpaste- emptying half the content. She grabbed up a roll of gauze, holding it out to Lâm.
'Press this on the wound.'
He did as instructed while she hurriedly cut masking tape to stick the gauze into place. She’d bind his torso with bandages once the exit wound was plugged.
'The glue will stop the bleeding. I've got to the do the back. Turn him over.'
She looked up at Tuấn. His lips were pressed in a thin white line. He nodded. The boys rolled Minh onto his stomach with his cheek resting on the floor. She squeezed the remains of the tube into the exit wound.
‘He’ll need proper treatment soon. If blood loss doesn’t get him, sepsis could set in.’
She placed her thumb and forefinger around Minh's wrist. She felt nothing. With her index finger on his neck under the jaw she felt a feint pulse. He was weak. He'd need blood or plasma fast.
The boys lifted Minh into a sitting position as she wrapped a bandage around his torso. The strips were narrow; only two inches wide, so she used an entire roll. Only a small amount of red showed through the bandaging. Either the glue worked or he was running out of blood. Minh was lain back down with his head in Tuấn's lap.
'He needs blood. A transfusion,' she said.
'Can you do it?'
Tuấn's question shocked her.
'What? I have a first aid certificate! I'm not Dr Quinn!... I could, I suppose make up an IV... but by the time we source the materials it'll be too late. We don't know what blood type he is.'
'What else can we do?
'He needs a Doctor.'
Tuấn's face contorted. She read in it; 'so what the hell use are you?'
'What can you do?' he said.
She shrugged. 'I think I stabilised him, but he lost a lot of blood. We don't know what damage has been done inside.'
Tuấn sighed. 'It’ll take too long to move him,' he muttered, 'maybe someone can be brought here?'
Lâm cursed under his breath. He stood at the doorway. Assault rifle in hand. Cigarette hanging from his lip. 'I don't know any Doctors. Do either of you?'
Tuấn shook his head no. Thuỳ paused before shaking her head.
'Hey, why is he unconscious?' Lâm asked, suddenly alarmed, 'you didn't sedate him.'
'Blood loss has weakened him.'
'He'll die tonight if we can't get him treatment?' Tuấn said.
Thuỳ looked over Minh's prostate body. His skin tone and lips looked lighter. The blood loss was bad.
'Yes,' she answered finally.
'Okay,' Tuấn lifted Minh's head from his lap and lowered it to the carpet. 'I'm going to go find help. You two stay here.'
'That's suicide! Where would you even go?' Lâm said, barring the exit.
Thuỳ leaned over Minh. Touching his face. His skin felt clammy. She frowned. She lowered her cheek over his mouth. After a few seconds she still felt no breath. With a rapidly escalating dread she picked up his wrist. No pulse. She felt his neck; nothing.
The boys watched with confused expressions.
She pressed hard on Minh's chest three times. Nothing happened. Holding his nose, she blew into his mouth. Again she put her cheek to his mouth. Nothing. The procedure worked on TV... usually. She felt for the pulse at his neck again. She looked up at Tuấn. He winced as if in pain.
She swallowed. Her lower lip quavered.
'He's dead.'
Huy
23rd March, 23:45
'Hey, drop that stupid helmet. You look Chinese!' Huy hissed.
Vân narrowed her eyes, while a smile hovered on her lips. She always looked at him in a superior way, but she was still the best looking girl at the University. He'd kept the image in his mind of her wearing the white Ao-Dai he'd seen her in during some dignitary's visit the previous year. She looked like a supermodel. Even in flat shoes, jeans, and a bullet proof vest she looked gorgeous. She unbuckled the scavenged helmet and set it down by her feet. Revealing her long dark hair, tied in a simple ponytail.
'Phượng will be okay,' he said.
'I know.'
He regretted leaving Phượng behind. He'd come to like her, but with her aside he was in charge of the cell. The medic had examining her diagnosed perforated ear drums, dizziness and hearing loss. He consigned her to bed rest in a house near the market which served as a makeshift field hospital. Phượng hadn't protested as much as he'd expected.
'We attack on my order,' The Captain whispered.
Fourteen combatants remained for the second stage of the fight- eliminate traitors occupying the district police station. The fighters were encouraged by their initial success. The Captain declared the body count among enemy forces as forty-eight killed. Vietnamese casualties were four dead and six wounded. A total victory boosted by the arsenal they acquired from fallen foes.
The station stood five stories high. Painted creamy-yellow and surrounded by a perimeter wall obscuring direct view of the entrance. The Vietnamese flag hung beneath the red police sign.
A flat-bed police truck was parked outside the station; the type the police used to transport impounded bikes or prisoners. Five green uniformed Volunteer police were on the back of the truck- shouting to their comrades still inside the station to hurry. Huy presumed they planned to flee to the protection of the Chinese.
'Let's move!' the Captain urged.
They group advanced. Tucked against the buildings. Trying to conceal their presence until the last possible moment.
'Spread out!' The Captain hissed.
A Chinese soldier stepped out of the police station and immediately spotted the scrum of fighters fast approaching. He jolted and cried in alarm, then was flung back in a flash of automatic gunfire.
'Fire!' the Captain cried belatedly.
Bullets rattled the truck. Traitors
fell under the hail of lead. In a few seconds Huy had unloaded half of his magazine into the truck.
They charged. Urged on by the Captain. Wounded enemies were riddled with bullets were they lay. No quarter would be spared for traitors. The stricken PLA soldier struggled to sit up; the bullets apparently absorbed by his flak jacket. He was shot in the torso again as a fighter ran past. Crying out the soldier raised his hands defensively as the next fighter approached. This time the stream of bullets passed through his arms; embedding in his torso and face.
Huy looked behind to make sure Vân and Dũng stayed close. Rebels poured into the police station. Cries of fright and pleas for mercy were met with the familiar tatatatat of automatic gunfire.
Huy held up his hand to stop his two companions. 'It sounds like chaos. Maybe we should wait outside.'
'What?' Dũng was incredulous.
'All that's in there are unarmed traitors. We're at more risk of getting shot by our own. Did you see how wildly some of those guys shoot?'
Dũng's face contorted as he considered Huy's point.
Vân's cheek tensed in a sneer. She barged past him. Huy snatched her arm.
'Get out of my way!' She tugged her arm free of his grip.
'Dammit!' He rushed after her. Was she so desperate to execute? He still thought about the Chinese he killed at the roadblock. Killing unarmed Vietnamese was much worse. It was better to save ammo for the soldiers.
Inside the station the tiled floor was smeared and splashed with blood. Blots of red stained walls above crumpled bodies in their green boiler suits. Some looked like they might've been barely 19 years old. Some were girls. Gunshots echoed through the corridors. It was a mistake for the Chinese not to arm their minions with anything greater than a stick. He stopped Vân again with a hand on her shoulder. She turned on him with a scowl.
'What do you want, Vân? There's nothing for us here. Save the ammo.'
She sighed. Her face relaxed and she nodded.
He smiled, patting her shoulder. He contemplated a hug but didn't want to push his luck. Not while she held an assault rifle.
A light flooded through the windows. Lighting the interior like day. Shielding his eyes, Huy turned toward it. Dropping his weapon, he tackled Vân at the waist, sending them both to the ground.
'Get down!' he shouted for Dũng's benefit.
He heard the throbbing of helicopter rotor blades. He'd heard it before the light but dismissed the sound as his allies’ gunfire. Vân squirmed. He gripped her wrists and pinned her down.
They were exposed in the open foyer. The front desk of the police station was just to his left. The corpse of the desk officer slumped in the chair behind it, with his blood and brains splattered on the wall.
'Vân, behind the desk-move!'
He lifted himself off her and hoped she had the sense to follow his direction.
'They tracked us!' Dũng screamed. He stumbled as he fled through a doorway leading deeper into the station. His voice carried down the corridor as he ran. 'Help! They're tracking me!'
Vân scrambled across the floor and behind the desk. Huy followed. Crawling as fast as he could. Could the desk really offer any protection? Maybe they should've followed Dũng.
Whoooosh!
It sounded like a firework. By the time he realised what the sound was, the explosion was already tearing through the building. The floor shook. Ceiling tiles collapsed. The desk shuddered. He tried shield his head from flying chunks of masonry, splinters of wood and billions of granules of grit. Vân lay beside him in a foetal position. Her body faded into the mass of dust. He lurched forward. Covering her head with his torso.
Whoooosh!
He squeezed his eyelids shut. The floor trembled. The second explosion tore through the building somewhere above. He coughed. Blinded by dust and chalky grit that swept through the foyer, carried by the force of the explosion.
The resonating pulse of machine gun fire; much more forceful than assault rifles, shook the building with tumultuous punches. Hammering high velocity bolts through the walls. Huy feared the building would shake apart.
The cessation of firing when it came seemed ethereal. He dared looked up, gasping for breath. Dust obscured everything other than the foggy light from the helicopter. He heard Vân coughing, and outside the whirr of the helicopter's rotor blades. The helicopter could start shooting again any moment.
Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed Vân under her armpits, pulling her up. He wasn't sure where his weapon was. There wasn't time to search. He rubbed his stinging eyes. Disoriented, he couldn't see the corridor which Dũng escaped through. The building croaked and groaned. A splintering snap threatened further collapse. They had to get out, but which way?
Vân clung to him with one arm. Her hair turned grey from the grit. He held onto her while her body was wracked by a coughing fit. He blinked. Debris and dust covered everything. The only clear way out was the way they'd come. Did they have a choice? The building could collapse any second. He hesitated. He couldn’t leave without Dũng.
The grinding crush of collapsing rubble changed his mind. He had to get Vân outside. Then he could try to reach Dũng. If the helicopter was out of ammunition, maybe they could hide or run.
He guided Vân toward the hazy light. His feet kicked against debris. He caught Vân as she stumbled. With his free hand he waved at the dust. The light grew in brilliance as they emerged from chalky fog. His clogged lungs struggled to take in fresh air. The helicopter's spotlight blinded sight of everything ahead of him. Huy raised his arm to shield his eyes.
He looked behind at the devastation. The station’s top floors had almost completely collapsed into the floors below. Had Dũng made it out? Had anyone? The helicopter had mercilessly destroyed the building despite being occupied by their Vietnamese allies. How had the Chinese even known their enemies were inside? Their response was so fast.
'We've got... to get out of here,' Vân sputtered.
The spotlight centred on them. Wreckage around them offered little protection. Crumbling walls threatened to crush them.
A Chinese voice blasted through a loudspeaker. He couldn't understand the words but assumed it translated as 'freeze, assholes!'.
'We're trapped,' Vân said. Her fingers tightened on his shirt.
'Can you run?'
The light from the helicopter lifted from them, instead searching the wreckage of the police station. Huy blinked, still dazzled by the glare.
'Come on!' He pushed her. She kept hold of his shirt. They'd be slower moving while clinging together. Why wouldn’t she leg go?
‘Too late,’ she sighed.
Huy’s eyes were readjusting to the dark. He could make out the outline of two large armoured vehicles parked side by side- blocking the road. Silhouettes of turret mounted machine gunners training weapons on the two survivors. At least a half dozen soldiers on foot aimed weapons on them. The loudspeaker repeated its command.
Huy pulled Vân close. They stood fast. There was no escape.
A trio of soldiers advanced. Huy put his left hand in the air. His right arm was unwilling to release Vân. It was no use to fight while unarmed and with nowhere to run.
'Put your hands up,' he urged Vân. Still she clung to him with one arm. With her other hand she rubbed dirt from her eyes.
One soldier stopped before them. The others moved either side of their captives. Huy saw from his peripheral vision a rifle pointed at his neck. Its tip barely a metre away. Too near to miss, too far to grab. A glance to his right showed the third soldier's gun similarly trained on Vân.
The soldier ahead motioned downward with the barrel of his weapon; indicating them to kneel. Keeping hold of Vân he lowered to his knees. She seemed to resist at first, remaining upright. He pulled on her belt and she knelt.
'Hands up!' A soldier shouted in English.
Reluctant to let go of Vân, Huy slowly raised his hands. At least it didn’t look like they were going to be executed.
'Hand
s up!' the soldier to their front repeated.
Vân had only raised her right hand. She regarded the soldier with a defiant glare. Huy realised he'd come to admire her as a strong woman. A fighter. Not just a beauty. She was perfect. He'd been an ass to her.
'Vân, put your hand up!'
Her left arm swung up. He saw her pistol in her hand the same instant he heard the shot. The flash of gunfire seared the image into his eyes of her body twisting away from him. Red spraying from where her beautiful face had been. His eyes reflexively shut as he felt wet splash his face. He knew she was dead before she hit the ground.
He couldn't bare to open his eyes. He heard a bizarre whimper like a mortally wounded animal. He knew it came from his own throat. Something heavy struck the back of his head, knocking him face first to the ground. He felt instantly groggy. Rough hands pinned his hands behind his back. The back of his head felt wet and sore, but already he couldn't remember why. Something sharp bit into his wrists.
Where was he? Was he dreaming? Dead? He held the image of a girl. Her hair scattered like a handful of hay stalks thrown into the air. It was a horrible image. Her head split in two. Erupting like a volcano spewing red liquid over him. Sleep was preferable to such an image. As unseen hands pushed and pulled his body he allowed the darkness to take him.
Timothy
24th March, 00:00
From his room Tim saw a convoy of a dozen troop transport vehicles speed past the Opera house and off down Le Loi street. Whatever was going on, it wasn't in District 1. When the journalists staying at the hotel had ventured downstairs the nervous guards had yelled to return to their rooms.
'Pull the curtains closed. You'll attract attention!' Nancy groaned. She sat on the bed. Dressed in a nightgown clutching a pillow to her chest.
'Don't worry. There's nothing out there. Maybe a whiskey for the nerves?'
The March of the Dragons Page 30