'I don't drink!'
He knew she didn't, but offering it was an excuse to pour himself one.
'Tim, come to bed.'
He put the top back on the decanter. He had only sniffed the liquor when three quick raps sounded a little tune on the door.
Nancy sank beneath the bedcovers. Pulling the sheets up to her neck. Tim recognised the cheerful knock. He swung the door open to greet the French journalist Pierre Grouchy. The lanky camp bastard was visibly half cut. He swayed on the spot. Holding an empty wine-glass with pinkie-finger extended.
'We’re going to the rooftop to watch the fireworks. Will you come?'
Tim doubted he even realised the glass was empty. Wearing a tweed jacket despite the heat, and with his bright bow tie and neatly trimmed moustache, Pierre Grouchy was a retro-hip-lefty straight out of the 1960's.
'The roof? Of course!' The guards were content to block the main entrance but they weren't watching the roof.
'No... stay!' Nancy cried.
Tim sighed. 'Look dear… try to get a little rest. I'll just take a peek. It's perfectly safe. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.'
He stepped outside- catching sight of her glare as he shut the door. Barefoot, he followed the Frenchman to the rooftop.
The other journalists were already gathered; Vassily Bogdanov, a radio broadcaster from Russia. He'd received favourable treatment for his pro-Chinese reports. The bubbly, young Ha Nguyen was the only Vietnamese journalist still active. She had quickly taken to her new overlords and openly referred to Vietnamese forces as insurgents. Her TV reports were repeated almost constantly. A pretty but naive girl. Then there was Mr Kim- an older man, an observer from North Korea. He didn't speak much English. He kept notes in a pocket book. He didn't ask many questions, but often dined with Chinese officers. Always standing erect. He was almost certainly ex-military. The flamboyant Pierre was the only one among the bunch that Tim could stomach.
In the distance little bursts of light were followed by a feint boom or crack akin to watching an approaching thunderstorm.
'It's a pity it's too far away to see anything good,' Ha said, looking through Vassily's binoculars.
'Oh, shut up. You stupid wretch!' Pierre snatched the binoculars- eliciting a cry of alarm from Ha. She looked to Vassily for support. He merely chuckled.
Tim joined them in drinking hotel wine and making uninformed and increasingly incoherent statements on the battle playing out to the north.
'The Vietnamese are foolish to come into the open and be destroyed wholesale,' Vassily said.
'Perhaps after this final great battle, we'll have peace!' Ha declared with a huge grin as if she expected everyone to cheer.
Mr Kim nodded. Vassily muttered.
'In the morning, our Chinese masters will summon us and tell us how they'd like us to report their great victory.' Pierre thoughtfully puffed on his pipe. 'As their lapdogs, we shall eat whatever shit they feed us.'
Ha frowned. She often struggled to comprehend Pierre’s accent. Vassily looked away- he did little to hide his contempt for the openly gay Frenchman.
The bombs and explosions began to abate sometime after 1am. The horizon still glowed. Helicopters and jets still flew sorties over the city, but the seconds between explosions stretched to minutes. Then finally just the occasional distant pop like the last few fireworks as guests were leaving the party.
Half drunk on expensive wine, Tim retreated to his room just before 3am. Nancy pretended to be asleep. He slipped into bed and put his arm around her. She stuck her elbow into his ribs.
'Alright then. Goodnight.' He turned away from her. A moment later easing into oblivion.
***
Sunlight leaked around the curtains. It felt too early to wake. Nancy was still asleep. Pressed against him. Her arm across his chest. The clock showed 6am. He listened to her gentle breathing. Enjoying the citrus scent her shampoo bestowed on her hair. He knew there would be an awkward time later. At first his interest in her was based on passion. He’d assumed it would pass. When the time came could he really leave her? His indiscretion wouldn't go down well back home, but home was far away. They might as well be on the moon.
Hammering on the door startled him. His head throbbed as he sat up. How much wine did he drink? Nancy jolted and clutched the bed sheets to her chest.
'Oh, sod off!' Tim shouted at the door.
'Open the door!' the accent was Chinese, but didn't belong to any of the officers he'd met.
With a metallic click the door was unlocked and flung open. A hotel staff member was pushed aside as a soldier in camouflage overalls and cap marched into the room. Red epaulets marked the intruder out as a junior officer. Aged about forty, portly; his face sagged giving him a sad appearance.
'You! Hurry with me!'
Tim slid out of the bed and stood fully naked.
'What the hell do you think you're doing marching in here?'
The officer's eyes lingered on Nancy before dropping to the floor.
'You are summoned.'
'Summoned is it?' Tim put his hands on his hips. 'Today's my day off. I was planning to stay in bed.'
The officer sneered but still couldn't look directly at the Scotsman.
'You work for People's Liberation Army. No day off.'
'Ah!' Tim demonstrated an exaggerated sigh. 'I don't recall drawing a wage from the PLA. I'm tired of being told what to report. What to photograph and when to stay in my bloody room.'
The officer met his gaze with narrowed eyes. 'All foreigner journalists will be brought to Divisional HQ for briefing. Failure to comply will result in Visa cancelled!'
Mumbling his dissatisfaction, Tim picked up his shirt. The dull ache in his head already subsiding. 'What about her?' he nodded towards Nancy. 'I don't speak Chink. I'll need her.'
'Bring her.'
The officer waited in the hall with his guards while Tim and Nancy dressed. They were then escorted outside the hotel where several Humvee type armoured cars waited. Soldiers ushered them into one alongside a young Chinese officer.
The convoy took off along a route Tim hadn't been seen before; across a long bridge into a less densely housed area of the city. The tower-blocks, villas and makeshift houses were interspersed between Clusters of vegetation and undeveloped dusty lots. Like much of the city, it was deserted.
'My home is not far from here,' Nancy murmured.
Tim yawned. Lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him.
'Wonder why we're going this way.'
'Avoid ambush. This way more safety!' The officer grinned while nodding excitedly.
'Oh.' Tim rested his forehead against the window. 'Well I'm going to get some shut eye. Wake me if we pass anything worth photographing.'
***
He woke groaning with Nancy shaking his arm. How long had he slept? It felt like minutes.
'We're here.' She said.
He noticed the sparsity of vehicles. On his previous visits there had been rows of tanks, APC's, trucks and helicopters. The small convoy pulled up outside the main administrative building. The other journalists from the hotel climbed out of two other vehicles. Together they were ushered before the Divisional commander in his command centre.
Staff officers filled the room. Dozens of support staff manned laptops from which they monitored and communicated with forces in the field. The journalists were encouraged to take photographs. Ha Nguyen's cameraman was a young Chinese soldier who she ordered around like her personal servant.
The commander stood at the head of a large table around which maps and counters marked out the PLA positions. The journalists were allowed a few minutes to soak up the determined atmosphere among the headquarters staff before an officer coughed into his palm and called for attention.
'I am Captain Wu. I will translate for General Xu Junshun.'
The General bowed at his introduction.
'Last night, insurgents launched their most earnest attack yet,' the interpreter droned, 'witho
ut thought or concern for the population, separatist forces attacked a number of civilian and military installations in and around the city.'
Vassily took as audio recording. Ha's cameraman filmed. Pierre and Kim wrote in notebooks. When Tim glanced at Pierre’s book he saw the Frenchman was creating a pornographic doodle.
'We fought a stalwart defence. Despite initial losses, total victory has been achieved. We estimate PLA and allied casualties at under a hundred. Insurgent casualties are over two-thousand. It is our belief the insurgency has been effectively annihilated.'
There was a long pause to allow the gathered journalists to take in the scope of the victory. Tim snorted; drawing a glare from several braided officers. Even without full possession of the facts it was clear that the statistics were another propaganda effort. They always played down the strength of insurgent forces yet claimed to have killed thousands.
'The newly elected Vietnamese Premier has signed a defence pact with China. Along with treaties on trade, resources and the future of the Vietnamese economy. Rebellious forces have been declared criminals to be tried under criminal law on charges of treason.'
Tim already heard about a new puppet president. Elected by an appointed committee of Chinese stooges. The translator referred to him as the Vietnamese premier- the chap was so obscure even the puppet masters didn't know his name. If assassinated, they could easily replace him and use the assassination as a pretext to assert additional controls.
The interpreter droned on. Repeating the General’s chest-puffing over how he'd defeated the rebellion. Tim's mind wandered. He pinched Nancy's bottom. She yelped. Heads turned scowling at her. Nancy nudged him. Ignoring the interruption, the interpreter asked if there were any questions. Ha Nguyen waved her hand while her cameraman moved to get a shot of her.
'Now that you've defeated the traitors, can we expect Ho Chi Minh City to return to peace?' she said with a cheerful smile.
The translator responded without referring to his superior. 'The city is now Saigon… returning to its previous name. Can you restate your question using the correct designation?'
Ha smiling obliged. Tim rolled his eyes.
'Thank you, Miss Ha. Most Vietnamese welcome us because China comes in peace. Unlike western forces in the middle East have failed to pacify the region after nearly two decades of occupation.'
Ha thanked him for his answer. Tim decided to plough ahead with the only question he had.
'How many civilians were killed during the airstrikes and artillery barrage?'
There followed a lot of tongue clicking, head shaking and frowns from the gathered officials and most of the journalists. Pierre gave a Tim a mischievous wink.
The interpreter conversed with the General for the best part of a minute. The General glared at Tim while the interpreter gave Tim his answer.
'The PLA are careful to target military forces. Regretfully, civilian casualties are unavoidable due to the insurgent tactic of infiltrating populated areas.'
'So the PLA response is to level the populated area. As we saw last night?'
The interpreter's face turned sour.
'You are mistaken, Mr Campbell. It was the Vietnamese army who shell civilian areas.'
'I thought the Vietnamese forces are insurgents now. Would you like to restate your answer using the correct designation?'
Nancy's nails dug into his arm. He was going too far. All eyes in the room were on him with disapproving expressions. Even Pierre pursed his lips. It was a mistake to openly challenge or embarrass the PLA, but he was tired of having his work edited and censored. Were his reports to the British press being laughed at? Was he reviled as a commie stooge? Were they published at all?
He stayed quiet during the remaining questions. The guards kept a close watch on him. Staff officers whispered to each other while looking his way. He regretted his outburst. The minder had inferred that Nancy could be in danger if he disappointed his masters.
Following the Q&A session, the journalists were ushered outside to their waiting vehicles. The interpreter introduced six cute Chinese girls wearing dress uniforms. Each carried a blue Kevlar vest and helmet for the journalists. Each helmet and vest were marked in bold white Chinese writing which they were informed marked them out as journalists. Tim figured that precaution was of little use as Chinese script was more likely to make them a target for the Vietnamese.
A small convoy of armoured APC's had parked behind the cars. Ha posed for photographs with some of the crews. She made peace signs while surrounded by grinning, gun-toting soldiers.
'Campbell!' a familiar voice called out. He didn't recognise Lieutenant Zhang at first; back in his black tank commander helmet.
'Oh, hi.' He felt odd greeting the Lieutenant. They were barely acquaintances.
The Lieutenant flicked his cigarette butt to the ground. 'Want a ride?'
'I thought you'd been promoted to divisional HQ. I'd expected to see you in the war-room meeting.' It was a small lie. He hadn't given the Lieutenant a second's thought.
Zhang shrugged. 'You have a saying. Easy come easy go.'
Tim cocked his head, perplexed. The Lieutenant had demonstrated divisive loyalties. Had he fallen out of favour already? Maybe they were more alike than he'd thought. 'It's still Lieutenant, isn't it?'
'It is.' Zhang snorted. He slapped the side of the APC. 'Come aboard. Bring your girl.'
'Is... it allowed?' Tim looked around at the staff officers and guards. Their attention was on Ha as she struck flirtatious poses with the rank-and-file.
'You want permission or you want some photographs?'
The Lieutenant surprised him again. Was he some kind of rebel who enjoyed courting controversy? Tim didn't think such a person would last long in the PLA.
Accepting the Lieutenant's invitation, he took the turret position beside Zhang. Nancy sat in the passenger compartment. Zhang insisted they both strap on the blue helmets before they set off. The two APC's behind Zhang's followed them out of the base.
'Where are we going?' Tim shouted over the grumbling engine.
'Somewhere interesting.'
An assault helicopter bristling with machine guns and missiles passed low over the convoy and along the road ahead.
'Helicopters now fly in close support for all sorties and patrols. To counter ambush,' Zhang explained.
Smoke still trailed into the sky from many points. A charred stench carried on the breeze. They passed through District 2, staying on the outskirts of the city.
'We’re taking the long route. Avoiding combat areas,' Zhang said.
'So the insurgency danger hasn’t quite finished.'
Zhang shrugged. 'Maybe.'
Tim squinted at the Lieutenant. He hadn't really worked the guy out. He seemed to have a personal agenda which he didn't care to reveal. Much of journey went without conversation. The Lieutenant's keen eyes ever searching for danger. Occasionally he ordered the driver to stop while he surveyed the road ahead through binoculars.
'Here we are,' Zhang said at last.
It had taken almost an hour to reach the destination. Tim knew immediately where they were. A helicopter hovered above the remains of a small base. Even as they approached, the stench of burning assaulted the nostrils. Tim lifted the front of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose. The stench like burned rubber and hair was impossible to completely blot out.
The base was set in a clearing atop a circular earthen mound about forty metres in diameter. Sandbags were piled around the perimeter and surrounded by coils of barbed wire; a modern-day motte and bailey castle. Debris lay strewn across the open ground between the tree line and the barbed wire. It wasn't until the APC was almost at the base that Tim realised that much of the debris were actually bodies.
There were scores of corpses dressed in mismatched military fatigues. Some missing limbs. He snapped photographs in black and white; it seemed to preserve their dignity a little in the same way that black and white nude photos are art rather than pornograph
y.
Two helicopters circled the base like vultures. A handful of soldiers were at work with shovels. Handkerchiefs covered their mouths. Tim wasn't sure if they were reconstructing the base or digging graves.
The trio of APC's halted at the base perimeter. Without waiting for the Lieutenant’s leave to do so, Tim climbed out of the turret. A side door on the APC opened up. One of the crew stepped out offering a hand to Nancy, who catching the stench slapped her hand over her mouth and nose.
'Stay inside!' Tim called out.
Without argument she ducked back inside. The crewman shut the door after her. Tim paced the outskirts of the base. Ignored by the soldiers, taking pictures as he pleased. After a few minutes, Zhang strolled after him, while puffing on a cigarette.
'This was forward-base Alpha. The first to be hit,' Zhang said. 'Forward bases are home to a platoon. Around thirty soldiers. None here survived. You won't see them. They're already removed.'
'How many bases were attacked?'
'All of them.'
Tim puffed the air out of his cheeks. The Lieutenant’s info belied the hundred casualties the General had conceded.
Inside the base lay ample evidence of battle; half of a twisted and blackened steel helmet, copper bullet casings all about, personal belongings scattered in the mud; photographs, boots, even a portable TV with a shattered screen. Zhang followed Tim on his grim tour.
'Interesting isn't it?' Zhang muttered.
'what?'
'It's interesting that with the ability to bombard the base, the Vietnamese would then make a suicidal attack against the remaining personnel.'
Tim didn't know how to respond. Zhang scrutinized him. Then sighing heavily, he turned his attention back to the battle scene.
'Such a brave stand would certainly outshine any... unfortunate events last night.'
'Why are you showing this to me?'
'Consider it a... how do you say, a scoop?' The Lieutenant shrugged. 'Your fellow journalists will be along a little later. Once the scene has been properly prepared.'
The Lieutenant stamped out his cigarette butt and stomped off down the hill. Tim watched him walk among the bodies. He knelt beside many. Was he looking for someone? Tim zoomed the camera lens to take a series of close-up shots of the peculiar officer.
The March of the Dragons Page 31