The March of the Dragons

by Andrew McAuley

  The shower door slid open and Nancy stepped in, smirking. Her arms wrapped around him. Her body slapped against his. She kissed him hungrily. Her fingers running through his hair.

  'I love you,' she whispered.

  'Me too.' It seemed wrong for him to use the ‘L’ word. He would almost certainly abandon her at some point near or far. He’d make some sort of arrangement with the Chinese on her behalf. They might even let him take her with him one day, but it would make for awkward questions back home.

  They remained in the shower long enough for fingertips to wrinkle. When they emerged the glass was misted and the floor and walls wet with condensation. He wrapped a large bath towel them. They continued kissing. Nancy bit his lip and giggled at his small cry of pain. Pulling away from her he handed her a fresh towel which she tied around herself. He draped his towel over his shoulders, heading back to the bedroom.

  'Nancy. We need to get ready. It’s almost eight.'

  The Chinese had given him a shirt to wear for the occasion; a traditional style Vietnamese shirt in a white-grey pattern with four duffle fastenings. It was a good fit; he presumed Chinese snooping extended to checking his shirt size. His cream coloured Chinos went well with the shirt. His blue trainers didn't but they worked better than flip-flops or hiking boots. By the time he was dressed, Nancy was only just stepping into her white dress.

  'Come on… I don't want those sods knocking to hurry us.'

  'So you hurry me in their place? Zip up my back.'

  She lifted her hair as he ran the zip up. She turned to the mirror. Smiling at him in their reflection. 'We look good together.'

  'Yes, we do.’ He kissed her neck. ‘Let’s dazzle `em.’

  She slipped on delicate, white high-heel shoes with a flower motif on the toe. She looked very elegant. The dress reached halfway to her knees; it was sleeveless but with a high collar, with light blue lining and a small flower pattern down the right side. She tied her hair into a bun and carefully painted her lips red. She looked ready for a wedding rather than a Chinese propaganda event.

  They linked arms as he escorted her down to the foyer. Faces turned to the couple as they descended the stairs. Tim felt like he was going to Cinderella’s ball and he was the Scottish Prince charming. The other journalists were already gathered along with a number of military personnel in dress-uniforms emblazoned with medals, gold stars and pompous epaulettes. There were also about dozen dressed in black combat trousers and polo-shirts with no identifying markers. They were dotted around like security agents which is what Tim made them out for.

  The minder stood near the bottom of the steps; dressed in the same black outfit as the security detail. He made a show of looking at his watch. Tim glanced it his own; they were still two minutes early. Perhaps their crime was being the last to arrive.

  Ha Nguyen stood out in a stunning black and red traditional Vietnamese Ao-Dai. She'd clearly spent time applying her make up. The male journalists wore smart-casual clothes. The hotel staff kept their eyes down; not wanting to attract any attention. Outside the hotel some twenty or more battle ready soldiers lined the pavement.

  Pierre winked at them. He wore a bright yellow shirt with a polka dot bow-tie. Presumably he’d refused a traditional Vietnamese shirt. His gaudy dress was probably driving the officers mad. Tim was about to greet him when the youngest looking officer with the least amount of medals clapped his hands. 'Attention please! Major Liu Quing will now address you!'

  The gathered dignitaries shuffled into a circle, into which stepped a middle aged man with creased features and flecks of grey in his hair. Officers applauded him. He waved stiffly. Removing his peak cap his fingers ran through his thinning hair.

  'Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I am Major Liu Quing from the headquarters of the 86th Amphibious Mechanized Infantry Division. I'm here to deliver your instructions for the day.'

  Nancy slipped her fingers through Tim's. Giving his hand a light squeeze. They exchanged cheeky smiles. She was excited; it wasn't every day she got to dress nicely for TV cameras.

  'Today,' the Major sputtered, 'please do your jobs; those who take photographs- take photographs. Those who write... write. Those of you from the radio know the use of our facilities has been arranged. We have made everything simple for you. Miss Ha is the only one who will directly interview officials. Agreed questions have been prepared. The rest of you are to observe and report. Follow the direction of the assigned officers to letter, and please enjoy!'

  The Major paused for the applause of the Chinese staff officers.

  'Be careful not to photograph any military vehicle or armed personnel. Only those in dress uniform who are part of the occasion. All photographs and film will be submitted to your assigned guardians for our edification. Anyone deliberately documenting anything unrelated to the event will have their Visa revoked and will be ejected from the country.'

  The Major droned on with warnings and instructions. Tim let his eyes wander around the room; when they passed the minder he noticed his stare was fixed on him. What was that guy's problem?

  'Hey,' he whispered to Pierre, 'you know that guy?'

  Pierre grunted. 'Oh yes. When I was first brought into the fold, that unpleasant little man was in charge of looking into all of my personal affairs.'

  'What is he? The Asian James Bond?'

  Pierre chuckled- drawing an irksome look from the young officer who had introduced the Major.

  'More like bond villain,' he lowered his voice, speaking from the side of his mouth, 'he's with the Chinese secret service. I thought he was either a homophobe or a severely repressed gay, but I see he likes you just as much as he does me.'

  'Prick gives me the creeps.'

  Feeling a sharp prod in his ribs, he turned to face one of the black clad henchmen. He said nothing just stared at Tim with the same intensity that the minder had. The message was clear. Tim turned his attention back to the Major who was running through the day's itinerary.

  'After the balloon launch… we will retreat to the Opera House which has been prepared as a banquet hall for two hundred guests. You all have allocated seats, labelled in English. After the dinner we will have a speech from General Xu Junshan, and the interim president of Vietnam will deliver a message by video link.'

  It wasn't going to be a fun day for any of the journalists other than perhaps Ha. She would be in her element; presenting the whole event live on TV for audiences in Vietnam and China. It wouldn't be surprising if clips made TV news internationally.

  'From 6pm until 7.30pm there will be entertainment in the form of music from traditional Vietnamese and Chinese artists. The finale will be a firework display after which you will be escorted back to this hotel.' The Major gave a curt nod, signalling the end of his instructions.

  Tim decided the chance of sneaking off early was slim. He'd likely have to endure the whole 11 hours. He was more interested in his arrangement with Lt.Zhang; he'd only spoken briefly about his moral dilemma regarding the occupation. He promised they'd poke around places where officially he couldn't go. Even offering help sneaking sensitive photographs out of the country. Tim considered the possibility that it was a ruse to get him to give up any such pictures, but the Lieutenant had shown him the staged battleground full of bodies of executed POW's.

  Soldiers escorted the journalists out of the hotel to where they'd be spending the rest of the day. There was no need to jump in an armoured convoy this time. The whole event was to be held right on the doorstep. Tim had seen the preparations being made over the previous day; they'd progressed pretty quickly. Perhaps the quicker the event was organised, the less time insurgents had to plan an attack.

  'It looks like Tet,' Nancy said as they walked into the street, arms linked.

  'Yeah, but new year has never been so well armed,' Tim mumbled.

  The grand opera house had been decorated with a huge banner which declared in Chinese, Vietnamese and English; 'Peace in Saigon celebration'. Bright flowers lined
the steps up to the opera house. Chinese and Vietnamese flags hung over the entrance.

  A wooden stage had been erected in front of the opera house steps; standing a metre and half off the ground and covered in red cloth. It ran across the entire frontage of the opera house. Enough seating had been set out on the stage for a hundred or more officials and personalities. A film camera was positioned at each of the front corners. Soldiers and Vietnamese staff in their green boiler suits were adding final touches; clusters of balloons, testing the microphone on the central podium, and tacking down wires to the huge speakers around the square.

  Facing the stage were rows of white chairs either side of a red carpet running up to the stage- providing enough seating for as many as two thousand people. A cordon bordered the seating from beyond which civilians would be free to watch. Parked around the outskirts of the square were the tank-like armoured cars. Tim counted six and was sure there would be more positioned out of sight.

  Performers for the ceremony were readying themselves among the landscaped hedges and bronze sculptures of the park opposite the Opera house. They were a colourful display of bright dresses, painted faces, flags, puppets, a Chinese dragon, and tuxedoed musicians.

  Banners and flags declaring eternal friendship and portraying the flags of the two nations hung like party streamers between the buildings surrounding the square. Looking above street level, it was not difficult to spot the security operation. Atop the Opera house, from the balconies of the Caravelle hotel, the windows of the Opera View mall, the Union square mall and from atop the Hotel Continental, were scores of soldiers. A pair of army helicopters made wide circles overhead.

  The younger officer herded the journalists toward the stage, walking backwards, he waved them on as if directing traffic. 'This way! This way, please. Miss Ha- you will sit on the front row. You others have your names on your seats over... there.' He pointed to the nearest edge of the stage; they were to be clustered into the front-corner of the stage where they could easily move forward to take photographs without interfering with the proceedings or getting in the way of the TV cameras.

  'You will be permitted to return to the hotel to gather cameras and recording equipment before the start of the event. All participants will be searched prior re-entering the square. Once it begins, nobody will be permitted to enter or leave until the event has concluded.'

  Nancy grinned. 'It's going to be wonderful, Tim. We'll be on TV- and you'll be famous for your photographs!'

  'Yeah… Hope it doesn't get rained off.'

  Nancy frowned; unsure if he were joking. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek which brought back her smile. He had thought to suggest that she remain in the hotel. He wasn't sure the Chinese would allow it, and she was so excited… he couldn't make her miss the event. However, he suspected that if there were insurgents still in the city, they'd not have to wait until evening for a grand firework display.

  Phượng

  28th March, 09:20

  'Pistols only,' Phượng said.

  There was no way they'd get into a military controlled area carrying the assault rifle which Lâm pulled from under a cluttered shelf in the workshop. The boys exchanged a look she'd seen several times between them. She ignored it. She had no wish to take over what was left of Tuấn's cell, but everything had to be done correctly. If that meant they had to take advice, instructions or orders from a girl; so be it.

  ‘I’ve already sorted the ammunition,’ Lâm said, ‘three full magazines and one clip with nine.’

  'We’ll take machine guns of their dead,' Phượng said, ‘just don’t waste bullets.’

  She caught that look between them again. She stuffed her pistol down the front of her denim shorts. Her vest was too tight to effectively hide the grip of the pistol so she stripped it off; selecting instead a loose-fitting t-shirt from among the small pile of clothes pilfered from the neighbour.

  She turned back to the boys; both were looking at the floor- embarrassed by the momentary flash of her bra. Were they that immature and unfocused? She glared at the pair of them. She thought Tuấn would be a good leader, but what had his group been doing? Didn't he say he just let Thuỳ go home?

  ‘Let’s run over the plan one last time,’ she said.

  ‘Uh… Ok,’ Lâm said, but his sigh and shrug betrayed his exasperation.

  ‘I think we get the plan,’ Tuấn said, ‘infiltrate the crowd. Find the most advantageous points to shoot from. Hit our two primary targets and get out.’

  She nodded. ‘Remember- don’t act until we have the advantage.’

  ‘The plan is to wing it really, isn’t it?’ Lâm said.

  Was he mocking her? She tutted. The plan was simple- yes they were winging it, but they had to act in concert.

  'If we shoot from the crowd,' Lâm said, 'it’s likely the Chinese will shoot blindly into the crowd.'

  'A crowd celebrating their puppet masters!' she snapped.

  The boys exchanged a quick glance.

  'Look... there'll be a confused delay before they start shooting. People will have time to get out the way.'

  Tuấn sucked in his cheeks. He looked doubtful.

  'You have a better idea?'

  He shrugged. 'No. Let’s scope it out when we get there… not act rashly.'

  'Fine.' That essentially was her plan. If it helped for him to think it was his idea, so be it.

  ‘Let’s walk to the rally,’ she said, ‘it’s difficult to drive with a gun down my knickers, and taking motorbikes makes us stand out more. Besides, it’s only a half hour walk to District One.’

  ***

  The morning sun felt warm on her skin. Normally she'd make sure she was covered up, but such things weren't important any more. They walked in nervous silence. There were some signs of life in the city; occasional motorbikes passed by as well as Chinese military vehicles. She was careful not to look directly at the soldiers or deliberately look away- an art perfected since the early days of the occupation.

  Approaching the crossroads of Le Thanh Ton and Dong Khoi they found one of the all too familiar military checkpoints. Two armoured vehicles each with a soldier in the turret. Another half dozen soldiers were in the road. Beyond the checkpoint was their destination.

  'Relax you two, or we'll get caught right here,’ she hissed, noting the tension in the stride and facial expressions of her companions.

  A queue of a dozen people waited to get past the checkpoint. Two soldiers patted down a teenager. Phượng watched the process intently. If the search was too thorough they might have to leave the queue and hope the soldiers wouldn’t stop them. Her mind searched for contingency options. It was futile to start a fight so soon- it would ruin their chance of disrupting the celebration.

  The soldier searching the youth slapped the back of his head to signal that he was cleared to pass. Phượng relaxed a little- realising she'd probably been as tense as the two boys.

  All who passed the checkpoint had the same treatment. One soldier watched while another patted them down, examined bags, and checked ID cards before waving them through. Many of those in the line looked downtrodden and hungry. One young girl tugged on her father's hand, asking when they'd be able to get the 'free food'. The city had been starved into submission. She recalled a quote from somewhere; deprive a society of two meals and there would be anarchy. Her city had been deprived of many meals. They'd gone past anarchy and come round to submission.

  'Look,' Tuấn said, nudging her.

  She followed his gaze. Casually walking past the next junction were two of the hated volunteer Police. At first she didn't see what the big deal was- then she noticed both were armed with what looked like AK-47 assault rifles. She stifled the frustrated cry threatening to escape her throat. The threat level of the thugs had been stepped up. The guns were probably from the city's military reserve stock; the AK-47 was a mainstay of the Vietnamese defence force. She hadn't seen a single Chinese soldier carrying one.

  It was her turn; the
soldier at the checkpoint beckoned her forward. She put her arms out to the sides so he could pat her down. The bulge at the front of her shorts felt obvious. She sucked in air to try to inflate her belly a little to help hide the gun.

  'ID!' the soldier snapped.

  She withdrew the card from her back pocket. The soldier barely glanced at it before waving her through. She silently thanked Buddha. She walked a little further from the checkpoint- not wanting to hover where soldiers might suddenly notice the creases in her shorts didn't look so natural. The boys soon caught up to her. They exchanged grins of relief as they approached.

  The whole of central District 1 had become pedestrianised. They walked down the middle of Dong Khoi street. Soldiers were stationed every twenty metres along the street. They stood casually but kept both hands on their assault rifles.

  Nearing the Opera house, Vietnamese classical music was being played while a friendly female voice gave instructions through a tannoy system.

  'All non-VIP's are instructed to please remain within the standing observation area. Our good soldiers are giving out free Vietnamese and Chinese flags so don't forget yours! Food distribution will take place during the intermission and at event closure. Remember to remain within the observation area- the boundaries are marked by the red rope for your own safety.'

  'Sounds like fun,' Tuấn grumbled.

  The plaza was packed. It was hard to see through the crowds and clusters of balloons and flags. Hundreds of citizens occupied the observation areas. Decorations streamed overhead. A large stage had been erected outside the opera house.

  A trio of female Chinese soldiers dressed in smart green uniforms with gold buttons were cheerfully ushering new arrivals toward the crowd. One held a large bunch of balloons and was careful to give one to each child. Another distributed miniature flags.