The March of the Dragons

by Andrew McAuley

  'Welcome to the peace in Saigon celebration!' The nearest girl happily exclaimed, 'it's very popular, so it may be hard to get a good view. Please be considerate and don't push!'

  Phượng smiled. A flag was pressed into her palm; it had the Chinese flag printed on one side and the Vietnamese flag on the other. The music and chatter from the crows helped masked their own conversation. Phượng tried to look natural; even giving the flag a little wave.

  'This is no good,' she growled, 'too many people. Kids too.'

  'Yeah, that was my thought,' said Lâm.

  'We need to get on the stage,' Tuấn said, ‘so we’re too close to the officers for snipers to take the chance.'

  'What snipers?' Lâm said, 'ohh... Troi oi!'

  Phượng noticed them the same moment- atop every building and at many of the windows. There must have been a hundred of them watching the plaza. Only at ground level they kept their numbers light.

  'Looks like they're relying on snipers,' she said, 'there aren’t any soldiers inside the plaza. That's their weakness! If we can get to the stage, we have a chance.'

  'You're forgetting one thing,' said Lâm.

  She arched her eyebrow.

  'How are we getting out?'

  She had no answer. She hadn't given it a thought. Lâm nodded knowingly. She averted her eyes. He put his face close to hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

  'You haven't thought of a way out because you aren't planning to get out. All you want is to kill.'

  'Back off.' Tuấn put his hand on Lâm's arm, giving him a warning look. 'We're getting out. We just need a plan. We've only just glimpsed the set up.'

  Someone bumped Phượng, she scowled at his back as he pressed on through the crowd. She noticed the guy was dressed all in black. She'd seen another dressed identically moments before. Looking about the crowd she spotted another.

  'Uh, guys... there are soldiers in the crowd.' She nodded toward one of the black clad men then another. Tuấn cursed under his breath. One stood near the balloon girl, with a gun holster visible just to the right of his belt buckle.

  'Makes things harder,' Lâm mumbled.

  'No,' Phượng said, ‘we expected soldiers. If they’re dispersed among the crowd it’ll put the enemy off firing blindly.’

  'We still don't have an escape plan.' Lâm shot her a scowl.

  'Ok...' Tuấn said, licking his lips. 'It's a long shot... We storm the stage, eliminate the targets. Take a couple of hostages. Head into the opera house. There’s a door on the side at the basement level facing the Caravelle hotel. That's how we get out.'

  'You're right,' Lâm nodded his agreement. 'It is a long shot. A very long shot.'

  'We'll work something out,' Phượng said, 'it’s a long ceremony. We don't have to act right away. Let's just get to the front and observe.'

  They pushed through the crowd. As most had come for the food, not many were overly concerned with front-row views, so she was able to squeeze through with relative ease. Within a few minutes they were at the cordon as near to the stage as they could get.

  Looking down the line to her right she spotted three of the black-clothed agents at the front of the crowd. A central VIP viewing area was packed with rows of seats facing the stage; occupied by smartly dressed civilians and officers in an array of dress uniforms. There was a disproportionate amount of female soldiers in the VIP area; few she’d seen among front-line troops had been female, yet as many as half the soldiers in the VIP area were female.

  A second public standing area on the opposite side of the plaza was equally crowded. At the nearest corner of the stage a large TV camera partially blocked her view, but she could see the empty podium and neat rows of seats filled with officers and select civilians. There were even a couple of western faces on the nearest side of the stage; journalists she guessed on account of their cameras.

  Pretty uniformed girls walked along the front of the public area encouraging people to wave flags and smile.

  'What's the game plan?' Lâm said, his eyes on Tuấn.

  Tuấn straightened his glasses. Frowning as his gaze wandered the plaza.

  'Wave your flag, Tuấn,' Phượng said, 'you look too intense.'

  'Should we smile too?' snapped Lâm.

  'No,' Tuấn said, ‘nobody but the Chinese girls are smiling.'

  The music changed to that of bellowing trumpets, as if announcing the arrival of royalty. Onto the stage skipped a young Vietnamese woman in a black Ao-Dai. She wore a microphone earpiece and cheered herself as she pumped her fist in the air like a pop star geeing up the crowd. Phượng recognised her as Ha Nguyen- presenter of gossip and celebrity news shows, columnist for a popular teen magazine, and of course target for assassination.

  'Welcome everyone!' Ha shouted, waving with enthusiasm and energy.

  Cheering soldier-girls waved their hands high.

  'Is that guy army, you think?' Lâm pointed to the far side of the VIP area.

  ‘What? Who?’ Tuấn said.

  ‘The one dressed in the Hello Kitty costume.’

  Tuấn smirked even as he rolled his eyes. Phượng ground her teeth.

  'Welcome to the end of hostilities celebration! Woooo!' Ha made a peace sign with her forefingers. 'We've got a great itinerary for you. Soon we'll have wise words from one of the commanders of the Chinese peacekeeping force- right after we've seen a great routine from a dance troupe… all the way from Nanjing! Put your hands together for... Street-Mix!'

  A rumble of drums vibrated through the speakers as a half dozen young men in track suits cart-wheeled their way down the red carpet, then leaping onto the stage.

  'The Chinese brought a male dance group with them?' Lâm sneered.

  'Entertainment for the troops I guess,' Phượng mumbled, her eyes scanning for a vantage point or opportunity.

  'For gay troops. Do they allow gay troops in the Chinese army?' Lâm said.

  'No,' Tuấn said, 'otherwise they'd have recruited you.'

  Phượng glared at them. Their antics reminded her of Huy, but at least Huy was a valued fighter. What had she ever seen in Tuấn? He was so... wishy-washy.

  'Maybe we should spread out a bit,' Lâm said.

  'Yes, but we need a plan first.' Phượng glanced behind. Music and cheers helped mask the conversation, but it was dangerous to speak openly. 'If nothing else presents itself… I think we need to go with the original idea.'

  Lâm shook his head. 'Take that Ha girl hostage... she's harmless. She won't resist.'

  Phượng nodded. It was a good idea. She was a soft target, and light to drag away.

  'Would snipers hesitate to shoot her as a human shield?' Tuấn whispered.

  'She puts a friendly face on their occupation. It'd be a PR disaster to shoot her,' Phượng said.

  'Your original instruction as I recall,' Lâm interjected, 'was to take an assault rifle. I don't see any nearby.'

  It was true. The black-clothed guys only had pistols. Maybe it was a good thing there were no assault rifles; less enemy firepower.

  'We'll make do.'

  The drumbeat stopped and the dancers froze. As the applause started, they black-flipped off the stage and jogged back down the red carpet. Ha Nguyen came back to centre stage clapping vigorously.

  'Wow! That was great, wasn't it? Now we'll hear from General Long Xueping. Please give him a warm welcome!'

  Phượng turned her eyes to the podium as the General approached- only then noticing the sheet of glass directly in front of the podium- no doubt bulletproof. Perhaps enough to stop an attack from the front, but left his sides exposed.

  The cheerleaders were overly enthusiastic in their attempts to elicit cries of support and applause for the General. One of the westerners- a guy in a Vietnamese shirt knelt at the corner of the podium snapping pictures of the General as he arrived at the podium.

  The General removed his cap and tucked it under his arm. He smiled awkwardly and unfolded a piece of paper from his tun
ic pocket. He looked almost a fatherly sort; in his mid-fifties, Phượng guessed. His jet-black hair likely dyed. His moustache looked unevenly trimmed, or perhaps that's just the way it grew on him. He cleared his throat and squinted at his speech notes.

  'Firstly... thank you to Miss Ha for her kind introduction. I'm glad to be welcomed to this great city. I know it has been a testing time, and perhaps we could have managed the transfer of authority better. But we have learned from our mistakes.'

  ‘Troi oi!’ Phượng muttered. If there was much more of that kind of talk, she'd have to shoot him right away.

  'I pledge that we will bring Vietnam and China closer than ever before- starting here in this great city. In the following days we will ensure cell-phone coverage is restored in District one. We are increasing food distribution so there will be enough for everyone...'

  Phượng remained alert for an opportunity. Everyone would be watching the General. There was a chance for an element of surprise. She sucked her lip. Perhaps they should attack now.

  whooooosh!

  Something sliced the air overhead. Before her brain had the chance to process what it was, she was reflexively closing her eyes and shielding her face from the brilliance of the explosion. She dropped to her knees. Covering her head with her arms. The explosion roared, but the expected shockwave didn't strike her. She opened her eyes.

  Screams arose from all around. Spectators had thrown themselves down. The missile had struck the far side of the stage- reducing part of it to splinters. The General, safely out of the blast radius, was rising to a sitting position. Holding one arm over his head to protect from further assault. All those on the stage were cowering on the decking. Only one guard sprinted to assist his General.

  Shots began to ring out. Had the Chinese found a target already? Or were they firing blindly? Her eyes searched for the source of the missile strike. What was it? An RPG? Bazooka? It seemed to have come from the Opera View mall which was covered with soldiers. Whoever fired it would be surrounded by enemies above and below. They'd fired their shot- their one chance to kill the General- and missed, but they'd provided her with opportunity.

  'Let's go!' she screamed. Reaching into her shorts the hammer of the pistol caught on the material as she tried to pull it free. She tugged harder. Glancing to her left she saw that Tuấn already had his weapon drawn.

  'Let's do it!' he cried.

  Sight fixed on the General, she ducked under the cordon and charged the stage.

  Zhang

  28th March, 10:05

  The APC was parked outside the Caravelle, and overlooking crowds of hungry Vietnamese. Sitting on the hull of the turret Zhang had a good view of the proceedings. He took a sip from his canteen. The water as usual was warm and metallic tasting. He'd removed his helmet; preferring just a radio/microphone headset. He used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare- wishing he had the presence of mind to bring a cap. The other crewmembers sat fanning themselves at their hatchways. He lit up a cigarette. The driver took it as leave to light-up himself.

  The host announced the first act; some dance troupe he'd seen on posters around the base. They cavorted to a dramatic crash of drums and symbols. He watched their performance with idle amusement. Tapping his knee in time with the drum beats. Smiling as he watched the dancers back-flip and somersault. Wouldn't it be nice to have such a carefree job?

  'Fags,' said one of the crew. The other two laughed.

  'Bring out female dancers!' the driver shouted.

  Zhang flicked his cigarette butt at the driver. Unsurprisingly, the Vietnamese seemed barely interested in the entertainment. Some children waved their flags with ignorant enthusiasm, but their parents look scared, like they'd been herded into a trap. Through his limited understanding of their language he'd heard mention of food several times before the drumbeats drowned out voices from the crowd.

  Maybe it was the celebration, or perhaps it was his confession of conscience to the journalist, but he felt good. Better than he had in a while. Major Hu had released Lt.Gao and rejected formal complaints both officers had lodged against each other. The whole incident had been brushed under the carpet. He'd managed to save the lives of those civilians. Perhaps that was enough.

  The push into the Mekong delta and towards Cambodia was sure to come soon. It could mean real battle. He reasoned that the PLA leadership were eager to expedite the defeat of remaining Vietnamese forces before international pressure to cease hostilities escalated. The member states of ASEAN were panic stricken. China had been condemned by many countries and leaked satellite photos showed one of the remaining Vietnamese Submarines docked at an Indian port. Sides were being taken against China.

  The music stopped. General Long Xueping took to the podium to deliver his speech. Zhang scanned the buildings surrounding the plaza. The hotels, malls and every building that had a window facing the proceedings had been searched and entry restricted. There was no chance of an attack from the air; even if they had any airpower left, the SAM launchers would see them off.

  He considered an attack from underground; the subway train had a stop at the Tax Plaza just a short distance away. It was known that some Vietnamese had taken refuge in the tunnels. Occasionally PLA patrols went down searching for insurgents. Yet if an attack came from the Tax Plaza there was a significant guard detail in place already.

  That only left the possibility of agents infiltrating the crowd. It was possible a cache of weapons could be planted and picked up after they'd gotten through the perimeter checks. It seemed unlikely; the plaza had been thoroughly searched, and the movements of civilians in central District 1 were tightly restricted.

  A flash in his peripheral vision snatched his attention. Before he could focus on its source an impact ripped through the near side of the stage. A burst of orange light angrily threw people, chairs and shards of wood and metal in all directions.

  He lurched to his feet. The contrail from the missile was already dissipating. Cupping his hands to shield his eyes he looked to the tower block where the flash had originated; at least a half dozen windows were occupied by faces- it was impossible to tell which might be the enemy. The snipers were watching the crowds- it was presumed the buildings were secure.

  Cries of alarm and confusion rose from all around. Citizens were fleeing. Scrambling over each other. Already they were surging around the APC. From somewhere came the rattle of automatic gunfire. Those officials and guests on the stage who hadn't been injured were cowering or fleeing. Chairs were overturned. People jumped from the stage to escape.

  His crew instinctively dropped into their hatches ready to follow his orders. He remained above hatch. More gunfire; single shots, a few bursts of automatic fire. Was it the enemy firing or Chinese soldiers? It didn't matter- if the bazooka was being reloaded a second round could be incoming any moment.

  'Turn this thing about so our ass is pointed at the stage and back us up, now!' Zhang shouted into his microphone.

  'Sir! Vietnamese are all around us. I can't see behind!'

  'Honk the horn!'

  He scrambled to the rear of the APC as it pivoted. Civilians fleeing around the vehicle shied away as it began to turn. The guards around the plaza had standing orders to prevent anyone leaving, so they pushed the crowd back into the plaza.

  'Move! Get out the way!' Zhang shouted in Chinese, waving them aside.

  The press of people tried as they could to get around the armoured beast. The driver reversed at a crawl- blasting the horn constantly.

  Zhang ducked his head into the turret. 'Sergeant! You're in charge. Reverse to the stage then open the back doors. Don't open them until you're at the stage! Tell Cobra 2 and 3 to follow. We’re getting people off the stage and into the APC's.'

  The Sergeant's sweat soaked face looked up at him, nodding at his orders.

  'Where are you going, Lieutenant?'

  'The stage!’ Zhang shouted as he moved off; climbing down the side of the APC into the crowd- pushing aga
inst the tide of routing civilians with their faces etched with fear as they cried and screamed.

  The steps to the stage had been obliterated. The impact from the bazooka had struck five metres from the edge of the stage. If the assassin was aiming at the General, he’d missed by some ten metres. It was a long range shot with an inaccurate weapon.

  He moved past the splintered and broken flank of the stage to clamber up the front side. Nearby lay a leg- still dressed in a tan coloured tight with a female's army shoe on the foot. Among upturned chairs and splintered planks were prone bodies splattered with blood and a scattering of body parts; some identifiable, some less so. A woman in a white Navy uniform sat crying. The right side of her tunic stained bright red. With her left hand she groped for the right arm she no longer had.

  He caught sight of the General. Two guards were escorting him toward the opera house. The tinny pop of semi-automatic gunfire came from the far side of the stage. With renewed urgency he rushed to the General.

  An officer with a deep gash to his head stumbled into Zhang's path. Zhang sidestepped him and another stepped into his path. When Zhang went to move around him the man stopped him with a hand on the chest. They locked eyes; it was the mysterious Special Operations agent- dressed in black like the Ministry of State Security agents hidden among the crowd.

  'Get away from the General!' The agent barked.

  'I need to get him to safety!' Zhang went to move around him again, but the agent sidestepped, blocking his path.

  'He's taken care of. Get lost!' The agent pushed him. Zhang stumbled back a step.

  He looked to the General; he was half way up the steps to the opera house- almost to safety.

  ‘Alright, but if anything happens to him, it’s your responsibility.’

  They both flinched at a new outbreak of gunfire. Zhang spotted the journalist Campbell, kneeling near the far side of the stage. He appeared to be shielding a casualty. Zhang pushed past the agent. He would escort Campbell and the other Westerners to safety.

  'Shooters in the crowd!' the agent shouted.

  Zhang dropped to one knee. Un-holstering his pistol he scoured the fleeing crowd for the threat. Movement on the stage caught his attention; a youth which he'd initially disregarded was brandishing a pistol- levelling it at one of the wounded PLA staff. Zhang squeezed off a round. A small fountain of blood sprayed from the youth's neck as he fell.