The agent was shouting at an adjutant he'd grabbed by the collar. 'Order all units to open fire on all non-military personnel. Shoot them all!'
Nodding, the adjutant raised a CB-radio to his ear and began to relay the order. It was all happening again… Zhang lunged- snatching the CB-radio.
‘You don't have that authority!' he snarled.
The agent pushed the adjutant aside. His hand went to his belt then swung towards Zhang's neck. Zhang stepped back; arching his back he almost lost his balance as the agent’s knife passed within a centimetre of his throat. In his effort to dodge the strike he loosed his grip on the pistol and radio. His hand closed into a fist which a fraction of a second later made contact with the agent’s nose. He felt gristle snap under the force of the blow. He kicked at the back of the agent’s knee- intending to put him on the floor where a quick stomp to the throat would end him.
The agent broke his fall with a roll to his left. Zhang pursued ready to strike again. The agent’s leg swept in an arc- connecting with Zhang’s ankle; bringing him down onto one knee. Then the agent up on his feet. Left hand pushing Zhang’s chin back and forcing him off-balance again as he turned the knife around in his right hand ready to stab.
Zhang clasped the agent’s wrist- turning the knifepoint away. With his free hand he grabbed the agent's tunic; using it as leverage to regain his balance. Together they spun like a pair of snakes locked in a deadly dance; each trying to push the other off-balance to be quickly dispatched.
The agent’s forehead smashed into Zhang’s nose; the shock jolting his senses. Stunned, he released his grip on the agent. The knife blade arced- threatening Zhang's throat. He caught the arm with both hands and in one reflexive movement snapped the wrist. The blade fell from the agent’s useless grip. Zhang's palm made contact with the underside of the agent’s jaw; knocking him backwards over an upturned chair. He drew his own combat knife- turning it in his hand so he could make a downward stroke. The agent put his hand to his pistol holster. He wasn't fast enough- Zhang's downward thrust aimed for the heart.
A sharp pain stabbed through Zhang’s body- quickly followed by a second. His fingers were instantly numb. The knife fell from his grasp. He knew right away he'd been shot. Not by the agent, but from behind. Pain burned through his torso. He couldn't breathe. He began to turn toward his assassin, but strength was already running out. He collapsed, landing face-down. He heard another pistol shot, but if it hit him he didn't feel it. Struggling to turn he had no control over his limbs. His vision blurred. He coughed; tasting blood. The last thing he heard was the cold voice of the Special Forces agent.
'Now, open fire on the crowd before they all escape!'
Phượng
28th March, 10:10
The rocket attack was followed by momentary confusion. Whoever fired it had provided opportunity. She had to be decisive. She jumped over the cordon. Trusting that her comrades would follow her lead.
'Hey!' One of the black clothed guards was at the front of the crowd just five metres away. She didn't want to waste her first shot on a pawn, but he was already reaching for his gun holster.
She swept her pistol toward his face- saw his eyes widen as she pulled the trigger. He dropped out of her view in a spray of red which spattered faces and shirts of the citizens immediately surrounding the guard.
She ran. Those on the stage were cowering in foetal positions or crawling toward safety. She was putting herself in the line of fire for a possible second rocket attack. The thought caused no fear. She was focused on one purpose; kill the General, Ha Nguyen, and as many enemy officers as possible.
A guard at the edge of the stage rose from his knees. He began to draw his pistol. Hers was already pointed at him. With a single squeeze of her trigger he slumped back onto his knees, clutching his throat.
The nearest of the film cameras was still aimed at the podium although the operator had jumped clear of the stage. She hoped it was still recording. A report of gunfire echoed through the plaza. She squatted- standing gun in hand was the easiest way to become a target for a sniper. She gambled that the snipers were busy looking for the source of the missile shot rather than a danger on the stage, but she'd fired twice; it was sure to attract attention. She glanced behind, Tuấn knelt a few metres behind, holding his gun poised.
'Look for the General!' She shouted at him.
He nodded. Staying in a low crouch he moved into action. Those in shock on the stage were gaining awareness of what was going on. Some began to flee. Many remained tortoise-like. None of the unarmed dignitaries confronted her.
Lâm was at the edge of the stage- wrestling with one of the plainclothes security personnel. Phượng aimed her pistol at the man's head but with the two of them moving to and fro she had no clear shot.
'Just shoot him!' she screeched- unsure if her comrade heard over the din of hundreds of cries of alarm. She didn't have time to help him.
In her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of someone laying near the TV camera- pointing something at her. Her head snapped toward the prone man. It was the white photographer aiming his camera at her. Somehow over the panicked cries and sporadic gunshots she thought she could hear the almost imperceptible whirr and click of the camera; if so it confirmed her hearing was fully restored.
In a second she decided the cameraman's fate. Wearing a traditional Vietnamese shirt wasn't going to balance out throwing his lot in with the Chinese. She aimed at his face. He lowered the camera. Eyes widening in shock.
Someone passed in front of her target; a Vietnamese girl wearing a pretty white dress and hair tied up into a bun- Ha Nguyen! She squatted by the photographer, tugging his arm. Trying to pull him from the ground. Phượng silently thanked the girl for presenting herself as a better target.
She squeezed the trigger twice. One round hit the girl squarely between the shoulder blades. The second slapped the back of her skull- flinging her to the floor.
The photographer rose to his knees. Looking from the body to Phượng with as sorrowful an expression as she'd ever seen. His jaw hung open stupidly. His anguished eyes were fixed on Phượng he lifted the corpse whose head flopped backward toward Phượng. Then she realised her mistake. It wasn't Ha… just some stupid girl.
Snarling, her aim hovered on the white guy. She stopped herself from pulling the trigger. It was a waste of bullets. She'd used four already. She looked to the podium- the General wasn't there. Just old guys in dress uniforms crawling for cover. Then she spotted him being rushed up the opera house steps by two guards. Not wanting to miss her chance she fired off two quick shots. The first created a small puff of dust on the opera house wall. The second shattered one of the glass doors. A guard turned looking for the assailant and blocking her view to the General.
She squinted along the sight of her pistol. There were enough bullets remaining to take down the three of them if she aimed carefully. She squeezed the trigger; sending the guard spinning sideways then tumbling down the steps. She turned the weapon back to the General but before she could focus down the sight he had disappeared through the opera house door.
'Tuấn!' she shouted, knowing he was nearby- somewhere just behind her. 'Get the General. He's in the opera house!'
She noticed a middle aged man in a green uniform wriggling across the stage just six or seven metres away. His medals sagged toward the ground. He crawled like an old man looking for lost contact lenses. She fired once into his torso. He rolled onto his side clutching his ribs.
She needed another weapon before going after the General. Near the podium, a soldier in combat uniform seemed to be grappling with one of the black clothed security agents. She wasted no time musing over why they were fighting; she just needed their weapons.
The one in combat fatigues had foolishly forgone his body armour. He knocked the black one over a chair and raised a dagger. She fired two shots into his back. He crumpled to the floor. She would at least do him the favour of dispatching his foe as well. She cl
osed the last few steps to be sure not to miss.
The legs of the black clothed guy were tangled in the chair. She took aim. His expression was calmer than others before she’d shot them… peaceful even. It gave her a moment’s pause. Only then did she notice he was pointing something at her too. This time it wasn't a camera.
She saw the flare from his barrel. The world span. She saw the sky, buildings, treetops, banners, people… fleeting images rushed past her eyes and into a blur. She didn't feel the impact with the floor when she fell. She was already dead.
Tuấn
28th March, 10:12
'Phượng!'
It couldn't be happening! He’d stopped half-way up the Opera House steps to see what kept her- spotting her the moment she fell. The man who shot her got to his feet. He stood over her, then turned away seemingly shouting at a cowering officer. Tuấn ran back down the steps- almost falling in his haste. He aimed toward the bastard and squeezed the trigger.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
His aim was unsteady as he ran. The first shots did little more than attract attention. The bastard spun toward him raising his pistol; he stood erect, not fearing Tuấn’s wild shots. He held Tuấn in his sight for a moment or two, steadying his aim.
Tuấn squeezed his trigger.
Blam! Blam!
Both shots missed. The slide sprung back… the gun was empty. He sensed his moment had come. The bastard had him dead in his sights. Tuấn stopped at the foot of the steps. He scowling defiantly at his executioner.
The bastard twisted to his left. His hand went to his shoulder; blood ran through his fingers. He kept his pistol in hand. Snarling either from pain or anger he fixed his aim on his new assailant when the next bullet hit him. He stumbled then fell backwards. Plunging off the edge of the stage. Bullets struck the cowering staff officer. A CB-radio fell from his hands as bloody eruptions rippled across his chest.
Standing a few metres away, Lâm lowered his pistol. His chest heaved as if exerted.
Tuấn staggered toward her Phượng. Tripping over a discarded chair, he put his hands out to break his fall. The pistol was sent spinning among debris littering the stage. Not pausing to collect it, he scrambled to her side.
She lay facing away from him. He pulled her shoulder- turning her onto her back. Her pupils were turned up to her eyelids. Just above her left eyebrow was a small black hole. There was no blood. Tuấn closed his eyes. Maybe when he opened them this wouldn't have happened.
'Come on! We've got to go!'
He heard Lâm's words over the gunfire but he couldn't move. Not yet. He forced his eyes open. Phượng still stared lifelessly at the sky. He surveyed the plaza. Chinese officers and their civilian allies still crawled or ran for cover. He saw one middle aged woman in high heels and an expensive looking dress wobble across the stage with her arms held out for balance like she was tiptoeing across stepping stones. She'd only taken a few steps when she was sent sprawling to the deck- a spray of red erupting from her neck.
The seated area in front the stage was almost empty of people. A few, too afraid to run, cowered with their hands protectively over their heads or over their loved ones. Civilians were fleeing through the thin line of PLA soldiers. Three APC's had moved up to far side of the stage. The crews helped the injured inside.
Muzzle flashes blinked from buildings around the plaza- like a scattering of paparazzi taking photos of the grim events. He didn't see where bullets hit.
'Come on!' Hands pulled at his jacket. Urging him to move. 'Don't make me carry you!'
Tuan rose on unsteady legs. He stole a last look at Phượng as Lâm roughly pulled him away from her.
'We've got to get out of here- now!'
Tuấn turned to him. About to protest that they hadn’t yet completed their mission, but words caught in his throat at the sight of the red seepage from Lâm's neck. He'd been shot between the collar bone and the neck. His baseball jersey was soaked red with rivulets of red reaching almost to his waist.
'You're shot.'
'I'll live. Let's go!' Lâm's face was twisted in pain
He wanted to stay with Phượng, but he knew Lâm wouldn’t leave him. He didn’t want the mechanic’s death on his conscience. He allowed himself to be pulled away, then picking up the pace to a jog. Had Lâm seen an escape route? Were they going to try to blend in with the crowd?
Ratatatatatat!
The buzz of automatic gunfire joined the chorus of single shots. They dropped into a crouch, but the gunfire wasn't aimed at them.
'Where are we going?'
Lâm glanced at his pistol. Blood had even dripped to his wrist, into his palm and over the grip of the gun. 'I got a few shots left, but my arm hurts too much to raise. Can I stop dragging you?'
Tuấn nodded. Even wounded, Lâm was the strong one. They had to focus on getting out alive to fight another day. It was what Phượng would want.
‘I need a moment,’ Lâm panted. He dropped the pistol and gingerly touched his wound.
The civilians were pushing past the thinly dispersed troops around the plaza. Soldiers were pushing civilians to the ground, pointing weapons at them and screaming orders. Tuấn caught glimpses of soldiers firing at some unseen targets. Whoever they were they shot back; as he watched one soldier fell the ground clutching his thigh.
A helicopter passed low over the opera house. A soldier looking down from the open door of the helicopter clutched a rolled up rope ladder- Tuấn presumed the General's escape route. He was past caring about the General.
A white guy knelt near the video camera, holding the body of a girl in his arms. Tuấn wasn't sure if he'd realised she had died- he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Tuấn thought of shouting a warning to run but decided against it… the guy was probably safer where he was.
The stage was a mess of bodies and debris. From the far side of the stage a soldier atop an APC pointed right at him. He snatched Lâm’s pistol and took aim squeezing the trigger twice. He pushed Lâm's back. 'Go!'
Tatatatat!
Shards of wood and dust were kicked up in a line to Tuấn's left. He aimed in the general direction of the APC where soldiers were climbing onto the stage. Blam! Click! The slide of the pistol jerked backward as the last bullet casing ejected.
He leapt from the stage. Lâm staggered toward the entrance to the Hotel Continental. Tuấn followed, keeping low. The hotel would offer temporary solace. There would be a trade entrance out the back. If they could get there quickly they might yet escape.
He looked to where Phượng fell and saw several Chinese soldiers advancing across the stage. He burst into a run. The doors of the hotel were wide open. Lâm lurched across the threshold of the hotel. To Lâm's left there was movement; a green uniform- the militia police!
'Lâm! Look out!'
He ran into the hotel a few seconds behind Lâm. One of the militia stepped into his path; his face registering surprise as Tuấn tackled him to the floor. Tuấn pressed down on his face. Raising the empty pistol to use as a hammer against the guy's head.
He glimpsed a dark blur in his peripheral vision which he identified too late as an incoming boot. It connected with his head, sending him sprawling. He raised his pistol at the new assailant whose weapon– a pump-action shotgun, was already levelled at his face. Remembering his pistol was empty, Tuấn could only hiss with frustration and defiance.
'Drop the damn gun!' the traitor bellowed.
'It's okay, Tuấn. They're on our side- I saw them shooting at Chinese.' Lâm sat on the floor. He looked pale. His hand clutched his neck. His red fingers trembled. One of the militia knelt next beside him with a hand on his shoulder.
The one Tuấn tackled scowled at him as he picked up his assault rifle. From outside machine gun fire increased in intensity. Tuấn flinched. He'd forgotten about the pursuing soldiers. He turned expecting to find them at the doorway. Instead he saw militia shooting AK-47’s into the square from the doorway and windows. The pursuing soldier
s made a macabre twitching dance as they were riddled with bullets.
'They're on our side,' Lâm repeated, his voice rasping and dry.
Tuấn let the empty pistol slip from his fingers. It clattered on the marble floor. The militiaman with the shotgun turned the barrel aside and reached out to help Tuấn to his feet. Tuấn took the offered hand.
'Can you fight?'
Tuấn nodded, bewildered. His new comrade grinned.
'Good. We got plenty of extra guns from the soldiers we surprised.'
'Give me one.' It sounded curter than he intended, but there wasn't time for pleasantries. He nodded his head towards Lâm. ‘He needs treatment. Fast.'
The militiaman glanced at Lâm. 'Yeah. We're done here. We're pulling back.'
Near the reception desk lay the body of a PLA soldier. His assault rifle discarded next to him. Along the wall behind the desk was a curved row of bullet holes.
Tuấn rushed to the assault rifle, plucking it off the floor, then pulling at the magazine clips attached to the dead soldier’s body armour.
‘Fall back!’ the shotgun guy shouted to those at the windows, then turning to the one Tuấn had tackled. 'Call the others down. We're pulling out!'
Lâm was helped along by the militiaman who'd been tending him. Tuấn stuffed a spare magazine into his belt.
'How are we getting out?'
'Rear exit. Down the next street. We got transport.'
'Any moment now the Chinese will get organised,' Tuấn said, checking the safety was off the rifle.
'That's why we're going now.' The militiaman jogged to winding staircase. With one foot on the bottom step he looked up for his comrades on the upper floors. 'C'mon guys we're leaving!'
The March of the Dragons Page 37