An older militiaman covered the retreat; backing up slowly with his AK-47 aimed at the hotel entrance. Lâm struggled to walk. His arm draped around the shoulder of his green uniformed helper and head slumped. His feet dragged as much as walked. Tuấn slung the strap of the assault rifle over his shoulder. Hooking Lâm's other arm over his shoulder. The mechanic groaned in pain at the movement.
A sudden force punched into his back. In an instant he was skidding on his face and chest across the smooth tiles. He lifted his head. Feeling searing pain. He put his palms on the floor and tried to raise. His arms trembled; he hadn't the strength to do it.
'Sniper! Hoàng, help him!' It sounded like the shotgun guy. Tuấn tried again to get up. His arms felt weak. His body heavy. The pain was gone; his legs weren't responding. Something dragged him by the arm. His cheek slid over across floor. Then his head was being lifted off the ground. He looked down at himself to assess the wound; did he still have legs? His eyelids felt heavy- he couldn't keep them open.
Then he was in the canteen at the University. Everyone was there. Minh was talking excitedly with another boy from class about some Manga comic. Thuỳ was at the end of the table reading a book; wearing earphones her head swayed side to side as she enjoyed the K-pop she was so fond of.
He looked at the other students. They were all happy; joking, laughing, yapping. It was Saturday tomorrow and most of them had arranged to go to Vung Tau and enjoy the beach. They would have a barbeque in the evening then sing karaoke.
He noticed Phượng looking at him. As usual she sat next to Vân, who was checking her eyeliner in a pocket mirror. Phượng's elbows were on the table. She rested her chin on her palms. He never noticed before the way she looked at him. Or how pretty she was; not strikingly beautiful like Vân, but her face was kind and intelligent. She smiled. He returned the smile and raised his hand in a wave.
'Don't worry, Tuấn. Everything's going to be okay.'
He opened his mouth to ask what she meant. That same moment everyone vanished. He hadn't even blinked and they were all gone- leaving only cups and empty plates at the table. They'd all disappeared and he was alone.
Timothy
28th March, 10:20
Nancy's arms and head were limp. He knew she was dead. He put a hand to the back of her head to lift it. Her hair felt damp. Her eyes were closed. Her lips parted a little as if about to speak. She'd tried to get him clear of danger but he’d been more concerned with getting a great photo. She paid the price for it.
'I'm sorry Nancy. Forgive me.'
He lowered her head to the floor. He stared at her blood on his hand. He was aware of the chaos reigning about him… gunfire, screaming, cries, but felt seemed somehow insulated from it; he existed in a bubble just big enough to contain him and Nancy. He lay beside her. Resting his head on her shoulder.
A helicopter flew low overhead. The downdraft caused banners to flap wildly. The stage shuddered as boots stomped across it, and vibrated as bullets rattled the planks. He was numb to it; like slipping into a coma.
Eventually the sounds of battle reduced to a few scattered shots and whimpers of the injured. Even so he remained still. After what may have been hours, a hand gripped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. A smooth-featured face under a helmet looked down on him. Tim blinked. The face let out a surprised gasp. Its eyes widened and the mouth formed a little 'o'. The face looked away; shouting something in Chinese.
The face continued to study him until it was replaced by another. A girl’s face- pretty with short hair. She said something. He felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt. She pressed stethoscope earpieces into her ears. Nancy's body was pulled away from beside him.
'Don't touch her!' He sat bolt upright. The medic squealed; falling onto her backside. A soldier had his arms under each of Nancy's armpits. He snapped something harsh and continued to drag her body away.
'She's dead. Don't worry. We'll take care of the body.' It was a Chinese officer, in a dark green dress uniform. His tunic unbuttoned and stained brown with blood- not his it seemed. He held a cigarette between his lips. For a moment Tim thought he was Lieutenant Zhang.
Nancy’s heels dragged along the stage. One of her shoes remained on the stage floor. He Pressed his eyes shut and put his face in his hands.
'Are you hurt?' the officer said.
'No,' Tim managed.
The officer spoke briefly with the medic. When Tim opened his eyes the medic was walking away with her medical bag. She approached two men carrying a stretcher past the stage. One of the black clothed security agents lay on the stretcher wearing an oxygen mask. His shirt had been cut open and his chest was a mess of crimson. The man's face turned toward Tim. Even with his face contorted in pain Tim recognised the minder. The medic directed the stretcher bearers to a nearby APC.
A dozen armoured vehicles lined the plaza. Beside them lay a row of body bags. Soldiers loaded them like cargo into the APC's. Medics hurried among the casualties that still littered the plaza.
'What the hell happened?' Tim muttered.
'Some of the volunteer police turned against us. They allowed Vietnamese military personnel and insurgents through our perimeter. The rest I think is self-explanatory.'
Tim found his camera on the floor nearby. He picked up it. Holding it with both hands he resisted the temptation to throw or smash it. His joints were stiff. He awkwardly pushed himself to his feet. There were still dead on the stage; more in the plaza. Some civilians, some soldiers. He noticed the body of the girl who killed Nancy. She looked so young- maybe just twenty years old. He walked to her body. Her hair had blown across her face obscuring half of it. She had aimed at him; was killing Nancy an accident? He watched her for several minutes. Trying to fathom what could have turned the girl into a killer.
He switched the camera on. It was still set to black-and-white mode. His last photograph was of the girl looking down the barrel of her gun at him. It felt poignant that his next picture would be of her body. Then he noticed at her feet lay the body of Lieutenant Zhang. His lips were encrusted with blood. Had she killed him too? He would never understand Zhang; his moral dilemma and agonizing over doing the 'right' thing seemed as out of place in conflict as kids turned into killers.
He walked among the detritus of the battle; snapping photographs- taking care not to intrude on the work of the medics. Some soldiers scowled at him or spat ‘Gweilo’ as he walked past.
He found Pierre as he was being zipped into a black body bag. He'd suffered a bullet wound to the neck. His eyes staring at the sky until the zipper passed over his face. He'd seen the Frenchman jumping from the stage just as the shooting started. He'd hoped to find him safe.
Ha Nguyen was sitting in one of the white chairs beside the red carpet. A medic attended her right leg. A splint had been attached to her shin and bandaging was being wrapped around the leg. Ha had averted her face; screwing her eyes tight. Her forehead glistened with sweat. Her fingers gripped the chair as she whimpered.
'Hey. How'd you get hurt?' He couldn't even feign concern.
Ha's eyes flicked open. 'Ahhh! I broke my leg!'
'Yeah. I saw. How?'
'Jumping off the stage... Oh! It hurts so much!'
'Cool. Well, at least you're alive. Nancy's dead. So is Pierre. Have you seen anyone else? The Russian? The Korean?'
'Uh... who?' Ha looked at him bewildered, then grimaced in pain again.
'Forget it.'
'Ooh! I can’t work with a broken leg!'
He tried to ignore her whining as he walked away. He stepped around discarded clothing, fallen banners, bullet casings and bodies up to the hotel. Most of the windows were shot out. Two of the staff girls sat on the front step huddled together. Sobbing while one of the boys stood over them holding a cigarette between shaking fingers. A soldier kept watch over them; Tim figured more likely to ensure they weren't going to pick up a firearm than for their protection. He snapped a few pictures of the distressed hotel staff.
<
br /> 'You!' a voice called out from somewhere behind.
Tim opened the camera. Removing the memory card, he slipped it into his mouth, manoeuvring it with his tongue so it lay between his teeth and his cheek. He turned to see an officious looking chap in a Major's dress uniform flanked by two soldiers in battle dress.
'You're the British photographer.'
Although it was a statement rather than a question Tim nodded.
'Your visa is revoked. You will turn over all state equipment and all photographs and film. You will be on a flight back to your country within 24 hours.'
Tim nodded. If they didn't kick him out he'd be trying to leave anyway. The officer scowled. Seeming annoyed that the expulsion was accepted with such ease. After holding the glare for several seconds the officer about-turned and stomped away.
Tim took another look over the carnage. Between the devastation caught on TV and his photos of the aftermath- maybe it’d be enough to mount sufficient international pressure to force China to withdraw. Perhaps then all the sacrifices would’ve all been worth it. He put his hand over his eyes and sobbed.
Tuấn
29th March, 17:30
Tuấn groaned. His vision was blurred. He tried to sit up, but the instant he moved a sharp pain shot up his spine. Grimacing, he waited for his eyes to focus on his surroundings.
The room was dark. A dim light seeped through gaps between the corrugated iron walls and roof and from a small kerosene lamp on the bedside table. He was alone in the room. He could feel that he was naked under a thin sheet except for bandaging around his torso. A tube was taped from his arm to a drip hanging from a metal pole. There was one other bed in the room, but it was empty.
A workbench stretched along the opposite wall; cluttered with papers, first aid boxes and a metal tray on which lay what looked like surgical equipment. Two exits led from the room; a bolted grey door on the left and a wooden interior door to the right. He struggled to think of the last thing he could remember. He recalled the battle, running, the hotel, Lâm was shot. After that details were groggy.
His throat was hot and dry. He tried a small movement to his left to see if he might be able to roll. The hot stabbing pain stopped him. Was he paralyzed? He looked at his right foot poking out from the bottom of the bedsheet; trying to move his toes. Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. The big toe twitched. He said a silent thanks, then tried the toes on his left foot. Pangs at the small of his back threatened further punishment should he try to move too much, but again he was able to twitch his toes. Exhausted, he let his head fall back onto the pillow. The room was stifling and his body was soaked in sweat.
'Hello? Is anyone there? I need water!' His voice came as a croak. Trying to silence his own breathing, he waited for a reply. After several seconds there were footsteps. The door creaked open. Orange light flooded into the room.
A man in a white Doctors coat stood in the doorway. He looked about thirty years old with a mop of unkempt black hair. The top button of his shirt was undone, his tie had been pulled loose. A cigarette hung from his lips. His eyes were sunken and shadowed.
'Oh, you're awake.'
'You're Vietnamese?' Tuấn rasped, relieved.
'What? You don't trust a Vietnamese Doctor? Wanna move to the French hospital in district 7 for special treatment, eh?' The Doctor guffawed, amused by his own banter.
'Water?'
'Ah,' the Doctor held up a finger and walked out of the room. His footfalls scuffed the gravelly floor. He returned moments later with a small plastic bottle- half full of water. Unscrewing the top, he lifted the bottle to Tuấn's lips.
'No, no keep your head down. I don't want you to move. Just let me pour it for you... That's it.'
The Doctor trickled water into Tuấn's mouth. The water was warm, but the relief was instant. Closing his fingers around the Doctor's wrist, Tuấn tried to tilt the bottle higher; he needed more.
'No, no,' The Doctor admonished; removing the bottle from Tuấn's lips. 'A little at a time. Don't be greedy.' The Doctor continued to trickle the liquid. Some spilled out the side of his mouth and down his cheek. 'That's enough. You can have more in a little while. Now you're awake I'll bring the fan in here for you.'
Tuấn wiped his finger along the trickle down his cheek. Popping the tip of his finger into his mouth he sucked the meagre drop. 'Where am I?'
The Doctor smirked. 'My Hospital. We don't have the best facilities, but luckily for you there is a medical genius on hand.' He pointed his thumbs at his own chest so there was no mistaking who the genius was.
'This... isn't a real hospital.'
The Doctor frowned, emulating offence. 'And you're not a real soldier. We're all having to make do.'
Tuấn sighed. 'What happened to me?'
'Alright.' The Doctor folded his arms over his chest. 'I removed a bullet from between your second and third lumbar vertebrae. Luckily I don't think there was any damage to the spinal cord, but you'll be off your feet for a while. You also suffered a minor concussion. Presumably from falling after being shot.' The Doctor's cigarette wiggled on his lips as he spoke. He didn't seem to notice that some of the ash fell onto his white coat.
'There was another with me. He was shot...'
The Doctor grunted as if Tuấn had said something amusing. He dropped the cigarette to the floor, extinguishing it with his foot.
'I've treated a dozen people in the thirty hours since you were brought in. Where was your friend shot?'
'The neck I think. Or the shoulder.'
'Big guy? Baseball shirt and messy hair?'
Tuấn nodded.
'He'll be okay. Lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, volunteers provided a lot of blood. Your friend owes me one and a half litres of O-negative. He's in recovery on ward C. This comfy little room is Ward A.'
Tuấn let out a long breath of relief. He remembered his dream about being in the University canteen; Phượng smiling at him and telling him everything would be okay. It had seemed so real. He supposed dreams often do.
'Hey, you there?' The Doctor clicked his fingers in front of Tuấn's face causing him to blink. 'Ah, there you are. I thought you were having some kind of fit. Not going crazy are you?'
'Where is this medical facility?'
The Doctor arched an eyebrow questioningly. 'Medical facility? Can't bring yourself to call this modesty a hospital, eh? Well, you're in District 4. At the end of Hoang Dieu street if you want to be precise. This part of the facility used to be a cafe.'
'The police guys brought me here?'
'I don’t pay attention to who brings who in. We've been supporting a company of the 429th special force regiment and some local volunteers. Don't let the term regiment fool you; there's only thirty of them left. I heard they made good use of the bazooka that started all that business yesterday.'
'The... volunteer police on our side?'
The Doctor took another cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. Raising his chin to puff the smoke up toward the ceiling.
'Some of them. We always knew that when things got desperate for the Chinese they'd arm them. It provided the perfect opportunity.'
Tuấn closed his eyes. His mind filled with an image of the pleading militia police they'd caught robbing the shop. No… those weren't on his side. They were looters. They got what they deserved.
'You need to rest,' the Doctor said. He walked to the doorway. With his hand on the doorknob he turned back into the room. 'Oh, I nearly forgot. Major Trinh- the commander of the 429th wants to visit you. They want to give you a medal. When you’re up to it they want to interview you for Radio free Hanoi.'
'A medal?'
'Yes. Well… there isn't time for making medals so you'll get a certificate saying that you're awarded a medal.'
'Why?'
'Ah. Apparently, while our guys were content to snipe targets from the relative safety of buildings- you and your friends rushed into the heart of the fight. Some if it was caught on TV and w
ent out live here and in China.' The Doctor paused to gauge Tuấn's reaction.
‘Oh.’ Unsure what to say, Tuấn could only stare at the Doctor.
'You'll be famous. That video will be going around the world.' The Doctor went to close the door, then half opened it again. Leaning into the room. 'There was a girl in the footage. She shot a Colonel and a Lieutenant before some coward killed her. They're calling her the heroine of the resistance. Did you know her?'
Tuấn nodded. His throat felt sore. 'Yeah. Her name was Phượng. Đặng Thu Phượng. She was my friend.'
The Doctor nodded then gently pulled the door closed. Tuấn closed his eyes. trying to picture the scene in the university canteen… to conjure the image of Phượng smiling at him. He couldn't picture her face clearly. Other scenes infiltrated his thoughts; Minh laying on the temple floor while Thuỳ tried in vain to stop his bleeding. He shook the image from his mind. Then again the militia prisoners, cowering as he aimed his pistol at them. 'Please, no' one of them begged.
He opened his eyes. Maybe it was better not to sleep. He lay still. Staring at the ceiling. The glimmer from the kerosene lamp began to fade. He could hear his own breathing. There were no other sounds. He was alone.
The March of the Dragons Page 38