Hwang Sok-Yong

The Shadow of Arms

FOREWORD

Hwang Sok-yong’s The Shadow of Arms, when first begun in 1983, was a courageous act of political witness. Under a ferocious dictatorship, the Vietnam War remained a taboo subject except as an anti-Communist crusade. Not only had “our boys” fought and died there in great numbers, but President Chun Doo Hwan himself, along with his closest aides, was a veteran of that war. And while the larger issue of anti-imperialism and national liberation was being hotly debated in the Korean radical movements, especially among students, in the wake of the Kwangju massacre of May 1980 when General Chun came to power, such debate met with frequent and harsh repression. And here was Hwang serializing in a well-known monthly magazine a novel of the Vietnam War which exposed the atrocities and corruption of the Allied war effort, clearly sympathizing with the cause of the National Liberation Front. Little wonder, then, that once the first half was finished and came out in book form in 1985, the project remained in abeyance until after the success of the nationwide election protest actions of June 1987.

That success of the democratic movement was only partial, however, and it still took considerable daring for the author to resume work on the novel under General Chun’s successor and fellow Vietnam veteran Roh Tae Woo, bringing out the second and final volume in 1988. Freedom of expression continued to suffer severe restrictions, with any criticism of the US imperial role liable to be equated with subversiveness.

Today this particular aspect of the novel would seem to have lost much of its urgency even in South Korea, where the inauguration in early 1993 of the first civilian President in more than thirty years has brought a considerable improvement to the political and intellectual climate. To readers of the English version, especially in the United States, the almost exclusive denunciation of the latter’s role — accompanied by little criticism of the atrocities committed by South Korean troops — would appear yet more dated and even self-indulgent. While partially granting these objections, I should like to remind such readers that, first of all, Hwang’s offhand dismissal of any reason for the South Korean intervention other than the mercenary was in itself a pointed act of resistance and criticism — one, moreover, hardly matched by any subsequent South Korean work of more overt self-criticism. I may add, too, that the political issues Hwang raises have not wholly lost their relevance either: in the United States, not all the attempts to be cured of the “Vietnam syndrome” can be welcomed as moves toward true civic health.

Yet The Shadow of Arms lives today mainly as a gripping tale dealing with a fascinating aspect of the Vietnam War: the black markets of the South Vietnamese city of Da Nang. Hwang himself had some firsthand experience of them as a soldier in the South Korean Marine Corps. The main character, Corporal (later Sergeant) Ahn Yong Kyu of the Joint Investigations Headquarters in Da Nang, actually reflects a good deal of that experience and some of Hwang’s own resourcefulness and aplomb as well. True, the addition of some fictive adventures and removal of most autobiographical features tend to make the resulting characterization somewhat unreal — especially to foreign readers, since even the most expert translation cannot do justice to the racy vividness of the dialogue when the Koreans in the novel talk among themselves.

But Ahn’s character serves as the convenient — and on the whole adequate — focal point in the exciting detective work on the complicated moves by the US, NLF, South Korean, and South Vietnamese interests, with their mixtures of strategic and venal motives. And I believe a good deal of the power of this novel derives from its being more than just a realistic presentation of a little-known aspect of the Vietnam War. For the black markets, with the PXs1 of the US Military as their main fountainhead, also serve as a synecdoche of a war which, for all its irrational carnage and wastefulness, was meant to promote the interests of the hegemonic capitalist power, and hence could be terminated only when the capitalists at home finally came to object to its ultimate unprofitability.

Seen in this light, however, the various episodes and subplots supplementing the main drama of the black markets, such as the conflict in the Pham family or the reports on the atrocities by American soldiers, suffer not only from the relative thinness of the author’s firsthand knowledge but from a certain simplicity in his vision of America’s imperial role. This is not to say that the author ought to have actually depicted the more nuanced elements in the United States policy or performance. Rather, the crucial default, for a Korean novel of the 1980s, concerns the question of the nature and degree of the relevance of the anti-imperialist struggle in Vietnam to the aspirations of its Korean readers for their own reunification and genuine autonomy. The author no doubt was inspired by the similarities in the two struggles and powerfully brings some of them home. Yet given the at least equally weighty resemblances to the contrasting division of Germany, and indeed, the sui generis nature of what I have termed the “division system” on the Korean peninsula, some reflections on the differences between the national liberation struggle in Vietnam and a more complex endeavor to overcome Korea’s division would seem to have been in order. Again, this is not to demand of the author any explicit treatment of the question. Yet some appropriate details on (say) the kind of person Ahn was before he came overseas could have put his experience in Vietnam in better perspective, as well as adding to the depth and credibility of the characterization.

At all events, Hwang Sok-yong’s narrative skill manages to hold the reader’s attention to the breathtaking final shootout and beyond. There is, moreover, a profound irony in Ahn Yong Kyu’s being the man who kills Pham Minh, the NLF underground agent for whose cause and conduct the author had manifested the greatest sympathy. Perhaps the author himself does not sufficiently appreciate the irony, for in embarking for home in the last scene, Ahn does not seem to feel any particular remorse, nor does the author offer any criticism of his protagonist. But Ahn Yong Kyu’s repeated claim that South Koreans are in Vietnam simply to make what money they can, and that he himself (who is not at all venal) does only the minimum necessary for survival and honorable discharge, is given the lie by the tale. South Korea’s involvement stands condemned according to the values most passionately championed by the novel itself. While the novel’s cold-eyed detachment from the US war endeavor leaves Korean readers with the task of a more complex moral reckoning, it will also disturb American readers by reminding them of the variety and pervasiveness of their involvement in the sufferings of other nations.

Paik Nak-chung

Seoul National University

Footnote:

1 Post exchange

PREFACE FROM THE FRENCH EDITION BY EDITOR CÉCILE WAJSBROT

The Shadow of Arms is set during the Vietnam War, and describes an aspect thereof about which little is known — Korea’s participation, somewhat coerced, as an allied country alongside the American and South Vietnamese armies.

France had been out of the region for some time, following the defeat at Dien Bien Phu and in accordance with the Geneva Agreements of July 1954, which consecrated the division of the country into North and South Vietnam on either side of the Seventeenth Parallel. To the north, the Democratic Republic of Ho Chi Minh; to the south, the dictatorship of Diem and then the regime of general Thieu. The United States, which ever since the start of the Korean War in 1950 had underhandedly financed the Indochina War — the “free world’s” fight against Communism, that era’s Axis of Evil — progressively intensified its presence until undeniable engagement; August 1964, when North Vietnamese gunships attacked two American destroyers in the Gulf of Tonkin. We know the rest, the growing opposition to the war, the draft, the profound losses, the Paris Accords in 1973, and The United States’ withdrawal in 1975.

This novel takes place around the time of the Tet Offensive, launched by the Communists in January to February of 1968 at the height of US presence. Ahn Yong Kyu, a Korean corporal (later promoted to sergeant) is transferred from the front to the Department of Investigation, where he is to look into black market activities in Da Nang, South Vietnam’s principal military port. And yet, The Shadow of Arms is not a war novel. There are no combat scenes, save for the rare images that emerge from Yong Kyu’s memory. Rather, there are the strands of dense black market intrigue that weave together every actor in the conflict — the Americans, Vietnamese Saigon partisans, the Viet Cong, Koreans — through characters who, though perhaps emblematic of ideologies, are not without emotional depth, the complexity of life. Such as the two brothers who align themselves with opposing sides, Pham Quyen and Pham Minh, one of whom experiences the thrill of strategy, and the other, the loneliness of souls enamored of an ideal. And Toi, Yong Kyu’s Vietnamese friend; a mysterious man with a tragic fate. Also Hae Jong, the Korean seductress of questionable character. As for the character of Ahn Yong Kyu (in which we see Hwang Sok-yong’s own experience), his position as a foreigner — sure that he’ll forget everything upon his return — makes him at once both a part of the action and a distanced onlooker. Vietnam is a sinking ship, a shore you wash up on, wreck on, but not a harbor. Accounts of atrocities by the American army break up the narrative. There reigns a strange calm, the eye of the hurricane, perhaps. But this is also a world where people refuse to abandon their aspirations, to renounce dreams, deny emotion — a world brimming with humanity.

Back in Korea, Hwang Sok-yong was far from forgetting. He wrote several pieces (among them the story “Doe-Eyed,” which appeared in his collection The Road to Sampo) that show him grappling with the Vietnam War — a subject not usually written about in Korean literature; a war that generally escaped scrutiny. Then came the great work, this novel, The Shadow of Arms, in which he shrugs off the shadows of time — the alchemy of transforming the realness of reality into the realness of literature.

First appearing as a series in a monthly journal in 1983, and later as a single volume in 1985, Hwang Sok-yong’s novel was an act of courage in a Korea whose situation as a country divided is reminiscent of Vietnam’s. What’s more, the author’s implicit sympathy for the Viet Cong offended the dictatorial regime of Chun Doo-hwan, so much so that the second volume (from Chapter 22 on) had to await publication until Chun stepped down in 1988 and the ensuing period of relative freedom. The following year it received the Manhae Award, one of the most prestigious in Korean literature.

The author revised the text in 1992—and this is the text that has been translated into English, following the French edition, which was the first available in Europe.

C. W.

MAIN CHARACTERS

The Koreans

Ahn Yong Kyu, a Korean soldier at the heart of the investigation division of the American army.

Captain Kim, leader of the Korean unit.

The Staff Sergeant, member of the unit lead by Captain Kim. His trafficking of Korean beer angers the Americans army.

Oh Hae Jong, also called Mimi. She was an office employee in an American PX in Uijeongbu, in Korea, and lived successively with three American soldiers. She had a child with one of them. In Vietnam, she was fired from the post exchange (PX) where she worked, for dealing heroin. Through her relationship with Pham Quyen, she obtains Vietnamese nationality, her last chance to start her life over. They dream of saving enough money to move to Singapore or Hong Kong.

The Hong Kong Group, the most influential group among Korean civilians dealing in the black market in Da Nang.

The Vietnamese

Pham Minh, a medical student at the University of Hue. He joins the National Liberation Front (NLF) and becomes a secret agent of the 434th special action group based in Da Nang.

Pham Quyen, Pham Minh’s older brother. Commander in the Vietnamese government’s army. Aide-de-camp of General Liam (governor of the Quang Nam province), he wields all the administrative power of the local government.

Chan Ti Shoan, the daughter of a civil servant. She is Pham Minh’s friend and a student in her final year at Pascal High School.

Lei, Pham Minh and Pham Quyen’s younger sister. She attends the same high school as Shoan, but is in her second-to-last year.

Mi, Pham Minh and Pham Quyen’s older sister. Following the death of her husband, a member of the NFL killed in combat, she lives at her mother’s house with her two children and depends financially on her brother, Pham Quyen.

Uncle Trinh, the former director of the Da Nang primary school. He exercised huge influence over the youngsters, teaching them the history of Vietnam. But having lost hope, he is now addicted to opium.

Nguyen Cuong, an important trader in the Le Loi market in Da Nang. He is a local government representative in all commercial transactions. With Pham Quyen, he plans to collect cinnamon on the high plateaus of central Vietnam and to market it.

Nguyen Thatch, Cuong’s younger brother. He studied at the University of Hue. He is a secret agent for the urban guerilla fighter movement of one of the NLF’s district commissions in Da Nang. His car repair shop is a front for his secret activity of supplying the NLF with weaponry.

Doctor Tran, the director of the Red Cross hospital. As a surgeon, he is used to comfort and luxury. He lives with his wife, Madame Hue, and their son Huan and daughter Phuoc, who is a friend of Shoan.

Old Man Hien, the owner of the Puohung House. He has a trading partnership with the Americans. He holds precious information on the rates of exchange of army currency and dollars, as well as on the different markets.

Lieutenant Kiem, Commander Pham’s aide-de-camp. He works in the administration of the local government. He is originally from the countryside, but is ambitious; he enlisted in the state army and was appointed officer.

Toi, originally from Da Nang. After having finished his military service in the state army, he started working for the Korean branch of the investigation division. He is a friend of Yong Kyu for whom he serves as a driver, interpreter, and assistant.

Madame Lin, from China, owner of the Sports Club. The wife of an Englishman born in Hong Kong, she is a close friend of Oh Hae Jong and knows how to treat American officers tactfully.

The Americans

Stapley, a sergeant at the Turen supply warehouse. Originally from New York, he dreams of writing comic books. After having been insubordinate, he chooses to go to Vietnam to avoid prison but he ends up deserting.

Leon, originally from Chicago, son of Italian immigrants, and obsessed with motorcycle racing. Employed at the Turen warehouse, he is the main supplier to Ahn Yong Kyu.

Krapensky, a commander in the Marines, leader of the investigation division. He previously served in Korea.

Lucas, a corporal in the Marines and a member of the investigation division. He studied at the center for Korean studies in Washington and Hawaii.

THE SHADOW OF ARMS

1

The heavy pounding from an M102 howitzer on the other side of the river never let up. White rays of a scorching sun enveloped the sandy terrain, the barbed wire, and the cactuses. The few clumps of jungle scattered about looked like they were floating, like ships on water. A narrow road flanked by sandbags and barbed wire wound its way around them, connecting the battalion and the troops. Shots — warnings fired from the watchtowers built at every traffic control post — rang out in the silence between the blasts.

Sand rose up in dense clouds behind the hill. It mushroomed up into the air and then rolled down over the slope, swirling out across the field. The supply trucks had already come through by then. Then a Jeep veered sharply and sped into a narrow passage between two rows of sandbags.

For an instant, the field disappeared in the cloud of sand. A soldier standing guard out in front of the barricade yelled out, “Vehicle, headed this way!”

“Where’s it from?”

“Headquarters looks like, sir.”

The exchange between the squad leader and the lookout caused a stir among the soldiers. Those who had been squatting in the trenches cleaning their weapons were now up, leaning over the barricade to see what would happen.

“It’s definitely from headquarters, must be coming for somebody.”

“A liaison officer, maybe.”

“That new guy just got here. So someone’s got to be leaving.”

The Jeep came to a sudden stop in front of the defense post. The sentry pushed the barricade to one side. As the dust settled the passenger in the Jeep became visible. He was not in jungle uniform, but in simple, black cotton Vietnamese clothing and a Special Corps jungle cap with a broad visor. The driver was dressed the same way. An unmanned, unloaded machine gun was mounted on the back of the Jeep. It hung diagonally on its stand and swayed for a few seconds before coming to rest.

“What is it?” the company commander asked the two men dressed as civilians, as he emerged from his bunker. They did not remove their dark sunglasses.

Without saluting, the passenger handed a piece of paper to the commander and said, “CID2. We’re here for the transferee.”

The commander took a quick look at the paper. The soldiers stopped all activity and turned to look at him.

“Corporal Ahn Yong Kyu. Corporal Ahn!”

The soldier whose name had been called hesitantly rose from the trench. He glanced around. Visibly perplexed, he walked toward the company commander. Except for a missing helmet, he carried a fighting man’s standard issue of arms and equipment. Like most infantrymen in the dry season, Private Ahn had cut his jungle pants into shorts, revealing his knees above his boots. Ragged threads from the unhemmed edges dangled over his calves.

Waving the orders in the air, the commander griped to the man in civvies, as if he were in charge of personnel, “It’s tough, you know. If you take all my veterans, who’s going to fight? We won’t have a single man.”

The man took off his jungle cap and fanned himself with it. “Everyone who’s faced death is a veteran.”

“What matters is combat experience,” the commander went on. “We have only a couple who’ve done six months of duty. You can’t send them into the field before eight months, and the new recruits are a problem. It’s only after three months that you could call them infantrymen, barely. Any earlier. . they get carried off in body bags by helicopters.”

The commander handed the paper over to the senior sergeant and cast a helpless look at the soldiers standing around. The driver turned the Jeep around to head back and the man in black shouted at the confused soldier, who hadn’t moved from his spot: “Let’s go! Get in!”

“I have to report, and there’s my things.”

“Fuck your report, this is an order. You can come naked for all I care. Let’s go!”

The soldier looked at his commander, who stared coldly back at the man who was already a member of another unit.

“Go. Get the hell out of here.”

The soldier saluted as his superior turned toward his bunker. The sergeant nodded. Of all the soldiers, only the platoon leader held out his hand, saying “Good luck. You’ve been through hell here.”

After shaking his hand, Private Ahn climbed into the Jeep. It sped away, giving him barely enough time to take a last look at the little hole he had been stuck in for the past six months. Through the dust, the heads of soldiers watching from behind the sandbags appeared blurry, and then disappeared. Once it had emerged from the company’s defense zone, the Jeep accelerated. With one hand Private Ahn grasped the body of the unsteady machine gun to keep it from hitting him. Then he leaned forward and asked the man in the front seat, “Am I being transferred to headquarters?”

The man did not turn around but muttered testily, “Wherever it is, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

“How long’ve you been crawling?” the driver asked.

“Five months and fourteen days, to the day.”

“Looks like a reconnaissance was sent out.”

At these words from the man in black, apparently a corporal, the driver laughed.

“What for? The entire city of Hoi An has been taken.”

“So, it’s an offensive, then.”

“The counteroffensive begins this afternoon,” Ahn Yong Kyu interjected.

“We’re now entering Hoi An. Here, it’s different than in Chu Lai. It’s the Regular Army here.”

It had been over a month since the brigade headquarters left Chu Lai. Ahn Yong Kyu belonged to the second regiment that arrived. Twice he’d been sent out to lay ambushes in the outskirts of Hoi An, and he’d been a part of a company-level operation at least once. Like everyone, he knew street warfare would mean heavy casualties for the city. But an infantryman didn’t talk about operations to come. He’d keep his mouth shut and not speak of his dreams from the night before. Only check his equipment one more time.

Ahn Yong Kyu wasn’t thinking about where they were taking him. Every time the Jeep took a sudden turn he had to either quickly duck or catch the swinging machine gun. One thing he knew for sure was that he had to refill his canteen the next time they stopped. With a little luck he might find a well with potable water that didn’t taste of chlorine.

Private Ahn Yong Kyu had a thin and tanned face. His eyes were narrow and penetrating, his lips, parched and pale, his cheeks hollow. His hair had grown out a little over the nape of his neck and his bony chin was covered in a sparse and prickly stubble. Even when relaxed, the small brown man remained alert. He seemed without emotion. No anger nor agony. His feelings had been charred by the scalding sun. Just two weeks of carnage, of thirst and heat had transformed the fighting men into burnt-out tin cans.

The Jeep slowed down. It was entering the sector of brigade headquarters. After they passed though an MP3 checkpoint, a camp compound of plywood and sheet metal came into view. Behind it there was a double fence of barbed wire and a watchtower with a high ladder. Up on the tower the guards were eating C-rations. They had set their guns down, barrels aimed at the ground. A prison camp. Inside the wire about a dozen POWs, exhausted by the heat, were sleeping in the shade of folded tents. One of them stood up and made a sound—uuk, uuk—gesturing for a drink of water, but a guard spat out, “Kong deok!”

The prisoner sat down again. The driver walked off toward another set of barracks, and the man in black went into the building alone. He told Private Ahn to wait for a second, but minutes passed and he didn’t reappear. Camouflaged MP vehicles passed through the checkpoint. It must have been time to relieve those on road patrol. Ahn took off his helmet, put it down on the sand and sat on it, and lit a cigarette. One of the guards climbed down the ladder from the watchtower and approached along the fence.

“What are you, new recruit?”

“Temporary transfer from my platoon.”

“Where to, field MPs? Prisoners’ camp?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Who brought you here?”

“Some man in black.”

“You’re damn lucky. They must be sending you to the investigation division. If not to Da Nang or Saigon, at least to Hoi An or Tam Ky.”

Yong Kyu looked vacantly at the live enemies inside the wire fence.

“Let me borrow a light,” said the guard, reaching for Yong Kyu’s cigarette to light his own. He seemed envious of Yong Kyu’s assignment.

“In the investigation division there’s two corporals, two master sergeants, and a first lieutenant, and each is temporarily assigned to a battalion. But those posts are all filled now. As for investigation, the detachment at Da Nang is the biggest.”

The guard kept wiping sweat and dust from his face with his sleeve. After lighting his cigarette, he glanced back over his shoulder at the POWs behind him, and muttered, “Shit, I’ve been at this four months already and it’s driving me nuts. Even field duty days in the platoon were better than this, you know.”

“So, you crawled, too.”

“Nothing but crawling for two months, then transferred to this shit-hole,” said the guard, adding in a whisper, “Think hard, I mean, you must know somebody in a high place in Korea. Or your family pulled some strings?”

“I don’t know. . no chance, then, that I’ll be sold back to the platoon, huh?”

“Not a chance. Goodbye to that rifle till the day you head home.”

The guard walked away from the wire fence. Once in a while you could see infantrymen moving toward the outskirts of the city in formation. As they marched, a fine dust lifted up around their calves.

The corporal in black came out of the building and shouted at Yong Kyu.

“Hey, you! Come in!”

Yong Kyu followed the corporal inside. Suddenly he was in total darkness. He heard a voice.

“Private Ahn Yong Kyu, your serial number?”

Yong Kyu shouted out his number loud and clear then continued, “Rank, private! Branch of service, army infantry! Home. .”

As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, Yong Kyu was able to make out a metal desk in front of him. A skinny man in a civilian T-shirt and dark sunglasses was sitting at it. He was holding a file containing the full record on Yong Kyu. After running item by item through all the questions about his education, family background, blood type, military service record and so on, the man said, “Good. One of the staff at the joint investigation headquarters in Da Nang is returning home. You’re transferred today to take over his duty, effective immediately.”

Everybody at the brigade headquarters seemed to be out on assignment. Only the skinny officer, the corporal, and a few privates were there. The corporal left the office with Yong Kyu.

“You know the second heliport?”

So he would not be giving Yong Kyu a ride this time. The corporal gave Yong Kyu a copy of his transfer orders and a newly issued investigation staff ID card. Everything was in English. The letters “CID” and the red diagonal slash on the card stood out.

“Show this and they’ll give you a boarding number.”

“I’m going right now?”

“You think we’re kidding here? The orders for your transfer to Da Nang came from investigation headquarters. The controllers in the intelligence unit will keep in contact with you until you get to your new unit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without acknowledging Yong Kyu’s salute, the corporal grinned and looked away. “Listen, when I come up to Da Nang, you’ll show me around. I usually make it up there once a month.”

Yong Kyu walked toward the military operations road as directed. He trudged on through the dust raised by the transports that occasionally went by. None of them would stop for him even when he held out his thumb. That particular road was completely exposed to the deep jungle and a stopped truck made an easy target for rockets. As he did on patrol, Yong Kyu kept to the edge of the road and walked holding his rifle up.

A truck sped past him leaving another cloud of dust in its wake. About a hundred yards farther along, there came a sound of sss . . saaa . . aang and Yong Kyu instinctively hurled himself down and rolled up against the sandbags lining the road. He lay there flat on the ground. There was a crash, like an enormous glass plate shattering, and he felt sand shower down on his back.

He waited for the second explosion, but from the long delay he figured that the target had been hit. Yong Kyu raised his face and through the mixture of dust and sweat looked up the road. A pillar of flames was shooting high up into the air, streaming dark smoke, and the truck was flipped on its side in the middle of the road. A direct hit on the front of the cab. The driver who had looked out at Yong Kyu a minute earlier had to have been killed instantly. The enemy’s rocket projectiles and mortar rounds began raining all along the sandbag walls and more struck the roadbed. It was a full-on attack. Despite the sun shining over the vast dune that separated the jungle from the lines of defense, it was impossible to tell what was what. A Jeep sped by and an officer inside yelled to Yong Kyu, “Are you trying to get killed? Take cover, quick!”

Yong Kyu propped himself against the sandbag barricade and took a swig from his canteen. Aggressive attacks seldom lasted longer than twenty minutes. By then the shells, normally two to each guerrilla, would have run out. This attack seemed to be on the entire company. An airstrike must have been initiated before the fighting broke out on the ground; two of the old-style fighter-bombers could be seen looping and rolling overhead.

The second heliport was in a state of pandemonium. The asphalt landing strip had been hit four times by bombs. The wounded were writhing in pain beneath the rancid chemical smoke. There was no trace of anybody in the bunker next to the strip and the barracks were empty, too. To the west could be seen a line of infantrymen, their backs to the wall, firing.50 caliber machine guns set up on swivel stands. Further, beyond the open terrain, superbombs were going off over the thick jungle in a hellish din. It seemed to rip open the eardrums.

Ammunition and food were stacked up alongside the landing strip ready to be lifted to the rank-and-file rifle platoons. Yong Kyu jumped into a trench beneath the heliport control center. A chill seized him. Looking down, he saw muddy water coming up to his stomach. He threw his rifle out of the trench to keep it dry. The cold he felt was temporary; the water was tepid with the heat absorbed from the earth and sun. He looked around and caught sight of soldiers who had taken cover in muddy foxholes. They were naked except for their helmets and cut-off jungle pants.

Yong Kyu dipped his helmet into the water and poured it over his head. Sand ran down his face. Again he heard the piercing whistle of an incoming mortar shell slicing through the air. Seconds after the whistling came the blast. He covered his ears with his hands and buried his nose in the mud. Someone jumped into the trench and landed on his back. Yong Kyu did not shake him off. The earsplitting explosion filled the air with dry dirt clods and sand. The chemical stench lingered. Shells poured down on the landing strip and heliport bunkers.

“Sons of bitches, where the hell is the artillery? If they spend anymore time calculating coordinates, the enemy’ll be long gone.”

When the bombing stopped, the two men in the trench raised their heads.

“This is my hole, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Isn’t there a helicopter today?”

Instead of apologizing for being in somebody else’s trench, Yong Kyu explained that he had come to catch a helicopter ride.

“Chopper? Where you headed?”

“Da Nang.”

“Are you insane? Look around, we can’t even transport ammo! You’re on leave?”

“Transferred.”

“No lifts except for operations.”

“It’s like this every day?”

“This is the first like this I’ve seen since I’ve been here, but I’ll bet it’s worse in the platoons.”

Yong Kyu pictured himself running for his life through a narrow alley in Hoi An.

“It’s nothing like Chu Lai,” said the owner of the trench.

“We’re in Da Nang’s throat.”

“Point is, you’re lucky. We haven’t even made it to Tam Ky, let alone Da Nang.”

It was true for Yong Kyu, too. In nearly six months the only things he had seen were dismal jungles, endless rice paddies, muddy swamps, and bloodied dust. Everybody envied Yong Kyu for getting to escape this hell.

“You’re damn lucky.”

Yong Kyu just nodded. Like a well-trained hunting dog with sharp reflexes, he had done nothing but climb, run, or crawl for months. And all the sudden, it was over. He saw the face of the trainer back at Special Operations Corps, with his dark glasses, hovering in front of him: “Got it? The primary objective of warfare training is to develop your animal instincts. A marine’s instinct to fight is a natural instinct.”

The hissing of shells split the wind.

“Incoming!”

The two soldiers dove and stuck their heads back in the water. The dry sound of the blast left them momentarily deaf. A rocket-launched 3.5 inch bomb. Yong Kyu imagined the Viet Cong slipping away, quickly and stealthily, their weapons on their backs. He could tell from the noise where the shells were being shot. The artillery emplacements launched 105s and high-explosive bombs. They would fire with every large-caliber weapon they had in order to reestablish transportation routes. The barrage continued until aircraft appeared overhead. Then came the racket of Caterpillars and armored vehicles as they passed by the heliport company. Yong Kyu crawled out from the trench. Water dripped from his soaked pants onto the parched ground. As he headed toward the deserted landing strip, the soldier he had been sharing the trench with shouted at his back.

“Hey! It’s dangerous!”

Yong Kyu pointed his rifle butt at the armored vehicles rolling away over the open terrain.

“It’s over. The operation is over.”

Yong Kyu sat down cross-legged on the wooden steps of the control post and stayed there until the radio operator and some American showed up. High up in the sky, off to the south, long-tailed American marine helicopters were flying in formation under escort of gunships. On the landing strip medics and supply corps soldiers were busy hauling away the wounded, patching holes and cleaning the debris from destroyed supplies.

“What are you doing here? Move!” the radio operator spat at Yong Kyu, who was blocking his way up the steps. Yong Kyu held out his ID card.

The red diagonal line was like a symbol of authority to the radio operator.

“Ah. You’re being transferred.”

“To Da Nang,” Yong Kyu added.

“All right. Get on board.”

The radio operator jumped past Yong Kyu and went in to the control post, followed by Anglico, the American marine in jungle fatigues. The two men seemed to be in charge of the transport operations for supplies and passengers. Yong Kyu stuck his head in and asked, “Isn’t there transport control to check in with?”

“Not for passengers. Just get on. Anyway, all helicopters land at the military heliport in China Beach at Da Nang.”

“But. .”

“Look, we’re having a hell of a time as it is getting supplies to the platoons. You expect us to find a chopper for an individual transfer?”

“It’s on you if I don’t make it to Da Nang.”

“Yeah OK,” said the radio operator, his forehead creased. He muttered his insults under his breath, but loud enough for Yong Kyu to make out the words “son of a bitch.”

“You can walk up Route 1 or crawl all the way to Hanoi, take your pick.”

Yong Kyu did not understand how administration worked. Even when he was wading through a marsh with only his head and rifle above water, it never occurred to him that he was wandering aimlessly, bound for arbitrary coordinates determined by negligent officers who, in some comfortable office with coffee in hand, had traced wavy lines on a map using a right angle and a compass.

C-rations and ammunition lay in piles at the end of the landing strip. Yong Kyu stood watching as they got loaded into helicopters.

“Hey you, give me a hand with this!”

A sergeant passed by carrying a huge plywood box under each arm. They were marked GOVERNMENT PROPERTY, the kind of boxes used for private purposes. Nobody but the owner of such a box knew its contents. It probably wasn’t worn-out underwear, army uniforms, or eating utensils that was inside them.

“Can’t help. I’m leaving with the helicopter.”

“What?. . Where are you going?”

“Da Nang.”

As he spoke, Yong Kyu got the feeling that Da Nang was some kind of mythical paradise he was never going to reach.

“I’m headed there too,” the sergeant shot back, undeterred. “Give me a hand with these.”

Yong Kyu had no choice but to take one of the boxes and hoist it onto his shoulders.

“Can we take off in this chaos?”

“I can handle it. I’ll take you up, as surplus cargo,” said the sergeant and quickened his pace, then stopped, as if something had occurred to him.

“You’re not AWOL, are you, private?”

“I have my transfer orders with me, sir.”

“What unit you with?”

“Criminal Investigation Division.”

Obviously impressed, the sergeant eyed Yong Kyu from head to toe. Yong Kyu could not help scrutinizing the sergeant back. He was wearing new American army jungle fatigues with a stiff, starched work cap. His jungle boots were coated with white dust, but a single wipe would reveal their shine.

“So you’re moving up in the world,” the sergeant said, extending his hand. “We should get acquainted. I’m Sergeant Yun, senior non-com at the recreation center.”

They shook hands.

“The rec center and the investigation division have tight connections,” Sergeant Yun went on, offering unsolicited information. “You’ll learn all about it soon enough.”

The sergeant led the way towards the helicopters lined up on the runway. He did not even glance at the transport chopper, but made a beeline for an armed gunship that had been escorting the convoy. There was a boyish-looking American soldier manning a machine gun at the door. The sergeant addressed him in broken English:

“Let me-ah on tha helikopta an I gib you whiskey one battuhl.”

The American soldier leaned forward and asked him to say it again. Once he understood the sergeant, he gestured for him to hurry on board. They had to practically shove themselves inside the gunship along with the boxes. They squatted in the corner. The pilot asked what was going on and the American gunner answered, “Special liaison men, sir.” Then the gunner winked at them, making a little circle with his thumb and index finger.

“Bastard. Damned pleased with himself,” the sergeant muttered in Korean.

“You know him?”

“Know him, my ass! He’s all cocky because I promised him a bottle of whiskey.”

The sergeant opened a box, took out a bottle of whiskey wrapped in paper and handed it to the American gunner. The latter looked over his shoulder at the pilot, an officer, then took the bottle and quickly hid it in a half-filled ammo box.

“Thanks very much. I’ll give you a lift back, too,” he said, smiling.

The sergeant smiled back at him and turned to Yong Kyu.

“Bastard. I make the trip once week. Fat chance we’ll ever run into each other again. You see, whiskey is a business asset.”

“But who’s going to drink two boxes of whiskey?”

“Who said anything about drinking it? The idea is making contacts for the rec center. In Da Nang, this is how every transaction begins. Today it gets us on a chopper, but that’s a special case. A soldier of his rank isn’t allowed whiskey. Americans below the rank of corporal are only allowed to drink beer. If that bastard returns to his unit today, there’ll be an uproar. Let’s take a nap. We won’t be able to get off until the supply convoy’s mission has been completed.”

The sergeant stretched out his legs and leaned against a box. The helicopter engine started and they took off. A cool wind filled the cabin.

“Is it big, Da Nang?”

“Huh!” The sergeant responded indifferently without opening his eyes. “It’s like an island. Completely encircled by the enemy. Guerilla attacks every night. But your transfer to Da Nang will be good for you. Lucrative.”

“Lucrative?”

“C’mon, you’re here to make money, aren’t you?” the sergeant insisted. “You’re going to find yourself in the heart of the black market. Even when you’re just walking down the street, your pockets are going to fill up with dollars.”

Beneath the helicopter, the dark jungles of hell were slowly gliding by.

Footnotes:

2 Criminal Investigation Division

3 Military Police

2

Chan Te Shoan left through the main gate of the Lycée de Pascal at 65 Doc Lap Boulevard. She hung her head low, hiding her face behind her long hair. Lei had told her that morning before class that Pham Minh had dropped out of school and had come home the night before. Lei was a year behind Shoan, and Pham Minh, who had been studying medicine in Hue, was Lei’s older brother.

She didn’t know why Minh had quit school, but for some reason the news made Shoan uneasy. He was still too young to be drafted and anyway, medical students were almost always guaranteed deferments. But ever since Minh had left Da Nang for his uncle’s in Hue, the growing distance between them had been making Shoan anxious. Every few months Minh came for a short visit and each time confirmed Shoan’s fear that he was turning into someone else.

More than half of the seniors at her school had disappeared. Most of those who had married were now young widows. And it was not just the women of Shoan’s generation who were affected. There were many women from her neighborhood who, having lost their husbands, had gone to Saigon and become prostitutes. There were housewives selling their bodies to soldiers from the nearby posts while awaiting their husbands’ homecoming.

Walking toward the embankment of the Da Nang pier where Minh was waiting for her, Shoan felt a sudden urge to turn around and go home. In the distance she could see the white marble wisteria-covered walls of the ivory building that used to be the French customs house. Ahead, the row of open-air cafes. She walked beside the old iron railings just above the waterfront.

Even from afar she recognized Minh’s distinctive posture. He wore a white shirt and was sitting with his head drooped. One arm hung over the back of the chair and he had both legs propped up on the seat of another chair beside him. Hanging from his fingertips, nearly scraping the ground, was a burning cigarette from which curled a bluish smoke. Shoan passed through the chairs and as she came up behind him, Minh slowly turned his head.

“Hey, Shoan,” he murmured, squinting, as if dazed by her appearance.

Shoan was about to pull over a chair to sit down facing him, but Minh pushed forward the chair beside him.

“Sit next to me. You always smell so good; I knew you were here before I saw you.”

Shoan obediently took the chair he had been using as a foot prop. The breeze played with their hair. Naked children lined up on the embankment below and jumped into the sea one by one. The children’s innocent squeals of laughter and the constant splashing almost made the two forget the sound of gunfire that resonated through the neighborhood from time to time. Friends met up on bicycles. Minh and Shoan sat in silence in the occupied peace of an occupied city. Shoan watched the naked children, her eyes half-closed.

“When did you get back?”

She already knew but asked him anyway. It was her way to reproach him for not coming directly to see her upon his return the day before. Minh understood her intent and quickly replied.

“Yesterday, but I haven’t even been home. There were some people I needed to see. I called Lei to come downtown and we had dinner together. She’s grown. And she was very critical of our older brother.”

Minh often let himself vocalize his wandering stream of thoughts. Normally Shoan would have been eager to listen, but now she could not control her impatience.

“What about school?”

Minh froze, his arm half-raised, and gazed at her. Slowly he lowered his arm and answered with deliberate curtness, “Ah, I quit.”

With a questioning look on her face, Shoan stared at him.

“What book is that?” asked Minh, picking up a thin volume in French on top of the textbooks she had neatly placed on her lap. He read the title aloud.

“Louis Aragon. Les Beaux Quartiers . . A few miles away children are being mutilated by bombings, and the ghosts of this colony are teaching trash like this. I don’t have time to study an atlas of anatomy when the swamps and the rice fields are strewn with the bodies of my countrymen.”

Shoan took back the French text and laid it on her lap.

“The living can’t stand it, either,” she said quietly, but Minh turned and beckoned to a waiter.

“Garçon, what is there to drink?”

“We have Coke and lemonade, sir.”

“That’s it?”

The waiter looked blankly at Minh. “You haven’t had lunch yet, have you?” Minh asked Shoan.

“I’ll eat when I get home.”

“No classes in the afternoon?”

“Yes. Two hours after the siesta.”

“Then there’s no point in going home,” Minh said, looking up once more at the waiter. “Bring us two orders of bánh mì.”

The waiter wiped the sweat from his neck with a napkin and said, “We don’t have any. We do have crêpes made from C-rations, though.”

“What about noodles with nuoc mam?”

As a response, the waiter pointed across the street. The sun beat down and people, exhausted by the heat, were beginning their naps, sleeping in the shade with newspapers on their faces. A couple of rickshaw drivers sat by the curb, eating noodles from a street vendor. Minh was about to get up, but after a quick glance at Shoan he settled down again.

“Fine. Bring us something to eat and drink. Doesn’t matter what.”

“You seem nervous,” Shoan said.

“That customs house, this sidewalk cafe, people like us hanging around here, that idiot of a waiter. . it’s like it’s been this way forever.”

Minh gazed out at the ocean. Or he was averting his eyes to avoid Shoan’s.

“Shoan, I’ve. . I’ve made up my mind. At a time like this, I can’t do anything. Even if I’m still young.”

Inside Shoan there arose a strong urge to grab him by the neck and give him a violent shake. But she remained still. Disinclined for the moment to expand on what he had said, Minh remained silent as well. The waiter brought their drinks. Minh took a deep breath and exhaled.

“This is the first time in ages I’ve felt this light and refreshed.”

After a few sips, Shoan asked tentatively, “Where do you plan to go? Hue?”

“No. I. . don’t know where I’ll go yet.” Then, unable to contain himself any longer, Minh leaned in and whispered to her, “But I won’t be gone long. A friend from the jungle is supposed to meet me here.”

Shoan felt a painful thud in her heart, like from the heavy blow of a blunt object. She picked up the drink and gulped. The rim of the glass made an abrasive sound as it grated against her teeth. Her hands were shaking.

The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. A German hospital ship was slowly steaming into the harbor. The war refugees who had crossed the narrow finger of water in the harbor streamed along Ivory Road. More people in need of food. Among them was a boy with both legs amputated. His sister, a small girl not much bigger than him, was carrying her legless brother on her back. From the medical vessel rang the joyful sound of a bell. Ever since the guerrillas had set off the C-4 bomb on the pier, military police searched everyone except for some women and small children.

“The education won’t be like what I’ve been getting at school.”

Shoan knew what he meant. There had been many students who suddenly disappeared from home or school after receiving their draft notices. Some were later discovered as corpses in some small village or down in the Mekong Delta, their bodies sent back to their parents. She had also heard of students who’d climbed walls to sneak into their friends’ houses in the middle of the night only to vanish. Others were said to have become hawkers around the foreign army bases.

“I’m going to Uncle Trinh’s tonight. I’ll see you there.”

Shoan shook her head and said, “No, I’m not going back to school today.”

“There’s some place I have go alone,” Minh said coldly. But he did not move. It was Shoan who rose first.

“Aren’t you going to see your family at least?”

“I already told Lei everything. And I don’t want to fight with my brother.”

The two walked side by side, crossed Ivory Road and continued all the way to the intersection where Le Loi Boulevard began. As they approached the side street leading to Shoan’s house, she paused and turned to Pham Minh, as if to ask his destination.

“I’m heading for the marketplace. . be at Uncle Trinh’s at around seven o’clock, okay?”

Lowering her head, Shoan was quiet a moment before speaking.

“You haven’t heard about the curfew, have you?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“Civilians on the street after eight p.m. are to be arrested and anyone trying to run away can be shot.”

Minh glared at Shoan. What she meant was that with an air strip and US Marine checkpoints on the way to Dong Dao there would be no way for her to return home at sundown, let alone by eight o’clock in the evening.

As for Pham Minh, not knowing what the future would bring made returning to Da Nang unthinkable. Starting that day and for the next three months, he would have to survive at the center of Vietnam’s wretched reality, in the swamps and marshes. The organization might send him back to Da Nang as a civilian agent or part of the urban staff organization. But they also might keep him in the jungle. Minh saw Shoan’s big eyes moistening. He wanted to wrap his arm around her slender waist and kiss her. Instead, he shyly held out his hand.

“Chào co, Shoan. See you soon.”

“Chào ong. .”

She didn’t take his hand but ran, all the way across Le Loi Boulevard, her long hair and the skirt of her white ao dai swaying from side to side. Minh dropped his hand. As he walked toward the marketplace, he began to regret having seen her at all.

The market quarters were divided into an old and a new section. The nice shops on Le Loi Boulevard ran from the pier to the front of City Hall. The traditional open market, held daily and just for Vietnamese, extended from the bus terminal area to the outskirts of the city. There, the population of Da Nang and its surrounding area could trade in artisan and agricultural products, from every kind of vegetable and grain to coarsely woven clothing. It was a modest market. Most transactions took place in the narrow back alleys between Le Loi and Doc Lap Boulevards, a bustling area where the goods that had leaked out from the American PX4 and other military supply warehouses got traded.

The old market was where Pham Minh was heading. It was in disarray, its stalls cluttered with mangos, bananas, and coconuts; salt fish and dried shrimp; noodle dishes, bánh mì, sausages, and fried pork. All laid out in small wooden baskets or on military ponchos. Minh walked into the market and looked around.

“Chrysanthemum Pub. .”

There was a lot of confusion in the parking lot of the bus terminal. The incoming and outgoing buses all were overloaded with packages strapped high on their rooftops. Minh saw a round signboard with a chrysanthemum painted on it. The small bus had been crammed so full of chairs and its ceiling was so low that travelers would suffer the painful effects of a long journey days after it had ended. National Route 1 heading down to Saigon was the busiest. Occasionally there were buses that made round trips inland. Cutting through the bedlam of the crowd, Minh approached Chrysanthemum Pub. It was filled with passengers and soldiers. As Minh hunted for a place to sit, he stopped a man carrying a big tray full of nuoc mam noodles.

“When’s the next bus to Quang Tri?”

“Oh, there happens to be one tomorrow. Leaves at six in the morning. After that, you’d have to wait three days till the next one. You can spend the night here.”

“But I’ve got to meet my uncle from Khe Sanh. .”

It was the first part of the message Minh had been instructed to deliver. The man pretended not to have heard him.

“His name is Nguyen Thach, has he been here yet?” Minh added.

The man scanned Minh from head to toe and then pointed to the interior of the restaurant behind a screen of beads.

“Go ask in there.”

Pham Minh drew the beads apart and went in to find the inside partitioned into dark windowless rooms. It seemed the exterior was for eating and the inside for drinking tea or liquor. He hesitated and somebody nudged him from behind, saying, “Keep going.”

Minh looked back and saw that the waiter had followed him in. In the last partition, Minh found a middle-aged man in a white shirt and black pants with a cup of tea before him and his face buried in his hands.

“This man here says he came to meet Uncle Nguyen Thach, sir.”

The middle-aged man slowly looked up. His gentle face and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes reminded Minh of the principal of his primary school.

“Are you Mr. Pham Minh who’s been attending Hue University?”

“I am, yes.”

“Sit down, please.”

The man behind him left and Minh took a seat facing the middle-aged man.

“Pardon me for asking, but did you bring your ID?”

Minh took out his ID card and showed the man the yellow sticker authorizing travel issued by the Vietnamese government. It was an ID no less valuable than his own life. The man took it from Minh, examined it, and rose from his seat.

“Come with me.”

Minh followed him out through the back door of the pub to a filthy alley behind the market. Naked children were swarming all over the place and the air was rank from the garbage and dishwater tossed out into the street. They entered the back door of a shop that appeared to deal in medicinal herbs. Like everywhere in Asia, an old Westinghouse fan turned slowly on the ceiling overhead with the steady sound of metal rubbing on metal. An old man who had been dozing looked up at them and exchanged nods with the man. They went upstairs. Before the door opened, Minh recognized the voice of one of his friends.

“The National Liberation Front is the only democratic force in Vietnam. We will be the ones to achieve unification. The peace conference accords must be abrogated.”

As the door opened the voice fell silent. A young man in black who’d had his back to the door turned around.

“Pham Minh, so you’ve come.”

“Thanh.”

Minh shook Thanh’s hand. It was hard and rough. Minh examined his friend’s bony face and shining eyes.

“I heard at school that you were coming. Where have you been?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s start here. .”

Thanh introduced Minh to the seven young men in the room: two middle school teachers, three young draftees, and two AWOL soldiers. The middle-aged man who had escorted Minh there was the last to hold out his hand, saying, “I’m the Uncle Nguyen Thach you’ve been looking for.” He silently counted all those present and said, “Everyone’s here, apparently. Or is someone missing?”

“Pham Minh is the last comrade, sir,” answered Thanh. “Everything is set for departure?”

Thach nodded.

“We’re leaving by cargo truck. Is there anyone whose government ID is not in order?”

The two AWOL soldiers raised their hands.

“No one else except these two?” Thanh looked about. “We’ve got to get your pictures taken first. We can easily buy the IDs in the market, and it takes less than half an hour to forge them.”

Nguyen Thach pointed toward a bedroom behind the curtains. “In a wooden basket back there you’ll find outfits for eight. There’s also some canteens and bread. You two, come with me.”

Thanh spoke to Nguyen Thach as he was about to leave. “I need your signature here, please.”

“Oh, yes, sure.”

Tapping his finger on his forehead, Thach turned back and signed the document Thanh held out.

“It’s region eight, third city. What day is it today, and the date?”

Nguyen Thach told him.

“I can’t even say what year this is,” Thanh said.

“It happens when you live in the jungle.”

After Nguyen Thach left with the two men to have their photos taken, Thanh said, “That guy. . he was a graduate at the university. Now he’s in charge of this district.”

Pham Minh thought of the young men who had thrown grenades into the American officers’ club not long before.

“Is he the one in charge of combat?” Minh asked.

“Nguyen Thach is not someone who takes part in firefights. He is… well, he is an underground organizer.”

“Does headquarters know we’ve volunteered?” one of the teachers asked.

“I’m not sure. But once you depart your names will go on the roster of the district committee. You’re not the only ones who want to fight imperialism.”

Pham Minh sat on the windowsill and watched the crowded shops on the street below. The cool breeze from the pier billowed the cheap material of the curtains like sails. Thanh offered him a Trong cigarette. The two men took a deep puff, exhaled the smoke that smelled of grass, and looked out the window.

“You’re the only one from Da Nang.”

“And the other guys?”

“Not from Da Nang. .”

“Where are they taking us?”

Thanh hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m only taking you as far as Tungdik.”

“Do you have a government issue pass? I mean from there, it’s a liberated district.”

“You really don’t know?” Thanh said with a sigh as he looked at Minh. “Even on the outskirts of Da Nang, it’s all our zone of occupation. The enemy is no more than tiny specks floating in our ocean. At night we even occupy the few checkpoints and control posts that they have. From Tungdik, you’ll enter the Atwat Mountains. I trained at Dong Hoi training camp, but you’ll be sent to the Atwat Mountains.”

“I could always see the Atwat Mountains in the distance when I went out into the fields. But how come we’re going there?”

“That’s where guerrillas are being trained,” Thanh replied. Realizing he’d said too much, he hastily added, “Whether it’ll be Atwat or the Ho Chi Minh Trail, I can’t say for sure.”

“Think I’ll be stationed in a city?”

“I don’t know,” Thanh tried to evade Minh’s question. “I suppose those from the city will be assigned to cities and those from the country to the country.”

“And you’ll be. .”

Thanh crushed the cigarette butt with his foot and said, “The first unwritten law of the NLF5 is never ask the mission or unit of your comrades. Each individual is like a single cell of his own small unit. Besides that, all you need to know is that you’re a member of the special operations corps receiving your orders directly from the district committee and central headquarters.”

Feeling his words were too harshly formal, Thanh put his arm on Minh’s shoulder and said, “Sorry, you’ll learn it in time. Have you been home?”

Minh shook his head and said, “I saw Shoan.”

“Shoan… oh, you mean, Chan Te Shoan. Listless girl, always reminds me of a sick canary. Her entire family is Catholic, aren’t they?”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

Minh blushed and Thanh stopped talking. Then Minh spoke, fumbling with the words.

“Shoan is. . a poor Vietnamese woman. . like those you can see in Saigon, in Hue, here in Da Nang, everywhere.”

“True. I’m sorry. But women are not the only ones poor. The whole nation is poor. Go anywhere around a foreign army base. The houses there are like little whorehouse boxes. Little brother is drumming up customers, father is standing lookout, mother is taking the money, and sister is selling her body.”

Thanh’s voice gradually got louder and his eyes reddened as he went on.

“Generally, the living will survive. But some children will die setting booby traps, some girls will accidentally be killed by guerrilla bombs. And then there’re those who must be executed because they happen to have taken the side of the enemy. It’s all because this is a struggle for the people.”

An aroma of bananas frying in oil floated through the window from outside.

“What time do we leave tomorrow?’ Minh asked.

“Around seven. . maybe a little earlier or later.”

“I have to go somewhere first,” Minh said, getting to his feet.

“You can’t. You’ve already made yourself a member of the organization.”

One of the teachers who had been eavesdropping with the others came over to Minh and said aggressively, “We can’t trust you. Nobody should leave this room.”

Minh looked around at them. Then he plopped back down on a chair beside the window. After a long while Thanh came near him and said in a low voice, “All right. Go. But you have to be back here before dawn breaks tomorrow.”

Walking Pham Minh to the door, Thanh added in a loud voice meant to be heard by everyone, “It’s urgent, so hurry to make the contact. And try to be back in time to get some sleep.”

Thanh stopped at the top of the stairs and quickly whispered to Minh, “I get it. Say hi to Shoan for me.”

Minh left in a hurry out the back door of the herb shop and turned down Le Loi Boulevard. He meant to go to Dong Dao. He didn’t know if Shoan would be there or not, but he thought a quick visit to Uncle Trinh would help calm his restless and troubled heart.

Footnotes:

4 Post exchange

5 National Liberation Front

3

As soon as the helicopter landed at the base, the MAC6 ambulances began streaming in. The corpses were stacked neatly in the multi-shelved compartments. The wounded were grouped into pairs, each with a medic tending to them as they climbed in. Sirens roared. Pilots who had finished for the day strolled by, chewing gum. Yong Kyu and Sergeant Yun made their way off the runway with the government property boxes on their shoulders.

“Now,” Yun said. “I’m going to hitch a ride from the Americans and drive out to China Beach. . and you’ll have to head downtown.”

“I don’t know the city at all.”

Yong Kyu was lugging the box as if it were his own and Sergeant Yun looked over his pathetic appearance again. A miserable getup — the graffiti-covered helmet, the automatic rifle and ammo belt, the ragged jungle uniform and the sun-scorched face. The sergeant was quick to make up his mind.

“Fine. As you’re moving into such a high post. . ’’

Sergeant Yun put his box down, walked over to the sentry box, and made a phone call. “I called the Bamboo Club,” he said to Yong Kyu when he came back. “They’ll come get you.”

“What kind of club is it?”

“It’s an off-duty hangout for investigation division personnel.”

After setting the two boxes on the ground in front of him Sergeant Yun and waved his thumb at every Jeep and truck that passed by. A three-quarter ton stopped. Yong Kyu handed the boxes up to the sergeant who yelled down from the truck, “We’ll see each other again soon enough. We both have a lot to gain from a friendship.”

“See you later.”

After the sergeant left, Yong Kyu sat down on his helmet along the asphalt curb next to the sentry post. The American military base extended down along the shore. Nobody paid any attention to him. Military vehicles passed by and once in a while a kind-hearted driver paused to ask if he needed a ride. Everything was quiet except for the occasional sound of a helicopter taking off and landing.

A Jeep — yellow and black instead of olive green — came speeding up. As it passed, Yong Kyu saw “Philco-Ford Co.” written on the door. The Jeep drove into the heliport, then circled around and headed back out towards Yong Kyu. It stopped in front of him.

“Korean CID?”

“Yes.”

The American made chin and hand gestures as he spoke. Yong Kyu looked puzzled, so he grumbled, “Christ’s sake, get in. Don’t you speak English?”

Yong Kyu picked up his helmet and climbed up to sit beside him. In his head he was forming simple English sentences in his head, along the lines of: “I-am-a-boy.”

“You are CID, too?”

“That’s why I’m here to get you.”

“You are a soldier?”

“Marine Corps, Sergeant,” answered the American with a grin. “Call me Beck.”

“I am Corporal Ahn.”

“What’s your story? Been in battle?”

“For six months.”

Beck whistled in surprise. They drove by a bridge. The soldiers guarding it were shooting at some kind of wreckage floating down from upstream.

“Hot out. What’s the cover?”

“We aren’t in on that. We’re not in field operations.”

Beck made a quick radio transmission over the noise.

“This is a CID Jeep?”

“Yeah. We play civilians. This Jeep looks just like one of Philco’s or Vinelli’s.”

“Where do the Koreans stay?”

“They’re at a hotel.”

“Hotel?”

Turning towards Yong Kyu, Beck burst into a hearty laugh.

Palm trees flew by. On both sides of the road clean white French colonial-style buildings came into view. The city was spacious and geometrical and looked like a resort in a postcard. The wooden latticed window shutters were a blinding white under the beating sun. Vines of a deep green crept up the walls of the buildings. An armored personnel carrier stood in one corner of the intersection. Judging from the wire barricades around the armored car tank and the sandbagged sentry post, some sections of the city become off-limits at night.

Along both sides of the street, schoolgirls in white ahozai were walking in lines. School seemed to be out for the day. Their long hair and the ao dai clinging to their slender figures made for a beautiful sight.

“Pretty, aren’t they?”

Beck sped up, honking loudly. Yong Kyu did not respond but Beck went on talking.

“You’re a Korean, aren’t you? Your girls are also nice. There were two Korean girls in the strip show at the club last night. Both of them looked exactly like American women.”

“You mean an American army club?”

“Yes, but Koreans can go there if they’re working for investigation. No gooks, though.”

“What are gooks?”

“Vietnamese. They’re really filthy. But you’re like us. We’re the Allies.”

The Jeep made a circle and came to a stop in front of a five-story building. A long balcony and colorful awnings hanging from it provided shade. The structure itself looked old but, like bank buildings in Seoul, it was a dignified edifice with solid marble walls adorned with leaf and flower carvings. Yong Kyu hesitated.

“This way,” Beck said, gesturing.

As they pushed open the large glass door to enter the building, a Vietnamese guard with a gun at the ready glared at Yong Kyu. Beck told him as they walked past, “He’s an agent with the investigation division.”

The guard nodded. Men in suits and white shirts walked through the hallways. Walking up the spiral staircase, Beck said, “There’s only one elevator, reserved for officers. Lower ranks take the stairs.”

The two men hurried up to the fifth floor. Beck came to a door and knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside. Beck opened the door and pushed Yong Kyu in first. There were two bunks side by side, and room seemed to open into an adjoining room. An obese man with nothing but a huge towel covering his naked body was enjoying the cool breeze from an air conditioner. Beck grabbed his nose and yelped.

“Geez! That stink! You cooked those noodles again.”

Yong Kyu recognized the smell of kimchi. On an unplugged hotplate there was a pot and a K-ration can. It had to be walsunma ramyon that the man was cooking, instant noodles supplied to the Korean forces.

“Here’s your man,” Beck said.

Without getting up, the fat man murmured, “Thank you, thank you.”

Beck gave Yong Kyu a pat on the back and left the room. Not knowing the rank of the man he had woken from a nap, Yong Kyu straightened his posture. Grabbing his rifle’s strap he struck his helmet with a crisp salute. Then, according to regulations for reporting, he began to shout.

The man scratched his head, then said in an annoyed tone, “You, shut your mouth up. Why the hell are you screaming like that?”

Embarrassed and unsure what to do next, Yong Kyu began his report again, this time in a quiet voice. But the man lazily interrupted, “Cut it out. And take off your helmet and put it over there. Also get rid of that ugly M16.”

“Yes, sir! Understood, sir!”

“Bastard, there you go screaming again. This whole hotel will be on emergency alert because of you.”

Yong Kyu was in fact much too loud.

“This is not a brigade,” the man said as he sipped what was left of the Coca-Cola in his glass. “This is the Grand Hotel, a gathering point for the administrative agents of the Allied forces in Da Nang.”

Yong Kyu snapped to attention and nearly yelled “Yes, sir!” again. The man yawned and picked up the telephone receiver.

“Hey, he’s here. . Yes, just now.”

The man plopped back down on the bed. Hungover, probably, as he definitely hadn’t been fighting the night before. His eyes were all bloodshot. His bloated belly, covered with a khaki towel, moved up and down as he breathed. Somebody walked into the room behind Yong Kyu. It was a civilian with very long hair, wearing a loud orange T-shirt and white pants. His shoes were slick and shiny and the crease in his pants was sharp as a razor. With an unpleasant grin he looked over Yong Kyu’s unsightly appearance.

“Freshly scooped out of the mud. You know somebody high up back there, don’t you.”

“No, sir!”

“Huh, damned stiff you are. At ease. At ease in the easiest position in Da Nang. What did it cost you?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Hey, boy, you have any idea what kind of assignment this is?”

Without ceremony, he sat down next to the fat man with a landing hard enough to make the bedsprings squeak. Then he lifted the towel to take a peek.

“Given your willy a bath, have you?”

“You need to be court-martialed, you son of a bitch. Take a look at that boy. Ten days of crawling and you’d be exactly like him.”

“Hey now, don’t start that with me. The leader, sir, has to crawl first. My uniform comes off as soon as I set foot in Korea, but you’re a military career man, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.”

The fat man stood up.

“Hey, what about the beer?”

“I’ve got the two full pallets.”

“Captain doesn’t know, does he?”

“The fuck if I care. I’m outta here soon.”

“You bastard, don’t drag me down with you.”

“We share it all, the bad with the good. You really think I’d do that to you?”

To Yong Kyu, their repartee was anything but military. The discipline was gone, sucked away leaving a vacuum.

“Let’s leave it at that, but during the rest of your hitch, be sure to train the new recruit. And do a decent job on the transfer of duties.”

“Not my responsibility. He’s the leader’s problem.”

“You bastard, now. . do something about the boy. Start with the hair and buy him some new clothes.”

“Give me money. I’m not a private tutor.”

The man being called “leader” kept on muttering, but he crumpled ten dollars in military currency into a ball and tossed it over.

“All right,” said the man in civvies. “Let’s throw him a Korean barbecue at the Dragon Palace.”

The leader stood up and stretched. “You scum, you’ve got five crates set aside and you still want more, eh? I’ve never seen anyone so poisoned by money.”

“And you’re not. .?”

“Watch yourself, private. Now get the hell out of my sight. I’ll have to be at the office before the kids come back.”

“I’m on my way to the Bamboo.”

“You’ve got to have that boy report to his captain.”

“Got it.”

Yong Kyu followed the man out of the room.

“They call me Blue Jacket Kang. I’m being discharged this month as soon as I get back to Korea. You’re a corporal, which puts you second from the top. Better learn to behave. Let’s get you out of that ratty uniform.

Blue Jacket Kang took him to the privates’ room. There were two sets of bunk beds and another single cot. The room was quite spacious and had a bathroom and cabinet for stowing personal effects.

“Get out of those rags and have a bath and a shave. No need for a haircut since you’ll be letting it grow long anyway. You’re to play the role of a civilian technician employed by the US Army. If you’re ever smelled out as a soldier, all your work is fucked.”

Yong Kyu took off his jungle fatigues, tattered and soaked with sweat and mud.

“Put your helmet and rifle in the locker over there.”

Opening the locker Yong Kyu saw a number of rifles covered in a thick coat of dust. “Is the duty always unarmed?” he asked.

“Buy yourself a.38 revolver.”

“Buy a gun?”

Blue Jacket Kang snickered at Yong Kyu’s puzzlement. “Think it’s better to pack a dumbbell-sized.45, do you? There’s nothing you can’t get at the market. You can get one for twenty bucks. I suppose I could hand mine down to you, but I’m taking it home with me. It’ll be my tough luck if it’s found and confiscated at entry.”

For the first time in six months, Yong Kyu looked at himself in a full-length mirror. He saw a stranger. The cheeks were sunken, the skin tanned dark brown, and there was not an ounce of tenderness in the eyes. So skinny and dark he looked like a man from South Asia. Too tall for a Vietnamese, too dark for a Korean. Looked more like a Filipino, he thought. As he shaved, Blue Jacket Kang kept on babbling.

“Everyone here thinks only about himself. Watch out and trust nobody. After all, it’s the lowest rank that takes the blame.”

Yong Kyu turned off the electric shaver. “What did you say?”

“If you’re replacing me, you’ll probably be a market inspector.”

“Market?”

“Right. The Da Nang marketplace is the biggest black market in central Vietnam. Market intelligence is more important than information on tactical movements. When you get sick and tired of writing up reports, that’s when you start feeling disgusted. Headquarters will assign you to different fountainheads of black market supply so you can familiarize yourself with the distribution channels of the economy. Once you get acclimated, you’ll be living deep among the merchants and dealers. Don’t ever forget the advice of your predecessor. I mean, don’t waste your time opening up your textbook of ethics. We’re in a dump here. You’re up to your neck in filth. If you swim in it, you’ll survive. But if you struggle, you’ll get sucked down deeper and deeper and you’ll drown.”

“I’ll do as I’m ordered.”

Blue Jacket Kang stuck his head into the bathroom and shouted, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do as told. Our duty is limited duty. Our position here is different than that of the American army or the Vietnamese army. An order on a grand scale moves step by step, and if you write in your report that it wasn’t like that, what you saw was like this, what you heard was like that and the result of your investigation was such and such, and so forth, you’ll be the one getting into a jam. I’ll give you an example. You know the commander of the Vietnamese First Army, General Liam, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Three stars. He may become a cabinet member, you never know. He has a villa out on the North Cape, overlooking the Monkey Mountain. It serves as the safest warehouse for black market dealings. Now, do you know what the American bastards do?”

Blue Jacket Kang tried to drive his point home. “You see, we’ll just serve our time, go back home, and forget all about this. There’s no business greater than a war. Those American bastards, they have all kinds of teams formed solely for economic operations, concentrating only on black market dealings. Those few crates of TVs and refrigerators we think of as loot as we carry them off are drops of water in the ocean. Never dig deep, never assume you’re in the know.”

Yong Kyu listened absent-mindedly. Noticing the vacant look on his face, Blue Jacket Kang stopped wagging his finger at Yong Kyu.

“Stuck in the middle, I’ve been ground to pulp. I’ve crawled on field operations a few times, but it’s much more relaxed there than here.”

“You’re being discharged, aren’t you?”

“Yes, it’s over and done for me.”

“I appreciate what you’ve told me,” Yong Kyu said.

Blue Jacket Kang rummaged through his personal locker, pulled out a white shirt and a pair of pants and threw them to Yong Kyu. As Ahn changed, Kang said, “You look fine, black as any Vietnamese.”

“I don’t look like a soldier?”

“When your hair grows out a little you’ll be all set.”

Kang threw a pair of tennis shoes over, and Yong Kyu finally felt free of his platoon.

“Let’s go to the office and make a report to the command. The detachment leader is a captain.”

“How about our non-com chief?”

“One’s a pointer and the other a snake.”

If the captain was the pointer, the chief had to be the snake.

“We get three vehicles.”

Kang went over to the motor pool and drove out in a Jeep with civilian markings. The engine stalled as he let out the clutch, and he muttered, “Piece of shit car. I never drive this one. There’s a place where you can rent one for a couple thousand piasters. We use their cars. They have new model US military Jeeps, freshly repainted, all purchased on the black market.”

As they sped down Doc Lap Boulevard Blue Jacket Kang taught Yong Kyu the names of various streets and intersections. They drove into the back of a run-down two-story building at the mouth of Puohung Street. Several company Jeeps like their own were parked there.

As they entered the building they heard the chatter of wireless radios sending and receiving messages in English and Vietnamese. Civilians flowed between the rooms. Once in a while a military uniform could be seen inside an open door. The clacking of typewriters was noisy. They walked into the Korean office where a Vietnamese girl was sitting at the front desk, typing away in English.

“This is Miss Jiang Hoa, and this here is a new member of the family, just arrived.”

“I’m Corporal Ahn.”

They bowed to each other. Her eyes were big and bright but her nose was stumpy.

“Where’s the captain?”

“He’s gone out to meet Krapensky but he’ll be back soon.”

“Let’s go over there. Major Krapensky is our general commander,” Kang said.

They went to the last room at the end of the corridor. Three civilians were sitting inside. An American wearing a black T-shirt was busy typing and an Asian, apparently the detachment leader, was in a plain shirt. Sitting next to him was an American in a white suit with no tie. Yong Kyu saluted stiffly, but looked awkward, as his hand did not reach all the way to the brim of his hat. Fortunately, before he started shouting, Kang spoke in Korean.

“This is the new man who arrived today. He’s my replacement, sir.”

The Korean captain was a man in his thirties with a short crew cut and a broad-shouldered, sturdy build.

“If you’re replacing Blue Jacket Kang, you’re going to have a lot of responsibility. Do your best. Kang, when are you going back down to brigade?”

“In a week, sir.”

“Until then, teach him all the detailed tactics of his assignment.”

Then he turned to the American in the white suit and said in English, “Here’s our new man. He arrived today.”

As Yong Kyu saluted, the man got up and extended his strong, hairy hand.

“I’m Major Krapensky, welcome.”

The hand clasped Yong Kyu’s. The major with the Slavic name continued, “I was in Korea for two years. I know the country well.”

The man had an authoritative way about him, Yong Kyu noticed.

“Let me also introduce you to Lucas,” the captain said.

Behind him, Yong Kyu heard a voice speak in Korean: “My name is Sergeant Lucas. I’m a marine like you.”

“Hello,” Yong Kyu replied in English, momentarily bewildered. Each was speaking the native language of the other.

“I went to Korean language school in Washington and in Hawaii.”

“Have you ever been to Korea?”

“No. I hope to in the future.”

“Well, let’s head out,” the captain said, getting up.

When they got back to their office, the captain said more familiarly, “You saw it, didn’t you? In this building you have to watch what you’re saying even in our language. After all, we are only guests. Kang, show him around the PX.”

“Which one, sir?”

“All three of them. Starting tomorrow, put him on duty at each, one by one, and take him through the market the day before you leave.”

“We’ve got big trouble brewing at the supply warehouse.”

“But we have Sergeant Shin posted out there.”

“The guy is incompetent,” Kang said.

The captain nodded and they all left the office. It was already almost evening.

“Let’s go to the Air Force PX first. That’s the most important one.”

They turned the Jeep toward the airfield. Yong Kyu glanced quickly in the rearview mirror. Amazingly enough, the odor of death seemed to have left him. Already he was transformed from a man-killing soldier into a tourist.

Blue Jacket Kang was a diligent teacher. “Loads of goods are pouring out from the air force PX because it has no checkpoints and is closest to downtown. There’s a new sergeant now, and I haven’t had the chance to make friends with him. I made some good deals with the last one.”

Kang ignored the traffic signal and sped straight across the intersection.

“Do the Americans do stuff like that too?”

Blue Jacket Kang snickered at the naiveté of the question.

“Haven’t you been listening? Didn’t I say that they do economic operations? They get assigned here with official operational orders from their headquarters. You’ll run into them often enough in the future. Stay out of their way. Our job is to identify whether the partners of the black marketeers are operational teams or just money-grubbing bastards.”

“Then. . what about Korean soldiers?”

Kang answered the question with a feeble laugh. “On principle, we’re not allowed. We’re here to fight, not make money.”

“Have we really come to fight?”

“You’re going to get on my nerves. We’re a poor country. We have to eat. Everyone does what they can. You gulp down one case and let somebody else help himself to the other. Or you can team up with them. . there are no rules for that kind of thing. As for civilians, there’re a few Korean technicians, but let them be since they are only small fry going after a little pocket money for drinks or women.

“The big fish are elsewhere. The soldiers discharged on-site and the entrepreneurs running companies specialized in black market trading. There are three such Korean companies in Da Nang. Of them the strongest is what they call the Hong Kong Group. Its president is a former lieutenant colonel. His right-hand man, known as ‘Pig,’ used to be a smuggler who ran goods between Busan and Tsushima Island. A crafty man, that one, so be careful not to get taken in. Then they have half a dozen men for a suicide squad. All of them are magicians in underground trading. They rent houses in the Vietnamese residential districts and live with Vietnamese women. Hang around Dragon Palace or the Bamboo and you’ll learn about them.

“Our rule is this. We more or less close our eyes to the black market dealings by Koreans. But we don’t allow them to do any big deals — those we take over for ourselves instead. Of the deals done by Korean civilians, we only watch and keep records. When we uncover a big transaction, we allow it to run its course to the last stage of the delivery before we move in on them. Don’t ever take a bite of theirs yourself. If we show any weakness to them, we’ll be scarecrows before long, so drag them straight to the headquarters.

“As for deals by Americans, if the economic team is involved, make a list of the exact content of commodities, the names of the dealers and the date of the transaction and report it to headquarters. That’s where your duty ends. Those are matters to be negotiated between our captain and Krapensky. We can, however, ambush the petty deals by American soldiers and feel free to take a cut of their profit. Sometimes we even snatch the whole thing out of their hands. The goods confiscated from third-country nationals, we split fifty-fifty.”

“Third countries?”

“I mean civilians from the Philippines, Malaysia, or India. Once in a while you also run into the Japanese.”

“What about the Vietnamese?”

“That’s the most important and delicate part of our duty. It took me two months just to begin to understand that side. Roughly, you can divide goods into three groups: luxury goods, daily necessities, and war materiel. The luxury goods and the daily necessities are the two categories we are allowed to interfere with. The war materiel gets covered by the Vietnamese army and the National Liberation Front. As for our records of the Vietnamese, we share nothing with the Americans. We may be comrades-in-arms, but in this one matter we’re all tight-lipped. This is crucial, because as long as we’re on the inside of Vietnamese affairs, we can get in on any black market deals. It’s as fundamental for the American army as for the Vietnamese army. Understand?”

Blue Jacket Kang was sweating. Hands on the wheel, he kept wiping the sweat from his forehead on his shoulder. A sweltering heat was rising from the asphalt. The Jeep turned up a road with high wire fencing on both sides. Scooters and Honda motorcycles performed acrobatic tricks, weaving from side to side. Keeping his speed, Kang was forced to do some fancy maneuvering himself.

“I asked if you understand. .”

“I’m not sure I do.”

Kang heaved a long sigh. “No way you could. You’re lucky, though, to have run into somebody with my experience. I wasted three months riding the circuit and drinking Cokes out in front of the PXs. There’s no integrity or camaraderie among short-time duty personnel. Everybody is trying to be tactful so as not to come off as an idiot. Once you become an “advisor” you’ll be chased to the main body. You know what duty you’ll pull when you get assigned to the main body, don’t you?”

Yong Kyu nodded. It meant standing guard at the prison camp, if lucky, or acting as an orderly for a superior officer or in the mess hall. He had seen a few of them wandering about in markets or in refugee camps in operations zones, trying to communicate with their bad Vietnamese and sign language under the contemptuous gaze of the infantrymen.

“Nine times out of ten you’re dead meat. An infantryman at least has some peace of mind. That bastard, Sergeant Shin, he’s going to be kicked out. You heard what the captain said a little while ago, didn’t you? Once you’re marked as unreliable, they’ll pack you up and send you back down to brigade. Even then you’ll be lucky to be sent back to your old unit. Otherwise you get pushed all the way down to platoon.”

Yong Kyu still had a vivid memory of the waterlogged trenches and the swarms of mosquitoes back in his old defense emplacement. And of the cooking that involved indiscriminate butchering of chickens, pigs, even dogs. And the migration of the flies with the movement of the sun. .

He did not want to think of it anymore. At any rate, he had escaped, hadn’t he? Someday when he returned to civilian life, some night when he got good and drunk, his experiences in those days might return to haunt his dreams. Or, would he try hard to recall those days when his body becomes too exhausted even to dream them anymore? Yong Kyu looked out the window. A Phantom was taking off with an ear-splitting roar. The Jeep was threading its way through the crowd and the bicycles.

“Your driving is amazing,” Yong Kyu said.

“It cost me twenty boxes of C-rations to learn this.”

“Who taught you?”

“Nobody. I learned on my own. Once I drove through a house and another time I ran over a guy. I used rations to settle the survivors’ claims.”

The Jeep halted in front of the air force PX. It was quitting time for the employees, so the front gate was congested. Two guards, a male and a female, were conducting body searches on those leaving the PX. The MPs on duty were checking bags and bundles. Blue Jacket Kang exchanged a knowing bow with them and went inside. In back of the PX, in huge galvanized sheet metal Quonset huts, there were several warehouses and office compounds. An American staff sergeant emerging from the security office shouted a greeting as he ran into Kang.

“Hi, Sergeant Kang, nice to see you. I tried to call you. A little problem’s come up.”

“What is it?”

“Come on in.”

Inside the guard office they found a Korean marine in a neat jungle uniform. A Vietnamese civilian was sitting next to him and a Vietnamese policeman was also there. When he saw them, the Korean soldier moved to stand up. Blue Jacket Kang glanced quickly around the office, spotted a torn box under their feet and looked inside. It was full of green cigarette cartons.

“Where’s your unit?”

“I’m at Brigade, sir.”

“Son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing here, then? You’re AWOL, aren’t you?” Kang asked sharply.

“No, sir. I came to pick up these goods.”

“Do you know what time it is now?”

“Please, pull me out this once, sir.”

“You’re under Master Sergeant Pak, aren’t you? When did you come here?”

“It’s been two weeks, sir.”

“Bastard, been here only two weeks and already cheating on your superiors behind their backs. . did you take the money?”

“I did, but these bastards. .”

The soldier turned toward the Americans. Kang nodded. Then he called the American sergeant who seemed to be the head guard and talked with him for some time. He seemed to be signing some sort of receipt for the transfer of custody.

“You, over here.”

The soldier, his head hanging, walked across the room and stood before Blue Jacket Kang.

“How many times have you done this?”

“Today was the first time, sir.”

“How did you buy the Salems?”

“I increased the quantity by altering the shipping documents.”

“You son of a bitch, don’t lie to me. Who did you buy it from? How much mark-up did you pay?”

The soldier was silent.

“Listen, bastard, if you want to help yourself at all, use your brain and don’t disgrace yourself in public. How dare you profiteer right in front of our noses when everybody else is fighting for their lives in the middle of an offensive? Son of a bitch, thanks to your good connections you wrangled an assignment to the PX at brigade headquarters and within two weeks you open up shop to do business? Hey, Corporal Ahn, take a good look at this bastard.”

Kang pointed at the soldier with his ballpoint pen. Then he went on.

“One report from me and you’ll never be coming back to Da Nang to pick up the goods. For thirty cartons of Salems, at a buck-fifty a carton, you must have paid forty-five dollars.”

“No, sir. I paid sixty dollars.”

“Who did the extra fifteen go to? You couldn’t have bought them with a ration card. Must have been an American PX soldier. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know his name, sir. I just made friends with him a few days ago. He’s black and fat, works at Warehouse No. 2. .”

“You mean the black guy with the yellowish brown face?”

The soldier nodded and Kang turned to Yong Kyu and said, “Good timing. Remember: a fat man called Park.”

Kang asked the soldier again, “You haven’t reported it to the Americans, have you?”

“I only told them it was goods I was ordered to pick up.”

“So you’re to keep it and share the profit between the two of you, bastard. . Then those guys took a total of one hundred fifty dollars from you, right?”

The soldier nodded. A sixty-dollar investment turned into a hundred fifty in a few minutes, the goods have a new owner and ninety dollars is left as sheer profit. Blue Jacket Kang talked over the situation again with the American sergeant and the Vietnamese police. The policeman, obviously agitated, spoke loud and fast.

“No way you’ll ever see your principal again. The smokes will all be confiscated by the American soldiers and the Vietnamese is arguing that he should not be shorted a penny out of his hundred fifty dollars. If you’re willing to forget about the money they said they wouldn’t make a case out of it.”

“I’ll give up the money, sir.”

“You idiot,” Kang spat out. “Who said you could give it up? Whoever’s money it was, it’s blood money. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? We’ll also have to recover the expenditures. Do you have the shipping documents with you?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you do have your ID, right?”

The soldier took out his ID and held it up. Blue Jacket Kang took it and went over to them. After a lengthy debate they left the office together. Yong Kyu remained seated on a hard metal chair. The shrewd-eyed soldier in the neat uniform tried to strike up a conversation.

“You must be new here?”

Yong Kyu only looked at him blankly. Definitely a city bastard. His longish hair falling on his neck gave him a certain charm. Fair complexion, hands long and soft.

“Friends? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

Yong Kyu took a cigarette and put it between his lips. The soldier offered him a light, and Yong Kyu glared at him for a minute before letting him light his cigarette.

“Even back home I heard how good Da Nang is.”

Even after accepting the light, Yong Kyu kept examining him without a word. Not a speck of dust on his boots. Only then did Corporal Ahn remember that he was in civilian clothes. Kang returned with the head American guard. He summoned Yong Kyu and introduced him to a thin American technical sergeant. After that they all went outside. In front of the main gate, Kang took out the PX soldier’s ID card.

“You said for sure that you would give up the cost price, didn’t you?”

The soldier hesitated.

“Look bastard, why you keep changing your mind like a little girl, huh? Did you say so, or didn’t you?”

“The truth is, it wasn’t my money, sir.”

Blue Jacket Kang waved the ID right in front of his nose and said, “Shall I draw up the papers and send you with this to the stockade or would you prefer to take it?”

This time the soldier did not hesitate and hastily snatched his ID, saying, “All right.”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“At the recreation center, sir.”

“You think that’s a private hotel for bastards like you, eh? Get lost,” Kang muttered, pushing the soldier’s chest, who seemed somehow reluctant to depart. The soldier turned away.

Kang spoke again. “One of these days we should raid that rec center and comb through the place. Looks like it’s crawling with AWOLs.”

Then they hopped back into the Jeep and Kang floored the accelerator, gunning the motor loudly. As he drove, Kang said, “The money for today’s drinks has fallen into our hands. You don’t have any pocket money, do you? Here’s twenty dollars. Spend it.”

He extended a hand with four military five-dollar bills. Yong Kyu hesitated.

“What are you waiting for? This is snot-smudged money, anybody’s for the taking.”

Yong Kyu accepted the cash. Since a month’s pay for a combat fighter was forty dollars, it was like being paid for two weeks of duty. That was enough time for him to have gone on dozens of ambush reconnaissance patrols and see half a dozen or more of his comrades, torn and dead, carried away by helicopter. Who knows, it could have been a period in which he himself, a quadruple amputee, was shipped on a hospital vessel to the Philippines.

“We’ll take a look at the navy and the marine PXs tomorrow. Why don’t we go to the Dragon Palace for a Korean dinner and then head over to the Bamboo, what do you say?”

Blue Jacket Kang, who had been doing all the talking, turned around to look at Yong Kyu.

“I’ve just given you a lesson that would have taken you at least two months of experience to begin to understand. Now, what are you going to do for me? As I said before, nothing is free around here.”

Yong Kyu’s mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of his buddies down in the platoon who by now were scouring some back alley in Hoi An for area defense. It did not take longer than smoking a cigarette for a comrade to be killed in action and evacuated. Before long, they would have a hard time remembering his face.

“Hey, Blue Jacket Ahn, what’s your name?”

“Ahn Yong Kyu.”

“Yong Kyu. . would you give me your ration card?”

“My ration card?”

“Headquarters will issue you one tomorrow or the next day. With an American army logistics staffer accompanying you, you can walk into any PX in the area and buy whatever you want. I’ve already reached the limit. In exchange, I’ll transfer everything to you.”

“Transfer what?”

“The secrets. . sum and substance of making money.”

“Take it.”

“Thanks. You get yours from the next new arrival, all right? Anyway, you won’t be needing one until you’re ready to go back home.”

The Jeep retraced the same route and arrived at the main intersection. As it was about to turn, a scooter driving in the same direction almost fell under it. As it skidded to a stop in an attempt to avoid a collision, the scooter hit a tree alongside the road. The Jeep, braking suddenly, spun sideways. Yong Kyu hit his head on the door of the Jeep and Blue Jacket Kang’s face was instantly white with rage.

“You whoring bitches. .!”

His head stuck out the window, Kang was pouring out curses he had picked up from the Americans. Two girls were staggering to their feet. Their white ahozai skirts were smudged with dirt. Already the streets were getting dark. Kang kept looking at his watch as he drove on.

Footnotes:

6 Military Assistance Command

4

Out beyond the airport the First US Marine Division was dug in around Dong Dao, also known as “Pink Mountain.” The original Vietnamese name “Dong Dao” appeared on their maps, but it was common for the Americans to rename places whenever they found them hard to pronounce. For instance, one of the hamlets in the hills on the way to Tam Ky that had given quite a few young recruits to the Liberation Front had been christened “Charlie Town.” The name meant it was a Viet Cong village; “Charlie” was the American soldiers’ chosen nickname for the little brown devils they were fighting. The American army did not consider Charlie a worthy foe.

Dong Dao was a barren, reddish mountain without a single tree left standing. The Americans had built several defensive bunkers on the high terrain. Stretching off toward the Atwat Mountains on the far side there was a series of valleys, some shallow, some deep, all covered with dense jungle foliage. Most of the villages around Dong Dao had become little commercial satellites of the American military camp. The village of Sondin, where there was a Buddhist temple, remained as it had been before the war. The inhabitants of Sondin were still mostly peasant farmers.

Pham Minh walked the whole way to Dong Dao. The road checks had already been set up. He had to pass through three different checkpoints where police and militia were inspecting IDs and searching through personal effects. He barely made it to Sondin before dark. The night shift teams, fully armed, were heading out to relieve the checkpoint sentries. The village looked peaceful. Families were out in their front yards eating rice from bowls and children were playing in the dusty streets. Uncle Trinh’s house was directly across from the temple, which stood at the center of the village.

In the old days, Uncle Trinh had been the principal of a grammar school in Da Nang. Since leaving the school in 1963, he had been making a living as a horticulturist, cultivating a nursery in his garden. Back in Da Nang he had led the Association of Buddhist Students. Pham Minh, Tanh, and their other friends from Hue were all disciples of the old teacher, fondly calling him “Uncle Trinh.” There were many former students who had gone off into the jungle or become NLF officers who had also called him “Uncle.”

Uncle Trinh was an active participant in the anti-government movement that spread among Buddhists across the country, from May to October of 1963. Tanh criticized him for being too meek a liberal, but Pham Minh deeply respected the man’s vast knowledge of Vietnamese history and highly valued his opinions. There were always youths gathered at his feet.

He was living with his wife and daughter. He had two sons as well, but after the Geneva Accords one of his sons went to Hanoi for good and the whereabouts of his second son were unknown. Pham Minh had not seen the second son since the rainy season of the previous year. Uncle Trinh’s home was wooden and rectangular. Out in the front yard roses and cannas were in full bloom, and behind the house there was a large flowerbed with several species. A table and chairs were set up on the porch, but Uncle Trinh’s seat was empty and only his wife and daughter were sitting there drinking tea.

“Hello.”

“Oh, Minh, when did you come?”

“Is Uncle at home?”

“He’s inside.”

As Pham Minh approached, he could smell a jasmine fragrance wafting from their cups.

“It’s Cholon tea, would you like some?”

As Minh considered whether or not to go inside, the daughter tugged at his sleeve and said, “Father is sleeping now. Please wait till he wakes up. How’s Hue?”

“Been quiet lately.”

“It was in an uproar this time last year, wasn’t it? I heard the city was occupied for two weeks.”

“That’s right, it was liberated for two weeks exactly,” Minh said, correcting her choice of verbs.

As Mrs. Trinh poured some green tea into Minh’s cup, the daughter asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet? We made some curry, there’s still plenty left. . ”

“I would like some, thank you.”

The young widow patted Minh’s hand gently.

“No wonder you have no energy.”

She brought out the meal. Fried bananas, vegetables, and sweet rice with curry on top. His mouth watering at the smell of curry, Minh picked up the pair of long chopsticks and started wolfing down the food.

“Your parents are well?”

Pham Minh seemed not to have heard the question. Hunched over the table, he was totally absorbed in eating. Flares began to light up the dusk gathering over Dong Dao.

“When did you get back?”

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Something is bothering you.”

Pham Minh kept on eating and said nothing. The noisy whine of a motorbike grew louder as it approached, with a cloud of dust mushrooming behind. The scooter slid to an abrupt stop in front of the house. Sitting behind the girl driving it was Shoan. Seeing Pham Minh, she let a long sigh of relief.

“My, who is this? Chan Te Shoan! Please come in. Invite your friend in, too.”

“No, she can’t. She has to get home before curfew. Thanks, Puok.”

When Pham Minh looked at her, the girl on the scooter smiled at him, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You’re Lei’s brother, aren’t you?”

The scooter zoomed noisily away. Trinh’s daughter looked at Pham Minh and Shoan in turn as they sat beside each other.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

Shoan’s white ahozai was torn and dirty, and her hand was bandaged in a shredded handkerchief.

“Oh! It’s nothing, I just had a fall on the way here. . ”

“I’m sorry, but it seems that we have to ask to spend the night here.”

Mrs. Trinh smiled softly. “I believe something is worrying you both. Has Pham Minh received a draft notice?”

Pham Minh avoided answering.

“. . I’m leaving home. But that doesn’t mean I’m going back to school.”

From inside there was a barely audible cough.

“Ah, father must be up now,” said the daughter.

Pham Minh went in alone, leaving Shoan on the porch. Inside, the room was in disarray with wicker chairs strewn all over the place. The thick odor of opium saturated the air. A hammock was hanging at the door leading out back and in it Uncle Trinh lay sideways, rocking back and forth. A long pipe still loaded with a bit of smoldering opium was sitting on the tobacco box. Trinh’s eyes were cloudy and he could not seem to focus them. His long grayish hair was pulled back neatly from his forehead and he was clad in white.

“How are you, Uncle? It’s Pham Minh.”

“Um, Pham Minh. .” Trinh muttered, listlessly waving his long arm. “Come closer.”

Pham Minh moved a wicker chair up beside the hammock.

Trinh looked around. “I’m thirsty. What time is it?”

“After seven, I think.”

Pham Minh brought a kettle of cooled green tea from the table and Trinh drank some, savoring it.

“It’s back again.” Trinh touched his forehead and then slowly rose from the hammock. “We’re back. From the glory of the Li Dynasty to Cochinchina, we’ve come back.”

Pham Minh said nothing. Trinh put on a pair of fancy sandals with cork insoles and pulled another chair over to sit across from Pham Minh. His dim consciousness seemed to awaken gradually.

“You’ve changed a lot.”

Pham spoke in a reproachful tone. Following Minh’s gaze, Trinh looked over at the raw opium lying on top of the tobacco box.

“You’re right. I’m an old man. . dragging out his life too long.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Never. My body won’t let me. I can’t sleep at night. Lately I’ve been taking trips.”

“Trips?”

“To escape the Sondin of today. I’ve been roaming down in the delta region where the bananas and mangos are plentiful and the birds sing cheerfully in the trees. You can see the Mekong River.”

Pham Minh hung his head. Trinh kept on drinking tea, the hand holding his cup was shaking.

“In the old days you used to give us inspirational speeches.”

“It’s gotten boring. It’s taking too long. I hear there’s an offensive underway out there now, eh?”

“The lunar New Year offensive just started. But the cities are quiet now. Nothing has changed in Saigon, though.”

“It was the same last year and the year before. In the days of Dien Bien Phu we had false hopes. Those children who went to my school must all be dead by now, or disappeared.”

“Still, new babies are born everyday.”

Pham Minh felt the sudden chill of Trinh’s icy fingers on the back of his hand.

“True, and you are beside me. But we live in a world where you can’t go on living without choosing one side or the other. So, you quit school, did you?”

Pham Minh hesitated for a second before answering. “I too have made a choice.”

“Which side?” Trinh asked with a grin.

“I volunteered to join the National Liberation Front,” Pham Minh said flatly.

“Ah. .”

Uncle Trinh squeezed Minh’s hand and then released it.

“So you’ve reached that age. I should add your name to that list up there.” He looked up at a Buddhist altar in the center of the inner room. There was red incense in the burner, but it was not lit. Above it stood a candlestick and on the wall, columns of palm-sized nameplates.

“Thirty to be exact. Some entered the government army and others joined the Liberation Front.”

“All killed in action?”

Trinh shook his head.

“I don’t know how many of them have died. . perhaps all. Or some may still be alive.”

“To join the government army at a time like this is to stab your own people in the back. They are traitors.”

“You’re right,” Trinh said quietly, “but they are also part of the history produced by Cochinchina.” Trinh laughed and continued, “It is also true of the people of my generation. Ultimately, only you boys will remain, or maybe it will not end till long after you’re gone. But all must be remembered. Those who fought, and those who fled.”

Trinh reached out his bony hand for the tobacco box. He rolled a small chunk of resin-like opium into a round ball.

“Why don’t you give that up?”

“Ah, why bother? My mind is sound. And there are so many lost, that I too am tempted by destruction.”

Trinh set the long pipe down. Shoan had noiselessly crept in and was now standing behind Pham Minh.

“Hello.”

“Shoan! So you’ve come too. I trust your father is well?”

Shoan, shy, managed to voice a quiet “yes.”

“Come, sit here. You must have come to see Pham Minh off.”

Pham Minh pulled another chair over for Shoan.

“Just a coincidence.”

“Very well. I’m glad you came to see me.”

Recalling their farewell earlier, Minh and Shoan thought about their vague promise to meet at Uncle Trinh’s house. As Minh set out not long after their parting, Shoan too must have soon slipped away from home and rushed to Trinh’s.

“I have seen many young couples like you. I am happy to be able to host you in my home.” He began to fill the bowl of his pipe with opium. “There are times I feel I ought to have become a monk or a clergyman.”

“I don’t think you’d. .”

“Why, I don’t have any religious qualities, you mean? My generation, we’re all alike. Skillful at praying and shamelessly outliving our usefulness. I’d like to pray for you. . and be master of ceremonies at your wedding.”

Pham Minh was holding Shoan’s hands. His trembling fingers pressed into her sweat-soaked palms.

“Please don’t add my name to your altar.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be back in person to see you.”

“No, Minh, you no longer have to come and see a man like me.”

“Don’t you approve of my choice?”

“My only wish is for you to win a victory, a clear victory,” Trinh mumbled.

Smoke curled from the pipe. The old man’s face and hands gradually merged into the deepening darkness behind him, leaving him nothing but a white figure. The room was filled with a smell of grass blended with the stench of burning opium.

“I’m selling gold now. I hid quite a bit up in the attic. My late father did the same before me. Every household had only two things, a Buddhist altar and gold. Nothing else was certain. But. . from this year on I’m selling it to buy and squander the most uncertain of things.”

“Opium, you mean?”

At those words from Pham Minh, the old man suddenly thundered, “Even on stormy days, time goes on!”

The three of them sat in silence. Bursts of gunfire rang out. In the intervals between the sounds of automatic weapons, helicopters could be heard. Night had fallen and with it returned the fighting and the repression.

“You two, my dears. .” whispered Uncle Trinh. “Go on out to the air raid shelter in the backyard. It’s a nice place to enjoy the fragrance of the flowers and to watch the stars.”

Uncle Trinh lied back down in the hammock. “Hurry, now, and go,” he urged as the hammock started to sway.

Shoan and Minh rose hand in hand. In the swinging hammock Uncle Trinh had fallen back into a deep sleep.

5

The climate was shifting into the dry season. Early in the morning a suffocating wind blew down from southern China and as the sun climbed into the sky the air became hot as hell. Everything came to a halt in the inferno. The “white sun,” as the infantrymen called it, was a furnace so fiery that after setting down your helmet for a minute you could fry an egg on it. All moisture was sucked from the air. Even the flies breathlessly searched for humid shade. There wasn’t a soul in sight, not in the battle zones, not in the streets.

Corporal Ahn Yong Kyu spent his last week of PX orientation at the US Marine commissaries. The first week had been the air force and the second the navy at China Beach. The detachment leader, Captain Kim, must have rated him competent. Yong Kyu was determined not to be an orderly for the remainder of his hitch, so every day he submitted his observations as scrupulously written reports.

“I was right — you’re quick. You’re the perfect replacement for Kang. See to it that you get into the market as early as possible.”

Pointer had said this to Yong Kyu after his first week of duty. However, he added one qualification to his praise.

“There’s one problem with your reports. Too many personal opinions. Of course, opinions from intelligence personnel are not entirely unnecessary. Very competent intelligence staff often make personal observations. But most important is honoring the duties required by headquarters. Only within those limits are personal opinions and views allowed.”

A hunting dog hunts only at his master’s command. But whether he runs straight or in a parabolic arc, runs too far and comes back to retrieve or pauses a few steps before, these choices are his. Whether the targeted prey happens to be a duck, a pheasant, a snipe, an old shoe, or even a deflated ball, he’s got to lock his teeth on it and bring it back to his master. It is not for the hunting dog to figure out whether the prey is delicious, useful, or inedible. That was the gist of the captain’s words. If Yong Kyu had not witnessed the carnage of a village destroyed, or that in a jungle swamp, he wouldn’t have understood Da Nang at all.

What is a PX? A Disneyland in a vast tin warehouse. A place where an exhausted soldier with a few bloodstained military dollars can buy and possess dreams mass-produced by industrial enterprises. The ducks and rabbits and fairies are replaced by machines and laughter and dances. The wrapping paper and the boxes smell of rich oil and are as beautiful as flowers.

What is a PX? A place where they sell the commodities used daily by a nation that possesses the skill to shower more than one million steel fragments over an area one mile wide by a quarter mile long with a single CBV. A nation capable of turning a three-hundred-acre tract of jungle into a defoliated wasteland where not a single plant or animal can survive, in under four minutes.

What is a PX? It’s Uncle Sam’s attic, the old man who makes appearances at villages the world over garbed in the Stars and Stripes, a Roman-style dagger in hand as he brandishes a shield with the motto: “America is the world’s largest and greatest nation.” It is the general store of the cavalry fort, frequented by whores and ministers and arms smugglers who join hands in transforming the natives into ridiculous puppets, intoxicating them and exploring new frontiers of vileness.

And the PX brings civilization to the filthy Asian slopeheads who otherwise would go on living in blissful ignorance on a diet of bananas and rice. It teaches them how to wash with Ivory soap, how to quench the thirst and ease the heart with the taste of Coke. It showers down upon the bombed-out barracks perfumes, rainbow-colored cookies and candy drops, lace-fringed lingerie, expensive wristwatches, and rings graced with precious stones. Cheese appears on the smelly meal tables of Asia, and condoms slip out from between Asian girls’ thighs and dance on children’s tiny fingertips.

Anyone who has ever been intoxicated, even once, by that taste and smell and touch, will carry the memory to his grave. The products ceaselessly create loyal consumers who are at the mercy of the producers. Those who lay hands upon the wealth of America will have the label US military burned into their brains. Children who grow up humming their songs and eating their candies and chocolates off the streets trust their benevolence and optimism. The vast purchasing power in the market, the booming business in the city, and the enthusiasm and ecstasy in the back alleys are all in proportion to the intensity of the war. The PX is a tempting wooden horse. And it is America’s most powerful new weapon.

Ahn Yong Kyu realized that, like the sentry posts dotting the jungle, each PX was a place of protection that aroused hostility all around itself. Was this war actually a rebellion? Or had it long since passed beyond that stage? In an investigation report concerning an infantry soldier who had caught a Vietnamese child stealing a hand grenade, it was written that the child answered the soldier, “I stole it to protect myself.”

To keep the child from protecting himself any longer, the infantryman shot him. Only those in uniform were on his side. No uniform meant an enemy.

“The Americans are so naive,” muttered the detachment leader, Captain Kim, as he looked over the American CID report.

“Have you seen this?”

“Yes, I’ve looked through, sir.”

“Make a memo on it.”

Yong Kyu had come into the office to write up some paperwork. The judge advocate’s cars coming in and out told him there must be a court martial in progress. He heard it had to do with the death of some Vietnamese girl. Anyone coming out of the jungle would consider the case a joke.

Due to their nature such cases, from the standpoint of operational priorities, could not be tried as official cases. It was the kind of thing that happened every day on a large scale but was soon forgotten in the course of reconnaissance patrols and ambushes. Captured regular army soldiers with serial numbers would go through screening and be treated as prisoners. But even that procedure only applied on large-scale operations. On the company level there was no manpower to stop the savage behavior of infantrymen facing their own deaths, and for that same reason keeping prisoners of war was out of the question.

In the case of non-uniformed men identifying themselves as NLF combatants, whether in the jungle or in the city, once taken they would be treated as spies and, following the precedent of World War II, could be executed on the spot. If they sometimes were taken prisoner and interrogated or handed over to the Vietnamese prisoner-screening units, it was purely because of the information that might be extracted.

In fact, in operation areas everything moving was treated as the enemy. Even a slow-moving water buffalo would send the helicopters into the air to strafe it, lest there be some bomb strapped to the beast or some combatants using it as a shield. But it is racism, in the end, that makes a person insist that a massacre is justified. American soldiers think it absurd to fight and die for some yellow people who relieve themselves outdoors and whose so-called food is filthier than the garbage in trash cans back home. Even so, they have to fight on somebody’s behalf, not on behalf of dollars. Even the killing — in the air it is a matter of technology and on the ground a game like Cowboys and Indians. But they have to do it for someone. If a soldier in a platoon is blown to bits by a booby trap, retaliation has to be wiping out an entire village. Nothing is left alive. Even the rice fields are torched.

“What are you looking at?”

Yong Kyu turned about to find Major Krapensky walking into the office. He was in full military uniform. Yong Kyu rose and awkwardly saluted.

“I asked him to make a memo on the case,” Captain Kim said.

“I thought you were interested in the black market,” the major said with a little frown.

“You look sharp. You can tell you’re a real soldier,” the captain said, changing the subject.

“Of course, I think a uniform suits me best.”

“What’s going on? A party?”

“I was summoned to appear as a witness in court.”

The captain held up the report in his hand.

Once more Major Krapensky frowned and said, “I don’t think this is in your jurisdiction.”

“I obtained some reference materials from the Vietnamese side. We have to be in the know. We encounter this kind of case almost every day in field operations.”

A smile appeared on Krapensky’s face. He offered a cigarette to the captain and even lit it for him.

“Have you ever handled a similar case?”

“No, we’re pretty busy.”

“Dignity is the marking of a gentleman. It’s a saying we have.”

“Dignity, and not hypocrisy?” said the captain, turning to look back at Yong Kyu with a smile.

“Captain, you speak English well,” the major said calmly. “That war is irrational is a given. There are times when you can’t completely ignore that fact, can’t totally avoid acknowledging it. A confession of faith is not merely an act to cleanse past sins, it is also to expiate sins one might commit in days to come.”

“Are you a Christian, Major?”

“All Americans are believers in Christianity and are to some degree Christians. Captain, I didn’t come here for a discussion. Just like neither one of us came to Vietnam for a discussion.”

“I was just joking. You’re always joking with me, no? You made a lot of jokes based on your services days in Korea.”

“That’s true. The French and the British may look alike to you. Likewise, I can’t tell the difference between you people and the Vietnamese.”

“Anyway, we’ve come here for the same purpose, right?”

At those words from the captain, the major shook his head and laughed, “No, you came here to make money. I’m joking, don’t take it the wrong way. . ”

Yong Kyu gathered his words in his head before he opened his mouth.

“The allied forces always have only one purpose.”

The major peered silently down at Yong Kyu with wide eyes, glanced at his watch, and turned away. Yong Kyu saluted him.

As soon as he sat down, the captain said coldly, “Nice of you to try to help, but in the future watch your step.”

“Yes, understood, sir.”

Yong Kyu returned to work on the memo covering the case.

Concerning the Rape-Murder of a Vietnamese Women

Interrogation in the Presence of Major Krapensky, First Lieutenant Mersee, and Sergeant Lucas

Complainant: PFC Sven Ericsson (Age 23, born Minnesota)

Accused (4): SSG Tony Misova (Age 20, born Upper State New York on Canadian border, career soldier, 3 years in field)

CPL Ralph Clark (Age 22, born Philadelphia)

PFC Raphael Gomez (Age 21, born Texas)

PFC Manuel Gomez (Age 19, born Texas, cousin of Raphael)

Witnesses: 2d Lt. Harold Riley (Platoon Leader, born Oklahoma, black).

Phan Te Rok (Vietnamese, sister of victim, age 16, born Kattuong, Puye district of Khwang Kaesong)

Interrogator: Lieutenant Riley, before you confirm the charges made by Private Ericsson, please state the time, place, and nature of the mission during which the five soldiers were involved in the incident.

Riley: On November 16 I assigned Private Ericsson’s squad to a scouting mission. They were to patrol the mid-highlands in the area of Hill 192 in Bong Song Valley.

Interrogator: On what basis were they selected?

Riley: At the direct order of the battalion commander, I chose the best soldiers in the platoon. They all had a lot of experience in operations, and they were also all named by the company commander.

Interrogator: Go on.

Riley: On November 17 the newly-formed reconnaissance team was gathered at platoon headquarters in My Tho to be briefed. Needless to say, it would have been nice to find enemy forces and let loose with air-ground operations, but the battalion command had ordered that there was to be no engagement with the enemy unless absolutely unavoidable, as a self-protection measure. The recon team left the main body for five days’ encampment.

Interrogator: Private Ericsson, whose idea was it? Was it Misova’s?

Ericsson: Yes, he offered to kidnap a woman for the morale of the squad. He said we could enjoy the woman in turn for five days, and if we got rid of her before coming back then we couldn’t be prosecuted for kidnap and rape.

Interrogator: Why didn’t you report it to your superiors at that time?

Ericsson: I spoke to some of the others in the team, but they all laughed. These villagers who relieve themselves in the open and eat stuff filthier than our garbage back home, they are not humans like us. That was their answer.

Interrogator: Summarize the incident.

Ericsson: At 1640 the following morning, before we left the main body, Sergeant Misova lined us up for gear inspection. We had food, ammo, smoke grenades, and so on. About twenty minutes after we set out I realized we had marched about two kilometers to the east, the opposite direction from the way Misova had told us we would be moving. We got to Kattuong. Misova took Clark with him and combed the village. They had searched six houses without finding a single woman when Raphael pointed at a white hut with a thatched roof.

Interrogator: Who went in first?

Ericsson: Staff Sergeant Misova and Corporal Clark.

[Discussion with girl witness through Vietnamese military interpreter.]

Interrogator: Do you remember this soldier?

Phan Te Rok: I’m not sure. It was dark and I was terrified. Because of the commotion outside, my mother and my sister and I were all holding onto each other. Then the door burst open and a flashlight shone into the room. The light stopped on us.

Interrogator: Were there only three of you? Were you asleep?

Phan Te Rok: My sister Miao and my mother and I were already awake and talking to each other. My father had gone to the market at Pumi and the three of us were alone in the house. We bit our lips to keep from crying in fear and my mother held us in her arms. Two soldiers came in and separated us from our mother. Mother cried and begged. I was dragged outside, too, but my mother begged so desperately that they left me behind when they took my sister.

Interrogator: Was it Misova who dragged her out?

Ericsson: He dragged the girl out and tied her hands behind her back with vines. Clark said to hurry, that somebody might see us once the sun came up. Before we could get out of the village, a crowd of children started following us, crying. That girl was there. As we dragged her off with us to the west, we heard a woman wailing behind us. It was the girl’s mother.

Interrogator: Then what happened?

Ericsson: We just told her to go away, shouting “Diti miaoulin!” Misova fired a few warning shots at the woman’s feet.

Interrogator: Raphael, what did Misova do after that?

R. Gomez: The woman followed us, would hide, then follow us again, waving something like a scarf. When Misova went to kill the woman, we all stopped him. She ran up to us, out of breath, and waved. We figured she meant that the scarf was her daughter’s and she wanted her to have it. Tears were streaming down her face and she was begging and we didn’t know what to do. Clark took care of that problem. He took the scarf with a grin and stuffed it into the girl’s mouth.

Ericsson: Clark gagged Miao to keep her from crying. It was still dark and there were no villagers around to stop us. We left the mother behind and kept on walking, threatening the girl, who was having trouble keeping up. Manuel, maybe because of some rivalry with Clark, made the girl carry a pack on her back.

Interrogator: Staff Sergeant Misova, give us your statement on the events from there up to your arrival at the destination that day.

Misova: We had breakfast at around 0800. I ungagged the girl.

Interrogator: Did you give her any food?

Misova: All we had was C-rations. . you can’t give that kind of food to the Vietnamese. .

Interrogator: You starved her.

Misova: Her face was flushed and she kept coughing so I gave her some aspirin. Raphael started firing. He was shooting at buffaloes, so I warned him to be careful. At 1030 we were right below Hill 192 and there we picked a spot to serve as command center. It was an abandoned hut about forty feet square. There was a window on the east side and the door was on the west. Inside, there was a table and a long bench along the wall, bits of old cushions in the corners and some objects like pieces of iron or stones scattered on the floor. The place was a wreck and there were bullet holes in the walls. We piled up our ammo and food alongside the one wall that was still intact. I ordered Raphael and Ericsson to clean up the place, and then I went out with Clark and Manuel to reconnoiter the area.

Ericsson: The girl took off Manuel’s pack and watched Raphael and me cleaning for a while and then, without being told, she got up and helped us.

Interrogator: Maybe the girl thought you guys had taken her to be a servant. Whose idea was it to rape her?

Ericsson: It was the sergeant’s. They came back after an hour and were all smiles. At 1200 we sat outside the door and stuffed ourselves with rations. Misova, was lying on the ground resting and then he pointed to the hut and said it was time to have some fun.

Interrogator: Who agreed with him?

Ericsson: Clark whistled. Manuel and Raphael looked sullen.

Interrogator: Private Ericsson, was it your intention from the beginning to take no part in it?

Ericsson: I got married a month before being drafted. I realized that a very gentle and nice looking Vietnamese woman is no different from my wife or my sister. Misova asked if I’d take my turn. I said no. Misova got angry and pointed his gun at me. Unless I went along with it, he said, he’d have to report that one of his men died in action. Clark backed him up.

Interrogator: Raphael and Manuel, you didn’t refuse as strongly as Ericsson?

Manuel: Misova made fun of Ericsson, calling him a faggot and a eunuch.

Raphael: Clark also made fun of him, called him spineless. We couldn’t take that.

Manuel: If they told the others we were cowards, we’d be isolated in the platoon.

Ericsson: Misova took off his shirt and rushed into the hut. You could hear the girl screaming in pain and despair. The screaming went on and on. It only stopped when the girl gasped for breath. Then it turned into crying in agony. When Misova came out of the hut he was buttoning up his pants. He said the girl was very clean and not bad at all.

Interrogator: Who was next?

Clark: Misova gestured at me to go next so I went in.

Interrogator: You didn’t draw lots?

Ericsson: While we were cleaning, they decided their turns.

Clark: The truth is, we went by order of rank.

Interrogator: How was the girl doing?

Clark: She was naked on the table.

Interrogator: Was that all?

Clark: Her hands were tied behind her and there was a lot of bleeding. She was extremely clean and calm.

Ericsson: Raphael watched what Clark was doing through a hole in the wall.

Interrogator: What did Clark do to the girl?

Raphael: Because she kept screaming from the pain, he did it with a hunting knife pressed to her throat.

Interrogator: What kind of knife?

Clark: The handle was wrapped with tape and the blade about ten inches long. A wounded buddy gave it to me.

Manuel: Raphael and I, against our will, did it in turn with Misova and Clark watching us. The girl was still moaning in pain but by then she was really weak.

Ericsson: They kept going in and out of the hut, kept it up for an hour and a half. So that any enemies nearby wouldn’t spot us, we all went into the hut and that was when I saw her. She was curled up in a corner, tied up and naked. She looked at each of us in turn, crying. Her eyes were so big. Then she was untied and dressed.

Interrogator: Who did that?

Misova: I did.

Interrogator: According to your file, you once took target practice on civilians while out on reconnaissance. Why?

Misova: I felt like it.

Interrogator: You also did that to the girl because you felt like it? What did you do after that?

Misova: I ate.

Interrogator: Did you feed the girl?

Misova: Since her coughing was getting worse, she didn’t get any food.

Ericsson: While they were eating they compared the Vietnamese girl with other women they’d had. They also tried to remember exactly how long it had been since they’d last tasted a woman.

Interrogator: Was there an operation that day?

Misova: I told Ericsson to watch the girl and the ammo and we headed up to the highlands to patrol the opposite valley. There were three Vietnamese walking along the river. They were not in uniform but I figured they were Viet Cong. We all fired at once. We missed the targets, so we radioed platoon headquarters, asking for artillery support. Immediately there was shelling.

Interrogator: Private Ericsson, you were left alone with the girl?

Ericsson: I didn’t know how to deal with her. Her crying broke my heart. By then I’d been with her all day, but there was nothing I could do for her. As I watched trembling in terror — she was so tiny — I even thought of shooting the four who raped her. I was furious. I made up my mind that if I ever got out of there alive, I’d make them pay for what they’d done. When I went inside, the girl must’ve thought I’d come to rape her too because she burst into tears and curled up in a ball in the corner. She looked worn out and she got worse and worse. I thought she must’ve been hurt badly. But she was wearing black so I couldn’t see where she was hurt. I offered her some beef stew and crackers and water. The girl took the food and ate. It was the first thing she’d eaten since we’d taken her. It was the afternoon by then. She ate standing up, but several times stopped eating and moaned. She never took her eyes off me while eating. I guess she was trying to figure out what sort of game I was playing. After she finished, she said something in Vietnamese. She could have been thanking me. I said in English that I didn’t understand her. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was for what happened.

Interrogator: The idea of rescuing her didn’t occur to you?

Ericsson: The girl looked too weak to travel. I did think of slipping out of there with her. But I knew it would be dark soon. If we were on the run they might start shooting at us. I was the only one not an accomplice. I knew Misova would report me as a deserter and the others would probably take his side. They would all swear with a straight face that there had been no woman at all on the patrol and that I must be out of my mind. When I went back in the hut again, the girl seemed to have decided I was not going to hurt her. The moaning had stopped and it seemed like she trusted me. Trusted me! After I had already decided there was nothing I could do for her. It was the hardest decision I ever made in my life, and by no means the best. It was wrong for me to be a soldier in Vietnam. When the girl’s fever worsened and she kept coughing, Clark started insisting that we kill her then and there.

Manuel: Misova talked him out of it, told him to be patient. He said after a good night’s sleep Miao might be in better shape. Then, in the morning they could have one more round of fun with her.

Raphael: The moon was bright. We took turns standing guard and the girl, crouched in the corner, coughed all night through. So Clark starting up again saying we should get rid of her.

Clark: I was afraid her coughing might lead the enemy to our position.

Misova: The next morning we all got up a little before 0600 and I wasn’t interested in the girl anymore.

Ericsson: Because she was totally worn out and her fever and cough had worsened during the night. They all said it was time to get rid of her.

Interrogator: Did Misova say he’d kill her himself?

Ericsson: Misova ordered me to get rid of her. He threatened me, said if I refused, he’d report me as killed in action.

Raphael: He also ordered us to do it, but we refused.

Manuel: Clark volunteered to do it himself, but Misova said no, and that we all had to be involved so nobody took the blame later on. Misova said he’d have us each stab her with knives, and Clark said he’d bayonet her in the back.

Raphael: And he said we could dump the body off a cliff on Hill 192, which we’d come upon while on patrol the day before.

Ericsson: We dragged the girl up to higher ground. She was struggling to breathe. But as soon as we reached the ridge, we discovered enemy down below us.

Misova: The situation became urgent and we found the girl’s presence a hindrance to carrying out operations.

Raphael: I was the one nearest the girl, and Clark pulled her by the arm into the forest nearby. I saw he had the hunting knife in his other hand.

Interrogator: Did you hear anything when she was stabbed?

Ericsson: Well, I was a hunter back home, so I know what it’s like to gut a deer. I remember thinking that the sound was like sticking a knife into a deer. The girl screamed, but it wasn’t very loud.

Raphael: When Clark came back, Misova asked him if he’d taken care of the girl and Clark said she was dead. But then we saw her crawling down the slope. Misova pointed at her and shouted.

Ericsson: Clark muttered he had stuck the knife all the way in, twice. Misova ordered all of us to fire at her, but we didn’t.

Raphael: I shot one time, but my gun jammed and I couldn’t fire anymore. Clark ran down the hill and unloaded his M16 in the direction of the forest. Clark then started joking, asking if we wanted him to go get her gold tooth. Part of her head was blown off. Then we got focused on our own operation and forgot about the incident.

Interrogator: Did Lieutenant Riley meet you at that point?

Riley: No, I only received a radio report that a female guerrilla had been shot to death. During the operation Misova reported that they encountered a woman who took off running toward the top of the hill, so I ordered him to capture her. About two minutes later, he told me they weren’t able to catch her and had no choice but to shoot her. I told him “Good job!” and reported it on up to company level.

Ericsson: I felt like I was going crazy, knowing that as long as I kept my mouth shut, the murder of that thin Vietnamese girl with the large dark eyes would be buried forever. I knew that, if I did not bring the murder into the light of day, I could never live in peace after being discharged and going home. I realized it was the very least I could do for that girl I’d betrayed. The only thing that could prevent me from carrying out my resolution would be if I became a casualty at the hands of my own unit. In fact, Misova and Clark fired at me twice when we were out on reconnaissance.

Interrogator: Did you report it to your superior?

Ericsson: I gave statements to the platoon leader and the company commander.

Interrogator: Lieutenant Riley, what is the reason for concealing this crime for over three months?

Riley: It wasn’t a case of concealment. One thing all of us field commanders know well is that the nature of the civilian relations that US forces engage in in Asia are not at all like they are in Europe. Mishaps of this kind happen every day in Vietnam.

Interrogator: I am aware that there is a cultural difference. The question, however, is why you did not report it earlier?

Riley: Three years ago I lived in a black area. My wife went to the hospital in a white neighborhood in Alabama to give birth to our first baby. She was in a lot of pain. But the hospital, under a policy of severe racial discrimination, refused to admit my wife. She ended up having her baby in the waiting room. I tried to destroy that hospital, but they called the police and I ended up behind bars. Sitting in that cell I made up my mind that the moment I was out I’d shoot every single member of the staff of that hospital. I gave up the idea when I was got out. It was for the same reason that I did not report this case.

Interrogator: This is a case that could turn into an international problem. In any event, once the case is publicized the dignity of the US forces, which have been participating in wars around the world to safeguard freedom and justice, will be greatly stained. Consider transferring or sending Ericsson home as soon as possible.

As word of the case might become public, recover the body of the victim immediately to prevent it from being exploited by the enemy for propaganda purposes. If it does become public, make sure that the severity of military discipline is also public knowledge, to demonstrate the far-sighted civilian relations policy of American forces. Let it be known that the American forces respect human life and treat crimes against civilians in the course of combat operations as civilian homicide. Dispatch to Hill 192 an investigation team of CID staff, a photographer, a doctor, a ballistics expert, and a military court advisor. As for Private Ericsson, acknowledge that he has fully completed his duty like a model soldier and have him cited, decorated, and recommended for promotion.

[Corpse found on Hill 192. All parts of decomposing remains collected, body-bagged, and evacuated. Eleven fragments of bullets discovered in vicinity of crime. Found teeth, finger bones, and other bone fragments in grass. Lethal wounds confirmed, as a result of autopsy, to include three punctures with knife in ribs and neck. Cause of partial loss of cranial bones confirmed to be impact of two high-velocity projectiles. Subject of autopsy was female Mongolian aged eighteen to twenty. A silver earring found at the scene of the crime was identified by relatives as belonging to victim Pan Te Miao.]

6

Yong Kyu was sitting at the bar in front of the marine PX. It was in a huge open structure, a roof on top of columns. The bar overlooked heaps of scrap metal: rusting tanks, crushed Jeeps, the carcass of a plane fuselage, spent artillery shells, etcetera. Like huge bones of dinosaurs extinct for centuries.

Yong Kyu went into the PX to meet the duty officer and check the types and quantities of the goods to be delivered to the Korean military forces that day. He also had to record the number of Korean soldiers and civilians coming and going and the details of their purchases. After spending the whole morning swimming through the shiny merchandise, Yong Kyu felt light-headed when he went outside, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

He’d made a mistake about a week earlier. He had come out of the navy PX and was waiting to catch a bus to the MAC. A US Navy bus that he knew stopped at the MAC headquarters came by. He got on like he always did. The driver put up his hand to stop him.

“You aren’t allowed.”

“I work for the Allied Forces.”

“This bus is for Americans only.”

“We’re part of the same unit.”

“I don’t know that. Now get the hell off.”

Yong Kyu pulled the.38 revolver the sergeant had lent him from his back pocket. He held the muzzle against the bus driver’s freckled cheek.

“We came here because you people asked us to.”

A stir arose among the American sailors and marines on the bus, and a major rose from his seat, saying, “Careful, soldier. We’re all comrades-in-arms.”

“I’m far from home too. Are you not going to let us on the bus? You expect us to go to Hanoi?”

“Right. The driver was wrong. The North Vietnamese are your enemy, too. Come and sit down in this seat.”

Yong Kyu lowered the revolver. Then, suddenly aiming out through the open window, he fired twice at the ground. The report was deafening inside the low-ceilinged bus and the Americans instantly ducked down behind the seats.

“This driver is my enemy!” he had roared before leaping off the bus. From there he walked the entire way along the dusty road. When he had been with his company in some sandbagged hole or crawling in a trench just below the line of fire, he’d forgotten who he was. Now that he had come into the city, had mixed with others and stood in front of strangers, his self had emerged. Yong Kyu was starting to understand, a little too late.

He was up to his neck in mud. He realized he would never make it back home with this rookie naive sentimentalism. He’d have to be a simple draftee in no way responsible for his own participation in this war; he would just finish his stint and go home. The black market was part of the accepted package when Korea decided to join the war. So then scruples meant nothing on his record since his dispatch to Vietnam.

Yong Kyu killed time until the sergeant got there. The Coke on the table in front of him was already getting warm. Drops of sweat kept sliding onto his sunglasses. When on duty at the PX and out of the city, they wore the same jungle fatigue uniform as the Americans. With no sign of rank on the shoulders, no unit insignia and no weapon, his nationality was almost unidentifiable. From a distance he could be mistaken for an American. Closer up, he might be taken for a Vietnamese. But in an American uniform with his height and big, thick-boned frame he looked like a soldier from some third country. Some might think he was a civilian worker or a journalist. It was perfect for blending in with the passing uniforms at the PX. If stating his identity was unavoidable, all he had to do was flash his ID card with its red CID slash.

He took off his sunglasses and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. The greenish shadow cast by the marine PX had dissipated into the scorching white. The pink mountain, enveloped in dust, looked like an overripe mango in the scalding heat. Even the empty cans dangling on the wire fence around the scrap yard seemed crushed by the merciless sun. There was not the slightest breath of a breeze.

Corporal Ahn Yong Kyu sprang to his feet. A beige station wagon was slowly gliding into the parking lot in front of the PX. It had Vietnamese license plates and tinted windows. Yong Kyu walked over at a deliberately slow pace so as to attract their attention. Once the smart and slick-looking car parked at the edge of the lot, it stood out conspicuously against all the neighboring military vehicles.

An obese man in a Hawaiian shirt, white pants, and a wide-brimmed Burmese jungle helmet got out. He was chewing gum, his jaws slowly grinding. As though he had been watching Yong Kyu from inside, he headed straight over to him. His partially unbuttoned shirt revealed most of his chest. He scowled at Yong Kyu and said, “Are you Corporal Ahn?”

Yong Kyu nodded. The man held out his hand.

“Glad to meet you. Name’s Oh. Took some time to change tires. . I’m a little late, huh?”

“The sergeant?”

“There’s a mahjong game going on back at my house. . where are the goods?”

Yong Kyu turned around and walked toward the warehouse behind the PX. The man followed.

“Electric fans and refrigerators, right?” said Mr. Oh, looking down at a crumpled piece of paper he had taken from his pocket. Yong Kyu had no idea what sort of transaction this was. He didn’t know if the man was a soldier or a civilian, nor did he know the location of the house where the sergeant was playing mahjong. He had just been given an order that morning before leaving for PX duty.

A vehicle from the brigade headquarters PX would be arriving between 1230 and 1300 to pick up some goods, he’d been told. When a fat man showed up in a station wagon, he was supposed to lead him to the chief of the Korean army PX, load the goods in the car and then help him pass through the three checkpoints on the way into the city.

The staff sergeant, while lying in bed and gorging himself on the restaurant food he’d brought into the barracks, had threatened Yong Kyu:

“Blue Jacket Kang did favors for me. When you head out into the marketplace, you’ll practically be running around in the palm of my hand. A single report from me and you’ll be hustled back home and straight into the stockade.”

Yong Kyu had listened in silence. He would of course carry out the order without fail. But only until he figured out what was going on. After that he’d grab this sergeant by the throat. Kang’s warning had been imprinted on his brain: Trust nobody in the detachment. There’s no such thing as integrity or loyalty.

A few more words rolled from the sergeant’s lard-greased lips. “Listen, no reason for Pointer to know about this. He’s an officer, we’re common soldiers, get it? Unless we stick together we’ll be nobodies in this place.”

“Not easy to bring the car in,” Oh said as they walked up the narrow driveway. Yong Kyu went in the big half-moon-shaped Quonset hut. The office was chilly with three air conditioners running full blast and the typists made a racket. Asian civilian staff and American military administrators were rushing in and out of the office. The chief of the brigade PX stood beside a water cooler, drinking out of a paper cone.

“Car’s arrived, sir.”

“Is it a truck?” asked the master sergeant.

“A station wagon,” said Mr. Oh, who was standing behind Yong Kyu.

“How in hell are you going to load three refrigerators and ten fans into a wagon?”

Oh whistled.

“I didn’t know it would be so many.”

“Look, so you take out a couple and split them for pocket money to buy peanuts?”

The master sergeant lifted the embroidered flap of the right pocket on his jacket and pulled out the requisition invoice.

“This is a memo from the staff sergeant,” said Oh, handing over to the master sergeant a sheet of paper.

“It’s changed. Our car is ready, so let’s load the stuff and drive to the city,” said the master sergeant, showing Oh his requisition and crumpling up and tossing the memo in the trash without even looking at it.

“It won’t be easy, sir,” Yong Kyu said. “Military vehicles need a trip pass to go into the city.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“You ride shotgun,” Oh said to Yong Kyu with a frown. “A single trip is a five-hundred-dollar job.”

“The going rate is that low?” the master sergeant said in a dissatisfied voice.

“That’s about right, sir.”

“I’m not taking piasters.”

“Piasters are better to start with. Then you change them into military currency. It’s safer that way.”

While waiting for the US staff to sign off on the requisition, the master sergeant asked, “Will I get the cash today?”

“Is this your first time on this business?”

“Well, it’s the first time with you people. . ”

Oh glanced back at Yong Kyu and smiled. “You can’t do business in Da Nang without going through us. In the first place, we get better prices. We don’t go out into the market. For over a year we’ve been doing deals on credit with the best customers in the city. To tell you the truth, for us a small deal like this is barely worth the trouble. This stuff is bulky and it brings in only a small profit.”

Oh kept on talking as they followed the master sergeant outside.

“We know the kind of stuff you could load in a wagon, things that are valuable and easy to transport.”

“Well, since this is the first deal, I can’t tell until I see the cash flow,” said the master sergeant.

“It’s only for the purpose of establishing relations that we didn’t turn this down and came for the goods. You wait and see how we take care of this.”

“We’ll see.”

The three men went to the PX warehouse. The door was wide open and inside was bustling with people receiving and moving around goods. The master sergeant gave the requisition to an American soldier and talked with him. Crates and packages were stacked to the ceiling. The electronic goods and bulky appliances like stereos, TVs, tape recorders, refrigerators, and washing machines were piled up in separate groups. Cameras, watches, and jewelry were in another section, behind a counter in one corner of the warehouse. Daily commodities were in the middle of the floor, and special items like cigarettes and beer were in a connected annex outside. Only the expensive liquors were in the main storage. There were three similar warehouses nearby.

Only goods that had been inspected and inventoried were released for consignment. The requisition was validated easily enough. The master sergeant gestured from inside the warehouse and a truck from the brigade motor pool came around and inched up to the loading dock. A forklift came and lifted the strapped crates onto the truck.

Looking at his watch, the master sergeant said, “We’ll be back in an hour for a shipment of our own goods. Keep a truck on stand-by for further orders.”

“We’ll have to return to the base before Route 1 is closed.”

“I’ll lead,” Oh said to a hesitant Ahn Yong Kyu. “You sit next to the truck driver and the chairman will ride with me in the wagon.”

Yong Kyu got into the truck. The driver seemed satisfied after giving him a quick glance.

“How many times a week you do this?”

As he started the engine, the driver turned to Yong Kyu and asked, “You a soldier?”

“CID.”

The driver pulled the truck away from the warehouse dock.

“Sometimes once a week, sometimes twice. Usually the bulk of the cargo is beer and cigarettes. There’s always a demand for them.”

Pushing and pulling the gearshift, the driver kept talking. Yong Kyu put his sunglasses back on and pulled his hat down.

“You know that guy well?”

“Who? You mean the civilian? I’ve seen him a couple of times at the Dragon Palace Restaurant. Don’t know him well, but the sarge said he’s the one they call Hong Kong Pig.”

The truck stopped. The master sergeant and Oh were waiting to exit the PX compound. The truck was supposed to cross Route 1 after passing through the division sector and head toward Dong Dao. Just past Dong Dao began the camp satellite villages with their rows of barracks, with Route 1 running sideways across the far end of the private residence area. On the way up from Dong Dao there was a checkpoint.

The American guards at the checkpoint left the gate down and watched from behind a wall of sandbags. The wagon stopped at the blockade, and the truck right behind it. A guard opened the trunk of the wagon, checked inside, then approached the truck.

“What are you bringing in back?”

“Ten electric fans and three refrigerators. We’re delivering them to the PX at brigade headquarters.”

“The requisition?”

The driver showed him the paper.

“There’s a discrepancy in numbers.”

“We’re moving only part for the staff members stationed in downtown Da Nang. We’ll get the rest in an hour.”

The guard craned his neck around to check the back of the truck one more time and wrote something in the vehicle log.

“Let’s see your trip pass.”

Yong Kyu had already taken out his ID and held it out so the prominent red slash was visible. “It’s fine. I’m escorting them downtown.”

The guard nodded and lifted the gate. As he pressed the gas pedal the driver muttered, “Nosy bastards. We didn’t have to go through here. If we go out the South Gate and say we’re heading home, they don’t even bother to check.”

The vehicle passed through the campside villages around Dong Dao. Originally these were just rice paddy hamlets, but when the military base and airport were built nearby the area became criss-crossed with wide streets and refugees converged there from all directions.

They turned onto Route 1 heading straight for the airport. In this area the highway wasn’t paved, but it was wide and even and deserving of its reputation as the finest national highway in Vietnam. Once you came into a garrison sector the road was either paved or oiled and no longer dusty. A couple of American soldiers, who looked to be fresh from a shower, crossed the road in nothing but towels.

There was another checkpoint at the entrance to the airport, but there they only checked for explosives and the truck was let through immediately. A formation of Phantom jets was taking off for a sortie, the loud roar painful to the ears. Their mission could have been to hit the Ho Chi Minh Trail deep in the jungle beyond the Atwat Mountains.

The third and last checkpoint was at the fork where the roads from the airbase met with those from downtown Da Nang. This checkpoint was the reason they had brought Yong Kyu along. It was under the joint control of the Vietnamese police, the MPs, and the US Army. After the guards combed through the wagon, the master sergeant got out of the car and waved for Yong Kyu to come. He got down from the truck and went over to an American guard with the requisition sheet.

“We’re transporting a portion of goods for the PX at brigade headquarters to staff members posted downtown.”

“Is this cargo the whole consignment?”

“No, it’s only a partial shipment.”

“We don’t let goods pass downtown when the quantity doesn’t match the requisition.”

“Are you telling me I’m supposed to bring the whole order and leave part of it here?”

“The destinations are different,” interrupted a Vietnamese policeman standing to one side. “The requisitions should also be different. This is a requisition for Hoi An, so how come you’re going downtown?”

“Do you think we’re taking this stuff downtown to deal on the black market?” growled Yong Kyu, taking his CID identification card from his pocket. “I’m escorting this vehicle. I’ll take full responsibility.”

The guard and the policeman together examined his ID card and then lifted their arms. Slowly the gate was raised. The wagon and the truck turned toward Puohung Street. The plan was for Yong Kyu to be dropped off just past the last checkpoint and then return to his duty post.

The two vehicles passed through the marketplace and crossed Le Loi Boulevard, heading north into a residential neighborhood with palms and wisteria vines lining the streets. The wagon stopped in front of a huge iron gate painted white and honked. The gate opened and three men came out. One was a thin Vietnamese with long hair and the other two were Koreans, both looking sturdy and wearing T-shirts. They let the car pass inside and shut the gate.

There was a small flowerbed in the yard, but it was clear that what was once a garden had been paved over with cement. Two broadleaf trees had been left standing to shade the windows of the house, but the earth was turned up near their roots. On the right side of the yard a storage building had been built with cinder blocks. The Vietnamese opened the door. Inside there were piles of goods.

“Welcome,” said a Korean with a crew cut to the master sergeant from the PX. “Let’s go inside, the president has been waiting for you.”

They started unloading the crates from the truck. The living room of the house was almost too cold from the air-conditioning. The only furniture in the spacious room was a black sofa and a table with chairs. A map of downtown Da Nang was tacked on one wall, and next to it a list of vehicle numbers. The vehicles were divided into civilian and military and details were recorded on their size, color, etcetera. For example, according to the list the mayor of Da Nang had an open Jeep with such-and-such license number and Colonel Nguyen Tanh Bhatt drove a black sedan with license number such-and-such.

There had been a game of mahjong; tiles and money were scattered over the table. Snake, the staff sergeant with the CID detachment, was among the group. The chairman had his hair greased and neatly combed back and was wearing the white linen suit favored by high-ranking government officials in Vietnam.

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Pak,” said the chairman without extending his hand. The master sergeant snapped to a position of attention.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir.”

They all sat down. The chairman, supposedly a lieutenant colonel in the reserve, asked, “Mr. Oh, what are the goods?”

“We have ten electric fans and three refrigerators, sir.”

“Peanuts,” said the chairman with a soft laugh. “Anyway, you guys have worked hard. Hey, bring them something cold to drink.”

“You met our kid, didn’t you?” the staff sergeant asked.

“Yeah, he helped us get through the checkpoints,” replied the master sergeant.

“Too much red tape. Why not just get us each an ID?”

“Sure. So you could run all the way to Saigon?”

“It was a joke. Too much stress for a five-hundred-dollar job, that’s what I meant to say.”

“Listen, five hundred is the price of a dozen soldiers’ lives.”

“That’s why we never kill each other. We love peace, that’s what I say.”

The staff sergeant and Oh were about the same size, but their voices were completely different. Oh’s was much shriller and his speech faster.

“Don’t be so difficult. While you’re well-positioned, why not lend us a hand,” said the chairman. “By the way, how come beer and cigarettes are so hard to come by?”

“They arrive only twice a month.”

“Hmmm. Let’s make a deal on them, then.”

But the sergeant was not an easy mark. “Special items like that are in high demand everywhere in the market.”

The PX chief liberated the goods, the staff sergeant got them downtown, and there the Hong Kong Group was in charge of selling them. Now the chief was saying that cigarettes and beer, unlike luxury items, could easily be sold in the market, and that their group should stay out of it. The chairman gave the staff sergeant a sly look.

“We have a channel for selling to the clubs. Shall I let you in on a secret?”

The chairman paused, taking a few leisurely sips of his juice.

“Even if you try to feed the market a large quantity at one time, nine times out of ten the cash doesn’t get recycled fast enough or there’s a shortage of military currency. The main thing is to get the money safely and securely. The solidarity of the Vietnamese businessmen is fierce. If you push against their front, they’ll take all the beer there is and then cut the price in half. To form and support the market price, we’ll have to cooperate. In Da Nang there are about thirty bars, four clubs, three hotels, and the tearooms and sidewalk cafes, and they all sell beer. Beer doesn’t go into the market. All we have to do is get a hold on the outlets. We’ll stockpile the goods and unload them a little at a time. What do you say? They can pay us cash for each transaction or wait until the deliveries accumulate to a pallet and then pay a lump sum.”

“It’ll leave no trace,” said the staff sergeant, nodding.

“You see, one pallet is eighty boxes. And a truck can carry three pallets. How many cans in 240 boxes?”

“It’s 4800 cans, sir.”

“That alone should affect the price. Suppose there are twenty pallets pouring out each day from wherever, that’d depress the market price. Then we should get them to discriminate among the brands, make a brand rare and inflate its price. After all, it’s the taste of the Vietnamese that’s important to us. Then we can supply the rare item at a better price than the other brands.”

“Like Salem cigarettes, you mean?” Oh asked.

“Exactly, Salem brings twenty cents more a pack than Pall Mall, Winston or the other filtered brands. Mr. Oh, there’s something similar with beers, isn’t there?”

“Yes, sir. It’s the one called Hamm’s.”

“Right. We’ll only deal in Hamm’s. We can feed it directly to the bars and clubs.”

The master sergeant listened, nodding, and then checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going. .”

“How about getting the money for this at the next deal?” Oh said, but the chairman shook his head.

“No, on the battlefield there’s no tomorrow. It’s got to be a head-to-head collision. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course, sir,” said the master sergeant with a grin, looking relieved.

The chairman took out a roll of military currency from the inner pocket of his jacket. The sum had been counted in advance, mostly in thirty-dollar notes.

“Here’s the deal. . as a rule, we pay shares of profit after the goods have been disposed of, but I’ll pay you that this time as well.”

The chairman counted out the profit, which was calculated separately. “The market price for a refrigerator ranges from $200 to $250 dollars.”

“They’re Hitachis, medium-sized.”

“Then, they go for $200. You paid eighty a piece, right? That makes a profit of $360. What about the fans?”

“Sony, twenty dollars each, sir,” announced Oh, who was standing by to assist.

“Then the principal cost is 200, that’s correct. Then, since the market price is forty, the profit will be 200. Our take is $560, then, right?”

“Divided in half will be $280, sir.”

The chairman counted $280 and handed it over to the master sergeant, and then gave eighty dollars to the staff sergeant.

“Here’s the fee for the ID.”

“This is nothing.”

“You should pay, too.”

The PX chief also took out eighty dollars and handed it to the staff sergeant.

“Hell, it’s peanuts. .”

“We’re the ones who should be complaining. Driving the car and sweating to death for a measly $200,” Oh grumbled.

“I have to get going.”

“What do you say, about the business I mentioned. .?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“This is our first deal with the Korean soldiers,” the chairman said as he saw the master sergeant out. “The Americans, once you level with them, never any mistakes with those kids.”

The truck could be heard driving away. Another man with a crew cut came in and said, “There’s a message from a customer, sir.”

“Take Pan with you and go.”

“But the payment. .”

“We’ve arranged to meet at the Bamboo.”

“Fine.”

The crew cut left and Oh came in.

“Chairman, what’s this? All that fuss for $200?”

“You’re too greedy, your guts are hanging out from your belly, might as well carry them in a bag,” the chairman said, poking Oh’s fat stomach. “Look, you should let your guts swell a little at a time. This is only the first of many new deals.”

“And if there’s any mistake, I’m the one who gets caught,” said the staff sergeant, putting his money in his pocket.

“Pointer is the one who’ll get caught,” said the chairman. What he meant was that the master sergeant, not even a detachment chief, was far too greedy. The chairman lined up the mahjong tiles for a new game.

“Gluttony will make you sick. You’ll be doing business with us only when we deal with the Korean soldiers.”

“Let’s not be too harsh, now.”

“Look, we’re only civilians. If you feel wronged, then take off the uniform.”

The staff sergeant got up. Thinking he was angry, the chairman grew uneasy and said, “I was just kidding, you know. I’ll have you earning a hundred dollars a day. You said you’re headed home in three months, right? Ten thousand is a sum even the Americans would shoot each other for.”

“The PXs, all three of them, are under my charge.”

“I know. That’s why I invited you in.”

The staff sergeant stopped the station wagon as it was about to leave. “Give me a lift to Doc Lap.”

“The Dragon Palace?”

The Vietnamese, Pan, moved to the back seat and the staff sergeant got in the car. He thought he should, after all, look for a broker who could put him in direct touch with Vietnamese dealers. Then every transaction that went through the PX would fall into his hands.

7

“The surest way for the people to liberate themselves is through revolutionary violence and revolutionary war. There are many forms of revolutionary violence: a political violence, an armed violence, and a violence that combines the two. Against the policies of the enemy that firmly maintain an absolute grip on politics and at the same time exploit military forces as a political weapon to suppress our revolution, our Vietnamese comrades now must exercise a political violence coupled with armed revolt.

“Thanks to the revolutionary struggle waged by our comrades, we have learned how to revive our people and how to develop our precious experience.”

Pham Minh was reading a speech given by General Vo Nguyen Giap published in Hoc Tap.

“Unification can be realized through the accomplishment of the socialist revolution in the North and of the national democratic revolution in the South, thereby overcoming internal conflicts and jointly calling forth the subliminal national consciousness.”

He couldn’t keep reading because of the sound of the rain. It was pouring outside. The morning session of political education was over and discussion was scheduled for the afternoon. The pinging of raindrops striking the broad leaves of surrounding trees filled the entire space of the open quarters. Ten of his comrades were staying together there on bamboo bunks. It was a large thatched hut, with palm leaves fastened over the straw roof for camouflage. From the sky it blended into the dark green of the jungle. A dozen similar structures had been built along the edge of the dense rainforest. It was a conveniently located assembly point for guerrilla volunteers sent by their respective regional committees. After assembling there, they would be sent on to the provisional military school for training.

The eight men who had departed from Da Nang had left heading westward on a freight truck bound for the Central Highlands. Thanh sat next to the driver and the others rode in the back with their assorted gear. They passed easily through several checkpoints near Da Nang by showing their IDs, but the inspections got stricter as they went deeper in. They made a space in the middle of the truck’s bed under sacks of rice, dried fish, and the other miscellaneous cargo they were hauling from the city. There was so little room that the seven of them in the back had to be cramped together with legs bent and nearly entwined. At checkpoints, they could overhear the casual dialogue exchanged between Thanh and the police.

“Long time no see. How are your nephews doing?”

“Thanks to you they’re fine. How’re things on the other side?”

“Operations have been stepped up, so all the roads have been completely blocked. You’ll probably have to make a detour through the mountains.”

“Thanks. Let me and my nephews through.”

“Tell them your destination is a village half a mile on; they’ll be less suspicious.”

After the cursory checking of the cargo in the back, the truck was allowed to pass. From that checkpoint onward was an area where control was contested. From the standpoint of the NLF it was a liberated area, but ever since the US and government forces started their pacification operations no vehicles were allowed through without inspection. When they reached a mountain pass and heard gunfire and shelling, the truck turned back and they continued on foot.

“The infiltration is getting worse. The chief guard at that last checkpoint was one of our sympathizers, but you never know when he’ll change his mind. I suppose he’ll cooperate as long as his family lives in our territory. There’s been some change in the situation, so we’ll have to march through these highlands for three days or so.”

With Thanh as guide the group made their way through the area of battle operations. A few times US patrols passed right by their hiding places and they were fired upon more than once. One of the group, a former teacher, was wounded. They kept walking, taking turns helping him.

In the depths of the jungle, with monkeys howling and lizards slithering, it felt like being stranded in purgatory. As they reached the edge of Tungdik army territory, the injured man died. His wound had gotten infected and they could not stop the bleeding. All they had to give him was some antibiotics Thanh brought with him. An unbearable stench had begun to emanate from his legs, which were swollen and black like rotting tree trunks. As he grew closer to dying, he had to be carried by Pham Minh and one of the ARVN7 deserters on a stretcher they had fashioned from vines and branches.

The teacher moved his parched, chapped lips, moaning Rrr . . rrrk rrrk.

“Thanh, we’ve got to give him some water.”

Thanh checked the map they had wrapped around the man’s knee as a bandage. “We have to reach the Tungdik army zone before sunset. There’s no time to lose.”

Thanh went over to the stretcher where Pham Minh and the other bearer had set it down. Another in the group held out a vinyl bag filled with water. Pham Minh pulled out the stopper and placed the bag at the mouth of the wounded teacher. Most of the water spilled to the ground.

“He’s dead,” said Thanh.

His mind blank, Pham Minh kept his eyes on the little bit of water that flowed slowly, uselessly, into the open mouth as if down a sink drain. Between the wet lips, the even teeth stuck together like welded metal. Thanh lifted his hand to the motionless eyes and swept the lids closed.

“Long live the Vietnamese liberation,” he murmured quietly.

Then Thanh went through the dead man’s pockets to remove his personal effects and took his backpack, made from pieces of a raincoat. Among the items he picked up, Thanh took out the yellow ID card issued by the Vietnamese government and tossed it down on the corpse’s chest. They resumed their march. The jungle downpours and the burning midday heat would soon peel off his rotting flesh and before long he would become a human skeleton so clean that not even the flies would bother it.

As soon as they reached Tungdik territory, another liaison agent took Thanh’s place. Before departing Thanh took Minh over to a shady spot under a tree. The two were about the same age but Thanh looked much older. The determination in his eyes, his hair cut short like a peasant’s and the shine of his darkly tanned cheeks made him look like a man over thirty. Pham Minh was exhausted. He realized that one day he too would be a grown man. Thanh spoke warmly as he would have to a beloved younger brother.

“I’m headed back to my duty assignment. You’ll stay here for a week before being sent for training at the school in Atwat.”

“Are you going back to Da Nang?”

“No. . I’m posted at Hue. We may never see each other again. I expect the district committee may give me a new mission. Not on underground assignments anymore, probably leading an action group. I’ve been out of action for some time.”

“I’ll come and see you in Hue.”

“Come and see me?”

Thanh laughed. When he laughed, his face looked just like when he was a little boy. Minh remembered way back to New Year’s when they used to throw fireworks made from hollow bamboo sticks at the houses in the neighborhood. When the women saw the beautiful sparks flying followed by the loud cracks, they handed out sweet rice cakes and candies, thanking them for scaring away all the evil spirits.

And he remembered the time when Thanh had been bitten by a dog at the old rubber factory run by the French. When a brown-haired foreign woman tried to treat his wound he shook his head, weeping. For he had heard dozens of times from his mother and brother that his father had died because of those French people. But those were the happy days.

Thanh was tall and skinny and Minh had been a sissy-looking boy known for his sweet singing voice. As his voice deepened, as mortar shells destroyed the lilacs at the Lycée Pascal, everything had changed. All that was gone now. The peace accords were shattered. Then along came the elections. Until then neither Thanh nor Minh thought about the future of Vietnam. When their parents spoke of Dien Bien Phu, to the boys it was no more than a far-off place as vague as the places in their French readers, like the Eiffel Tower or the River Seine.

“The training period at Atwat will probably be two months,” Thanh said with a grave look on his face. “I trust you will be a skilled guerrilla.”

Thanh seemed purposely to limit his talk to matters of military duty, so Minh blurted out, “Thanh, when you go to Da Nang. . why don’t you see your parents, at least once?”

Thanh put his hand on Minh’s shoulder. For the first time since leaving Da Nang his expression was warm and friendly.

“You’d rather I see Chan Te Shoan than my own parents, right?”

Pham Minh turned his head and did not reply. Perhaps there was truth in what Thanh had said.

“Whether you return to Da Nang or go to Hue, or to Saigon, in any event, by then you will have forgotten about Shoan. To be a liberation fighter does not only mean that you’ll be turned into a man capable of fighting, it means you’ll be born again as a revolutionist with an entirely new body and soul. That our grandfather Ho was born in Quimluyen in Nghe An province as Nguyen Sinh Cung meant a meaningless birth under colonialism. However, when he later returned from abroad to Indochina using the name Nguyen Ai Quoc, he was born again as a member of the Vietnamese race. And that he came to be called Ho Chi Minh was because he devoted his whole life to leading the Vietnamese people. Pham Minh, there’s no time for us to look back.”

Pham Minh was perplexed by the icy zeal in Thanh’s voice.

“Well, I was just talking about. . about your parents,” Minh falteringly said. “Your mother is. .”

“A very good woman,” Thanh said hastily, as if to cut Minh off. “She brought me into this world. Like Vietnam did. By the way, when you. . well, this is a tough question for anyone, but if you are about to die, who’d be the first person you’d want notified?”

The question stung, like pricking a finger on a thorn. During the past three days on the way to Tungdik territory, the possibility of death had hung over them the entire time.

“In revolution there are only two outcomes. Either to be killed by the enemy or to win victory. Death is one’s own, but victory belongs to the masses. Pham Minh, the chance you will die alone is a thousand times more likely. Unless we firmly believe that victory is ours after we die, an all-out struggle of this kind can never last. When that moment of death comes to you, whom do you want to be informed first, that is what I am asking. Your mother? Your brother?. . Chan Te Shoan?”

“I don’t think I can say.”

Pham Minh had to give an ambiguous answer. The question was overwhelming. Minh realized how hideously foolish he had been. He, who had walked voluntarily into the jaws of death, had not even once thought of dying. He thought of his fallen comrade, the former teacher, with curly hair and nice, even teeth. At that point no one could have found their way back to the ridge where they had left his dead body. In the tangle of trees and dense vegetation, they could not even say with certainty where in Vietnam they had been. Unless the corpse got up and walked away, it would disappear on that forgotten ridge, among scavenging lizards and swarms of flies. It was not the same as being bombarded and dying surrounded by the wails of family members. After all, isn’t a guerrilla one with no name, no identity, no past, not even a face? Thanh continued:

“It doesn’t matter if you can’t answer. Our death is dedicated to the national liberation of Vietnam. So there’s only one place you should want notice of your death sent. The National Liberation Front. Nothing is more wretched than death without conviction.”

At first, Pham Minh was jarred and invigorated as from a thorn prick, but gradually the sensation faded. Thanh did not seem to be talking to him at all, but shouting aloud to himself, with all of his thoughts focused obsessively on a single object.

“Your mother is a mother,” said Pham Minh, “she is not Vietnam. I was just asking if you wouldn’t like to see your mother.”

“You’ve seen how bananas are fried. When you put a lump of lard in the frying pan, it melts slowly, losing its shape. Then it gets watery and spreads out evenly on the bottom of the pan. The same is true of my mother. I know what you’re trying to say. I’m too much a formalist, that’s what you mean. You’re saying I don’t understand life.”

Thanh paused for a while and hung his head. When he raised it again, Pham Minh, seeing his cheeks wet, felt like he was choking.

“Listen, Pham Minh, of all the new recruits starting out from Suanmai Military School, Tanh Hoa Teachers College, and my alma mater, Dong Hoi Military School, almost a quarter drop dead from malaria or heatstroke or something as they march down the endless road on the Laotian border. They die even before they reach the battlefields where bombs rain down like a hailstorm. Most who make it into battle die within two years. It’s been only a year and a half since I started with the guerrillas. Already most of the comrades I started with are dead. In this business of warfare against a gigantic nation like the US, you have no other means but to endure, holding out to the end while exchanging human lives for things. And now why do you think I should distinguish my mother from Vietnam when I think of her? Mother has already melted away, shapeless like the lard, soaked into every corner of this torn land of ours.”

Thanh shook his head violently and fell silent for a moment. Pham Minh took out two cigarettes and put one in Thanh’s mouth.

Thanh said in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry, I’ve been babbling, swept away by emotions.”

He took a deep puff, gazing at Pham Minh’s exhausted face. Thanh tugged Minh’s tender cheek and went on softly.

“Listen to me, you child. Shoan will be graduating soon, won’t she? If she wants to go on studying she’ll have to go to Hue or Saigon, but in wartime I don’t think her parents will let her. Then, what next? You know what rich parents in the city do with their daughters, don’t you? If they can’t send them abroad, they’ll hurry to marry them off. To an old man, or to an officer in the military, or to a landlord’s heir loafing about at home while supposedly on reserve duty with the navy or the air force.”

Pham Minh glared at Thanh. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll tell you a little tale. It’s a bit superstitious. There’s nothing so heartbreaking as a love story in these times. But heartbreaking emotions weaken us and warp our minds. There’s a saying that a fighter who carries a photo of his lover with him will be killed without fail. It applies to our enemies as well. The grim reaper must love snatching the lives of lovers.”

Pham Minh tossed away his cigarette butt and got to his feet. Thanh did the same.

“Don’t be angry, Pham Minh, it’s very important to talk this over. Unless you’re exceptionally strong, you can’t avoid the hundreds of coincidences out there. I have to go.”

The two looked at each other. Pham Minh awkwardly said, “The reason I came. . I myself was surprised. I still don’t know whether joining was the right thing to do.”

“You’ll do fine. You’re not a weakling, my friend. Now I really have to go.”

Pham Minh felt like crying. It had not been this bad when he slipped away from the bomb shelter behind Uncle Trinh’s house, leaving Shoan. The changes in Thanh, his childhood friend, and his words of zealotry had confused him. All those vague passions he had felt back in school now seemed vain and empty like a summer night’s dream. From now everything in his past was gone. After robbing Minh of his nostalgia, Thanh was already off to places unknown. When Pham Minh took a few steps forward to grasp him by the shoulders, Thanh held out his hand, “Chao ong, Pham Minh.”

In the confusion of the moment, Pham Minh took his hand limply. Thanh shook it and turned to go.

Pham Minh opened Hoc Tap again.

“The history of peoples’ wars is the universal law of the development of the class struggle, the unfolding of the revolutionary capacity of the people, which in the beginning is weak, but which grows strong, clearly proves through the evidence of history that a people’s war develops in accordance with that universal law. In this process of development, the people’s war inevitably must pass through many difficulties and undulations, reversals and retreats, but no power can alter the general trend of marching ever forward on the road to victory.”

The words in the text were shimmering and the meaning was slow to be absorbed into Pham Minh’s head. He suddenly realized that he had read the same lines three times. He shut the book and lay down, folding his arms behind his head. Raindrops running off the leaves felt cold on his toes. All around he could see volunteers lying here and there or sitting in small clusters and talking.

There were about fifty men who had come from the Second and Third Special Districts. The First Special District, Saigon, had three special action units numbered 159, 65, and 67. A special action unit normally had between one hundred and two hundred fifty members. Urban guerrillas usually consisted of students, laborers, teachers, office staff, merchants, military deserters, and so on. Most of them had made contact with lower level operations agents before being screened by the NLF district committees and the People’s Revolutionary Party.

Once the list of volunteers’ names was received, they had to pass a thorough investigation of their past and were under surveillance for a certain period. Then they would be sent to the provisional schools in the border region for military training and special education to become urban guerrillas. At intervals of two or three months, the groups that passed through the screening arrived at the assembly points.

They were not allowed to talk to each other about their birthplaces or their occupations, nor were they allowed to mix with those in earlier or later training groups. Since the people now undergoing training at this place were to be assigned to various places scattered around Hue and Da Nang, in most cases they would only get to know about ten others who fell into the same group. It seemed that all the volunteers expected had arrived, and they would soon depart from Maram, the assembly point, for the training facility in the Atwat Mountains. An officer in the regular khaki uniform of the Viet Cong had arrived the day before. The ten common huts that housed volunteers were about half-empty. In each were people in black Vietnamese clothing, in one hut all the occupants were women. Most of the women were quite young and a few still had the long hair characteristic of schoolgirls. Pham Minh was startled by the thought that Shoan might be among them.

“Even on stormy days, time goes on.”

Pham Minh thought of those words from Uncle Trinh, who had been lying on his back smoking opium.

“Minh, a shooting star!”

He could still hear Shoan’s surprised voice as she held his hand tightly in hers. The inside of the bomb shelter behind Uncle Trinh’s house was very cozy. The cement ceiling was a bit damp and the blanket on the ground was wet, but there was no barricade and no guards anywhere nearby. Through the square ventilation hole overhead you could see the night sky. When you took a deep breath, the fragrance of roses and cannas and chrysanthemums seemed to penetrate all the way into your lungs. The relentless pounding of cannon and the rattle of automatic weapons in the distance also had gradually subsided as daybreak approached. The flares could no longer rip open the sky. Shoan kept on trembling. But it was because of the chill of dawn sneaking into her thin ahozai, and she was calm and unashamed when Pham Minh undressed her. As the morning sun rose on the far horizon, they heard the chirping of the birds as they soared up in the air for the sake of that fleeting and precious dawn. Shoan’s face was bluish white from the chill and the sorrow of parting.

As the sunlight broke into the shelter, Pham Minh could see the ugly hills of Dong Dao standing under the patch of sky. Trenches and barbed wire and sandbags were strewn everywhere you looked. American soldiers with blackened cheeks were clambering down the side of the mountains. Shoan’s lips were cold and parched.

Footnote:

7 Army of the Republic of Vietnam

8

Krapensky was talking to Captain Kim.

“We’ve got trouble. War supplies have started circulating in the market. For the last couple of weeks, enough combat rations to feed two whole companies have leaked out. We’re keeping an eye on the situation. If this stuff sells out there in the market, that means the Vietnamese are eating it. The National Liberation Front is Vietnamese too.”

“What about arms?”

“I was only talking about rations.”

“So, you suspect Korean soldiers are dealing?” asked Captain Kim, his brows furrowed with irritation.

“Not so fast. All the supplies come from the US Army. We’re allies fighting together, so we have to stop this together. If it were luxury goods out of the PX, it’d be different. These are combat supplies.”

As he finished speaking, Krapensky held out a document.

“A vehicle log?”

“Yeah. It’s a record of the Korean vehicles that passed through all the checkpoints on the outskirts of Da Nang. I’m asking you to use this as a starting point for an investigation.”

“We can investigate who’s been traveling the routes leading from the supply warehouse to the market, but it won’t be enough for an arrest. Vehicles can go everywhere, you know.”

“It’ll help with investigations that may lead to an arrest. You can set up a watch at particular points frequented by suspicious vehicles.”

“Laying traps is an option, but we’re short of manpower.”

“Withdraw some PX personnel and start a full-scale investigation.”

“I can’t pull people out of the PX, but I’ll find a way somehow.”

“Please do.”

Krapensky, in full dress uniform and hat, checked his watch and hurried out. Captain Kim clasped his hands behind his back and peered out the window, lost in thought. An outflow of combat rations was something not too difficult to track.

“Those sons of bitches at the recreation center. .”

He was fully aware that matters concerning the Da Nang supply warehouse had top priority. It was the heart of his control region. His detachment and the recreation center both were attached to the logistics battalion. It was the unit that oversaw the entire distribution system of goods for the Korean forces, but the recreation center had its own separate requisition channels, which made it impossible to do an exact check on their inventories. All he could get his hands on was a supply ledger and a record of an inspection of ration stores. “Bribed but not bought” was part of CID’s unwritten code. He started examining the vehicle log.

Somebody shook Yong Kyu awake.

“Hey, get up! Know what time it is?”

The gunnery sergeant yanked his blanket off. Yong Kyu sat up slowly without opening his eyes. He had a splitting headache.

“Can’t handle a few glasses of whisky? Hurry up and get ready to go on duty. . drop by company HQ.”

Yong Kyu had been out drinking with the same sergeant, so the reprimand wasn’t serious. If the laggard had been one of the five men bunking in the next room, the sergeant would have kicked him out of bed in a second even if he was dead from an all-night “Hit the Dirt” exercise. In these quarters Yong Kyu was the senior blue jacket. His bunk was directly facing the gunnery sergeant’s. As soon as Blue Jacket Kang had left for home, Yong Kyu had taken it over. To celebrate yesterday’s successful launch of the beer business, Yong Kyu and the sergeant had gone drinking at the Bamboo and then bought themselves a couple of women. Like Kang had warned, Yong Kyu was already finding himself stuck between the captain and the gunnery sergeant and forced to choose one or the other. He yawned and shook his head.

“Drop by at company?”

“Pointer just called asking for you. He told us to go get you if you were already out on duty.”

Slowly Yong Kyu got up. As he walked to the bathroom, the sergeant spoke to his back through the open door.

“Seems Pointer smells something.” His voice was uneasy.

“Fuck it, I’ll just tell him what my esteemed sergeant ordered me to do, no problem, sir.”

“You bastard, are you fucking kidding?”

Yong Kyu turned on the shower. The cold water woke him up. He had watched how Blue Jacket Kang handled this sergeant: In general do favors for him, but always remind him of the fact that you’ve got guts by picking at his weak points. For every three favors you do him, get one in return, to maintain a balance, so to speak.

“Hey. . you sure you don’t know what this is about?” asked the sergeant, holding the door open.

“Sir, how could a lowly soldier like me know something even the sergeant doesn’t? He caught wind of it, maybe?”

“What do you mean? Caught wind of what?”

“The beer trading, sir.”

Yong Kyu stepped out of the bathroom in a towel.

“You may be right.”

The sergeant sat down on the edge of his bed. He did not look very worried, though. It was just that if the business were discovered it was bound to slip through his fingers. Once it fell into the captain’s hands he’d be out. But Yong Kyu did not care which of the two men won the battle. All he had to do was keep out of the waterlogged trenches and wait for the days to pass. He was never coming back to Vietnam. The palm trees and ahozais and even the sun overhead were nothing more than extensions of the military camp. He put on a T-shirt and a pair of pants. Then he stuck the revolver he had picked up in the market a while ago into his back pocket. It was a police special, a shiny new.38 snubnosed model.

“If he asks, just flat out deny knowing anything about it.”

“And if he already knows everything in detail before he starts questioning me?”

“No way he could know in detail. It would mean losing a lot of money for the Hong Kong Group and the PX chief and Pointer.”

“Let’s get rid of the Hong Kong Group,” Yong Kyu said.

“Nah, that won’t work. You can’t traipse around the city in a military vehicle; besides we should stay behind the scenes, not go out in the open.”

“Why not get a Vietnamese middleman?”

“I don’t know. .”

The gunnery sergeant was not about to open up to Yong Kyu. The same was true of Yong Kyu, who by this time had sensed that duty in CID was in a disorganized mess. With the sergeant in collusion with the civilians, it was impossible to use the rules to control them. Looking at the man’s disconcerted face, Yong Kyu said in his head: You’ll probably be reassigned to the main body; you’ve spent what power you had and you’ve got nothing left; you’re clinging tight to my boots but I’m going to kick you off; you were in such a big hurry that the Hong Kong kids got you by the neck; I won’t go on being your hands and legs once your shoulders are weak; you already lost it all by the time Blue Jacket Kang left for home.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Look, I still have three months to go before I head for home.”

“Well, I’ve got about half a year left, and when I go back I’ll be a civilian.”

As Yong Kyu turned away the sergeant tried one last time to take him down.

“Corporal Ahn, you and I are in the same boat, we sink or float together. Don’t ever forget that.”

Yong Kyu turned back around. He pulled his CID identification from his pocket, tapped the card on his palm, and in a soft voice said, “All I did was show my ID to pass the vehicle through. As the gunnery sergeant ordered. . and three times I’ve been given ten dollars for beer money. . right?” He continued, “I’m just going to be diligent and do my duty as I’m told. Anyway, when I see the captain I’ll do my best.”

He slammed the door behind him. Once outside the hotel, he decided to walk to Puohung Street. It looked like he ought to learn to drive, after all, even if it meant paying for the aftermath with C-rations, as Kang had done. It was still morning but sweat began pouring down his face as he walked. He went up to a row of vendors along the curb to buy a pack of cigarettes. All the tobacco peddlers got their merchandise from the black market, so the price was about three times what the PX charged. He held out a hundred-piaster note.

“Thuoc la.”

The woman picked up two packs of cigarettes.

“Moi. .”

“Toi muon mua mot cai thuoc la.”

The woman held out a single pack, then gave him fifty piasters in change. He heard someone haggling to one side, and noticed it was a Korean technician trying to sell two cartons of cigarettes. Maybe he needed some cash for an outing. But when he turned to watch, he found there were several of them. Someone was selling American whisky. Yong Kyu walked over to the man who was counting his money from the whisky sale and stood quietly behind him. The man looked back, hesitated for a second, then spoke in Vietnamese.

“Xin loi. . “

“What do you think you’re doing,” Yong Kyu said in Korean.

“So, you’re a kimchi eater like me. What are you selling?”

“I’m a soldier. I’m staying over at the Grand Hotel.”

The man immediately understood. Any senior technician would have had some idea of what kind of person stayed at the Grand Hotel, like men working in the company offices of Philco or Vinelli.

“Heh, heh, this is just, you know, lunch money. Why, you gonna arrest me?”

“Don’t joke. You can find plenty of places in the back alleys, but here on a main street in broad daylight. .?”

“You got a point there. This is only fly shit when some bitch is out gobbling up rations by the truckload.”

The man started to slide slowly away, but Yong Kyu followed him.

“Excuse me, where do you work?”

“At Philco.”

“I mean, where is your work site?”

“MAC 36.” It was a navy cargo handling area located out on the far end of the Monkey Mountain. “Not a bad idea to gobble up a destroyer, what do you say?” joked Yong Kyu.

“If they could manage to drag it on shore and hide it somewhere, the Vietnamese could definitely manage the sale.”

“So who’s that bitch you mentioned?”

The technician realized he had made a mistake. “Well. . bitch or bastard, what’s it matter? The bitches and bastards swarming around Da Nang are all foreigners, right?”

“Have fun.”

Yong Kyu headed away from Doc Lap Boulevard. Since it was morning, the headquarters office on Puohung was bustling with agents. After knocking at the door, he heard the voice of Miss Hoa, asking in awkward Korean for him to come in:

“T’ro osipsio.”

When Yong Kyu entered the room, the captain raised his eyes from the documents he had been reading and for a second fastened a piercing glare upon him.

“Did you call for me, sir?”

“Mmmhmm, take a seat over there.”

Yong Kyu sat down across from the captain.

“Where’s your duty station these days?”

The captain’s eyes were back upon the papers.

“I’m out at the division PX, sir.”

“That should give you a thorough grasp of the PX system.”

Pointer paused briefly before adding, “What’s the team chief up to lately?”

“Mornings he gives us our duty assignments and afternoons he goes to the Dragon Palace and the Bamboo for inspection.”

“All right. But I can tell he’s not accomplishing anything. Things keep leaking out from the other side of the bridge.”

Yong Kyu sensed that it was not what the gunnery sergeant had been worried about. The other side of the bridge would be an entirely different target.

“C-rations. Combat chow, I mean. We didn’t even notice it, and now the US is asking us to investigate and supplying us with leads to boot. It was damn embarrassing.”

“Any definite proof it was Koreans?”

“Definitely not American GIs this time,” Pointer said, shaking his head. “Those kids never touch combat supply goods. There’s plenty of other things and this involves a big risk. If it’s not Americans, then it has to be our side. From Chinatown across the bridge, from Monkey Mountain, from the helicopter battalion, who knows, but the stuff seems to be leaking from some small unit supply division.”

The captain pushed the papers toward Yong Kyu.

“This is the log of our vehicles that have been passing through Da Nang city limits.”

The log had been marked up with a ballpoint pen. Yong Kyu recognized the number most frequently appearing.

“That’s a rec center vehicle, isn’t it?”

“Right, those bastards must know something about it.”

“The rec center truck makes two trips a day to the Dong Dao junction to pick up supplies for the transportation unit.”

“That’s why it’s most likely them.”

“I got some information on my way here from a Philco technician.”

Yong Kyu told the captain what the man on the street had inadvertently revealed.

“Some Korean woman must have been carrying rations in an American vehicle or a private car.”

“Lucky timing. Better hurry out into the market. After you finish this investigation, start working the marketplace. Want some boys to tag along?”

“No, thank you, sir. I’ll do it alone.”

“Look at the very last page,” said the captain in a changed tone.

Yong Kyu flipped to the final page. To his surprise, there he found a Vietnamese license number circled in red. He noted the checkpoint, Gate 3, Dong Dao. The car. . he wondered if it was the Hong Kong Group station wagon.

“Corporal Ahn, even if it’s a civilian vehicle, I have them keep records of license numbers if there’re Koreans riding inside. I asked the American guards to start doing it last month. It’s hard to get a good grasp on the PX details.”

The captain snatched the vehicle log back from Yong Kyu’s hands.

“I’ll have to change the team chief.”

Yong Kyu stood erect, looking straight at the captain.

“A woman? A Korean woman?” the captain murmured, tapping the table with his pen. Then he removed a sheet of paper from one of his drawers. “This is the last of the civilians in Da Nang. Take a good look. Those marked in red are the ones without jobs.”

“Could be some who overstayed their visas.”

“Certainly. Some have even lost their nationality.”

“What’s that?” asked Yong Kyu, pointing to some odd foreign names among those on the list.

“They’re the entertainers. But these are only the ones we could keep track of up to the end of last year. The ones who come in knowing how the embassy works usually keep their departure dates, but others are stranded here and hook up with the Filipinos or the Thais or the Japanese; they’re hard to get hold of.”

“Sunny Lee, Susan Pak, Korean Honey. . there’s no detailed personal information at all.”

“They move all over Vietnam to different bases, barely scratch out a living by dancing or stripping or being magicians’ helpers. Not to mention the prostitution. . anyway, some of that sort might be around in Da Nang, you never know. Go to a few places and check them out. The rec center, China Beach, Army Stage Productions, and the Troop Information and Education Center at headquarters, well, that should keep you busy for now.”

As he was leaving the office Yong Kyu hesitated for a moment, then said, “Can you give me a car? I don’t have a driver.”

“Huh? Still don’t know how to drive?”

Turning to Miss Hoa, the captain said, “Call the Dragon Palace and have the team chief come in, and tell Toi to come see me, too.”

First to arrive was Toi, a Vietnamese informant the captain employed. Yong Kyu had never met him before but had heard him mentioned by the sergeant. He was middle-aged, said to have been discharged from the ARVN Quartermaster Corps. He walked into the office in a white shirt and black pants. His eyes were hidden behind mercury-mirrored sunglasses and his gold teeth sparkled through his permanent grin.

“Hullo.”

“Let me introduce you. This is Corporal Ahn, one of our staff.”

“Hello, I know you well.”

“Know me well?” said Yong Kyu, shaking his extended hand. Instead of explaining, Toi looked at the captain and smiled.

The captain said to Yong Kyu, “From now on he’ll be your guide in the market. He’ll be a big help to you in this case.”

The captain looked straight into Yong Kyu’s eyes as he calmly added, “Toi knows all about the beer business; the team chief is starting with the Hong Kong Group.”

Yong Kyu spun quickly for another look at Toi. Now that he thought of it, the face was not altogether unfamiliar. Suddenly an image flitted through his mind of a pair of mirrored sunglasses sitting beside the Chinese woman they called “Chui” at a corner table in the Bamboo Club.

“There’s a lot of work to do and he needs your help.”

“What is it?”

“C-rations.”

“They were pouring out for a solid week but then the flow suddenly stopped three days ago.”

Toi sat casually on the captain’s desk as they went on talking. Such informality would seem insolent if the two weren’t good friends, Yong Kyu thought.

“It’ll be pouring out again.”

“My guess is they stockpiled it in a house somewhere and are releasing it into the market a little at a time.”

“You heard, didn’t you?” the captain said to Yong Kyu. “Now that they’ve had a taste of it, they’ll try to lift another truckload before long. We’ve got to nail them before the Americans do.”

Yong Kyu and Toi left the office. Toi had his old Land Rover parked outside.

“Where to?”

“You know the recreation center?”

“Sure. And I know Sergeant Yun very well, too.”

Yong Kyu said nothing. He didn’t believe it. Toi must have sensed Yong Kyu’s suspicion, because he also remained silent and just clenched the wheel. They went across the bridge, passed by the navy PX and, crossing through the helicopter base, sped on toward the seashore. The asphalt cut a perfectly straight line through the sand, rows of palm trees on either side.

The American recreation center stood in the middle of a clump of big trees. In the distance they could see a collection of shabby tents and huts made of plywood and sheet metal. Several sailboats were neatly lined up on the beach along with surfboards and dinghies. The rec center seemed quiet. They passed by an open-air theater and continued driving down the sandy beach.

They pulled up in front of a large tent, and an army band member lying inside poked his head out. The band members’ hair was long and they were wearing bathing suits and Hawaiian shirts. It looked as though they had just polished off lunch as most of them were taking naps. Yong Kyu remembered how repulsed he was to see these cicadas from the band corps on the battlefield. Watching them rocking their heads and playing instruments, one of the grunts in the platoon had muttered he wouldn’t mind mowing them all down with his machine gun.

“Where’s the senior non-com?”

At Yong Kyu’s question, the band member rubbed his cheek with the cold soda can he was holding, like a businessman on vacation. His oiled and well-roasted back was glistening.

“The sarge has gone to the PX, but he’ll be back for lunch.”

“I’ll be with Gunnery Sergeant Yun over there, so when you see him, tell him to hurry over.”

As Yong Kyu turned around to head off with Toi toward a nearby hut, the guy asked from behind, “What contractor you with?”

Yong Kyu turned back around.

“We need to know what company you’re with so we’ll know where to go to play.”

The man had made a mistake. At once Yong Kyu grasped what he had meant and went with it.

“We’re with the Vinelli Company. Can you come this Saturday from around seven to nine o’clock?”

“That’s a conflict. At seven on Saturday we’re already booked at Monkey Mountain. Why not move it up to Friday?”

“I’ve got to see the gunnery sergeant, anyway.”

Yong Kyu felt like he already had them trapped. He looked back at Toi. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”

“It’s kind of hot.”

“There’s a breeze.”

“Okay.” Toi grinned.

Yong Kyu went on by himself to the hut. An office desk coated with dust and some chairs were strewn about in disorder amid piles of assorted equipment, including slot machines and other games. Since relocating from Chu Lai they still had not set up the game room. On the far side of the hut the gunnery sergeant was playing paduk with a private. There was a cool breeze from the ocean.

“My, my, what brought a high and mighty man like you all the way out here? Haven’t laid eyes on you for ages.”

Sergeant Yun set down his discs and got to his feet.

“Hey, how ‘bout bringing something cold to drink? Care for a beer? Or maybe cognac?”

Yong Kyu walked over and stood by the window. “I can’t drink, I’m on duty. . and I’ve got something to talk about.”

“To hell with duty, let’s have a drink.”

“Who’s going over to the Dong Dao junction these days?”

“Why. ?”

They both feigned a blank stare.

“I am,” the private said.

Yong Kyu lit his cigarette.

“How many cases have you run for?”

“What’s this all about, huh?” Sergeant Yun said, pounding the table. “If you start stabbing without rhyme or reason, the weaklings will all spill their guts. What is it, why are you doing this? Ask me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“We hear C-rations are leaking out from here.”

With a look of dismayed astonishment, the sergeant blurted out a “Phew!” and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You drive me up the wall. Look, Corporal Ahn, any bastard laying hands on C-rations is a damned fool. The risk is big and the profit small. Besides, we can’t do that kind of thing.”

“Have any idea where the leak is?”

“Well. .”

The sergeant and private exchanged glances. Yong Kyu calmly said, “Bring in the ration inventory list and the requisitions, and let’s see the balance on hand here.”

“Why are you doing this? What do you get out of shaking us down?”

Yong Kyu waited.

“I think it’s over at Monkey Mountain,” the private haltingly mumbled.

“The navy. .?”

“It’s gathering there,” said Sergeant Yun, waving his hand as if in surrender, “because the administration is in a mess.”

“Must have been a few leaks from here, too?”

“And I’m sure you guys have none at all. Hey, let’s not do this to each other. All we took out were some raisins.”

“We hear there’s been a Korean woman hanging around here.”

“A woman. . not that I know of. Quite a few Koreans been going to the supply warehouse for services, though.”

“That hole’s been sealed,” Yong Kyu said, lightly tapping the sergeant on the chest with his fist, “because everybody knows about it.”

“Exactly my point. Who in their right mind would touch combat rations, out of everything there is? That’s all I’m saying.”

“Crossing the river can be a good reason for that.”

“Of course. If you want to bite off a big chunk, you gotta use the markets across the river. For smaller quantities, the base villages around here can swallow the stuff easy enough.”

Just then the door opened and in walked a man wearing a woven hemp vest over a black shirt. His hair was styled in a slicked-back regent style and two gold bands adorned the index and middle fingers of his hand.

“Are you the guy looking for me?”

Yong Kyu nodded. Sergeant Yun moved swiftly. He had to identify Yong Kyu’s status immediately so that the staff sergeant from the army band detachment would speak carefully.

“Watch your mouth. Our friend here is with CID.”

His immediate unease was apparent on his face. Yong Kyu gave him no time to think.

“Do you take orders through that platoon leader? I heard you have a performance planned for seven o’clock this Saturday.”

“Ah, that’s a. .”

“As I understand it, the army band is mobilized solely for performances arranged to enhance the morale of Korean forces to improve their readiness for battle. My question is, who is your promoter? Who gave you permission to perform at your pleasure for money?”

Sergeant Yun giggled.

“Hey, hey, Corporal Ahn, just close your eyes to the kids trying to make a little pocket change, you know. And you, Pak, just give him all the information he wants.”

The army band sergeant stood there awkwardly, combing back his hair with his fingers.

“What did you do as a civilian. .?”

“He’s a saxophonist,” interjected the gunnery sergeant. “You should hear him play sometime, damn good, really.”

“Were you in a show group?”

“I worked in Eighth Army. Shouldn’t have come here. The pay is shit. I’d have been better off back home.”

“You know most of the women dancers, don’t you?” Yong Kyu asked after a pause.

Before responding, the slick-haired sergeant looked over at Sergeant Yun as if to ask “What’s this all about?” and the latter murmured in a low voice, “C-rations.”

“It’s about C-rations, he said.”

“You know how many of those women are around Da Nang?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Hard to say. They may come here for a few days for a performance, then they slip off to places like Chu Lai, Tui Hoa, or Na Trang.”

“They say quite a few foreign girls who hitched up with entertainers’ troupes later got left behind on their own,” said Sergeant Yun, trying to be helpful.

“I’m sure there are some girls doing you know what and some even shacked up with GIs.”

“Lots in Saigon and up here I’ve heard of a few, too.”

“I wonder if you can find out who there is. .”

Yong Kyu looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had already passed since he got there.

“Can you check out everybody who’s gone to Monkey Mountain for performances?”

“That’s easy,” said the band sergeant. “All you have to do is go there and see the wet canteen master sergeant and ask him to show you the performance contracts.”

“Can I also check for all the Korean women who’ve performed there over the past six months?”

“Why not? Not so many of them, anyhow. But we wouldn’t know where they live. Probably hard to get any personal information on them at all.”

“Thank you,” Yong Kyu said, “and I’ll be dropping in again to say hello.”

As he walked away the gunnery sergeant kept on pleading for him to give them a break. When he reached the Land Rover he found Toi asleep with his legs hanging out of the window. He was about to wake him up when he heard Sergeant Yun call to him from inside the hut.

“Corporal Ahn, there’s a phone call for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Your boss.”

Yong Kyu rushed over to get the phone. There was urgency in the captain’s voice.

“It’s streaming out into the market again. Take Toi to the market and check it out. Have you found the woman?”

“Got some leads that may help.”

“It’s definitely a woman. The American side got eyewitness testimony from some Vietnamese. She’s an Asian, tall and good-looking.”

“I’ll run by Monkey Mountain first and then hit the market, sir.”

The Land Rover sped away from China Beach and headed northwest. Refugee barracks whizzed by on both sides of the road. The briny wind off Da Nang Bay penetrated to the heart. Toi asked Yong Kyu if he had any smokes. Yong Kyu lit a cigarette and put it in Toi’s mouth.

“Get some information?” Toi said casually.

“Not much. May be a woman, after all.”

“Korean?”

“I don’t think a Vietnamese woman would get involved in a deal like this.”

Toi chuckled, nodding.

“What’s so funny?”

“In Da Nang you have women from all over the world. They range from fifteen to five hundred dollars.”

“Why is that funny?”

“It’s your attitude that’s funny. Women come in all shapes and sizes, but once you’ve done it, they all look the same. Once at the Hotel Thanh I did it with a big blonde built like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m not interested.”

“It was lousy. I paid a good three hundred dollars, and I felt like I was inside a giant sponge.”

Yong Kyu remained cold and distant.

“What I’m saying has to do with information,” Toi continued. “Listen carefully, Corporal Ahn. If it’s a Korean woman, she’s probably hooked up with a Vietnamese.”

Yong Kyu stared at him without speaking.

“It’s plain as day. GIs, they’ll sleep with anyone, but not with high-priced dancers or women from third countries. I told you, it’s all the same down there. White, black, yellow, I say, there’s no difference. To the white men, however, the yellow people like you and me are different. GIs sleep with the cheapest Vietnamese women, just like they drink a beer and crush the empty can before tossing it away. The black market dealings for the Vietnamese women are usually cigarettes or chocolate. That is what the women get paid. The Americans refuse to mix black market dealings with their whoring. Dealing contraband is one thing, and buying a woman is something else. If the woman involved in this case is a Korean, I bet she’s got some connection with a Vietnamese. Understand what I’m saying?”

“No, not yet.”

Toi abruptly stopped talking. The car was passing smokestacks on the way across the bridge leading downtown. In the distance across the bay you could see Monkey Mountain, called Bai Bang in Vietnamese. It was like an island jutting out of the water. Yong Kyu wondered where all the monkeys had gone. Bulldozers had cleared the jungle away, and in its place a vast headquarters compound, heliport, and naval harbor had been constructed. Had the monkeys fled into the dense forests of the Central Highlands? Ahn Yong Kyu already guessed what Toi had been getting at, but he did not know why he had clammed up and what he was waiting for.

“Go on, tell me. I still don’t quite understand.”

“Tell you what?”

Then Toi grinned brightly. For a second he turned his eyes and then shoved his mirrored sunglasses right under Yong Kyu’s nose. On the glossy metallic surface of the lenses Yong Kyu saw his own face distorted into a grotesque shape. They were the kind of glasses that hid the mood of the wearer. Perfect for the scalding heat in Vietnam.

Barely suppressing a fleeting urge to punch Toi in the face, Yong Kyu calmly asked, “Why is it that a Korean woman is so likely to hook up with a Vietnamese?”

“Ah, that much I could’ve told the captain earlier. I thought of it from the start.”

“What do you want, anyway?”

“Easy does it, man,” Toi said, chuckling. “You’ll uncover a very good dealing connection.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Yes, when I worked for the American forces.”

Yong Kyu grew tense. “The conditions are the same, sure. But it varies depending on the kinds of deals.”

“With your help, I’m confident I can get to the core of these deals in three days.”

“Go on.”

“I told you. This Korean woman of yours, she’s hooked up with a Vietnamese. The Vietnamese like foreign women. They’ve lived colonized for a long time, so they like foreigners. The guy’s an officer, that’s my guess. His post, near Da Nang. Not a combat officer.”

“Sounds good. One thing I don’t get, though. Why would such a man need a woman as a front, and a foreign woman at that?”

“Ha, ha, you don’t understand, do you? It means he’s not in this for the money. A man like that can have as many big deals as he wants. That’s the key point. This is a petty gift kind of thing. Think about it. If she’s one of yours, there’s no doubt you’ll interfere. But you’ll never touch the core of the black market. Why? Because the dealings of the Vietnamese forces are sacred. Same with the American forces. Too many headaches and too much trouble. Endless complaints and accusations from civilians pour into the Vietnamese high command. The superiors in the investigative headquarters either have the man in charge transferred or issue orders suspending the investigation. It’s the same with AID8 loans, advisory group funding, and even with the foreign private contractors. You don’t get it. Perhaps you won’t get it until the end. So much the better for you. For after all, this is our country and this is our war. We are the masters of the house. You people just serve your time and go back home.”

Yong Kyu gulped down the saliva in his throat. “So what is this war of yours about? The Americans and we came here for no reason?”

“You people have no part in it. This is an American taxpayers’ war.”

“Cut the bullshit. For six months I was crawling in the mud where you’ve never been.”

Toi glanced at Yong Kyu then turned away and spat, apparently angry. “I’ve lived twice as long as you. So I know life. I’m from a family of merchants who have made their living in the Le Loi markets for three generations. All merchants have a good understanding of world affairs, big and small. Once there was a merchant who saw a man violently beating his wife, so he went into their house. He beat the husband for the sake of the wife. Then the brothers of the husband all came out and they beat the merchant. Then the merchant called on his neighbor for help. His neighbor knew that the merchant would reward him, so over he came too to intervene in the family fight. So? Have I said enough?”

Yong Kyu said nothing. Their Land Rover was pulling inside the headquarters compound of the American naval base.

Footnote:

8 US Agency for International Development

9

A flock of doves soared up through the palm trees. Dozens of trucks rolled in and out of the heart of the Quang Nam Province government. In the center of the yard in front of the building, where a fountain had bubbled during the French colonization, the national flag was flying from a pole. A decapitated statue displayed its awkward, naked form. The iron-barred front gate was permanently closed, fortified with sandbags that ran along the edges of what used to be flowerbeds.

Two heavy machine guns had been mounted on low watchtowers behind sandbag walls twice as tall as a man. Fully armed guards sat upright and attentive at two other spots. Out in front of the barbed wire barricades additional bunkers were manned by soldiers with automatic weapons. In the square directly in front of the building a pair of armored personnel carriers were on standby. When the director left for the day, one of the armored personnel carriers escorted him and the rear of his personal convoy was protected by two armored Jeeps equipped with.50 caliber machine guns. The provincial government building was now nothing but a fortress. Each window was covered with metal mesh to repel grenades. The terraces were practically sealed off by sandbag walls. A security force the size of a company was on rotation duty day and night.

Originally, in the early colonial period, the structure had been the home of the French governor. The architecture was in the southern French style, with orange-colored tiles adorning the roof and each level of terracing and neatly trimming the windows. Exotic ivy still crept up the walls to the highest windows, which at one time had been hung with shutters. Geranium pots perched on windowsills here and there. But the walls were ordinary plaster painted white. From a distance, the coarsely textured walls made the building look like a villa on some Mediterranean seashore. The only ugly intrusions on this idyllic scene were the sandbags, the machine gun nests, and the armored personnel carriers.

The iron gate on the side of the provincial government building stood wide open and a soldier was directing the truck traffic in and out. When they entered, the trucks drove into the front yard and made a loop around the flagpole, heading around to the back of the building. Once in the back and unloaded, the trucks made a U-turn to go out through the same gate and then sped off in the direction of the beach.

“What’s all that ruckus about?”

The question startled the lieutenant and he jumped up from the desk where he had been busy typing. He went over toward his superior, Major Pham Quyen, who was gazing down through the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“God-damned fertilizer,” the major spat.

The lieutenant did not bother going all the way to the window and instead returned to his desk and flopped back down in his chair.

“Today is the day, sir.”

“Ah, what a pain. . ”

Quyen stretched. As his solid shoulders extended, the back of his crisply pressed American jungle uniform grew so taut that it looked about to rip at the seams.

“It’s already lunch time,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. “Still no word from the general?”

“No, sir. He stayed at Bai Bang last night, sir.”

Quyen understood. General Liam, a military high commander and the military governor of the province, had a villa on the beach at Bai Bang. It was on the northeast shore of the cape that the Americans called Monkey Mountain, overlooking Da Nang Bay. That the general had spent the night in Bai Bang meant that his arrival would be postponed until after the siesta hour.

“Did you notify the general that a dedication ceremony is to be held today in An Diem?”

The lieutenant hesitated and frowned. “. . I’m not permitted to communicate with Bai Bang, sir.”

“Call him.”

The lieutenant’s pleading look made Major Pham Quyen impatient and angry. “Call him, I said! We got a message from AID and the advisory group. The general must attend the ceremony today.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant cautiously rang the switchboard and when the other party was on the line, Quyen snatched the telephone.

“Ah, it’s me. Has the general been up? What? Not yet? Sure, all right, I know. I’m coming. Yes, it’s a very important matter.”

Pham Quyen banged down the receiver in a rage. “Damn, I’ll lose my lunch hour again. Hey, hand me that cartridge belt.”

“Are you planning to go to Bai Bang, sir?” the lieutenant asked, handing him a pistol holster and a leather ammunition belt that had been hanging on the wall.

“Yeah, I’ve got to drag the old man out. We have to make a living, don’t we?”

He was about to leave but paused to give an order to one of the second lieutenants. “When they finish with the fertilizer, the cement will be arriving. Verify the quantities and countersign the invoices.”

“Sign, sir?”

“Right.”

“After that, there will be no more storage space left, sir.”

“No need for you to be worrying about things like that,” Major Pham Quyen said with a smile.

When he came outside, the trucks were still circling in and out around the building. He adjusted the fancy silver buckle on his holster belt, took out his gold-framed sunglasses, and put them on. Within a few seconds, a fierce-looking late-model US Army Jeep rolled up in front of him. It was a convoy escort Jeep, fully equipped for battle. The front windshield was lowered flat onto the hood, and the top was covered with loose pieces of olive-colored nylon for camouflage. A pivoting machine gun was mounted on the rear of the Jeep was. It was manned by a slim soldier wearing the maroon beret of a Ranger with an M16 slung over his shoulder.

Major Pham Quyen got into the front seat. Whenever the olive drab sedan of the general was on the street, escorted by an armored personnel carrier and followed by a Jeep like this one blazing its headlights, every vehicle of the Allied Forces pulled over. Every officer who had any nodding acquaintance with the general would jump out of his vehicle to give him a salute. That kind of battlefield protocol looked ridiculous on the streets of Da Nang. At the sight of such a solemn parade, however, some civilians might actually feel that their governor, the man behind the walls of that castle, that fortified island in a sea of slaughter and provocation, was protecting their lives, lives for which the future promised no certainty.

As the Jeep pulled away, the driver asked, “Where to, Major?”

“Bai Bang, and hurry.”

“Shall I use the siren, sir?”

“No, just flash the emergency lights.”

The Jeep drove at full throttle, showering faint glints of colored light on the sunlit streets. Other vehicles either stopped or waited for them to pass. As they were about to turn past the smokestacks onto the bridge, a long column of dusty military vehicles came into sight from the left.

“What shall I do, sir?” the driver quickly asked.

“Just cut through the convoy.”

If they waited for the parade to pass, the general would have time to get up and go somewhere and the day would be wasted. They saw the lead Jeep in the US Army convoy stop suddenly. An officer got out and pointed at them, shouting something indiscernible. Major Pham Quyen waved and passed by them.

“What a nutcase.”

The major might have seemed naive, even stupid. But Pham Quyen was known throughout the second ARVN headquarters as a master strategist. He had graduated from a university in Saigon and from the Army Military Academy in Na Trang. He was fluent in both French and English. Even as a cadet he had stood out from his peers. He’d gotten his reputation at school after an incident: he had supported the opinion of an American advisor, a lieutenant colonel in the US Army.

The advisor was explaining textbook passages on usage of ponchos during the rainy season and on the importance of mosquito repellant for prevention of malaria. One of the brighter students challenged the text:

“Rub-on mosquito repellant doesn’t work here. In the central region, the rainy season runs from September to March and it’s not constant rainfall; it rains and clears up several times a day. Rub-on repellant just gets washed off in the heavy showers, and then as soon as the rain stops, vicious jungle mosquitoes come out and attack. So, even if it may work in America, that kind of repellant is useless here. Instead, malaria preventatives are needed. Also, the standard-issue rain ponchos aren’t good for jungle ambushes. The sound of raindrops on a poncho is louder than drops falling on the ground. The enemy would hear us coming. Instead of a poncho, we should use thin vinyl capes.”

This raingear was exactly what the Viet Cong used. The advisor was in a difficult position. He had come to teach operational tactics, but if his instructions were deemed inept, then America would have a hard time training these Vietnamese and marshaling them in accordance with the American doctrines of warfare. But just then Pham Quyen raised his hand and stood up to speak.

“The counterarguments raised lack objectivity for the situation here in Vietnam. Our combat consists of searches by day and ambushes by night. The only thing moving at night is the enemy. As for firearms and artillery, we have the best in the world. Given our superior firepower, such discussions on the ideal raincoat are pointless. If the enemy discovers us first, we can take them out with an artillery barrage or air support before they slip away. The same goes for the mosquito repellant — if it washes away, we’ll just rub it on again. We can always make more.”

The reasoning was so straightforward and confident that it made the doubts raised by the other cadet’s incisive questioning sound defeatist. The brilliant young officer attracted the attention of the advisor, who quickly appointed Pham Quyen to the liaison staff. He was marked as a Vietnamese who thought like an American, and that was exactly what the US Army liked to see. Promotions came rapidly and soon he was recommended to General Liam. Whatever the general wanted, Quyen always anticipated it in advance.

Resistance was strongest and most concentrated in the Central Highlands, and so it was a major focus of US Army concern. They had unlimited support for their pacification and resettlement campaigns there, and the entire command structure for managing and implementing these projects fell under the jurisdiction of General Liam as the military governor of Quang Nam Province. During the planning process, the US Agency for International Development only had an economic veto power. As the chief secretary to the governor, Major Pham Quyen was the man who took care of everything. But all the general did was sign off on documents and listen to reports on the results of specific initiatives. He placed total trust in Pham Quyen.

The Jeep was entering Bai Bang. The area was lush with vegetation: shrubs, broadleaved trees, tropical flowers. The long road went out a finger of land toward a steep cluster of mountains that jutted up from the sea like a raised fist. With the road gate closed, there was no entry to or exit from the compound. The Jeep passed through the main gate to the US Naval Headquarters without being stopped and searched and turned right into a narrow alley.

“Go slow,” ordered Pham Quyen.

There was stone breakwall about twenty-five or thirty feet high to the right of the road and the waves that broke against it shot white foam into the air. The asphalt was dirty in some places. Barbed wire had been strung from the upper edge of the breakwall in certain spots. A searchlight from a high tower shone intermittently. The other side was completely different: fragrant flowers, birds singing and flitting about. There was not a single monkey to be seen anywhere on Monkey Mountain.

Then the road curved landward and went up a steep grade. On the sunny hill the trees grew sparse, and then all of the sudden they were gone entirely. The forest had been bulldozed and grass planted. The road wound past the new golf course. On the beach side there were three watchtowers with searchlights and machine guns at the top of their ladders. A guard sat idly in each tower. The Jeep did not turn into driveway but went on to the parking lot some ways away.

A solid-looking two-story brick building on the edge of the slope was the general’s villa. The windows were all tinted dark blue. Behind the house was a tiled swimming pool. Farther down the slope on the right were the guards’ quarters and a large storehouse, and behind that stood a tennis court encircled by a white fence covered in wire mesh.

The first time Pham Quyen had visited Bai Bang he was awestruck. He had even taken his boots off so he wouldn’t get dirt on the carpet. But the general traveled to Saigon for several days for a meeting with the president at Independence Palace soon after that, and then Quyen became very comfortable in the villa. He even made it his own, bringing a woman with him and spending a three-day vacation there. He popped the general’s champagne, and even used the general’s bed. The Chinese cook, Chap, dressed up in the general’s robe with its embroidered dragon in Qing-dynasty style. Quyen had spent about two thousand dollars to use the villa during his sojourn. The money had, of course, gone to buy the complicity of the cook, the butler, and the guards. Whenever Liam went to Saigon, Quyen stayed at the villa. He wasn’t trying to make fun of his superior or get the man in trouble. Even if Liam were to find out about it, he would not be shocked; the briefcases filled with mint cash that Liam always took with him on his trips were travel expenses that Quyen had gotten together for him.

As Quyen approached the porch, the guards standing at either side of the entrance to the villa aimed their rifles at him. But they were smiling. The manager of the villa, a staff sergeant, took the gun belt Quyen had unfastened and handed to him. Then he rang the doorbell for the visitor, and inside it sounded like a temple gong in the distance. A middle-aged man in a white cotton jacket straightened his clothes and then opened the door. Quyen casually walked in. The entire back wall of the main room was glass, so it seemed to open directly onto the sea. Mounted on the wall was a buffalo head, along with an old shotgun and the like. Directly below there was a Buddhist altar, several half-burnt sticks of red incense in the bronze incense burner. These furnishings were a familiar sight for Quyen. There were also several reproductions of paintings and an enormous military-issue air conditioner that didn’t fit with the rest of the room.

“Would you care for a drink, sir?”

“No, thank you. Wake up the general for me.”

The butler tiptoed upstairs. After a while he reappeared and told Quyen that the general would be down shortly. At first the major stood at attention, but when he realized it could be some time, he turned around and relaxed. He gazed out at the South China Sea. The waves were a pale bluish green. At the far end of the bay could be seen several large transport vessels. Down through the glass, a small US patrol boat could be seen stealthily making its rounds to the outer piers of Da Nang Harbor.

“Bonjour.”

Quyen turned around. A fair-skinned woman in a long crimson Chinese gown slit to the thigh was slowly descending the stairs. Her sleepy eyes suggested she was only half-awake. At the end of her limp fingers was a burning cigarette.

“Sorry to have to awaken you from a sweet sleep, madam,” Quyen said in French. But the woman responded in a southern dialect of Vietnamese.

“You’re Major Pham, aren’t you? The general told me about you many times. A very fine officer, he said.”

“Thank you.”

“I arrived from Saigon yesterday. Saigon is tremendously. .”

“Yes, it’s a fine place.”

“No, I mean, it’s extremely violent. An offensive?”

“The worst is over. As you can see, it’s very peaceful here.”

The major recognized her at once. While packing the general’s travel kit, he had noticed a picture of a striking woman in a Singaporean magazine. She was probably half-French. Now he understood why the general had been traveling to Saigon so frequently. He would have done the same. Her hair was reddish-brown, her frame small like an Oriental woman, and her skin an amber color, lighter than the typical Vietnamese. Standing there on the carpet, she kept curling up and stretching out the toes of her tiny bare feet, and then she stood on one foot as she spoke. Quyen felt an urge to crush her feet with his heavy army boots.

“Is there some event today?”

“Yes, we have to cut the tape to dedicate a new resettlement village.”

“Resettlement village?” the woman huffed scornfully, a sarcastic smile on her lips.

Pham Quyen snapped to attention. The general was coming down the stairs in a Hawaiian shirt and golf pants. His salt and pepper hair was cut short, his nose was hooked and his lips were very thin. His stature was on the short side but he seemed to have an iron constitution. He clenched a pipe in his teeth. In his usual cold manner, the general said, “At ease. Have a seat.”

Pham Quyen remained standing. The general looked back at the woman. “Why don’t you change?”

She nodded, gave the general a peck on the cheek, and withdrew. The general looked up at the clock on the wall.

“What brings you here?”

“Sir, today is the dedication for the new resettlement village in An Diem.”

The general frowned slightly. “The mayor of Hoi An can attend to such things, can’t he?”

Without hesitation, Pham Quyen replied, “No, sir. Your Excellency must attend.”

Rather than showing any displeasure or surprise, the general changed his tone to one of consultation.

“Ah, I see. Brief me.”

As if he had expected this, the major removed a notebook scribbled with numbers and notes in very small handwriting from the pocket of his jacket. The heading read “Tonh Sinh Phuoc Tho” or “New Life Hamlets.” There were a number of infrastructure details that needed attention, like dams and watercourses; a center for disabled veterans; and then information on troop movements and so on. The phoenix hamlets program was just a new name for the old strategic hamlets resettlement program initiated by the USOM9. Now it was a larger-scale pacification program jointly conducted by representatives of AID, the US advisory group, and the Vietnamese government. But the man in charge of preparing and implementing the budget for the entire project was the provincial governor. The general and his staff had established the plan and Pham Quyen headed it. The US advised and handled all implementation requisitions.

“In our Quang Nam Province, sixty hamlets have already been successfully settled. Our aim is to build phoenix hamlets at three hundred sites.”

“Skip the overview. Tell me about the strategic hamlets in An Diem.”

“Your Excellency, they’re not strategic hamlets anymore; they’re phoenix hamlets.”

“Right, phoenix hamlets. .”

“Yes, and our plan is to build twelve phoenix hamlets in An Diem, and the one today is a model and the largest. Fifteen hundred residents.”

“What are we going to have them do?”

“As soon as they’re settled, they’ll be given land around An Diem valley. The plots will be one or two acres, and they’ll farm and raise cattle. With the money from AID we’ve built three hundred houses, enclosed a plot of common community land with wire fences, built a public hall and a warehouse, and we’re planning to construct schools for the An Diem district.”

“Mmmm, there’s nothing special about it, is there?”

“Your Excellency, we also have a significant interest in parts of this program. In fact, the potential is great. Our office just today received five thousand sacks of fertilizer and thirty truckloads of cement, and that’s just the beginning of the An Diem program.”

“You’re right. I probably should attend the ceremony myself. Who all is coming?”

“The US Marines division commander, the chief of the AID mission, the chief of the Hoi An district advisory group, and the mayor of Hoi An are expected.”

“Will there be speeches?”

“Yes, the AID mission chief and Your Excellency will deliver speeches. Yours has been typed and is waiting at the office.”

“I see, thank you. I’ll be there.”

Pham Quyen sprang to his feet.

“My business here is concluded and I shall return, sir.”

“Sit down, young man. By the time you get back, it’ll be siesta. Have lunch here and we’ll leave together.”

The general returned to his room and Quyen again sat idly on the sofa. He picked his notebook up from the table to put it back in his pocket, but something occurred to him and he opened it again, checking carefully to see nothing was amiss.

The capital of Quang Nam Province was Da Nang, a city of two hundred thousand with a possibility of doubling its population as the war expanded. Including the vast uplands inhabited by the highland tribes, the population of Quang Nam was over one million. Route 1 ran up the shore north of Da Nang, over the Aibanh Hills, and then reached the old city of Hue, finally meeting the border with North Vietnam just above Quang Tri.

The Thu Bon River has two branches in its watershed: one has its source near An Diem in the northwest and the other runs from An Hoa in the southwest. The two branches meet at Hoi An, forming a huge lake close by the sea, and then water flows in and out of ocean estuaries down to Tam Ky and Chu Lai. Da Nang is at one of the mouths of the Thu Bon River. The plain southwest of Da Nang is occupied by a US Air Force base. The Dong Dao Hills in front of Da Nang are a US Marine defensive encampment.

The long and rugged Atwat Mountains out beyond the Allied defense line were a region held by the NLF. Hoi An, a city of about forty thousand on the fertile Thu Bon Delta, stands along a lake that slips into the sea. It has been known for centuries as a center for trade in cinnamon, lumber, and silk. About a hundred thousand more people live in the valleys and plain spread out along the surrounding tributary streams. Even with this fertile land, Quang Nam Province had recently had to import twenty thousand tons of rice yearly from the Mekong Delta to feed the urban populations that were constantly being swollen by war refugees. More and more farming land had been transformed by the war into wasteland.

Almost every time there has been a military operation an entire village disappeared. An Diem used to be a village. An Diem was situated at an especially strategic point: it was the entrance to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, a place where the Vietnamese and the highland tribes met, and a region where the National Liberation Front sent forces from their sanctuaries on the Laos border. One of the tribes living on the plateau near An Diem, the Katus, had been fierce resistance fighters under the French and more than half of them had joined the NLF.

Quang Nam Province had retained its own local color, cut off from the west and south by the river and the mountains, separated from Hue by the Aibanh Hills, and bounded on the east by the sea. Consequently, it had traditionally been regarded as the most rebellious region of the country. It was a breeding ground for peasant rebellions and a center of resistance against the French, the Japanese military occupation and, most recently, against the Diem regime. It had produced many of the leaders of the NLF and the Viet Cong army, and their organization was deeply rooted in the province. The NLF central committee had appointed the chairman of the highland people’s autonomy movement, Imi Alleo, as the chief political officer for the central plateau, and Nguyen Thi Dinh as the chairman of the NLF bureau for central Vietnam. Together the two had founded the Quang Nam Liberation Front.

It had been several years since the Americans and the Vietnamese government launched the strategic hamlet program, modeled on the counterinsurgency tactics the British had once employed to pacify guerrillas in Malaysia. It was a political, economic, and military strategy designed to separate the Liberation Front from the local population. The immense numbers of refugees uprooted by the fighting were to be resettled and incorporated under a powerful central administrative structure in order to retake areas liberated by the enemy and minimize further losses of territory.

First, estimations were made for the number of workers it would take to build a village. The cement, construction materials, steel bars, and wire mesh fencing for security purposes would be provided by the Americans. The resettled refugees would be given rice for food. In order to turn the district residents into a self-reliant militia, expenses for education, wages for military training, and weapons and ammunition were to be subsidized. As an incentive for people to set up households within the fenced hamlets, resettlement allowances would be offered. New trucks were to be supplied for transporting all materials and equipment. Schools were to be constructed. Farmland would be parceled out, each household receiving enough seed and fertilizer to cultivate about two acres. To ensure an adequate protein intake, each household would raise a few pigs, with the breeding sows imported from America and their distribution administered by the Agricultural Affairs Bureau of the provincial government. Every family would get about eight sacks of ready-mix cement to build a pigsty, and American surplus cornmeal would be handed out to feed the animals. A system of agricultural credit would be set up.

Pham Quyen was not convinced of the value of this phoenix program, hatched in the naively optimistic brains of narrow-minded experts confident of their exceptional understanding of Southeast Asia. The Vietnamese people knew far better the situation and particularities of Vietnam. But like Pham Quyen in the dispute over mosquito repellant, the Vietnamese also knew that it was better for them to praise these plans, instead of question them.

If Pham Quyen, the chief Vietnamese planner, had demanded that the Americans provide unconditional support but withdraw from the program, the latter would have read it as an attempt to drive them out of Vietnam. And he would be transferred, or sent to the front on the pretext of some trivial mistake.

The ideological propaganda was meant to make this war seen as America’s war. The Vietnamese could speak for themselves, and wisely. They called these phoenix hamlets beginning to sprout up in the southern Mekong Delta and in the southern part of the Central Highlands “Miquo Tonh”—America Towns.

Even when he was alone, Pham Quyen looked gloomy. His personal rule was to never take responsibility for anything. By following this he intended to survive without suffering any loss. He entertained the dream that he’d eventually settle in Singapore or Thailand. He had been an excellent law student at Saigon University. Quyen was a son of the so-called urban bourgeoisie. His father once ran the largest herbal medicine business in Da Nang. The family business had been reduced to ruins, but mountains of cinnamon from all over the Thu Bon region were still stockpiled in their house, waiting for traders from the other provinces. The house always smelled of cinnamon, and a variety of other mysterious dried fruits and medicinal plants could be found spread out in their yard.

More than half of his peers had died young, but Pham Quyen’s father had been lucky enough to live to an old age. When he did die, after surviving the forties and fifties when many villages in Vietnam had been obliterated by incendiary bombs, it was from high blood pressure as he soaked in a bathtub. Pham Quyen had an uncle on his father’s side who lived in Hue and was very different from his father. This uncle had taken part in the resistance against the French. In his youth he had gone to France as a guest worker, and while there had joined in the Annam Youth Labor League. But when the Geneva Accords led to partition of the nation at the seventeenth parallel, when people had to choose between the north and the south, this uncle had remained in Hue. He was now a Chinese herb doctor.

Pham Quyen was the eldest son of four siblings. An older sister had been married off to a man from Quang Ngai, but later she returned home as a widow. The third oldest was a brother, Pham Minh, an extremely introverted and gentle boy who was studying medicine at Hue. The youngest in the family was his sister Lei, now attending the Lycée. Quyen’s mother, having married a prosperous man and led a life without hardship, was an indecisive woman with no willpower. But she had been educated at a missionary school, and at home Quyen had been brought up under a strict Confucian regimen.

Pham Quyen was not naive at heart. But as a university student he had been arrested one day when he was attending a reading connected to the Liberation Front. His friend had gone completely insane after the torturers inserted bamboo needles through his fingernails. Quyen had been released after he swore to cooperate with the Can Lao, the secret police organization run by Diem’s brother, Ngo Dinh Nhu.

His decision had gone morally astray from the beginning. The shame did not leave him until the collapse of Diem’s regime. It was then that he made a firm resolution. Never would he take any responsibility. Neither would he make any choice. He became a nihilist. Rather, he refused to become an “-ist” of any kind. He decided that what he would do is just take money, hard currency. He would keep saving money and then he would sneak out of the country. His destination would be the paradise of the East: Singapore. Whenever he was out on dusty Route 1 performing inspection duties, he always found himself imagining nightlife in Singapore.

Looking into his notebook, Pham Quyen thought how the charts and diagrams he had planned could be embellished. All he had to do was send an order down to company-level staff and the officers there would have it done beautifully within two days. He could have as many copies printed as he liked of the blueprints, the program summaries, the photographs of the foreign communities used as models.

The main problem was how to entice about two hundred thousand peasant farmers to resettle to the three hundred phoenix hamlets. First off, half the funds and materials and grain would be utilized as incentives, and then an enormous amount of agricultural subsidies and fertilizers and medical supplies and. . Pham Quyen realized that from then on he would need to concentrate more than half of his time on the phoenix hamlet program. The general’s enterprise was at the same time his own enterprise. The business of this enterprise was almost infinite: PX requisition matters, military supplies, military conscription, and so on and so on. Pham Quyen had to bring order to all of it.

Footnote:

9 United States Operations Mission

10

The American master sergeant in charge of the canteen was kind enough to bring out a stack of contract papers. There were twenty-eight sheets in all. The payment details were written on the back of each contract, but the documents contained little information helpful to the investigation. Stage names had been used for the singers, and for the dancers all that was recorded was the number in each performing group. It would not be possible to identify Koreans who had joined Thai or Filipino troupes — an agent received payment and distributed wages to the performers. Among the agents, the Hong Kong Group appeared most frequently in the booking records.

Yong Kyu gave up for the time being and asked the canteen sergeant, “How many times has the Korean Army Band performed here?”

The fat American with a tattoo of a rose and dagger on his hairy forearm pretended to be surprised.

“Wait, what’s this about? You said you were investigating black market dealings, so I thought. . in that case I can’t answer.”

“Fine. I’m not here to make problems. They used to be professional musicians as civilians back home. Since they’re underpaid, it’s only natural they do a little moonlighting.”

As Yong Kyu diffused the tension, the sergeant blinked and laughed out loud.

“About four times.”

“Thank you.”

As Yong Kyu started to leave, the sergeant followed him around the table, a bottle of whiskey in hand.

“Come see us again.”

Yong Kyu nonchalantly accepted the bottle. When he got into the car, Toi whistled.

“This is yours.”

“Thanks. You’re good at this.”

“Not really. I got him on a soft spot.”

“At the first meeting? In less than five minutes?”

Yong Kyu just smiled and switched on the wireless transceiver and asked for a number. He was connected to the desk at HQ. After listening to Yong Kyu’s question, a voice asked him to hold on and then read him a report.

“Market at campside, near the navy hospital. Second shop down from the Hue bar. Make inquiries to fifty-eight-year-old Vietnamese merchant by the name of Liao. Eight cartons of C-rations.”

“Got it. Roger, out.”

Yong Kyu looked over to find Toi already turning the Land Rover left in the direction of their destination.

“Goods from that side usually slip across the Thu Bon.”

“If it’s across the river, then wouldn’t it be the locals who are eating the stuff?”

“Conditions have improved, then.”

“They collect taxes in the cities.”

They parked and then walked slowly into the neighborhood near the navy hospital. The makeshift huts and crude shacks looked like the toadstools that sprout from rotting tree stumps. There were souvenir shops selling flags, handcrafts, and cheap embroidered clothes; restaurants, soda stands, and lounges doubling as brothels. The storefront signs were written both in Vietnamese and in English. Some shops were completely covered with signs.

Children were running and playing soccer in the middle of the street. Only at the sound of horns honking would they slowly disperse to let traffic pass. Young streetwalkers loitered about, peering into cars and making their offers in sweet voices.

“Quite an eyeful, this.”

“Mmm, it’s broad daylight now. You’d be shocked if you came back and saw this place at night. And this is only one of many.”

“How many satellite villages are there around the camps?”

“In Da Nang? Six in the city and ten or more on the outskirts and around the bases. But these places have nothing to do with us.”

“Why not?”

“In these places you just do whatever you can to survive. They’re under the jurisdiction of the Vietnamese national police and sometimes the ordinary MPs. That’s the way it is.”

This time Toi led the way. They went into the shop. It was about four hundred square feet, with nothing much inside except for beer and cigarettes displayed in the front window, one old Sanyo refrigerator, a table, and two chairs. The proprietor, dressed in a white shirt and black Vietnamese pants, was busy hunting flies with a fly swatter. They sat down at the table and Toi ordered beers. The owner came back with two cans of beer on a filthy tray. When Toi asked him something in Vietnamese, the shopkeeper’s expression suddenly changed and he poured out a stream of angry words.

“According to him, there’s not a single store that isn’t holding some C-rations. They liked the price, so they set a delivery date and bought up all they could with the military payment certificates they’d saved up. He’d bought about twenty cartons but was caught at the checkpoint by the river because he didn’t have any invoice. An American MP came and confiscated the goods. The Vietnamese police intervened and wrote him a cash receipt for the value of what they confiscated. But there’s nobody who will pay him the interest on so high an amount, he says. I’m not too happy about it, either.”

“The quantity of C-rations is too much, that’s the problem. Tell him that.”

“Each shop has its own stash, he says. But they aren’t doing house-to-house searches, so others don’t get caught. He was just unlucky, he says, and he shouldn’t be singled out.”

“Ask him about the woman. Tell him if we find the woman fast, he’ll get his money back right away.”

“Tall. Fair skin. Not Vietnamese, but not Western. Came with a Vietnamese driver. He thought she might be an Indian.”

“An Indian?”

“Interesting. This old man’s saying she had a big mole on her forehead. There’re lots of Indian mixed-bloods living in Da Nang.”

“All right. What did he pay?”

“He says six hundred forty dollars. The time before a different store did the buying. But there’s loyalty among the merchants, so he won’t say who it was.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“A three-quarter ton. Vietnamese army truck.”

Yong Kyu paid for the beer. They went back and got in the Land Rover. Toi shooed away the children that had gathered snooping for something to steal. Someone grabbed Yong Kyu by the arm. Upon turning around he found himself face-to-face with a smiling Vietnamese girl, around sixteen years old and frail. Yong Kyu was surprised that she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

“She knew you were a foreigner,” Toi translated as the girl spoke.

Half listening to Toi, Yong Kyu untangled himself from the young girl. The girl turned to a little boy, perhaps her brother, and shrieked at him to go away. The boy had been muttering at them the whole time.

“Do the boom boom. Very good,” the girl yelled.

Toi shouted something back at her, then they left.

“Shit. We missed lunch,” Toi grumbled.

“Good. Let’s go back to the rec center, we can get a free lunch there.”

“Are you really going to find that woman and report her to the captain?” Toi asked.

Yong Kyu paused for a moment to think before he answered. “I’m a soldier. I have a duty to obey the order of a superior. But I want to be tactful in carrying out my orders. I’m no career soldier. It’s up to you to train me.”

“I like you. Very wise. I understand you Koreans very well,” Toi said, patting Yong Kyu on the shoulder. “Your duty is to report faithfully all the details directly related to the war and to the Korean forces.”

“I’ll tell you right now that I don’t make black market deals. I’m not looking to profit from this war. But the captain and I both intend to protect Korean interests.”

Toi took one hand off the steering wheel and grasped Yong Kyu’s hand, then released it.

“I’m your friend. Sergeant Kang was not. As far as the black market is concerned, the Americans don’t trust Koreans.”

“That’s not our concern. They’re the ones who got us into this in the first place. Our recruits from farm villages came here for the sake of progress and industrial development. Their petty dealings in the black market, helping themselves to some gifts to bring back home, are not worth mentioning. It’s a kind of hazardous duty allowance.”

“Better not talk that way at headquarters. Don’t ever argue with the Americans.”

“The captain already warned me.”

“I know what your men are shipping from Da Nang port in those crates. Appliances like refrigerators and televisions. Do you know where they come from?”

“Aren’t they duty-free PX goods?”

“That’s not what I mean. They’re all made in Japan. Hitachi, Sanyo, Sony, Sharp, Akai, National, Asahi, Canon, and who knows how many others. In Vietnam everything is Japanese, from transistor radios to Honda motorbikes to women’s lotions, all of it.”

Yong Kyu wondered what kind of man Toi was. He remained silent. Toi now seemed very different from his first impression. Why had he gone to work as a CID agent? His pay probably would be about twenty dollars a month, thirty at most. In his early forties, what about his family? What had he been doing in the Quartermaster Corps? As a youth? He needed to look him in the eyes.

“Do you wear those ugly glasses all the time?”

“I didn’t use to.”

Yong Kyu tried to take his sunglasses off, but Toi roughly pushed his hand away. Yong Kyu immediately regretted his move. He had let down his guard and revealed an attitude that was too friendly.

“Don’t worry about it. I lost an eye. That’s the only reason. Lost it because of some shrapnel from a rocket.”

The Land Rover was entering the rec center compound. A few minutes earlier they had been surrounded by trash, but now they were at a South Pacific resort. The beach was already swarming with people. The snack stand was selling hot dogs, fried chicken, sandwiches, Coke, Foremost ice cream, Sunkist drinks, Big Boy hamburgers, and fruit stamped with the California seal of approval. There were beach umbrellas everywhere and, as if a section of Tahiti had been shipped in, big high-ceilinged huts stood in a line with conical thatched roofs, bamboo railings and wooden steps, their walls open for the ocean breeze to blow through.

Inside each hall were half-naked American soldiers, civilians, and an occasional white woman drinking and dancing to the music. Fluttering among the customers were Vietnamese bar girls with long hair swaying down their backs and red plastic roses stuck behind their ears. They wore Tahitian-style grass skirts with their breasts wrapped in colorful swaths of cloth. But there were others who did not seem to fit in the scene; who were they and where had they come from? Vietnamese civilians, looking like tourists, were sitting under parasols with their families and sipping beers.

The American soldiers looked carefree. The entire beach was carefree: surfers were focused on riding the waves, others were playing ball or water polo, sailing, barbecuing on the beach, rubbing on suntan oil, practicing archery, frolicking in the water with Vietnamese whores, glued to slot machines in the clubhouse. Others were playing poker in small groups.

It all reminded Yong Kyu of something he had once heard from a Vietnamese. He had said an army that has its drinking water air-freighted in, eats cookies mailed from Mom, uses battery-run flush toilets in the field and air conditioners in jungle barracks, that can even offer hot showers to platoons out on combat operations, that was an army gasping for breath in the swamps of Vietnam.

They parked at the gate and walked down the beach. The far end of the beach was closed off with a barbed wire fence, beyond which the Korean rec center could be seen. The place was unfinished and since no troops had been on leave to use it yet, the whole area was very quiet. They walked into the office tent where they found Sergeant Yun flopped down asleep and the other soldiers absorbed in the same game of Chinese checkers as before. Yong Kyu rapped the sergeant on the feet a few times and the latter awoke with a grimace.

“Again? What is this? It’s like flies to a honey pot.”

“Careful. .”

Sergeant Yun looked sorry for having been irritated but said, “Give me a break, will you? There’s no reason for you guys to give me such a hard time, eh?”

“What’s got you so scared. . must have done something fishy. This time we’re here for a free meal. We missed the lunch hour back at the hotel.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, it’s my big chance to bribe you real good. What’d you like?”

“Anything you’ve got.”

“How about some rice and so on stuffed in seaweed, good old kimbap?”

It was a Korean favorite hard to come by in Vietnam.

“Any hot pepper paste?”

“Sure, last year we made gochujang with Vietnamese red peppers. It’ll scorch your tongue.”

“Some rice mixed with that will be good enough.”

“Good, what about your friend?”

“Give him a steak or two. And some beer.”

The sergeant barked orders to the soldiers, then took out a bottle from his private refrigerator. Cognac.

“How about a drink of this, eh?”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t, my ass. Hey, this stuff does wonders for a soldier’s lips. The aftertaste is great.”

They each had a glass. Yong Kyu spoke.

“Actually, there’s something I need to find out. Have you seen a tall Korean woman with a prominent mole on her forehead?”

“Shit. You slimy bastard, I should’ve known. You came all the way back here just to ask me that, didn’t you?”

“Just tell me if you’ve seen her or not. And let’s finish off the bottle while we’re at it. My duty for the day is a lost cause.”

“Wait a minute. . mole on the forehead, you say?” Sergeant Yun hesitated. “You’re not going to send an innocent bystander to the dungeons, are you?”

“Nothing like that. It’s just to keep up appearances. Looks like those American bastards are trying to measure our job performance.”

“Is that a fact?” Sergeant Yun hurriedly poured himself a drink and gulped it down. “I’ve seen her once.”

Toi sat staring out at the beach, unaware of the ongoing conversation. Yong Kyu deliberately waited, letting the sergeant do all the talking.

“It was last month, I think. I went downtown with Sax Pak to have a little fun.”

“With who?”

“Mr. Pak, with the army band. There’s a club called the Da Nang Sports Club. Incredible. That’s where I saw her. Pak knew her pretty well. I asked him to introduce her and he called her over. But I could tell she thought soldiers were no good, know what I mean?”

“Bar girl?”

“No, but quite a looker, that one. I was told she wasn’t an entertainer. . but, hell. Hey, you, go tell Mr. Pak I want to see him.”

As soon as Sergeant Pak showed up, Yun called to him in a loud voice. “Mr. Pak, remember at that club, the Sports Club I think it was, when we went downtown, eh? That woman.”

Pak, a little puzzled, stared at Yong Kyu and at Toi in his mirrored sunglasses.

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I mean that bitch with the big mole on her forehead.”

“Oh. . you mean Hae Jong?”

Yong Kyu jumped in. “Where is she now?”

Pak smoothed back his hair. “I don’t know. May have gone home, or back to Saigon.”

“Was she an entertainer?”

“No, she used to work at the PX, the navy PX.”

“What did she do there?”

“She’s no ordinary woman. Back home she used to work at the base at Uijeongbu, chief accountant at the PX there. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about the American accounts. She was so good that they put her in charge of all the records when they did inventory.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, eh. . while touring on performances, I eh. . heard she was living with some American officer. She’s about thirty years old now.”

Sergeant Yun broke in. “Hey, her looks are killer. Back home she’d make a first-rate actress.”

Yong Kyu didn’t ask any more questions. Sergeant Yun kept on running his mouth. “I mean, you’ve got to speak their language to get it up. Can’t understand a word they’re chirping underneath.”

“Is that all?” asked Pak cautiously. Yong Kyu smiled as he replied. “We’re through with that, but I understand you’ve had four performances over at Monkey Mountain.”

“What. .?”

“Thank you.”

Sergeant Yun interrupted again. “Hey, you’re not a lifer. Soon enough you’ll take off your uniform and go back to real life, huh? Just take it easy, kill some time here, and then get lost without ever looking back.”

“That’s the same for everybody,” Yong Kyu said, “so hurry up and give me my lunch.”

“I spent four months crawling, too. I got my medal. Want to see it?” Sergeant Yun pulled up one pant leg. A large scar from a grenade wound.

“I was laid up in the hospital for two months. They could’ve sent me home, but didn’t. So, out of spite, I extended my stay.”

They ate lunch. Leaving behind Yun, who tried to get them to stay for more drinking, Toi and Yong Kyu crossed the bridge and headed through the airbase. It was already after three. They passed Dong Dao and went into the navy PX. The manager was a middle-aged civilian, neatly dressed in a short-sleeve shirt and tie and wearing gold-rimmed glasses. Yong Kyu showed his ID card and described the woman he was looking for.

“Ah, you mean Mimi. We do have a personnel card on her.”

At the mention of the woman’s distinguishing mark, the mole on her forehead, the manager had immediately recognized her and used her American name. He got on an intercom and asked for the personnel card to be brought to him.

“What’s this all about?”

“We’re conducting an investigation. When did she quit working here?”

“Two months ago. She was fired. Considering her experience and skills we tried to work it out but. .”

“And the reason for her dismissal?”

“It’s a bit delicate. . let me get you the security officer.”

While he was on the phone, the personnel card came. There was even a photograph attached. Her weight, height, hair and eye color, and other details including her hobbies were recorded on the card.

“When you go out through the back, there’s a Quonset hut directly facing you. The security officer will be waiting in there.”

“Can you lend this card to the joint investigation team for a few days?”

“Ask the security officer.”

Yong Kyu passed around the manager’s desk and opened the back door. When he went into the Quonset hut, a tall American soldier with short-cropped hair turned around. Once more Yong Kyu presented his ID and told him the purpose of his visit. The American listened and then spoke briefly.

“When we fired her, we reported it to your embassy right away.”

“And the reason for her dismissal?”

“We found her inappropriate to serve as an employee for this organization.”

Judging from the frozen expression on his face, Yong Kyu could tell that this corporal was the one who had fired her. He was probably dispatched from the investigation division headquarters.

“Can we borrow her personnel card?”

“I’ll make a copy for you.”

He gave the card to a clerk and a copy was soon brought back.

“Thank you.”

Yong Kyu came up close to him, and said in a tone mimicking the American’s, “Mimi is the key to our investigation, so CID is sparing no efforts to locate her. What was the exact reason for her dismissal?”

The security officer seemed reluctant at first to open his mouth, but then shrugged his shoulders and said, “She was fired for possession of heroin.”

Back outside, the weather was stifling hot. Toi was perched on the Land Rover, sucking a cigarette. “Find anything out?”

Yong Kyu waved the card at him.

“Let me have a look.”

Yong Kyu thought twice and then handed it over. Toi glanced through it.

“A real beauty. Thirty, that’s thirty-one the way we count age.”

“Read it later, let’s just get out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Back to the office.”

Yong Kyu decided that he should get a pair of sunglasses, too. Normally, Madame Butterfly and heroin didn’t go together. But in Vietnam, Madame Butterfly, heroin, and the black market — now those went together beautifully. A grand poetic connection. Nothing more to add.

11

The helicopter was in the air.

Pham Quyen had fastened his seat belt, but the bubble-like cockpit offered little sense of security. Below, the tributaries of the Thu Bon flowed through the plain like the tangled branches of a tropical plant, its swamps connected by a web of narrow waterways like raindrops, dispersing and flowing together as they ran down a windowpane. They were flying toward the dark and ominous jungle of the plateau. The helicopter began to descend as they approached the destination, passing over Chiang Hoa.

As the plains ended there appeared a narrow bottlenecked valley. The plain continued along the upper edges of this lush ravine like flesh clinging to a bony rib. The wide river flowed on peacefully at the bottom of its serpentine canyon. An Diem was situated at the point that looked like the base of the bottle. Even to those with no experience in military affairs, the strategic value of An Diem was obvious at a glance. The Vietnamese pilot sent a message over the radio. Pink smoke began ascending from a white circle below, as small as a coin.

“We’re landing, sir.”

“Good. Tell the patrol leader to be ready.”

As they radioed back and forth, the helicopter hung suspended in the air. Then it slowly began a jerky descent. A cloud of red dust floated up. The helipad was large and paved with asphalt. The dust came from the area surrounding the landing strip. As soon as they touched down, Pham Quyen ran to the edge of the pad, bent over and leaning down away from the propeller. A Ranger lieutenant had been waiting for him and was saluting.

“First Lieutenant Kanh, in charge of the guard detail, sir.”

Pham Quyen looked around the heliport. Militiamen, enough for a squad, spread about on watch. They wore black Vietnamese clothing and Burmese jungle hats. Their carbines were in bad shape.

“Is that your patrol?”

“No, sir. We have the platoon stationed up on both sides of the high hill over there. From up there the site is within range of mortars and rockets.”

“And the front line on the other side?”

“The American special forces and our battalion. We’ve been dispatched from that unit to here, sir.”

“Do you have field glasses?”

The lieutenant barked a command to his staff and a pair of binoculars were immediately brought to Pham Quyen. Just as the lieutenant had said, the buffer detachments were visible. He could make out a high sandbag barricade, barbed wire fences, and a secure operations road. He also scanned both sides of the nearby hill. They had set up machine gun nests, a trench mortar and a 3.5-inch rocket launcher. The soldiers had dug out foxholes and were surveying the opposite sides of the hills. Pham Quyen looked at his watch.

“Fire warning shots.”

The lieutenant hurried to a waiting Jeep and picked up the radio transmitter. As Pham Quyen looked on through the field glasses, 81mm cannon started firing and a heavy machine gun began to sputter. Rockets and trench mortar shells flew up and rained down into the ravine. The valley seemed about to explode from the noise. Cannon smoke was visible from three directions.

“Good job.”

He got into the lieutenant’s Jeep and they drove up along the barbed wire on the perimeter of the new hamlet. Outside the trail were two more layers of barbed wire encirclements, and beyond them, a deep trench had been dug for defensive emplacements. He could see the new houses standing there, ready for occupancy. They were made of cement and adobe. Each had been neatly painted white and the windows had bamboo shutters.

“What will be the inspection route?”

“The front row of houses, the community laundry, the public toilet, the school, the playground, and the village hall. The ceremonial ribbon is over there at the main gate of the village.”

They were heading toward the village hall where the dedication ceremony was to be staged. American and Vietnamese flags were hanging everywhere, and streamers with flags of the United Nations member countries were hanging stiffly, like fish from the Thu Bon strung up to dry. Waves of girls in ahozais came into view. The girls, bouquets and wreaths in their arms, must have been students from Hoi An.

Already seated on the raised platform were the police band, American and Vietnamese staff from the troop information and education section, a few domestic and foreign reporters, and some prominent local citizens. A pair of MPs were standing guard at either end of the platform. Overhead was a large banner with “Congratulations on the Opening of the Phoenix Hamlet” written in the center and the words “Peace” and “Freedom” in big letters on the two ends. A familiar-looking American major from the advisory council got out of a car and extended his hand to Pham Quyen, and said, “Congratulations.”

Pham Quyen looked at his watch again and added, “From now on An Diem will know peace.”

“The provincial government still has a lot work ahead of it before peace comes to the whole of Quang Nam Province.”

“And what gifts have you brought to commemorate the founding of this settlement?”

“We’ve supplied some sturdy American spades and other farming implements. It’s not enough to go around, but they can be shared.”

“Good idea. Things were different back a few years ago with the strategic hamlets. At one dedication ceremony, there was an excess of several thousand toothbrushes. At another, they opened crates to find heaps of chocolate.”

“We’re well aware of those incidents. Another extreme case occurred when somehow women’s curlers for permanents were delivered by the bushel. A bureaucratic error.”

They heard the noisy whir of approaching helicopters in the distance. A formation of aircrafts — the governor’s helicopter, a Cobra obtained from the US Marines; followed by a Chinook and two more gunships in the rear. Pham Quyen quickly got into the lieutenant’s Jeep.

“All the houses have been checked?”

“Yes, sir. We went over all of them this morning with a mine detector. And the platform was double-checked again just a half hour ago.”

“Well done.”

The escort gunships hovered above while the Chinook descended first. The American advisory council emerged from inside. The welcoming party all saluted. They waited for the governor around the helipad perimeter. His Cobra landed and the general got off with a kind, smiling demeanor. Disembarking behind him was a tall American civilian, the only one there wearing a suit and tie, who waved. The two shook hands with each and every one of the American and Vietnamese officers who had arrived before them.

With the lieutenant’s patrol Jeep in the lead, they approached the venue of the ceremony. The police band played “The Double-Headed Eagle.” As they mounted the platform, all of the prominent leaders of the An Diem community stood up and the future residents of the new hamlet who had been squatting in front of the platform also nervously got to their feet. Everyone applauded.

Pham Quyen stood before the platform. He waited until everyone took their seats and then said in Vietnamese,

“The official dedication ceremony will now begin.”

He then repeated it in English. A Vietnamese flag was raised over the empty hamlet commons, and the national anthem, composed in the time of the People’s Party, was played. The old people kept their lips firmly sealed. The soprano voices of the girl students were at too high a pitch. The flag with its three red lines on a field of yellow fluttered.

Next, The Star-Spangled Banner was raised. Only the American officers saluted. The brass band played a clumsy rendition of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The flag was beautiful, its many white stars shining on the blue background in perfect harmony, recalling how the nation’s new territories had been integrated as it expanded.

“There will be a congratulatory address by Mr. Butler, the representative of the AID Mission in Da Nang,” announced Pham Quyen.

The civilian who was the sole person in the crowd dressed in a suit kept wiping droplets of sweat from his neck and forehead with a handkerchief. His white suit, white shirt, and dark orange tie made him look like a hotel guest, the kind often seen in Southeast Asia. The winds blowing west from the sea had stopped and the steaming heat of the jungles lying to the east seemed to get trapped and stagnate in the bottle-shaped valley. Butler bowed to General Liam before taking the podium. He removed a prepared speech from the pocket inside his suit jacket and, holding it in his hand, read slowly and distinctly.

“Honorable Governor, prominent citizens and new residents who are gathered here together, I consider it a great honor to be able to stand before you today as the representative of the people of America. Ever since the United States of America came to this land to uphold freedom and peace for our ally, the Republic of Vietnam, the hopes of the Vietnamese people have been one and the same with our American people.”

Pham Quyen was acting as interpreter, so Butler paused in his speech and gave a quick glance down at Pham Quyen at the foot of the platform. Without even referring to any notes, Quyen interpreted the address for the villagers.

“General Liam, Governor of Quang Nam Province and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of Central Vietnam, Mayor of Hoi An, and villagers, I wish to convey the fact that our aid here has been the result of a request from General Liam himself. The American people are fully aware of the many difficulties facing the Vietnamese people, and we are prepared to leave this land of yours when it is possible for the Vietnamese people to live in peace and prosperity.”

Before turning around to Butler, Pham Quyen muttered in a low voice, “Applaud, applaud.”

The expressionless villagers clapped their palms together. In any event, their faces were half-hidden in the shadows of their big cone-shaped hats. Mr. Butler, a magnanimous smile on his face, waited for the applause to subside before he continued.

“Freedom from poverty, freedom from fear, freedom from suppression of free speech, and the right to defend oneself against foreign intrigues or attacks and to decide one’s own future — all these are bestowed upon you. Communists today are indulging in provocations all over the free countries of Asia, trying to wipe out these hopes just mentioned. They started the war in Vietnam, their goal to infiltrate the Free World.

“The ravages of war in Vietnam cannot be blamed on anybody and the future of the Vietnamese people lies with you yourselves. Not only here in Vietnam but all over the world, the Communists are stirring up wars, and the Americans are fighting wherever necessary to save their brothers. Wherever there are Communists, there are American soldiers.

“If Vietnam is overrun by these violent terrorists, the Communists, then Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines will also fall one by one, and that would mean a state of slavery for all the peoples of Southeast Asia.

“America does not like wars. Early in her history, the United States, just like your country, struggled to obtain freedom and human rights, to escape from colonization and to achieve the level of prosperity that we enjoy today. It is a prosperity that America has a responsibility to share with other weaker and less fortunate countries around her. Therefore, the goal of the foreign aid given by the United States is to maintain her promise to help Vietnam free herself from the threat of Communism and regain peace throughout the nation once more. Vietnam is now a patient in critical condition and we, the Americans, are treating Vietnam in order to make her healthy once again.”

In interpreting, Pham Quyen was very sensitive to the differences in nuance between English and his own language. When the ceremony was over, the Americans would get into their helicopters and leave, but from now on the administration and maintenance of the An Diem phoenix hamlet would be the responsibility of the provincial government. So, rather than faithfully interpreting Butler’s speech to the villagers, Pham Quyen found it necessary to convey with proper obscurity the position of the provincial administration. It was nothing more than the usual hollow rhetoric and ambiguous trickery. In fact, the harsh reality was that day in, day out, countless Vietnamese were being maimed and bloodied, losing their limbs and their lives. A speech by the American secretary of defense, published recently in Da Nang’s English-language newspaper, came to his mind:

“About one hundred countries are engrossed in the difficult task of modernizing their societies. There are no uniform standards for progress across these countries. At one extreme, there are societies still primitively structured, divided into clans or tribes with a weakly unified political system. On the other extreme, there are relatively developed countries that, with various levels of success, have made strides toward agricultural abundance and industrial competitiveness.

“This storm-like surge of rapid development is prevalent throughout the southern hemisphere. In all of history it is difficult to find any precedent even roughly analogous. As a consequence, this traditionally lethargic part of the world has developed into a seething maelstrom of change. On the whole, the changes have not been smooth. If certain confluences of events bring economic stagnation or armed conflict, chaos and violence may rage for many years. This would be true even if there were no threat of Communist aggression. With or without Communist interloping, violence is evident in radical forms across the complex international relationships in a world full of tensions. And the national security of the United States of America is linked with the safety and security of developing countries in the far corners of the earth.”

Pham Quyen was also familiar with more concrete and dispassionate expressions of the same sentiments. A certain advisor to the US president once put it plainly: “Plans for foreign aid are drawn up to dispense a variety of loans and grants: some donations are to provide recognition to foreign leaders, some are plans hastily hatched to counter and hinder Soviet aid, and others are to fund ventures to enhance the power of ruling governments.”

While Butler was delivering his speech, Major Pham Quyen filtered the appropriate Vietnamese words out from the English streaming through his head, and in the process he could hear the distinct echo of other voices murmuring:

“Foreign aid from the United States is categorized according to the following goals and consequences: to implement America’s military and political policies in the international arena; to uphold an open-door trade policy, in other words, to obtain free access to natural resources and trading markets, and to furnish investment opportunities for American companies; to support those American companies in search of trade and investment options to obtain immediate economic returns; to ensure that economic development of underdeveloped countries is firmly grounded in capitalistic processes; to make the recipient countries gradually more dependent on the United States and other capitalist markets; and to allow the debts incurred through extension of long-term loans to forge permanently binding chains of trade between the recipient countries and the capitalist markets of the core creditor nations.”

Presently the speech by the governor, General Liam, began. Major Pham Quyen had written it himself. There was not a single mention in the speech of the administrative measures that would have to be introduced in dealings between the villagers and the provincial government. It was better to avoid any detailed discussion of financial support for the farmers, the new facilities to be constructed, the amount of cement to be supplied, and especially of the rice rations or money wages to be paid before the harvest. Not a word was said about the resettlement allowances, the land allotments, or the promised grants of pigs, cattle, and fertilizer. The speech consisted mainly of high-flown talk about the notion of peace, and a call for the villagers to exhibit diligence and a cooperative attitude. As General Liam concluded the speech, Major Pham Quyen cued the villagers to clap and there was a big round of applause.

To the sound of the brass band, the general, the American AID representative, the mayor of Hoi An, and the division commander all marched over to the ceremonial ribbon hanging at the gate on the main street of the hamlet. The ribbon was made of white nylon fabric. Some young girls brought out a shiny new pair of scissors on a cloth-covered tray and held it out to the four dignitaries. Cameras flashed as the ribbon was cut.

With General Liam and Butler side-by-side and a long line of people in tow, the group marched along past the new houses. Pham Quyen and the lieutenant in charge of security walked directly behind General Liam. The general halted in front of a house located in the center of the hamlet, opened the door and looked inside. As in a traditional Vietnamese residence, the structure was built as a single room, just four walls and a ceiling. Partitions made of bamboo and reeds were placed along the walls of the wide hall, and the area in the center was used for eating and drinking tea. Given the layout of the house, a young couple had to get a strong and sturdy bed so that the creaking sound of their lovemaking would not disturb the others in the family. The interior of this house had a concrete floor, but the walls were whitewashed and partitions were set up. There was a back door and, beside it, a kitchen.

“Wonderful,” said General Liam.

Mr. Butler looked into a partitioned space that seemed to be a bedroom. There was no door, but a curtain or bamboo screen would probably be hung at the entrance. Mr. Butler looked back at Major Pham Quyen.

“When the next generation is born in this room, Vietnam will be sure to regain eternal peace.”

Pham Quyen quickly responded with a smile.

“Of course, sir. They’ll be phoenix babies, so to speak.”

“What is that?”

With a look of curiosity, Mr. Butler pointed to a hole that had been dug out in the middle of the yard.

“Ah, I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.”

Pham Quyen turned around to ask one of the entourage from the provincial administration, a civilian, who hurried over to question the villagers. He then rushed back to Pham Quyen in a fluster.

“It wasn’t in the plans, sir. They say it’s a bomb shelter.”

“Who dug it?”

“Well, looks like each resident already fixed up his house somewhat. There’s even one with a Buddhist altar already installed.”

“Who gave them permission to make changes even before moving in?”

Pham Quyen said no more and turned back to Mr. Butler who was waiting for an answer with a curious look on his face.

“I understand it’s a start on a pigpen they plan to construct after they receive their allotment of cement.”

“Oh, that’s a very good idea. There’ll be plenty of breeding pigs and sheep brought in from abroad.”

As Pham Quyen turned away from Butler, his expression went vacant again. The parade passed the community laundry, equipped with tubs and faucets and underneath a huge water tank. Then they arrived in front of the public toilet, located in a concrete block building painted white. There were no flush toilets, but the cesspool had been dug deep enough that the excrement could accumulate several months before they would have to scoop it out with buckets. There were separate entrances for men and women with “Knock” written on the plywood doors. The ceramic toilets were a sparkling white against the cement floors.

Pham Quyen knew that the villagers would never use these facilities. They would want to grow small vegetable gardens behind their houses. Anybody who had a spade would go out back, dig a shallow hole, and deposit their waste in the earth. It was like repaying the earth for giving them food to eat. They would carefully refill the hole and stamp it down with their bare feet. The earth would become rich and when the monsoons came, everything would grow abundantly in the fertilized soil. If something was out of place in this phoenix hamlet, it was this bright white public toilet building standing at its center.

The line of people came to the children’s playground next. The local VIPs and the entourage from the provincial government were busily herding the children into the playground. Seesaws and swings, slides and monkey bars had been erected in the yard. Looking uncertain, the children reluctantly approached the play apparatus. The bigger children tried the swings, and one by one the other children started getting on the seesaws and the slides.

“The children from now on will begin to learn the value of peace in this hamlet of An Diem.”

Butler grinned widely as he spoke to General Liam, who responded in a single sentence.

“There’s no other playground like this one, not even in Saigon.”

Pham Quyen, however, did not fail to notice that the children romping on the monkey bars were pretending to shoot at one another, pretending their fingers were pistols. In loud voices they mimicked gunshots and one of them fell to the ground, pretending to be shot and dying. The adults lingered before the playground for quite a while, proud of the feat they had accomplished. Someone found a one-legged child wearing a prosthesis imported from Hong Kong. The reporters clamored about as they put the handicapped child on a swing and pulled it way back before releasing it. The cameramen were squatting, wriggling, and changing positions to try and make the most of this touching moment. It would make a very fitting picture, especially for those Americans who fell head over heels for war orphans, children in hospitals, children asleep on the back of refugees, children in unfortunate circumstances of any kind.

The procession moved on past the two-room schoolhouse and then filed past the village assembly hall, then returned to the ceremonial platform in the middle of the hamlet. Then they got into their cars and departed, leaving behind the music from the brass band, the squeals from the schoolgirls, and the applause from the villagers. The governor would never be setting foot in this place again. This time Major Pham Quyen planned to accompany the general back to Da Nang. Tonight the governor was giving a dinner party at his official residence. As he walked toward the helicopter, one of the entourage called out to him from behind, “Major, we have someone who’d like to have a word with you.”

When Pham Quyen looked back, he saw an old man who had been sitting on the platform amidst the village notables.

“What is it?”

“Well, sir, I. . we haven’t received even half of our wages yet.”

It had been arranged for the villagers, while building the An Diem hamlet, to receive one-third of their wages in American surplus wheat and the rest in rice or cash. Pham Quyen scowled at the old man.

“Didn’t you get the flour? The cost of milling wasn’t deducted. The rest will be included in the resettlement funds.”

Having so spoken, Pham Quyen took out his notebook from the pocket of his uniform jacket. He pressed down firmly with the ballpoint pen, pretending to write, and asked the old man, “What is your name and your house number?”

The old man hesitated.

“Sir. . well, I. . I only. . I only. . the villagers.”

The member of the entourage hurriedly intervened.

“Sir, he is one of the village representatives. I have all the necessary information, sir.”

Pham Quyen saw the propeller of the helicopter begin to rotate and he quickly put away his notebook.

“All right. Submit a written request directly to the authorities.”

He boarded the helicopter. As they took off, An Diem looked like a border of pebbles on the edge of a flower garden.

The general glanced over at the major and said, “So there’ll be ten more villages like that?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. This one was a model. If the plans are successfully implemented, we have an agreement with AID to set up phoenix hamlets at three hundred sites.”

The general nodded, then gave a subtle warning. “Show continued attention to the An Diem village, but no need to hurry things.”

“Yes, sir. It is the model, I understand.”

A continuous sound of gunfire came from somewhere. It seemed the guard patrol had discovered enemy troops down the bank of the Thu Bon. The gunships were cruising at a low altitude and looking down upon the jungle. Pham Quyen’s mind was busy at work. Until the other phoenix hamlets were fully settled, they’d have to post to An Diem a defense contingent at least the size of a battalion.

12

The light flickered. A moth, having wandered in unawares, kept batting against the covered light fixture in the milky white bathroom, its wings shuddering. Hae Jong was in the bathtub, her legs crossed and propped up straight along the tiled wall. Steam was wafting out through the open window. The mosquito net was torn; the moth must have come in through the hole. The huge shadow of the moth moved across the wall then stopped, looking like the root of a giant tree. The water was lukewarm.

Hae Jong looked down disinterestedly at her legs and pubis. Her breasts rose and fell slowly with the rhythm of her breathing, breaking the calm surface of the water. The sound of music on the radio came in through the cracked door to the next room. A swaying, soulful Supremes song gave way to the music of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Hae Jong understood their loneliness.

How to imagine the American Dream without suffering its melancholy? They sing of a corner booth in an all-night bar, headlights whizzing over the horizon, a cattle car of a freight train rolling endlessly over red dirt, the drunkard in a back alley at dawn, old folks sitting on a park bench in a small town, a young boy lounging in front of a juke box, a city park enveloped in smog, a rainy November highway, all this in their song of loneliness. The Americans are still kids. Kids who belong in Sunday school. There they learn of the whites, of power, of rules and responsibilities.

Lennon sings: “All the lonely people, where do they all come from?”

McCartney sings: “All the lonely people, where do they all come from?”

Hae Jong scooped up some water and poured it over her breasts. She leaned her head back into the tub, dipping her wet hair into the water. Jerry, Thomas, and James. . she visualized each of their faces. Jerry was a professional soldier, sweet, short and stout with a very red face. Thomas was tall, with a long chin, dark hair and a dark beard, a real joker.

Then, there was James. . Hae Jong remembered their child. They were separated right after the adoption agency placed it with foster parents, so by now it must be growing up as the youngest of some family somewhere in America. James, first lieutenant in the US Army, high school history teacher, Anglo-Saxon, typically middle class, yellow roses on green lawns, low fences painted in bright colors, little brothers in checked shirts, girlfriend named Eileen, tears running through hairy fingers, Uijeongbu, the same US officer’s trench coat she had seen in Waterloo Bridge, the cheap rented house near the base, the harsh cold drafts of February slithering in through the cracks in the window frame. .

Hae Jong scooped up some more water and ran her fingers over her face. The light was still flickering. The white paint on the plywood ceiling was peeling off around the edges. A lizard the size of a man’s palm was crawling across it upside down. It stuck tenaciously to the ceiling, gripping with its skinny toes. A long forked tongue flicked in and out from time to time, unwinding to nearly half the length of its body. It stopped for a moment, then scurried toward the light fixture and froze once more.

The telephone was ringing, but Hae Jong did not even lift her head from the rim of the tub. The lizard crouched, then suddenly extended its neck and its long tongue shot out to whip around the moth. The insect fluttered futilely to try to escape, but was pulled back to the lizard’s mouth where the jaws locked down on its thorax. The telephone kept on ringing, but Hae Jong did not remove her eyes from the lizard. Its throat was distended as if swollen, and in a moment the moth’s wings disappeared into its mouth. The white eyelids of the lizard opened and closed like a chicken’s.

The telephone stopped ringing. Only then did Hae Jong look over into the other room. On the radio an announcer was crisply enunciating the results of a northern assault. Hae Jong slid her way up out of the tub. Though it was out of her reach, the movement sent the lizard scrambling across the ceiling and after some quick darting leaps it vanished into a crack in the plywood. How well do cold-blooded reptiles adapt to the dark? It would sleep in there a long time, digesting the moth.

Hae Jong stood before the mirror. A few curly hairs lay in the sink. Her body was firm, still free of any excess fat. The nipples were somewhat dark but upright, and her belly was smooth and flat. As fat Jerry had once said, her skin was “a lighter shade of ivory than a white woman’s.” That high nose and those large, deep-set eyes, for which her Korean classmates in high school had teased her as mixed-blood, were peering back at her from the looking glass. Standing out prominently was the mole she had come to despise. It was a dark blue color. She did not like those eyes, either. Shadows had settled in around them and they had lost the brightness they once had. Of all her features those eyes were what revealed the passage of time. Was it James and the baby that had taken away the gleam in her eyes? Or could it have been the long stretches of sleeping since coming to this place?

After towel-drying her wet hair, Hae Jong went into the other room. Noticing that the band of sunrays no longer shone in between the shutters, she told herself the sun must have gone down. The bed was still unmade, with the sheets half pulled off and a pillow dangling from the headboard ledge. A radio sitting on the same ledge was now belting out American country songs.

The apartment was divided into two parts. One was the bedroom with attached bath and the other was the outer space used for a living room and a kitchen, though the latter was no more than a small sink basin and a kerosene stove. Against the wall was an old couch and there was also a mahogany table with four rickety wicker chairs. An old Westinghouse fan hung from the ceiling. Out through the front door was a broad terrace. A platanus tree had grown right up next to the window, dropping leaves over the curb into Doc Lap Boulevard.

In the old days Hotel Thanh Thanh had been a luxurious residence for French colonial officials, but these days it was owned by a Chinese and had been turned into a high-class hotel and apartment building. On occasion a foreign prostitute would move in, paying rent in advance for a few months, make money, and then leave. Sometimes employees of Philco or Vinelli roomed there in groups of twos or threes. Half of the place lived up to the name of “hotel” and received visiting guests. Vietnamese hookers were also allowed in if accompanied by a registered guest, most of whom were American officers on business from Saigon, or Vietnamese government officials. The monthly rent was thirty thousand piasters.

Hae Jong finished drying herself and put on a pair of silk pants, the kind Vietnamese women liked; they were smooth to the touch and did not cling. Then she put on a cotton T-shirt. If she had been planning to go out, she would have selected an outfit from the closet, but the telephone call meant that he would be coming. She splashed some perfume behind her ears and on her neck, then applied a little make-up, some light foundation and lipstick. She made up the bed and switched on the lamp.

Coming out into the living room, she went over to the stove and put a frying pan on the burner. From the refrigerator she removed an egg and a piece of ham, and cooked them in the pan. With her plate of food and a glass of instant iced tea, she sat down in one of the wicker chairs and had just begun to eat when the telephone rang again. The ring was so loud and startling that her heart fell, and she frowned slightly as she picked up the receiver.

“Mimi?”

“It almost ruptured my eardrums.”

The man laughed. He knew how loud army phones could be. “What are you doing?”

“Just eating my dinner.”

“Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

“What promise?”

“To take you to China Beach yesterday. But you’d forgotten, so I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

Hae Jong paused for a second and then spoke in a low, scolding tone. “You can forget promises like that. But you can’t forget my passport. Do you mean to leave me stranded here like food on a refrigerator shelf?”

“No, it’s just that I was swamped with work today. I had to go to some official ceremony with my boss. The meeting will be over soon, so I’ll drop by.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Hae Jong stood there absentmindedly with the receiver in hand. They had known each other for about two months. He used to sit next to her on the PX commuter bus. Asian prostitutes who’ve had any experience with white men hardly consider Asian men as equals, and she was no different. She remembered too well the faces of Korean soldiers who had cast scornful looks at her whenever they saw her with Jerry or Thomas, or especially when she was with James, even as they behaved submissively toward the Americans with her.

If it had been her choice she would never have sat down next to that Vietnamese officer. He had boarded the bus with an American navy officer. It happened that the seats beside and across from Hae Jong had been unoccupied, and the two of them had walked down the aisle and taken those two places. She was dressed in a white blouse and black skirt befitting an office worker. The officer beside her turned to her and tried to strike up a conversation in Vietnamese. Hae Jong at first pretended not to hear and kept her eyes fixed on the window. When the officer again turned to her and said something, she had answered politely in English, “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Vietnamese.”

“Ah, right. Maybe I speak your language. Chinese? Or, from Singapore?”

“I’m an administrative employee of the US Army.”

“That much I know. My name’s Pham Quyen. I’m at the army headquarters. People tend to look down on those in adverse circumstances — is that how you see the Vietnamese?”

“I don’t look down on them. I’m just tired and want to be left alone.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that a maiden among uniforms is as blindingly beautiful as a rose in an empty room.”

At these words, Hae Jong turned and looked at him. Unlike most Vietnamese men, he was well built with a strong chin. He was smiling and the tiny wrinkles gathered gently around the corners of his eyes reminded her of Jerry when he used to teach her English.

“Where do you live?”

“I board in a private home.”

“Where?”

“On Puohung Street.”

“That’s near where I live.”

Hae Jong felt a little annoyed, but also somewhat reassured. Her prim and proper days were long gone. For six months she had been living in a room rented from the family of a Vietnamese girl she worked with at the PX. On weekends she went out to clubs or to the beach with an American civilian administrator who came to the house to call on her friend, Chin Pei. Sometimes she slept with them. But, of course, she did not take money. Instead, PX vehicles would drop off ration-controlled items at Chin Pei’s house. Chin Pei’s father would sell the goods, for a little commission, at three times the original price. Hae Jong changed her profits into military money orders and saved them.

The money orders with their eagle imprints were as good as dollars everywhere in the world where there are American troops. Hae Jong needed money. Back in Korea waiting for her return were her mother and two younger siblings, who had been eking out a precarious living running a hole-in-the-wall shop in a small town. Perhaps she would never live with them again. Probably she would go back to Uijeongbu or to the Dongducheon army base. She might buy a small club, or run an inn. Who knows, she might even cross the ocean to James’s country.

Hae Jong often suffered from insomnia. In the beginning she drank bourbon and coke. Then Chin Pei’s father introduced her to a more effective sedative. On days when he returned home after selling PX goods, he always hopped up onto a wooden bunk on the back porch cradling a hemp cushion in his arms. His old wife would wait on him, bringing his pipe, and while the two smoked they looked like the happiest couple in the world.

From the start she knew that the stuff burning in the bowl of the long pipe was not tobacco. They took a golden brown clay-like substance out of a plastic pouch and rolled it into balls in their palms, placed it on a beer bottle cap and cooked it over charcoal, then emptied the contents into the pipe. The smell of burning opium reminded her of burning hay, not at all unpleasant. Their eyes became distant and dreamy and their fingers limply swayed.

At their suggestion, Hae Jong had tried a pipe in her room. It felt at first like her joints and spine were melting away. Then the bed began to fall and it kept falling downward endlessly. It was a calm darkness, bottomless and boundless. It was a journey like that of a single reed swept away on the waves, caught on and then broken free from obstacles and riding the crest of strong waves, jolting against this and that as it drifted onward, then finally floating lazily over the quietly rippling surface of a broad lake.

Those trips took Hae Jong away from Vietnam and Uijeongbu. From time to time she went on them with clerks she knew from work. Worn-out soldiers often indulged in smoking opium, which they found much more satisfying than marijuana. Opium was perfect for those soaked monsoon nights when steamy rain fell all night long. Maybe opium was just the right thing for the torrid climate of Vietnam, with its insects and lizards. Smoking raw opium was much slower than injecting the refined white powder mixed with distilled water into your veins, but it was also less dangerous. The heroin came from Vientiane and Cholon while the raw opium came from Burma and the frontier with Laos. In the Central Highlands of Vietnam there were high hills where poppy fields stretched out for miles.

The Turkish baths and most of the hotels in Da Nang offered opium dens, and the same was true of many of the military barracks. Any Vietnamese could buy opium in the back alleys of the old market in amounts ranging from a matchbox full to a slab as big as a candy bar. The price of heroin, according to the GIs, was one-tenth of the stateside price. Not long before, an officer had discovered a GI blown away from smoking heroine in the barracks. His report was turned over to PX security, who tracked the scent back to Chin Pei’s house, where MPs searched Mimi’s room. In her closet they found opium and a pipe.

The security officers treated the case with some caution, for Mimi, after all, was a temporary civil servant of the American government. Had she been Vietnamese they would have turned her over to the national police and she would have forfeited all pending salary and severance pay. But Mimi, being an alien as well as a beauty, got off with just being fired and having the Korean embassy notified that she had lost her job and thus her right to remain in Vietnam. The embassy had ordered her immediate departure, but she had stayed past the deadline and was now subject to deportation.

The incident had occurred during a time when Pham Quyen was paying occasional visits to Chin Pei’s house, and Hae Jong decided, instead of giving up this stepping stone, to use him to help her get back on her feet. Major Pham Quyen was one year older than she, and not selfish or immature like most Americans. Most of all, she came to realize that he, like herself, had reached a point where he was a man without a nationality. Yes, the two of them were like lost children, launched from either end of the Asian continent and now bobbing aimlessly like untethered buoys.

Hae Jong sliced off little pieces of the ham and egg with the edge of her fork. The bitter taste of the unsweetened iced tea slowly sharpened her dull senses. She opened the shutters wide. The light pouring out of the Hotel Thanh Thanh made the leaves of the trees lining the street seem green and fresh. As always, gunfire could be heard now and then in the distance. But to her it sounded like sound effects on the radio. She settled deep into one of the chairs and gazed out the window at the trees. The cool wind off the bay was pushing the shutters, making them creak. An approaching vehicle could be heard, then came a loud screech as it braked suddenly, followed by a motor revving and the sound of it hurriedly pulling away.

Without getting up to look outside, she knew it had to be him. She sat facing the front door, holding her head high, picturing his footsteps — those dusty jungle boots treading over the carpet, then up the stairs, first floor, second, third, then down in the hall in a single breath and finally he was there knocking on the door. Without getting up she said to come in. Pham Quyen, taking off his hat, came up to Hae Jong and kissed her lightly on the lips. His mouth smelled of cigars and alcohol. She grabbed a handful of his hair in her hand and, as with a child, playfully tugged it.

“Whose side are you on, huh? Tell me. The general’s?”

Pham Quyen worked his hair loose and then grasped her hand and rubbed it against the coarse stubble on his unshaved chin.

“I’m on my side. Nobody else’s.”

“Just like me.”

She gently fondled the major’s chin and cheeks with the hand he was holding in his own.

“But. . I’d like to be on your side. We’re the only ones with no allies.”

Pham Quyen buried his face in Hae Jong’s full breasts.

“Were you busy?”

“Very. We’ve been out to An Diem.”

“Where’s that?”

“Ah, that’s a phoenix hamlet, a new life village.”

“Why don’t we go live there, too?”

In a voice mimicking that of Butler, Pham Quyen said, “When the new generation is born, we’ll go live there. For that will be a village of eternal peace. Well, what have you been up to for the past two days?”

She gently nudged him away and straightened her posture.

“I slept.”

“I think you’ve been tripping too often. What about the rent?”

“I already paid it.”

Hae Jong went into the bedroom and returned with a piece of paper from the dresser drawer.

“Look, these are the figures from the past five days.”

The previous week Pham Quyen had gone with Hae Jong in the general’s sedan to the navy supply warehouse at the end of Bai Bang Cape. He had gone to negotiate on the rations for the night sentries guarding the outskirts of Da Nang. Actually, that matter fell under the jurisdiction not of the provincial government but of the QC headquarters; a bureaucratic discrepancy of that kind, however, was considered trivial. Pham Quyen had handed over an official document and received in return a requisition issued by MAC 36.

The next day Hae Jong took a three-quarter-ton truck Pham Quyen had arranged for to the navy cargo dock at the North Cape and loaded the goods. She then brought them herself from the base into town. In the backyard of Chin Pei’s house, concealed under coconut fronds, they had stashed four pallets holding 240 cartons of C-rations. A few days later he had sent another truck to her and during the afternoon siesta she and Chin Pei’s father had loaded a batch and delivered them across the river to the campside market near the navy hospital.

“So, the total is fourteen hundred forty dollars?”

“No, fourteen hundred even. I gave the driver and Chin Pei’s father twenty dollars each. And then I paid thirty thousand piasters for rent, so that leaves eleven hundred dollars.”

“It brought us one month’s living expense, then.”

“I don’t have much time,” Hae Jong said in a cold tone. “I know those people very well. I’ll teach you. What will you do for me in return?”

“I’ll give you love.”

“Then, will you come with me?”

“Mimi, you can always live with me in Da Nang.”

“No, I can’t. We’re just two people who somehow ended up sharing a room. If you come with me to Bangkok or Hong Kong or some other third country, we could be man and wife.”

Pham Quyen said nothing for a time, exhaled smoke, then spoke in a slow and deliberate voice. “There’s Singapore. I really like port cities. You can put up a hammock near a window that lets a sea breeze in and read a good mystery novel. Like the rich and famous on the French Riviera.”

“Quyen, don’t be so naive. I know you like I know myself. We’ll probably be betrayed. I can only wait for three more months. After that, I’m leaving.”

“Without my permission you can’t go anywhere. Not even to Saigon, let alone out of the country. Your passport is invalid.”

Hae Jong began to laugh, swinging her legs.

“See here, Major Pham. I know a little about men. If I went right now to the US Army Officers’ Club, I’m sure I could become quite intimate with a high-ranking officer. And, you know, they could have your general transferred in a snap. If I wanted to, I could even get married and become a US citizen. But I just don’t want those Americans looking down on me.”

Pham Quyen listened in silence to Hae Jong’s heartless voice. He put out his cigarette.

“I’ll keep my promise. I can make you a Thai woman tomorrow and send you to Bangkok. Just stop talking about three months, four months, please. I’ll make sure your passport is ready by next week.”

They sat staring into space, shadows darkening both of their faces. Hae Jong undid one button on his uniform, then said, “Why don’t you have a bath?”

“Right, I really should. I’ve been running around in the dust all day.”

Pham Quyen took off his army boots and peeled off his clothes, and soon came the sound of the shower running. Hae Jong also undressed and then put on a robe. Sitting at the head of the bed, she smoked a cigarette.

Pham half-shouted from the bathroom, as if the thought had just struck him, “I’ve been too busy lately with the resettlement program. From now on, I’ll take care of everything for you.”

“It’s all right. I’m bored with not enough to do anyway.”

“You’re a woman and a beauty at that. Too conspicuous.”

Hae Jong let out a soft laugh. “What have I got to be afraid of? Nothing.” With those words she banged loudly on the bathroom door, adding, “I’ve got you, don’t I? So make me your Vietnamese wife, or give me some nationality.”

“All right.”

She turned the radio on. A wailing lead guitar was playing soul music. From the kitchen cabinet she got an aluminum plate and an alcohol lamp, then she removed two pipes and a small lump of opium from a drawer in the bedroom closet. The Vietnamese pipes had trumpet-like fluted bowls, long bamboo bodies, and mouthpieces fashioned from pieces of juniper. To prepare enough for two smokers, she tore off chunks with her fingertips a bit at a time, then rolled them into balls and sat the balls on the heated plate. The opium began to sizzle. Ever since learning this routine back at Chin Pei’s house, she no longer had any fears about the future. Her initial concern about becoming addicted had long since disappeared. She would not regret it if some day she became so desperate she started sticking needles in her arm. For now only the peaceful present would last, like a dream. She wasn’t worried about the next ten years. Pham Quyen came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

“What’s that? The dream flower?”

“Today you should try one, too.”

“What if it snatches me by the ankle?”

“Smoking is no problem. More than half the old people in your country smoke.”

“Because it’s a country where death is all too common.”

“Death doesn’t bring you back, but this stuff does. You come back fresher.”

Hae Jong nimbly picked up the burning lumps of opium with bamboo chopsticks and pushed them into the bowls of the pipes. She gave one to Pham and put the other pipe in her mouth.

“Lie down comfortably on the bed. Take a deep puff and repeat it several times to make it spread quickly all through your body.”

They lay side by side, drawing on their pipes. The sound of sucking was like the squeaking of mice and the opium bubbled under the flame.

“I can feel myself relaxing.”

“Yes, and your eyes are getting dimmer. You said you liked the seaside. Come closer, this is no place for us to live.”

“You’re right. Now let’s fly together.”

The spent pipes slipped out of their hands. Lazily they rolled onto their sides and Hae Jong parted her gown, revealing her nakedness. Lifting one arm, she pulled the string to switch off the lamp above her head. The streetlights seeped into the room and fell diagonally across the walls and floor. Slithering like a spineless creature, Pham Quyen fumbled with Hae Jong’s body. The two intertwined.

13

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting at a dark corner table. It was too early for the band to be playing, and jazz was flowing from a record player behind the bar. A profusion of orchids and other broad-leafed greenery had been placed between the tables, and a couple of potted banana trees stood in the center of the room. To the rear were two more rows of tables and out of sight through an arched corridor, a number of private rooms seemed to offer seclusion to customers in search of it. Near the entrance was a long bar, where the two bartenders in white dress shirts and bowties were making cocktails.

It was ten thirty in the morning. The only other patrons were two people sitting facing each other on the opposite side of the room. Yong Kyu had just been to the office to report to the captain on yesterday’s duty. But the report had been doctored at Toi’s recommendation to omit a few parts. He had made no mention of Oh Hae Jong, the navy PX employee who had been fired for possession of narcotics.

“Soon we’ll be able to pinpoint identities. We already have very reliable information that it’s a certain Vietnamese officer working in the provincial administration.”

“How does the Korean woman fit in? She was a key in yesterday’s report, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, sir. But we have confirmation that the woman we want is Vietnamese. It appears the Korean just happened to be in the same vehicle.”

“All right. We won’t be able to arrest or interrogate the Vietnamese officer. But since we have orders from the boss, investigate in detail and we’ll send a report up to him.”

Immediately Yong Kyu regretted what he had done. Now the case had become his responsibility. From then on, all he did would have to be based on his own judgment. Suddenly, he felt Toi was to blame for his predicament. The bastard, he’s the one who got me knee-deep in this shit, Yong Kyu said to himself.

Upon leaving the office he telephoned Toi, and the latter asked him to come to the Sports Club in Da Nang. Yong Kyu had been there with Kang a few times. The Sports Club was, in fact, an ideal location for black marketeers to conduct secret meetings. There was absolutely no way of discovering what went on in the secluded rooms hidden deep in the back of that place. There was probably a separate exit out back, too.

“Sorry, I’m running a little late.” Toi, still wearing his sunglasses in the dark, plopped down in front of Yong Kyu.

“I left out the part about Miss Oh in my report to Pointer because of you,” grumbled Yong Kyu.

“Good. You can always fill him in on the details later, can’t you? I found out who her boyfriend is.”

“That was fast.”

“Well, it was easy enough. It was no secret among the girls she worked with at the PX. They said the Dai Han woman — you know the Vietnamese call Koreans “Dai Han”—rented a room in the house of a Vietnamese girl named Chin. Lots of Americans frequented the place, but only one Vietnamese, a Major Pham, was a regular caller.”

“Who’s he?”

“Pham Quyen, the chief aide-de-camp to the top regional commander, General Liam. In other words, he’s the chief secretary to the military governor of Quang Nam Province.”

“Let’s summon him to CID right away.”

Toi laughed out loud, as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

“Don’t even think of that. You see, all the foreign forces in Quang Nam are under his command, at least in effect, even though a US Marine division commander has actual say in operations decisions. But General Liam’s approval is necessary for everything. It’s just a formality, of course, but even so, you want to try and call in his chief aide to be interrogated about a couple of cartons of C-rations? You tell Krapensky about Pham, and that’ll be the end of this case for sure. Understand?”

“Then we’d be through with this case, too.”

Toi shook his head violently.

“We’ve got hold of a line into the most lucrative dealings in Da Nang.”

“I don’t make deals.”

“Listen, even if you don’t jump into it yourself, deals are being made everyday, everywhere, by someone or other. The same goes for Krapensky. If you’re not involved yourself in the market, you get no valuable information about the black marketeers. Plunge in first, then you can come up with information much more valuable than your own involvement. By that information, and only by that, your work performance will be evaluated.”

“I get it. As for the captain. .”

“I’ll leave that to you. Dealing and intelligence are like body and shadow.”

“Okay, where do we start?”

“You can’t fall on Major Pham directly, but pull that Dai Han woman and the major’ll come dangling along like a potato on the end of a string, you’ll see.”

Toi explained what he had in mind, and Yong Kyu asked, “What do we do after that?”

“You and Pham will shake hands. He probably knows nothing about the Liberation Front. If we dig deep enough, we’ll also be able to catch the goings on related to that.”

“By that time I’ll be headed home.”

“The war’s alive and moving, like an elephant. Anything alive eats, sleeps, and breathes. Even if you yourself end up going home, as long as Dai Hans are going to stay here you should understand that. You and I, Ahn, we’re both gooks, slopeheads.”

“In the eyes of the Americans, I suppose so.”

“In our own eyes, too. It’s nothing to feel bad about. I have to agree with them. I’m Vietnamese. In times like these, if you’re Vietnamese you go reeling around dizzy to the brink of madness. Your position is bound to be complicated whether you’re on the side of the government or of the NLF.”

“And how about you?”

“You’re my friend, so I’ll tell you. I’ll be honest. Ask me what I think of Ho Chi Minh, that’ll be the fastest way.”

“All right, what do you think of him?”

“Honestly,” Toi said, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I think he has mediocre ideas.” Then Toi pounded on his chest and added, “But he has excellent qualities as a man.”

Yong Kyu got what he meant, but still could not figure Toi out.

“I understand that; it’s you I don’t understand.”

“I know. Probably half the population of South Vietnam is made up of people like me. It’s a condition of life we owe to the French colonial regime, to Ngo Dinh Diem, and to the United States.”

“Then how can you hold a gun?”

“I’m already discharged. I’m a disabled veteran missing one eye. I never got my disability compensation; it was gobbled up by corrupt bureaucrats. I live like this because Da Nang is my home. That’s why I was drafted. Now I’m living here, caring for my family. That’s all there is.”

“This is important. You’re a contract employee of our office.”

“Right. That’s my job. I’m paid thirty dollars a month for it. And they don’t send me on militia duty to guard the outskirts of the city. All I want is to survive this war with my family.”

The waiter approached and they stopped talking.

“What are you having?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Let’s see. . I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Me neither. Toast and coffee?”

Yong Kyu ordered. The waiter was about to turn and leave when Toi called him back and asked something in Vietnamese. The waiter responded in Vietnamese.

“What was that?”

“I told him I wanted to see the woman who owns this place. He said she should be here around noon. Madame Lin is Chinese. Her husband is a Brit born in Hong Kong. Madame Lin may know the Dai Han woman; I’ve heard she comes here often.”

They ate. When they finished breakfast it was still a half hour until twelve.

Toi cautioned Yong Kyu, “Pretend you don’t understand English. And don’t act like a soldier.”

“Can I ask you about something we discussed earlier?”

“What?”

“If the war goes on long after I’ve returned home, will you still keep this job to make a living?”

“I don’t know. There are millions of people in South Vietnam… ARVN soldiers, government officials, police, the militia. Anyway, when they reach a certain age, everybody gets enlistment orders. And anybody who pays a thousand dollars to the police can evade service, and for a lousy three hundred you can get assigned to the navy or air force or other less dangerous duty. That’s the way life is lived here. The only thing certain is that I won’t move a single step from here. I live in Vietnam. My children live here. When you go home, remember me as that kind of man.”

Yong Kyu did not want Toi to say any more. But as he sat there in silence, Toi spoke again.

“I voted in the last election. Because the military government had to end. But the cities, not to mention the hamlets, were in utter chaos. In Da Nang, the army soldiers openly snatched the ballot boxes and substituted others they’d stuffed. When the Buddhists rioted, people like me took their side. We’ve lost our chance. Time passes by faster and faster. This is Vietnam’s destiny.”

Yong Kyu cut in.

“Well, let’s get back to our duty.”

“Right. From Madame Lin we’ll find out where she lives, then we can bring her in.”

“Where to? To our office?”

“No. To Da Nang QC headquarters. I used to work there, so I’ll borrow a friend’s office for an hour.”

The glass door at the front of the club opened and a woman walked in. She was tall and slender, wearing a black Chinese dress. Her hair was up in braids and she wore no flashy trinkets on her arms, only a black coral bracelet. As the bartender said something to her, she glanced over at the two of them and then went into the back. The waiter came over and spoke to Toi in Vietnamese.

“She wants us to come to her office.”

Toi walked ahead with Yong Kyu following. Past the arched passageway, each room was screened with beads in designs of dragons, butterflies, or peonies. The lights inside the rooms were off. At the very end of the corridor there was a door. The waiter knocked and from inside a woman’s voice said, “Come in.” They entered. A woman was sitting with her back to a huge window at a table that had nothing on it but an ashtray and a telephone. There were chairs upholstered with leather and a wall hanging in a Middle Eastern style. Through the open curtains they could see the spacious back lawn of the club, with white benches and a cast iron barbecue grill. The woman wore a look of disdain as she spoke to them.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

She seemed to be in her early forties. Her eye makeup was heavy and a pearl necklace hung around the collar of her Chinese dress. She appeared long accustomed to living a European lifestyle. There was something about her attitude that resembled that of Krapensky when he addressed Yong Kyu or Toi. She had an overbearing air, as if dealing with small children, yet there was a hint of authentic curiosity in her eyes. Toi opened his mouth, speaking Vietnamese, and Madame Lin frowned a little.

“Speak in English, if you please. Who are you?”

Toi glanced back at Yong Kyu, then said, “We’re intelligence officers with the Vietnamese army.”

“So?”

Only then did the woman gesture to offer them seats. They sat down.

“Do you know a woman by the name of Mimi?”

“She’s a customer here. She comes here every now and then. Why, has she caused any trouble?”

“Madame,” Toi calmly said, “I’d like to remind you that you’re running a business subject to the national laws of Vietnam.”

Madame Lin grinned brightly. She had cultivated a particular genius at flashing such smiles, it seemed.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. But you said you’re with the military, not the national police, did you not? What do you soldiers have to do with our club?”

“We have reliable reports that the Sports Club is running prostitution and gambling rackets on the side. . but we’re not here about that. We just want some information about this Mimi character.”

“I’ll disregard the first part of what you said, for that’s not in your jurisdiction. If you don’t agree, feel free to contact Colonel Cao, the chief of police. The colonel is my husband’s closest friend, and General Liam is his golf partner.”

“Madame, where does Mimi live? That’s all we’re interested in.” Toi went straight to the point.

In a low voice, the Chinese woman asked back, “What’s this all about?”

“Black market.”

“But she quit the PX.”

“It doesn’t concern the PX.”

For the first time, Madame Lin cast a sharp look at Yong Kyu.

“I don’t know, but I can find out. If I ask the bartender, we’ll find out right away. You both have been in our club before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, a few times with friends.”

“Vietnamese aren’t allowed here.”

Yong Kyu was about to pipe up, but Toi stopped him with a poke. “This friend of mine is Korean. He doesn’t understand what we’re saying.”

“So, you’re turning Mimi over to him,” Madame Lin said, clicking her tongue.

Toi laughed. “Since you failed as a matchmaker, I had to step in. My friend here has fallen head over heels in love with her. Can’t sleep at night, you know.”

The woman cackled loudly. Then she picked up the telephone on the table and punched a few buttons. “Bring me Mimi’s address.”

A few minutes later the waiter brought in a piece of paper. As Toi reached for it, the woman raised her fingers and waved them back and forth.

“Not yet. First, I want you to write down your duty station, your ranks, and your names.”

“To report us to the general?”

“No, but if anything happens to Mimi, I’ll be losing a good customer.”

“All right.”

Toi quickly scribbled on the paper and Yong Kyu did the same. The woman read aloud from her piece of paper.

“Hotel Thanh Thanh, Room 306. Satisfied?”

“Thank you.”

The woman called out to their backs as they left.

“Come again with Mimi.”

They left the club.

“What a strange woman,” Yong Kyu said as they got in the Land Rover.

“An old fox.”

“She comes all the way from Hong Kong to a battle zone and runs a club like that, we’re definitely no match for her. Way over our heads.”

“Why is she protecting Miss Oh?”

“That’s obvious. I saw her picture. She’s the type white men go for. Madame Lin would never pass by a foreign girl or a white dancer staying at the Thanh Thanh. She probably brokers side jobs for Mimi.”

“And puts her on display at all the club parties.”

They drove straight over to Doc Lap Boulevard. The multicolored awning over the entrance to the Hotel Thanh Thanh was visible from a distance. On both sides of the door stood jagged-leafed cycad plants.

“It’ll be the first time in a long while for me to speak to a woman in my own language,” Yong Kyu said.

“And the first time for me to hear your language in a woman’s voice,” Toi said, adding, “Korean sounds harsh and stiff to me.”

“And Vietnamese sounds like a parrot choking.”

As they pushed open the glass door with its wire-mesh embedded inside, they could see a brightly lit restaurant just past the narrow counter that served as a front desk. An old man in a clean shirt was sitting there.

“Welcome. Would you like a room?”

“No, thanks.”

Toi presented his ID card before Yong Kyu could and said something in Vietnamese, at which the old man pointed an arm to the stairs. They ran upstairs. When they reached the door, Toi said, “I’m going to speak Vietnamese.”

Yong Kyu nodded.

“Mo kye hotoi. .” said Toi, pounding on the door.

He kept knocking. Then he put an ear to the door and shouted as he pounded again. A sound like a moan came from within, followed by the sound of a glass door sliding, then footsteps approaching.

“Who is it?” asked a woman’s sleepy voice.

“Siloi ko,” Toi said, glancing back at Yong Kyu.

As the woman unthinkingly turned the knob of the door, Toi and Yong Kyu pushed it open with full force and crashed into the room. The woman stood petrified, pinned beside the door. Yong Kyu flashed his ID with its red slash right in front of her eyes.

“What the hell is this about?”

The woman immediately saw that Yong Kyu was another Korean. Arching her eyebrows, she wrapped her wrinkled robe more tightly about her. Although just roused from sleep, she was still a captivating sight. As the shutters were swung open, the sunlight streamed in and the woman’s white neck glistened. She grimaced and covered her head, from embarrassment at her unmade-up face as much as from the glare in her eyes.

“You’re asking for big trouble, do you know that?” the woman said.

“Why, shall I call Major Pham Quyen for you? “ asked Yong Kyu, picking up the telephone.

“What do I have to do with soldiers?”

Yong Kyu signaled to Toi with his eyes. Toi hurried into the bedroom. The woman started to follow, but Yong Kyu grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her down in a chair. He felt a tingling sensation as his fingers touched her skin. The lower folds of her robe were coming apart, revealing her tantalizing white thighs. As her eyes met Yong Kyu’s, she pulled the sides of the robe together to cover her legs.

“Sons of bitches,” the woman muttered, shading her eyes with one hand. “Wasn’t firing me enough? Why do you keep harassing me?”

“Shall I close the shutters?”

The woman nodded in reply to Yong Kyu’s offer. He closed the shutters and the room grew dark. The woman lowered her hand and looked up at Yong Kyu.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

Yong Kyu handed her a pack of Pall Malls and she nervously pulled one out. Her fingernails were unpainted. He lit her cigarette with his Zippo.

“Let’s be reasonable. Why are you doing this?”

Toi came back into the room holding something he had found. It was a plastic bag and two pipes.

“Look at this. Opium,” Toi said.

“Why don’t you go search your own mother? I bet you’ll find some in her dresser drawer,” the woman said in English to Toi. Then she turned and faced Yong Kyu again.

“Too bad if that’s why you’re here. It’s not mine.”

“Miss Oh Hae Jong, do you have a passport?”

“If I didn’t, could I be here?”

“Let me see your passport.”

She just drew on the cigarette. Yong Kyu sat down in front of her.

“I asked you to show me your passport.”

“I turned it in. . to the consulate, to have it renewed.”

“You’re lying,” Yong Kyu said. “We know you’re stateless. Two months ago your name was deleted from the list of local civilian workers. That means your passport was automatically cancelled when you failed to return home as ordered.”

The woman defiantly looked Yong Kyu straight in the eye and spat out, “My nationality is Vietnamese. You knew it when you came here, didn’t you? Besides, my nationality is no concern of yours. Get me the Vietnamese police.”

Toi took two pieces of paper out from his inner pocket and handed them over to Yong Kyu. He unfolded the first piece and placed it in front of the woman.

“Now, this is a copy of your personnel record, and the date of your dismissal, right here. And this is a copy of the fake requisition document you submitted to MAC 36. You sold C-rations in the campside village near the navy hospital, didn’t you?”

“So?”

“So, first I have to deal with the offense of selling military supplies. Then, while you’re in our custody, we’ll get your deportation papers from the Vietnamese police and ship you home. Now. . is this all clear to you?”

“The C-rations weren’t mine.”

“Were they Major Pham’s?”

“I don’t know. I just rode along.”

“You mean, you just rode along with the C-rations and rode back with the money, is that it?”

The woman leapt up and tried to pick up the phone, but Toi quickly put his hand over the receiver.

“Look, Miss, you may be sent down to Saigon as a convicted narcotics offender before you’re deported,” Yong Kyu said as he got up.

The woman turned up her nose as if scoffing. But the quake in her fingers as she extinguished her cigarette revealed how nervous she was.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To our investigation headquarters.”

“I need to make a phone call.”

“Make it from there.”

“I’ll go and change,” the woman said, heading toward the bedroom.

“We’ll wait out here.”

She went into the bedroom. As she started to close the door, Toi stuck his foot in the way.

“This is rude and ridiculous,” she said in an irritated tone.

“Don’t worry, we won’t peek. Just get changed quickly and don’t even think of trying anything cute.”

She soon came back out fully dressed, removed a lipstick from her purse and put some on. She was wearing a light blue knit dress, an outfit certain to cause a minor riot if she were to pass by a soldiers’ barracks. The two men’s eyes widened as they exchanged glances. Under the thin wool the curves of her body were readily visible, and with the sun at her back you could make out her thighs through the fabric.

Once they were in the car, the woman said, “I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re not going to get away with this, I’ll see to that.”

Yong Kyu did not reply. Toi drove straight across the street and in a second they were pulling into the QC headquarters compound. In the parking lot stood an unbroken line of Vietnamese MP patrol Jeeps. At the sight of Oh Hae Jong, the QC staff milling around started whistling and making catcalls.

“Take us to the room,” Yong Kyu said to Toi.

As they walked into the building, Toi popped into an office and shortly reappeared and took the lead. As soon as they entered the room, Toi said something to the corporal and administrative officer inside and the two men left.

“Care for some coffee?” Toi asked the woman.

“Yes, thank you.”

In an effort to exhibit her composure, she then turned to Yong Kyu, saying, “You could offer me some lunch, too.”

“I’ll see to that once your custody is decided.”

Yong Kyu started the interrogation with questions about the delivery of the C-rations. She answered, and then gave a statement detailing where, how often, and what quantities she had delivered. Then he questioned her about the opium.

“I don’t know anything about that. The stuff isn’t mine,” she said.

“That was also your testimony when you were asked by the chief security officer at the PX, wasn’t it? I’ll get the record of that interrogation and add it to this report, and then my job will be done. They’ll make the decision.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The Vietnamese Narcotics Enforcement Team.”

“Hmmph, go ahead and call them if there is such a team. More than half the population of Da Nang, every household, would have to be arrested. The stuff belongs to Major Pham Quyen from the provincial governor’s staff. Ask him.”

Yong Kyu kept scrawling notes in his notebook.

“Fine. So you have no passport, right?”

Toi brought a tray in with three cups of coffee. The woman sipped it slowly, savoring each mouthful. In the bright sunlight her bare legs gleamed beneath the pale blue dress. She seemed much calmer. Her legs were bouncing up and down ever so slightly. Yong Kyu finished his English-language report and handed it over to Toi.

“Type this and bring it back.”

“All right.”

Toi took the papers and left. Now the two of them, Yong Kyu and the woman, were alone in the room.

“Look, what’s your name, anyway?”

Yong Kyu took out a cigarette for himself and offered her one. They lit them together.

“I asked what your name is.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“That’s not fair. You know about me through and through and I don’t even know your name.”

“Ahn Yong Kyu.”

“Rank?”

“You want to try and make trouble for me?”

“Are you a ‘lifer’? Isn’t that what you soldiers say?”

Yong Kyu relaxed a little. He wondered why had he been so hard on her at first. Maybe it was because she was, in her robe, rather sensuous, and he knew she was in the habit of sleeping with foreigners. No, I’m no lifer, he said to himself. In a strange room, so far away from home, this woman was asking him if he was a lifer.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

The woman said nothing. They just went on smoking. She looked up at the clock.

“I need to make a call. If it gets any later, these people will take their siesta. I can’t wait another two hours in a place like this.”

“Don’t worry.”

Yong Kyu also glanced at the clock. He paused, then casually asked her, “Do you know Madame Lin well?”

She responded indifferently. “A little. I worked there a while after I was fired.”

“As a bar girl?”

“Is it a crime?” she retorted angrily. “I can’t go home empty-handed. I’m no different than the rest of you. And I’m not a whore.”

Her outburst made Yong Kyu uncomfortable. He hung his head a little. “Why not go to America?”

“What do you care?” the woman asked, fixing her eyes on his. “Stay out of my business. What difference does it make to you if I stay in Vietnam or go to America?”

Her voice was growing shrill, so Yong Kyu raised his head. For a moment he thought her eyes were getting moist, then immediately tears started streaming down her face. He had touched a wound. He quietly stood up and gave her space. She quickly pulled herself together, taking a handkerchief from her purse and cleaning her face.

“This is why I hate running into you people here. Who do you think you are, anyway? You’re no brother of mine. Once I found a Korean girl, a dancer, dead drunk and crying her eyes out. Some bastard, one of our recruits, had thrown a bottle at her on stage for taking her clothes off in front of American GIs. Crazy bastards. Who do they think they are — they themselves are licking asses for a lousy few US dollars a month? Don’t make me laugh!”

There was an element of truth in what the woman said.

“I’m sorry,” Yong Kyu mumbled under his breath, “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Then, in spite of himself, he blurted out, “Seeing you come out of that dark room, awakened from sleep. . I felt sorry for you somehow. . We’re in a war zone.”

The woman softened a bit and then replied in a lighter tone, “Well, I appreciate the compassion.”

Toi came back in, holding the typed report out to Yong Kyu. He checked it for errors and then said to the woman, “Read this, and if it’s all true, sign it.”

She read through the report, then carefully signed it and tossed down the ballpoint pen.

“Are you done with me?”

“Yes, you can go now.”

Yong Kyu also put his signature at the bottom. Then with a smile he said, “Sorry for the trouble. The exit is over there. You know the way, don’t you? It’s not far. It will take you just a few minutes to walk back to the Thanh Thanh from here.”

The woman looked uneasily at the report Yong Kyu was putting away.

“Mr. Ahn Yong Kyu, what are you planning to do?”

Yong Kyu was startled, as though it was the first time he ever heard a woman call his name.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

He looked over at Toi. Unable to understand anything of what they had been saying, Toi had a vacant look on his face.

“We’ll probably consult with Major Pham Quyen. He’ll be able to come up with a satisfactory solution,” said Yong Kyu.

The woman rose and walked toward the door, then stopped. She turned back and said to Yong Kyu, “Your concern, I really do appreciate it.”

14

Pham Quyen had gone home during the afternoon siesta. That morning just after he arrived at work his sister had called him, saying his mother was sick. Only two days before his mother had been in good spirits, singing as she cleaned the house, and then, all of a sudden, she had taken ill for no apparent reason. He knew his mother well. She had used that same ploy as long as he could remember, feigning sickness to make his father rush home from business trips. His father would walk into the house with a hearty laugh and a “Where’s my poor sick baby?” In his hand there would be some Coty perfume or some fancy chocolate from Hanoi, and his mother’s sham illness was miraculously cured before her husband had time to take his hat off.

Everyone told Quyen that he took after his father. He knew for certain that his mother was expecting him to play the father’s role. When he got out of the car, nobody came out of the house to greet him. As he walked in the living room, his sister emerged from the kitchen. There was a bowl of Chinese medicine on the tray she carried. It had to be the concoction made from boiled cinnamon and poppy oil that his mother was in the habit of taking when she suffered from nerves or from a sudden cold.

“What’s she complaining about?”

His sister’s eyes were bloodshot. She set the tray down on the table and grabbed his wrist as she spoke. “Something terrible has happened, Quyen. Your little brother’s disappeared.”

“Minh? When?”

“I don’t know. Mother’s been worrying about him. She wrote to his school and to Uncle in Hue a while back. She asked me not to tell you, but Uncle’s reply came this morning.”

“Let me see the letter.”

His sister rummaged through a drawer and produced the letter. Pham Quyen read it: “Dear Sister-in-law, upon receiving your letter, I checked Minh’s attendance with the university office. I found he hasn’t been attending school for the last two months. This means that when he came to stay here with us, he already had stopped going to classes. Last month he said he was headed home for a visit. Since there was no word from him, I assumed he would stay home and take a semester off. I do not, however, worry about him. He is a prudent young man. He will not act lightly. Since he’s a student with a draft deferment, if anything had happened to him, the family would have been notified. Don’t be too worried, and let us wait quietly and patiently, following the example of many other families these days. I’ll find time to visit you as soon as the road conditions improve.”

Quyen put the letter back into the envelope. Without saying a word to his sister, he sat down at the table.

“Would you like some green tea?” she asked.

He nodded and said, “When’s Lei coming?”

“Soon. Her morning classes should be over by now.”

Pham Quyen fell into thought. His sister took the bowl of medicine into her mother’s room and shortly afterwards returned.

“Did you tell mother I was here?”

“She was about to fall asleep, so I didn’t tell her.”

“Good.”

He went back to thinking. What he had been fearing had at last happened. As he grew older, Minh had become more and more argumentative with him, but lately he talked less and less. In the past, when Minh shouted at him with a foul look on his face Quyen could at least get a vague idea of what he was thinking, but ever since Minh stopped talking it was impossible to guess what was on his mind, what he was planning.

When Minh had defied him, calling him a running dog of the imperialists, Quyen slapped him hard across the face. But at their last meeting, during the monsoon holidays, Minh had said not a word to him until late one night when Quyen had come home drunk. Minh had grabbed him by the shoulders, whispering: “Brother, I don’t want to be a doctor. I’ll never be able to cure what ails you, my brother, my poor sick brother, Quyen.” Even in his drunken stupor, he had found Minh’s voice so calm and affectionate that it seemed to melt right into his spine. Quyen had pretended to pass out and let Minh help him into bed. The next morning when he got up to go to work, Pham Minh already was gone.

“Drink your tea.”

Quyen drank his tea. Yes, his little brother had gone into the jungle. He would not be able to come back. The Liberation Front did everything they could to conceal their military strength. If he died in action, the family would not even be notified. If Minh had not joined the government forces, his family might at most receive the official NLF document sealed with a yellow star that some other families received.

Pham Quyen buried his face in his hands: If only I had known… I could have stopped him, even if I had to shoot him in the arm or the foot. If Minh had only waited a little longer, I could have sent him to Europe. For ten thousand dollars, I can easily get anybody’s son to France by way of Cambodia. The going rate to get someone out to another Southeast Asian country was only three or four thousand. Minh could have lived with his wife in a cheery, one-story house annexed to a private clinic, watering the flowerpots in his living room. I could take a drive over to visit him.

Just then something exploded. He imagined shattered windows and bloody corpses lying everywhere. Quyen jerked his head up. Yes, Minh had disappeared, throwing a plastic bomb at all those hopes and dreams. They never should have sent him to his uncle’s in Hue. Uncle was a feeble old man, but he might have influenced the boy with his extreme ideologies. He had probably started reading classics like Proudhon and Bakunin. And then he would have graduated to Lenin and Mao. And on to those innumerable pamphlets, beginning with the theses of Ho Chi Minh and from there to the strategic doctrines and political speeches of Vo Nguyen Giap and Pham Van Dong. .

If it is absolutely impossible for you to produce anything useful, or if you refuse to be a producer, then live in isolation as a hermit or invalid. If we have abundance enough to supply your daily necessities, then we will gladly give them to you. For you are a human being and have the right to live. But if you leave the masses, wishing to live in conditions of privilege, it is only natural that you should suffer the consequences in your daily relationships with other citizens. You will be regarded as a ghost of the bourgeoisie, unless your friends discover some remarkable gift in you, and by carrying out all necessary labor on your behalf, kindly free you from your moral obligations.

Pham Quyen remembered those lines well. At the sound of a bicycle bell outside, he raised his head with a jolt. Lei could be seen through the open door. With her hat hanging behind her head, she walked her bicycle into the front yard and left it propped against the wall. When she came inside, she started at the unexpected sight of Quyen.

“Come here and sit down.”

Lei politely sat down across the table from her brother, wiping her face with her handkerchief.

“You have to answer everything I ask you. Leave nothing out.”

His elder sister, Mi, came over to Lei with a concerned look on her face and asked if the young girl was hungry.

“Just get out of the way!” Quyen unleashed his anger, and Mi, intimidated, rushed into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, Big Brother?” Lei asked in a pleading tone, her voice already clouding up to rain tears. But Pham Quyen showed no mercy.

“You must know. Where has Minh gone?”

“He is in Hue,” Lei said, her face blue with fear.

“Don’t play the innocent with me. I know. When was he last here?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, really.” Lei began to cry.

Behind him, his elder sister timidly said, “Please, not so loud, you’ll wake up Mother.”

Quyen swung around and pointed his finger at her, saying, “Mi, you’re just as guilty. All of you are in this.”

“Why. . I can’t believe you’d speak to me that way.”

His sister dropped her head and retreated back to the kitchen. Quyen pounded on the table.

“I’m the head of this family. I would do anything for you. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe and happy. Go outside and see. Everywhere people are dying, starving, barely staying alive. I play the role of father and struggle to protect you from falling into such misery. And this is the thanks I get? My little brother defies me, my little sister lies to me, and all of you are turning away from me.”

Lei glared at her big brother and said, “Brother Minh has joined the National Liberation Front.”

Dumbfounded, Quyen looked at Lei, not believing his ears.

“What, what did you say?!”

“NLF. Can you hear me now? Satisfied?”

Quyen had nothing more to say. Lei pushed her chair back, got up and went into the kitchen to see her sister Mi. The two were probably sobbing in each other’s arms, he thought. Quyen leaned back in his chair, feeling completely drained. He stood up, opened the kitchen door and without looking at his sisters, said, “I’ll speak to Mother, but you both watch what you say outside the house. Especially you, Lei! Be careful what you say to your friends at school!”

Pham Quyen went to his mother’s room and quietly pushed the door open. Had he come late or been unable to come at all that evening, and if his sisters had made a slip of the tongue, that would have been the end of all tranquility in the house. There was no telling what his mother would demand that he do, pestering him relentlessly. If she knew Minh had gone into the jungle, she would lose her wits and plead with Quyen to organize a special commando team to go out and bring him back.

His mother slowly opened her eyes and stared up at him. The lines of her mouth began to twitch in a contorted tick.

“Quyen, you’ve heard, haven’t you? Our Minh is missing. What can we do? You take after your father, so gutsy and clever that I never worry about you, but I’ve always worried about your little brother. Not knowing whether he’s dead or alive. . shouldn’t we’ve heard some news of him?”

Pham Quyen forced a smile.

“The truth is, Mother, Minh’s joined the army. I sent him, Mother.”

The old woman sat up, straightening her backbone.

“He got a draft deferment, so why should he join the army?”

“He has to, if we are sending him to France to study. He has to finish military service first. If I get him into the medical corps, he’ll be out in eighteen months.”

“Well why did you wait until now to tell me and make me go through all this?”

Then his mother frowned again.

“So, where’s he stationed now? He’s not by any chance with the paratroopers or the rangers or the black leopards, or whatever they call them, is he?”

“No, Mother. I sent him to the Navy. He’s been in the orderly corps since dropping out of medical school. He’s wearing a white gown and working as an orderly on a hospital ship of a neutral country.”

“I see. So he’s nursing people. I suppose there’s not much to worry about then. I thought I would burn up inside.”

“Don’t worry, Mother. Just rest.”

As Quyen turned to leave the room his mother called out to him, “Why do you have that look on your face? Are you angry because I was so anxious?”

“No, Mother. I’m just a little tired.”

“Come home early tonight. We’ll have a family offering.”

“I’m very busy, Mother. You see, the general is going to Saigon. Even if I were ten people I wouldn’t be able to finish all the work that needs to be done. Now, just don’t worry about Minh anymore.”

“Wait. . you’re not lying to me just to put your mother’s mind at ease, are you?”

Pham Quyen suppressed an urge to shout at the top of his lungs: “You’ve been a lucky woman, Mother, your husband passed away without pain as he slept in a bath; even if you lose one of your children, even if Minh was dead, you’d still be luckier than all the other old mothers of Vietnam.” But he gave his mother a wide smile.

“I’ll bring you his enlistment papers in a few days. You’ll be getting a letter from him before long, I bet.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine now.”

Mi, who had been eavesdropping, grabbed his hand as he came out of the room.

“Well done. I’m glad she didn’t press harder. And don’t scold Lei too much, please.”

Without replying to her, Quyen walked on into the living room to look for Lei. Judging from the clinks from the kitchen, she was in there eating. He started to say something, caught himself, and walked outside. Mi followed him out of the house.

“Are you coming home tonight?”

“I don’t know. I might be late.”

He drove back to the provincial government offices in a savage mood. Before going in he bought a bánh mì from a vendor out front. As he walked in the door, a lieutenant with a freshly washed face spoke to him.

“A telephone call came for you just now, sir. From the Thanh Thanh.”

Chewing on the bánh mì, Major Pham said to the lieutenant, “Bring me a cup of coffee from downstairs.”

As soon as he left, Quyen picked up the phone.

“Mmm, it’s me. What’s up? What a pleasant surprise, you calling me at the office.”

Mimi gave him the full story on what had happened to her that morning. Pham Quyen almost threw down his bánh mì. She also told him she figured that there might very well be something they hoped to get out of him, since they said they would be consulting with him on the case.

Quyen barely contained his rage. “I’ll have those bastards kicked out of Da Nang. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be over later.”

He slammed down the receiver. Then he wrapped up what was left of the bánh mì in paper and tossed it in the garbage.

“Shit! And they call this coffee. Tastes like caffeine tablets in water.”

“They brought it this morning from the kitchen at the Grand Hotel, sir.”

“I know. The slop they call food. . why can’t they eat like the French? Ignorant Americans.”

Sensing that the major was not in the best of moods, the lieutenant lingered for a while pretending to thumb through some papers, then at the first chance he slipped out of the room. At that moment the telephone rang.

“Hello, office of the aide-de-camp.”

But the voice on the other end was speaking English. “Excuse me. Is this the aide-de-camp’s office?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Ah, is this Major Pham?”

“You haven’t answered me, who are you?”

“Pardon me. I’m an investigator with CID.”

“You son of a bitch. Your name and rank, right now!”

The person on the other end of the line was not so easily intimidated.

“Please, Major, don’t get worked up. I have a signed confession which says you had your girlfriend dealing in C-rations and that both of you are narcotics users. I’m fully aware that you are at a desk where neither your own army nor the police can lay a hand on you. And I suppose the Allied Forces joint investigation team also regards you as untouchable. Are you listening, sir?”

“Yes, I’m listening, you son of a bitch.”

“Ah, thank you. We do, however, have certain channels. We can send these documents directly to the English newspapers and to the Anti-Corruption League down in Saigon. You don’t need to give us an answer right now. We’re at the Sports Club, so you sleep on it and let us know.”

The line went dead. Pham Quyen threw the phone down violently. He began to pace around the office. They had found his weak spot and were stabbing him right in it. What a shitty day! What could it be that they wanted from him? If they wanted nothing, then they would have just gone ahead without bothering to notify him. The League was not much to fear. If he spoke in advance about it to Liam, the general would not care a fish’s tit about it.

But he was worried about the English newspapers. Reporters being what they were, bastards aping the infantile liberals, they were sure to print a few lines that would make him a laughingstock. Or they might simply ignore it. If, by a stroke of rotten luck, the news desk in Saigon decided to target him and had their reporters in Da Nang start poking deeper on him, it would cost him a bundle. He walked over to the telephone, picked it up, and asked the operator to connect him with the Sports Club. To the person who answered, he said in Vietnamese that he wanted to speak with the foreigner who had just made a phone call. In a second he was put through.

“We were expecting your call. Would you like to meet with us, sir?”

“All right. I’ll see you there when I’m through with work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Pham Quyen escorted the general to the airport and then went directly to the club. It was still early, so the place was nearly empty. As Pham entered, the waiter frowned at the sight of a Vietnamese army uniform. Madame Lin had invited Major Pham to several of her garden parties, so he was in fact more welcome than most of the foreign officers who patronized the club, but that was true only when he was in civilian attire. In that uniform it was not appropriate for him to mix with the American and Australian regulars.

“Those customers are in the last room on the right,” the waiter said.

Major Pham walked across the floor and into the arched passage. Paper lanterns had been lit in each of the rooms. He reached the room at the end and looked through the colored beads with a butterfly pattern hanging over the door. The two men inside straightened up and rose from their seats.

“You must be Major Pham Quyen. I’m the one who called you.”

Pham Quyen went in and sat down without saying a word. He was scrutinizing them carefully when one of the two pulled out his CID card and showed it to him.

“I’m Sergeant Ahn with CID.”

Pham Quyen did not even glance at the identification. The second man was obviously Vietnamese. He could not exactly place the face, but he had a vague feeling that he had seen him before somewhere. Actually, it was a very familiar face. Yong Kyu felt around in his pocket and produced some documents.

“Please read these.”

Major Pham snatched the papers from Yong Kyu and began to read. The other two men waited in silence. The major showed no change of expression. When he finished, he held out the papers to Yong Kyu.

“Keep them. They’re only copies.”

“What is it you want?” Pham Quyen asked disdainfully. “What is it you think you can do to me with these lousy sheets of paper?”

Then the major took his wallet out from the pocket of his army jacket. He threw down a hundred dollar bill — not a military payment certificate, but an authentic stateside note — on top of the confession documents.

“This is for your drinks. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a busy man.”

The major was about to get up and leave when Toi quickly uttered a few words in Vietnamese. “Major, the difficulty lies with your lady friend. My friend here can have her forcibly deported tomorrow through the Korean consulate.”

Pham Quyen faltered for an instant and then sat back down on the sofa.

“Our intention is not to blackmail you. . We just need your cooperation on something,” Toi said.

“Who the hell are you, anyway? Where are you posted?”

“I work at the same place as this soldier. Discharged. Now I’m a civilian contract employee for the Allied Forces administrative bureau. Temporarily, though. Anyway, I know you very well, Major. My father once worked for your household. We used to collect herbal medicines from the old market in Le Loi Boulevard and deliver them to your house.”

Pham Quyen then realized why the man looked familiar. His father had been one of the suppliers who collected cinnamon and cloves from the Thu Bon valleys. A plumper and more wrinkled face appeared to Quyen superimposed on this man’s. Still, he kept cool as he looked back over at Toi. Sensing the reaction, Toi turned back to the matter at hand.

“If we wanted to, within ten days we could gather complete information on the dealing channels used by the provincial government office. All we want is a little cooperation.”

“What sort?”

“We divide the goods traded in the Da Nang black markets into three categories: luxury goods, daily necessities, and military supplies. With the exception of the last, the dealing of these goods is conducted out in the open. We’re asking for your cooperation in the category of daily necessities. Help us connect with the dealing channels at your office. We can supply you with almost anything. Also, let us use your warehouse and the container terminal at the port.”

“Is that all?”

“One more thing. Get us a vehicle permit authorized by the general himself that’ll let us pass freely anywhere in the city and throughout the Second Army command region. That’s all we ask.”

Pham Quyen lowered his head and thought it over. Then he asked Toi, “These requests, where are they coming from? I understand this sergeant here is with the CID investigation team, but I don’t feel comfortable talking with him about this.”

“The Americans run their own economic operations. This idea is something the sergeant and I came up with ourselves. With your cooperation, the three of us can run the whole thing independently. What his people want is information.”

“So you’ll be dealing in the black market and then reporting on your own activities,” Pham said sarcastically.

Toi waved his hand and said, “That’s precisely the point. We need to get deeply involved in the market. From the various channels, we must single out the line that is funneling military supplies to the NLF.”

Pham Quyen laughed. “And along the way you intend to make some money, is that it?”

“Nobody else is any different. A lot of money is needed to run an operations team. Our reports will be more than adequate as long as we pass along some information.”

Pham Quyen’s mood had changed for the better. He took out a cigar and lit it.

“I also have a few conditions. First, once I plug you into a dealing channel, we will not interfere with one another’s transactions. If you break this rule even once, I’ll see to it that you’ll never be able to buy or sell a single pack of cigarettes ever again in Da Nang. Second, the warehouse and containers will be available, but each time you use them, you will pay a ten percent surcharge on the total value of the goods. Third, I’ll supply you with a patrol vehicle with a special pass. You will pay separately for the use of that pass. If you find these three conditions acceptable, I’ll agree to help you.”

Toi interpreted it to Yong Kyu and then said, “Major Pham, in this war the Vietnamese army is forced into irrational behavior. And there’s always some risk. It’s because the American military support is largely focused on tracking military supplies. If you cooperate, we can help to minimize such risks. We’ll mainly be dealing daily necessities and once in a while some luxury goods. You must allow us use of a special pass without extra charge so that we can have our goods flowing more freely.”

“That may be true. But not, absolutely not, while I’m with the provincial government office,” Pham said, thinking of the three hundred planned phoenix hamlets.

“I can see you don’t trust us. But if you give us free access to a pass, you can still check the warehouse and container terminal every time we use them, can’t you?”

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll have to renew the permit every month.”

Again Toi translated for Yong Kyu. Then Yong Kyu said to the major, “The incident with C-rations was your mistake. It takes time to penetrate indirect dealings, but we can quickly uncover direct transactions in the markets or the satellite villages. Once we gather data from the vehicle logs and identify the buyers and the quantities, it’s not hard to pinpoint the dealer and the source of supply. This time I only confirmed your identity in my report. But I’ll have to speak with my boss about the dealings we’ve negotiated. Any transactions in military supplies will be reported in detail all the way up to the American in charge of the joint CID team. That’s our duty. Business and duty will be kept separated.”

“All right. Is your boss responsible for the black markets?”

“He’s just kept informed about it. I’m the one taking responsibility. Whatever information we dig up in the market will have nothing to do with you. And we won’t interfere with any of your deals, either.”

Pham Quyen was satisfied. He almost beamed as he held out a hand to Yong Kyu to shake on it.

“I’ll vouch for Miss Oh until she acquires a nationality. Let’s include her status of stay in Vietnam in our deal.”

Pham Quyen spoke frankly about the topic which was still of considerable concern to him. Unlike a little earlier, Yong Kyu’s voice was calm when he replied. “The Korean government always gives top priority to the interests of Koreans who hold jobs and earn money. So, provided Miss Oh can obtain employment, her residence in Vietnam will automatically be recognized. In other words, once she has a job, the business of having her visa extended is for the Vietnamese, not us, to decide.”

“You almost fooled me. Employment here is no problem at all. I’ll have her hired at the provincial government office.”

“We didn’t intend to fool you. We just wanted to discuss this idea with you. Besides, if we had wanted to, it would not have been impossible to have her deported.”

They had resolved their differences and lowered their guards and were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Yong Kyu looked at his watch. It was time to call Pointer.

“Excuse me for a minute, please.”

“Calling the captain?” asked Toi.

“Yeah, I told him we were coming here. He’ll be waiting.”

“Give him the details later. Leave me out of this. I’m nothing more than your advisor.”

Yong Kyu stared piercingly at his sunglasses, then smirked. “You’re my partner. And you’re our source of information.”

Yong Kyu left the room. A good number of drinkers had gathered in the main room of the club. It was about half-full with white civilians, soldiers, and bar girls. Music blared. He went up to the bar and placed a call to the Dragon Palace Restaurant. In a few seconds the captain was on the line.

“It’s me, sir. I’m with Major Pham now. I think we should disregard the report, sir.”

“Why? The boss wants the details.”

“Give him a verbal report, sir. The Vietnamese business dealings are more important than that.”

“Can you connect with their dealing channels?”

“Just finished the negotiations.”

“Good. Take your time. I’ll get the details from you tomorrow morning at the hotel.”

When Yong Kyu got back to the room he saw that girls and liquor had arrived. One bottle of Johnnie Walker, two girls. One was in a tank top that clung like a swimsuit and a red miniskirt, and the other was wearing a black miniskirt and a polka-dotted blouse. The red miniskirt had wavy-permed hair cascading down her back and the black miniskirt had bobbed her hair very short.

Major Pham poured a drink for Yong Kyu, speaking in a friendly tone. “Drinks are on me. I like you.”

Yong Kyu found himself thinking back to a night he had spent at a campside village near Tam Ky during his days in the infantry. He had gone AWOL for one night. Guerrillas were attacking a guard bunker on the village’s edge. He was with a girl, writhing on her belly with a.45 in one hand. He remembered how the sweat covered her small brown body. She kept gesturing for Yong Kyu to put the gun away.

After finishing, he had walked over to the window naked with the pistol still in his hand. Bright red flares rose in the air, then fell. He pushed up the bamboo window frame and peered out into the night. Tracers were flashing across the sky in a continuous stream. The girl quietly came up behind him and stroked his hair. He took the gun and hid it in the folds of the jungle pants he had taken off. The girl tried again and again to say something in awkward English: “Much sleep, sleep. Sun come up. That’s OK.”

She lay down first on the bamboo bed and pulled him toward her. As he rested his head against her breasts, she wrapped her arms around his head and, patting gently, said “Sleep, sleep, that’s OK.”

He slept. The sun rose the next day. The midnight attack was all over. Villagers and troops were in the streets clearing away the corpses of dead guerrillas.

Yong Kyu had emptied his pockets for the girl. It must have been his whole month’s allowance. She grinned brightly, flashing her crooked teeth. Then she gave him a mound of red-bean rice cakes wrapped up in a banana leaf. He had flung them into a rice paddy from the back of a speeding truck. He visited Tam Ky once more after that. There was a barbed wire fence and a long traffic sign where the girl’s place had been. The campside village had evaporated, for the defensive front had pushed closer to the city and the Vietnamese forces had been replaced by the American army.

The girl in the red miniskirt sitting beside Yong Kyu said, “I’m Lou.”

“Where are you from?”

“Singapore.”

The other woman was Malaysian. Both were of Chinese descent.

“If you prefer, they also have a half-blooded French woman,” said Major Pham.

“Where’s your woman?”

“I like Dai Hans,” said Pham Quyen with a broad grin. “Miss Oh said she’d come here to meet you guys.”

“Should we buy them some Saigon Tea? But we have no tickets.”

Major Pham chuckled and said, “The Sports Club doesn’t sell tickets. Ladies and gentlemen prefer cash.”

15

Report Regarding Misconduct Committed in the Course of an Operation by Company C, 1st Battalion, 20th Division

The geographical situation of Quang Ngai Province, encircled by a mountain shield and only ten miles inland, made it one of the best Viet Cong strongholds. As far back as the 16th century, the region had been a spawning ground for anti-government rebels. During the period of French rule on through the Second World War, these highlands had been a sanctuary for guerrillas.

At the time of the Geneva Accords of 1954, when the nation was partitioned along the seventeenth parallel into North Vietnam and South Vietnam, almost 90 percent of the ninety thousand Communist sympathizers who moved from south to north were from Quang Ngai. The NLF guerrilla units in this area had the reputation of being the most formidable fighters in the south. Their commanders were seasoned by extensive combat experience.

In order to purify the water for other fish, the Viet Cong were exterminated along with their suspected sympathizers. The Vietnamese government had designated the entire province of Quang Ngai as a “free-fire zone.” Artillery units were at liberty to deliver heavy “neutralization fire” wherever they wanted to.

In the spring of 1967 the Allied Forces commenced “Operation Oregon:” orchestrated search-and-destroy missions that killed 3300 Viet Cong captured 5000 suspected VC, and seized 800 weapons; and a troupe — code-named “Zippo” for the lighter — burned down all the houses in a free-fire zone that covered almost half the province. In September of 1967, operational command of forces in Quang Ngai was transferred to a newly organized unit called the “Americal Division.” The new unit was composed of the 196th Brigade that had participated in Operation Oregon, the 198th Brigade dispatched from Fort Hood, Texas, and the 11th Brigade from Hawaii.

The infantry forces in the Americal Division were mostly army newbies. They had received two hours of training on prisoner treatment. Due to cultural gaps and racism, the operations were at times counterproductive. Battalion J Commander had the nickname “Gook Killer” painted on his helicopter gunship, broadcasting his open disdain for the Vietnamese people. Every time a VC was killed, a triangular-shaped peasant’s hat was added to the side of the helicopter. Some of the gunship pilots who enjoyed air-to-ground attacks in free-fire zones took to calling their helicopters “Slope Hunters.”

A certain brigade commander, X, accepted bets on which unit would bag the ten-thousandth Viet Cong. It was said that the soldier who killed the ten-thousandth VC would be rewarded with a week’s vacation at the private retreat of the commanding general.

Among the officers who showed great valor in the 1967-68 period was Colonel George Patton III, son of the famous World War II tank commander. The motto of Colonel P’s 11th Armored Brigade stationed in the south of Quang Ngai was “Locate the Human Trash and Shoot Them.” The colonel reportedly sent out Christmas cards bearing color photographs of a heap of Viet Cong corpses. A minor scandal arose when the New York Times reported that Colonel P was seen at a farewell party carrying a polished skull, said to be of a Viet Cong, with a bullet hole over its left eye socket. The following is from a letter written by Major General R to a US congressman interviewed for the newspaper article:

Colonel P was a commander of combat troops. In conducting operations, he always put the safety of his men first. And the commander’s concern can easily be seen in the fact that his brigade, which engaged the enemy eight to ten times per week, brought the heaviest losses to the enemy and the least loss to friendly forces. In a situation where one must kill or be killed, the motto he established was quite proper. It is true that he was presented at the farewell party with an old skull found in the jungle.

The fighting spirit of American soldiers was enhanced by their wrath when they experienced casualties from the sniping and booby traps commonly used in unconventional warfare. A third of the casualties in the Americal Division resulted from mines, sniping, and booby traps in and around the Vietnamese hamlets. So, the annihilation strategy of search-and-destroy became the operative policy for the region, and the goal was to reduce an entire sector to ashes. A letter from one of the privates in the division contained the following:

Today we went out on operations. I don’t feel so proud of myself, and I don’t feel proud of my friends or my country anymore. We torched all the houses in sight. They were thatched huts built with palm branches, almost like cattle pens, where the families lived. Our commander said he didn’t like the walls and roofs, so we burned everything to ashes. There’s a popular joke among the men: “Whatever is dead, and doesn’t have white skin, is Viet Cong.”

Company C arrived in Vietnam the previous year after one year of training in Hawaii. Most troops in the company were volunteers, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-two. Ten of them had the educational level of first-year college dropouts. Thirteen of the 130 soldiers in the company scored in the upper range when given the army I.Q. test. Excellent health. Good appetite. Won a trophy in a football tournament. The atmosphere in Company C quarters was optimistic and docile; the men were partial to comic books.

Commander, Company C, Captain Ernest L. Medina: Age 33. Born 1936 in Springer, New Mexico. Lost his mother at an early age. Until age sixteen, worked as a day laborer on a big ranch on the slopes of the southern Rockies in Colorado. Falsified his age to enlist. Began as common infantryman. Nicknamed “Mad Dog,” not for malicious behavior but as a term of endearment reflecting enthusiasm and courage during basic training. Officer training school at Fort Benning in 1964, graduated with honors and commissioned as second lieutenant. Promoted to captain in 1966. Volunteered to serve in Vietnam as field commander hoping for battlefield promotion to major. Gave priority to rations and other supplies for his unit to uphold company morale. Typical American professional officer, taking initiative in all activities.

Leader, 1st Platoon, Company C, Second Lieutenant William C. Calley: Age 21. Born in Palm Beach, Florida. Enlisted after flunking out of Palm Beach Junior College. Employed as a busboy in restaurant and as a railroad-crossing gateman. Fired for his negligence in letting a 47-car freight train pass during rush hour, causing traffic to stop for thirty minutes. Thereafter unemployed until July 1966, when entered Officer Candidate School in New Mexico. To impress subordinates, bragged about having worked as a private detective in Miami. Nickname: Surfside Six, after TV suspense show. Dreams of being a hero.

Testimony from Investigation

Lt. Gen. Frank A. Barker (Division Commander): To execute Gen. Westmoreland’s strategy of search-and-destroy operations, each brigade headquarters organized Barker commando teams of one company from each of their three battalions. Capt. Medina’s Company C was one of the special commando teams under my command, and was posted at the landing strip at Doti last January 26. The important task assigned to these commandos was to pressure the Pinkville sector several miles northeast of Quang Ngai city. Yes, “Pinkville” is our troops’ name for that place. Was it because of a strong political presence of the Reds? No, it was because on the strategic maps, the region northeast of Quang Ngai was a conspicuous reddish color. Yes, that’s right, the color meant it was a densely populated area.

Capt. Medina: We were told the area had been a VC den for the past twenty-five years. The villagers in the area had been given several orders to evacuate, and it was designated a free-fire zone. But I ordered my men not to fire on the villagers if they came into the open in the middle of an engagement. But that day when my platoons had retreated about four or five hundred meters and our radio operator was hit by enemy fire, I ordered them to go back up over a four-foot high bank.

Seymour M. Hersey: We’d been bivouacking in the field for about three weeks and were almost collapsing from exhaustion. We began wondering if it wasn’t our captain’s fault that we always got dirty, dangerous missions. Medina was always foaming at the mouth, bragging about our company being a model fighting machine. Somebody openly griped that Medina cared more about getting a promotion for himself than he did about the safety of his troops. Then again, Medina loved to blow his own horn in front of Lt. Gen. Barker, saying how the VC were terrified of Company C. Our morale was sunk in the mud. We hadn’t gotten a single fresh reinforcement and forgot what it was like to sleep in a dry spot. We got cold toward the Vietnamese. If little children tagged after us begging for gum or money we literally kicked them away. We got up at dawn, ate cold C-rations, packed up and marched till noon, and ate the same C-rations for lunch. Then we kept on trudging all day until stopping to eat C-rations in the evening. The hot sun and the thirst nearly drove us out of our minds. Medina interrogated lots of suspected VC, saying he’d pry some information out of them. Once his men brought an old man over to Medina while he was lying on his stomach on a rock. With a sudden scream like he was spooking a herd of cattle, Medina grabbed the old man by his neck and started rolling. The old man was so terrified that he shit his pants. It was around February 15 that we started getting cruel.

Greszek: When we arrived at the entrance of a hamlet, one of the men, Carter, offered a cigarette to an old peasant. As the old man was about to put the smoke in his mouth, Carter suddenly started beating him on the head with his gunstock. The old man’s chinbone was smashed and his ribs broken, but nobody interfered. A few hours later we fired some shots at a shadow running across the field. Two of our men went closer, emptying the whole clips of their M16s before they discovered it was just an old woman on her way home to the village with a bunch of vegetables she’d picked. Lt. Calley radioed in a report that we’d killed a VC. A few minutes later two suspected VC guerrillas were brought before Calley. I had Vietnamese language training in Hawaii so I was going to interrogate the prisoners. Before I started the questioning, another platoon member dragged an old man over to us. I found the old man was carrying an ID card issued by the Vietnamese government, so I said to Calley: “Sir, I don’t think this one is a Viet Cong.” But Calley started waving his M16 around and ordered the soldier to take care of the old man. “Why are you killing this old man?” I asked Calley, but he only said that all Vietnamese are the same trash. That was when Carter came over.

Carter: All I did was threaten to push the old man into the well, prodding him with my gun. The old man planted his feet wide apart and wouldn’t budge. That was when Calley fired.

Boyce: Calley radioed to Medina to report that he’d caught an old VC trying to jump into a well. Medina ordered us to make a complete search of the well, saying it might be an entrance to a VC tunnel network. But by then the well was all bloody and none of us would go in. Calley called back and said there was no underground passage in the well. February 25, that was our company’s worst day. We lost six and twelve were wounded after walking into an enemy minefield north of Pinkville. Most of the casualties were from Calley’s first and third platoons. Capt. Medina was awarded a Silver Star for rescuing the wounded. But the minefield was one clearly marked on the maps we had. The losses could’ve been avoided. Sgt. Cohen was the one who had hurried us into that field, he was responsible.

Hersey: It was around then that Company C seized a woman with a baby on her back and raped and killed her. One of the soldiers took snapshots of the whole thing with his Instamatic.

Gary Apollo: On March 14, two days before the My Lai operation, our company suffered casualties again. We hit some booby traps while passing along a thickly wooded trail. Sgt. Cox detected a bomb, but it went off while he was disarming it, killing him and putting out the eyes of a nearby soldier. After evacuating them by helicopter, we were so enraged that we torched all the houses in a village on the return route to our base. Still angry, we went into a village on the edge of a secure zone and killed and robbed a woman. The villagers reported that incident to the Vietnamese police. Medina received a protest from the police. He was upset that what happened had been uncovered, but he didn’t punish any of his men for what they did.

Lt. Gen. Barker: My only concern was to sweep out the enemy — the Viet Cong were known to have about 280 veteran troops in that area. I relied on Capt. Medina. He and I did a helicopter over flight of the whole Pinkville region and then set up the operations plan.

Calley: Around 0700, the women and children of My Lai hamlet would go to the markets in Quang Ngai city or in Son Dinh to sell things, so, taking advantage of that time, we were given a search-and-destroy mission, with orders to burn My Lai hamlet, destroy the bunkers and tunnels, and slaughter the cattle.

Medina: I never gave an order to kill women or children.

Nguyen Phu: As a staff sergeant dispatched to Company C as an interpreter, I didn’t believe what I was hearing. Even when I heard the soldiers saying they were going to wipe out a village the next day and would take revenge by killing every single Viet Cong they saw, I thought those American soldiers were just boasting.

Medina: Maybe Lt. Calley took the operations orders as a license to go into My Lai and have his men take their revenge.

Brooks: At dawn on March 16, Lt. Calley’s 1st platoon and the 2nd platoon under my command moved into Pinkville by helicopter. Calley’s was the advance force. After gunships bombarded the My Lai area with hundreds of rockets and bullets, Calley’s platoon jumped down into the rice fields. The rice shoots were billowing in the breeze, almost ready for harvesting. My Lai was a hamlet with suspected VC sympathizers, with a population of about seven hundred.

Lt. Gen. Barker: At the time I was in a helicopter about 1000 feet overhead, supervising the sweeps.

Brooks: As our platoon approached the hamlet, we saw several men, apparently VC, running away to avoid the shower of fire from the gunships. We also started firing from the ground. A woman and a child fell.

Sledge: We in Calley’s platoon entered My Lai from the south, moving toward the center of the hamlet. The villagers didn’t even try to flee; they just stood there watching us running. They seemed to know that if they ran away we would fire at them. There was no fear on their faces; they just blankly watched us. It was a little after 0800. Some of them were about to have breakfast. We began rounding up the villagers.

Stanley: The massacre began spontaneously with no warning. One from the platoon was pushing a Vietnamese in civilian clothes and just stabbed him from behind with a bayonet. The Vietnamese collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. So many people got killed that day it’s hard to remember how they died. After he finished bayoneting that man, Carter dragged out another man in his fifties who had been captured, dumped him into a well and then threw a live grenade down after him. Then we went over to a kind of public hall where incense was burning and found about twenty old women and children crouching together there. They were all shot with a few volleys of gunfire. The villagers didn’t really try to resist. When about eighty were rounded up in the village square, they all begged for mercy, shouting “We no VC! We no VC!”

Boyce: Lt. Calley handed the villagers over to us and said, “You know how I want you to handle this!”

Sledge: “Clean up the trash!” was Calley’s order to us.

Boyce: We were about ten or fifteen feet away from them when Lt. Calley opened fire first. We had to use four or five twenty-bullet clips apiece.

To Chuok: I’m forty-eight years old. I’ve seen all the wars. I make my living as a farmer. I have no interest in the Liberation Front or in the ARVN. All my life I’ve been praying for the smoke of the war to go far, far away from our village. That day when the American soldiers came to our village, our family was eating breakfast. As ordered by the soldiers, we left our house and along with many others swarmed into the square. The Americans made us gather closer and sit down. Even then we had no reason to fear them. We were joking and laughing, nobody showing any sign of alarm. Only when we saw them setting up machine guns did we sense what was going on and begin to wail and beg for mercy. Some of us showed the Americans our government ID cards, but they only said “Sorry.” The firing began. I was hit in the leg but got buried under the corpses and kept my life by playing dead. In a few seconds I lost my wife and two daughters. After lying there about an hour, I pushed my way out from under the dead bodies and ran into the jungle. None of them felt any danger at first. The villagers even welcomed the soldiers. I’ve lost my village and my family forever. There’s nowhere for me to return to. Never again will I welcome American soldiers.

Conti: We were all nervous and excited. Once the firing started, it went on and on in a kind of chain reaction. Most of us thought we would be engaged with enemy combat troops, but it didn’t work out that way. At first, we saw a few men running away, but before we knew what we were doing, we found ourselves recklessly gunning down everyone in sight. It was like collective madness. Everybody was firing. When we went into that village, the command system broke down and everyone was swept up in that strange burning fever.

Brooks: Upon hearing the gunfire, we, the 2nd platoon, rushed into the village and started killing and destroying at random, shooting our flamethrowers everywhere.

West: We, the 3rd platoon, intercepted some villagers who were scared by the sound of shooting and trying to run away in all directions. We shot them. It was useless for them to try to escape the envelopment because the gunships were waiting in the air just overhead. We thought there was a firefight underway with enemy forces in the hamlet. That crazy bastard Lt. Calley is responsible for that. By 0815 Capt. Medina was right behind my 3rd platoon.

Medina: Until after 1000. I had not set foot in the village, and I hadn’t killed a single civilian.

Carter: As he entered My Lai, Medina did shoot a few civilians to death. As the 3rd platoon was entering the hamlet, we found a woman and someone had forced her down on the ground. Capt. Medina shot her with his M16. I saw the scene from about fifty feet away. There was no need to shoot her. Then we ran into a soldier who had rounded up about twenty Vietnamese — men, women and children — and Medina ordered the soldier to “kill them all, down to the last one.” Later Medina caught a boy of about seventeen who was driving a water buffalo. He yelled at the boy to run away, but the boy just stood there. Then Medina just started firing at the boy with his rifle.

[At this point the CID investigator warned Carter that he was making grave accusations against his commanding officer, but Carter insisted upon continuing.]

What I have said about Medina is the truth. I swear that my statement is the truth.

Concluding Comments

The investigation did not clearly resolve the question whether the company commander gave orders to the platoon leaders to kill at random. It was confirmed, however, that Capt. Medina was present at the scene of the incident. Included in this file are photographs taken by two reporters, Roberts and Haeberle. They eventually will be disclosed to the public. There are dozens of photos of dead animals, dead human beings, and village dwellings ablaze. One photo of a soldier shooting children aged six and seven. One photo of a dead boy on top of his younger brother’s corpse. Capt. Medina’s report at the time stated that fifty Viet Cong were killed and twenty suspects captured. This case will be a propaganda windfall for the Liberation Front and they are sure to exploit it politically. Four hundred fifty civilians were shot. The case should not be concealed, rather it must be examined in full view and those concerned treated strictly under military law.

The concept of “search-and-destroy” missions is thought to be in need of qualification. It is imperative to collect information in detail on as many cases as possible of massacres committed by the Liberation Front in order to publicize those fratricidal atrocities.

16

“Air! Air!” the guide shouted.

With inured skill the bicycles and bundles instantly were covered with camouflage nets and all the fighters in the file hit the ground, taking cover in the leaves. The noise of whirring helicopter propellers came closer. They turned out to be observation aircraft rather than an attack formation. It was a reconnaissance mission of three choppers. Escorted by two small gunships, a camera-equipped helicopter was methodically covering that whole region of the jungle. When it came upon a clearing, the helicopter hovered in a circle for a while as if to peer down narrow paths and point its cameras under the canopy of trees on the fringes. Meantime, the gunships fired occasional bursts with their machine guns — neutralization fire.

Pham Minh was sprawled among the bushes with the other fighters. In the course of basic training at the Temporary Atwat Military School, he learned methods of concealment and survival on long marches down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A comrade lying near him shrugged his shoulders then stuffed a red handkerchief into his own mouth. Muffled coughing followed. Taking out his canteen Pham Minh unscrewed the top and held it out to him. The man nodded in thanks and hastily gulped down a few mouthfuls.

They were marching along a mountain ridge near the Laotian border. For security reasons, the Atwat Military School was divided into two units; the basic training phase was conducted apart from more advanced training courses. The two locations were about twenty-five miles apart, making it a day-and-a-half march from one to the other. Their group was forty-eight in all, including the guide and a political officer.

The Seventieth Transport Division of the regular forces of the North Vietnamese Army was in charge of movements along the trail. At the beginning and end of each day’s march there were rest areas with food and beds and medical treatment. The group was split into three sections for the march, and each unit was spread out in a long double file, with at least fifteen feet between individuals. Before departure they scouted the immediate area and received briefings on any operations or changes of situation between there and the next stopping place. Anything unusual would delay departure until the situation could be assessed.

Not only personnel, but also ammunition, explosives, and other war materiel were constantly being moved along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. In better times, the trail had been hectic with motor vehicles coming and going, but now each segment was set up as part of a secret relay network and supplies were moved by bicycles and small carts. Vehicles were still in use only on a few stretches where the road was still intact under the cover of thick jungle.

In the first phase of basic training, the urban guerrillas of the Second and Third Special Districts mainly concentrated on military tactics and use of weapons. They were taught a range of hit-and-run tactics and various methods of urban warfare. As for firearms, the instructors showed them how to shoot, disassemble, and take care of small arms such as pistols, carbines, and automatic weapons. They also became familiarized with enemy weapons and ammunitions and learned what was known as “guerrilla cookery,” namely, how to improvise homemade weapons, bombs, booby traps, and so forth. There were demonstrations on the fuse mechanisms of time bombs and they were taught how to make detonators for plastic explosives.

They picked up a few tricks especially useful for urban fighters. For instance, if you stick a live cartridge inside the tip of a fountain pen or a ballpoint pen and rig a firing pin to the coiled spring, it makes a wonderful weapon for killing someone facing you at close range. Another item, specifically designed for attacks on buildings or vehicles, was a “guinea pig cocktail.” A mixture of two parts gasoline to three parts motor oil in a throwable container with a cotton cloth wick. The density of the oil made the inflammatory gasoline stick to the target.

They were taught how to make bombs from the empty ration tins discarded by American soldiers. You stuffed it with nails and gunpowder, sealed it with tape and stuck a detonating pin through the top. For another common booby trap, tape a grenade to a gate where the target will emerge, then connect a tripwire to the grenade pin and string it just above the ground where feet will stumble over it. They were also shown how to disarm and reuse landmines and other bombs.

The training also included doctrines and rules for planning and executing operations. For example, they learned that urban guerrillas should always plan their own safe escape before embarking on an attack. The assault should be rehearsed and the target and scene carefully observed and confirmed two or three times before proceeding. Be inconspicuous. On the street, keep away from the curb. Avoid telephone contacts if possible. Never discuss politics. Have a job. Spend breaks reading quietly instead of drinking or playing games. Be wary of fellow workers. Arrange all meetings with a fallback procedure. Select the targets that are easiest, most accessible, and most concrete. The rules were so many and so detailed that it was impossible to remember them all.

The second phase of training was political education and propaganda tactics. Until the early sixties, all guerrillas received four to six months of special indoctrination in Suanmai near Hanoi or in Thanh Hóa in the south before being shipped to Binh to finish the course at Dong Hoi Military Camp. But as the American forces increased in strength and the NLF forces suffered greater losses, the length of training had been drastically shortened.

In the period from the start of training until the first infiltration mission, at least a quarter of their military strength was lost, mainly from air bombardment and diseases in the jungle. Small-scale camps for training guerrillas for the central Vietnam theater were now scattered throughout the highland jungle in the region of the Atwat Mountains. The trail guides were mostly local natives of the highland country. They led the troop contingents for about half a day and then turned them over to the next guide and returned to their base. In this way, communications passed quickly and each base point had an idea what was happening elsewhere through the comings and goings of the guides. Radio equipment was rare, so for signaling they made do with whistles and woodblocks.

Upon setting off on the march, each guerrilla trainee was issued a backpack with food for three days and a little first-aid kit. The backpacks were no more than rubber bags with cloth flaps. Their equipment consisted of two sets of black civilian clothing, a pair of Ho Chi Minh sandals, a sweater, a hammock with a mosquito net, a camouflage waterproof cape for the rain, one rifle, a hundred cartridges, and two hand grenades. But upon reaching their destination at the training camp, they had to turn in everything they’d been issued. Pham Minh’s group was scheduled for only a short march, so they had not been given any heavy equipment.

The sound of two wooden blocks striking together rang out. Pham Minh got up from the ground, his chest completely soaked. Through the leaves the sky looked torn into palm-sized patches. The jungle air was like steam inside a pressure cooker. Because of the humid heat and the malaria-bearing mosquitoes, after five days of marching along the trail there had to be a two-day rest. Pham Minh looked about at his comrades as they got to their feet and back into line. Nobody spoke. They’d been instructed to march in silence.

Upon receiving a hand signal from the point, the unit leader sent back the message, quietly ordering “March.”

Once again they started walking down the trail that was about ten feet in width. Each of the three units in their group had been given five heavily loaded bicycles they were responsible for delivering to the next point. By transporting these supplies as they relocated, the trainees were fulfilling a dual role. They were also resupplying the rural guerrillas with artillery — rockets, mortar shells, grenades, and landmines. As long as this supply line remained intact, there would be attacks every night. For each bicycle, three men took turns pushing.

There was a unit of men, wearing outfits like their own, coming down the trail towards them from the opposite direction. Judging from their red neckerchiefs, they must have been new NLF recruits, either in training or having just completed indoctrination. They looked worn-out and exhausted. One of them was being carried on a stretcher. Sick with malaria, probably. Most likely they would leave him with the medics at one of the rest camps. But that was only possible on the trail, and if you came down with malaria after you’ve infiltrated the enemy zone, you were more likely to be left to die. Down in the forests and up in the skies overhead there were American search-and-destroy units scanning the terrain.

They had passed beyond the end of the main trail after the midday meal and were descending down the endless south slope of the mountains. Laos was across the ridge. Before them a vast jungle was spread out with no trace of human habitation. The second-phase Atwat school was hidden in a valley along a stream. Nothing of it was visible from the air, but as they approached they could see a rather spacious clearing and under the jungle canopy a row of barracks with earthen walls and roofs of thatched palm fronds. There was also a solid-looking brick building with olive green walls and a roof camouflaged with foliage from banana and palm trees. It might have once been a plantation run by the French. There were rows of rubber trees along the stream.

After roll call the group had a late-afternoon dinner. The food there was better than in basic training. They were served canned fish, pork broth, and rice. Here they had a hospital, a reading room, and even a few recreation facilities for table tennis and volleyball. The trainees were assigned bunks in the barracks and issued textbooks that they were to study over the next four weeks.

The last group had finished training and departed two days earlier. The only sleeping gear they were given to use with the bamboo bunks was a single sheet. The ten women in their group were quartered separately in the main barracks. All the instructors were middle-aged NLF veterans. A few of them had been liberation fighters in the old days with the Viet Minh movement against the French. The political commissar in charge of their indoctrination was a North Vietnamese army regular, a lieutenant.

They had one day of rest, when they could sleep and wash their clothes. Pham Minh lay down on his bunk and looked through the study texts. They consisted of a pamphlet entitled “Proclamation to Patriotic Youths,” taken from Mao Zedong’s Strategic Theory of Endurance, and a small booklet with excerpts from Liberation War and the People’s Army by Vo Nguyen Giap, August Revolution by Truong Chinh, and The Road to Revolution by Ho Chi Minh, as well as abridgements of the classic texts of Marx and Lenin.

A liberation war is a protracted struggle and a difficult war, and we must rely mainly upon ourselves. For we are politically strong but materially weak, while the enemy is politically weak but materially strong. Guerrilla warfare is an expedient that enables the people of a weak and under-equipped country to hold out against invaders who have the advantage of a higher grade of technology. If we consider revolution as a form of art, then its crucial content lies in generating a form of struggle that fits the political situation at each stage of the struggle. At the beginning, our main mission was political struggle and the armed struggle was secondary. Step by step, however, each has acquired equal importance until armed struggle at last has reached a level where it now plays a leading role in the revolution.

Do not attempt to achieve too many goals. Do not disrupt the existing social structure; instead, make use of it. Even if it is an organized cell of the enemy’s power, do not destroy but rather accept it. To combat a power that is too enormous and strong for us to destroy, make use of it by amorphous combinations. Then, if necessary, disintegrate its leadership and absorb the followers into the Front’s organizations.

While working in secret, use all conceivable means to undermine the enemy organization, but always remain outwardly rational concerning questions of power sharing with the enemy. Certain attitudes should not be displayed openly. Make a strict distinction between open and secret parts of our organization and minimize the traffic between the two. The important mission of the open division is to promote the support of the vast common mass, while the mission of the secret division is the accumulation and seizure of political power.

Do not hesitate to interpret the ideology of the revolution in any way deemed advantageous. Do not reveal the concept of the class struggle except to key cadres. If possible, avoid provoking animosity from anyone. In this way, the formation of opposition forces can be preempted in advance.

Bear in mind the circumstance that in Vietnam altruism is seldom encountered, and therefore combine the materialistic foundations of Communism with egocentric sentiments of democracy in an appropriate manner. Success or failure is all, victories, albeit minor, must be won through ideology, but the greater triumph must be won through nationalism. In the end we must prevail and be victorious not as Communists but as nationalists.

Use the countryside as the base for your struggle and later extend the struggle into the cities. In the country the political opportunities are greater and the risk smaller. Do not succumb to the temptations of city life. But forge an alliance between country and city by cultivating strong solidarity between peasants and workers.

Proceed with tasks from the small to the large, and from the particular to the general. Proceed from a small and safe region to liberate a larger district, and then expand the liberated zone further. Begin the struggle with a movement on a small scale, then escalate the struggle and seize command of power in the end.

Pham Minh gazed out at the stream and the grove of rubber trees. There was no gunfire and no sound of explosions. He heard the laughter of women playing volleyball. The foliage was quaking in the strong breeze sweeping down through the valley. The palm leaves on the roof flapped occasionally. For a moment he felt as though what he experienced at Atwat over the past month was not real. There were about twenty of them sharing the same living quarters, from all walks of life and with ages ranging from the early twenties to the mid-thirties. They knew each other by name, but were not allowed to discuss personal histories. All were healthy and had hearty appetites, and even before starting this second-phase political training, each of them had their own firm opinions about the problems besetting the Vietnamese people.

Their attitudes and views could be divided into three categories. The first included those who embraced an unmitigated communist ideology, with thought patterns oriented by their parents or relatives. Usually their families had taken part in the anti-French liberation movement before the Geneva Accords or had chosen to relocate to the north. They were youths like Thanh. The second category consisted of people burning with vengeful hatred after losing family members during the operations by the American forces or the ARVN. The third included those who had suffered agony and deserted the ARVN and joined the NLF or, like Pham Minh, those whose abstract passion for nationalism had been grievously disillusioned by the reality of South Vietnam. Those in the first two categories posed no special ideological problems, but conflicts in opinion were almost inevitable between the first category and those like Pham Minh. The divergences in views of the reality of their predicament grew more noticeable as the political training progressed.

They all got up at six in the morning and walked along the stream for an hour before having breakfast at seven. The meal was not bad. The Viet Cong brought less food with them on marches than the Americans or the ARVN. Arms and ammunition took priority over other supplies. But they had white rice on the table, along with fresh vegetables from farms on the Laotian side of the mountains. Every now and then they had pork or duck. Once every three days each barracks received a ration of tobacco and green tea from Hanoi. On Sundays when there was no training they even watched films.

Classes were conducted mainly in the morning, with group discussions of the pamphlets they had been issued. They were given lectures on such topics as the history of communism in Vietnam, modern Vietnamese history, the history of world revolution, the December Theses and the strategy of the National Liberation Front, and so on. After lunch there was a siesta hour and then presentations of examples of incitement propaganda, followed by group discussions. After that they had a briefing with current reports from the NLF on the conditions and deployments of security forces in the Second and Third Districts, as well as on the enemy’s firepower and organization.

Next, their prior training in handling weapons and explosives was extended by live ammunition drills and exercises, including war games in the jungle valley nearby. After dinner, each group assembled for further discussion to review the day’s activities. Sometimes they also made up short dramas depicting the present reality of Vietnam, which were presented to the others for evaluation. Lights out was ten o’clock.

Pham Minh did not stand out as a trainee. But one evening during an ideology discussion session he made a mistake, and it led to an auto-critique. That afternoon they had heard a lecture on the strategy and tactics of the NLF. The instructor, Dao Nguyen Lin, was an old veteran of the anti-imperialist movement, and formerly a middle-school teacher. He also had been a key cadre in charge of guerrilla commandos in Saigon at the time of the downfall of Ngo Dinh Diem. In his lecture, he had said:

“Urban guerrillas and rural guerrillas can be distinguished from each other by the scenarios and tactics of their struggles. In rural communities, the aim of military operations is to attempt to place the people under the command and control of the Liberation Front. Rural areas are important both as sources of supply and as strategic sanctuaries where our forces can hide out after hitting targets in the vicinity. Furthermore, with the same strength we can exercise power over a broader domain in a rural area, where security systems are less concentrated than in the cities.

“As stated in the thesis published in Hoc Tap in 1965, our special aim is to paralyze the administrative system of the enemy. Thus, the goal of urban guerrillas is to weaken the government through violence, establish an alternative order in the city, and spread the paralysis. Activate the dormant sentiments of nationalism in city dwellers. In the city, the enemy is very powerful and the mass is well under control. Therefore, the urban struggle must be unforeseeable and fast. Strike, run, and hide.

“Hence, the aim and targets can largely be divided in two, and then again subdivided into three. First are government agencies or figures against which the people have grievances. Second are government agencies or figures who are competent and admired by the people. Targeting the former is obvious enough, but at first glance it may be difficult to grasp why the latter would be targeted. If a certain feature of the enemy system we aim to destroy happens to cater to the wishes of the masses, then it is very dangerous. For what is sweet can mask poison. By attacking it, we kill two birds with one stone. The people will see that their competence, after all, was merely competence in maintaining a colonial reality; and the enemy will be warned that no move is safe.

“When the targets are again subdivided on the above principle, the first objective for attack would be the army of the imperialists and their facilities. The second is that part of the security system of the enemy which lies closest and most readily accessible. And the third would be all individuals and facilities whose sympathies are with the enemy. I’ll illustrate with a few examples. In June 1965 a bomb exploded at a restaurant in downtown Saigon. American soldiers were killed and their bodies carried into the street and heaped up. And even more corpses were buried under the destroyed tables and chairs. The total casualties were one hundred twenty. The Liberation Front proclaimed this victory far and wide. In October of the same year, when the South Vietnamese Air Force was holding a meeting in City Hall, a hand grenade exploded resulting in six deaths and forty-five wounded.

“The embassy attack in March of the following year exhibited a new dimension of our tactics. A car stopped outside a main gate. It appeared to have some sort of engine problem. One of the three policemen standing guard approached the car and ordered the driver to stop obstructing a busy street and immediately move the car out of the way. The driver groveled, saying the engine was dead. Irritated, the policeman told him to push the car out of the way if he had to. He pretended to push it, and just then a motorbike sped up and the rider took out a machine gun and shot the policeman. Then, as the other two policemen returned fire, men inside the car shot them. All the guerrillas then fled across the street and the car, heavily loaded with plastic explosives, went off in a huge blast. A large area was leveled. Then, in June, passenger luggage exploded while awaiting inspection in the lobby at Tan Son Nhat Airport.”

It was then that Pham Minh raised his hand. The instructor gave him a puzzled look, but Pham Minh wanted to wash away a feeling of oppression he had been carrying with him ever since his student days in Hue.

“I have a few questions, sir. During the last offensive I was in Hue. Of course, I think the occupation of Hue by the Liberation Front was a brilliant victory. I have no doubt whatsoever that it advanced the national struggle. A lot of our fellow countrymen were killed. But, a few days earlier, I saw a bomb go off in front of the inter-city bus terminal in Hue. The target seemed to be the waiting room of a nearby police checkpoint, but buses standing nearby were destroyed. I saw four children’s bloody corpses thrown on the concrete, and women drenched in blood were wailing. .”

“Hold it, hold it. .”

Dao, the instructor, stopped Pham Minh and in an icy voice asked, “So, what you’re trying to say is that innocent women and children died?”

“That’s, that’s right, sir. I do acknowledge, of course, that such things happen in war. But you were talking, sir, about the various examples of military force used by urban action groups, and I’ve been wondering if terror is something tactical or political, or both. If it kills innocent Vietnamese children, what political significance does it have? If such things are avoidable, should we not go to great lengths to avoid them?”

The instructor looked around at all the trainees before he answered.

“An important point. In the instances I spoke of, I did not mention casualties among innocent civilians. Sometimes the damage can be worse than that inflicted by the enemy. Generally speaking, during an urban military action, the citizens will face a risk of injury or death that is two or three times greater than the enemy forces. However, our Liberation Front considers that all our people, whether they want to or not, are participants in this struggle on a national scale. They died in action for the sake of a new history in Vietnam.”

“What I’m saying is. . that it can be avoided, sir.”

“All around us the enemy is slaughtering countless numbers of our fellow countrymen through aerial bombing and assault campaigns.”

In spite of himself, Pham Minh went ahead with an impassioned outburst. “Because they are the enemy! We are here to save Vietnam!”

“Violence is the worst evil in times of peace. But in the present reality, violence to destroy violence is necessary.”

“Sir, I’m not talking about the ethical standard of violence.”

“Your opinion is full of liberal sentimentalism. Revolutions are not fought in fairy tales.”

Pham Minh was about to say something more when his comrade sitting beside him tugged at his sleeve. Pham Minh turned to look at him. Once during the march, Pham Minh had helped him reach the next rest camp when he was lagging behind. He was a boyish youth from Da Nang, about two years his junior. Only then did Pham Minh realize that everybody in the group was staring at him. He silenced himself. At the end of the session, he was brought before the political officer. The officer told him to sit down and that he had heard what happened from Dao, then the discussion began again.

“I’m sure you know very well without my quoting the words of the Chairman. Our Motherland today is entering into an anti-colonial struggle. In the midst of this, we also have to engage in class struggle. Two very heavy burdens are on our shoulders. On the one hand it is a civil war, but at the same time we must fight against a foreign power. This is not a world of classical revolution where aims were unclouded, like France, where the world of the masses was easily distinguished from the world of the aristocrats at Versailles. We must free ourselves from the oppression of the colonialists and at the same time fight the disease in ourselves that is obstructing liberation.

“That an innocent Vietnamese child was killed by a guerrilla’s bomb is irrelevant. The point is, the enemy dies. That the child also died was a coincidence, but to therefore call the act evil, that’s an absolute ethical stance that transcends the social situation. That cannot exist. We cannot use ethical persuasion to make the enemy retreat. Therefore, the proper ethic for today is to amass all strength so that the enemy is forced to withdraw. To have the children of Vietnam, who have been brought up poorly educated and hungry, grow up happy and healthy, is also included in this scheme of ours. As a means to that end, those Vietnamese children inevitably sacrificed by our violence have actually dedicated their lives for the cause of our revolution.”

“I, too, know the contentions of Trotsky and Kautsky from reading. I shall, of course, fight against the enemy. But, I can tell you now, I did not join the Liberation Front as a communist. When peace arrives here in the future, I’ll live my life as a doctor, treating people’s diseases. I volunteered to give myself as an NLF fighter in order to advance the dream of our nation, but I am not a Marxist. If it’s mandatory that I adhere to that ideology, I’ll try. . but. .”

The political officer shook his head. “No, the Liberation Front is a united front. It does, however, intend to have a certain unified logic of its own for the fortification of combat strength.”

After Pham Minh left, the officer called in the cell leader from his barracks and ordered him to continue discussing the problems with Pham Minh through the end of training. He also added that everyone in Vietnam, including the fighters, had to carry out a class struggle against colonial elements within their own selves. He then wrote down his opinion in the records of training evaluation.

“Pham Minh, Da Nang native who was medical student at Hue, has many problems as a guerrilla. But he is honest. Before assigning him any leadership responsibility for missions, it is advisable to give him tasks as assistant agent. His petite bourgeois background and his brother Pham Quyen’s position as chief adjutant to General Liam will make him useful for service in Da Nang. Assigning him as a supply agent is considered highly appropriate. Other possibilities are contact agent, tax collector, or procurement agent. Continuous supervision will be necessary.”

17

A cloud of red dust was hanging in the air in the direction of Route 1. The headlights of the lead vehicle gradually came into view through the dense dust. Yong Kyu checked his watch. Eleven forty. Looking over at the idling truck standing by at the Y-junction, he gave a wave. Slowly, the truck started to pull out onto the westbound road. Yong Kyu jumped in and the motor started to rev.

“Been to the supply warehouse before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, twice.”

“Once the convoy passes by, be sure to stay right on its tail.”

The driver nodded. Yong Kyu had swapped his civilian outfit for American jungle fatigues. Like Toi, he was wearing sunglasses and had a.45 stuck in his belt, intentionally conspicuous. From now on, Yong Kyu would be in charge of the supply warehouse and the market. It was more than a necessity for investigative tasks; he was personally involved in the underground transactions. The captain had more faith in Yong Kyu than in the sergeant. The non-com team leader seemed to have written Yong Kyu off. Even in their quarters at the hotel, the team leader seldom said a word to him these days. He seemed to think Yong Kyu would soon be transferred to brigade headquarters.

The pact Yong Kyu had forged with the Vietnamese provincial government was unprecedented in the history of the detachment. It was a coup even the economic operations group of the American forces had never been able to manage. His bold black market dealings were quickly given a green light. From then on, the dealing connections would be furnishing a steady flow of detailed intelligence on the black market.

Yong Kyu now needed his own independent channels for purchasing goods. The safety and stability of his sources had to be such that the dealers would at once recognize him as an important figure in the market. And whenever the buyers reported a strong demand for this or that item, Yong Kyu had to prove he could supply those products quickly.

Among the merchants there was a common saying: “If you can sell from Turen, you can buy Ho Chi Minh.” Turen was the supply warehouse that handled all the war materiel and general supplies for the Vietnamese Second Army, not to mention all the American forces in the north central part of South Vietnam. Located northwest of Da Nang, it was defended at the rear by the US Marine Division at Dong Dao and by a dense contingent of ARVN troops, and its front was bounded by the Red Beach along Da Nang Bay.

At Turen, hundreds of Quonsets stood in rows on the sandy plain, shining brightly in the sun. Supply trucks from far-flung regions were constantly entering and exiting through the three gates. From antibiotics to analgesics, from razor blades to tanks, from typewriters to computers, everything Made in America could be found there. The easiest way for Yong Kyu to tap the reservoir at the Turen supply warehouse would be to siphon from the channel running through the supply logistics corps to brigade headquarters. But opening his own direct channel would be safer.

Without his own line of supply, there would always be a risk of other forces blocking him, and he would be open to accusations that his dealings were inappropriate for his special mission. But tapping into the Korea forces’ existing supply lines would later create problems and cause serious difficulties. If the Americans or the Vietnamese were to challenge him, they probably would let him off with a stern warning. But the Koreans would face difficulties as the others tightened their grip on them. Yong Kyu and Pointer could always resign, but it would still weaken their successors’ position in this mission.

Yong Kyu already had it in mind to set up a warehouse stocked with B-rations. Almost every commodity they packed and processed was on hand on Turen. Almost everything a man would ever need was there. About half of the stocks were military equipment and supplies like weapons, ammunition, and vehicles. The other half was made up of daily necessities and food, including luxury goods, which were the easiest commodities to sell on the black market.

There was a wide assortment of things that made the camp life of American soldiers more comfortable but which did nothing for combat readiness. For instance, the war would go on without raisins, but upon returning from a firefight, the Americans given a hot meal would hope to find raisins in their freshly baked muffins. And those were the kinds of items coveted by the residents of Da Nang. Of course, the consumers were not the peasants on the outskirts of the city who survived on a bit of fish and a handful of rice each day. It was the government bureaucrats, merchants, and families of military officers who were the loyal consumers of all the bountiful wonders liberated from the Turen supply warehouse. The links between these consumers and the dealers made up a complex ecosystem, not so different from a food chain of predators and prey found in the natural world.

Yong Kyu decided to concentrate on B-rations because these were goods that enjoyed a broad-based and stable demand in the local population. Food provisions were classified into three categories: unprocessed A-rations; B-rations that are semi-processed or partly cooked but still need to be cooked in combination with other ingredients; and C-rations that, for use in combat situations, are made for ready consumption.

The A-rations were handled at the MAC terminal across the smokestack bridge. They included vegetables — potatoes, onions, cabbage, celery, asparagus, lettuce, and peppers — and various kinds of frozen and processed meats — beef, pork, chicken, turkey, sardines, sausages — as well as fruits such as oranges, apples, bananas, dates, grapes, cherries, melons, and so on. The produce was mostly flown in from the US, in crates bearing the black stamps of farms in California, Florida, and Washington. The vegetables were even fresher than those picked near Hoi An and trucked into the Da Nang markets.

All the grains and flours — corn, barley, wheat, and rice — were kept at the MAC 36 cargo terminal and delivered directly from there, but all B and C-rations were warehoused at the Turen supply warehouse. B-rations included all the canned and packaged foodstuffs, ranging from spices like black pepper to salad dressing, sauces, raisins, almonds, walnuts, coffee, tea, butter, cheeses, pasta, etc. Yong Kyu was confident he could keep a firm grip on the marketing channels of Da Nang with B-rations alone. These commodities could be considered the cleanest of those that flowed through the black market. Though “clean,” after all, was only a relative expression. Once he had locked up a major chunk of the food trade, he could fumble his way into other daily necessities and luxury food items, one by one. Pham Quyen did not yet seem to think much of Yong Kyu’s involvement in the business. He had lived up to his promises and issued them a vehicle pass, which would expire after one month.

The Logistics Battalion truck convoy had emerged from brigade headquarters after loading supplies and was just past the Dong Dao crossroads, approaching the Y-junction. The Americans had given this intersection the nickname “Crap Crossing.” Human excrement collected in downtown Da Nang had been poured as fertilizer onto the vast, cactus-studded fields around the junction. Much of the stinking garbage from the city also found its way to the same site for dumping. The right fork of the junction led downtown, the left to the supply warehouse, and the stem of the “Y” was Route 1. In the center of the junction there was a platform that served as a traffic control box as well as a checkpoint for the Vietnamese Quartermaster Corps to conduct their inspections of the traffic passing by.

Yong Kyu had contacted Master Sergeant Yun and made arrangements for the use of a recreation center vehicle. He was supposed to give the driver twenty or thirty dollars as pocket money in the name of temporary duty allowance. It was a good opportunity for the rec center to do a little favor for CID. Yong Kyu watched the lead Jeep in the convoy make a left turn at the junction, followed by an armed escort vehicle. A cloud of red dust soon enveloped them. About twenty empty trucks rattled by, another armored personnel carrier trailing behind them.

“Get in line with them!”

The driver gunned the engine and pulled in behind the last vehicle. Maintaining constant speed and spacing, the convoy rumbled along Route 1, past the campside villages and small infantry units marching along the road. They entered the east gate of the Turen supply warehouse. Used oil had been poured over the dust, making the surface of the road look like asphalt. The sentries guarding the gate were busy controlling the heavy traffic. A lone vehicle entering the gate would be rigorously inspected, but by tagging along behind a scheduled convoy it could usually pass right in without being checked at all.

At Turen, the Allied Forces’ supply transports had priority over all other vehicles. The east gate was off-limits to Vietnamese vehicles, which had to go through tougher inspection procedures for access at the south gate near the ammunition dump. Once inside the warehouse, the transport trucks were sent to docks according to the supplies being loaded. Yong Kyu knew the number of the food warehouse dock and gave it to the driver.

The procedure for delivering supplies was simple enough: the officer in command submits a requisition form issued by the supply division of brigade headquarters to the warehouse supply office, which issues a delivery order. Upon receiving this document, the administrative officer at the loading dock loads the indicated quantity of goods and both parties sign off on the requisition receipt. Combat supplies such as ammunition could be requisitioned almost without limit, but other items had been allocated in advance according to ration standards and estimates of normal daily consumption for relevant units. Even so, supplies were always abundant and the warehouses always overflowing.

Some days earlier, Yong Kyu had visited Turen in his Jeep. He had fostered an acquaintance with a certain corporal on the administrative staff at the B-ration warehouse. Yong Kyu knew from the corporal’s clipboard that he was a section chief. His clipboard held a requisition receipt ledger — once any given number of pallets had been loaded, the corporal would do a count and then sign the receipt along with the driver of the truck, then he would tear off the top copy and hand it over, keeping the carbon copy beneath to submit to his superior for inventory control.

This American corporal was a typical white with brown hair and lots of freckles. It wasn’t easy for Yong Kyu to make deals with Blacks. If the counterpart in a transaction was a black soldier, there were two things to watch out for: he might turn out to be unreliable, and also there could be a breakdown in cooperation on the other side; if the senior American was black, white soldiers often refused to join in on the deal.

The soldiers in the convoy parked their vehicles along the docks and headed off for the mess hall. While they were having lunch, the documents would be processed and the loading would commence in the early afternoon. Yong Kyu walked over toward the warehouse. Each block unit of the warehouse contained twenty warehouses, enormous corrugated metal Quonsets lined up in straight rows, each the size of an auditorium. Above each dock door was posted the kind and quantity of the goods stored inside. Forklifts were busy moving back and forth, and container trucks were constantly going in and out from the offloading docks on the other side of the warehouses. On the piers in front of the Quonsets, American soldiers in running shirts or stripped to the waist were breaking out cartons or jockeying packages inside with pallet jacks.

Yong Kyu loitered about looking for the corporal. Nobody paid him any attention. His uniform was exactly like their own, except that his sunglasses and openly displayed pistol made them take him for an officer. At last Yong Kyu spotted the corporal sitting at a desk inside one of the Quonsets. He was in a sleeveless shirt and drinking a Coke.

“How are you? Hot out.”

The corporal threw a quick glance his way. “Who are you?”

Yong Kyu tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m Sergeant Ahn, forgot me already? I was here two days ago.”

The corporal whistled, shaking his head. “Hey, that whiskey you laid on me was a real hit. The guys in our barracks got loaded.”

On his last visit Yong Kyu had given him three bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label. One right word to the soldier in charge of requisitions would easily get you three boxes of coffee for free. But Yong Kyu had purposely given him whiskey, which was forbidden to soldiers below the rank of sergeant.

“Thanks for the coffee you gave me last time, my friends said it ought to be enough to last for a few years.”

The corporal got up and went over to the icebox in the corner. “Care for a cold drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m all right.”

“How about a beer?”

“I’m on duty.”

Nevertheless the corporal came back over with a can of beer.

“Officers? My ass. Don’t worry, fighting the heat is also a war, y’know.”

Yong Kyu lounged on the desk, stretching his legs side by side with the corporal.

“You’re not a career soldier, huh?”

“Nope, they dragged me out here. My motorcycle is rusting back home when I should be out riding flat track races. Well, only six months left in my hitch now.”

“Corporal, I only know your rank. What’s your name?”

“Leonardo, but they just call me Leon. I’m from Chicago. You know Chicago? A big city.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it, Leon. Your name sounds Italian.”

“Same as the old man who painted the Mona Lisa. My grandfather emigrated to America. I’ve never been to Italy.”

“I like it.”

“Like what?”

“The Italian name. It goes with Chicago. We hear lots of stories about the gangsters, from the movies.”

“We’ve got one in the family. A Mafia man.”

Yong Kyu crushed the empty can and tossed it over the desk into the wastebasket. “How’s the duty going?”

“Here?” Leon stuck his tongue halfway out.

“I’m sick and tired of it. I’d rather be in a combat unit. Time passes too slowly here.”

“Do you know why I came to Vietnam?”

“No. Hell, I don’t even know why I came here. Shit, OK, why did you come?”

Yong Kyu removed his sunglasses.

“I came because you people called. That’s why.”

“I didn’t call you. I got drunk one weekend, and when I woke up on Monday I found an enlistment notice in my mailbox. So off I go to basic training.”

“What’re you going to do when you go home and get discharged?”

“Well, first I guess I’ll ride my motorcycle as much as I want. Then I’ll make some money.”

“Can you get out of here on off-duty days?”

“Not easy to go all the way downtown. Just outside the camp around here, sometimes.”

“Good, let’s go to China Beach sometime.”

“Sure, easy to get there.”

“Leon, you got any fruit salad in here? My boss is crazy about that junk. First thing he eats in the morning. So I came over to see if I could get some.”

The corporal quickly got up, saying, “Come with me, I’ll give you a couple of boxes.”

Two boxes would mean twenty-four cans. Leon walked through the maze of the warehouse until he reached a certain spot where he started lifting cartons to check their labels. The whole area was filled with cartons of various canned fruits. He lifted up one box and put it on his shoulder, pointing with his finger at another.

“There, take that one yourself.”

They each brought out a box and set them down on the desk at the entrance. Yong Kyu took out a ten-dollar military certificate and held it out to Leon, who looked confused.

“What’s this?”

“Don’t you recognize it? It’s money. I don’t have anything in exchange this time. Just take it.”

“That’s a ten, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, be a big spender when you go out on R & R.”

“Want some more fruit salad?”

“No, this is enough. By the way, how about coming downtown with me next weekend?”

“Downtown is off-limits for us. We get stopped at the checkpoint on the outskirts of the city.”

“That’s OK, I’ll come and pick you up. You just get a leave pass.”

Leon whistled again. “That’s great. Downtown, huh? Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I’m Westy’s old man.”

The corporal cackled until his faced turned red. Yong Kyu, the father of the commander of the American forces. Yong Kyu loaded the boxes on the truck and the driver drove out from the Turen supply warehouse. The driver laughed and said the whole thing seemed absurd.

“And for just this, two measly boxes, you asked for a truck to come all the way here?”

“I was just dipping a toe in. Let me cover your pocket money for today.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Yong Kyu had the truck stop in front of the Bamboo Club. He unloaded the boxes and left them with a vendor on the street. He said to the driver, “Tell Sergeant Yun I said thanks. I’ll be dropping by next week.”

It happened to be lunch hour and inside the Bamboo he found Vietnamese civilians sitting around sipping drinks. They appeared to be merchants or bureaucrats. During the day the patrons were mostly Vietnamese, but at night it was mostly Western soldiers. Toi was at a table in the corner. Sitting beside him was an oily-haired middle-aged man in a white shirt.

“Did you cut a deal?” asked Toi.

“Who’s this?” Yong Kyu asked, glancing at the other man.

“Major Pham sent him. I met him for the first time today.”

“He promised to meet me when he gets leave Saturday.”

Toi nodded. “Then we should have the goods in our hands by sometime next week.”

When Toi said something in Vietnamese to the middle-aged man, the latter bowed slightly.

“Do you speak English?” Yong Kyu asked him.

“Very little. A few words for business,” the man mumbled with a thick guttural accent.

“If Major Pham sent him, he must be in on the dealing channels on their side. . do you know anything about this man?”

“No, not yet. Perhaps within three days I’ll be able to tell you about his cousins’ cousins. I talked with him a little before you came in, and it seems he’s got channels to the town merchants throughout the central region, including Quang Tri, Hue, Bien Hien, Hoi An and as far south as Quang Ngai. I’d say you could count the men in Da Nang with his kind of trading network on your two hands. Looks like he’s been doing business with the provincial government for a very long time.”

“Ask him if he owns a store.”

“A merchant like him wouldn’t bother with retail selling. He probably has warehouses and vehicles.”

Toi asked the man something, then interpreted the reply for Yong Kyu.

“He has eight big transport trucks. As for warehouses, he has two small ones in the Le Loi market and a bigger warehouse across the river.”

“Good. Can he rent a store in Le Loi market we can use?”

“He says we can share his younger brother’s office. Of course, we should pay a little as rent.”

“What kinds of things does he need?”

Once again Toi did not relay the question and instead looked scornfully at Yong Kyu.

“Confident, are you? So, you planning to empty all of Turen yourself? This man wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the order from Pham Quyen, and I can tell he doesn’t have a very high opinion of us.”

“Ask him anyway.”

Toi asked the man, who looked at his watch and then curtly mumbled something.

“He says demand for salad dressing is pretty high right now.”

“I see. If he wants, I can deliver the goods this time on Monday. Price?”

“Instead of talking price, isn’t it more urgent to settle the delivery procedures and the method of sale? The price can be negotiated at a suitable amount when the market is checked.”

Toi had a point. Yong Kyu sunk back into his chair.

“You’re right. I don’t now. Discuss it with him your way.”

Toi spoke with the middle-aged man in Vietnamese. “Have you done many deals with Major Pham?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what that has to do with what we’re doing here.”

“My friend here says he’ll bring the salad dressing you want this time next Monday. How do you want to handle it?”

“What’s the quantity, exactly?”

“Well. . about one truckload.”

“If it’s only a single truck, then it won’t be more than two pallets. Ordinarily a pallet is twenty cartons, so it’ll be forty boxes altogether. But in case of cans, it may be different. Twelve cans make one box, and the total quantity is less. Anyway, for that amount we won’t need a full container, a conex box will be fine and down at the pier terminal there are plenty that belong to the provincial administration. We’ll give you a number and a key and you’ll deliver the goods down there. Be sure not to forget the key. When we pay you for the goods, you just hand over the key to us. That’s all.”

“You said you have your own warehouse, so why ask us to deliver the goods to storage?”

“Depending on the market situation, the goods might go to our warehouse or end up across the river. But deals of this kind are generally done with keys and drops. In case we want to resell to another party, we can just leave the goods in the conex box for them to pick up.”

“We haven’t settled on a price.”

“It fluctuates quite a bit. In a business like this we have to trust each other. A dealing line is like a lifeline we both are holding onto. The going rate for salad oil has been around 2300 piasters for a large box and 1900 for a small one.”

“Can you pay in dollars?”

“You mean hard cash?”

“No, military dollars will do.”

“We can pay however our partner wants. But if you ask for military currency, there’s a service commission of 20 percent. Stateside cash would cost up to 30 percent. So if payment is in military currency, the large boxes will be eighteen dollars and fifteen for the small. Depending on what the seller wants, in some cases we can also pay in gold, in money orders, or in the currency of a third country.”

“So, you’re in the money-changing business too?”

“There are ways to get it done.”

“How about doing our deal in military currency?”

“We’ll prepare it that way.”

“What other items would be good?”

The merchant thought for a while.

“The goods we’re handling are already set, and we’re not intruding on the business of others. I’ve mainly been dealing in rice, and it was only after getting to know Major Pham that I laid my hands on cement. Processed food is also one of our lines. There are a few others, but they only handle a bit of the military supplies.”

“Can we go and see the office now?”

“You mean, my office?”

“We’d like to see both yours and your brother’s.”

The merchant grinned and showed his cautious side. “I know almost nothing about you people. Once the deal starts, you’ll have to come by anyway. Well, I think I’ll excuse myself now. I’ll see you here on Monday same time.”

The merchant spoke to Toi, then he turned to Yong Kyu who had been sitting there like an imbecile and said in English, “See you again.”

After the man left, Toi and Yong Kyu had fried chicken and beer for lunch. Yong Kyu checked the time and reported to the captain over the phone.

“I’ve just come from Turen, sir. I also met the man sent by the Vietnamese side.”

“Let’s have lunch together.”

“We already finished lunch, sir.”

“Anything you need?”

“Well. . not over the phone.”

“All right, I’ll be over in a minute.”

Yong Kyu turned to Toi and said, “Pointer said he’d come over here.”

“Should I leave the two of you alone?”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

Shortly afterwards Captain Kim appeared in the doorway. Dressed in white pants and a white T-shirt, he looked like he was on his way to a tennis club. When the captain took a seat in front of them, Yong Kyu briefed him on the developments to date.

“We’ll be needing about three hundred dollars, sir.”

“That much for the principal?”

“Half of the sum will go to making friends with that boy from Turen, Leon. It’ll cost at least a hundred, anyway. I have about a hundred fifty on me, though.”

“Fine. The question is how fast we can track down the NLF dealing lines. Once we accomplish that, the rest of our dealings can be justified.”

“The American team probably has Vietnamese out running their investigation. On our side, Toi and I plan to run the store ourselves.”

Spreading butter lightly on his bread, the captain murmured, “Right, if the two of you are planted in Le Loi market, we’ll get a line on most of the dealers in Da Nang one at a time. We’ve got to get a grip on all the black market channels of the Koreans, including the Hong Kong Group. Once we have them in our hands, we can squeeze them by the throat.”

“Even now we can put a squeeze on the Hong Kong Group, sir. If we blockade the PX, those guys will come begging on their own.”

“It won’t be that easy thanks to our team leader. He’s shown their chairman too many vulnerable spots.”

Yong Kyu thought about the staff sergeant. In three months he would be headed back home. For him, ten thousand dollars was a considerable sum. He’d once said that he would love to buy some land in the countryside, to save his family from the life of tenant farmers. Had he not said that he volunteered for the army to escape a hard life as a farmer with too many mouths to feed? His replacement with a new sergeant would not bring any major changes to the current situation. If the leader stayed, for Yong Kyu it would mean a not-so-inconvenient continuation of the status quo for another three months. Counting the time in his head, Yong Kyu plotted it out month by month.

“I have an idea, sir. I’ll speak to the team leader. I’ll have him move in on the scene when the Hong Kong Group makes some deal. The leader can slip away and. . lock up that bastard they call ‘Pig.’ Then, Chairman Pak will come to you, sir, with his tail between his legs. We’ll get such a firm grip on their balls they won’t know which way to turn. Once we catch that group, the rest will just fall into our hands.”

“Will the team leader agree to do that?”

“The sergeant will listen to me, sir. I’ve helped them get through the checkpoints several times. As his subordinate I had no choice, sir.”

“I already knew about that.”

“He’s got to help his men get ready to return home. It’s wise to have the leader in full control of the PX.”

As an afterthought, the captain said to Toi, “Looks like you and Sergeant Ahn are making a great team.”

“In Vietnam, we call men like him ‘quick as a lizard.’”

“I’ll see to it that you get an allowance on top of your salary.”

“No need for an allowance, but I have a favor to ask. I’ve already discussed it with Sergeant Ahn. Give me an opening every now and then.”

“What kind of opening?”

“When the sergeant’s goods are purchased, let me have a chance to invest a little in the buys. A couple of boxes would be enough.”

“All right, I guess that’ll be more of a help to you.”

On Saturday Yong Kyu took the company Jeep and drove out to Turen supply warehouse. As Toi had said, he was quick as a lizard, for he had become a decent driver within a month after his transfer to Da Nang. He flashed his ID at the east gate and went around to the soldiers’ barracks. Finished with the day’s duty, some soldiers were tossing a football around. Leon was among them, soaked with sweat. He must not have expected Yong Kyu to keep his promise, and looked surprised to see him. Within a few minutes he had run inside and come back out, freshly shaven and in civilian clothes.

“Where should we go? China Beach?”

“I’ve been there lots of times.”

“Let’s head downtown, anyway. It’s been a while since you were there, right?”

At this, Leon got excited and whistled loudly.

“That’s an off-limits zone for us. I’ve never been there.”

Leon looked much younger now than when he was in uniform.

“You like to drink, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“All right if you don’t make it back tonight?”

“Don’t bother with that. If I get caught, hell, I’ll dig ditches or run around the grounds, no big deal. Anyway, I’ll be safe if I make it back to the barracks by tomorrow. The sergeant has gone down to China Beach himself.”

“Will he stay there tonight?”

“I think so. Every weekend he’s been playing poker with some navy officers.”

“What’s his name?”

“Stapley.”

Yong Kyu turned off from Route 1 towards downtown Da Nang. There was a checkpoint, but civilian company vehicles were just waved through. The Vietnamese QC sentry made a slow hand gesture. Soon they were crossing Le Loi Boulevard into the crowded streets of the old market and veering up Puohung Street. He had no intention of going to the Bamboo, for it was a gathering place for too many other black marketeers. He drove a few blocks farther and pulled into an alley line with stores near the mouth of Doc Lap Boulevard. He parked in a back alley where some young boy peddlers were thronging. Leon looked nervously about.

“Where we going?”

“Now we’re becoming complete civilians.”

“Civilians?”

“That’s right. Let’s wash off the soldier scum.”

Unable to grasp what Yong Kyu meant, Leon walked edgily a few steps behind him. They came up to a glass storefront with a sign overhead reading “Steam Bath.” Yong Kyu bought the tickets and they pushed aside a curtain to see a long hall. A boy standing there took the tickets and led them into a small room. They took off their clothes, put them into a basket and headed into the baths. Leon laughed loudly. “What the hell are we doing, anyway?”

“A maintenance job. Wow, your dick is enormous.”

“Shit, yours looks like a frog.”

Bursting into laughter, Leon slapped Yong Kyu on the butt. When they opened the door inside, hot steam came rolling out in a steady stream.

“Hey, I don’t like it.”

“Listen, you should get the sweat out of your system. It’s good for you.”

They went in and sat down in the hot steam bath. Along the wall were seats that looked like stairs. The middle of the space was packed with bamboo branches from out of which steam was pouring upwards. Leon was covering his mouth and nose with a towel. Yong Kyu spoke.

“Take a look. There’s a pile of pebbles down there heated by fire. They’re covered with herbs.”

“It smells awful.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

They came out again, pulverized from the heat and the sweating. As they finished washing off with cold water, two girls came in and waited with huge towels. They were scantily clad and wore real flowers in their hair. With one arm Leon leaned on the girl who was drying his body and said, “She’s killing me.”

“Slow down, she’s just a kid.”

“Hey, you shit. It’s been over two months for me. The mere sight of that fucking uniform makes me want to puke.”

The girl smiled, slightly nudging Leon away. Yong Kyu went over to the bed first and lay down, and Leon then came over and lay down on the next bed. The girls were about to pull the curtains when Yong Kyu stopped them.

“I’d like to talk about business.”

Leon opened his eyes wide and tried to read the expression on Yong Kyu’s face.

“I want us to be friends. Friends must never cheat one another. I want to buy things from you.”

“Coffee, you mean? Well, I’ll give you the damn stuff free.”

“Not just a couple of boxes, I mean I want to buy as much as you can handle.”

Leon was silent. Instead of replying, he tapped the head of his bed with his finger, thinking. Yong Kyu went on.

“When you get back home, how much do you think you can make? What can you earn in a week?”

“Well, maybe between a hundred and two hundred. I spend it all on the weekend.”

“You can make ten times that. Look around, there’s a mountain of goods piled up in the warehouse. There’s everything there.”

Leon let out a short laugh. “I know the whole story. And there are many divisions in our warehouse where goods are being sold.”

“So much the better. Our supply vehicle goes to Turen every day. Once a day, or once every other day, whichever you like is fine with me.”

“Once every other day sounds good. We rotate, you know.”

“Let me have two pallets of salad oil on Monday.”

“Big or small?”

“Big would be better.”

Leon held out his hand for Yong Kyu to shake.

“If it’s only B-rations, I can let you have as much as you want.”

They shook hands. The girls were pressing, rubbing, and patting their shoulders and spines, moving down toward the calves.

“I think I can trust you. You’re not greedy,” Leon said.

“Your sergeant, did you say Stapley was his name? What’s his job?”

“He’s in charge of checking all the warehouses in our section. But he’s got no power over us and rarely interferes. A nice guy.”

“Career soldier?”

“No, he was drafted, too. He hates this war.”

“You, too?”

“I don’t know. I just want to go home soon.”

“All right, we’ll talk more later. Enjoy yourself.”

Yong Kyu signaled with his eye and the girls pulled the curtains together.

From the other side of the partition came the sound of Leon and the other girl laughing, then the sound of bare flesh slapping. Caressing Yong Kyu with her fingertips, the girl with him asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Hands, body, special. . prices are different.”

“How different?”

“Five-dollar difference.”

“I’ll give you thirty. Do them all to that guy.”

“He already has a girl.”

“Do a double for him.”

With a look of disdain, the girl stared down at Yong Kyu with narrowed eyes and the corners of her mouth twitching upward, then she moved over into the next compartment. The whispering and giggling of the two girls could be heard together with eruptions of convulsive laughter from Leon.

“Hey, Sarge, you’re crazy! This is too much!”

Without responding, Yong Kyu put his clothes back on. He smoked a cigarette absentmindedly and listened to the gradual changes in the sound of their heavy breathing, the moving flesh and the laughs. He was detached. Thirty dollars for a girl, sixty for two, plus ten dollars for the bath — for a grand total of seventy dollars he’d bought hell’s pleasures. The girls would suck the marrow out of the bastard and leave him a drained pulp. . just as the goods heaped up in Leon’s warehouse had made the larger and more grandiose hell prosper.

Yong Kyu thought of the porn films he used to watch with the administrative agents back at the Grand Hotel. The constant hunger, the lack, the incessant material quest. The next day Yong Kyu had found his way into this bathhouse during duty hours. And he had come back once more with the team leader. He pictured sperm crawling on the screens like worms. His body was mindlessly hung between his legs.

He saw the countless limbs and blobs of flesh swept up into vinyl bags for disposal, the stench of the blood, the rotting wounds, the flesh swollen with an amber brown tinge, the sticky pus oozing around, the swarming maggots, the hordes of lizards ceaselessly slipping in and out of the hellish holes in torn and severed parts of corpses, . our machines, our poisons, our weapons, our own despair, hell is a frenzied festival of all the things we’ve produced, ourselves included.

Drink, drink, you’ll feel great at heart, peel and eat while it’s still soft and tender, chew it, relish it, suck it, suck it, stick it in deep and suck it, see you in a clean bedroom with graceful designs and tasteful decor, soft touch, for diminishing stamina, for indigestion, it’ll make you younger, it’ll make you sleep, stocks and savings and investments will make a deluge of money, of rifles machine guns rockets grenades cannon napalm helicopters tanks kill me take the GI money and run for the room down the hall, hey, whore here’s your customer, take him to your room sit down lie down undress go ahead spread insert suck pay soldiers of the Cross rise up for the Lord go away brimstone is burning God bless Americans God bless America.

When the smokescreen of this horrible blood-drenched war is gone, we shall see our finance still standing firm. And we shall also find money to drop on the next place, and money to rebuild the razed and ruined world. And we also shall find dollars that will illuminate the earth with a victorious peace by burning the lights in the factories once again.

Standing amidst the lower-class pleasure spots and GI bars, the Saigon branches of the Bank of America and the Chase Manhattan Bank resemble a modern granite forest sunk deep into the psammitic soil. These edifices were built especially to withstand the condition you know by the name of “war.” That is, the windows of the banks are bulletproof, and the walls are of reinforced materials designed to hold up against bombings and mortar attacks. If there had been no American power in Vietnam, then no American banks ever would have been built there. The economy of any nation that depends on American money will in time become America-oriented.

Yong Kyu took out his wallet and removed a red ten-dollar military certificate. Then he folded up sixty dollars more and placed it on the table where the girls would easily find and take it.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

Yong Kyu spat out those words above the blended noise of moaning, sniffling, and panting, then walked out into the corridor.

The old man at the ticket booth looked up at him with a vacant stare. Outside, the heat was still burning, reflected from the cement sidewalks. Hot air enveloped his eyes. Suddenly, Yong Kyu felt heavy at heart. Sure, treat him to a fine meal, maybe at the French restaurant down by the White Elephant. What the hell, it would all work out somehow. Garçon, a bottle of champagne, if you please.

Wait, a diplomatic mission this is not. Business ought to be a bit more barbaric. Right, a secret room would be perfect. There must be strong whiskey and the exquisite skills of naked women. Let’s call Toi. He should know all about it. The familiar sound of a grenade exploding could be heard only a block away. Instinctively, Yong Kyu pressed himself against the wall. A moment later, a roll of machine gun fire was audible. ARVN guards patrolling the street could be heard barking signals to each other. Across the street, people were cowering on the ground or else had dashed into nearby buildings. A terrorist attack by urban guerrillas, apparently. A little while later, armored personnel carriers and Jeeps were speeding by and the streets once more became animated with life. Slowly Yong Kyu crawled into the Jeep and fell asleep with the front door open.

18

The telephone was ringing loudly.

Yong Kyu managed to open his eyes, but getting out of bed would take too much effort. He fumbled around the table beside the bed for his watch, then picked it up to check the time. Two in the afternoon. The ache at the back of his skull was terrible and his mouth felt like it was full of sand. He staggered to his feet. By the time he picked up the receiver, the caller had hung up. For a long while he sat there on the edge of the bed, his mind completely blank. The buzzing white noise from the air conditioner made his head even fuzzier. He took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and downed a couple of gulps. The cold milk flowing down his throat put his senses on edge.

He had returned around six in the morning. He remembered Toi dropping him off. They had been drinking all night at some bar with a strip show. Toi had probably driven on with Leon slouched unconscious beside him, passing through the checkpoints on the outskirts of the city where ambush alerts remained in force, then slipped out of Da Nang.

Yong Kyu had seen floorshows a few times before, but this one was something else entirely. There were mulatto dancers and Vietnamese girls who could pass for white — half-French, must have been. He checked his jacket. A single ten-dollar note was left. He had had a hundred and fifty on him and Pointer had given him another three hundred, so he must have spent about four hundred fifty dollars. Peanuts, he thought to himself. He was confident that that and much and more would be easily recovered with a single deal.

After peering over the cliff of sudden death dozens of times and at long last emerging from the jungle swamps, a fighter about to embark for Korea would be unlikely to have saved from his combat pay more than three hundred dollars, a paltry sum of money stuck in a savings account somewhere back home. Korean crawlers often said their lives were worth forty dollars — their monthly salary. Sure, they got the economic, military and financial support America gave to its allies, and the privileges normally reserved to businessmen in Seoul. And army privates would sail back home along with their plywood crates holding a couple of Japanese appliances or electronics items they had conjured up on the sly.

Once he had showered, Yong Kyu rummaged through the refrigerator and ate what he found. He set his dirty laundry basket out in the hall and came back in and looked in the closet where he found a set of clean clothes neatly folded with a bill on top. The phone rang again. Yong Kyu slowly lifted up the receiver.

“Ahn Yong Kyu, is that you?” It was the voice of the staff sergeant.

“It’s me. What’s up?”

“Military life is tough, eh? Any idea what time it is? Hurry up and get your ass over here. We’ve got a problem.”

“Why are you getting all worked up on a Sunday? Call the PX boys.”

“No, the captain’s away at headquarters. He’ll be back tomorrow evening. I’m over at the CID office. We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem? You’ve made a mess again.”

“Hell, I’m crying tears of blood. Come on, you bastard, some of our boys had their goods confiscated for no reason, and I can’t speak the damn language.”

“All right, I’m on my way.”

When Yong Kyu arrived at the office, the staff sergeant was sitting there simmering in his own sweat. Miss Hoa was not in. On the captain’s desk was nothing but an ashtray heaped with butts from the cigarettes he had been chain-smoking.

“I don’t get it. Today when the chief went off to headquarters he told me to man the office, you know. So I came in here, leaving the grunt sprawled in dreamland after a night on the town. And then, just a little while ago, some American boys come in here babbling away about God knows what. I guess they came to get me, but then they left and brought back two of our guys, kids who’d been on combat duty and are fixing to head home soon. One of the two had a television and the other a tape recorder they’d bought, but the PX guard caught them, I think. Black something or other, the boys said they were told. So I asked that guy Lukas who speaks Korean, and he said the goods were all going to be confiscated. Look, honestly, you know what kind of money that is, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll handle it. Who’s in charge of the American boys?”

“The marine sergeant. You know, the fat one with the bulging eyes.”

Leaving the main building, Yong Kyu passed the radio room and walked over to the investigation office in a barracks next to a flower garden. As he entered, an American sergeant with a short crew cut dressed in a crisp uniform was leafing through some documents at his desk. Yong Kyu saluted, and the sergeant gestured with his chin towards a chair.

“Have a seat.”

“I heard there was some problem with two of our men, so I came to see you.”

“Ah, that case, you mean? We’ve put them in a cell since there was nobody to take custody. I’ve just received the report, would you care to look it over?”

Yong Kyu picked up the report. The ink was not even dry. One man was a marine corporal, the other a private. Both were assigned to a bottom-level combat infantry squad, and after a tough month in the field they were on special leave for a little R & R. They had access to a PX at brigade headquarters, but they were not allowed to use the American PXs and downtown Da Nang was off-limits. They had gone to the marine PX near the rec center and made black market purchases.

The report was simple enough: Two Korean marines in possession of a TV and a stereo tape recorder were stopped by a PX security guard. They were unable to produce ration cards, so the goods were confiscated and the two soldiers detained. The price of the TV was eighty dollars and the tape deck was one hundred twenty. Those were duty-free prices, naturally. The TV was a National and the tape recorder an Akai.

“According to this report, there was no evidence that they bought the stuff on the black market,” Yong Kyu said.

“They had no ration cards. Unless they stole them, there was no other way for such items to come into their possession under the circumstances.”

“As I understand it, in a black market deal, both the seller and the buyer are guilty of an infraction. In fact, the seller is the worse offender. No black market is possible without a seller, is it?”

“They confessed buying on the black market. Lukas got their signatures here.”

“But there’s no signature of the seller. No signed statement of an eyewitness, either. The sentry merely stopped them at a checkpoint. So, this is not a black market case, it’s one that falls within our disciplinary jurisdiction. We’ll handle it as a matter of entering an off-limits area or as an unauthorized use of leave. The money they paid for the goods must be returned in the amounts shown in the report.”

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. They made signed confessions and the chief has approved our action already. Now all you need to do is take over custody of the two recruits.”

“That’s not right. It’s just arrogance. Even if they were stopped within your compound, it is our matter to deal with. And our soldiers were using our money when they bought the goods.”

“It’s the practice of the American forces to consider all events occurring in our compounds as falling under the jurisdiction of the American forces.”

“All right, but you can still return the money.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Since it’s been approved, the goods will go back where they were before sale.”

“And what happens to their money, then? The money that’s gone into the PX, does it go to your government or to the marines?”

“Watch what you say, sergeant, keep in mind this is a military investigation office of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.”

“Fine. I’ll also make a separate investigation of the case and send up my own report.”

“Suit yourself. But sergeant, you can’t challenge the authority of the American forces. This case was handled by the book and it’s been closed. Don’t try to second guess us.”

“I’m not trying to challenge it, but to rectify it.”

Yong Kyu emerged from the investigation office and went back into the main building. Then he headed down the stairs to the basement where a uniformed MP was sitting at a desk. Thanks to the ventilation system, the basement was cool inside. He spoke to the MP and then went inside and further down, finding the two soldiers crouching behind bars in the corner of a cell. He opened the doghouse with the key given him by the MP.

“Come on out here.”

They awkwardly saluted, holding their pants up with the other hand.

“Personal effects in custody?”

“Yes, sir. Our watches, wallets, cigarettes. .”

“I see. Follow me.”

He gave the American MP a signed paper to acknowledge transfer of custody and received the box containing their personal effects. The two soldiers rethreaded their shoelaces, put their belts back on and took back their helmets. Yong Kyu led them to the CID office. The staff sergeant, lounging in the captain’s chair with his legs up on the desk, quickly put his feet on the floor.

“Hey, did they agree to give the money back, or what?”

From his attitude, right away Yong Kyu sensed that the sergeant had made a deal of some kind with the soldiers.

“Give me a hundred.”

Yong Kyu held out his hand. The team leader rolled his eyes with surprise.

“Now, now, what a thing to say to a poor man like me. Ask Pointer to pitch in, man. You guys are like family, huh?”

“They refused to cough up the money. Shit, these boys are screwed, so we’re going to make up their loss with a hundred from you and a hundred from me.”

Stunned, the staff sergeant stared back at Yong Kyu with his mouth hanging open.

“You don’t think a lowly sergeant like me is loaded with cash, do you? I’m not even prepared for going home myself. Anyway, these bastards asked for it, they deserve it. You two idiots, when you get back home there’ll be plenty of that kind of junk at the base PXs, so what the hell were you doing slinking around an off-limits PX here?”

Documents in hand, Yong Kyu was getting ready to take statements from the soldiers when he paused to look over at the staff sergeant.

“You go on first.”

“Mmmm. What about these boys. .”

“I’ll handle them all right.”

Pretending to not want to leave, the staff sergeant barked a rebuke at the soldiers as he got up.

“Listen, you two, when you get your money back, at least give him some beer money, understand?”

Ignoring this remark, Yong Kyu flattened him, saying, “Go straight there. Don’t stop to see the Hong Kong Group.”

“I’ve washed my hands of them.”

“The chief has his eye on them. We’ll fall on them hard. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Once he was gone, Yong Kyu looked closely at the two soldiers in turn. He knew very well the face of a fighter: expressionless, and not just because of the skin tightened and tanned dark by a scorching sun. Yet the eyes set in that dull and inarticulate face shine brightly in a mysterious way. While at the front line, the messy hair and the stubbly beard along with those wild eyes give an impression of animal-like vitality, but once wrenched away from combat into a city environment like this office, that face looks different, spent and dazed. The insecure, frightened movements and the impassive surface make them looked down upon.

Yong Kyu questioned them: posts, ranks, names, and details of the incident.

“Why did you go to the marine PX to buy a TV?” he asked the private. “Couldn’t you buy it in your own compound?”

“In our compound all they have is beer and toothbrushes and stuff like that, so we have to go to brigade headquarters to buy anything big. My family has been hounding me to bring home a TV, so I didn’t send my pay home for two months and saved up the money to buy one. I’m going home soon, you see.”

So, with the price of two months’ survival, this soldier had purchased a National television set.

“How did you buy it?”

“From the recreation center you can see the American PX through the barbed wire fence. So I sneaked in there and got hold of an American and begged him. In return he asked me for a set of jungle fatigues. So I brought him a uniform and he bought the TV for me. But then another bastard showed up and took it away. We’re no different from them. . we’re all shipped in here and take the risk of having our heads blown off, right?”

“All right. And you, did you do it the same way?”

“Yes, sir. We went with our squad leader.”

“Where did you get the hundred and twenty dollars?”

“I saved twenty a month for six months, sir. I wanted to buy a camera but was so fascinated by the voice coming out of the recorder. . well, I was going to record all the voices of the old people in our neighborhood when I get home.”

“You weren’t planning to resell it, were you?” Yong Kyu asked the private.

“Why, why would I sell it, sir? It’s hard enough to buy, who the hell would I sell it to?”

“Don’t you have a ration card?”

“What’s that?”

No wonder they were in such a mess, he thought. Some bastard had intercepted their ration cards and probably used them to buy up to the limits for goods to sell in the local black market.

“Everybody in the Allied Forces is entitled to a ration card,” said Yong Kyu. “You didn’t have yours, and that’s why they confiscated your things.”

“It’s the first time I ever heard of that, sir.”

Tears started welling up in the private’s eyes. That too, Yong Kyu knew very well. Anyone fresh off the battlefield is very vulnerable. Due to the excitement, actually like a state of intoxication, he finds it hard to adjust to the atmosphere of ordinary society. Yong Kyu remembered once, right after returning from a mission, he had cried his eyes out after glancing through movie ads in a newspaper that arrived by mail from home. It reminded him how people’s daily routines went right on as always, totally oblivious to the critical danger to his own life. If he had had a weapon in hand, he might have broken down and shot himself, or just sprayed the people in the street with bullets. This man in a similar state was going back home now, returning home a different man. Despite himself, despite the ineradicable scars in his brain, gradually he will revive or reform. But now, what about the two hundred dollars?

“If you had no ration cards, why didn’t you just go to the Americans and demand that they pack up everything in the PX and give it to you? Why the hell were you snooping around the barbed wire fence, you fools. Just wait, boys, I’ll get you your money back; I will, even if I have to sell my body. By the way, I hear you signed some kind of confession statements, is that right?”

“The Americans asked us to write our names in Korean, so we did.”

“You didn’t know what you were signing, did you?”

“No, sir. It was filled with squiggly letters in English.”

“I see. Goddamn bastards just did whatever they liked.”

Yong Kyu finished his report and saved the carbon copy for himself. Then he made a separate report to file with Krapensky and attached to it a request for refunds of the prices of the goods, eighty and one hundred twenty dollars respectively.

“You boys can go now.”

“It’s all right to go now?”

The private was bewildered, unable to believe how easily he escaped from the disaster.

“Why, you’d rather crawl back down into that cell? Listen, after an operation, you need a good rest so you can be ready to fight again, right?”

“Sure. .”

“Right, so I’ll call the rec center for you boys. They’ll send a Jeep so you don’t have to walk back. I’ll recover the money and send it to you.”

Yong Kyu telephoned the recreation center and asked them to send a driver. Then he gave the handwritten report to the girl in the next room and asked her to type it up, since Miss Hoa was off that day. When the document was finished he took it back over to the investigation office. This time Lukas was there along with the sergeant in charge. Yong Kyu laid the report down on the desk. Lukas picked it up, but the sergeant spoke without even glancing at the document.

“No use bringing me any more paper now, the case is closed and done with. We’ve already taken proper measures, and what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not finished with it yet,” said Yong Kyu, stifling an urge to punch him. “Sergeant Lukas, is this the way you get statements from suspects? Our soldiers couldn’t read your language, and that’s why they signed it.”

Lukas replied in clear Korean. “Don’t get excited. The guards at the PX checked them and reported to us. They broke regulations, no ration cards, and you know we can’t tell then what is black market and what isn’t.”

“Up to that point, proper measures were taken. But isn’t it only fair that when the goods are returned you give them their money back? Your job is to seize the goods and hand them over to us, that’s all. We punish them and we are entitled to recover the money from you. The money they paid and the punishment they get are two different things. I’d like you to send this report to the chief of the investigation office.”

The American sergeant pointed at Yong Kyu with his finger and shouted, “Sergeant, stand up straight when you speak. I was in Korea for a long time too. I know you people very well. You make trouble whenever you come into our zones. Your soldiers try to make illegal profits by buying and reselling PX goods. We don’t give back money used for that. Maybe then in the future the Koreans will stop coming into our PXs for their black market dealing.”

“I heard you loud and clear. Just now you said we come into your areas and do nothing but stir up trouble. I’ll report your words to higher authority and make an official complaint. We are here because you asked us to come. Your government wanted us to join you to save the lives of young American men. We have nothing to do with this filthy war. True, we’ve sold ourselves for the paltry sum of money you threw at us, and now here we are. But don’t forget this, those two soldiers just barely survived combat operations set in motion by a command from your headquarters. They were on the front instead of you. The money you snatched and won’t give back is blood money!”

“Shut up, you son of a bitch!”

The American sergeant sprang to his feet and was pounding on the desk. He stuck his nose in Yong Kyu’s face and growled, “I’m warning you. Don’t interfere with us.”

“You must return the two hundred dollars. If you don’t, I’ll ask your president himself to pay it back.”

It was Lukas who separated the two men. He led Yong Kyu into another room. He filled a paper cup with some coffee from an aluminum coffee pot and handed it to Yong Kyu. He offered a cigarette. Yong Kyu plopped down in a chair.

“He has very strong feelings about your kind of people,” Lukas said.

“And I about his.”

“Let me give you some tips. He’s got some dirt. . evidence.”

Yong Kyu darted a glance at Lukas. Then, pretending to have heard nothing, he went on smoking. Lukas hesitated for a moment before going on.

“Your sergeant, he’s peddling too much beer. And he’s doing it with civilians.”

“I know it and the captain knows it, too. Look, Lukas, you should understand all about it. Our duty is to control black market dealings that violate military regulations. But we know that, depending on the local situation, there are times that you people, too, aid and abet black market dealers, or plunge into dealing yourselves. We also know that you have earmarked funds in your budget for local hires or welfare expenses that are used to run such undercover operations. It’s the same with us. We can’t ask you for intelligence or covert operations money. If that sergeant out there keeps on letting his personal prejudices get in the way of our cooperation, I’ll dig into the dirt in your side’s dealings down to the minute details.”

“Don’t misunderstand. The problem is that your sergeant is working with civilians and third-country nationals. They’ve been a headache for us for a long time. The scope of their dealings is much too broad. So it’s not easy for us to keep track of them. We can’t tell when they might be making deals with the wrong people for dangerous goods.”

“All right, you want us to expel the civilians, is that it?”

“No, you don’t have to go that far. We just want them to scale back the range of their transactions.”

“That’s for us to handle. So, you also want our team leader to be split from them, no?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Within a week we’ll have the scope of their dealings reduced. We’ve been working on that already, too. This is a different matter, but based on my report and the refund request I submitted, you’ll give the two soldiers their money back, won’t you?”

“Once they check the inventory records tomorrow afternoon, they’ll send the money to the investigation office. Then we’ll hand it back to you.”

Yong Kyu rose from the chair. Now the dispute had been settled. And all the points of difference were in the open. They were the ones who had picked a fight, perhaps deliberately to poke at sore spots on his side. As a result, Yong Kyu now had confirmed what he had suspected, that the clumsiness of the team leader was an open secret. He shook hands with Lukas and spoke once more as he left the room.

“Tell your sergeant I apologize. It wasn’t a personal thing. And I’ll not forget that we should never interfere with each other’s duties.”

Yong Kуu returned to the office. The driver from the recreation center had just arrived.

Yong Kyu asked the private, “When’s your leave over?”

“We’re returning to our unit tomorrow afternoon, sir.”

“I see. They’ll give back your money, but not until the day after tomorrow. So I’ll advance it to you tomorrow. And, you, over at the rec center there are quite a few boys with ration cards, right?”

“Some of the boys in the army band unit have cards.”

“Tomorrow, after you get back from going to Turen with me, be sure to buy a TV and a tape recorder for these boys, OK?”

“Shit, why not?”

The two soldiers saluted once again, their posture still that of penitents being disciplined.

“Hey, enough cringing. No need for that. Take it easy and take care.”

They left and Yong Kyu was sitting in the office by himself. The curtains were flapping in the stiff wind off the South China Sea. To maintain the business at Turen, he had to keep a close eye on the activities of the American side. He remembered the advice of Blue Jacket Kang when the duties were transferred: transactions in combat supplies was the most delicate issue, and neither the Americans nor the Koreans shared their top-secret intelligence on that. The most hidden part is also the most important; as long as we have thorough information on that, the Koreans will be safe to plunge into any transaction in Da Nang; and that is precisely the most vulnerable area for the Americans and the Vietnamese. Yong Kyu had nоt forgotten a single point.

On Monday at twelve-thirty Yong Kyu went to the Y-junction by the garbage dump where Route 1 split to head for Turen and downtown Da Nang. He waited there, wearing American jungle fatigues, a work hat, and his sunglasses. Children passed by, from time to time shouting “Pilluktang!” They must have taken him for a Filipino who had enlisted in the US Army.

He looked about for a while, then walked into a noodle shop. He bought a can of coke and sipped it sitting at a table. The only other occupants of the shop were the owners, an old Vietnamese couple. The old man approached Yong Kyu and babbled something in Vietnamese. Then he repeated “Cigareh, cigareh.” When Yong Kyu took a pack out of his pocket and offered him one, the old man said “beaucoup.” Many? The old man wanted to buy the pack.

Yong Kyu waved both hands and said, “Toi kai dor gong ban.”

He refused to sell his pack, but the old man kept staring at him for a long time as if he could not believe what he had heard. At last, a truck slowly pulled up to the junction and stopped. Yong Kyu climbed inside.

“It’s a little late. .”

“The supply convoy passes here between twelve-thirty and twelve-forty.”

“How do you know?”

“We used to have our supplies delivered here.”

“And now?”

“We go directly to the docks at the supply unit.”

“Do you get deliveries every day?”

“No, only once a week.”

Yong Kyu had not thought of that place. Besides, it was almost in the heart of downtown. He recalled there were a few old barracks beside a rundown old factory and next to them the air force warehouses were lined up. It functioned as a relay point between the Turen supply warehouse and the brigade, and also as a liaison office where Korean personnel dispatched to Da Nang were issued their equipment and supplies. Only the American armed forces were excluded. The quantity of goods passing through may not have been so much, but it was an important location nonetheless.

The downtown supply unit was located only one block from the piers. That’s right, he recalled, all the beer for the military was unloaded on those piers. He’d forgotten the biggest route for beer. The Vietnamese consumers had acquired a taste for Korean canned beer, and in the market it brought almost the same price as the American top-of-the-line brand, Hamm’s. Maybe the American sergeant back at the American forces investigation office was peeved about the high price of Korean beer on the black market.

If so, maybe there were cross lines to siphon beer out of the regular distribution channels.

In the brigade, Koreans only drank Korean beer. But beer was not classified as food, so it was outside the ration planning quotas. The amount consumed was unpredictable, varying greatly depending on the random distribution of the elbow-benders. PX goods were always paid for in dollars, and then resold for dollars on the black market. But Korean beer, whether it went straight to the brigade and made its way back out, or slipped into the black market on the way from the supply unit. It has a hot trade. It was the only item that could easily be traded as well as sold to convert profits into American military currency.

Just like with the specialty foods like almonds and peanuts, even when they leaked out, since they were purchased and sold for dollars, the ones suffering the loss in the end would be the Vietnamese city dwellers who consumed them. The war supplies, on the other hand, were bought and eaten by the families of Vietnamese merchants, bureaucrats, and military officers. It was like the delicate web of a deep-sea food chain. The item that had been hardest for them to get a grip on was none other than the Korean beer constantly streaming in from the piers.

“Why didn’t I think of it before?” murmured Yong Kyu aloud.

The driver, not privy to his train of thought, said, “Think of what, sir?”

“Oh, never mind. Hey, do you get the beer for the rec center from the PX?”

“No. Why drink American beer when we have our own? When a holiday for the forces is approaching we load a large quantity at one time. The brigade also gets theirs from the supply detachment downtown.”

Absorbed in trying to compose his thoughts, Yong Kyu did not even notice the plumes of red dust approaching from the south on Route 1. As the driver started the engine, he turned to the left quickly and saw the convoy’s escort Jeep approach with its headlights burning. A platoon of infantry marching along the edge of the road with its sandbag walls on either side presently disappeared, enveloped in the dust. The parade of vehicles made a terrible clatter as they turned at the Y-junction, keeping a wide spread between each. When the last Jeep passed by, they pulled out and fell into the file. They had no trouble passing through the east gate of the Turen supply warehouse. The truck pulled up in front of a B-ration warehouse. Leon, who had been on the lookout for them, gave them a wink as he stood there with his ledger in hand.

“So you survived, kid.”

Leon shook his head wildly. “Whew, you’re one crazy bastard. I did nothing but sleep all day yesterday.”

They sat side-by-side in the air-conditioned warehouse and talked about women.

“Come back after lunch, by then I’ll have the stuff loaded.”

“You can’t load more than two pallets of large cartons?”

“We can do better than that. First, we’ll load two side by side, then we’ll squeeze a third in behind. A tight fit, but we can force them.”

“The payment ought to be made the next day. The rate outside is changing day by day.”

“Fine. No need to pay me this time, since you took me out Saturday night.”

“That was just a good time among friends. You can return the favor next time.”

A black guy driving a forklift grinned at them as he passed by.

“I told him about you. He was cracking up.”

“Where’s Stapley?”

“He’s over at another warehouse.”

“Let’s take him out, too, next time we have a little fun.”

“Sure. He’ll kill you he’s so funny. And he’s a very bright guy.”

By the time Yong Kyu came out of the cafeteria where he had eaten fish, potatoes, and spinach with the other supply troops, the goods were all loaded. Three pallets of salad oil: two hundred forty cans in sixty boxes. The Vietnamese love fried food, and before long a lot of households would be frying shrimp, bananas, corn, and whatever else with that oil. All Leon had to do was leave a space blank for that truckload and move on to the next one on his list of requisitions to be checked. As they left, Leon made an OK signal with his thumb and index finger.

Falling in line behind other trucks that had finished loading their cargoes, they made their way without incident back to the Y-junction. When they broke away from the convoy and headed downtown, the Vietnamese QC guards at the checkpoint gestured for them to stop. Slowly the truck rumbled to a stop in front of the guards. Pretending to be annoyed by the delay, Yong Kyu casually held out the special vehicle pass issued by General Liam, the Second Army commander. The guard took a step backward, saluted, and quickly signaled for them to pass through.

“He looked shocked.”

The driver sped down the road in high spirits. They drove straight to the ocean, passed the oil reservoir towers with giant “Gulf” and “Shell” labels on them, and entered the rear gate at the pier. The docks were hectic with the loading of all kinds of civilian cargo arriving in Da Nang for shipment from all around Vietnam. Once more they showed their special pass to the Vietnamese police and were guided in the right direction to go for unloading. As they parked the truck, Toi and another man emerged from a dilapidated wooden shack that served as an office. Toi called up to the cab of the truck, “Container 19 and conex box 5 over there are for our use only. Pull the truck to number 5.”

The truck backed up and a forklift came around and quickly moved the three pallets one at a time into the conex box. Toi locked the iron door, pulled the key out and handed it over to Yong Kyu.

“All done.”

Yong Kyu sent the truck back to the rec center and left with Toi in his Jeep.

“It’s been agreed that we’ll pay a monthly rental fee for the storage. So, when the pass expires, we’ll pay for both together.”

“Major Pham, he’s airtight.”

“You see, I’ve discovered that all the Da Nang docks are in his hands. That huge pile over there, you know what that is?”

Yong Kyu saw innumerable sacks stacked up and covered with tent canvas. The pile was as big as a two or three story building. A series of similar heaps were occupying half the space across the road from the piers.

“What is it? Flour?”

“No. Cement and fertilizer. They’re coming in in unlimited quantities. Ever heard of the phoenix hamlet project?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Three hundred new villages are being constructed. Flour and rice will be arriving, too. Nails, slate, iron bar, glass, paper, you name it. Cattle and feed grain, I can’t even remember all of it.”

“When they get those things, will the war end?”

“Not at all. It’s as if you’ve beaten someone to a pulp and call on the cripple with a bouquet of flowers to express your sympathy.”

“We have an old folktale like that. A man was rewarded for mending the leg of a broken sparrow. So another man found a sparrow and broke its leg just so he could mend it, expecting to be rewarded in the same way.”

“Was he rewarded?”

“All sorts of demons popped out, and he struggled to escape, drowning in shit and filth. Now we’ve got to go keep our rendezvous with the merchant.”

“Right, to the Bamboo.”

“Next time we’d better change the meeting place. The Bamboo is far from ideal.”

“We should rent an office or a shop.”

“Right. Talk with him about it. After all, we have to be there in Le Loi market.”

From the pier they turned off the beach road and walked the whole way, passing through a street packed with stores. They reached the end of Le Loi market, only one alley away from the old market district. Amidst the shouting of the people and the great variety of merchandise on sale, the smell of death seemed to have completely vanished from the city.

19

General Westmoreland decided that the only way to suppress the communist guerrillas was to expel all communists from the phoenix hamlets and establish free-fire zones everywhere else. Warnings had been coming from the operations headquarters. With the combat situation getting hotter, circumstances were pressing the peasants to discard the lukewarm attitude of neutrality they had thus far maintained and to make a decision.

They too were finding it increasingly obvious that to survive in these circumstances they were going to have to choose one side or the other. In the past, the farmers had three options to make a living: in accordance with their natural instincts they could stay put on the land where their ancestors were buried; they could move to zones under secure government control; or they could join the National Liberation Front. From now on, however, those who tried to stay on their land would encounter increasing peril.

The Viet Cong did not even know how to dress wounds properly, but those who moved into the zones of government control would receive food, shelter, and personal safety as well as jobs, along with the hope of returning home after a successful conclusion of the war. The alternative was to join the NLF. But the Front made hollow promises. They could not hold on to the territory they occupied for very long. B-52 strikes would get worse, the Viet Cong would raise the taxes, their young sons would be drafted at gunpoint, and labor would be demanded for transporting supplies. In present circumstances, the tide of battle on the ground was turning gradually in favor of the enemy.

In the conference room of the provincial government office, a monthly meeting of the US — Vietnam Joint Committee was underway. The joint committee was an organization first set up in conjunction with the strategic hamlets initiative in the early 1960s, and it was now being restructured and expanded to administer the phoenix hamlets project. For this resettlement plan the Vietnamese government had inaugurated a “Developmental Revolution Committee,” and the chairman of this committee was none other than General Liam, the military governor of Quang Nam Province.

Present in the room were Major Pham Quyen, acting on behalf of the chairman, AID representatives assigned to Da Nang, an American military advisor for Quang Nam Province, the mayor of Hoi An (also vice-chairman of the Developmental Revolution Committee), the commander of the ARVN Second Division stationed at Da Nang, the chiefs of the agriculture and education sections of the provincial administration, and, up from Saigon as advisors, a Filipino specialist in community development and a young man from the International Support Corps.

The air conditioner was buzzing, but it did not impede their discussions. The thick curtains were drawn on the windows of the conference room that normally looked down on the streets. From inside it was hard to imagine where in the world they might be. The soundproofing was so good that no street noise at all penetrated the conference room. Standing at the front of the room was a huge map of East Asia along with a large chart written in both Vietnamese and English. Nearly a hundred tasks were listed on the chart, in each case with specifications showing the details of the task for each site — such-and-such village in such-and-such province — with budgets and monthly timetables for distribution of supplies. Just now the US military advisor was emphasizing once more the strategic importance of the phoenix hamlet project, reiterating the announcements by the headquarters of the US forces in Saigon. However, the mayor of Hoi An was not convinced and spoke bluntly.

“As for the search-and-destroy operations commenced by General Westmoreland, our commanders on the front have presented some criticisms. In fact, ever since the Tet Offensive, our general staff have also taken the view that, due to the general problems of such operations, it is a very doubtful way to achieve a decisive victory. We would like to believe that the new operational strategy of newly appointed General Abrams will bear our reservations in mind. I’ve long thought that the headquarters policy on designation of free-fire zones was a very dangerous approach. Could it be that headquarters has given up hope of winning the loyalty of the Vietnamese peasantry?

“It is practically the same as giving up the entire highlands region of central Vietnam to the NLF and the North Vietnamese. It is a development of deep significance, meaning, in effect, that from now on nobody can be neutral. What you’re saying is, you will take no responsibility for whatever happens to people who have not moved into the hamlets or into our zones of control. What you’re saying is, those villages that had joined with the NLF in the past can and will be annihilated.”

The chief of the agricultural section in the local government was an ARVN major on reserve status and senior to Pham Quyen. He cautiously supported the comments of the mayor of Hoi An.

“All of this is, of course, a by-product of the agonizing war we have been through. We’ve witnessed the wretched fate of many farmers who’ve been deprived of their land and livelihood by the establishment of free-fire zones. If you go up in a helicopter and cross the metal fences at the boundary of the division defense zone, then you’ll see the parade of refugees slowly creeping along under the hot sun. No one knows where they come from and they themselves don’t know where they’re going. The old men have pots and pans on their backs, or a couple of chickens, their entire property, and the children ride in rickety wooden carts, many of them already sick. On the outskirts of all the cities, Da Nang included, tens of thousands of refugees have swarmed in, making slums of shacks on a giant scale, and they keep on growing, too.

“The Americans have provided these refugees with vast quantities of relief supplies and have tried to find jobs for them, but they couldn’t possibly have understood the various problems presented for these Vietnamese people by such transplantation. Putting aside the two most important things, carrying on permanent family life and worshiping one’s ancestors, they think of their own villages as an entire world in microcosm and their worlds are lost.”

As usual, Pham Quyen found himself cast in a sort of master-of-ceremonies role, and he felt a need to move in a direction different from their pessimistic, impractical pleas.

“Our Developmental Revolution Committee and the US — Vietnam Joint Committee are anti-war organizations founded basically to fulfill the hopes of the Vietnamese people to be free from hunger and terror. In other words, furthering self-reliance and realizing peace have been the permanent goals of the projects of our organization. So, our goal is not to expand but to end the fighting. If, as in the past, our enterprise exists and is seen merely as a derivative part of a strategy to achieve military goals, then it is bound to fail. Hence, I would very much like to focus on the fact that this self-reliance project must take the lead on all policy fronts, and the military operations policies need to be supportive of our enterprise.

“Earlier, the advisor reminded us of the characteristic intensity of headquarters’ operations in the run-up to the Tet Offensive, and we now hope that experience would help us to stabilize our project so it can take root and be transformed into a process of securing strongholds that one by one can be expanded. In that respect, General Liam, our committee chairman, upon receiving the report I submitted on the deficiencies in the old strategic hamlet project and the causes of its failure, instructed us to carry out an organizational reconstruction and recruitment of new personnel in the course of planning the phoenix hamlets project. Consequently, I hope this meeting will be devoted in large part to the differences between the strategic hamlet and the phoenix hamlet projects that are expected to improve the prospects for the new initiative. We each can voice our opinions, beginning with the divisional commander, here, please.”

The Second Division commander was from Hue. A young general in the Rangers, he won a field promotion to general when the ARVN First Army was reorganized following the ousting of General Nguyen Chanh Thi in 1966. He had no knowledge whatsoever about pacification techniques on the civilian level. Thumbing through the project plan that had been typed up and distributed, he spoke falteringly:

“To be honest with you, I know almost nothing about the strategic hamlets project. But within the limits of my knowledge, I’d like to mention a few things I think could be helpful for such a pacification project. Adjutant Pham just mentioned that as a project pursuing peace and stability, military operations should be subordinated to the project. However, we are not facing, as our main resistance line, the seventeenth parallel, which looks like the neck of a sack tightened from the sides, Laos and the ocean. There is no front line — the enemy is at our flank, in the rear, beneath us, everywhere. So, just because phoenix hamlets are being established, we cannot stop other operations and devote our forces only to protecting and securing the hamlets.

“Rather, it seems to me that the phoenix hamlets project brings various setbacks for our operations. In my view, the rural areas must be subdivided and communities drastically broken down according to the use of the land. Then, a small number of cultivators and teams of agricultural technicians should create large-scale production complexes, and the military can demarcate operations units for each such complex. And many people who are moved back onto the rural land, after going through a camp-like assembly process, can be set to work on industrial projects, with a good number of factories set up in the environs outside the cities. We have to correct and control the misdistribution of population and efficiently utilize the workforce, then military operations will be able to function better. Unless it is preceded by such a reorganization of settlement patterns, the concentration of the rural community in its present positions will bring no good practical results. Unless more effective control as well as improved security systems are introduced, it will be hard for us to expect victory.”

On the surface, the division commander’s remarks sounded quite reasonable. Pham Quyen felt this honest presentation of a rather extreme functionalism was not very far from what the Americans actually had in mind. A kind of domino theory in which, if one falls down the rest will tumble one by one; each individual domino is not likely to be seen as a distinct entity alive with its own thoughts and dreams, but just as a cube assigned a simple material value.

As though he were moving pieces and jumping squares on a black-and-white checkerboard, the division commander was talking of the land as the flat plane he was used to seeing whenever he looked down at his maps. That square frame, containing streams drawn in ballpoint pen, with the elevations of mountain ridges appearing as connecting ovals, could not show the forests, the birds or the fish, nor could it show the hearts of men stooping over in the rice paddies or their rejoicing at night in the embraces of their wives and children.

The chief of the agricultural was to the left of the commander and this position earned him the opportunity to speak next. He was slightly outraged by the general’s remarks and had been looking at him with contempt. He spoke:

“A mechanistic mentality, to be sure. Of course, I have no doubt about the division commander’s remarkable ability as a combat commander. But it was precisely such thinking that guaranteed the failure of the strategic hamlets project. As Adjutant Pham aptly explained, the establishment of free-fire zones by the US military command in the course of setting up the phoenix hamlet project has been a fundamental impediment to our enterprise. To rectify these problems is why we are meeting here today.

“We have in our possession accurate information on the startling changes that have accompanied the social revolution that has unfolded in North Vietnam since the 1950s. What is startling is how effective were the strategies and techniques they employed to acquire and hold the hearts of Vietnamese farmers. Americans must realize, first and foremost, that they have entered into a cultural sphere that has nothing in common with their own. Material support cannot be the key for solutions. As the Developmental Revolution Committee is now recognizing, the most urgent thing is the realization of social justice.

“People should be paid for their labor, and a land reform of sweeping breadth must be accomplished in the pacification zones. However, based on our experience, once the government forces move into a new pacification zone, the pattern has been that the farmers see their land seized by new landlords, vile opportunists with relatives or friends in the military or other speculators with military connections. The Vietnamese are people who follow the teachings of Confucius. Unlike Western people, we attach more importance to seeing rightness put into practice than to the fulfillment of material desires. The Liberation Front focuses its concern on the corruption endemic on our society. . ”

“Chief, couldn’t you use some other expression?”

Pham Quyen interrupted in the nick of time, for he was conscious of the first lieutenant who was busily taking down all of the remarks of the proceedings. The contents of the conference would be reported later, and Pham Quyen did not relish being questioned by the Da Nang internal security agency later. Of course, as Liam’s right-hand man, and with Liam having a direct family line to the president, they would not dare do anything to Pham, but all the same he wanted to avoid any mutual unpleasantness.

Sitting next to the Americans was an interpreter they had hired who was translating for them every word spoken. The chief of the agricultural section mopped his brow with a handkerchief and continued. As far as Pham Quyen knew, he had been a sincere and outstanding student in his younger days. He was from Quang Ngai. Though he had graduated from the officer candidate school, he was scarcely cut out for the military. He had once worked for USOM, where he impressed his superiors, so they had sent him to the Philippines for further education. There was no doubt he had superior knowledge and skills in agriculture, but to Pham Quyen he was a stubborn idealist. He did not fit the reality in Vietnam, and now it seemed he had almost gone crazy over this phoenix hamlet project. For some time Pham Quyen had been thinking that the man was showing signs of becoming dangerous.

“I suppose I could speak more circumspectly, but I believe we must be ready even to quote the expressions of the enemy, if necessary to accomplish our mission successfully. The Way of Ho Chi Minh includes plenty of ethical and ascetic elements. These are the features that make it possible for them to approach the traditional Vietnamese manner of thinking, as I said before. The North Vietnamese leaders made no wild promises, nor did they allow bribes to distort their plans. They only showed the blood, sweat, and pain of toil, and implanted an image of leadership with a bold and spartan manner.

“In the first place, through the phase of political struggle, they consolidated their foundations for the so-called internal class struggle. And before they launched the land reform, they had orchestrated a movement for reducing farm rents. Through the rural party cells, their cadres got acquainted with the poor peasants who farmed land they did not own, asking their permission to live with them. Next, they practiced what they called the ‘three cooperations’: they worked without pay with the farmers, they ate together and slept in the same beds, and when the men got married, often a female agent came in and slept with the farmer’s wife.

“They usually stayed at least three months, gaining the trust of the peasants because they worked without demanding pay. Depending on the season, they helped the farmers out with all kinds of agricultural labor, tilling, sowing, weeding, and harvesting, and they even cleaned the house and cared for the children, engaging in constant discussion with the man of the house. They tried to understand all the minute details of the farmer’s existence and especially when they heard of troubles and hard times, they showed great concern and sympathy.

“Soon the farmers came to trust them instinctively and bared their hearts to them. In the end the agents enter deep into the farmer’s soul and drag out his hatred for the landlord who is, in effect, their own personal foe. Through this process the farmers become ready for the class struggle. The agents call these farmers ‘roots’ and the process ‘sprouting roots.’ All their social reforms were made with the roots sprouting in the hearts of the people themselves.

“Therefore, our phoenix hamlet project likewise must start from the actual living conditions of the farmers. If it is done from the standpoint of military conveniences, it will certainly fail. To have a sanctuary from terror and hunger is not enough, they need to be able to choose their own leaders and also to denounce those leaders when their trust has been betrayed. At the outset, the Developmental Revolution Committee should have set up structures at the township level, the administrative front line, as well as at the level of autonomous villages, through elections in which the residents themselves can vote.

“That we were not mere puppets is certain, but then our government did not exactly have the stature of an independent nation. The Americans criticized us for lacking a highly developed government structure, but they should realize this is a situation in which people in Saigon still find it natural to refer to the American ambassador as the ‘Governor General.’ We were a colony until the French armed forces were defeated and withdrew, and even if there are no longer any interventions by the French, we’re now going through a war with the colonial elements still intact in many ways. Today, without the economic support of America, we can’t carry on the war for a single day.”

“Just a minute, that’s only natural. America has the responsibility to protect Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia from communism. Isn’t the American army the shield of the whole Free World?”

The division commander interrupted the impassioned remarks of the chief of the agricultural section. Then the AID mission chief spoke with a gentle smile.

“Well, I find the criticisms of the section chief very useful. The insight to look straight into a problem is also quite important for the success of our pacification settlement project.”

That idiot, Pham Quyen thought worriedly, he does not realize that even when individually the Americans seem lenient toward criticisms and infinitely sincere in accepting them, the American organizations will drive the millions of teeth in their saw blades home and American corporations will leave not a single screw loose when their interests are at stake.

Pham Quyen had been entertaining a plan to seek endorsement of a bold expansion of his own mandate. If the atmosphere of the meeting continued to unfold along the same lines, he would seize the moment to propose more autonomous execution of the project plan. Autonomy! What a seductive and beautiful word! It would mean laying his hands on power reaching from distribution to consumption of the full range of goods. For instance, if the task is one necessitating a payment in good old green US dollars, in the name of autonomy you can have a briefcase full of clean, crisp freshly printed mainland US dollars brought straight from the window at the Chase Manhattan Bank in Saigon to the provincial government office. The ultra-sincere chief of the agriculture section, his face flushed by the encouragement he had received by the AID mission representative, resumed his lecture with renewed emphasis.

“The support we’re receiving at present has too many strings attached. These conditions, indeed, can aggravate corruption in the course of utilization of the support. We have the chief of the education section here today, and we all know that a large quantity of milk is being received for the grammar school children. In this case, for example, the price for the milk is supposed to be paid in dollars from our allotments of hard currency aid, but milk procurement has become very complicated because of two factors. First, due to the contract arranged by the US government, the milk is shipped from the east coast of the US instead of the west coast. That makes the transportation expense extremely high. What makes it even more intriguing is that we can easily buy the same quality milk from Singapore at about half the price.

“Even if the American government will not let us use dollars to buy the goods from Singapore, they could at least let us buy at a cheaper cost from the west coast. I’m inclined to think we are looking here at the results of manipulations by American businessmen of the US Congress. Problems of this nature should be closely examined when we plan procurements of necessary supplies with aid funds for the phoenix hamlets project.”

Pham Quyen had a feeling that the section chief was trying his best to make a strong impression on the AID mission, hoping the Americans would be favorably impressed with him as a conscientious government official. But Pham Quyen knew very well that neither the Americans nor the Vietnamese would touch on the deeper and more fundamental issues. He cleared his throat and spoke.

“The section chief’s comments are so candid and pertinent that I feel my mind unburdened. I am not sure how many candid opinions must be exchanged and impediments discussed in order to promote the pacification resettlement project. Due to time pressure, in any case, we must move on to the main topic. From now on, please restrict yourselves in your remarks to the phoenix hamlet project. Does the chief of the education section have any other comments to make?”

“Yes, I’d like to reflect on a few points of trial-and-error I observed in the past with the strategic hamlets program. I’m a man who is fond of comedies at the movie theater, but I have no wish to be a fool myself. At the time of the Diem regime, the American secretary of state boasted that seven million Vietnamese people were living in over a thousand strategic hamlets and that his plan was to erect three thousand such villages by the mid-1960s. In reality, not many of the strategic hamlets were of any use. Some were little more than symbols marked on the maps in undefended zones and a great number of the strategic hamlets existed only on paper.

“The resettlement funds that were supposed to be distributed to the farmers disappeared on the way and usually never reached their hands. Sometimes not even the weapons for local militias to be raised in the supposedly self-defending strategic hamlets were supplied. Large quantities of these weapons found their way into the black market.

“When high government officials and their US advisors paid visits to model strategic hamlets, the local authorities would go to another area and dig up lots of orange and papaya trees and bring them back hastily to set up an attractive plantation. As soon as the inspection party was gone, the trees were dug up again and returned to their owners. It was around then that the people in the cities started calling the strategic hamlets ‘America Towns.’

“The US military flew their helicopters in from all directions and dropped all sorts of things. White ceramic toilet bowls, chocolates, and even thousands of condoms to use for birth control. They gave marbles and yoyos to children suffering from nutritional deficiencies, and delivered comic books. . Anyhow, they visited the hamlets to check the results of the advisors’ policies, distributed the fundamental freedoms described in their own informational pamphlets on pacification, then returned and reported to their superiors that they had secured the friendship and goodwill of the villagers and that they were now on the side of America.”

The American military advisor for Quang Nam Province, a lieutenant colonel, interrupted the comments of the education section chief.

“During Pacification Phase 1, which ran from 1962 to 1963, we and USOM concluded a rural revival agreement, and under its terms we promoted the strategic hamlet program. At that time around sixty hamlets in Quang Nam Province had already been inspected and approved by the provincial government. The approval criteria were six: defense facilities; organization of the local militias; training and armaments of the militias; identification and expulsion of Viet Cong elements; administration of elections in the hamlet; and completion of organizing counterinsurgency capability among friendly forces.

“An agreement for support of Quang Nam Province projects was drawn up by the US — Vietnam Joint Investigation Commission who visited here in November 1962. The commission team was composed of the Vietnamese governor, the chief American military advisor, and USOM dispatch personnel. All the plans were reviewed and approved by the governor and his staff, and the American side held a veto right on economic matters. Our objective with the nationwide strategic hamlet program was protective segregation of the farmers from the Viet Cong, but gradually we extended it to other goals. In particular, the An Hoa project was being promoted around the same time.

“The higher goal at the time was to provide better schools, health programs, and agricultural aid on the village level so as to implant a new image of the government in the minds of the people by increasing the government’s welfare activities on a national scale. It was expected that the strategic hamlet program would bring a real change, a revolution, socially as well as politically, in village life. We supplied wire mesh for fencing, pipes and cement, money for training the agents who actually would implement the project on the ground, wages for the farmers working on the construction, and resettlement allowances. The advisory group was also in charge of training allowances for the militia and their weaponry.

“The concentration of the population in these hamlets situated in defensible zones made it very convenient to control the residents. Viet Cong sympathizers were revealed and we generated detailed histories recording which families had ever had members join the Viet Cong in the past. Soon afterwards, however, a problem erupted. The truth was that most residents never received their wages for work on building fences and only half of the cement and piping arrived at the hamlets. The resettlement allowances were never paid, either.

“According to our investigations, most farmers had to borrow money to move their households, and the interest on these loans was as much as five percent per day. The farmers who never received materials to construct fencing and dwellings had to cut bamboo and wood instead, which turned out to have eaten up more than ten dollars of each farmer’s very limited wealth. The provincial government gave some reasons for the suspensions of supply, citing transportation difficulties and incompleteness in claim documents. As for the weapons, as somebody already mentioned, about two-thirds of the guns and ammunition was siphoned off into the black market.”

“I’ll add a comment on that, OK?” piped up the chief of the agricultural section, once more wiping the sweat from his receding hairline.

With a patient smile, the AID mission representative said, “Yes, fine.”

“I had plenty of exposure to these problems in the Philippines and Hawaii. My comments are only intended as self-examination so we can minimize such discrepancies in planning the phoenix hamlet project. In its aid administration, America has always been emphasizing corruption in the recipient countries. Due to poverty and pre-modern political systems, most aid recipient countries are prone to corruption. If so, don’t you think there is also a basic problem on the part of the donor country?

“Even now, under the procurement programs, we’re buying the products of the donor country with aid grants in the form of subsidies. When Vietnamese importers place an order for the needed goods, America pays dollars directly to the American suppliers. Vietnamese importers running normal commercial operations pay for their goods in piasters. These piasters are put into settlement accounts, which the American government then has our government use for paying military and civilian support personnel. As I understand it, eighty percent or more of this money has been used for defense support like the strategic hamlets program.

“For almost twenty years the Americans have been giving an enormous amount of aid to Vietnam. The first, as I recall, was military aid given to the French under the 1949 Mutual Assistance Agreement. America then was giving military aid to the newly formed NATO, and to Greece, Turkey, Iran, Korea, the Philippines, and Taiwan. France received about two million dollars in the first year. The money was given to strengthen NATO, but France, desiring to recover her colonialist strength, ingeniously earmarked a portion of the grants for Indochina.

“The following year, Secretary of State Acheson announced that America was providing aid to France in order to relieve some of the direct costs incurred in confronting the Viet Minh. Weapons began to be shipped in by air to Saigon. A month later, President Truman’s military aid advisory group arrived and started handling the distribution of bombers, tanks and ammunition used by the French to kill Vietnamese. From then until the defeat of the French in 1954, over four years, America supplied military equipment valued at 2.6 billion dollars. To assist the French colonialists who dreamed of restoring their imperial dominion in Indochina, America took upon itself 80 percent of the war expense.

“The Vietnamese people could not understand why the Americans, on one hand, were helping them by building roads and supplying food and medical supplies, and on the other hand were at the same time trying to kill them by giving cannons and guns to the French. After their defeat at Dien Bien Phu, France lost its suzerainty over Indochina. In an attempt to avoid criticism for colonialist intervention, America went on granting aid under the rubric of SEATO, the Southeast Asian Treaty Organization.

“Once the Diem regime came into power, America gave annual aid of 270 million dollars, covering more than 80 percent of the entire budget of the South Vietnamese government and military. By also underwriting an annual trade deficit on a scale of 178 million dollars, America provided perfect support for the Diem regime. However, today there is not a single Vietnamese who doesn’t know that this fortune was never spent on any worthy causes. Diem and his family opened secret accounts at a Swiss bank and used the money to increase their personal wealth.

“Diem’s younger brother, Ngo Dinh Nhu, stashed huge sums off money and used it to run his own personal secret police agency, expanding the prisons and political concentration camps, thus giving birth to the NLF. He made vast sums of money through the drug trade. Another brother, Archbishop Ngo Dinh Thuc, embezzled relief funds under cover of the church, and the third brother, Ngo Dinh Can, hoarded treasure of his own by controlling disposition of various maritime licenses and trading monopolies.

“Diem appointed his youngest brother ambassador to England and Madame Nhu’s father was the ambassador to the United States. Only when the crisis reached a crescendo did America realize how foolish it had been to support the Diem regime. The so-called ‘aid dividend’ was a term used quite openly and, as I understand it, the loss through corruption of about 200 million dollars in military aid was discussed in the US Senate. Therefore, as we promote this modest and precious program, we hope that the utilization of the aid will be decided by the residents themselves. We should let the villagers sit down together and decide for themselves whether the available funds should be used for wells, for agricultural projects, or for other things.”

Listening to this idiotic harangue by the chief of the agriculture section, Pham Quyen savagely crushed out his cigar. Like a mule wearing blinders, the man could only see what the mule driver wanted him to see. He never tried to think through the root causes for the diversion of the aid money, nor of the ulterior motives for the aid, but merely jabbered about the chronic corruption in its administration. Pham Quyen had been well aware of these problems since his student days when he was in a reading circle in Saigon. There was no longer any doubt that this man was a figure that both sides would drive out and shun. Major Pham felt like giving him, his senior from school, some advice, but after some thought decided to leave him as he was.

Pham Quyen emerged from his musings and lifted his head. The conversation had ground to a halt. It seemed that the AID representative in an ivory-colored suit had been talking in great detail about the corruption uncovered in the past at the provincial government office. Two female office workers were serving those present with coffee and sandwiches brought in from the Grand Hotel.

“At that time we discovered evidence of corruption in the financial records of the office, but by then it was too late. One important project we must carry out in the future is the distribution of the fertilizer necessary to support each farmer’s cultivation of a two-acre plot of land. At the outset, the initial allotment will be to supply forty-four pounds of fertilizer for every quarter acre, and we’ll instruct them on how to mix the three different kinds of fertilizer.

“For the Vietnamese farmers, the introduction of chemical fertilizers will be a momentous transition. The quantities to be used will gradually increase. Right now, the most serious deficiency in the diet of farm families in Quang Nam Province is protein. To increase meat intake is indispensable for suppressing the communist threat. One of the essential parts of the phoenix hamlet program is the pig-breeding plan.

“We’ll also be supplying, besides cement and fertilizer, surplus agricultural products from America. In each hamlet we’ll construct a health center, and necessary medicines will be supplied. So, the chief of the agricultural section should bear in mind the implementation of the agricultural loan system, as well as improvements in livestock husbandry and techniques of cultivation. The chief of the education section should see to the assignment of teachers and delivery of textbooks as well as to education priorities aimed at raising able workers in the phoenix hamlets. I see that all of this is covered in great detail in the project planning documents. We, the US — Vietnam Joint Committee, believe that there should be no divergences of opinion, not even on minor details, as we examine and promote these particular objectives, thus there should be adequate discussion and consultation in advance.”

“The Developmental Revolution Committee would like to say a few words. We suggest that in each hamlet a Residents’ Autonomous Council be formed with members elected by the villagers. What do you say to the idea that the governor and the chairman of the Autonomous Council be joint managers of the project in each hamlet, and that both be involved in the drafting of budgets, with the AID advisor only exercising a confirmation and economic veto power after the budgets are submitted?”

Pham Quyen had floated this proposal that he had jotted down long before in his notebook. The chief of the agricultural section inadvertently had contributed to putting on the agenda the issue of the autonomy of their office in managing the program.

“Fine. Constitute those councils, please.”

“Once the councils are formed, the advisory group will pay for the services rendered by the members.”

Both the US military advisor and the AID representative readily consented. The young Vietnamese general, the commander of the ARVN Second Division, hesitated a little and asked Pham Quyen, “If the autonomous councils are supervised by your office, what will we do?”

“Well. . there’s still the training and control of the militias, isn’t there? You, sir, will be responsible for that.”

Pham Quyen’s reply must have satisfied the general, for he fell silent.

The agriculture section chief asked, “Major Pham, shouldn’t the Residents’ Autonomous Councils be under the direction of the agriculture section?”

“I do not think so, sir. The agriculture section will concern itself with improving agricultural skills, husbandry matters, and the management of the crop loan system. But all of those matters will be parts of programs processed through decisions of the Developmental Revolution Committee and the Autonomous Councils. And, it’s a different issue, but you should not forget that you’re an immediate subordinate of His Excellency, the Governor. Accordingly, I would remind you that your opinions should be expressed within the boundaries of your role as an officer of the provisional government. I ask that you refrain from remarks exceeding that role that involve internal matters or questions of support within the office. I do hope that in the future you will be more interested in agricultural technology and related productivity issues.”

Pham Quyen then looked back at his secretary, Lieutenant Kiem, and added, “Delete the section chief’s last comment later. The old man would be furious.”

“I understand, sir. Look through all of this yourself and then submit it.”

Pham Quyen looked over at the chief of the agriculture section and grinned. “Sir, I have a bit of personal advice. Among us there can be no Jacobins or Girondists. They’re all out there in the jungle.”

The agriculture section chief looked back with a blank stare, saying nothing. Major Pham once again addressed the Americans.

“There’s one last thing the Developmental Revolution Committee would like to suggest. It’s urgent to set up a transportation section to take charge of supervising the storage, distribution, and control of all this great variety of commodities. It will be needing vehicles and warehouse facilities. At a minimum, we estimate that ten large trucks should be available and at least two good-sized warehouses need to be built.”

“You may send up the budget for the warehouse construction. As for the vehicles, give your request to the lieutenant colonel.”

One of the military aides turned to the US military advisor for Quang Nam Province and said, “All right, we’ll send over ten military trucks on indefinite loan to the provincial government office.”

Pham Quyen was quick to follow up.

“And while you’re at it, can you please solve the problem of fuel for the trucks, too?”

“Any vehicle in possession of a permit issued by your office will be eligible to get gasoline at the American fuel warehouses nearby.”

“Thank you. Now the two problems our committee needed to settle have been resolved.”

At those words, the AID mission representative looked around the room, then said, “Ah, now we have guests with us who will put all these discussions in order and very succinctly get us to the heart of the matter. I believe their comments will give us some ideas for creative plans we can implement enthusiastically. Now, we’ll hear from Dr. Geronimo, a community development specialist, and Mr. Richards from the International Support Volunteer Corps.”

Professor Geronimo, a specialist in rural development from the Philippines, had an unhealthy yellowish complexion and was wearing gold-rimmed glasses. The young so-called support volunteer was growing a yellow mustache in an attempt to hide his apparent greenness and bestow a bit of dignity on himself. Major Pham wondered why this Professor Geronimo, who probably could not even speak Tagalong, had left behind the thousand miserable islands of his own backward country and flown to this harassed land. With perfect English diction, Professor Geronimo embarked on an extremely abstract speech:

“Well, Gunnar Myrdal went so far as to say that corruption is an ethnic custom in Asian cultures, however. .”

20

Major Pham sent the car back and headed for the alleys of the old Le Loi market on foot. After passing along the streets in the new market with their colorful window displays and flashy signs, he slowly threaded his way through alleys in which heaps of Chinese medicinal herbs had been piled up alongside fruit, dried seafood, and other edible goods. These narrow alleys, the stained walls and even the graffiti were all extremely familiar to him.

The main avenue through the old market district cut across Doc Lap Boulevard and stretched all the way from the pier at one end to the inter-city bus terminal at the other. Unlike the new market, here were countless narrow walkways and alleys as bewildering as a labyrinth. Less than a block away there was a cluster of cheap whorehouses. In front of one of the bars, teenagers were sitting around a wooden table on the sidewalk, eating shrimp and drinking liquor.

Small buses were busily coming and going in and out of the terminal. In the nearby freight cargo lots, oversized trucks were lined up to unload their heavy cargo. The regular stops on their delivery routes were painted on the trailers. Pham Quyen passed by a chaotic line of peddlers in the freight lot and approached a brick building that had colorful drapes hanging in the windows. As he opened the glass door, an office girl looked up from her abacus and account ledger, then rose and bowed politely. Inside, the air conditioner was running and it was very cool. A man seated at a huge mahogany desk cluttered with papers held out his hand and smiled.

“Welcome, sir.”

“Well, I was wondering if the payment has been completed?”

The man removed some papers from a drawer in the desk.

“Yes, sir. It’s all been paid.”

The two men sat down on black leather chairs facing each other.

“Madame was quite pleased, too. Our staff brought in some laborers and it only took us ten days to finish with all the repairs. This is the lease contract from the realtor, and these are miscellaneous receipts. Have a look for yourself, sir.”

Pham Quyen quickly flipped through the papers handed to him.

“Five hundred thousand piasters. Expensive.”

“Expensive? Not really, sir. The American who was the previous tenant was paying twenty thousand per month. Even if he only stayed there ten months, that was still two hundred thousand down the drain, you see. But since your lease is on a key money basis, after six months you can move out whenever you want and recover the full deposit of five hundred thousand.”

“All the furniture has been moved in?”

“The place was already furnished. There’s a double bed, a dining table, chairs, living room set, a fancy chest, dresser, dish cabinet, and Madame has already purchased the electric appliances herself. .”

“Then the total was. . ”

“All together, the cost was two hundred fifty thousand piasters. Dirt cheap, sir. To tell you the truth, since it was for you, I didn’t have to charge for the work done by the staff. That was debited to your account.”

Cuong, who acted as a dealer for the provincial government office, for practical purposes had been a kind of financial manager for General Liam’s interests in Da Nang. He had no choice under the circumstances except to assist Pham Quyen as well, since he was the primary agent for General Liam’s business operations. Pham Quyen had laid down a general rule regarding the business of the general and himself, a principle of two shares to one: After every two transactions for General Liam, the third one was for himself. The scale of dealings was large enough that a mere division commander could become a millionaire within two or three years on the front lines, so from General Liam’s perspective, as governor and military commander who had a hand in all the business in the province, there was plenty to go around and no reason to object to Pham Quyen’s cut.

“The fertilizer will be flowing in continuously,” said Pham Quyen.

“That’s good news, indeed. The more you supply the more they demand, that’s how it works with fertilizer, you know. No matter how much the supply grows, our margin will be one hundred percent of the original cost. For now it looks like the price of cement won’t be slipping, either. For the strongest demand in the short term rice is still best, though.”

“No, not rice.”

Pham Quyen replied with firm resolve. Cuong narrowed his eyes.

“Why not? The police superintendent is even dealing in heroin from Vientiane. His dealers are right out there in the main alley.”

“Listen, Mr. Cuong, I’m still the one who plans the business. With their base in the Mekong Delta, the influential men of Saigon are still holding exclusive rights for rice sales. For a long time we in Quang Nam Province have been buying rice from them.”

“I’m talking about imported American rice, sir. It’s out there on the pier, right?”

“That rice is to be shipped out to the villages to be used as wages and resettlement aid.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You deduct and pay in piasters instead of in kind, sir. That way you can have half of the rice supply fall into your hands, sir.”

Pham Quyen had been mulling over the idea for some time. But he did not want to exploit his access to the rice. It was a staple food and extremely sensitive, so why take the risk of being exposed to a stinking scandal for the slightest mismanagement. If anything like that happened, the general would have to take off his uniform before joining the cabinet, and for Pham, a single blunder of that magnitude would terminate all of his opportunities. Until the general returned to Saigon, he meant to cling tightly to the general’s coattails. Then, like so many other adjutants of generals and admirals, he might later step up into a dream job as a manager of foreign property somewhere like Bangkok, Hong Kong, Singapore, or Taipei.

“What’s the price of cinnamon these days?” Pham asked.

Cuong licked his lips. “Cinnamon, sir? Ah, that reminds me of the good old days. Your late father, sir, would know very well. Da Nang used to be renowned throughout Vietnam for the cinnamon trade. Ships from India and China swarmed in for cinnamon like bees to a flowerbed. Only four or five years back we still had decent cinnamon harvests. Nothing like in the time of Bao Dai, though, of course. And now. . see for yourself, we only have what little the old women in the highlands peel and carry down to us, never anywhere near enough to meet demand. Truly, cinnamon is an item that brings to mind the old days of peace and quiet.”

Befitting a Da Nang merchant, Cuong’s mumbling had acquired a touchingly nostalgic tone. Pham roused him from his reverie.

“So, there are still cinnamon merchants?”

Cuong instinctively lowered his voice.

“Cinnamon and cloves are both highland products, so they are sometimes handled by traders with connections to the Liberation Front, I think. There’s one Indian merchant here, a money-changer, who buys up small lots of spices and ships them overseas.”

Pham Quyen knew better than anyone where cinnamon was to be found. As a boy, he used to accompany his father when he went with his assistants to buy and they traveled days at a stretch through the highlands. The region was now up on the edge of the Second Division defense zone.

“Negotiate with that Indian merchant to see how good a price you can come up with.”

“What, what did you say?”

“I’ll never touch rice trading. Instead, I’ll appoint you as the exclusive cinnamon dealer in Da Nang.”

“Cinnamon these days? Where on earth can you get it, sir?”

“From the upland jungles.”

“No matter how good the price, nobody’s going to want to stick their necks out that far for it.”

Pham Quyen chuckled.

“There are many kinds of business for which people risk their lives. War, for instance, is such a business, don’t you think? I’ll order the soldiers to conduct a cinnamon gathering operation.”

Cuong pounded the table. “Truly, you are your father’s son, sir. That’s something nobody else would have even had the sense to spot. It’s a business of an entirely different order than trading in military goods.”

A stocky man in shorts and a T-shirt walked in and bowed to Cuong. “We finished the job, boss.”

“Ummm, so you’re done with the moving and you’ve helped with the unpacking and arranging, too?”

“Yes, I’ve just come from there, sir. Madame wishes for you to have dinner at home.”

“Well done. Send the boys home and you can call it a day, too.”

The man left and Cuong hurriedly washed his hands at the sink.

“There’s something I’d like to show you, sir.”

After sending the office girl home, Cuong turned off the air conditioner and locked every window before leaving the office. Pham Quyen trailed slowly behind. Cuong walked off in the direction opposite from the parking lot and headed into a narrow pathway, lined on both sides by small shops with bins of goods open beside the walkway. The goods for sale were no more than small bags of American cookies, a few canned goods and jars of instant coffee, but Pham Quyen knew that the owners of these shops were prosperous traders, each owning his own warehouse as big as seventy square yards.

In the alleys of the old market there were hundreds of such small shops, while those down on the pier and in the new marketplace mainly handled necessities and luxury goods. But the merchants themselves could not always say what sorts of business was being transacted in the labyrinth of the old market. Rumor had it that even a tank or a helicopter could be bought and sold disassembled, in pieces. Next to Saigon, Da Nang had the biggest market in the nation. There were products from all over the highlands, from Pleiku, Kon Tum, and Bien Hien, not to mention places like Quang Tri, Hue, Hoi An, Tam Ky, and the coastal towns of Quang Ngai. From the old days Da Nang and Haiphong had been major ports for the Mainland China trade, and under the Hue Dynasty they had greeted merchant ships from the Philippines and Malaysia.

“That is my brother’s business.”

Cuong pointed with his finger toward a cinder block structure at the end of one of the pathways. The signboard said it was an automobile service shop. Through the wide-open gate a storage space and an empty yard could be seen.

“The land is mine and my brother owns a few vehicles.”

Pham Quyen walked into the yard and looked around. They had come in through the back gate and the front door was on the far side of the yard. There were a couple of maintenance bays for vehicles, just a roof set on pillars with pits dug under the wheel rails. A place for washing cars had also been set up. There was one Renault sedan in the yard and a half dozen so-called box cars, which were improvised on the chassis of old American military Jeeps with crude bodies shaped like a box. Then Pham Quyen noticed another vehicle in a corner of the garage. Cuong chortled and followed him over to take a look.

“I knew you’d notice it, sir. A Land Rover is as tough as a water buffalo. You can’t damage it even with a hammer. This one could speed all the way up Route 1 to Hanoi. It’s like brand new, sir, just arrived from Saigon a week ago. We bought it from some foreign consular official who was heading back home.”

“Is it for sale?”

“No. . it was, but now it has an owner.”

As the garrulous Cuong had said, the Land Rover looked as solid as an armored personnel carrier. The shiny khaki-colored paint was enough to make a sheik covet it for his personal war games. The thick canvas cloth covering the cab had a dappled green pattern like the British commando vehicles in Malaysia in the old days. A round hatch plate had been installed that could serve to anchor a machine gun turret.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” someone said from behind them. Pham Quyen turned around to look. A long-haired man in a white shirt with a Chinese collar and black Vietnamese pants was smiling.

“This is my younger brother, Thach,” Cuong said.

The man bowed. He looked to be about the same age as Pham Quyen. Thach looked so good-natured when he smiled that he made a good first impression on almost everyone.

“My brother graduated from college like you, sir,” Cuong proudly continued. “He lived in Hue for a long time.”

Pham Quyen guessed he had solved the problem of the draft for about ten thousand dollars with his brother’s help and now was taking it easy. Pham Quyen shook his hand.

“Too bad there’s no factory in Vietnam where he can work as a technician.”

Thinking the man must work for a useless engineering facility, Pham Quyen opened the door on the Land Rover and looked inside.

“Now that the car’s found an owner, it must be in good spirits, too,” Thach said. Pham Quyen looked back at the two brothers.

“This car, whose is it?”

“Yours, sir. You can drive it away right now.”

Cuong urged Pham, pressing him on the back. Actually, from the moment he first set eyes on the car, Major Pham had been thinking how much the general would like it. He was well aware of the general’s vanity. His white silk scarves, the ivory baton wrapped with snakeskin, all of it from the Kalashnikov automatics down to the Czechoslovakian and Polish pistols reflected such tastes. The general despised the olive drab sedan he had been issued for its mundane lack of personality, and he preferred to ride in a new model Jeep with camouflage netting over it.

Pham Quyen calmly asked, “When did I buy this car?”

“It’s a gift, for free, sir. A souvenir in anticipation of future business together.”

“But it must have cost a million piasters, no?”

“Our deals already have surpassed twenty times that. By the end of the year it’ll be fifty times. And as you said earlier, we are to have the cinnamon monopoly, that alone will be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Cuong checked his watch.

“It’s getting late. You should hurry home. We, too, need to close for the day.”

“All right. I’ll have the office use this car.”

Pham Quyen nonchalantly kicked the tires a few times, trying their firmness. Thach spoke. “We thank you for introducing us to good friends, sir.”

Pham Quyen looked up to find the two headaches. They were in front of the warehouse and came to a salute upon seeing Major Pham.

“Uh, . what are those two doing here?”

Cuong replied, “With your introduction we tried out a deal with them. It’s now been two weeks and the business results are outstanding. They’re already among the most trustworthy dealers in Le Loi market. I handed them over to my brother here, sir.”

“They’re sharing my office,” Thach said.

Pham Quyen frowned.

“That’s not good at all. You realize that they are CID agents?”

Cuong laughed loudly. “What a thing to say. Where are we, anyway? This is Le Loi market, the most famous one in central Vietnam. Here the merchants trade with devils and the honorable Buddha alike. Do you know how the saying goes around here? The color of money tells all. That’s it. Whether red or blue, the only meaning is that it’s a five- or a ten-dollar note. Over there in that other alley, the American side is frequenting old man Huyen’s shop. Whatever information they gather and whatever inquiries they make, we don’t concern ourselves with it. Le Loi market is like a pipkin in which medicinal concoctions are blended, anything that comes in here turns black and melts away.”

“That sounds plausible. Where are they getting the goods?”

“Turen, sir. It’s like child’s play.”

“How come your younger brother, Thach, is giving them space?”

Cuong gave a quick glance at the two men standing back there and, in a lowered tone, said mischievously, “To keep the other merchants guessing, sir. We know about lots of things. And if we have friends like them sharing our office, then the other traders won’t take us lightly. Now old man Huyen will have to be wary of us. Thanks to the circumstances, my brother is enjoying some fringe benefits.”

“I see. Typical of you to look at it that way. I’ve also just hatched a good idea about those two.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“It’s a military secret.”

Cuong and Major Pham broke out laughing, patting each other on the back. The two men sauntered up toward them. Toi was talking to Thach about something. Ahn Yong Kyu approached Pham Quyen and said, “Major, if you’ll give us a ride we’ll come along with you. If not, we can go separately in our car.”

Pham Quyen looked puzzled and asked, “And where are you going?”

“To your new residence, sir. Miss Oh invited us for dinner. We’re friends.”

“Go on, get in my car,” Pham Quyen responded in a haughty tone.

“Yes, but we’ve got something to carry.”

Ahn whistled to Toi, who went inside the warehouse and came back out with a large wrapped box.

“It’s an oven, sir. A gift for Miss Oh.”

“Ah, that’s nice.”

Thach rushed over and pulled the zipper on the back flap all the way up, then helped load the box. Yong Kyu and Toi climbed in the back of the Land Rover. It was roomier than it looked from outside, and the space could have comfortably held another two people. Cuong and Thach stepped back and looked on proudly as Pham Quyen drove out through the front gate. Unlike the back entrance, the front alley was rather wide and it soon opened onto the main avenue near the inter-city bus terminal.

“It’s a fine car,” Toi said.

“Feels a bit dull, though,” said Pham Quyen. Looking at Yong Kyu in the rearview mirror, he asked, “Having a good time?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Are you taking deliveries at Turen every day?”

“No, sir. Just Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”

“How much so far?”

“Oh, a few thousand, not so much.”

“Enough to pay for the pass and the use of the conex box, I suppose.”

They drove along Doc Lap Boulevard past the Grand Hotel and sped along the beach road. From that point on a residential district began. On both sides of the street were tall trees with trunks that it’d take three men linking arms to encircle. They passed by a tennis court nestled in a forest clearing, made a right turn at a main road and headed up a sloping grade. Houses were scattered among the trees and the breeze off the sea had a briny edge. The vista to the left looked down on Son Tinh, the far end of Da Nang Bay and the ragged peaks of Bai Bang were also visible.

They came into a residential compound for high-ranking US officers and foreign civilians. The car pulled to a stop in front of a stairway carved out of stone. On either side of the steps there were blooming orchids, hyacinths, African lilies, mescals and white and yellow irises. It was a one-story house with white plaster walls. The long leaves of a palm tree hung down in front of the picture window in the living room. Oh Hae Jong, who had been watching for them for some time, came out. She was wearing a casual dress with fluffy sleeves in the style of the Philippines. Yong Kyu nodded at her.

“How are you? It’s a nice place.”

“Ah, I’ve just finished arranging things. I find it easier to stay in a hotel.”

She was not wearing any makeup and had an apron around her waist. It was becoming on her. Pham Quyen’s expression became much more relaxed than it had been when he spoke to them earlier.

“Now, gentlemen, have a seat. I’ll be back after a quick shower.”

They sat down on the sofa and Hae Jong brought them drinks.

“Are you planning to settle in Vietnam, then?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Why shouldn’t I? Now I have a nationality and a passport, too,” she replied in a teasing tone, glancing at Yong Kyu out of the corner of her eyes. He remained silent.

“I’m practically married to Major Pham. I went to see his family a few days ago. They’re all very good people.”

Hae Jong seemed happy and poured out more words. “Now that I’ve moved into this house, it seems there’s no such thing as war in this world. I can hardly breathe because of the fragrance of those flowers, you know. Later, let’s go out on the veranda in the back and have dinner out there. I brought some kimchi and red pepper paste from the Dragon Palace.”

Yong Kyu looked at her with vacant eyes. What he saw was a fallen leaf that had been drifting along on stormy waves and now had stopped, shivering for a brief moment, atop a little rock above the water. He sat there facing the only woman from his country in the city of Da Nang. A woman who could go anywhere with a single suitcase. Hae Jong had come to Vietnam with the armed forces, and the army’s deployment and her life in Vietnam were, he thought, facing the same fate.

“What’ll you do when the war ends and our military forces pull out of here?”

Hae Jong’s eyes opened wide and round.

“Ends? Just like that?”

“No war goes on forever. One day they’ll shake hands, or frown, and they’ll end it.”

Well, so much the better, then. A country like this, if there were peace, would be a paradise, don’t you think?”

“Do you love Major Pham?” Yong Kyu asked casually, as if joking. She let out a short laugh but did not answer.

“Jay. . or James was the name, didn’t you say?”

Hae Jong did not remove her eyes from her fingernails.

“Your relationship with him or with Major Pham at present is not so advantageous for you. I’m sorry. . war has been the matchmaker, the mediation. War is always fluctuating. It’s hard to follow through on one’s decisions. No one has any idea what will happen to this country once the war is over.”

Yong Kyu kept thinking he should shut his mouth, but the words kept on streaming out. Unlike back at the headquarters during the interrogation, Hae Jong made no protest about his nosing into her personal life.

“He and I are in the same boat, so I don’t expect any problems,” she replied in a bored tone.

“Because he’s not a Westerner, is that it?”

“No. . he’s like a bullet out of a muzzle. No place to return to. On paper, I’m the bona fide wife of a Vietnamese.”

“Last time at Madame Lin’s, you said you were heading for Bangkok, didn’t you?”

“Things were different, then. They hadn’t yet issued my passport. Now I have a commercial passport that lets me take my pick and fly to America, Europe, Southeast Asia or anywhere for the next two years.”

Then, in protest, Hae Jong raised her voice. “The reason I like you, you shouldn’t forget, Mr. Ahn, is not because we are both Koreans.”

She rose from her chair and Yong Kyu looked up at her.

“Except for your pretensions of giving me the advice of an older brother, you’re a good friend. We speak the same language and you have a kind heart. But that seriousness of yours, I can’t stand it. Oh, the soup must be boiling.”

Toi was sitting by the window, thumbing through some magazines. Shit, Yong Kyu murmured to himself, why bother. He felt awkward. After all, was he so different from the drunken recruit who threw a beer bottle at that Korean dancer for performing a strip show? Neither Pham Quyen nor Mimi seemed to have chosen their paths of life with any conviction.

But then again, on this night with so many killing games going on outside, was it so wrong to have an uncertain future? True, in the end this land would belong to those who, embracing death and yet warring against it, secure their own survival one step at a time. Just the way he came, so Yong Kyu one day would be slipping off quietly with his duffle bag on his shoulder. To sit and gaze at the back of Hae Jong as she set the table for dinner made him think she had become totally at home here. The evening sun was burning deep red just above her as night shaded the sky out there beyond the Ku Dhe River of Son Tinh.

Major Pham emerged from the bathroom in shorts and a casual shirt. Hae Jong stopped setting the table and pointing through the window with the fork in her hand, yelling, “How beautiful! What are those sparks?”

Pham Quyen turned to Yong Kyu with a questioning look. The two men went out onto the veranda to see. Darkness had descended over Da Nang Bay down below them, and streams of fire were flickering in towards the beach from over the ocean. They were probably from helicopters. They seemed to be tracers from heavy machine guns fired as a formation of gunships went up on a night mission.

21

Once in a while a breeze found its way in through the cracks in the truck’s canvas cover, but the heat remained unforgiving. Fifteen urban guerrillas, operatives of the Third Special District, had broken down into teams of five and were departing for Da Nang. They had marched down the Ho Chi Minh Trail along the Atwat Mountains to the border between the Second and Third Districts.

The teams headed into the Third District first had to infiltrate into Long Long, a big village in the Central Highlands from which a rough mountain road ran down to Da Nang. This village on the Thatra River was guarded by a contingent of US Special Forces and was an ARVN reconnaissance outpost. The conditions for infiltration were extremely unfavorable, but once they made it into the confines of the village they could hop on regularly scheduled freight trucks to Da Nang and down the coast on Route 1.

There had been another infiltration route from Atwat into Hue and Da Nang through Bien Hien, but the transfer point had not been securely recovered since a North Vietnam division recently was decimated in the area. With guidance from a local agent they made their way to Nhong Trong and marched through the jungle from there. They had one encounter with an ARVN patrol, but with the guide’s help they hid in the reeds along the Thatra River and waited in silence until the enemy party passed by.

In groups of three they finally arrived at the edge of Long Long where a farmhouse served as a sanctuary. The next afternoon they were escorted to the rendezvous point, a restaurant in the center of the village. Everyone was disguised as a peddler or a traveling peasant. They hid in the attic or the basement air raid shelter of the restaurant until their respective departure times. The freight truck that left the village once a day could only carry five men hidden inside under the cargo of produce. Pham Minh was in the second group to leave. They left at dawn. It was still very dark outside when they got into the truck, bearing loads on their shoulders like ordinary laborers and then burrowed underneath the cargo. Each group’s lead agent sat up front in the cab beside the driver. When they approached a checkpoint he knocked three times on the truck window. Then once they passed a safe distance beyond, he would knock again twice to sound an all-clear.

The road was an unpaved ledge precariously cut into the steep slope running down from the highlands into the jungle valleys and the truck bounced roughly as they cautiously inched their way onward. It had been built for wagons, originally dug out by villagers mobilized by the French colonial government. Pham Minh’s group of five had brought along an empty can so they could relieve their bladders without leaving the truck. For food all they had was lumps of cooked rice wrapped up in banana leaves. By the time they ate it, the rice was salty from the human sweat it had absorbed.

On the road down to the northern side of Da Nang, the truck approached a checkpoint at Kethak near the point where the Kudeh River emptied into Da Nang Bay. From the front they heard the signal of three knocks and instantly the men in back raked the vegetables up over their bodies. The space toward the front of the cargo bed was partitioned with boards so that even if there was an abrupt stop, the fruit and vegetables piled up high in the back would not fall down forward and be damaged. When someone looked into the back of the truck, all they could see was the cargo of produce piled almost to the canvas roof of the truck.

The Kethak checkpoint was manned by an ARVN QC sergeant and local militia. They checked the driver’s pass and glanced at the load. By that time, however, the agent had already handed over a “toll” of one thousand piasters, slipped in with the transit pass. If no toll had been paid, the sergeant in charge of the checkpoint probably would have made a fuss of unloading the entire cargo for inspection, saying he had to search for guerrillas and ammunition before allowing them through.

At the checkpoints on the outskirts of the cities, the inspection was usually more thorough for the outgoing traffic than for the incoming, mainly because the incoming trucks carried agricultural goods that were very scarce. Even when such goods were moving between so-called liberated areas under NLF control and the areas under South Vietnamese jurisdiction, both sides tended to be lenient.

The truck lurched forward again, and soon two knocks on the window were heard. Only then did the men in back pull their heads and shoulders up free of the vegetables, turning their necks to loosen the weight under which they had been buried. The five of them had been born again as brethren now fighting for the National Liberation Front. Apart from his four comrades, Pham Minh had no information about their higher organization, or about the identity of their fellow urban guerrillas, nor did he have any idea how they expected to regain the strength needed to liberate the nation while under the countless enemy guns, cannons, and aircraft in Da Nang.

According to the vague information they had been given, the number of NLF guerrillas active in Da Nang was at least two hundred. There were roughly forty teams, collectively known as the 434th Special Action Group of the Third Special District. In other words, the fifteen members in his training group at Atwat were comparable to a single company unit, and they were acquainted with no superior command above the level of company leader. The political staff of the district committee must have been handling the coordination with other teams on the next level above.

“We’re in Da Nang!” one of the team members shouted after hearing the sound of passing vehicles and peeking out through a parted canvas flap. Pham Minh could also sense they had arrived. The breeze now had the fresh smell of the sea. The truck pulled in past the inter-city bus terminal at the old Le Loi market and slowly parked in the lot for the produce market. The driver and the lead agent lifted the rear flap and pretended to begin unloading the goods. One at a time, the team members crawled out and casually joined in the work of unloading. To the eyes of onlookers, they looked no different from any of the other day laborers hired in the market to move the fruit and vegetables around.

When they were almost finished, they followed the eye signals of the agent to the Chrysanthemum Pub. It was the very place Pham Minh had first visited when he joined the Front. Since the pub was a place always jammed with travelers, nobody thought twice about strange faces, thus it was a textbook example of a good place for arranging a covert rendezvous. They walked in past customers eating nuoc mam noodles and passed inside the rear quarters behind the partition. No sooner had they sat down around a table in one of the rooms than a waiter stood before them. Their lead agent spoke.

“Bring us five bowls of noodles, steamed fish, and liquor. And pass the word that the cargo from Long Long has arrived.”

“Excuse me, . but who do you want me to tell?”

The waiter’s tone was respectful. The agent spoke again.

“We’re looking for Uncle Nguyen Thach.”

“I see. Just a minute, please.”

They were all either drinking tea or smoking cigarettes. Looking out through the screened window, Pham Minh was taking in the familiar sights of old Le Loi market spread out across the street from the restaurant. The aroma of fried fish and nuoc mam reminded him of the sweat of peasants. The strong salty smell of boiling boar’s intestines mixed with hot pepper wafted by. In the kitchen, sleek black sun-dried sausages were glossily shining and the fried bananas were deep yellow. Cooked rice with hot curry was evenly spread on a cutting board, and nearby side dishes of pepper, pork, cabbage and onions were being ladled around a whole duck that was bright red after being boiled and spiced.

There was not a single foreigner in the motley crowds bustling in the market. White people were nowhere to be seen, and in fact the distinctive sharp smells of the old market were deeply repulsive to almost anyone but the Vietnamese themselves. But the city carved up by many barricades and off-limits zones was coming to seem like a set of gigantic cages for animals and fowl. The young waiter who had gone out returned and stood there blocking Pham Minh’s line of sight. He came up to their table with a tray full of food.

“I’ve notified Uncle. He said he’ll be here shortly.”

The guide nodded.

“Now, let’s have dinner. I’m afraid this will be the last time we eat together.”

For the first time a humane look could be detected on the agent’s face. The team members asked no questions, nor did they chatter unnecessarily. They were heeding the unwritten rule that one never, regardless of time or place, seeks to discover anything about missions in progress. Nobody asked: Where am I being sent? Who’s my superior? Where are my comrades? What is the role of the owner of this restaurant? Are you heading back to Long Long? Is your assignment to help us with infiltration?

Such questions not only made no practical contribution to the mission, they only increased the risks and burdens as more people had more sensitive information. Another thing was, after once meeting a certain person and exchanging a few words, the next time you met somewhere you were to reveal no sign at all of the prior contact. Connections were to be formed only on the basis of what was needed for the current task. Once the common cause of the mission no longer existed, they should erase one another from memory.

It was their first hot soup since leaving Atwat. They also shared a kettle of hot liquor and a boiled fish garnished with ginger and nuoc mam. It was getting dark outside and a cooler wind was blowing caresses through the marketplace. Every so often they turned their eyes to the hall to check new customers entering the place. The guide kept checking his watch. Then a low voice came from the behind.

“Were you looking for me?”

A gentle-looking man in his thirties, clad in a jacket and black Vietnamese pants, was looking down at them. Pham Minh remembered distinctly that he was the same man who a few months before had received him here and put him in touch with the NLF. Though they were already acquainted, Pham Minh gave him only a blank look. Two other members of the team had joined in Da Nang at the same time and they, too, no doubt already knew the face of the operative known as Uncle Nguyen Thach.

It seemed likely that all fifteen of them who were slipping back into Da Nang in three separate teams would have their missions coordinated through this man. If someone were caught or turned traitor, the lead agent would be changed and the whole group would disintegrate and be reconstructed anew. Even members of the same team did not know the real names, former occupations, or hometowns of the others. All they knew of each other was the expressionless faces they now were peering at.

“I’ve come from Long Long. The goods are onions, cabbages, bananas, papayas, and some more. The tenants of our farm came with me.”

Nguyen Thach and the guide shook hands. The former sat down at the table across from the guide and examined them all one by one. Then he said, “I’ll buy the whole consignment.”

“Thank you, but time is short for me, so. .”

The guide took out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Would you sign this receipt here, please?”

Nguyen Thach wrote his name on the document for transfer of the recruits and the guide took it back, folded it and put it away for his report to superiors back at Atwat. Then he rose from his seat. Without even looking at the team members, he gave a nod to Nguyen Thach and quietly walked down the hall and out through the door.

“Finished with your meal? Well, then, it’s time to get to work,” Nguyen Thach said.

He led them through the kitchen of the pub, where the women cooking stood aside to let them pass. They emerged from the pub through the back door. Thach walked over to the lot where they had parked the truck and stopped at the heap of baskets and bushels full of fruit and vegetables they had unloaded.

“What are you waiting for?” he said. “You’ve been paid, so start working. Hurry and get these stored inside. Don’t dawdle.”

For an instant the team members were puzzled, but as ordered, they picked up the baskets on long bamboo poles and followed Thach. He led them not to his own place, the car service shop, but to the office of his elder brother, Cuong. He went around to the rear of the brick building where the office was and unlocked a door. The office door was on the left, and on the right was another wooden door with an aluminum-grated window set in it. Before opening the door Thach turned a switch. Inside was a storage room of about one hundred fifty square yards. There were two thirty-watt light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. All sorts of boxes, sacks, and bags were piled up. Standing at the door, in a low voice he ordered them to hurry in.

The team members carried the baskets into the warehouse. As the last of them came inside, Thach closed the outer iron gate and relocked it. They gathered around and stood there awkwardly in the warehouse. Thach removed a few papers from his pocket and took them to a small desk and sat down.

“Over there. . grab one of those boxes and have a seat. Come to me as I call your name.”

He held up some documents and read for a while before calling out a name. The person summoned would approach the desk and answer the questions posed by Thach. At the end of the interview he returned to his seat and Thach went on to the next piece of paper. Pham Minh was the last of the five to be called.

He walked up to Thach’s desk.

“Pham Minh. . so you were a medical student at Hue University?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Born in Da Nang and. . just a minute, is Major Pham Quyen of the provincial command Comrade’s elder brother?”

“Yes.”

“The chief adjutant of General Liam at the provincial government office, that Major Pham, correct?”

“Right, sir.”

Nguyen Thach frowned slightly, rubbing the tip of his nose as if absorbed in thought.

“Your brother, he must know you joined the Front. Doesn’t he?”

“Probably. . I expect he does.”

Thach went on to the next page and then nodded.

“Can you convince your brother, or hide the truth well enough, so he thinks you have no connection whatsoever with the Front and that it was just a hot-blooded youthful whim?”

“I’m not sure. .”

Then Pham Minh quietly continued: “To see two brothers, or a father and son, working one for the NLF and one for the government forces is not such an unheard of reality in Vietnam today. Sometimes they may even understand each other’s position. But in most cases, even within a family, the Front used to be able to maintain an advantage. Maybe my brother pretends to be ignorant of the fact. If I were ever captured, he himself would face danger or difficulties.”

“I can see that’s not unlikely.”

Once more Thach buried his head in the documents and remained silent for a while. Then, without raising his head, he asked, “Can you solve the problem of the draft for yourself?”

“I’ll discuss it with my brother.”

“In that case. . enlist in the air force.”

“Enlist?”

Completely shocked and unable to believe his ears, Pham Minh bent closer to Thach, gripping the desk with both hands, and repeated what Thach had said. Thach looked him straight in the eye.

“Enlist,” he said. “There are hundreds of young men in Da Nang who have joined the navy or the air force and continue to live at home with their families. It’s not a difficult thing to arrange for someone in your brother’s position. The district committee sincerely welcomes your return and has assigned you a mission as assistant agent of the 434th Special Action Group of the Third Special District. Each team needs an assistant agent. The prior comrade died in action. Comrade Pham Minh’s assignment is to inform us according to action guidelines and orders from the district committee, and you will report to me whether operational orders have been executed properly.

“In ordinary circumstances, you’ll help me to carry out supply operations. As I’ve informed the other team members already, I’m only an agent myself whose mission is to contact the teams of a company group. If a mishap occurs, this contact point will be liquidated immediately. In that case contact instructions will be given from a higher level. In the city of Da Nang there are two battalions of urban guerrillas, all acting as teams and connected on the company level only. Fighters have no knowledge of their fellow fighters.

“Always keep in mind that any cell of an organization may at any time be eliminated for the sake of the whole. This is done by trial in the name of the people of Vietnam wherever the NLF exists. Especially you, Comrade Pham Minh, should bear this in mind, for with me you’ll be undertaking the mission of supply operations as well as the task of coordinating teams on the company level. First off, this week you’ll have to deal with the draft for yourself, and then we’ll see to it that you get a job working in the office of this warehouse.”

Thach looked at his watch.

“Comrade Pham Minh, you should go home tonight. We can meet here again around lunchtime on Monday. I hope you’ll be back with a good outcome.”

“What time is the curfew?”

“Ah, with the offensive now over, the curfew has been lifted.”

The interviews of the team members were finished. Those with family in Da Nang were to go home. According to the orders of the committee, they were to take some sort of job if at all possible. One team member who could not return home was entrusted to another member who could take him along.

“The team will meet every Wednesday at a suitable place to be communicated to you by Comrade Pham Minh.”

“How about an open cafe down by the beach?”

The other four gave their assent with nods and eye signals. They did not bother with goodbyes and they scattered from the warehouse one by one. As Pham Minh was about to leave Thach stopped him.

“Let me see you for a second.”

They went back inside the warehouse and this time both sat down facing each other across the desk. Thach spoke first.

“I also attended the University of Hue. Care for a drink?”

Thach opened a drawer and took out a bottle of whiskey. He removed the cap and took a few swigs from the bottle, then handed it to Pham Minh. He swallowed a little and felt his throat burn as it went down.

“On Wednesdays the various teams will meet at different locations. You will only need to deliver my messages to them. Have any experience in business?”

“No.”

“Ah. . that should be no problem. All you’ll have to do is deliver the goods to us from across the smokestack bridge. I’ll give you a rough list of names and you can use that to promote trading.”

“What will I be selling?”

“Whatever the rich of Da Nang want to buy.”

Pham Minh tilted the bottle back again and downed a few more gulps. After a deep sigh, he spat out the words he had been trying to repress. “I didn’t join the Front to sell American goods to the rich, sir.”

Without a hint of surprise, Thach calmly asked, “What, then, do you want to do, Comrade?”

Pham Minh didn’t know what to say at first. Then the weight and clatter of rifles came to mind. “I joined to fight, sir.”

Nguyen Thach smiled. “You will, I expect, at the time of the great offensive. But you’ve been assigned here as an assistant agent because your actual circumstances are perfectly conducive for such a mission. That each person plays a fitting and proper functional role to achieve the larger goals is the basis for maximizing the operational strength of the Liberation Front. Through the long experience of the struggle against the French, the Front has been striving through pragmatic methods to secure realistically advantageous ground throughout our nation.

“Depending on the overall advantage, at various times our men may become pilots flying enemy bombers, or high-ranking enemy officers, or even interrogators of prisoners. The real question is whether the man is unconditionally under the control of the organization. Not long ago, in fact, fighting was not such an important mission, rather it was secondary.”

“If fighting was not such an important mission at a time when the crack divisions of the enemy and their missiles were swarming onto the beaches of Vietnam, then what was the NLF’s mission?”

Pham Minh’s tone was one of protest. Thach’s reply was gentle.

“What was important was that all the young people of Vietnam like you, even the small children, came to know the name of the Front as their own organization. The NLF calls it the mission of objectification. The people must know that the Front actually exists as the main power of the people, and that is more crucial than storming trenches or bombing police stations. Now, let’s drop the unnecessary talk. You and I have been given a mission, which is to figure out how to trade successfully and save money for the organization by securing better lines of supply.”

Thach opened the desk drawer again and took out a pack of cigarettes. He held it out, but Minh declined. Thach lit a long Pall Mall and seemed to relish it as he smoked.

“Comrade, I kept you behind here because there is something I should tell you. You should know in advance that your older brother Major Pham Quyen, on behalf of General Liam, is making a great deal of money by engaging in all sorts of black market trading and concessions.”

“My brother is that kind of a man.”

“And, Major Pham is connected to me.”

His eyes widening, Pham Minh felt himself choking as he stammered, “Do you mean. . my brother is connected with the Front?”

“Don’t get excited. Major Pham is not that kind of man. My own older brother is one of the top merchants in Le Loi market. Apart from money affairs, he is a very good-natured and foolish man. You could say he’s like a ghost from the days of the old Cochinchina dynasty. He’s the kind who prays for old Emperor Bao Dai to return to life and resurrect the family’s trading concessions. In a colonial city like Da Nang, that my brother and yours should become business associates is only too natural. They match each other perfectly. Their dealings seem to be getting more active and the goods they are handling will also be diversified. To get yourself a job in this office, you, Comrade, should observe the formalities of going through your brother. Say you want to be of help with his work, or that you need to earn money. Make some plea convincing enough to persuade your brother.”

“My brother always planned for me to go to Malaysia or Thailand and open a private clinic and settle down.”

“Then, this will do. Tell him you want to earn money so you can go study abroad. Be careful not to arouse any suspicion.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nguyen Thach got up from his chair. “We’ve talked a lot today. I hope everything can be done by Monday. At any rate, let’s solve these things one at a time very carefully.”

They emerged together from the warehouse. Thach pointed toward the iron gate.

“That’s the way out.”

Pham Minh turned around. “How should I address you?”

“Let me see. . I’m senior to you, it’s true, so that’ll do. And, there’s one other thing I forgot to tell you.”

Thach put one hand on Minh’s shoulder and spoke gently. “I own a car service shop to make a living. And in my office there’s a Korean military intelligence agent. Like the Americans, they’re trying their best to gather information on black market dealings. Among other things, that Korean is sure to be nosing around trying to uncover business connections with the Front.”

“I don’t quite understand, sir,” Pham Minh said in a perplexed tone, and Thach’s usual kind smile reappeared on his lips.

“To know the precise location of a land mine is always safest, don’t you agree?”

“I’ll see you on Monday, sir.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Pham Minh left the brick warehouse behind and walked along the blacked-out streets. Every now and then a sentry jumped out of the darkness to check his ID, then let him pass. It happened three times before he reached his house. From outside he could see that a light from the window was casting a milky white glow onto the leaves on the ground. Lei was awake, for he could see from the shadows which room the light came from. Cautiously he tiptoed in through the hedge.

The small front yard exuded a familiar fragrance of flowers. In the dark he could make out that the wisteria was still winding its tendrils around the rails of the porch. Cold droplets of water fell on his face as he brushed past the wisteria leaves. Sister Mi must have watered it that evening. He paused for a moment and then went around the right corner of the house. Light was flooding down brightly from the last window.

With her long hair hanging loose, Lei was sitting by the window, studying. She was wearing a white blouse and silk pants instead of ahozai. The picture of his family did not seem real to Minh. Out at Atwat along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, no scene as peaceful and silent as this was imaginable. This was a shadow of false peace built on the stage of the colonialists, just like the gorgeous gardens of Angkor Wat he had seen in a photograph.

Lei was lucky. Passing through Long Long, Khetinh, and Thatra, Minh had seen countless hamlets left with horrible scars from massacres. There, girls had been trampled, torn, and murdered. The search-and-destroy patrols of the ARVN or the Allied Special Forces regarded the girls in enemy territory as spoils of war. The rapes and other atrocities had provided the most vivid sagas of gallantry at the close of nearly every battle. Ah, Lei, my baby sister. Pham Minh laughed in the dark and steaming tears fell down his cheeks. Standing before that window, Pham Minh realized anew that he had reached adulthood, with no turning back.

“Who’s there?”

Lei must have sensed someone’s presence, for she dropped her book and stuck her startled face out the window.

“Lei. . it’s me,” whispered Pham Minh. Lei was dazed, then she stretched out her hand and fumbled to feel her brother’s face.

“Why, brother. . ”

“Quiet. I’ll climb in.”

He placed his hands up on the windowsill and vaulted up into her room.

“Where are you coming from? From Hanoi?”

Suddenly Lei looked around and then hastened to try to close the window. Minh sat cross-legged on Lei’s bamboo bed.

“Leave it be. Hot, isn’t it? Who’s home?”

“Mother’s sleeping and Mi also went to bed early tonight. Big brother is. .”

“Not in?”

Lei let out a short laugh. “He said he got married.”

“Then the sister-in-law must be at home. Big Brother married? Hard to believe.”

Lei quickly changed the subject. “I know, but I’ll tell you about it later. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“Yes, I have.”

“So, why are you back? I thought I’d never see you again.”

“How’s Mother?”

“Same as always. So you didn’t join the Front?”

Minh shook his head helplessly.

“No, I couldn’t gather the courage. I’ve been to Saigon. I should continue studying, after all.”

Lei took his hand. “You did the right thing, Brother. Shoan’s been so wretched and pitiful. Every time she sees me, she asks if there has been any news of you.”

He suppressed the urge to ask after Shoan. “So. . our big brother got married. Don’t they live here?”

“No, I hear they have a place in Son Tinh. We haven’t seen it.”

Pham Minh knew very well what kind of area Son Tinh was.

“I have a favor to ask. Tomorrow, on the way to school, call brother Quyen for me.”

“Where, at his office?”

“Yes, just tell him I came back home.”

“All right, I’ll do it. Really, aren’t you going to see Shoan tomorrow?”

“I’ll contact her later.”

Minh placed a finger on Lei’s lips.

“And not a word about me to your friends, either. Promise?”

“Sure, I promise.”

“And what sort of woman is our new sister-in-law? How old is she?”

Lei shut her mouth. Then, all of a sudden, with tears welling up in her eyes, she put her arms around Minh’s neck.

“Big Brother has lost his mind. She’s a Korean woman, and they say she was a bargirl. So Mother is crying all day long.”

“It’s all right. I’ll see him and you shouldn’t worry about it.”

Minh patted Lei on the shoulder.

“I’ll bring you some green tea.”

“That’d be very nice.”

Lei went out to boil some water. Meanwhile, Pham Minh was sitting alone in her room. On Lei’s desk stood a palm-sized frame with a discolored snapshot inside. It was a picture of the two brothers and two sisters when they were children. Wasn’t it right after the Geneva Accords were announced? Sister Mi was a schoolgirl in an ahozai, Pham Quyen a young boy, and Pham Minh was holding little Lei who had on a white nightgown. Minh lifted up the picture, scrutinized it for a moment, then quickly set it back down with the image facing the wall.

22

“It’s for you, sir,” said Lieutenant Kiem, handing the receiver to Pham Quyen who was standing by the window, his morning cup of coffee in his hand.

“Who is it?”

“She said she’s your sister.”

Pham Quyen frowned. Chances were she’d be relaying his mother’s usual complaints.

He reluctantly took the telephone.

“It’s me. . what’s up?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I’m busy, speak up.”

“Big Brother, well, I’m afraid you’ll have to come home today.”

“I know, it’s Mother again, isn’t it? So what’s ailing her this time?”

“Anyway, you should come.”

“Tell her I’ll stop by on Sunday. I have no time today.”

Lei sighed. “Little brother is back.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Are you home now?”

“No, on my way to school.”

“All right.”

Pham Quyen quickly replaced the receiver. Lieutenant Kiem held out a typed document.

“Here’s the list of members of the Autonomous Council.”

Quyen mechanically accepted the piece of paper.

“It needs the boss’s approval today.”

Quyen looked down at the roster of members of the Quang Nam Province Autonomous Council. He himself had drawn up the list along with several staff members of the Developmental Revolution Committee, a body composed mainly of soldiers.

“The first meeting is next week, right?”

“Yes, sir. Thirty representatives will attend.”

“We have plenty of time. Have it approved this afternoon. I’ll be out for a while. Did the general stay at Bai Bang last night?”

“Yes, and he’s still there, sir.”

That French mixed-blood tagged along with him from Saigon again, Quyen thought to himself as he picked up his hat.

“If the general asks for me, call me at home.”

“You mean in Son Tinh, sir?”

“No, the place on Doc Lap.”

Once outside the building, Quyen looked around. He saw the general’s garishly camouflaged convoy Jeep. The driver was rushing over toward him.

“Where’s the Land Rover?” Quyen asked.

“The general took it, sir. There’s a sedan.”

“No, just give me the keys to the Jeep.”

Quyen drove out in the Jeep General Liam used to commute back and forth to work. The star plate was covered.

Minh’s return meant he had completed a certain level of training. He might have come home to say goodbye before heading for a battle zone. Probably he hoped to return to Hue, but there would be little chance of that, Quyen told himself. Quyen meant to interrogate his brother himself. He wanted to find out his ideological bent and have him enlisted. He’d be a lot safer if he could manage to have him posted to a navy hospital ship. Or he could find a girl and marry him off. At any rate, that boy would not be allowed to move an inch until he changed his way of thinking.

After parking the Jeep in front of the house, Quyen stayed still in the driver’s seat until his breathing calmed down. Apart from Minh, he had also decided how to handle the rest of his family. No problem. He removed his.38 revolver from his belt, pushed the cylinder out and ejected five bullets, leaving only one. Then he placed the gun back in its holster.

He walked into the hall through the front door with wisteria growing on either side. Inside the living room, his mother was sitting in a chair in front of the bamboo screen and Minh was on a round stool in the corner leading toward Lei’s room. Minh was talking to his mother about something but fell silent when he saw Quyen come in. Both peered up at Quyen, each with a different look on their faces. His mother’s lips were already distorted.

“How could you do it? Abandoning your poor mother in a state like this. . That Dai Han woman is no daughter-in-law of mine. As long as I live, I’ll never allow such shameful behavior. Bring the bitch over here right now. I’ll tell her what kind of family we Phams are, and I’ll run her off. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? That couple who used to live right here in the neighborhood. . ”

“That’s enough, Mother.”

“Now that Minh is back, I’ll say my piece to you in front of your brother. Remember that man, our old neighbor Cheng, who worked in the office of the old rubber factory? Was he ever treated decently by the other workers? You know why? Because he married a French whore, that’s why!”

“Ah, that wasn’t why they looked down on him. It was because he played the dog for the French plantation owner. Mimi is not an evil woman. And I rushed over here not because of her, but because of this boy here. Mother, we’ll talk about Mimi later. Now, you, I need to talk to you.”

Quyen pointed his finger at Minh, who stared back at him with a blank face. Quyen walked in toward Lei’s room. When his mother started to follow them, Quyen turned around and blocked her way.

“Why can’t you talk in my presence?” his mother asked. “Don’t trouble the boy with your trashy problems while he’s on leave. I’m going in with you myself to listen to the lies sitting right beside you.”

Pham Quyen raised both arms and his face looked as though he was about to cry.

“Mother, please. My head is about to burst with worries about our family. How have I failed in taking care of us? Each month I bring home enough money for you to live, and I even took in sister Mi and her children. I asked you to be patient for a while longer. If you let me get a bit more comfortable, very soon I’ll be in a position to move our whole family somewhere away from this war. But I’m telling you, if you do this every time I come home, I’ll have myself transferred to another military district.”

Pham Minh took his mother by the shoulders and turned her around slowly. “Go and lie down, please. There are things I need to discuss with Big Brother.”

Mi’s head appeared over the kitchen partition. Quyen sent his sister a fierce look and she grabbed her mother and led her down the hall between the kitchen and the living room, saying, “No need for you to get upset, that’s no good. Why don’t you go and lie down.”

As the two women disappeared through the door, Quyen turned and went inside Lei’s room. He sat down in the chair in front of the desk and Minh followed him in with an anxious look on his face.

“Close the door and sit down.”

Minh went over and sat astride the bed as he was told.

“What did you tell Mother?”

With his head lowered Minh answered Quyen’s question.

“The first thing she asked me was if I’d come on leave, so I said I was on leave for two weeks.”

“All right. Now you must give me honest answers. Where were you and what were you doing the past two months?”

Pham Minh remained speechless with his head down. Then Quyen pulled out his revolver, took off the safety and set it down on the desk.

“I’m not asking you as your brother. I’m questioning you as a major in the Vietnamese army. You may refuse to answer my questions. If, however, I determine you’re withholding necessary information, I’ll turn you right over to the military security forces. Those guys are professionals. In a single night they’ll make you spill out every detail of what you’ve been through. Since you’re a fighter with the NLF, you won’t be treated as a regular military prisoner. There are no regulations or treaties to protect you. You’re a spy. The only way I can help you is to do what I can to minimize the torture as you undergo interrogation, have you sent to the prisoners’ camp and then in six months I’ll try to pull you out as a defector. You were in the training camp for new recruits in the jungle, weren’t you?”

Minh said nothing. Quyen picked up the revolver.

“If you’re stubborn I can shoot you. I’d be better off if there were an accidental shooting instead of getting into trouble with the army because of you. If I shoot you and report it to the police as an accident, the whole case will be closed before noon tomorrow with a simple report. I think that would be best for the rest of the family.”

Quyen rose and latched the door. Then he grabbed Lei’s pillow and placed it around the hand in which he held the revolver. He pointed the muzzle directly at his younger brother.

“Where were you?”

“In the Atwat Mountains.”

Quyen had prepared himself in advance, but his heart sank with a thud all the same. In a quaking voice he pressed Minh. “What did you do there?”

“I underwent training for one month.”

“What about after that?”

“I was on a mission in the Mekong Delta.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Quyen pulled the trigger. With a dull sound, like someone pounding a desk, the bullet struck a few feet from Minh. Cement dust from underneath the wallpaper fell down onto the white bedspread.

Calmly Minh looked his brother in the face and quietly said, “Put that gun away. I’m different than I used to be. I’m tired.”

Then Minh sprawled on the bed. Waving the gun, Quyen growled, “Sit up!”

Just then there was a knock and Mi’s wavering voice was heard.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. We’re talking,” Quyen said in a low voice.

“Minh, what are you doing?”

“I just caught a lizard,” Minh said in a loud voice. Mi could be heard shuffling away from the door. Quyen waited until his sister was well out of earshot and then resumed his interrogation in a soft voice.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know that much? Since you’re from the central region, you must have been sent to the Dong Hoi training camp. The Mekong Delta belongs to the Saigon region. And your training was shortened from six months to two, so you’ve just come down the Ho Chi Minh Trail from the highlands. I know the infiltration routes on the front inside out.”

“It used to be like that. Until the American reinforcements arrived. Since the Tet Offensive the training period has been cut down to one month. The NLF is now seriously short of forces. After only one month of weapons training I was assigned to Saigon. Only two weeks ago I was on the outskirts of Saigon. Nearly all of my team was killed.”

Quyen put the gun down. “Did you escape from the NLF?”

“I wanted to survive.”

Minh rolled over on the bed and faced the wall. He lacked the nerve to face his brother’s gaze. He felt his scheme was succeeding, and the fact that he had so deceived his brother made it loathsome to look into his eyes. But this was one of his first important missions.

“From now on I’ll do as you say. I’ll turn myself in. I’ll tell them everything I know. About our temporary training camp and a few team members in Hue. . and I can give them the route to Saigon.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“I saw an entire company massacred in an ambush. I was in the rear guard and barely managed to crawl out of range. I hid in the swamp among the reeds until the sun was high the next day. With the help of some farmers, I got a change of clothes and hitched a ride on a freight truck up Route 1. I was in Saigon for three days staying at a hospital run by a doctor I met at the university in Hue. Then, I couldn’t go back into the jungle, so I made my way back up along the coast, and here I am.”

Minh made up his mind. He got up and buried his face on his brother’s knees, screaming, “Help me, Brother! I don’t want to die! I never thought it would be so terrifying!”

Unable to stifle a terrible urge rising in his throat, Quyen grabbed Minh by the neck and shook him.

“Don’t worry. Nobody outside the family knows. You’ve just had an education. You learned about the immense gap between the ideal and reality in Vietnam. It was for the best, after all. You’re a grown man now, at last.”

“Brother, I can’t go back to Hue. If I return to school, I’ll be in danger because of the team members there.”

Quyen had his brother sit down on the bed and, in order to look him in the eyes, knelt down as he spoke. “Don’t go back to school. Enlist instead. It would solve everything.”

Minh nodded. Quyen took out a cigarette and offered one to Minh, who put it into his mouth. His brother lit it.

“If you do as I say, then there’s nothing I won’t do for you. First, get enlisted. I’m confident I can get you a disability discharge within a year. If not for that stinking record of yours, in a month I could have had you issued a certificate of service and honorable discharge. I was going to wait until after you were safely graduated. I have a plan of my own. The family Ran trust me. You were the family member I had in mind to send abroad first. Are you interested in studying overseas? Yes, you’ll become a doctor.”

“I was thinking about joining the air force.”

“Why? Isn’t the navy better? At sea is the safest place in Vietnam. You could be assigned to a detachment on one of those Red Cross hospital ships. As you fill up time serving as a medic on board a big white ship, the organization will gradually forget about you.”

“It’s all right. Those who know me are staying on the far side of the jungle. All the members of my cell are dead, and I’m safe as long as I stay away from Hue. The reason I want to join the air force is that that way I can look after Mother. You’re no longer at home, and if I’m away too, Mother will be crying all the time. I talked it over with Lei. I should stay here and take care of the family. Then you can concentrate on your own work and will feel relieved, won’t you?”

Quyen was touched but concealed his feelings behind a puff of smoke. Minh continued:

“If you’re assigned to Da Nang air base, since it’s under the American command, they say you can get away with duty on paper only, right?”

Quyen was well aware of the various options. One could make personnel records showing enlistment in the air force followed by an immediate dispatch to the air base, and then pay a certain sum each month to the officer in charge of the detachment to avoid having to show up for ordinary duty. All that was necessary was to appear in uniform once in a while whenever headquarters ordered a rare assembly of the entire detachment for inspection. Better yet, there was very little chance of roll call checks for the units assigned as augmentation to the American forces. There were too many variables and movements in those groups, what with deaths in action, recuperation leaves, special dispatches, redeployments, not to mention a fair number of AWOLs. The situation was so hectic it was hard even to match up the individuals assigned with their rated specialties. And it would be cheaper to have Minh’s name registered for a whole year. But most of all it would be a good way to win his mind.

“All right. Join the air force. I’ll take the proper steps. And I’ll have a military ID made for you. You just stay put next to Mother and before you know it you’ll be discharged as a medic.”

“Thank you.”

Minh thought of bringing up the subject of getting a job, but he decided not to. Too many requests all at once would be likely to arouse suspicion in the meticulous Quyen. Minh changed the subject.

“Brother, I was told about your marriage. I heard from Lei. It seems to have hurt Mother’s feelings, and Lei’s, too.”

“What do you think?”

“Think of what?”

“Of she and I living together?”

“Well, if she’s what Mother and Lei say she is, then I agree with them. You, my big brother, being married to a foreign bar hostess?”

“Shut up, Mimi’s not that kind of woman. She was working as an office clerk in the PX. And I. . I’m sorry to say, our relation is not like a typical Vietnamese marriage. We’re living together now, but we may part, you never know. She’s planning to go abroad, too, to Singapore or Bangkok, with our family. That’s why we got married on paper. That’s all.”

“But. . if she doesn’t love you and you’re only a means for her to get out of Vietnam, then. .”

Quyen did not feel like arguing about his private life with his brother. He glanced at his watch. Minh spoke again: “I wonder whether you’d let me. .”

“What?”

“I’d like to meet her today. What do you say?”

“I don’t especially like the idea.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t babble. Who knows? I might get a good impression and help to change Mother’s mind about her.”

“When it comes to Mother. . I’ve given up. Later, when we all go abroad and if she lives happily among us, then she’ll understand it all. I have a goal.”

“I know. You’re planning to make money with the help of General Liam, right?”

Quyen whirled about to check Minh’s expression in order to make sure he wasn’t being sarcastic, but Minh wore a serious look. It was, after all, the expression of a man who had learned something about the world.

“Right,” Quyen replied, “and you remember how you used to attack and insult me because of that? Now you seem to have had a taste of real life in this world. This war, I’m afraid, will not end in our generation. It’s gone on for over sixty years already. In the Diem period I saw countless cases of rich and influential families slipping out of the country one after another, after first sending children to study abroad. We’ll leave here, too. And to do that we need money. From the time I graduated from college and entered the officer candidate school I’ve had my heart set on getting a connection of this kind. It’s an opportunity a field officer couldn’t dream of. Now, up where I am with General Liam, we can fold and unfold everything in Quang Nam Province. It is a rare chance. Our family needs dollars.”

“How much?”

“A million dollars, at least, I figure.”

Minh was not in the least surprised at the amount. A thousand discharge certificates would do. He had heard a rumor of a police superintendent’s wife who had staked several soldiers as a bet in a poker game. Or, a hundred passports to Europe would bring in a million dollars.

“How long will it take?”

“Well. . I’ll have to manage it before my boss gets promoted to a Cabinet position. Two more years, maybe.”

“I’ll help too. After all, it’s for our family.”

Minh’s voice was flat, and Quyen raised his hands and grasped Minh by the shoulders.

“You, you rotten one. You worried me so much. . if I’d known they’d make a man out of you like this I’d have sent you off to them a long time ago.”

Feeling a bit awkward at what he had said, Quyen looked at his watch once again.

“I have to get back. There’s an important document that has to be approved this afternoon. Anyway, it’s all turned out fine. Don’t worry too much, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll drop in again in the evening.”

Quyen unlatched the door. He was about to leave but stopped and took out his wallet from the pocket of his jacket.

“Here, have some spending money. And don’t stay out late.”

Quyen handed five ten-dollar notes to Minh.

“If you take these to Le Loi market you can get at least fifteen hundred piasters. Why don’t you get some little gifts for Lei and Mi?”

Minh quietly accepted the military currency. Quyen then left without a word to the other members of the family. Out through the window over the hedge Minh could see him getting into the Jeep. He murmured to himself, “Brother, I’m sorry.”

There was a sound of the engine turning and the Jeep took off.

“Is he gone?” asked Mi with a look of concern on her face. “Did you argue?”

“No.”

“Is it really going to be all right?”

“Big Brother will take care of it. You can forget about it now.”

“You must be hungry, eh? Lei will be home any minute. You can eat with her.”

“Sister, by any chance do you know where Big Brother lives?”

“Why should I trouble myself about such a thing? Lei may know, though. Once when Mother fainted she went there with Lieutenant Kiem to show the way.”

“Mother fainted?”

“Yes, on the day Big Brother packed up and moved out. You know, like she did with Father in the old days.”

The two of them went back out to the living room. Seeing the flowers in the front yard getting limp from the blazing sun, Mi headed outside with a sprinkling can to water the plants. Minh was stalking and swatting flies that had slipped inside the house.

“Are you really back home for good?”

“I said I am. .”

“I thought you’d never return, like my husband.”

“You’re not pleased to see me back, are you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just you seem changed somehow.”

“I’m still the same old me.”

Mi gave Minh a searching look and whispered, “I’m proud of my husband. When the children grow up I’ll tell them about their father. He was on the district committee in Quang Nai Province. He came back from the jungle from time to time. That’s how she was born,” Mi said, pointing over at the three-year-old girl sleeping in a hammock. “Most Vietnamese women think the way I do — they’d rather see their husbands off in the jungle instead of staying home living in disgrace. I hate Quyen.”

Minh understood how his older sister felt, but he went on killing flies without revealing his own feelings.

“Quyen has contempt for me because my husband was on the other side.”

“That’s not true, Mi.”

“Then what is it? Mother’s asking for him every day and he goes and shacks up with a Korean bar girl. He thinks he owes us nothing because he throws us thirty thousand piasters a month. I thought you’d never come back.”

Minh felt an urge welling up inside to grab his sister and shake her, to scream that he was working in a cell of the Liberation Front. But he had to stifle such arrogance. Had he not been taught that at times one has to wear a disguise that brings snickers and scorn from one’s own countrymen? Minh tossed the fly swatter aside.

“Sister, I barely made it back alive. I suppose you wouldn’t be satisfied unless one of those yellow slips arrived notifying the family I’d been killed in action out in the jungle?”

“No, dear. I’m glad you’re back. You shouldn’t die. I just can’t stomach Quyen, that’s all.”

Mi rushed over to Minh with tears streaming down her face and grabbed his hands. She was feeling dejected at the fate that left her no choice but to live off her family. From outside could be heard the bell of a bicycle and the rattle of its chain.

“Lei’s back.”

Mi wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and hurried off to the kitchen. Lei pushed her bicycle into the yard, then took off her big hat and fanned her face with it. The heat had cooked a tinge of red onto her face.

“I called Big Brother earlier, did he show up?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“So, what did he say?”

“He said he’d take care of things.”

“Ah, I’m starving. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Mi hurried out. “Lei’s home. Hungry? I’ll make some fried rice, it’ll only take a minute.”

“No need to hurry, Sister. No more class after siesta today. It’s a Red Cross service day.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, the senior girls go to the hospitals on Friday afternoons to look after the patients, refugees mostly.”

“Why didn’t you go, then?”

“I decided to skip.”

Lei went around to the backyard to take a bath and soon the sound of the pump was heard. After a while she reappeared in shorts and a T-shirt, looking cooler with her hair wet. Mi brought out lunch. The three of them sat down together in the living room and ate fried rice.

“A friend of mine told me that front line units penetrated deep into Dong Dao yesterday. They planted their flag, too. Six were killed and the bodies were displayed along the road. Everybody is talking about it.”

“Lei, just eat your rice,” Mi warned.

Lei dropped her spoon and haltingly said, “Brother, well, eh, . I made one mistake. .”

Minh and Mi both stopped eating and looked at Lei.

“I’ll tell you if you promise to forgive me.”

Minh nodded. Lei went on, her eyes downcast.

“On the way from school I bumped into Shoan. She said she was going to Dong Dao to check. . she was in tears because she thought you might be among the dead fighters laid out there.”

“So you told her I came back home.”

“Yes, I told her you came home last night. She was really planning to go to Dong Dao, you know. I had no choice. So, she might come by here.”

“You weren’t thinking,” Mi said reproachfully. “You were told not to tell anyone until Minh gets everything settled. What if word gets out? Then not even Quyen can do much and Minh would be bound to be sent to the prison camp.”

Sometimes when deserters from the NLF came home they were denounced by neighborhood informants and sent straight to prison camps. In such cases they were treated differently from defectors. There was a six-month investigation period. If you came up with enough money you could be released and find a way to enlist in the ARVN, otherwise you might disappear without a trace. The same was true of civilians caught in the combat zones, and there was no way out at all for those confirmed to be NLF volunteers. But Minh was not too concerned about it. It was just too painful and too intimidating for him to have to put on an act to persuade Shoan of the change in his situation. He finished his meal in a rush and gulped down the cold green tea. Then he asked Lei, “You know where the house in Son Tinh is, don’t you? Where Big Brother lives with that woman?”

“Why. . you said he was already here.”

“I have to see that Dai Han woman.”

“No, Mi and I don’t like to be harassed by Big Brother.”

“He said it was all right with him. Where in Son Tinh is it? Here, draw a map.”

“Shoan said she’d be coming by.”

“I have no time to see her. That sour face. . really, I don’t care to see it.”

Lei peered over at Mi. “Sister. .”

“Go ahead, show him how to get there,” Mi spat out, lifting her chin as if uninterested. As she gathered up the dishes she added, “Minh is getting to be just like Quyen.”

Lei picked up a pencil and began sketching a map. “Well, at this tennis court turn right and then it’s the fourth house as you go up the hill. The steps are steep. It’s cement, painted white. Got it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Minh took the map and got to his feet.

“Why do you want to see her?” Lei asked.

“To get a job, all right? She should be able to persuade Big Brother, that’s why.”

“To get a job?”

“Yes, a job. I’ve got to make money. I mean to get out of this country. I’m planning to go abroad and become a surgeon.”

The two sisters exchanged looks.

“Brother. . do you really mean it?”

“I’m borrowing your bike for a little while.”

Minh hurried off. Lei looked at Mi with a vacant face. “Brother Minh is like a different person.”

“Yes, and he’s not on our side anymore.”

“Well, I think I can understand. I’ve seen many boys go through a change just like this.”

“He’s much meaner than before he went off to the jungle. Minh in the end will turn out even viler than Quyen, that’s what saddens me the most. The kind of man a Vietnamese woman can love has either lost his life or is off somewhere far away.”

Lei shook her head. “Little Brother isn’t like that. There must be some reason.”

“You’ve seen him for yourself. I heard him arguing with Quyen, I heard every word he said. He was begging Quyen, saying he didn’t want to die. In spite of myself I couldn’t help crying. . and I never felt so lonely.”

“Sister. . it’s all right to think your husband is the finest man alive. I still like Minh the most of any man in the world. I’m going to comfort him.”

Nevertheless, Lei, too, could not help but feel an emptiness in the heart that had overflowed with pride in the midst of hushed whisperings back on the night of Minh’s departure. From then on, when the nights were punctuated by gunfire and flames, Lei would feel humiliated just as Minh himself could only feel self-reproach. Her own brother had turned out to be a deserter from the Liberation Front.

As he rode slowly up toward Doc Lap Boulevard, Pham Minh caught sight of Shoan coming from the far side of the street. She wore a white ahozai with her long hair pulled neatly back and was walking with her head down as if peering at her own sandals as they popped out in turn from under her long skirt. Minh almost called out to her, but then quickly turned the handlebar, slipped into an alley, and pedaled off at top speed. Then he slowed down and looked back, but Shoan already had crossed the intersection. He pushed the pedals at a leisurely pace and headed down toward the shore. Barely three days had passed, but he found the silence and the city routine insufferable and felt a terrible temptation to run from all responsibility.

Back in psychological warfare training he remembered reading a poem that a defector to the NLF had passed around. Back then it had seemed silly enough to toss in the trash, but now it kept coming back into his mind:

Mother, since leaving your side I’ve been marching with my comrades. I trudged over the mountains and crossed through Laos to come to the heart of Vietnam. My courage didn’t fail as I marched through the rain. Now, I am here in a strange place, yet my own country just the same. I’m looking around me and thinking: What is it that I must liberate? The marketplace is crowded and noisy, the rice shoots in the field are billowing before the breeze, there is the sound of a temple gong in the distance, children are playing in the schoolyard and the singing of a choir can be heard. Butterflies are busy flying over the flowers in the bok choy field, and I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to liberate.

It’s true: anybody who’s worn out or who gives up self-discipline for a while is bound to become conservative. City guerrillas especially, he had been taught, must battle against the temptations of city life. Fight against time, fight against self, and most of all, fight against the loneliness of being separated from the organization. Minh passed trees lining the road and turned right past the tennis courts. The wind off the ocean blew his shirt and his hair. He took out the map and looked it over, then stopped by the bottom of the stairs below the fourth house.

The scent of the flowers was overwhelming — the strong fragrance of iris almost made him dizzy. He slowly climbed up the steps. Beside the white wooden gate there was a doorbell. He looked through the wooden lattice into the front yard of the house. This place was not Vietnam. From the dewy freshness of the palm leaves it seemed the garden had just been watered. He rang the doorbell. No answer. He tried again several times but there was still no response. As he turned to head back down the steps, from inside he could hear the sound of a glass door sliding open. Minh turned back once more and stood waiting at the gate. The hall door opened and a woman in a yellow beach robe craned her neck out and asked in English, “Who is it?”

“Is this the residence of Major Pham Quyen?”

“Yes, but he’s now at the provincial government office. You should contact him there.”

“I’ve come to see you.”

“Me? Who are you?”

“I’m Pham Minh, the major’s younger brother.”

“Ah, I think I’ve heard about you.”

The woman came outside in slippers, treading on the stepping stones, and opened the side door. She smelled of shampoo. So she was taking a bath, Minh thought as he looked straight into her eyes. More beautiful than he had expected. Her skin was lighter than that of a Vietnamese woman and her full breasts billowed inside the beach robe. The sight was blinding. Quyen had already accomplished his first goal — he had created a neutral country right here, surrounded by the war-torn city of Da Nang.

“Come in, come in, please.”

She gestured with her chin for him to follow her inside. They sat down facing each other, he on the couch and she on a chair.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Yes, at home.”

“Something to drink? Coffee?”

“Thank you.”

“Hot or iced?”

“Either is fine.”

Mimi looked back at him with a broad warm smile. Somehow Minh could not bring himself to feel any ill will toward her. She seemed not all that different from his sister Mi. The window to the veranda was open and a cool sea breeze was blowing in. The room was quite cheerful. The woman had the television turned on to the American Forces channel. Again the inside of her robe was billowing.

“Everyone is fine at home? Lei, Mi and your mother?”

“Yes.”

After plugging in the coffeepot, Mimi returned and sat with her legs crossed on a wicker chair across from him. The beach robe fastened only from the neck down to the waist, and its lower flaps naturally parted to reveal the thighs of her long legs. Minh shifted his glance here and there somewhat awkwardly. She offered him a cigarette from a pack of Kents. He welcomed the distraction and took one.

“I’ve heard about a younger brother who was in medical school up in Hue. It was Minh, I think?”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“You don’t look much like Major Pham. But wait a minute, yes, I see the resemblance between you and Lei.”

“Lei and I take after our mother, and Big Brother after our father.”

“What about your big sister?”

“I don’t know, maybe half and half.”

“I’m sorry, I should visit your home often, but I haven’t been there even once yet. What can I do? I’m so scared. I think you can understand. I’m a foreigner, and our lifestyle being what it is. .”

Mimi stopped mid-sentence and rushed over to the steaming coffeepot.

“Your mother doesn’t like me, right? Or, rather, the whole family doesn’t.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Ah, then I’d better make a good impression on you.”

“Are you getting married?”

“We already did. Legally, I’m his wife.”

“Do you believe he’ll actually take you abroad?”

She set the coffee down in front of him, then picked up the cigarette she’d placed in the ashtray and took a deep puff.

“Yes, as long as his plans and mine don’t conflict. I extended the time I’m willing to wait from three months to a year. Quyen is always talking about it: either we go out or we send you first, but in any event the whole family has to leave this country, that’s what he says. Then we won’t have to worry about having a child.”

She was some woman, direct and uninhibited. Minh didn’t know how to respond.

“How did you find the house? Did your brother tell you the way?”

“No. Lei said she was here once and drew me a map.”

“Lei is naughty. She knows where I am and never paid a visit.”

“Are you always at home?”

“I go downtown now and then.”

“Da Nang must be boring for you.”

“Living is more or less the same wherever you are. Have you left school for good?”

“I’m going to enlist.”

“Well I’m sure your brother will find a way to help you out.”

“He probably will. I’ve come to ask a favor.”

Mimi looked at him with widened eyes but said nothing.

“I want to earn some money until I’m ready to go abroad to study.”

“Money? It’s filthy stuff, true, but look at those Americans. With it there’s not a thing in the world they can’t do. Money’s not just a piece of paper or gold.”

“What is it, then?”

“Money is freedom itself. The more you have, the freer you’ll be. No money, no freedom.”

“Madame is not a housewife, but is running some kind of business, I suppose?”

“Both,” said Mimi with a wink.

What little hatred Minh had felt for her by this time was gone. She was different from Quyen. A woman who had pulled herself up from the very bottom, she was frank and generous both to herself and others.

“We’re partners and we love each other. I’m not just wasting time, either. To settle abroad there’s something more convenient than gold.”

“Dollars?”

“No. Money orders — military remittance checks. Occasionally I go to the Sports Club with the finance office staff to play cards and be their friend. We need it. And you will, too, when you take off. Wait, you said you wanted to ask a favor. . to make money, is that what you said?”

“That’s right.”

“Business, that’s what you should do.”

“What kind?”

“In a place like this, the most profitable business, after all, is to buy and sell the goods of those American bastards.”

“That’s why I came here, to ask you to talk my brother into finding a job for me.”

“I’ve got an idea. There’s a merchant named Cuong. He has dealings with Quyen, and maybe you can go there and help with your brother’s trading, right?”

“Is it Nguyen Cuong?”

“You know him?”

“Ah, no. He’s one of the richest merchants in Da Nang. My father used to be one, too.”

“I heard he was in the medicinal herb business. Anyway, don’t worry. Major Pham listens attentively to my advice. You’ll have no problem working for Cuong. What do you say, does that kind of work suit you?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Consider it done.”

Mimi laughed, cracking the joints of her fingers. Minh laughed as well.

“Stay for dinner, won’t you? I’ll call the office right away.”

“Ah, please don’t. Brother will be angry. Don’t even mention my visit to him, please.”

“Well, then how can I bring up the subject of getting a job for you?”

“You can say Lei came by and asked for my sake, and please make it something I was unaware of.”

“Are you afraid of your brother?”

“It’s not that exactly, but he used to get awfully mad if somebody ever went into his room and took a book off the shelf. He’s greedy, you know.”

“True, he’s greedy. Then we’ll keep this as a secret between us,” Mimi whispered with her finger over her mouth.

“Is your country at war now, too?”

Pham Minh’s question came from out of the blue. Startled, Mimi said, “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if Korea is going through a war now?”

“Oh, it’s subsided now, but it’s not over.”

“Aren’t you ever going back there?”

Mimi shook her head violently. “Never again.”

23

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting in the Dragon Palace Restaurant waiting for the captain and the sergeant. Three civilian technicians were at another table eating Korean-style bulgogi and drinking beer. The air was stale. As soon as he walked in Yong Kyu identified what the customers were eating. That particular aroma of garlic-marinated roast beef was to be found only one place in the whole city of Da Nang.

He had left Toi behind at Thach’s office in the old market and come alone. They were having an operations conference. Tomorrow was the weekend, so they had to move this very day. Unless they could get the Hong Kong Group safely in their grip, relations with the US forces would deteriorate from bad to worse. The Americans had demanded that the dealings of the Hong Kong Group be cut down to a minimum and that all ties with third countries be severed. But Lukas had tipped off Yong Kyu that in actuality the biggest source of annoyance to the Americans was the growing quantities of Korean beer that had been leaking into the market. In any event, to tighten the screws on the Hong Kong Group was no less urgent for Yong Kyu’s own group. A rundown Jeep with Philco markings pulled up outside and the captain and the sergeant got out and went inside.

The captain was in a casual suit and the sergeant was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and sunglasses. They looked like tourists.

“Waiting long?”

“No, just got here, sir.”

The captain scanned the room and then peered over at the inside rooms.

“Let’s go on in and have a talk.”

“It’s hot in there,” grumbled the head sergeant, who had already sat down and was getting comfortable.

“You, take off those glasses,” the captain barked in a taut voice. “It’s all thanks to you that we’re in this mess.”

The sergeant was noticeably gloomy and immediately removed his sunglasses. They went into one of the back rooms. The fat proprietress came back and fussily greeted the captain. She and her drowsy-looking sister ran the restaurant with the help of two Vietnamese women.

“What’ll it be, Captain? Try the beef ribs, excellent quality, you can be sure.”

“Hey, you buy lunch,” the captain ordered the sergeant.

“Yes, sir. Bring us ribs for three, ma’am,” the latter replied in a dispirited voice.

“Will that be enough for you? I don’t think so. You should order six portions at least to feel like you’ve eaten something.”

“Right, since you’ll be out on a stakeout all day with the boys, better fill up now. Bring us five, ma’am, and another order of five to take out when we go.”

As if disgusted at the mere sight of the sergeant, the captain turned aside and just stared at the wall calendar’s picture of a smiling Korean movie actress.

“Did you see the lieutenant colonel this morning?” Yong Kyu asked.

The sergeant nodded and then the captain said, “I hear we have two operations today — one at the PX and the other down at the pier.”

“Then we need to be fully mobilized?”

“Looks that way. That’s why I’m asking for plenty of beef. Hey, Sarge, I’m not going to come down on you so hard for the fix you’ve got us into. Still, if this is how we act within the family, how the hell are we going to get on with our duties? You’ve gone too far, so far you’ve got the big noses dropping hints to us. Dumb bastard, it would serve you right if I sent you straight to the stockade.”

The sergeant kept puffing on his cigarette, his head hanging. Yong Kyu asked him, “The ship hasn’t docked at the pier yet. . as for the PX, there’ll be a pickup right after lunch. What’s your plan?”

“After finishing their work, they’ll take the goods home.”

“Instead of to the supply corps detachment for warehousing?”

“They’ll probably cut through downtown with the ID I loaned them.”

“Hear that? He loaned his ID? You idiot! If they do anything more with that, we’re finished in Da Nang.”

“All right, is it that same house?”

“Yeah, you know, don’t you?”

Yong Kyu was familiar with the house on Puohung Street rented by the Hong Kong Group as well as with the checkpoint on the corner nearby.

“We can send Toi to retrieve the ID, and we’ll have the police let the truck pass on through.”

Before they got down to business, the captain and Yong Kyu had to calm the sergeant down. With only a little over two months left before shipping home, they said, why should he waste time helping them out with his ID? Why not get a grip on the PX himself, and then he could sock away something for after he got home and help the boys make some money besides. Those civilians came here empty-handed and now, thanks to us they were getting fat at the cost of others’ blood. Worse, by disrupting the market circulation networks in Da Nang, they were muddying up the black market channels — it’s our job to keep a watch on those channels.

The sergeant owned up to what he’d been doing. The Hong Kong Group had turned cigarettes and beer into major lines of dealing. They’d secured regular customers in the entertainment business. Colonel Cao, the police superintendent, and Colonel Thanbat, the military mayor of Da Nang, must be extremely upset. As far as the investigation headquarters was concerned, fancy foods and big-ticket luxury items from the PX were another source of profit. As for Colonel Cao, headquarters had some information indicating he was trading with American soldiers.

“The problem is the pier,” Yong Kyu said to the captain. “It falls outside military jurisdiction. For practical purposes it’s off-limits. Even we are using their conex box, aren’t we? They nominally demarcate the civilian from the military area, but there are rows and rows of container storehouses and only one exit through which both civilians and soldiers come and go as they please. If those guys dump goods from containers into their conex and take out a little at a time in that station wagon, there’s no way to catch them. Who knows, this deal may be done already. If they pay the price, they can use any conex they choose — they just move the pallets from the ship and hide them there and then swap the money for the key.”

“Well, then what choice do we have but to catch them in the act?”

“That means we’ll step on the toes of the supply corps detachment… no good will come of it for either side.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll wait until the moment their wagon shows up for loading to nail them.”

“It’ll be trouble for us.”

“Come on, let’s deploy the men now.”

“The PX is no problem. We’ll post one of our men there and have him notify us when the car leaves. Toi will go to the last checkpoint on Puohung Street. He’ll be able to get some cooperation from his former QC comrades.”

“Good. We’ll also have another man out front of the house used by Lieutenant Colonel Pak and his gang.”

“I’ve got a man on duty at the Marine PX in Dong Dao who I can pull out and send over there.”

“We’ll need two more men: one for the supply corps detachment and one for the pier. The pier is the key spot. .”

“Once I dispatch the boys, I’ll head down to the pier myself for tonight’s ambush.”

“Then there’s nothing for me to worry about.”

“We’ll need a couple of cameras, too. You can lend me yours. . Toi should have it. He needs to snap a picture of them as they pass the checkpoint. The other I’ll use down at the pier.”

“Smaller is better, and you’ll need a flash for the pier. Have you got one?”

“I bought a shaver, but since I came to Da Nang all I’ve bought is cigarettes.”

“Sarge, you should follow Yong Kyu’s example.”

At this, Yong Kyu laughed and said, “No point in following each other’s example, sir. You should also make a living within the bounds of duty, you know. I’m hoping to have a few opportunities of my own by the time I’m ready to ship home.”

“I like your honesty. We’ve got to be responsible for our men who come out to Da Nang after risking their lives in the combat zones. For the two months you have left, Sarge, you should look after that task.”

Utterly deflated, the sergeant just cast quick sidelong glances whenever the captain said something to him. When the burning charcoal and the beef ribs were brought in, Yong Kyu stood up.

“I’ll give you a call, sir. I should dispatch the boys now.”

“Why not eat first, then you can make the rounds by car.”

“In that case, I should let the boys know they should stay put till I come by. Toi has no idea about the timing, so I better have him head for the checkpoint as soon as he can. Is your camera at the office?”

“Yes, tell Miss Hoa to give it to Toi.”

Yong Kyu had the operator connect him with the US forces headquarters and sent orders separately to each of the men on the team. Then he contacted Toi at Thach’s office in Le Loi market. By the time he returned to the room, the ribs were cooked just right.

As he went to work on the ribs, the sergeant asked, “What are you going to do with the Hong Kong Group when you get hold of them?”

“Even after he just spelled it all out for you,” the captain said, “you still don’t get it, do you? We’ll minimize their dealing as much as possible.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Pak, he’s not a nobody, sir.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, my ass. What does somebody from the reserves like him think he’s doing in a war zone? Besides, I haven’t seen his record. The bastard seems to know a few faces of senior staff at brigade, but that’s nothing.”

“We can treat him decently and at the same time give him as much trouble as we want. I want to teach that bastard Oh, the one they call ‘Pig,’ a lesson. I hear he’s a veteran who used to go to Tsushima when he was in Pusan. . that bastard takes us for idiots.”

“But it’ll be a headache, I’m telling you. We can’t drag them into the investigation headquarters in front of the Americans. After all, this is an internal matter among us, you know.”

“That’s precisely what makes it more convenient for us. You see, we’ll haul them down to the Da Nang police station. Sir, you can personally ask for a little favor from Colonel Cao or one of his subordinates.”

“I’ll call Colonel Cao. He’s invited me to his house a few times.”

“Now, let’s stop the shop talk and have a few beers,” the sergeant said.

“You’re lucky, anyhow,” the captain said with a laugh, “you’re the only one getting something for nothing out of this case.”

“I’ll be sure to play by the rules, sir.”

The captain ceased with the stern stares he’d been aiming at the sergeant. Yong Kyu felt full and got up from the table to leave.

“I’ll get the boys in place and come back here. This’ll be a good place for a command post, eh?”

“Right. The Grand Hotel has phone service through an operator, not so good. I’ll go inside and stay there in the main room, maybe play some cards with the owner. If you have some money for stakes, Sarge, the three of us can play.”

“Sure, why not?” the sergeant said.

Yong Kyu took the separately wrapped order of food outside and got into the Jeep. When he reached the main gate of the air force PX, the man on duty bounded out of the checkpoint office to report.

“Here yet?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Came in, sir,” the private replied, pointing in the direction of the parking lot. “But it’s not the station wagon, sir.”

“Army truck, then?”

“A vehicle from brigade, sir.”

Down on the right side of the road Yong Kyu could see the dust-covered truck. He had been in it on a few past runs to see it past checkpoints.

“It’s at a supply pickup dock, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought, it’s been standing there a while. The wagon was here but left after dropping off the Hong Kong Pig. He went inside the office with a master sergeant from the headquarters PX. That bastard Pig was dressed up in US jungle fatigues and a combat helmet to boot.”

Yong Kyu reckoned Pig was posing as the soldier in charge of the truck using the sergeant’s CID identification.

“All right. As soon as that trucks moves out of here, call the Dragon Palace Restaurant using the switchboard downtown.”

Yong Kyu drove the Jeep back through the air base and came out at the Dong Dao junction. The man who was supposed to be on duty there was nowhere to be seen. After parking, Yong Kyu walked around for some time before he spotted the private, wearing a green T-shirt, near the back gate of the marine PX. He was drinking a soda and chatting with an American guard. Judging from this loitering out back, where most PX goods were taken out to the units, he must have been looking for a chance to make some money.

By now this private had probably made friends with the guards and the Vietnamese office girls. With their help he was probably able to get his hands on a few cartons of cigarettes and maybe some appliances without a ration card. As Yong Kyu observed from a distance the soldier noticed who was watching, tossed away his coke can and hurried over with a startled expression. Yong Kyu had already decided to chew him out and as he approached he fixed a reproachful look on him.

“You bastard!” he yelled. “You sure as hell got your orders, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir, but it’s not time yet.”

“Follow me.”

Yong Kyu marched over to the rear of the Quonset huts occupied by the PX staff with the private in tow. He looked around and then turned back.

“At-ten-tion!”

The private snapped to attention. Yong Kyu gave him a kick on the shin with the toe of his boot. “Look, bastard, you think you’re a tourist here?”

Frowning, the private rubbed his shin. “Hey, I know all about it, too. Making a hole is something you can figure out how to do within your duty area.”

As the private stood back up, Yong Kyu kicked him again.

“Stand up. A short walk from here you’ll find corpses strewn all over. But you and I will just serve our time and get the hell out of this country, that’s all. Today’s mission is important. Why don’t you do as you’re told? When I go home, I’ll be rid of this uniform and that’ll be the end of it, but meantime I don’t want to get kicked back down to platoon. You don’t want that either, do you? Make sure those American bastards don’t crush us flat, you hear?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Hurry up, follow me.”

Yong Kyu looked around again and then hurried over to the old Jeep. The private ran behind. They drove back to Dong Dao junction. On the way Yong Kyu asked, “Hurt much?”

“Skin’s broken.”

“Can’t be helped. I’ve had it done to me, too. It’s a soldier’s life. Were you in combat?”

“I got out after five months, sir.”

“If you drop dead over here, you’ve got nobody but yourself to blame. Don’t ever forget that. You and I, we both signed up as volunteers. And to make some money.”

“Like I said, that wasn’t—”

“I know all about it. You see, here we are smack in the middle of an international marketplace. Are you armed?”

“Empty-handed, sir.”

Yong Kyu took a revolver out of his belt. “Take this. Loaded with six cartridges. You may end up on watch all night.”

“All night? Where?”

“Puohung Street. You’ll see when we get there.”

“Spend the whole night on the street?”

“We’ll find you some cover for a stakeout.”

“It’s like going out on a one-man ambush! For that I need an automatic weapon.”

“It’s the safest residential district in Da Nang.”

They passed the air force PX once more and turned left on Doc Lap Boulevard, crossed Le Loi Boulevard and came onto Puohung Street. From a distance they could see a wire barricade blocking half the street at a checkpoint. Yong Kyu pulled to a stop. Wearing his mercury-mirrored sunglasses, Toi came out of the sentry post with a Vietnamese QC officer.

“When did you get here?” Yong Kyu asked.

“About twenty minutes ago,” said Toi, glancing at his watch. “No sign of them yet.”

“I know. They haven’t left the air force PX yet. Camera?”

“Here it is,” Toi said, pulling a long thin instamatic from his top pocket. “I got it from Hoa.”

“Let’s go together.”

“Where to?”

“We need to find a hiding place near their house. I need your help.”

Toi got in the back of the Jeep. They drove up the street and stopped when they were within sight of the white cast-iron gate on the house occupied by Lieutenant Colonel Pak and his men. The sidewalk was lined with palm trees and Vietnamese were riding by on bicycles. Yong Kyu pointed to the white gate.

“That’s the house. Keep an eye on that house and the moment you spot them taking the goods in there, notify us. The command post is the Dragon Palace Restaurant. Now, where’ll be a good place for you?”

Yong Kyu looked around but there was not a single store or bar nearby, only residences with hedge fences or cinder-block walls. They walked down the street, looking for a suitable spot. They came upon a house with a low fence fashioned from reeds bound to wooden slats. Behind the fence on the porch there was a cot and a few chairs in one of which an old grandmother was cradling a baby in her arms. Toi told them to wait and went inside. After talking for some time with the old lady, he came out.

“Done. I promised to give them a few boxes of C-rations.”

“What did you tell her is going on?”

“The whole neighborhood knows about the Koreans living in that house. They told me two others live in another rented house on the next block. I told her that the Korean and Vietnamese QC units are checking on a minor offense. Until tomorrow morning we can use the chair in her yard as a lookout, that’s the deal.”

“Follow him.”

The private went with Toi inside the house. A minute later, Toi, the private, and the old woman all came out. The grandmother stared suspiciously at the three men.

“Am I to stand duty with no dinner?” the private asked.

“Ah, I forgot. There are some beef ribs.”

Yong Kyu went back to the Jeep and brought a grease-stained brown bag.

“There’s plenty, share it with the granny. As for the report, go to the checkpoint back there and make your call.”

“I understand.”

Toi said something else to the old woman and then made a polite bow. Yong Kyu and Toi went back to the checkpoint on Puohung Street.

“Why this sudden check on them?” Toi asked.

“When the yarn is tangled, you can’t pull out a strand. This is to straighten the channels.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The US side is hot and bothered. The Hong Kong Group’s been meddling all around and so the channels are messed up, that’s the story.”

“What are they dealing?”

“Cigarettes and beer.”

“If that’s all, isn’t it pretty easy?”

“Korean beer is moving in volume.”

“Ah, so it’s swapping favors.”

“Get it now?”

“Cao must be pissed off, it’s like snatching his customers.”

“We’re trying to make the Hong Kong Group keep their hands off the beer.”

“Are you going to dry up the supply of Korean beer to the market?”

“Not exactly. We like having more of our beer out on the streets here. It’s not military policy, though. Just a bright idea of some of the individuals among us who want a better cut.”

“What’s that like for us, though? Get killed, maimed, and buy other people’s beer?”

“It’s the same money, after all. The money used to buy our beer comes from the US forces anyway.”

“Then who’s going to handle marketing of Korean beer?”

“Well, it’s not decided yet. I’d like the chief sergeant and Colonel Cao to be in charge, though.”

“Cao has his own channels.”

“He can always change.”

Toi chuckled. “This is not something I should meddle with, but don’t you think the Americans will be upset?”

“To even things up, we’ll be upset, too. Toi, do you think we’re out in the Le Loi market only to spring a leak from the Turen supply warehouse? That’s just a side job. First, we have to have inside details on the US activities, and then get information on the suppliers of the NLF as well as your own government forces.”

“A large quantity of weapons is being traded.”

“I know. But that’s for later. First, we must find out who’s dealing in A-rations.”

“How come?”

“Those who eat that stuff are the same ones who sell arms.”

Chuckling again, Toi said, “Hey, wake up, you passed the checkpoint, this is Doc Lap.”

“Right, let’s turn around.” Yong Kyu made a U-turn at the intersection.

Toi said, “The economic section on the US side is moving their fresh fruits and vegetables out into the market before they go bad. With traffic out of the city cut off, the people of Da Nang have no choice but to buy California onions for twice or three times the price of those grown nearby. Same with potatoes and cabbage. The money is then used to pay wages for Vietnamese laborers or for military services. And here you are, selling beer. .”

“There’s not a single Japanese soldier here, but the PX warehouses are bursting with their appliances. And what we’re trying to sell is some beer our privates are too poor to buy.”

“Very well. I’m your assistant, after all. When you arrest the Hong Kong Group, are you planning to chase them out of the country?”

“No. We’re just going to limit their dealing to PX luxury goods. They can buy refrigerators, TVs, electric fans, cameras, and the like and resell them in the black market.”

“I see your plan is to dump them on us.”

“Right. Whether I get lost from here or just forgotten, in the end that’s a problem for you to solve.”

“Here we are.”

“Listen, they’ll present the ID of the chief sergeant. Don’t give it back, just hang on to it.”

“Won’t they be suspicious,” Toi asked as he got down from the Jeep.

“Tell them it’ll take time to check it out and they can pick it up next time they go out.”

“I photograph them, confiscate their ID, let them pass through, and then I head back to the main office?”

“No, drop by the Dragon Palace and see Pointer before you return. If you’ve got nothing better to do, come down to the pier. I’ll be on stakeout there tonight.”

Toi waved to Yong Kyu with a knowing gesture, and the latter drove on back to the Dragon Palace Restaurant.

At 17:10 a phone call came from the air force PX with the message that the vehicle had left. The man on duty asked what he should do next and the captain ordered him to return to the Grand Hotel. In the truck were the man called Pig and a driver, and the cargo was Salem cigarettes. At 17:25, they got a call from Toi. The captain handed the receiver to Yong Kyu.

“Sergeant Ahn speaking.”

“The vehicle’s just come through. I took the picture. The ID is in my possession.”

“Well done. You’re done for the day.”

“When does your duty on the pier start?”

Fifteen minutes later there was a third call. It was from the private.

“They’ve gone into the house. The number of the brigade vehicle was confirmed, too.”

“Good work, keep it up. When the truck leaves the house, call me again from the checkpoint and then go back to your lookout post. Everything going all right there?”

“Yes, sir. The family offered me dinner. The man of the house came home, and it looks like he’s a schoolteacher. They gave me a poncho to use. Am I to stay there all night and keep reporting to the Dragon Palace?”

“Yes. The sergeant will be there until morning.”

“The phone calls make it inconvenient.”

“Don’t worry. Once the truck’s gone, we know the destination, a bit of a delay won’t matter. Tomorrow morning we’ll all be coming to that house.”

“I understand, sir.”

Yong Kyu reported to the captain.

“Now, we’ve got that operation under control,” the captain said to the sergeant. “I’m heading out, so call me at the hotel when the job’s done. Give Sergeant Ahn a lift to the pier and then take the guy from the marine PX over to the supply warehouse.”

“If the evidence is solid down at the pier I’ll make an immediate arrest, sir,” said Yong Kyu. The captain nodded.

“Right. A Vietnamese worker, if not the Pig himself, will show up. Take them straight to the police station and lock them up. Tomorrow morning at six, we’ll go and wake up the so-called chairman, Pak.”

24

The ship had already arrived and was berthed alongside the dock in the inner harbor reserved for navy vessels. The whale-like mouth of the landing ship was gaping wide. Beneath it, waves rhythmically beat and broke on the iron hull. After unloading, the navy transport would remain at berth for a day of rest and then return to Vung Tau harbor.

A double wire barricade had been erected at the pier to demarcate the military from the civilian sector. After 1800 hours only vehicle traffic was permitted in and out. Here and there Vietnamese sailors armed with carbines were posted as sentries. Searchlights constantly licked over the waters of the bay that was strictly off-limits to civilian watercraft. Anyone approaching the shore without advance clearance would be met with a burst of fire from the machine gun nests up and down the coast.

Vehicles with access passes were moving cargo from the stockpiles rising along the docks. The sound of cranes was deafening and constant. Sitting on the grass at the rotary overlooking the guarded gate above the pier, Yong Kyu was scanning the activity at Da Nang harbor as darkness began to fall. Toi eventually showed up.

“Hey, buddy, this spot is no good. If they use a military truck and sneak out through the far side you won’t be able to see them from here. Besides, if you hang around here in civilian clothes for too long, you’ll attract suspicion not only from the guards but also from lookouts on the ships. Have they come?”

“The master sergeant from the supply corps detachment is down there. No sign of the Hong Kong Group yet.”

“Eaten?”

“No, I’m in between — not hungry, not full. It was the ribs, I guess.”

“Cough up some cash, let’s get some bánh mì.”

Yong Kyu handed Toi a one-dollar military note. “Get me some, too. I like lots of red pepper on mine, you know.”

Toi crossed the main road for the bánh mì. After hearing Toi’s opinion, Yong Kyu felt uncomfortable staying where he was. Dressed in a baggy shirt and work pants with long and unkempt hair, he feared someone might take him for a guerilla slinking around the pier. Also, there was a chance that the Pig or the staff sergeant might recognize him somehow and abort the deal.

Yong Kyu had come packing a.45 automatic, on loan from the chief sergeant, holstered inside his shirt under his armpit. The leather shoulder holster was so heavy and bulky he felt like his ribs were in a plaster cast. Slowly Yong Kyu got to his feet and walked down to the right toward the white wall of the Da Nang customs house. A cement lattice was reinforced with a thick barbed wire fence and he plopped down at the foot of the wall with his back to it. Toi came back and started looking around for him.

“Over here,” Yong Kyu called out.

“You moved to an even worse place,” Toi said, holding out a can of beer and the bánh mì, a long loaf of French bread stuffed with vegetables. “Might as well come in full uniform and mount a lookout tower. I see a good spot over there.”

Toi pointed to a dark place around the corner from the customs house. The lampposts cast a bright light on the white customs house and on the pier area just below, but there were two enormous sycamore trees nearby and through their foliage another white building was visible in the shadows. It was a two-story residence with an elevated terrace jutting out toward the pier, overlooking the bay.

“If we sit up there we’ll have an overview of the whole area, what do you say?”

“It’s a private home. We’ll be taken for burglars.”

“Let’s go on up first. If the owner comes out we can quietly ask for his cooperation.”

“It’s a very nice house. If it belongs to somebody of high rank, it’ll be a problem. He’ll complain to headquarters later.”

Yong Kyu was reluctant, but Toi took the lead and moved down along the wall toward the residence. “Just follow me.”

They reached the corner of the customs house. By grasping the wire strands, they climbed up the wall and reached overhead to the railings of the overhanging veranda of the house. Toi confidently grabbed a railing, and with a single motion pulled himself up onto the veranda. Yong Kyu, too, despite his doubts, clambered up the wall and grabbed Toi’s extended hand.

“Come on up, hold on.”

Yong Kyu was being pulled up by Toi when, from out of the darkness, there came the ferocious barking of a dog. It was loud enough to wake the entire house.

“That’s a German shepherd. Don’t worry, it’s leashed.”

Yong Kyu flopped over onto the veranda next to Toi. The dog was barking more furiously than before. The front yard down below was suddenly brightly illuminated. Someone must have turned on the porch light. A man’s voice shouted something.

“What’s he saying?”

“Asking who’s there.”

“You handle this.”

The room opening onto the veranda was unlit and seemed empty. Yong Kyu tried to open the sliding glass door but it would not budge. A man’s quaking voice came up from directly below the veranda. Toi stepped forward and replied in Vietnamese. The man below was silent for a moment, then the sound of metal clinking was heard.

“It’s a submachine gun,” Toi said. “You should put your hands up like me.”

As a bright flashlight showered their faces, Toi and Yong Kyu half-stood from their squatting positions with both hands in the air. There seemed to be two people on the ground below.

“Take out your ID and throw it down to them,” Toi said.

Yong Kyu did as told. There was brief whispering and then one of the men spoke in English.

“You invaded a civilian residence without permission. We can’t trust your identification. Come down here. The Korean first.”

The flashlight moved to a narrow passage between the roof and the veranda.

“Walk straight over there and you’ll find a metal staircase. Come down. And no unnecessary movements.”

Yong Kyu fumbled his way down the metal steps. He had no choice but to assume a position with his back to them. The staircase was steep like a ladder and very wobbly. He reached the ground and then Toi followed after. Two men were standing there. The lankier of the two had a submachine gun aimed at them while the heavier one was holding the flashlight.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

“You’ve seen the ID,” Yong Kyu said without moving. “Isn’t that good enough? We’re on duty assigned for joint investigation with the national police. You’re interfering with our duty.”

“Sergeant, we understand that you’re here as an allied force to help us, but, say what you will, this clearly was a house break-in. I’m going to report you to a department I know. Let’s go inside.”

Toi said something in return, but the older man responded sharply in a reproachful tone. They turned to enter the interior of the house. Without warning, a black form rushed up and jumped at Yong Kyu. It was the German shepherd, a dog about half Yong Kyu’s size. It bit him on the arm and held on. Yong Kyu pulled out his.45 and started to aim it at the dog’s head.

“Don’t shoot,” a feeble voice shouted.

The man holding the submachine gun struck the dog with the barrel and the dog emitted a squeal of pain and ran off. Yong Kyu could feel blood saturating his torn sleeve. The feeble voice turned out to belong to a boy with a blocked crew cut. The boy helped Yong Kyu to his feet and then led him quickly into the front hall.

“Go in, please.”

Behind them Toi had raised his voice and was protesting about something in Vietnamese. The boy yelled at them. Yong Kyu followed the boy into the living room and sat down on a wicker chair. Then the boy brought a first-aid kit and skillfully tore off the bottom of Yong Kyu’s shirtsleeve. Not yet fully conscious of the pain, Yong Kyu gazed at the others in the room with a blank stare. The heavy-set middle-aged man was wearing glasses, sharply creased suit pants and a short-sleeved shirt. His hair was nearly white. The other man who had aimed the gun at them was in full ARVN uniform.

“I’m the director of the Da Nang Red Cross Hospital and this man is my chauffeur.”

Having said this, the older man gave some instructions to the boy and looked after Yong Kyu’s wound himself. Blood was flowing from two deep punctures. It did not seem very serious, but the dog’s teeth were so sharp the skin was lacerated as if sliced with a knife. After applying some Mercurochrome and antibiotic powder, the man wrapped a bandage around Yong Kyu’s arm and said, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to harm you. But you scared us. We thought you were guerillas.”

“But I showed you my ID.”

“Well, there you are. Only problem now is we can’t be sure whether or not the dog has rabies.”

“Has what?”

“A disease that makes dogs go crazy.”

“Ah, I see. But to find out the dog will have to be killed.”

“No! He doesn’t have rabies!” the boy yelled at Yong Kyu in a shrill voice.

Yong Kyu turned around and found that the armed chauffeur was gone. Toi was sitting across the room, still wearing his mercury-mirrored sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. The boy was standing beside a woman who had brought in drinks of some kind.

“Let us use your veranda for tonight and the dog won’t be taken away,” Yong Kyu said.

“Just what were you doing up there anyway?”

The owner of the house asked and once more Toi began talking in an excited tone. The man nodded and then conferred with his wife.

“Very well,” the man said to Yong Kyu, “you’ll be needing an inoculation.”

“A what?”

“A shot.”

“Fine. Toi, go on up and stay there. I’ll take a short break.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Look, it’s not like I stepped on a mine.”

Toi spoke with the boy, who then led him upstairs through the inside steps. The woman placed a glass of juice on the table, saying something in Vietnamese. Yong Kyu took off his bloodstained shirt and dropped it on the floor by his chair.

“If that’s what it was you would’ve done better to request my cooperation through the police. Come to the hospital tomorrow and I’ll have them give you a shot.”

“It’s all right. And I’m sorry. Your veranda just happens to be a perfect lookout spot. We made a mistake.”

The boy came back down. Then another person walked in from the front hall facing the living room. It was a Vietnamese girl wearing a black ahozai. She was very slender and barefoot, with her long hair combed back.

“This is the first time a foreigner’s been in my house,” said the hospital director. “This is my family. That is my wife, this little boy is my son, and the girl who just walked in is my daughter.”

Yong Kyu bowed to each of them in turn. The boy held out his hand with a smile but the girl just fixed her eyes on Yong Kyu with a stern glare. The mother spoke to her daughter, seemingly explaining what had happened. The boy spoke in English.

“I’m Huan, and I attend the Catholic Middle School. My father is Dr. Tran Van Thieu. My sister Phuoc, a senior at Pascal High School. My mother is Mrs. Hue.”

“I’m Sergeant Ann.”

“In our family, Father and I can communicate with you. In the old days, we had an American staying with us.”

“A medical officer, a surgeon, once worked at the Red Cross Hospital to help us. Thanks to him Huan speaks English pretty well. Where do you stay?”

“At the Grand Hotel.”

“Aren’t you a soldier?”

“Yes, as I said I’m a sergeant.”

Huan’s sister, Phuoc, sharply spat something out and walked out of the room.

“What is it?” Yong Kyu asked the boy. “Your sister seems to be in a bad mood.”

“The Da Nang students don’t care much for foreign soldiers. For you people kill children, that’s why.”

“Ah, don’t mind that,” Dr. Tran said, “Viet Cong propaganda. . Well, I’m sure mistakes of that kind happen on the battlefield often enough.”

Yong Kyu made no response to that remark. Instead, he said, “Thank you for the use of your veranda. Please lock the upstairs door after we go out. When we finish our mission we’ll leave quietly the way we came.”

“As you like.”

Dr. Tran and his wife exchanged bows with Yong Kyu and then Huan showed him the way upstairs. As he walked up the steps, the boy said, “Thank you for letting Gene stay.”

“Who’s Gene?”

“The dog that bit you.”

“Ah, it’s all right. It just slipped my mind to bring something tasty he’d like.”

“He’s big but he’s not even one year old.”

Huan turned on the upstairs light. The upper floor was less spacious than the downstairs. There were two rooms and an old fan hung from the ceiling. They opened the sliding glass door and saw Toi sitting out on the veranda.

“Thanks. You can shut the door now.”

“Come and visit us again later. I’m always home after siesta.”

“I will.”

Huan closed the glass door.

“Unloading has started,” Toi said. “Two pallets of beer were just moved into storage over there.”

“Has the Hong Kong Group showed up?”

“No, not yet. And no supply corps truck either. Look over there. See the full pallets of beer lined up? A different truck came by and carried away two of them.”

Yong Kyu sat down beside Toi. Just then, a forklift made a U-turn in front of the guard station and then rushed over. Two other forklifts were busily going in and out of the wide mouth of the landing ship and another one was moving pallets from the unloading line over to another spot down on the civilian side of the pier.

“You mean that one?”

“Yes, that’s the third trip completed.”

“One truck can hold four pallets.”

The forklift came back and carried off another pallet, but it did not come back again to the military sector.

“What’s the conex number?”

“I marked it. It’s the one on the end in the first row. Let’s wait for the Hong Kong Group to make an appearance and then go down.”

“You brought a camera with a flash, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I have it with me.”

The two of them sat there on the veranda, looking down at the hectic bustle of unloading on the docks below.

“How’s the arm?” Toi asked.

“It should be all right since the Doc himself dressed the wound.”

“The director of the Red Cross Hospital is a pillar of Da Nang. It’s a good thing you were bitten by the dog.”

“Is he in the military?”

“Maybe in the past. He probably knows the mayor and the provincial governor.”

“I’m tired. Let’s take turns getting some sleep.”

“You go first, sergeant.”

“OK, wake me if anything turns up.”

Yong Kyu leaned back in the corner of the veranda by the glass door. It was dark since the bright lights of the pier were well screened by the sycamores. From the outer harbor came occasional steam whistles and plunks of signal flares. Every so often heavy guns, sounding like thunderclaps, were audible in the distance. Yong Kyu felt a tingling ache from his arm as he lay flat on his back on the cold cement floor.

“Hey, sergeant, wake up.”

Yong Kyu opened his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Four. The wagon is here.”

Yong Kyu sprang up.

“Think they’ve come to pick up the goods?”

“No, at this hour they can’t transport beer without a pass. They’re probably here to pay. They’ll pay for the goods and for the use of the conex. Let’s go down.”

They climbed down from the veranda onto the wire-reinforced wall of the customs house.

“Once we snap the picture our duty is finished,” Yong Kyu said.

“The guy may sense something when the flash goes off,” Toi murmured.

“Don’t worry. Once the photo is taken I’ll arrest the bastard,” Yong Kyu snarled as he took the camera.

Yong Kyu took the lead with Toi following. Near the guard station an American soldier and a Vietnamese sentry ordered them to stop. Toi presented his ID and said a few words. Since there was no war materiel on the pier that night the inspection was not very strict. The ammo and military hardware were coming in mostly through MAC 36. Yong Kyu saw the Pig standing with a Vietnamese clerk at the end of the conex. They approached slowly from behind. The conex door was wide open and the two men seemed to be doing a count of the goods.

Yong Kyu raised the camera and said in a loud voice, “Come to buy a little beer?”

Pig turned around with a surprised look on his face and just then Yong Kyu snapped the shutter. The flash went off. Pig was stunned and quickly moved away from the conex. The clerk, who also recognized Yong Kyu, stealthily fled from the scene.

“What’s this all about? I’m here because your chief sergeant told me to come.”

“Don’t make me laugh. Thanks to you we’ve spent the whole night here. I should put in a requisition for hotel expenses later,” Yong Kyu replied and then turned to Toi.

“Check out the inside of the conex, Toi. Bring one box for evidence.”

Toi went inside and came out with a case of beer in his arms.

“Four pallets in there.”

“Bite off more than you can chew?” Yong Kyu said to Pig. “Afraid you’ll have to come with me.”

“And I suppose you grunts never help yourselves to nothing, I’m sure. Cut me a little slack and I’ll cut you some slack. No point in doing this to each other in a foreign land, what do you say?”

Pig was pleading desperately with his face right up under Yong Kyu’s own chin. Yong Kyu mercilessly gave him a kick on the shin.

“Watch your mouth, you son of a bitch! Do I look like your grunt? You bastard, maybe you think our boys are crawling away their lives in the jungle for your sake, is that what you think? As of today, you’re out of here!”

“You cracked my leg, uh? You bastard, you don’t know who we are, do you?”

Yong Kyu had Toi hold him while he took handcuffs from his belt and cuffed him.

“Stay cool. All your family members’ll be gathered together soon enough.”

Yong Kyu pulled a couple of cans of beer out of the case, tossed one to Toi and drank the other himself.

“You think this beer came across the sea tax-free for you to do business with?”

Yong Kyu went over to the guard station and made a phone call. The chief sergeant, roused from slumber, took the call at the Dragon Palace.

“Notify the captain and come over here with a car. We should book him at the police station.”

“Well, it’s kind of a bind for me. . if it’s the Pig, you know, it’s going to put me in a fix.”

What the chief sergeant meant was that his close association with Pig put him in an awkward situation.

“So what are you saying? You want me to take him with me on foot? In the army there’s no such thing as a friend. Put on a new face. Anyhow, if we don’t cut them down to size now our position in Da Nang really will be awkward.”

By the time Yong Kyu came back after making the call, Pig was obviously distressed. He had flopped down on the ground.

“Sergeant Ahn, give me a break, please. Take the two pallets of beer. And please, take these cuffs off. I’m no robber, am I?”

“Don’t make me spell it out for you. It’s time for you people to clean up your act. You’re a serious pain in the ass for us.”

When the car arrived, Pig was furious at the chief sergeant.

“So this is how it’s gonna be, uh? Didn’t you yourself work with us? The money is going to be floating around here whatever we do. And it’s foreign money for anybody to snatch and take back home. We didn’t steal anything, did we? This is a clean business we do, you know. I say it’s just like other exports. All right, if this is how you people are going to be, we sure won’t take it quietly. Headquarters here or down at brigade, they’ll sure be hearing our complaints.”

Yong Kyu signaled to Toi with his eyes and Toi got in the back seat. The chief sergeant drove the car away without a word.

“Shut up, you,” Yong Kyu said. “Wake up, you’re not in Pusan or down on Tsushima Island back in Korea. Maybe you think you can run wild in these markets and do as you please? If you don’t shut your mouth, when we get there I promise you’ll have a taste of a club.”

These words from Yong Kyu left Pig downcast and the backtalk ceased. The Jeep sped along the main roads of Da Nang and they pulled up to the police station. Pig wouldn’t get out of the car.

“It’d be better for you to come on out,” Yong Kyu warned.

“I see no reason why I should. This is a police station, isn’t it? I’m a foreign civilian in this country.”

Pig refused to budge and so Yong Kyu nodded, saying, “Fine. If you want to be difficult, I’ll force you out. You’re under our jurisdiction and you’re supposed to observe the domestic laws in Vietnam.”

Yong Kyu didn’t lift a finger. Instead he called over to Toi, “Hey, get the Vietnamese police and have them put him in the lockup.”

Toi went in the front door and before long two policemen hurried out. They held Pig by the arms and dragged him out of the car. Savagely they twisted his arms behind his back and pushed him forward. The police officer in charge of the night watch came out to observe. Yong Kyu and the chief sergeant exchanged salutes with him.

“The superintendent gave us an order to cooperate,” the officer said. “Do you need an office, sir?”

“No, thank you. Around seven this morning we’ll be bringing in a few more. Then we’ll request an office when tomorrow’s duty begins. Will you sign this receipt for taking over custody of this detainee?”

Pig looked dispirited and was docile by the time they took him inside. After finishing the procedure for transfer of custody they left the police station.

“Well, the night’s almost over,” said the chief sergeant. “It’s five-fifteen, doesn’t the operation begin at six?”

“Let’s head back to the hotel. We’ll hang around there and wake up the captain.” Then he asked Toi, “Wouldn’t you rather go home and get some rest?”

“No, I’ll work, too. When we’re done, I’ll go home and take the whole morning to rest. That way I can ask the captain for an extra duty allowance.”

They drove the Jeep down Doc Lap Boulevard and arrived at the hotel. Staff who had just come in to relieve the night shift were milling around the lobby drinking coffee. They joined this group and drank coffee from paper cups. About half the people in the lobby were civilian and the other half military. Out on the street a good number of Jeeps and cars were being started and noisily pulling out. At ten to six the chief sergeant went upstairs to roust the captain. The two of them came down with two privates in tow, the captain still rubbing his sleepy eyes. All four were dressed in jungle fatigues and the two privates were carrying M16s and cartridge belts.

“Do we have an extra vehicle?”

“Yes, sir. But don’t you think we’ll need a couple more cars?”

“No, one’s enough. We’ll only be arresting four people.”

When Yong Kyu asked who they were, the captain replied, “Lieutenant Colonel Pak, the guy with a crew cut, another of our bastards, and one Vietnamese.”

To this the chief sergeant added, “The crew cut is the group chairman’s right arm. His name is Lee, discharged from the service as a master sergeant. The third man is the chairman’s brother-in-law, and the Vietnamese is Phan, their chauffeur who also acts as a broker for contacts with the dealers in the city. Toi knows all about it.”

They split up into two teams and started off in Jeeps with Philco markings. The captain and the sergeant left first with the two privates. Yong Kyu and Toi followed. They went down Le Loi Boulevard and entered the residential district off Puohung Street. They stopped in front of the house with the low wooden fence where they had left a man on stakeout the night before. The private jumped out from behind the reed screen. He had a poncho over his shoulder.

“Anything happen?” Yong Kyu asked.

“No, sir. A wagon left the house before dawn and then came back. Since then there have been no lights on. Looks like everybody is asleep.”

“Well, let’s go,” the captain said. All together there were seven of them. They crossed the street and approached the white wrought-iron gate of the house.

“You stay here and keep a lookout for anybody who tries to jump the wall,” the captain said to one private. “Wait a second, the warehouse is on this side and the house is over there? Somebody has to go over the wall and open the side gate.”

The captain turned to Yong Kyu. “What happened to your arm? Did you get hurt?”

“Bitten by a dog. Last night during the ambush.”

“Went through a lot, didn’t you? Hey, Chief Sergeant, you climb over.”

The sergeant gave the captain a dirty look behind his back and then reluctantly put his hands up on the wall and struggled trying to climb over it.

“Give it up. And stop eating so much. If you were in the US Army they’d have drummed you out for being overweight.”

Yong Kyu said something to Toi and without a second thought Toi stepped up on the chief sergeant’s shoulders and leapt lightly over the wall. The side gate opened and they all crouched down and entered quietly one at a time. The yard was smoothly paved over with cement. Every now and then a drop of water fell from the wet leaves overhead.

“Let Toi watch the warehouse and the rest of us will go on in.”

They walked toward the front foyer. The captain and the chief sergeant stayed behind and Yong Kyu stood in front of the entry with the armed soldiers behind him. The private who had been on stakeout across the street was sent to the rear of the house lest gang members try to escape through a back window. At the captain’s nod, Yong Kyu knocked on the door. A door opening was heard from within and then someone came to the door and said something in Vietnamese. Without replying, Yong Kyu knocked harder. Someone else must have come out inside, for there was another sound of a door opening followed by a voice in English.

“Who’s there?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Pak, the chairman. Open the door.”

With a click the door was unlatched and instantly Yong Kyu pushed it open and forced his way inside. A long-haired Vietnamese woman and the Korean youth, who had to be the brother-in-law of Lieutenant Colonel Pak, stumbled backward. They pressed on into the living room, where Chairman Pak and his crew-cut associate, dressed in pajamas, were peeking out from their rooms to see what was happening.

“Out here, both of you,” the captain said.

“What’s all this? What d’you think you’re doing?” Pak asked the captain as he came into the living room.

“Can’t you see? We’re searching the house.”

“A search? What crime have we committed? And you don’t even have a search warrant.”

“Warrant, my ass. There’s a war on here, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re going to deport you for your black marketing,” the captain said, then added to Yong Kyu, “Hey, go through every room with a fine-toothed comb.”

Chairman Pak nonchalantly lit a cigarette and then sat down on the sofa.

“What’s the meaning of this? Captain Kim, why are you barging in here like this?”

“Why do you think I’m doing it? And show a little respect when you speak to me. You’ve been wolfing down more than enough up to now. We know all the details of your dealing connections. Just because we pretended not to notice doesn’t mean we’re a bunch of scarecrows. We were just watching to see how far you would go.”

“You’re asking for trouble, do you know that? Most of your superiors are classmates of mine.”

“Oh yeah? Wake up. I’m on active duty and you’re in the reserves. Maybe you think we’ve come all the way to Vietnam to help out with your business so you can make money? Better come with us.”

“Hey, I paid for all the goods. To be honest, I was working with your man, the chief sergeant. OK, I’ll wash my hands, but why come down on me all of a sudden? We know you guys work hard and we were about to show our appreciation, you know. We’ve got to make a living together, am I right?”

“Let’s talk later, the three of us,” said the chief sergeant, who, until then, had turned his face away from the two of them.

“So, you, this is how it’s going to be?” Pak said to the sergeant. “You shake, and the dust’ll be raised for both of us.”

After checking every room, Yong Kyu reported back to the captain.

“Nobody else in the house, sir.”

“We’ll take all of you in to the Da Nang police station,” said the captain. “Yesterday you did illegal transactions involving a pallet of Salem cigarettes at the air force PX and four pallets of beer at the pier. We’ve got photos from the scene, so I hope you won’t try to lie about it. Let’s go.”

“What about the storehouse, sir?” asked Yong Kyu.

“Give him the key,” the captain said to Pak. “If you don’t, we’ll just break the lock.”

Pak pleaded with the captain. “Think of my position, please. If we’re to go after each other’s throats, both of us will lose. Me and your commander, we’re like brothers, you know. And our seniors from school are sprinkled in important posts all over Vietnam. Go down to Saigon and see for yourself, you’ll see I’m not the only reserve officer doing business here.”

“Let’s go. We can talk later.”

The men got dressed and were led out of the house. The captain and the chief sergeant each took two of the men and an armed guard in their respective Jeeps. As they were leaving, the captain said to the other private, “You and Toi stay here and house sit. And Sergeant Ahn, check out all the goods in the place and then take a little rest.”

Once they were gone, Yong Kyu said, “Shall we have a look in the storehouse?”

He unlocked the metal bar fastening the galvanized iron gate and went in first. In the middle of the floor were pallets of Salem cigarettes and Hamm’s beer, and further inside electric appliances were piled up. As for the Korean beer, it seems they had been intending to deliver it direct from the pier. Out in the market, Yong Kyu estimated that the beer and cigarettes alone would be worth close to half a million piasters.

“I’m starving, let’s get something to eat,” Toi said.

They went back into the house and headed for the kitchen where the found some sausages, canned fruit, and milk in the refrigerator.

“Take a look at this,” the private called out from the living room. “There’s a ledger here.”

Yong Kyu thumbed through the palm-sized spiral notebook with a black vinyl cover. The sesame seed figures scrawled in ballpoint pen revealed all the details of revenues and expenses, and memos were jotted down here and there as well. Yong Kyu hunched over one of the living room tables and started transcribing the information from the notebook. Toi brought in a plate of food.

“What are you doing?” Toi said as he placed the plate on the table.

“Copying a list of the Vietnamese dealers. And the Americans, too.”

“A lucky find.”

“Yeah. Never know, maybe we’ll find a good American connection among these names.”

25

Pham Minh was waiting for his brother in Lei’s room. He had gotten a call from him that morning. Minh hadn’t left the house since going out to Son Tinh to meet Hae Jong. Quyen had asked him to stay put, and until Minh’s status was resolved he didn’t really feel like being out and about. He had a meeting with Nguyen Thach planned that day, and the first rendezvous with his cell of the organization was scheduled for Wednesday. He had to make sure matters were settled before then. Orders from the committee would be handed down to him that afternoon through Thach.

The excitement his return had aroused within the family gradually subsided after the first day. His mother started her usual nagging and Mi no longer made any effort to conceal her disdain for him. Lei was still very kind but she no longer talked with him like she did with her classmates. Before he had left, she often confided in him what others at her school had said, or, with a twinkle in her eyes, she would report the latest gossip about some incident on the outskirts of the city.

Now Lei did not even bring Minh any word of Shoan. If things went on that way, he thought, then Lei would be as openly contemptuous toward him as Mi in a matter of months. For Lei, the legend of her brother the patriot was gone for good. Still, during his training Minh’s ears had been calloused by the incessant repetition of the rule that, whatever the circumstances, he could never reveal his true colors nor was he to run his mouth about the political reality in Vietnam. An urban guerilla had to be a man of ordinary occupation, enslaved by daily life, a good-for-nothing slacker, or else camouflaged as a defeatist. In short, the less one was trusted by others, the more his safety would be assured. He had to implant in the minds of those surrounding him the belief he was a man so weak, lazy, and degenerate that he could not possibly commit an act requiring conviction.

When Lei was due home from school, Minh would make sure she found him sprawled out and snoring on the living room couch. When she was away, he would hole up in her room. His own room was now occupied by Mi and her children. Nobody was using Quyen’s room, but it was cluttered with a lot of household stuff. In the evenings Minh would linger about the living room, sipping beer bought from a neighborhood restaurant. When Mi cleaned the house in the morning, she made a point of avoiding the area around him and she did the sweeping and dusting without uttering a word to him.

Minh looked at the clock. It was ten a.m. He heard a car pull up outside followed by the heavy steps of his brother’s combat boots.

“Minh, where are you?”

The door opened. Lying on his long narrow wooden bed, Minh gazed up at his brother with a tired look. Quyen sat in front of the desk and faced him. He removed a slip of paper from the upper pocket of his jacket and held it out to Minh.

“Here’s your transfer order confirmation.”

“Transfer? But how can I be transferred when I’m not even enlisted?”

Pham Quyen frowned. “Let me tell you it was a real pain to get this. Would you prefer to enlist and go through boot camp training? You’re supposed to have joined the service two years ago and completed all required training. Your rank is sergeant and you were assigned to duty at Nha Trang before coming here. It cost me thirty thousand piasters to slip your military and personal records into the files at air force battalion headquarters here in Da Nang. Now go report for your transfer. They’ll assign you to an air base detachment unit. Then you just go and see the major at that unit, and then you can come back home and that’ll be the end of it After that, all that is left to be done is for you to deliver a duty fee of five thousand piasters to that major every month and you can be exempted from roll calls and inspections. This time next year you’ll be able to go and pick up an honorable discharge certificate. That’s all.”

“Do I have to report today?”

“No, you’re going with me tomorrow to headquarters. I know the battalion commander pretty well.”

Quyen exuded confidence. He had come to believe that of all the family members, only Minh could understand him.

“So how do you like life now that you’re resting at home?”

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll be a burden to the family.”

“You went to Son Tinh, didn’t you?”

Pham Minh hung his head.

“I just wanted to see her once. To see what kind of woman she is. I didn’t want to be like Mother or Mi and blindly hate her.”

“So, how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“After meeting Mimi… do you still think she is one of those cheap women?”

“No, I don’t.” It was an honest answer. “Except. .” Minh went on, “I can tell she’s a good woman, but… she’s not your type. How do I put it… She seems temporary.”

“Temporary?”

“Like a soldier’s lover at a new post. That’s probably how she thinks of you, too. She doesn’t look like a woman who would lie.”

“Mimi said I should find a job for you. When I asked whether you had put her up to the request, she said you’re too proud to spill your guts. . that’s a feature you and I share, she said. You seemed to have made a good impression on her.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Minh said truthfully. “A year is a long, boring hour. If all I do is hang around at home, I’m not sure I won’t do something silly again. I want to make some money, too. Until I go abroad to study, until I leave this country, I want to work and earn my travel expenses on my own.”

“I understand. I’ve thought it over, and I think you can be of some help to me. There’s somewhere I want you to come with me… so you want a job?”

“I’ll do any kind of work.”

Minh peered up at his brother, who avoided his gaze and replied, “Get the family to accept Mimi as one of us. Talk to Lei, to begin with. I’m sure you can change her mind. If you and Lei are on my side, Mother in time will soften. As for sister Mi, I don’t care either way. You only need to earn enough for your own spending money. I’ll take care of the family and all other expenses we’ll need. As I told you, before two years pass we’ll be out of this loathsome place. We’ll be living in a foreign country.”

“She’s become your wife, and now has Vietnamese nationality. But I don’t think she loves you. I’m only following your wishes. Our family is all on your side. Your heart is now set on her, but you never know how long it’ll last. I’ll treat her as my sister-in-law. Will that satisfy you?”

“I want Lei to do the same.”

“I know. She’ll change her attitude in time.”

“I’d like you to help me with my work. I’m dealing with a merchant, Nguyen Cuong, in old Le Loi market. He’s in charge of all the trading for the provincial government office, including purchases. From now on I’ll have a lot of gigantic transactions with him. We have two enormous projects underway, and they’ll probably change the fate of this family.”

“What business is that?”

“One is the phoenix hamlets project for the entire Quang Nam Province. The other is cinnamon. We’ll be building three hundred new hamlets and resettling people in them. It’s the last chance for the general as well as for me. Soon the general will have to take off his uniform. He may need me even after he joins the Saigon government, but when that happens he and I may take separate roads, you never know. He’ll have plenty of secretaries available in Saigon, some more capable and with better connections than me.

“Anyway, I would hate to let this other opportunity slip through my fingers. You know that cinnamon grows in abundance on the far side of the highlands? I’ll issue an operations order and promote a pacification program in the cinnamon region. That way I’ll corner the market on a traditional Central Vietnamese commodity that has grown scarce due to the war. With those two projects alone, I can easily make more than a million dollars in one year. Of course, the general’s share will be greater.”

With wide eyes and big gestures, Quyen went on bragging to his younger brother. He firmly believed that Minh was now on his side and that he would come over to his advantageous position of his own accord.

“How can I help you?”

“Well, I’ve already spoken to Cuong on the phone. I asked him to let you work in his office as my representative. He agreed. Your job will be simple enough. When the goods are delivered to him under my instructions, you’ll help him with the sales, checking that the payments agree with the prices negotiated in advance, and making rounds for collections in his stead. That’s all. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle the detail work. Now, come with me to see Cuong.”

Though inside he was greatly pleased, Minh showed no sign of excitement and instead asked in a monotone, “And what sort of salary will I get?”

“Kid, the salary is not the point. This is our family business. If you need money, you can request all the money you want after checking accounts for the transactions, as long as you don’t squander it.”

They left the house together in high spirits and drove to Le Loi market. They passed through the alley and the line of vendors along the parking lot, on the inner edge of which there stood a brick building that Minh knew well. It was the same building Uncle Nguyen Thach had guided them to on the night Minh returned to Da Nang. Quyen opened the sliding glass door and went in first. A female clerk rose from her seat and bowed. Nguyen Cuong gestured for the two of them to sit down.

“This is my little brother.”

“Ah, you look very different from your big brother. I’m Nguyen.”

“I’m Pham Minh.”

“Well, what do you say? Had any experience with business?”

“We’re sons of a family that used to run Da Nang’s biggest medicinal herb house,” Quyen said.

“True, I knew your late father very well. A man of excellent business tact, he was.”

“In business it’s less a question of tact than of trust.”

“But of course,” Nguyen said, chuckling. “Trust comes first and foremost for a tactful merchant in dealing with others.”

Then he turned to Minh and said, “There’s not a whole lot for you to do, Mr. Pham Minh. For starters you’ll work in my warehouse and be in charge of checking the incoming and outgoing flows of stock. Later, you can keep an eye on our transport connections, since our trucks are sent on a lot of runs outside the city.”

“Is the warehouse across the river still operating?” Quyen asked.

“Major, you should know that better than I,” Nguyen said with a grin. “Once the cinnamon starts flowing in, that warehouse will be extremely useful. The goods will head straight to the pier from there.”

“I’ll have everything set within two months.”

“Let’s go out to the warehouse.”

Nguyen got up first and walked out through the back door, then down a pathway that led to the side gate of the brick building. Minh remembered that he had used that side gate to enter the warehouse. When Cuong opened the aluminum door, the workers who had been moving goods out through the main entrance bowed to the owner. Cuong summoned a sturdy-looking man in shorts.

“This is Mr. Pham Minh. He’ll be your immediate superior. Mr. Pham Minh, this is our foreman.”

The man bowed politely and Minh extended his hand to shake. Inside the warehouse there were piled heaps of rice, cement, fertilizer, slate slabs, and plywood sheets. The workers had been lugging big sacks of fertilizer outside and loading them on a waiting truck.

“This fertilizer just came off the pier yesterday. We’re shipping it out to Quang Nai.”

“So his job will be to manage and release the goods here?” asked Pham Quyen.

“It’s best to start with that so he can get a feel for the business,” Cuong replied.

“Well, what do you think?” Quyen asked Minh.

“Fine, I’ll give it a try,” Minh answered.

Upon their return to the office, Nguyen Thach was waiting for them. He glanced at Pham Minh and greeted Pham Quyen with a smile.

“Ah, Major, long time no see, sir.”

“What brings you here?” asked Thach’s older brother, Cuong.

Thach scratched his head and said, “Well, there’s a payment I need to make today, and I’m a little short on cash.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred dollars. I need it in military notes.”

“You mean you don’t even have that small sum on you?”

“I’ve got plenty of piasters and checks, of course. But they want it in military notes, and if I change money on the market it’ll cost five piasters for every ten dollars, you know.”

“Introduce yourself. This is Mr. Pham Minh. As of today, he works here as warehouse manager. He’s Major Pham’s younger brother.”

Cuong casually introduced the two men. Minh unassumingly shook hands with Thach.

“Ah, is that a fact? Wonderful. Have you been discharged?”

“He’s on active duty. He was a student at Hue University,” Quyen answered, apparently bursting with pride for his little brother.

“That’s great. I’m a graduate of Hue University myself, which makes us alumni. Well, lunch is on me. What do you say? Let’s talk about our alma mater.”

Pham Quyen checked his watch and said, “I’ve got to head back to my office. What about you?”

“Well, you don’t need to work today,” Cuong declared. “Why don’t you start tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow we’ve some business to attend to concerning his military service. . how about the day after?” Quyen said.

“Whatever you say, Major,” Cuong replied, opening his arms wide. “To tell you the truth, it’s an honor to have your brother come work for us. From now on our business will be more alive than ever.”

“Let’s leave our big brothers behind and the two of us can go along to get to know each other,” Nguyen Thach said, patting Minh on the shoulder.

Quyen put his military hat back on and, as he left the office, said to Cuong, “I’m leaving him in your hands. There’s nothing to special to learn, I suppose. He’ll soon get used to the work.”

“Sure, he’s not his father’s son for nothing, I’m guessing.”

Quyen said goodbye with a nod and disappeared. Cuong gave the military currency to his brother. The latter said to Minh, “Now, you and I will go out for a nice lunch. What kind of food do you like?”

“How about buckwheat noodles with Chinese peppers?”

“Instead of that, how about we go get some fresh shrimp just pulled out of Da Nang Bay? I know a good place only a block from here.”

The two of them headed out side by side. Thach offered Minh a cigarette. Once they were outside Minh noticed a change in the expression on Thach’s face — he seemed to have become an entirely different man. A few minutes before he had been talkative and constantly smiling with wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes, but now his eyes had grown hard and his demeanor subdued.

“Seems everything worked out fine. Any sign of suspicion from your brother?”

“No, sir. Because I’m his own family.”

“Good. The problems of your military service and getting a job here at the warehouse worked out perfectly.”

“The day after tomorrow is the cell meeting, sir. Do I have orders from the committee?”

“Yes,” Thach replied curtly and stalked on ahead. “We’ll talk while we eat.”

They slipped out of the marketplace and stepped into a bar. The interior was dark with partitioned tables. Not a single customer could be seen. There were no waitresses, either, but two waiters stopped loafing and came over to greet them. They took a table in a corner and ordered shrimp curry and beer.

“The committee wants further training for you guys. We haven’t yet been entrusted with any full-dress mission. A company force of another fifteen is scheduled to arrive here to reinforce the Da Nang Special District. My comrades and I will be conducting missions as their operation agents. This week’s mission for cell C is to distribute NLF leaflets through all the campside villages down by the smokestack.”

“No combat, sir?”

“We aren’t given combat missions during the training period,” Thach whispered flatly and took a sip of a beer. “We start by carrying out small-scale tasks and then move up to larger, more important missions. Cells A and B will cover the areas of Dong Dao and Turen. You, Comrade Pham Minh, will also be responsible for contacts with those two cells. Cell A is having its meeting today, cell B tomorrow, and cell C the day after. I had the leaflets delivered to Chrysanthemum Pub. Divide them up and deliver a bundle to each cell. The cell A rendezvous is to be at the bookstore down on the corner of Doc Lap Boulevard. The time is always twelve noon sharp. As for cell B. .”

Minh took a notebook from his pocket and was about to write down the information when Thach raised his finger and shook it.

“No. Writing is forbidden. Whatever the order, you always must commit it to memory with no errors. The contact point for cell B is a teahouse called ‘Hoa’ down at the edge of the pier.”

“How will I recognize them?”

“Ah, no need to worry about that. Members of the same company know each other’s faces, no? They belong to a single family, so to speak. It was unthinkable a few years ago when the cells weren’t as solid as now. Back then nobody could be trusted. We used to have three steps before any contact, but things are different now. The 434th Special Action Group has had only two instances of betrayal in the last year. One informant was eliminated in advance by a cell trial and the other defected. Since we realized the defector was a traitor before he left, we had time to sever the contact links and we didn’t even have to track him down for retaliation. Now, can you repeat to me everything I’ve said so far?”

Pham Minh repeated it all item by item to Thach.

“Good. Now go and retrieve the stuff at the Chrysanthemum Pub, then go to the bookstore.”

Minh rose. Without even looking back he walked out of the bar. When he reached the pub, he took a seat inside, ordered a cup of tea, and asked the waiter as he was leaving, “Would you check and see if the things I forgot this morning are here?”

“What did you forget?”

“Some books.”

“I see. Yes, I’ll get them for you.”

The young waiter came back with three bulky volumes with dictionary covers. Pham Minh picked them up and left the pub. He looked around outside. It would be better, he told himself, to take a rickshaw than to walk. There were plenty of rickshaws scattered around the parking lot. He signaled for one with his hand.

“Doc Lap Boulevard.”

“You can walk that far.”

“You’ll be paid, so what’s it to you?”

“Got a point there, but I don’t feel too proud of taking your money to go that far.”

“Let’s go.”

The rickshaw slipped through the crowded market. Minh called for the driver to stop at the corner across the intersection from the bookstore. He paid and crossed the street. That edge of Doc Lap Boulevard was always quiet in the early afternoon. The central avenue leading to the pier crossed at the next block down. Where he was, Doc Lap was mainly lined with government offices, hotels, and upscale shops. The traffic whizzed by but few pedestrians were on the sidewalks. The nearest school was some distance away. Once school let out, a flock of students would descend on their bicycles and scooters.

Without pausing, Minh walked inside the bookstore. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, her face buried in a newspaper. Wary of the entrance, Minh kept his face directed at the shelves. There were textbooks in French, volumes of poetry, and all sorts of Vietnamese translations of foreign literature. He checked his watch: twelve thirty. He and the proprietress were the only ones in the store. Siesta, the dullest hour of the day, would start once lunch hour ended at one. Anyway, the bookstore was only busy before school in the morning, between one and one thirty when students were en route home for the siesta, and in the late afternoon when school let out for the day.

Someone walked into the store. Out of the corner of his eye, Minh recognized him as a youth he had often seen at the assembly camp. He was dressed in a clean white shirt and gray pants, with his hair neatly combed back. The black horned-rim glasses he had on were unfamiliar, so at first sight Minh had difficulty placing him, but he had kept the same moustache. Minh, standing with the three bundles of printed matter at his feet, turned around and gave him a questioning look. The youth strolled past the shelves and halted at his side. He then pulled a book down from the shelf and in a low voice said, “I’m the leader of cell A.”

Pham Minh glanced down at his own feet and whispered, “Take one.”

“Any other orders?”

“It’s all in there.”

The youth casually stooped down and picked up one of the books, then made a round of the store before leaving. Minh put the remaining package under his arm and picked a book at random from the shelf to buy and went farther inside the store. Before handing it to the owner he checked the cover and discovered that it was a collection of Baudelaire’s prose.

“Wrap this up, please.”

The woman wrapped the book without showing any sign of having noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“Two hundred piasters, please.”

Minh paid and the woman nodded in a cursory bow to him. Once back out on the street, Minh wondered where he should head next. The streets were still relatively quiet. He had no choice but to go home. It would still be two days before he could start working at Cuong’s warehouse. He had no idea what he could do with the bundles of leaflets for the time being. On his way home he bought some fresh pork and a can of condensed milk from a street vendor. When he arrived home, he found his mother and Mi sitting face-to-face drinking green tea.

“Come and sit down here, you,” his mother said.

Mi stared into the teacup and did not look up at him.

“Is this how you two boys are going to be? Do you think I’m a bump on a log? I hear you’ve been out to Son Tinh and seen that bitch. .”

“Who told you that?”

“So, the two of you are pouring your hearts out to each other behind my back. If your father were alive, your brother would never dare do this to me. That bitch of a bar girl has nothing to do with our family. So why did you go snooping around there?”

“I went on an errand for Big Brother,” Minh said without giving his reply a thought.

“That’s a lie. . you went there to ask her to help you get a job, didn’t you? Don’t you have any self-respect?”

What a great teller of tales his sister Mi had been, Minh said to himself as he let out a feeble laugh.

“Right, I asked her to talk to Big Brother. I see nothing wrong with that, do you?”

“Now that you’ve quit school, what good will it do for you to get a job with the help of those filthy creatures?”

“I need to make money. When I finish my military service, I’m going abroad to study. Anyway… all of us are eating the bread that Big Brother brings home, isn’t that a fact?”

“Quyen and you are both my sons. If he breaks up with that bitch, I’ll make a living even if I have to go out and peddle noodles on the street,” his mother said in a sniveling voice.

“You can’t find a man with a clear conscience in Vietnam anymore. I’ve no doubt I can make as much money as Big Brother can. I’ve already lined up a job, so don’t be worrying about me, Mother. And, Sister, I’d like to say a word to you, too. Will you listen to me?”

“Go ahead,” Mi said in a cold voice, avoiding Minh’s eyes.

“Do me a favor and stop comparing me to your husband.”

Their mother intervened. “Goodness, you’re giving me a headache. Don’t even mention that man in my presence. I trusted the bastard, you know, and such a vile Viet Cong he turned out to be. .”

“Mother. .”

Pham Minh’s tone was reproachful toward his mother, but Mi glared at him with fire in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare insult the dead.”

“Sister, what’s gotten into you? You never used to be like this. I’m still the same old me. I just don’t understand why our family always has to hurt each other when we sit down together.”

Mi grabbed the cups and the teapot and jumped to her feet.

“Ask Quyen. Maybe he’ll explain.”

The loud clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen started to grate on Minh’s nerves. He went into Quyen’s unoccupied room. In it there was an old wicker bed with the bamboo sticking out, and some chairs and odds and ends. He tossed the bundle of leaflets down and fell onto the bed. He lit a cigarette but soon felt as if his chest and neck were bursting from suffocation. He wanted to scream: I have to leave this house, get away from this family. But he couldn’t go anywhere without permission from the committee.

In his training he had been taught that the first essential condition for an urban guerilla to carry out his mission was to lead an ordinary existence. Revolution was not something realized by some dramatic events that occur one day out of the blue. A revolutionary fighter must battle with everyday routines and constantly build resolution as he lives day to day. Only upon such a foundation will he gain a capacity to induce dramatic events. Like the simple farmer who takes up his weapon as a sign of resistance after generations of his ancestors have lived in misery, revolution is not a brilliant flare but a rock-like sediment of silence.

Consequently, a revolutionary is not an anarchistic flower but a rock thrown into the wilderness of indifference surrounding it. At long last, these rocks will one day make a mound of rocks and they will strike and sparkle, roll and fly, their whole beings transformed into weapons. Unless he could survive at home, unless he tried to be one with his family, Pham Minh realized he would never be able to carry out a single task effectively.

His heart lightened. He extinguished the cigarette. He heard the sound of a bicycle bell. Lei must have come home for lunch. Minh reached over his head and locked the door. He heard Lei’s footsteps entering the kitchen. Broken-hearted, his mother seemed to have retreated to her room. As he lay there using his arms as a pillow, Minh’s thoughts again focused on the leaflets: I’ll be an effective agent, I’ll carry out missions never before accomplished by anyone in any of the units. He picked up the bottom bundle of leaflets, the one for cell C. Inside the thick dictionary cover there were about two thousand sheets of paper. A note was tucked into the top of the bundle. He took it out and read:

The purpose of the present leaflets is twofold: one educational purpose is to enhance the personal capacities of liberation fighters and the cooperative operational ability of each cell. The other is to constantly remind the people of the actuality of the NLF. The members of each cell should distribute them extensively in the areas under their responsibility, keeping within the bounds of personal security. Time: this Saturday evening. Place: the whole expanse of refugee hamlets from Bai Bang to Somdomeh. Each cell must fix individual mission areas and conduct at least two preliminary surveys and dry runs. The leader of the cell is to collect opinions of the cell afterwards and make a verbal report of the results through the chain of operations.

Pham Minh picked up a copy of the leaflet and read it. It was the essential principles of the South Vietnamese National Liberation Front. He had read it dozens of time and was even tested on it while training at Atwat. The text began as follows:

Ever since the French colonialists first occupied our country, we, the Vietnamese people, have never ceased to fight for the independence and freedom of our nation. Our fellow countrymen throughout the nation, who had shattered Japanese and French imperialism in 1945, continued their cooperation and, as a result of the heroic war of resistance, won a great victory over the French invaders and the American interveners, thus leading the building storm of national resistance to culminate in a glorious victory. At the Geneva Conference in July 1954 the French imperialists had no choice but to agree to the withdrawal of their military forces from Vietnam. The nations participating in the Accords made a solemn declaration on the sovereign independence of Vietnam, promising her unification as well as approving the preservation of her territorial frontiers.

From then on, leading a peaceful life, we faced the task of constructing an independent, democratic, and unified Vietnam with all of our fellow countrymen. However, the American imperialists, who had lent support to the French in the past, once again are seeking to permanently divide our nation, and are scheming to enslave the people of the southern part of Vietnam by means of a restructured colonial system, making our southern region a military base for control of Southeast Asia in preparation for a war of conquest. They set up the facade of an independent state by planting their puppets in powerful posts, and use their economic policy advisory group to place all of the military, economic, political, and cultural structures of South Vietnam under their control. Conspiring with traitors to our people, the invaders established a system of merciless dictatorship without precedent in the long history of our nation. They deprive the people of all liberty and persecute all democratic and patriotic activity. They implement monopolies in the economy; suppress industry, agriculture, and trade; and extort farmland from all classes.

They have a baneful influence upon the mentality of the people, deploy tactics calculated to annihilate the national spirit of our fellow countrymen, and use all available means to attempt to befuddle our consciousness and make us into degenerates, even as they expand their military presence, build new bases, and exploit their military power as an instrument to persecute the people and to execute the belligerent preparations for war that are none other than the basic policies of imperialism. Their cruel policies and dictatorial politics have led to the commission of innumerable crimes. The sound of gunfire has never ceased throughout the South and thousands of our compatriots have been atrociously slaughtered. Hundreds of thousands of people are now being tortured and victimized, suffering in concentration camps and prisons. Countless abodes have been incinerated into ash; people have been driven from their homes and coerced into their armies. The tactic of concentrating the people in prosperous zones or on newly developed land has resulted in a great number of families being broken up and scattered to the winds. Heavy taxes, white terror, lost jobs, and impoverishment have become a great hardship to the general populace and constitute a threat to the very survival of the people.

Peace, independence, democracy, personal security, peaceful unification of the nation — these are the desperate desires in the depths of our hearts. These longings, having been turned into ironclad resolutions, are giving us singular strength and are overthrowing the cruel domination of the imperialists and their agents. We are appealing now to our countrymen to rise up for a full-scale struggle to protect our families and to save our nation. For the sake of the essential interests of our nation, and to lead a full-scale struggle that will meet the demands of the people for justice, following the progressive trend in global development, we hereby declare the establishment of the National Liberation Front of Vietnam.

“Brother, are you in there?”

Lei knocked at the door. Quickly concealing the leaflets behind him, Minh instinctively pressed the door with one hand. It was locked.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Let’s have lunch together.”

“I don’t feel like eating.”

Lei did not go away.

“Open up for me.”

“Leave me alone. I’m going to take a little nap.”

“There’s something I need to talk over with you.”

“Later, all right?”

Lei left. As he read the pamphlet, Minh had been daydreaming that he was back in Atwat — the room had become his barracks. If he had been from the countryside, by now he would have been assigned combat duty in the jungle. For an urban guerilla, the primary object of his watchfulness was his own family, his own neighbors. Wasn’t the whole city his battlefield? When the instructors said he would have to overcome the temptations of city life, they had meant he had to be on guard against the pleasures and the frivolity of the city, but on another level they could have meant that he has to defeat the vanity that urged him to reveal himself. Under his breath, Minh rehearsed the ten essential points of the NLF oath, followed by the final moving phrases: “Victory certainly shall be ours. For the combined strength of our people is not to be broken, justice is on our side, and colonialism has had its century in the sun and is now bound for extinction. Peace, democracy, and the national liberation movement are spreading far and wide like a storm, winning one victory after another.”

Pham Minh wrapped the leaflets back up and put them back inside the dictionary cover. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. He rose from the wicker bed and threw open the latticed shutters on the window. It was nearing evening and the twilight sky was beautiful. Monday had almost flown away. Feeling thirsty, he went out to the living room and found Mi there playing with her three-year-old daughter. His little niece came over into his arms and he put the girl into the hammock and rocked it jerkily. She screeched with laughter. Mi seemed uncomfortable and quietly went into the kitchen. Minh took his niece outside into the yard and played with her for a while. Then, with the little girl in his arms, he went through the reed screen into the kitchen where his sister Mi was washing rice. He spoke first to her back.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

She didn’t stop what she was doing, but seemed to be waiting for him to continue. After a few seconds, he went on.

“Some people are strong, but there are weak ones in this world, too. There are strong plants like baobab trees and weak ones like violets. About the way I feel, I’m afraid you… I’m in despair now. You could try to understand.”

Mi stopped washing the rice and turned her head.

“Come here.”

Minh set the child down and approached his sister. She embraced him and seemed about to weep.

“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his back. “Minh, you’re not like Quyen. Ever since you were a little boy, you were always my favorite.”

“I’ve got some ideas of my own.”

“I know, I know. I won’t drive you into a corner anymore. I couldn’t help thinking of my children’s father, that was why.”

The next day the Pham brothers appeared at the air force battalion headquarters in Da Nang. Minh was wearing a uniform given him by his brother, a sergeant’s chevron on the shoulder, and he carried transfer papers. They gave him a shiny set of dog tags with his new unit. His name must have been inserted into a space on the roster vacated by a deserter or an airman killed in action. Minh sat there in the outer office for about an hour leafing through newspapers as his brother chatted and chuckled with the commander. When Quyen emerged with a short lieutenant colonel, Minh saluted to the commander as his brother had taught him. The lieutenant colonel merely glanced at him.

Their next stop was the air base on the edge of downtown toward Dong Dao. The Vietnamese air force detachment was right across the street from the US base. A few patrol planes and two tired-looking squadrons of older fighters and helicopters were parked on the strip. Like the Vietnamese navy, the air force had no independent operational authority and only served as an adjunct to the US forces, so there were not many pilots around. Here, also, Minh was a ghost on the duty roster worth five thousand piasters a month to the commanding officer. He finished the formalities by shaking hands with the major who was in charge of the detachment. The major cautioned him not to go outside of Da Nang unless it was absolutely necessary.

“By April next year, you’ll be the first one in our family to emigrate,” Pham Quyen said brightly as they left, looking as though a load had just been lifted from his shoulders.

Minh went back home and changed his clothes. Then he picked up the disguised bundle of leaflets and headed for Hoa teahouse, the rendezvous point for cell B. He drank some tea with the leader of cell B and exchanged a few words before leaving.

“Any other orders?”

“None.”

“The date is unchanged?”

“Changes, if any, will be handed down from above.”

On Wednesday morning Minh put on black Vietnamese clothing and went to Nguyen Cuong’s store for his first day of work. Over his shoulder he slung a canvas bag containing two bananas, a shaving kit, and one of the dictionary covers. It was about seven thirty when he reached the warehouse in Le Loi market. Cuong was already in the office and the female clerk was making Tonkin-style coffee, boiling water over an alcohol burner.

“Ah, welcome. Let’s have a cup of coffee together.”

Cuong and Minh sat down across from each other.

“Let me introduce the two of you, since you’ll be working together. This is Miss Ran.”

Minh and the clerk nodded to each other. The coffee was strong and aromatic.

“We open the store at seven in the morning,” Cuong said, “like our competitors in Le Loi market. It’s the early bird that catches the worm, you know. From seven till twelve we move merchandise in and settle payments for transactions closed the day before. Lunch and siesta go from twelve to three. From three to six we ship goods going out of town and continue with collections. At six o’clock you can head home. Of course, things vary occasionally, but that’s more or less the routine. Now, Miss Ran, you have that detailed list of the incoming and outgoing merchandise for today, don’t you?”

Miss Ran handed the typed work orders over to Cuong, who passed it to Minh.

“Check the accuracy of the newly delivered stock as shown here and let me know. Same with the things being shipped. I’m doing the bargaining myself, but completing the deals will be your responsibility, Mr. Pham. I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Cuong pulled the telephone closer. “I’d better inform your brother what we’re up to,” Cuong said, looking over at Minh. He asked the switchboard at the provincial government office to connect him with the governor’s office.

“Major Pham, please. Not in yet? This is Nguyen Cuong Trading Company. Yes, yes, please do.”

Cuong hung up the phone and said to Minh, “Now let’s go to the warehouse.”

As they opened the back door leading to the warehouse, it was still dark inside but for a few beams of morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the big door. Cuong turned on the light. He took out a set of keys and handed them to Minh.

“So, this one’s the key to that door over there that opens from the side path. This one opens the warehouse from the office, the way we came. And this one is for the front gate. Hold onto these.”

Once Cuong had left, Minh did a count to confirm all the stock on hand in the warehouse. Three hundred bags of cement, twelve hundred galvanized iron sheets, two hundred fifty sacks of fertilizer, two hundred bags of food, and five hundred sheets of plywood. Then he checked the delivery orders and opened the main gate all the way up. Bright sunlight flooded in, bathing almost half the warehouse. He moved the desk and chair into the shadows to avoid the heat and sat down.

The door from the office opened and Nguyen Thach came in. “Ah, already in, I see,” Thach said. “Contacts with the cells on Monday and yesterday went fine, I hope?”

“Yes, I delivered the books.”

“Where do you meet C today?”

“An open cafe down by the pier. All the members will be there. Am I to be dropped from cell C, sir?”

“There’s been a call up of reinforcements. I’m afraid only the leader will show up today. Now I’d like you to become friendly with some of the clerks and shop owners in the market. The sooner the better. Might not be a bad idea to treat them to lunch in a few days. As for the traders who bring trucks from outside Da Nang for pickups, you’ll meet them through your work. One of the merchants on our side is coming up today, so I’ll introduce him to you.”

“What’re my orders for next week, sir?”

“Each cell in turn will change their contact days. By then you’ll have new tasks. Reports will have to be made on the results of dissemination of the leaflets. The training period is four weeks. After that, the real missions will begin. But you, Comrade Pham, will have to help me with my responsibilities for procurement and finances. C-rations and arms are what you should have in mind. We have to keep the guerillas on the outskirts of Da Nang supplied with ammo and mortar shells as well as food and medicine. We’ll also have to find weapons for the recent reinforcements.”

“Will each cell be supplied with weapons, sir?”

“Yes. Pistols and automatic rifles are the most useful arms in Da Nang. Then, too, there’s a need for hand grenades, explosives, and blasting caps.”

“Are we stealing them?”

“No. . there’s plenty of such stuff floating around this city. Over across from the smokestack is the center of the black market for arms. We have to secure as many mortars, rocket launchers, artillery pieces, and shells for them as we can from the US forces. We also need a lot of antitank mines. And then. .”

Nguyen Thach looked at the list of goods to be delivered that Minh had set down on the desk and said, “Didn’t your brother tell you about the phoenix hamlets project?”

“Yes, he also mentioned cinnamon up in the highlands.”

“Cinnamon?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like he plans to mobilize troops to harvest cinnamon.”

Nguyen Thach gently laughed. “He did come up with a brilliant idea. The two of them will soon recover the glory of the Bao Dai era. Cinnamon operations. . probably more than half of all the AID-funded supplies for the phoenix hamlets project will be channeled through the provincial government here. Three hundred hamlets are to be built. Already relief food for the refugees is moving through here. . there’ll be a mountain of rice pouring in. But what we have our hearts set on are the new carbines, M1s and M2s, to be supplied to arm the militias in the new hamlets.”

“My brother would never get involved in such risky business. He’s a very cautious man, sir.”

“I’m not saying you should talk to your brother about this. Make friends with Lieutenant Kiem on the adjutant’s staff at the provincial government office. I’m certain he’s now scheming to find a way to develop some business of his own. The money that falls into his lap for helping Major Pham is chicken feed. As far as I know, militia matters are under the jurisdiction of the ARVN Second Division, but since their headquarters are up in Hue, the commander who should be in charge has no practical control. Acaptain dispatched from First Division Headquarters, along with Colonel Cao, superintendent of military police in Da Nang, will be delegated power to conduct the training and take command of the militias. Lieutenant Kiem, I think, will be responsible for liaison between those concerned.”

“Plan?”

“Just think about it. Three hundred hamlets, each with between fifty and one hundred households — even if we assume only one adult male per household we are talking about at least thirty thousand guns.”

“Administrative tricks, maybe?”

“Sure. A few thousand ghosts can easily be fabricated on paper. Statistics are in flux because new hamlets are being created, the population is on the move, and the count of the dead changes daily. Depending on Kiem’s capability, the quantity could be even higher. If that works out we’ll have a regular supply of ammunition and other supplies for a whole division of local guerillas. That should do for small arms. We can start with one hundred and gradually increase the supply to one thousand or more. That’ll enable us to open a steady channel for continuing sales of weapons and ammo, but best of all, the money for training these ghosts and for related administration will roll into their hands and then straight into their pockets. We won’t even have to throw them any bait. Since we already see this opportunity, all we have to do is move fast and grab the chance before other merchants get the same idea.”

Nguyen Thach was going over the modus operandi he intended to carry out with Minh’s help. He continued: “And the next thing is the food and medicine. Those are items we must come up with through our own resourcefulness in trading.”

“Will it be rice, sir?”

“Rice is traded openly; it’s a basic commodity in the market. We can transplant rice twice a year, and even under the French our country was famous for exports of Annam rice, but over 40 percent of our paddies in central Vietnam, not to mention the Mekong Delta, have been turned into battlefields. So the main rice trading these days is concerned with relief grain from California. Just like with cement and fertilizer, it’s easy work. It’s plentiful all over the market. The more important thing is the combat rations — we can’t afford expensive food for guerillas in the jungle. Nothing is more convenient than C-rations for operations requiring blackouts or secret mobilizations, like night reconnaissance, infiltration, and ambushes. We also need C-rations to feed the wounded in the swamps.

“Along with guns, the trade in C-rations is one of the most sensitive for the American intelligence investigators. So we have to make small purchases and gradually accumulate stockpiles. As for medicines, in this tropical climate the items most in demand are antibiotics, antiparasitics, and painkillers. Terramycin, streptomycin, quinine and, most of all, anesthetics and morphine are hard to come by in the jungle. We use refined heroin as a painkiller sometimes, but it’s risky. If we carry out this task, the duty of linking up with the various cells will be transferred to another section.”

“Are we the only ones doing such work in Da Nang’s Third Special District, sir?”

“Ah, naturally there’s a transportation team that connects the city with the countryside and another team working across from the smokestack. And we have administrative agents in the market collecting taxes, of course. After being reinforced the total strength of the 434th Special Action Unit is now sixty fighters, divided into four companies. You’ll learn the details after you become a regular agent. By the way, your status is secure now?”

Minh took his dog tags out from beneath his shirt and showed them to Thach.

“I’m a sergeant in the air force, sir. I belong to the maintenance detachment at the air base.”

“Well done. That’ll be very useful later.”

Nguyen Thach walked toward the warehouse door. “I’ll be dropping in every day around this time or before you’re finished for the day,” he added.

Once he was gone, Minh went over their discussion and rearranged the information in his head, carefully organizing everything lest he forget. He heard a truck pulling up outside, and after it stopped the foreman came in with three men. The foreman greeted Pham Minh with a nod and a merchant from the country extended his hand. He said he had come from Hoi An.

“The payment has been made.”

Looking at Minh’s delivery order, the foreman pointed to the kind and quantity of merchandise that had been circled in red ink.

“Here it is. Hoi An.”

Pham Minh released the cement and fertilizer and got a receipt for the delivery. Nguyen Cuong, who had just walked in, nodded.

“I knew you’d do fine. Save those documents and give them to the major. I’ll give you the final approval.”

26

The little notebook belonging to the head of the Hong Kong Group had disclosed three of their lines of business and led to one very important discovery. Chairman Pak had written down the names of the clubs and bars he had been supplying with beer and cigarettes, including the Bamboo Sports Club as well as minor inns. Even a few brothels were identified. Colonel Cao and Major Krapensky must have been very unhappy.

The cigarettes had been coming mainly from the air force PX and electric appliances from the marine PX. The beer supplies had only recently been switching over from Hamm’s to Korean beer. Lately the supply of Korean beer had grown and the price was down in the market, no doubt about that. The captain and Yong Kyu already knew very well that the Hong Kong Group had been working together with the chief sergeant from the investigation team, the staff sergeant from the supply corps detachment, and the master sergeant in charge of the canteen at brigade. Under the acronym MAC, a list of names was written down in alphabetical order, and there was also an entry for Puohung Company in Le Loi market.

Yong Kyu thought Puohung might well be a channel through which A-rations were flowing out. Fresh A-rations, as everybody knew, were unloaded at Bai Bang Harbor, from where the heaps of produce were sent to the refrigerated navy warehouse across from the smokestack. The good thing about A-rations was that they were perishable and so could not be stored very long. Further, marketing food was always easy. It was widely known that the US economic team had been controlling the prices by regulating supplies.

It seemed that Pak had, without access to the inside mechanics, succeeded in tapping into a supply channel for these profitable items. He even had a Vietnamese merchant lined up to take A-rations off his hands. With the Puohung Company nearby in Le Loi market, the investigation would be easy, and the owner might turn out to be dealing in luxury items as well as A-rations. Pak’s list also included some Vietnamese traders who could be dealing in weapons.

The whole Hong Kong Group, including Lieutenant Colonel Pak, Pig, Pak’s brother-in-law, and the crew cut, had been taken to the police station. They were interrogated only about the Salem cigarettes from the air force PX and the four pallets of beer stored at the pier. All of them were so discouraged that they answered the questions meekly. The captain told Pak to keep his hands off the beer, but was less adamant about the cigarettes. He alluded to the fact that the flow of beer, especially Korean beer, into the market had been irritating the Americans and that, unless stopped, it would enrage Colonel Cao, the police superintendent, who liked to keep his hand on the beer tap in Da Nang. Pak was told that he would be allowed to deal only in luxury items and appliances from the PX. Pak didn’t respond to that. As soon as the prisoners were released, the captain went to the Dragon Palace with Yong Kyu and the chief sergeant to have lunch.

“What next?” Yong Kyu said, and went on in a joking tone. “Shall I bring in the staff sergeant from the supply corps and the master sergeant from the brigade canteen and punch them in the nose?”

“Hey,” the chief sergeant said, “they’ve only been dealing in order to put a little cash away for when they take off their uniforms. They haven’t committed any serious crimes, have they? Fight when you have to fight, and make money while you can, that’s what I say. We came here to make some stinking money, and nobody stole anything, we just did a little business, that’s all.”

“Listen, you: you’ve got to figure out your right foot from your left. Blue Jacket Ahn is trying to cover for you. He’s got the detachment by the throat, isn’t that right?

“When the pictures are developed, it’ll be more than enough,” Yong Kyu said.

“From now on all the Korean beer is yours,” the captain said to the chief sergeant. The latter started to sulk.

“What do you expect me to do, go out and sell it myself door to door? I don’t speak the language and I don’t know any Vietnamese merchants.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wrote down all the dealers that Lieutenant Colonel Pak was using.”

Yong Kyu took out his notebook and showed it to them.

“What do you know, that slimy woman who owns this place, that raccoon, she’s one of Pak’s customers, too,” the captain said in a low voice.

“Sure. She charges us four fifty or even five dollars a can for beer she buys at a buck-fifty a can.”

“That’s a wholesale price. The retail price goes as high as six dollars at the moment, you know,” the chief sergeant said.

“For a guy so much in the know, how come you’ve been spinning your wheels without getting anything done? You better come with me to say hello to Colonel Cao. So much for the beer. As for that canteen sergeant at brigade headquarters, you should collar him, too. There’s liquor and cigarettes.”

“I understand.”

“And take good care of the boys, look after them. And rent a truck, too.”

“The owner of the place where I’m working now, he rents vans. Get one from him for now.”

“Well, that’s one more thing taken care of,” said the captain in a better mood. “What remains is the matter of the beer. It’ll leave us in an awkward spot if we end up clashing with the US side again.”

“We can solve that problem by reaching a compromise with the Vietnamese police superintendent. The basic information must have come from there. Korean beer was pushing out American PX beer all through the Da Nang circulation network. That was their way of irritating the US forces so that they would interfere with the marketing of our beer.”

“Right, we can arrange something with Cao. Anyway, since all the deals on the US side are made either at the harbor or in their warehouses — that is, within their compounds — the final responsibility was bound to fall on third-country nationals. We’ve got to get detailed information on the black market activities of the US economic operations team.”

Yong Kyu explained again what he had copied from Pak’s records. The captain listened for a while with his brow furrowed into a frown and then thought deeply.

“That’s it, A-rations are the goods least connected with the war. If stored too long, they turn into garbage, but fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables are daily necessities in central Da Nang. It makes price manipulation very easy. It’s produce consumed by the privileged of the city, but it raises problems of its own, and not just a few, either. If we pull the wrong thread, we might find ourselves holding a snake’s tail instead of a sack of potatoes. Once bitten, we lose.”

“The B-rations we pull out from Turen have little impact on the prices of other goods and the transactions are easy. I’ll try to dig up some details on the A-ration trading. I have a feeling something will turn up.”

“Will you begin with MAC?”

“No, sir. I’ll start at the opposite end,” Yong Kyu said with a smile. “Le Loi market.”

“Fine. If worse comes to worst, we’ll find ourselves back at square one. Why not take a look at the Americans’ turf? Just don’t get them upset.”

The captain agreed with Yong Kyu’s idea of digging up details on A-ration dealings. Once they understood the mechanism of price-fixing in the black market, other valuable information would fall into their lap as well. It was their best bet.

“The underground trade in dollars is important, too,” the captain went on.

“It’s not just military currency, sir. You can change anything: money orders, francs, deutsch marks, yen, you name it. Everything is quoted in piasters, though. They say money changers have been coming here all the way from Cholon and Saigon.”

On Wednesday afternoon, Yong Kyu made his regular rounds and drove a rec center Jeep through the convoy traffic to the Turen supply warehouse. He met Leon in front of the warehouse. The American looked worried and quickly ushered Yong Kyu inside.

“There’s a big problem.”

“What is it? Something gone wrong with our business?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so serious. You know Stapley, don’t you?”

“So, he’s the one in trouble?”

Yong Kyu had once enjoyed a night on the town with Sergeant Stapley, Leon’s best friend. Stapley was a blonde from New York, handsome as a French movie actor. He was always talking up his plans to become a cartoonist when the war was over. In some ways he was very different from Leon. He used the most imaginative swearing among the GIs to denounce the Vietnam War. He had something of an artistic gift and was in the habit of making medallions and bracelets by engraving sayings he composed himself in Gothic lettering on coins and strips of metal or plastic. He had given Yong Kyu a yellow plastic emblem with red lettering that read: “Do Not Crumple or Trample before Disposal!” Other creations of his said things like “God-Damned War” or “Fucking Murderers!” or “Baby Cookers” or sometimes titles or lyrics from popular rock songs. That night Leon had vanished early with a woman and Yong Kyu had spent the whole night drinking whiskey with Stapley. He remembered their conversation.

“I was a helicopter gunner. Even got a medal. That’s how I got to be a sergeant. Now I’ll never be a cartoonist. Listen to me, you smelly Asian boy, I’m gonna stay put right here and get promoted to be master sergeant with a moustache and then I’ll give a hell of a time to my men. You know that guy named Silverstein, right? He writes poems and illustrates them. What if we brought him over here and made him a sergeant, what d’you think?”

“You idiot, you don’t even know what would happen, do you? Either he’d sell the entire stock of Turen to fill his belly, or live on, like you, throwing a tantrum over the killing on the battlefield, or maybe just get killed himself,” Yong Kyu had said.

“Stapley’s disappeared,” Leon said.

“Maybe he’s just gone to China Beach again, to play poker and now he’s sleeping it off?”

“I wish that was all. But he took off with a truckload of poncho liners. Must be worth three thousand dollars.”

“Why the hell would he take poncho liners?”

“Because that warehouse was just finished inventorying. There were also jungle boots and tents.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Five days. An AWOL report already went up the chain.”

AWOLs were everywhere. Sometimes they would fake a transfer and show up at a foreign barracks, or loiter around one of the ARVN city detachment posts. Once in a while an AWOL American managed to hole up for months in a Vietnamese civilian household.

“Can’t you do something?” Leon asked. “I want to help him.”

“Me?” Yong Kyu rolled his eyes. “You must be out of your mind. We’re different from you guys. And this is your installation. How can I help you? Leon, I can tell you know where he is.”

“More or less. Probably trying to get some help from the AWOL Rescue Society.”

“What’s that? A group that helps out AWOLs?”

“It’ll be harder than down in Saigon, but I’m sure there’s also a group here. Please find him a civilian house where he can hide for a month. You know the locals. All of us boys in Turen love him. We don’t want to see him thrown in jail.”

Yong Kyu tried to come up with an idea. Leon again spoke. “The reward is no problem. Just tell me what kind of goods you want.”

“Shut up. I’m not after a reward. Let’s just find him and talk to him.”

“I have a feeling he’ll get in touch with me after a few days. We need to find him a hideout before then.”

Yong Kyu talked it over with Toi, who undertook finding a private home to take Stapley in.

“It’s interesting,” Toi said with a smile, “to see people proclaiming their neutrality like this.”

“Not to me. I have no position. I’m going home as soon as I can and then I’ll forget about all this.”

They emerged from Nguyen Cuong’s warehouse after stacking the goods they had delivered. Nguyen Thach pushed open the door leading into the marketplace and stepped out.

“What do you have today?” Thach asked.

“Canned pork and potatoes.”

“Boring, yet again,” Thach said. Then he turned to Toi and said, “Bring me some raisins and spices.”

“They haven’t done the inventory yet, that’s why. We’ll go back on Friday, so why don’t you let them know directly what you need?”

“Ah, all right, then.”

“I guess the money for last week’s been collected?”

“Yeah, about eight hundred dollars so far.”

“We need to rent one of your cars. Mr. Nguyen Thach, let us use one of your box vans. How much do you charge for a day?”

“I’ll let you have it for twenty-five dollars, gas not included. Others will charge you thirty, but since we’re a family here I’ll give you a discount.”

“We only need it after siesta, not the whole day.”

“Fifteen, then. But you people have vehicles, don’t you?”

“They’re all marked with company names. My friend, a sergeant, and I are going to use it. Ten dollars, what do you say?”

“All right. But have it back before dark. There’ll be another five dollars charged if you use it until late tonight.” Thach was an excellent haggler.

“Ask him about the A-rations,” Yong Kyu said to Toi.

“What about them?”

“Well, prices, what’s in demand, that sort of thing.”

“Mr. Nguyen Thach, what kinds of A-rations are selling well these days?” Toi inquired.

“Can you get some?” Thach countered with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Well, we can try. .”

“Onions are good and so is beef. . apples and oranges are doing especially well.”

“Which command the best price now?”

“Hard to tell. I’ve never handled them. Go over to the new market and find out for yourself. There’s also one dealer here, a very large operation called Puohung Company, right over on the next alley. The owner is an even bigger trader than my brother.”

“Sergeant, I could smell it,” Toi said to Yong Kyu. “We were right, it’s Puohung Company after all. They handle A-rations, he says.”

“No more questions for him now.”

Thach went back over to his desk and sat down. He punched his calculator for a while and then, out of the blue, asked Yong Kyu, “My understanding is that only American soldiers can lay hands on A-rations, and there are none at Turen, is that right?”

“They store them across the river.”

“As I said, Puohung is the only one around here handling A-rations. As for me, I’m more interested in medical supplies. My brother says antibiotics are in great demand, and mosquito repellant and disinfectants for purifying water are going for high prices.”

Yong Kyu gazed at the man in silence, then said, “I can see why antibiotics are needed, but the other items are only required in the jungle, eh?”

“I see you obviously don’t know the unwritten law of Le Loi market. A merchant with a firm political stance is disqualified as a business partner.”

“Of course, we can take an unlimited amount of medical supplies out of Turen.”

After a period of silence, Yong Kyu opened his mouth again, carefully gauging Thach’s reaction. “If we’re talking about something like Terramycin, there is little bulk, since a box holds a dozen bottles containing a hundred pills each. What do they charge for a pill?”

“I’m not sure, one hundred piasters, perhaps.”

“Outrageous.”

“You certainly can’t compare the margin with B-rations,” Thach said, taking from his drawer a package of razor blades. “Something like this, for example. Do they manufacture razor blades of this quality in your country?”

“Well, not yet, not razor blades,” Yong Kyu said, shaking his head.

“See what I mean? Same is true with fingernail clippers or fruit knives. They can be copied, but the problem is tempering the blade. If we work on it hard enough I’m sure we’ll also be able to make them in time. But you can’t make guns when you’re being driven by a war. And as the war has come from outside, so have the guns. In the jungle they make do with bows, bamboo spears, and drums, but they need guns, too.”

Tired of Thach’s stiff speech, Yong Kyu yawned and asked, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Once more Thach picked up the package of razor blades and showed it to him.

“This. This represents the lifestyle of a country that has the technology and matériel to reduce the entire territory of Vietnam to ashes. That lifestyle is woven into a single razor blade, like the knots in a net. Take a box of these with you when you go back home, and it’ll bring you a nice pile of cash. That’ll be the case in Korea, I imagine. But here this is no commodity for earning profits.”

“Why is that? Because the NLF doesn’t use razor blades as weapons?”

As soon as he spat out these words, Yong Kyu realized he had gone too far. He had been too direct. However, Thach’s expression did not change. He was still smiling.

“Ah, that slipped out. Because of your clothes. . if you were in uniform I’d have been more careful. You see, I was not speaking with any political or military allegiance in mind. After all, I’m a businessman. To know what items are selling best is all that’s important to me. There’s a limit on the goods that are in demand only in US-occupied areas. There’s a downside to A-rations selling well. It’s true that you can dispose of them quickly, the customers are steady, and the profit margin is good and stable. It’s a business dealing with a special class of customers.

“For medical supplies, on the other hand, especially antibiotics and mosquito repellant, those are commodities whose customers are spread far and wide. Whether they end up being used by farmers or by jungle-dwellers is of no concern to a businessman. You see, in Vietnam, nobody dies from not having his face cleanly shaven. All the small merchants in this market live off the trade generated by the US military warehouses and PXs. But with the big merchants it’s different. Take my brother, for instance. He knows what items have the broadest range of consumers. Remedies for indigestion may not be popular, but antibiotics or first aid treatments for external wounds are definitely in great demand here and now. If I may be more blunt, carbines make more realistic merchandise than fruit knives. But then, of course, I have no intention of dealing in merchandise of that kind.”

Yong Kyu decided to step out of his role as an army man. “You seem to be taking the words out of our mouths. What nationality are you, anyway? As for me, I’ll be back home as a civilian in a few months.”

“Isn’t war the most merciless form of business? You people, not to mention the Americans. . when you all leave. . when the war is over… the style of life you brought here with you will vanish, too. In any case, in a pandemonium where people are bleeding and their wounds must be dressed, the desperate demand for medical supplies not only makes me money, it gives me a sense of personal gratification to supply those needs. After all, these are my fellow countrymen.”

Toi said something to Thach in Vietnamese. A gentle smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes as Thach replied.

“Oh, how thoughtless of me. You said you’re hungry and lunch is on me today. I’ve been talking at you so much for only on reason: I want to buy medical supplies.”

“Let’s go have lunch,” Yong Kyu said, looking at Thach, then at Toi.

“There’s a place I know down by the pier. Famous for fried fish. And…” Thach said, counting the military notes he had removed from his pocket, “here is the eight hundred dollars for last week.”

“Four hundred is left, then. Here’s the ten for the van.”

They finished settling the accounts. Toi got behind the wheel of the van and Yong Kyu and Thach sat side by side in the back. Yong Kyu asked Thach, “Do you plan to sell the medical supplies only here in Da Nang?”

“That’s a tricky question. I’ll sell them in Da Nang, but I can’t be responsible for where the goods end up.”

“I will supply the goods on one condition.”

Thach smiled and leaned back to wait for Yong Kyu to go on.

“I want you to give me detailed information on the transactions of Puohung Company. I want to know who the American soldiers are, their ranks and units, the kind of items they’re supplying, quantities, and prices, and so on.”

Thach cocked his head. “I’m not sure I can do that. It raises the sticky problem of business ethics. Among merchants, we may know the particulars of others’ dealings, but it’s customary that we hold all that in confidence. A sort of tacit understanding, a bond of mutual trust, you might call it.”

“Then in that case there’ll be no medical supplies, I’m afraid.”

“As you wish.”

The van was passing the blinding wall of the White Elephant. Through the trees lining the street the sea and the sidewalk cafés came into view. Clusters of soldiers and a few civilians were drinking soft drinks on wooden benches.

“Can I give you a piece of friendly advice?” Thach asked.

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t disagree with your objective of gathering information on the black market. That’s why I’m sharing an office with you. The reason I agreed was because our deal only concerned B-rations. So do not try to drag me into your plan.”

“Is that your advice?”

“No, I’m not finished yet. Pay no attention to the Americans. If you upset them, you’ll upset the entire market.”

Toi asked which restaurant Thach had in mind, and latter said something and pointed. The conversation was suspended until they reached the restaurant. It was an old wooden ship secured to a pier in Da Nang Bay. The entrance was across a wooden gangway that bobbed up and down with the waves. Fish were picked out of a net just brought in, filleted on the spot and served with a clump of sweet rice and vegetables.

“We have to know as much about the Americans as they know about us,” Yong Kyu said.

Thach went on chewing his fish without any reply. Yong Kyu looked over at Toi. As if to emphasize his lack of interest in the conversation between Yong Kyu and Thach, he was staring out through the window at the bay.

“What you want to know is something else. You want to know about the NLF’s dealings, don’t you?”

Thach said it so nonchalantly that Yong Kyu lacked the presence of mind to come up with a smart response.

“Yes.”

“Will you report what you find out to the American forces?”

“Not necessarily. That’s not for me to decide. I suppose we’ll inform them if and when it becomes necessary for us to play such a card for the sake of our position.”

“It’ll be used for reverse leverage, so to speak?”

Yong Kyu took a slow sip of water to buy some time to put his thoughts in order.

“If I give you an honest answer, what sort of help can you give me in return?”

“There is a lot that I know,” Thach said in a sincere tone.

“Fine. We just want to know the kind and quantities of goods being delivered to the NLF, that’s all. Those transactions are the problem of the parties involved. As you know, we have no interest whatsoever in the dealings between the South Vietnamese government and their own civilians. But when a delicate problem arises between the Americans and us, we can solve it with that kind of information. But, then, the occasion to use it may not arise, you never know. That is, if we have full information on the American side’s dealings. That’s why I asked for your cooperation with Puohung.”

“I can give you tips on what’s going on in Le Loi market. What you’re saying is, you’d like to have some ammunition for self-defense.”

Toi started speaking in Vietnamese. Thach kept on nodding, as if in agreement.

“What’s going on?”

“I said you’ll be leaving in four months,” Toi answered. “All Korean soldiers’ duty lasts ten or twelve months, right? Even if you have information on the market situation here, it isn’t going to matter too much one way or another, that was my point.”

“Good. I now see that it’s not a question of duties on your part. I’ll let you have information on Puohung Company business. I suppose you’re already familiar with Major Pham’s dealings. The problem is the situation on the NLF side, which means I’ll have to go out into the lot where the intercity trucks gather every day and confirm a few things. Out there you’ll find the men in charge of supplies for each NLF command region. I tell you what I’ll do. You let me know what information you need, and I’ll dig it up and pass it on to you, what do you say? In return, you provide me with medical supplies.”

“We can’t be out front on that, but we’ll open a channel for you,” Yong Kyu said.

Nguyen Thach held out his hand and grabbed Yong Kyu’s and shook it, before Yong Kyu even had time to react.

“Now, let’s talk about the old man, Hien.”

27

On Friday Yong Kyu took one of the rec trucks to Turen. As he waited in front of the warehouse Leon came by on a forklift. The American gestured for him to go inside. Yong Kyu took a seat by a metal desk in the warehouse and waited for Leon to finish his job. It was a while before Leon appeared.

“It’s driving me crazy. I’m just too busy.”

“Finished?”

Leon rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, this is just the beginning. Inventory inspection has just gotten underway.”

“How are you going to cover the shortages?”

“We lend the stuff to each other. Whatever’s missing I can borrow from a warehouse in another block to fill the hole for now. There’ll be new goods coming in soon.”

“Then I suppose the stuff I was to pick up today won’t be available?”

“What did you say it was?”

“Raisins.”

“Ah, plenty of that still. Take it all. The inspection on B-rations isn’t very strict. And please, try to see Stapley.”

“Where is he?”

Leon lowered his voice. “Down by China Beach. On his way to the movies, one of our supply men saw him. I’m supposed to go meet him.”

“What will you do when you see him?”

“I can’t just let him go to prison. As we discussed earlier, we should find him a place to hide, a boarding house.”

“Toi said he’d check around.”

“Meet me at China Beach tonight. We have to move him quickly.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, that whorehouse near Somdomeh. The place Stapley and I used to go to.”

“I’ll be there after I finish the day’s duty.”

“Let’s meet at seven at the China Beach Bar.”

“About the medical supplies,” Yong Kyu said, changing the subject, “do you supply civilian hospitals in Da Nang, too?”

“Yes, for relief medicines. But a certified requisition from the Vietnamese government office is absolutely required.”

“How about the Red Cross Hospital, is it the same?”

“All they need is their own requisition. But why do you ask?”

“Someone asked me about it, that’s all.”

Yong Kyu left Turen with the raisins in the afternoon. He deposited the goods in a conex at the pier and returned to the office in Le Loi market. Thach had hung a hammock next to his desk and was taking a nap in the shade. A cool breeze blew through the window.

“Mr. Nguyen Thach, please wake up.”

Yong Kyu rocked the hammock, but its swinging motion only seemed to deepen the man’s sleep. He licked his lips and tilted his head sideways.

“Wake up!” Yong Kyu spoke in a louder voice and held the hammock still. Thach looked up at him with a frown.

“I’m sorry,” Yong Kyu said, “but this is important.”

Thach pulled himself out of the hammock and took a seat in a steel chair without a word. Finally he raised his head and said, “What is it?”

“You’ve got to introduce me to a clerk at Puohung Company.”

Thach took his time before responding. He poured some cool green tea from a plastic pitcher and drank it slowly. “Can you get me antibiotics?”

“I never said I could get them myself. I’ll put you in touch with a man who may be able to get some for you.”

“Who’s the man?”

“The director of the Red Cross Hospital in Da Nang.”

“It all sounds very uncertain.”

“True, he might refuse. But one thing is for sure. Apart from the Vietnamese military, it’s about the only place you will find that has a flow of medical supplies.”

Thach let out a short laugh. “I’m also aware of that. But there’s no guarantee the Red Cross Hospital will siphon off medical supplies from the American army. And if he gets offended and reports me to the authorities I’d be vulnerable and end up spending lots of money for nothing. So, under these circumstances, I can’t introduce you to anyone at Puohung Company.”

Yong Kyu grew impatient. The Vietnamese never trusted foreigners. Any competent merchant in Le Loi market could easily see through men like him and Toi. And wasn’t old man Hien, the owner of Puohung Company, an even bigger merchant than Cuong? Hien’s men would never trust Toi, let alone Yong Kyu, and any attempt to approach them would be reported instantly to their boss. Without help from Thach as a trusted intermediary, there would be no success in establishing contacts with Puohung.

“All right,” Yong Kyu said. “I’ll find out what he thinks about it and then I’ll introduce you. Will that satisfy you?”

“Certainly.”

“And the information on NLF dealings?”

Before Yong Kyu went on, Thach held his finger to his lips. “Shhh, that’s no simple matter. The details on how much of which items have been transferred to whom is recorded in detail in daily reports and submitted to the concerned American authorities. Go out in the market right now and try to buy a captured weapon. It doesn’t matter whether you’re in uniform or not.”

“What do you mean, ‘captured weapon’?”

Nguyen Thach laughed softly. “Go out to one of the street stalls in the back alley over there and say you want to buy some personal firearms. Let’s suppose a company commander who has no real accomplishments to brag about in field operations is in need of captured weapons. His promotion and reputation require military exploits more than anything else. His adjutants and sergeants often put in an appearance at the market to purchase ‘captured weapons.’ Where did you get that six-shot revolver of yours?”

“My predecessor bought it in the market.”

“See what I mean? If the price is right, loads of guns will be delivered to wherever you want.”

“Can they be traced?”

“Never. Even if you arrest the dealer and interrogate him, it’d be pointless. The chain of transactions moves endlessly up. The links keep circling back upon themselves. It’s like being adrift on a great ocean, constantly floating up and down on endless swells.”

Yong Kyu understood. “If so, it’s imperative for us to be in the know.”

“As I said, I can give you daily information.” Thach then asked Yong Kyu, “So what do you think I want?”

“Since you’re a trader, I expect you’ll be wanting money, profits.”

Thach responded lightly. “Not necessarily. I’ve got an idea. Once you find out some of the details of the transactions of Puohung Company, share that information with me every day. You and I will exchange information, what do you say?”

An interesting proposal, Yong Kyu thought. But what were his motives? Thach was well aware of Yong Kyu’s intention to bribe a clerk in order to get filled in on the company’s dealings. In effect, that was what Thach himself had suggested, and he was about to make the introduction. If Thach was so interested in the Puohung transactions, why had he not bribed the clerk himself? Most of all, why was he so curious about Puohung Company? Yong Kyu decided to just ask.

“What do you gain from information on Puohung Company? And how come you don’t find out such things yourself?”

“Ha, ha. I’m sure it puzzles you. It’s like the graduations on the bridges. Have you seen the water level graduations marked on the bridge pillars?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Without those graduations, you’d have no way of gauging whether the level of water was going up or down, whether the flow is increasing or decreasing.”

“Are you saying that the transactions of Puohung provide a scale of some kind?”

“For instance, it’s crucial to know the price of dollars in international markets. Similarly, the Le Loi market is an economy formed through circulation of goods from the US PXs in Da Nang. As you already know, Puohung is the only company that deals directly with the American soldiers. What is important is knowing precise details of those transactions.”

“You mean A-rations?”

“Right. Those items are bought and consumed by Vietnamese civilians who have a steady US dollar income. Oranges and apples are nothing like nuoc mam noodles or bánh mì. In this market it’s very useful to know in advance the trend of changes in A-ration prices. If you get current information on supply and demand, then you can have a rough picture of price movements. The ones who run the black market are also the ones who buy A-rations. With the money they earn from trading in guns, they may buy gold or opium, but they also have to eat like everybody else and their menu is as sumptuous as the profits they are earning from black market dealings. In short, the customers for A-rations are the very people who make up the black market. A-rations are an indicator of price trends and shifts in supply and demand throughout the Da Nang markets. I’m just trying to be ready in case there’s a panic.”

“What kind of panic?”

“We’ve been through a couple of panics in the last few years. The military currency changes sometimes. When that happens, the GI notes turn into wastepaper overnight. The finance section in the US forces command makes an announcement one night and replaces the military currency faster than lightning strikes. Vietnamese merchants who hold the superseded money can become beggars overnight. Everybody knows that currency control is also treated as an operational matter. To be closely informed about the daily transactions of Puohung Company is something my brother and I are very interested in, like other merchants in the market. Do you understand now?”

“I do. And as for my other question. .”

“What was that? Oh, yes, you asked why I wouldn’t gather the information myself. Because it costs money to do that. If I need daily information, it’ll cost me money every day. Since I know many of the merchants from outside Da Nang who are on the NLF side, if I go out into the market and look around I’ll have a pretty good estimate of what merchandise is moving where for the NLF. In that way I can gather the information you need without spending any money, but to keep track of that old snake Hien I would have to dip into my pockets every day, so. .”

Thach broke into laughter and slapped Yong Kyu on the back. But Yong Kyu did not find it funny. “It isn’t fair.”

“No, you’ve got it backwards. You people came empty-handed to a marketplace in another embattled country and are making money for yourselves here.”

“Many of us have died in the fighting.”

“You’re soldiers.”

But Nguyen Thach did not drag things out. He went back over to the hammock and, sitting in it, said, “While you go to meet with the hospital director, I’ll get back to my siesta that was interrupted. If he agrees, then we can all meet together. That should be the order in which we proceed, don’t you think?”

Yong Kyu just nodded. Reclining in the hammock, Thach stretched one leg down and lightly kicked the floor. The hammock began to swing back and forth. Yong Kyu picked up the telephone and asked the operator to connect him with the Red Cross Hospital. When he was put through he asked to speak with the director himself.

“The director is at home right now,” the hospital operator said. “You should call him at home or else call back in an hour, please.”

He quietly replaced the receiver. Thach seemed to be asleep, his arms listlessly hanging down. Yong Kyu checked his watch. He pictured Dr. Tran’s two-story residence next to the customs house. He drove his van to the gate outside the customs house and pulled up to park in front of Tran’s house. As he pushed open the leaf-patterned iron gate, he heard the fierce barking of a dog. He was relieved to see that Gene had been chained to his kennel at the far corner of the lawn. A brown canvas-topped Jeep was parked in the driveway beneath the front hall. He couldn’t see anyone inside until he had gone up the steps to the front door. After looking around he noticed a stick above the glass door from which a copper bell was hanging. Inside the bell there was a heavy clapper and a doubled leather cord. When he pulled down on it, the cord sprang back and rang the bell. The clear low peal brought Madame Hue out from inside. She was dressed in black Vietnamese pants and a white blouse. When she spoke, Yong Kyu asked in broken Vietnamese whether the doctor was in.

She went back inside and a moment later the portly figure of Dr. Tran appeared, putting on his gold-rimmed glasses as he came through the front hall to the door. Yong Kyu, standing there in his civilian clothes, saluted.

“How are you, sir? I’m Sergeant Ahn, the Korean.”

Dr. Tran did not seemed surprised to see him. But his voice was cold. “What brought you here, Sergeant Ahn?”

“There’s something I need to see you about.”

Tran opened the door. “Come in, please.”

Madame Hue had been watching them. Tran had Yong Kyu sit on the same long wicker sofa where he had sat to have his arm bandaged the other night.

“Is your arm fully healed?” Tran asked.

“Yes, sir, some time ago. It was nothing serious.”

“What’s on your mind, then?” Tran asked with the affected indifference of a mature Vietnamese man.

“Is your son, Huan, at school?”

Tran’s expression softened. “He’ll be back soon. Today is a busy day for me. This afternoon student volunteers will be at the hospital; the girls come every Friday to care for the patients.”

Improvising, Yong Kyu grabbed at the tail of Tran’s remark. “That’s precisely why I’ve come, sir. Our investigation headquarters would like to be of some help to your hospital. I suppose you have many children as patients?”

“Yes, about a third of all the patients are children. What kind of aid can you provide?”

“Well, nothing special in mind, but we thought it might be good to send some gifts the children would like.”

Tran’s face by this time wore a much softer expression than at the beginning.

“I have a little brother about Huan’s age back home.”

“I heard that you have a lot of war orphans back in Korea, too. Wars are even crueler to children.”

Yong Kyu looked around at Dr. Tran’s comfortable living room, cooled by an air conditioner. There was an ivory elephant from Thailand, a stereo, a wet bar stocked with a variety of liquors, a Bengal tiger skin, potted flowers, and other ornaments that seemed to have no connection to the wretched war orphans. Tran wore a gold ring on his plump hand and was stuffing a pipe with Turkish tobacco.

“Do you get the medical supplies you need?” Yong Kyu asked.

Dr. Tran clicked his tongue. “In times like these, medicines are always in demand, no matter how much you can get. Of course, it depends on individual cases, but when treatment is extended, the out-patients keep coming back even after they are discharged from the hospital, and we never have enough for them all.”

“Where do you get your supplies?”

Dr. Tran was about to strike a match to light his pipe, but paused and rolled his eyes. “Our relief medicines come from neutral countries or from some of the Allied forces. Generally, items needed for emergencies are supplied with the help of the American military.”

Madame Hue brought in two glass bowls filled with fruit salad. Picking up a cherry with a silver spoon bearing the design of a monkey, Yong Kyu reflected that in all likelihood he was being served an item he himself had taken out of Turen.

“As I understand it, the hospitals affiliated with army headquarters rely entirely on American supplies for their medicines, and the Americans have no shortage of medicines.”

“They’re soldiers,” Dr. Tran said with a sigh, “but they don’t give the same priority to civilians.”

“Would you like to be supplied with more antibiotics and painkillers?”

“How?” Dr. Tran immediately asked, setting down his bowl.

“The American supply corps is interested in supporting civilian welfare as part of psychological operations. You should send an official letter to the commander of the American supply corps. It’s also a good idea to send him statistics showing the number of patients and their clinical needs. For instance, you can make a request for antibiotics or painkillers corresponding to the number of out-patients as well as in-patients.”

“I did that once before, but they just told me to direct such requests to the Vietnamese military hospitals.”

“Naturally. It’s because you, sir, don’t understand how the military operates. Even the navy hospital only receives its own share from the supply corps according to the number and conditions of their own patients. But if you make a request direct to the supply corps, they’ll make inquiries to the headquarters section in charge of support for civilian welfare. To improve treatment for civilian war casualties could be seen as having a positive psychological impact on the civilian sector.”

“Thank you. You’ve given me a good approach. But I fear it won’t be as easy as you think.”

“Whatever the goal, it is always hard to set a precedent. For the American army, no principle is more important in military administration than following precedents. True, it’s difficult to get something approved, but once it’s put in force you can expect the model to be followed.”

“You have a point. The navy hospital’s reply was a short message simply saying there was no precedent for the request.”

“I can suggest one more thing, sir. If you can set a precedent with medical items that are easy to get approval for, they’ll give you almost any amount you request. I know of a certain village that was supplied with thousands of bottles of salt.”

“Salt?”

“To prevent heatstroke, each soldier gets a daily ration of about five salt pills. Some villages in the jungle asked a nearby troop installation for salt to make nuoc mam. Once it was approved, hundreds of crates of salt pills started to arrive. Instead of requesting cord to weave fishing nets, it is easier to request canned sardines, even if they aren’t quite to your liking. Make a request for Terramycin and I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“We need all kinds of medicine.”

“Of course. But the important thing is making it easy to get the approval. First, get a large supply of Terramycin and then you can sell it.”

“Sell it? To whom?”

“Why, to the merchants.”

Dr. Tran’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he murmured, “And is the investigation headquarters also carrying out a mission of promoting the black market?”

This time Yong Kyu had his reply prepared. “It’s easy enough to buy medicines. If you simply send a request for donations to the headquarters it will be refused, but isn’t it true that you can get all items and in any quantity if you buy them? When the main road is closed, you find an alley and make a detour.”

Dr. Tran said nothing, and just kept whirling his silver spoon around and around in the fruit salad. After a while he spoke. “Why point this out to me?”

“Because of a Vietnamese friend of mine,” Yong Kyu admitted truthfully. “He’s a very clever trader. Knowing that the price of medicines is high in the present market, he asked me a favor.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard of a merchant named Nguyen Cuong?”

“I have,” Dr. Tran said curtly.

“This friend of mine is his younger brother, a man by the name of Nguyen Thach. He’s the one who wants to buy antibiotics.”

“Is that the only reason you came here?”

“No, sir. I came to be friends with Huan, too. I’d like to take him out and buy him a little gift, if I may?”

“I appreciate that.”

“I know something about the Turen supply warehouse. If you can manage to get some assistance from the provincial government office, then you’ll get all the supplies you need.”

“Well, I’m running late. I have to be back at the hospital.”

Dr. Tran extended his hand as he got to his feet. Yong Kyu held out his hand and said, “Would you care to meet Mr. Nguyen Thach?”

“Give me a ring,” Tran replied, revealing no sign of emotion, his expression again as stony as it was before.

This time Yong Kyu did not salute but instead bowed before turning to leave.

Upon arriving at Thach’s office in Le Loi market, Yong Kyu found Thach gone and Toi was in the hammock instead.

“I’ve been making rounds all morning with your chief sergeant. He drove and I had to handle all the bickering with the bar and club owners.”

Yong Kyu paused a moment before saying anything. “What do you think? Despite his demeanor, I think Nguyen Thach is a special kind of man.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knows more about the market than anybody else. Maybe even more than old man Hien.”

“He went to Hue University,” Toi said. “A very intelligent man he is.”

Yong Kyu let Toi in on the thoughts that had been crossing his mind. “I’m beginning to think that working with only Thach as a middleman may be disadvantageous for us. He’s not a partner, just a dealer. Do we need to share his office?”

“Got a point there. But we shouldn’t make him suspicious.”

“He’ll have no reason to suspect us just because we move out of his place. After all, he’s known from the beginning about our identity.”

“Let’s provoke him on some business matter, then we can assess his response. I mean, that way, he may come to us with the suggestion that we leave.”

“What would provoke him?”

“I can think of something. He’s got only one sore spot.”

With his eyes, Yong Kyu told Toi to go on. He lowered his voice before continuing.

“Let’s pretend we’re rooting out an NLF dealer here in Da Nang.”

Yong Kyu shook his head. “He’s the one who’s supposed to be filling us in on the NLF dealings. We’ve already agreed that I’ll get details on old man Hien’s business and swap the information for his.”

Toi chuckled. “That’s why you’re still green. He may gulp down the whole bird himself and hand you a feather at a time. He can’t fool me, though. His being so curious about old man Hien’s deals is just a feint, a gesture. If he hadn’t said that, he might have succeeded in fooling us. It’s possible that he’s not working for the NLF, but there’s no doubt that he’s making profits through their channels.”

28

China Beach was not at all crowded, perhaps because it was a weekday. The open theater, where they were showing some trashy TV movie, had a lot of empty seats. No live show was scheduled until Saturday. Colorful posters hailing the arrival of a dance revue from the States had been distributed by the entertainment office of the US Army in Hawaii and were plastered all over the walls of the rec center. The lights were off in the little thatched-roof commissary in front of the theater, but soldiers could be seen playing poker and the slot machines in the bar, a converted barracks, next door. Soldiers were sitting in a line at the bar.

Because it was night, Yong Kyu was in his American jungle fatigues. It was not a good idea for an Asian to be dressed in civilian clothes at night. Rather than sit at the bar he took a chair over by the window where a sea breeze was blowing in. A GI in military-issue pants and a red Hawaiian shirt walked over to the jukebox and dropped a coin in. A trumpet blare was followed by Frank Sinatra singing in a voice that seemed to flow over lustful lips. Yong Kyu bought a can of beer and nursed it slowly. The smell of the ocean wafted in with the wind. Ten after seven. Leon walked in and looked around. After spotting Yong Kyu, he came over and sat down across the table.

“Did you drive?”

“I rented a van.”

“Good, restricted areas are off-limits for me. I came over by the navy bus. Armed?”

“Not at all.”

“Look, even in broad daylight Somdomeh is a dangerous place. I brought my pistol.” Leon pulled a.45 out of his belt and showed it to Yong Kyu.

“If it’s so dangerous, how come Stapley’s been holed up there for days?” Yong Kyu asked.

“That’s easy to answer,” Leon replied. “He’s AWOL, that’s why. Not even the NLF will attack you once you’ve declared your neutrality.”

“I’m sure his friends are also safe. Don’t worry. For these past six months I’ve felt safe even in the jungle. Nothing to fear except the booby traps.”

They went outside. Somdomeh was a vast sprawl of campside villages that had sprung up like mushrooms on both sides of the road leading from China Beach down to the navy hospital and the helicopter pad. All along the road there were shacks in thick clusters, made from iron sheets, plywood, and boxes that had been liberated from the American bases. Makeshift shops selling canned beer and other drinks had brothels in their back rooms. Other shops offered kitschy souvenirs, folk crafts, and gaudy apparel. There was no electricity, so the shacks were dimly lit with candles or kerosene lamps.

Along the road, a few American soldiers who appeared to be either AWOL or on leave from one of the nearby bases were flirting with the prostitutes. The sound of giggles and shrieks filled the air. Used to seeing such spectacles of campside life ever since he was a boy, Yong Kyu found nothing particularly surprising in these displays. Leon seemed tense, with one hand stuck in his belt under his shirt as though he had a firm grip on his gun.

“That’s the house. Pull right up in front.”

Following Leon’s direction, Yong Kyu stopped the car in front of a store with a low metal awning. He shut off the engine and they got out of the van. Leon walked up and started pounding on the door. From inside a woman’s voice was heard, and when Leon said he had come to see the American, the door beneath the awning opened a crack. They bent down and crept inside the shop. A Vietnamese girl was standing with a red candle in her hand. Inside some tables and chairs were neatly arranged and there was a refrigerator in the corner. Someone could be heard approaching from the other end of a dark hall, and Stapley suddenly appeared.

“Hey, Leon and you, Ahn, how’ve you been?”

Stapley already had a start on the brown beard of a pacifist and was wearing Vietnamese-style black clothing.

“You crazy bastard!” Leon said, giving him a punch in the shoulder.

Stapley ignored Leon’s remark and ushered them into a room. A box resembling a dresser was in the corner and a lit kerosene lamp was on top of it. In the center of the room stood a Buddhist altar draped with red silk, holding a white ceramic bowl filled with rice in which was stuck a red stick of incense shaped like a chopstick. It smelled like greasy cosmetics. Against the right wall there was a bamboo cot, and facing it was a long wooden bench with cushions covered in rough hemp fabric. Sitting down on the cot, Stapley said to Leon and Yong Kyu, “Have a seat.”

The Vietnamese girl, clad in brightly-colored clothing with a pattern of tiny flowers, stood at the door with another woman watching the three of them. The other woman was heavily made up and dressed in tight sky blue pants and a T-shirt.

“This is Sang and that’s her older sister, Ran. This house is theirs. Now, what’ll you have to drink?”

“Any whiskey?” Leon asked.

Sang, who understood English, announced, “We have whiskey and Coke. Lemonade, too.”

When the two women had gone, Leon asked, “Are they both whores?”

Stapley shrugged his shoulders and then nodded. “That’s their line of work, all right, but generally speaking they’re very gentle and good-hearted women. Their family lives out back across the yard. Besides them, there are three more women working here. If you call, they’ll be here right away with towels. The boss is Sang and Ran’s mother. She handles the money.”

It had been only five days since Stapley went AWOL, but already there was no lingering trace of his having been a soldier. He might have been a hippie on a tour of Asia. He kept on chain-smoking those grassy Truong cigarettes. He had ditched his army boots and in their place he wore Ho Chi Minh sandals with soles made from tires. Around his neck hung a pendent carved from a tree root with the words “Run, Rat!” burned into the wood.

“What the hell are you planning to do?” Leon asked.

“I’m getting out of this infernal shithole, if I can.”

“You’re in one hell of a fix. Nobody’s on your side. The jungle is crawling with enemies, and our guys want to arrest your ass and lock you up. Better turn yourself in right now. After doing your time, they’ll send you right back to your unit.”

Stapley turned away from Leon and asked Yong Kyu, “Ahn, what do you think? Am I wrong to oppose this war?”

Yong Kyu smiled. “In the Korean army, deserters can be executed by a firing squad. And… if I felt like you, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place. We sort of volunteered for this.”

“You volunteered to come here? I’m shocked.”

“I had no choice, actually. Once our basic training was over, my whole unit was transferred here. Anyway, your government probably promised our government some kind of military aid or economic grants. The way I see it, if you felt this strongly, you shouldn’t have come here at all, or else you should wait it out and then once you’re back home you should do something with your friends to stop this war from continuing any longer.”

“I was a draft resister, of course,” Stapley said. “At first I fled to a different state. Those were hard times — I couldn’t get any work. In the end I was arrested. To prison or to Vietnam, that was my choice. I chose to come here. Some did go to prison in the end. Compared to the deep scars I’ve gotten since arriving here, theirs may be lighter to bear. For a time I was a gunner in a helicopter, in those days I saw plenty. If I’d gone to prison they would have called me a coward and deprived me of civil rights, but at least I would have felt light-hearted like a martyr.”

“Enough,” Leon said. “What Ahn said is right. You’re already here and you’ve already been through it all. All you need to do now is wait it out for a little while and then go home.”

“It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t hold out. I’m never going back to America.”

They heard glasses clinking through the back door. It opened and Sang and Ran came in.

“I need a place to hide out for about twenty days. Have you found one?” Stapley said, glancing at Yong Kyu. “Somdomeh is an off-limits zone, and MPs often patrol around here. I can’t stay for long.”

“We’ve found you a place,” Leon replied. “You can move over there tonight if you want.”

“No, not until tomorrow morning,” Yong Kyu said. “My friend Toi knows the place.”

“How much?”

“Sergeant Ahn rented it for a month,” Leon said offhandedly, “the price is still to be settled.”

“I have to get to Saigon. I heard there’s an AWOL rescue organization there.”

“We know that. But the roads out of here are all closely watched. You won’t be able to get onto the air base and there are sentries posted at all the piers.”

Yong Kyu thought otherwise. “There may be a way. If you go by Route 1 the trip takes three days. You could hide in a cargo truck. Five thousand piasters is the going rate, but since you would be risky cargo, they might charge two or three times that. On the road you’d have to pass quite a few NLF checkpoints.”

“It’s impossible to go by water? A ship from a neutral country would be ideal.”

“Every so often a third-country vessel — India, Burma, Japan — comes in. But as soon as you try to book passage they might turn their back on you or, worse, turn you in. Unless you can find somebody in Da Nang to hook you up with the AWOL network in Saigon, then the land route to Saigon is your only bet.”

Yong Kyu explained the results of his inquiries over the past few days. As he mixed them some drinks, Stapley displayed a strong resolve. “I have three thousand dollars. For half that amount, I bet I can get a passage to Burma at least. Or maybe to Bangkok.”

Sang and Ran perched on the wooden bench side by side like a pair of birds and waited for the conversation to end. Leon gulped down a few drinks and murmured with a yawn, “I’m getting sleepy. It’s been a hectic day.”

“Go in and get some rest. The boys all are doing OK, I hope?”

“We made a wager — I bet twenty dollars on your successful getaway.”

“Who’s on the other side?”

“Everybody but me. Nobody thinks you’ll make it.”

“You’ll be the winner, I’ll see to that.”

“You crazy bastard! I’m going in to take a nap.”

Leon stood and looked at the two girls. “Who’s going to be the mommy to sing a lullaby for me?”

Ran smiled and followed him inside. Stapley held up his glass to Yong Kyu. “Let’s drink to my homeland.”

Yong Kyu quietly observed Stapley, thinking. What will become of the two of us? Will we always be able to propose a friendly toast like now? His fate and mine could be completely opposite. He’ll end up being a good American citizen, grimacing at his monthly bills. By then bombs may be raining on my homeland and the ragged corpses of my fellow countrymen will be strewn all over a war-ravaged land. Reading the newspaper over breakfast some morning, he may happen upon an article about devastation in a foreign land far away. Yong Kyu realized that for the first time he was getting to know an American as an individual.

“Do you not want to go home?” Stapley asked as they drank. Yong Kyu answered in a somber tone.

“You don’t have to return to America if you don’t want to, but I have to go back to Korea even if there’s no home to go home to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our country is divided, like a body severed in half. My real home is in the North. It was only after I came to Vietnam that I began to see my homeland objectively. You people here. . you taught me to do that.”

Stapley shook his head, waving the glass in his hand. “Not true. I don’t know. Not me, but they must, in Washington or on Wall Street. It’s them, not me. Me and my brother were living in a dark basement studio, no sunlight through the windows. We didn’t even have cash to buy a new shirt. They’re the ones who made all the bombs and established the order of this filthy world. That’s why I’m splitting for good from that goddamned wonderful place, America.

“Hear me out. When napalm is dropped, it burns up the grass, burns up the rocks on the ground, too. As it burns, the napalm sucks away all of the oxygen in the area, so if people don’t get burned to death, they die from suffocation. Bombs explode below the surface when they hit bottom in swamps or rice paddies. Everything alive in the water is disintegrated, blown to microscopic bits, by the pressure of the shock that instantly blasts in all directions. Then there are the white phosphorus shells. When one of those hits, whether on land or water, whether there’s air or not, it burns on to the core at an incredible temperature. CBVs — they have compressed air inside that upon explosion sprays thousands of pieces of lead everywhere, cutting down everything within several square yards. You can set them for delayed detonation, so a mass of people, thinking they’re safe, come out of their hiding places and gather around the beehive before it goes off. Even if the wounded survive, the lead fragments will rot the flesh and soon that part of the body will have to be amputated.

“They have a gigantic three-thousand-pound bomb that bursts in the air, showering down hundreds of little bombs. You name it, high-velocity aircraft rockets, sidewinders, sparrows, shrikes, all kinds of tear gas and chemical bombs, defoliants that dehydrate and kill entire jungles, just to name some of the arsenal dropped from the sky. They may not be nuclear weapons, but they violate the Geneva Convention rules on weapons of war. Sitting up in my helicopter, I’ve seen countless bombs explode, shelling saturating the landscape, razing villages and annihilating people.

“The M60 machine gunners call themselves ‘monkey hunters.’ Even when there’s no operational situation, they think it an entertaining sport to spot targets and take them out. Sitting up there in an armored helicopter with a machine gun in their hands, they feel like millionaires out on a leisurely safari in the jungle. No shit, even if your helicopter malfunctions and drops from the sky, we have so many aircraft around, you can be picked up within ten minutes. Just think of it, in order to strike down a single farmer running like hell in the furrows of his field, they’ll fire hundreds of rounds, shoot rockets, and if that doesn’t work, they’ll call up for artillery.

“After I came to Turen, life became even harder to bear. Look at all that stuff stacked high in the supply warehouse. I can recite the names of all the big corporations who deliver all of those military supplies. And now, what’s the point of my struggle here?”

Yong Kyu interrupted him. “You were up in the sky. Well, I crawled in the jungle. You can see much better down on the ground.”

“Your soldiers also wonder about all this?”

Yong Kyu could not help but laugh. “When we look at you, you all look like hairy baboons, you all look the same. And I’m sure it’s the same with you when you look at us.”

“Us?”

“Yes, Asians, I mean. The whites think we are humans without any souls.”

“I see what you mean.”

“We’ve long been living in conditions like this,” Yong Kyu muttered bitterly, and, glancing back at Sang, went on. “Ask her, this girl should know all about it. The Korean War broke out when I was eight years old. Well, a few years after my birth, we were released from colonial status. But my parents’ generation was forced to serve in armies of colonials and many were killed, just like now, all over Asia and the Pacific in wars fought by the imperialist powers. At that time, you people were already involved. Your government partitioned our country and occupied it.

“As I work with Americans, the one thing I hate most is to listen to you people say how alike we are, how I’m no different from an American, and other garbage like that. In the same breath I hear you guys whispering how filthy the Vietnamese gooks are. ‘Gook’ is the label American soldiers picked up in the Korean War from the word ‘Hanguk,’ mispronouncing it ‘Han-goook.’ Americans used it to make fun of us. But I tell you, it is the Vietnamese that I am like.

“These conditions we’re living through now are the same exact conditions almost all Asians have endured for the past century. On many continents whites have fought each other with bloodied teeth and claws, like predators fighting over prey. Don’t pretend to be shocked. Even if you refuse to take part in this lousy war and succeed in escaping, you’ll have to live the rest of your life burdened by what you’ve seen and heard on the battlefield. It’ll be the same with me, of course, but I’ve made up my mind to make up for it when I go back home.

“In your newspapers I saw photos of demonstrators carrying picket signs that read: ‘We don’t want to die for Vietnam!’ What could be more absurd and hideous than that? What? Die for Vietnam? Your soldiers were dragged over here from the back alleys of filthy slums, from the dark bars where they were drinking, from the supermarkets where they rushed with discount coupons, from greasy floors beneath automobiles. You ask me why? Because the children of the wealthy were not about to come, that’s why. Ask your businessmen and their salesmen who conduct politics. It’s for them that you’ve been dying like dogs in the swamps of Vietnam.”

“Even I know that much,” Stapley replied. “Our armies go around the world taming people to our ways, making them docile so they can be devoured. The idea that we are fighting for Vietnam or for their unification is a moronic sentimentality from our government. The capitalists are trying their best, according to their interest-based policies, to keep from losing this little foothold.”

Yong Kyu felt drunk. In such a locale, the simplest expression, as simple as a military song, was best. To be sure, the lyrics of a military song seemed to fit very well the spectacle of this war. “Proud and brave, to protect freedom and the peace of Vietnam, you take part in this sacred war as a glorious crusader of freedom.” Yong Kyu set down his empty glass. “It’s getting late. Are you trying to make me talk the whole night away?”

“No, take Sang with you and get some sleep.”

“Isn’t she yours?”

“Let’s do the moving tomorrow. Good night.”

Stapley lifted his half-filled glass. Yong Kyu followed Sang, stumbling down the hall. It was more of a tunnel lined with bamboo than a hall. At the end it opened into a small field bunker. There was a basin, a pitcher of water and a garbage basket in one corner. Yong Kyu took off his combat boots. Sang poured water into the basin and put his feet into the water.

“Is this your home?” Yong Kyu asked.

“No, it’s far.” She lifted one finger and pointed into the air. “My home, in country. I came here one year ago.”

“Whole family?”

“No, my husband didn’t come.”

“Husband? You are married?”

“Yes, he’s a soldier, a sergeant.”

“Where is he now?”

“Hue.”

“Your child?”

“Sleeping in there. Pretty.” Sang smiled naturally and placed both palms to her cheek, making a gesture of sleeping. She looked happy.

“This life, is it all right with you?”

“What do you mean? My family — father, mother, sister, and baby — is together now, that’s very good. Everything is fine.”

Sang dried Yong Kyu’s feet with a towel and then she helped him take off his jacket.

“Twenty dollars.”

Yong Kyu pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar military note. She took the money and turned to leave.

“I’ll give the money to Madam and come back,” she said. “You need a fan?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Well. .” Sang lowered her voice and asked in a whisper, “You running away, too?”

“Not me. You know about Stapley’s problem?”

“Yes, but nobody can run away from here. I worry about him.”

Yong Kyu lay back on the bed. “He’s going to make it.”

The next morning when he woke up, Yong Kyu found that Leon already had crossed the river at dawn by the first military bus. Stapley was still knocked out by the booze, sleeping naked in the hammock in the backyard. Beneath his limp arm was an empty bottle.

“Hey, wake up.”

Yong Kyu shook the hammock, but Stapley only frowned. After trying a few times, Yong Kyu looked back and saw Sang standing there with a bucket of water in her hands.

“Water is the only way.”

“Won’t he be angry?”

“It’s OK, we’ve done it before a few times.”

Yong Kyu took the bucket and emptied it over Stapley’s head. Stapley shuddered and shook his head, then slowly sat up in the hammock and wiped his face with both hands.

Yong Kyu tossed the bucket aside and said, “Sorry. It’s almost time to go and meet Toi.”

“All right.” He then turned his blurry eyes to Sang.

“No water to drink?”

“You have civilian clothes, don’t you?” asked Yong Kyu.

“Should be in the trunk.”

“Put them on.”

After a short while Stapley reappeared in the hall wearing work pants and a T-shirt. He had on a pair of sunglasses.

“What do you say? Can I pass for a civilian?”

“You look like one of our agents. Anyway, after you move to the new place, don’t even think about going outside during the day.”

They drove the van slowly up through Somdomeh. Whenever a military truck passed by with a honk, Stapley gave them the finger to tease them.

“Don’t do anything conspicuous.”

“How the hell would they know?”

“Your going AWOL has been reported up the command channels, and the investigations headquarters has your file by now. You have your ID card, don’t you?”

“I tore it up.”

Yong Kyu clicked his tongue and pulled the van over.

“That wasn’t very smart! Now somebody can kill you and nobody will know about you. Look, without your ID card, what’s the point of babbling about traveling to a neutral country or hooking up with the AWOL rescue network? How can you convince anybody that you’re an American soldier?”

Stapley just chuckled. “I don’t exist in Vietnam. Shit, they’ll believe I’m an American soldier when I show them the greenbacks in my pocket. US dollars mean US soldier.”

“Without an ID, don’t hang out anywhere at night, just stay put in that house.”

Yong Kyu threw both hands into the air as if to ask what else could be done, then took the wheel again. Shifting roughly, they moved into the first block of Somdomeh.

“It’d be nice if you’d join me,” murmured Stapley.

“Shut up.”

As Toi had said, they came upon a souvenir shop with flags of all nations in the window. Like other shops on the block, there was a refrigerator and a couple of tables out front. When they walked up, an old man with messy hair and sleepy eyes asked, “Coca?”

Yong Kyu nodded. He and Stapley sat side-by-side facing the street and sipped cans of Coke.

“The lease is for one month. It’ll be hard to extend it.”

Stapley looked sullen, then said, “All right. I understand the position you guys are in. It’ll be awkward for Leon, too. Da Nang is off-limits for him, so I guess he won’t be able to visit that often.”

“You shouldn’t see each other again. Headquarters knows you are close and may expect him to contact you.”

“All right. I’ll do anything to get on board a neutral country ship.”

Yong Kyu waved his finger and said, “Well. . you still wouldn’t be out of the woods then. Once you reached port, if you don’t have the right connections you could be handed straight over to the US embassy.”

“What about getting help in Saigon?”

“I’ve checked that out already. There are quite a few ships helping out AWOLs. There are quite a number of AWOLs from all over the country gathering down there. Why not try Saigon? Anyway, you still have plenty of time.”

Stapley seemed far more dispirited than he had been the night before. His gloomy face was hanging low and he went on spinning the empty Coke can in his hands. Toi’s mercury-coated silver sunglasses came into view. With a quick glance at his wristwatch, he sat down in front of the two men.

“Sorry I’m a little late.”

“Say hello. Stapley, this is Toi.”

With Yong Kyu’s introduction, they shook hands.

“Where is it?”

“Downtown.”

“I know that. Where downtown?”

“On the old market road, not far from my place.”

They got into the van with Stapley in the back seat and crossed the bridge by the smokestack.

“How did you find this place?”

Toi let out a whistle as he steered. “I had a hell of a time finding it. The prior tenant was a technician from India. I know the landlord.”

“And rent-free, you said?”

“Right, instead. .” Toi turned around and looked at Stapley, “instead he wants to cut a deal for some of the stuff coming out of Turen.”

“I suppose that may have been your idea, too?”

“Of course. All I have to do is deliver a few boxes at a time to him before we deposit the goods in the conex. That’s his only condition. And it’s only as long as Stapley stays there. The man said he also knows a way for a man to sneak out of Da Nang.”

“Which road?” Stapley asked.

“By sea,” Toi said, pointing off to the right.

“Shit, might as well go by air,” muttered Stapley.

But Toi said confidently, “A Vietnamese navy ship runs up here once a month from Nha Trang. The landlord’s son is a navy officer.”

“But what about from Nha Trang?”

“There are lots of vessels that run from Nha Trang to Saigon; the officer will set something up.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand piasters, and then another five thousand when you get to Saigon.”

“What do you say?” Yong Kyu asked, looking back at Stapley.

“Sounds good enough.”

The van slowly crawled along the old market road. As usual, the area was bustling with merchants. It was not an area where you were likely to see foreign soldiers in uniform. A place, Yog Kyu thought, where headquarters would be unlikely to search for an AWOL. But if Stapley were to be out wandering the streets, somebody would eventually notice him. They headed into a back alley where miscellaneous American goods were for sale. They went inside a two-story house that had all its windows shuttered. A man sitting in the hall got up to greet them.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Toi said.

“That’s going to be a problem,” Stapley said, concerned.

“He knows simple phrases,” Toi said. “I’ll drop in every two or three days. Besides, he’ll call me if anything comes up.”

The man led them up a set of squeaky stairs. He opened a door. The room inside was dark. He crossed the room and opened the shutters. Immediately the room became bright, and they saw that the room was directly visible to all the houses across the alley.

“Better keep the shutters closed,” Stapley murmured.

“After we’re gone, that’s fine, but for now you should familiarize yourself with the layout.”

One bed right under the window, an empty bucket and a basin next to the door, two wooden chairs, a small desk like you would find in a schoolroom — those were the furnishings.

Yong Kyu took out his notebook and a pen. “Tell me what you need,” he said to Stapley.

“A coffee pot and a kettle, a few cups, a plate, silverware, also a fan if I’m to be cooped up here all day long, and a little refrigerator. .” Then Stapley paused and waved both hands as if suddenly struck by some revelation. “Forget it. I’m on the run. What the hell do I need those things for?”

Toi exchanged a few words with the landlord and then said, “He will lend you a hotplate. You can warm up C-rations for meals. He said he’s also got a coffee pot, cups, and plates from the kitchen that you can use.”

“Thank you,” Stapley said as he flopped down on the iron bed with metal springs. “Now I can dream about Saigon.”

Yong Kyu and Toi left him there with a simple good-bye and followed the owner down the steps. They heard Stapley shout from upstairs, “Tell Leon he’s going to win that bet!”

At around two o’clock, the usual hour for siesta at Nguyen Cuong Trading Company, Thach came by the warehouse as promised to see Pham Minh.

“Everything all right?”

He grinned at Minh as he sat on top of the desk across from him. Heat was pouring in through the open window. Thach gazed outside as he spoke.

“On my way over I submitted a report on the successful outcome of the training exercise by the reinforcement contingents of the 434th Special Action Group. Confirmation of the operation results came through the administrative agent in Somdomeh district, and I then passed the report up the chain of command. Cells A, B, and C each executed their missions superbly. In particular, the initiative of cell A in distributing leaflets among day laborers working on the American base was commendable. Since that was not specifically called for in their orders, the administrative agent criticized cell A, but the district committee’s opinion was different. They had conducted sufficient advance surveys and dry runs, and the cell members waited until the workers had been searched and were milling outside the gates of the base before covering the streets and alleys along their path with leaflets. Even more impressive is that they tried to use the young cigarette peddlers and shoeshine boys from the nearby refugee camps to hand out the leaflets.”

“The administrative agent’s criticism was warranted, perhaps? Seems very risky.”

“No, not necessarily,” Thach said, shaking his finger. “Urban guerrillas conducting small-scale operations at the cell level can’t carry out effective missions if they limit themselves to only following orders handed down by the higher command. The daring and imaginative steps taken by cell A deserve high praise. First of all, the group they brilliantly singled out was the best available to target in Somdomeh. Tell me, as you learned in Atwat, what are our targets?”

“The imperialist forces and their facilities.”

“You see? That cell A selected Vietnamese laborers working on the American base as their target for leafleting was a very well calculated decision. We know only too well that those workers, in order to survive, go to the US military barracks every day and do all sorts of menial work from cleaning garbage to washing clothes and so on. It may be that some of these men reduced to servitude are given petty gifts by the American soldiers like a bit of cash or a lump of meat, and so they might momentarily forget who’s the enemy and who’s responsible for the miserable state of their motherland.

“On the other hand, there may be others who, though they are reduced to such lowly work for the sake of their families, carry a deep-seeded hatred of the US Imprinting on their minds the existence of the NLF is one of our key goals. Even if we don’t succeed in recruiting them, if we can just convince them to believe in our cause, it is as much a victory as if we had overrun and occupied an enemy base. And, after getting the young boys around the base gate to hand out the leaflets, they dissolved into the crowd and monitored their performance, which was even more remarkable.

“Mass provocation is most successful when it involves spontaneity of the masses themselves. Those young boys were not in any danger, of course, even if they had gotten arrested by the police or by ARVN forces. It has happened before, in fact. The boys have no idea about the contents of the leaflets — they just say that a grown-up had given them some money to distribute them. The police have no choice but to let them go. In this case, the crowd stood behind a boy who was apprehended just as he was finishing handing out leaflets. According to cell A, it took about thirty minutes for the police to appear on the scene. You see, most local people would not think of reporting such things to the police.

“Ultimately, the purpose of the training exercise lies in nurturing one’s ability to cope with unexpected contingencies. Urban guerrillas always have to make snap decisions.”

After listening to Nguyen Thach’s quiet but impassioned voice, Minh felt a burning sensation surging up in his throat. He let out a long deep breath. Thach frowned slightly. “Do you, Comrade Pham Minh, disagree with what I’ve said?”

“Oh, no, sir. I just feel so frustrated.”

“Frustrated?”

“Because I’m playing no useful role in operations, just acting as a warehouse keeper.”

Thach’s face grew stern as he peered straight into Minh’s eyes.

“This mission is important. Today we have two assignments to carry out. We have to receive the firearms for the reinforcement contingent in the Third Special District and see that they’re delivered without the slightest hitch. And then you need to make contact with Kiem.”

“But I don’t know him, sir.”

“Kiem works in the same office as your brother, right? I’m sure you can find a way to be introduced to him.”

“I’ll try.”

Thach stood up. “You had lunch?”

“Yes, I ate in the office.”

“Then let’s call the foreman in here. I’ll go ahead and wait for you at the Chrysanthemum Pub.”

As the siesta period ended, activity was resuming at the intercity bus terminal. Passengers were loading their luggage and boxes onto the roof racks of the thirty-seat buses. Three-wheeler motorized carts were zipping through the crowd in the old market and ferrying all sorts of goods here and there. The big freight trucks bound for distant destinations had long since pulled out in the coolness of dawn. Afternoon was the time for the trucks headed for Hue, Hoi An, and Tam Ky to depart. Inbound vehicles from the highlands wouldn’t be arriving at the terminal until evening.

Nguyen Thach entered the pub through the back door, strode through the kitchen and, as always, took a seat in the very back of the place. Lunchtime was over and there were no customers. Only tea was served until dinner. After he sat down in the compartment and pulled the bead curtains, a young waiter brought him a pot of green tea.

“Welcome, Uncle.”

Thach casually nodded to the youth and asked, “Has he come?”

“Yes, sir. He’s outside, over there.”

“Show him in.”

Thach poured out a little tea into a cup and stirred it a few times to warm the cup before filling it. As he carefully poured out the tea, he heard a low voice.

“Comrade Nguyen, it’s been a long time.”

A youth in ARVN uniform with a sergeant’s insignia on his shoulder greeted him, awkwardly touching the brim of his hat with his right hand.

“Have a seat. Everything’s in order across the river, I hope?”

“We’re in a hell of a fix, sir.”

“That same old story still? How’s Comrade Banh Hao?”

The young man removed his hat and waved it like a fan in front of his chest to generate a little breeze.

“Same as ever. Buying goods is getting more and more difficult, sir.”

“I understand tax collection is going fairly well.”

“Money’s not the problem. Lately, even the government army is steering clear of dangerous dealings. Firearms are coming in steadily, but the problem is the ammunition and bombs. There are some bombs still coming down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, but the quantities are still not enough. With the shortage, we must supply without fail the bombs to be used in Quang Nam Province.”

Nguyen Thach was well aware that the operations conducted in Da Nang were crucial. The.61 caliber mortar rounds of the US forces could readily be used in larger bore mortars, and 3.5 inch rockets could also be used as is in Chinese launchers. Anyway, most of the weapons used by the local guerrillas were American-made, and the NLF’s fundamental principle was to make use of enemy hardware and ammunition as much as possible.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. Supplies of C-rations and small arms ammo keep falling off.”

“There’s a reason for that. A strong wind is now whirling in the Da Nang black market. Prospects aren’t at all gloomy for us, either.”

“What is it?”

“The phoenix hamlets project. Rice, seed, fertilizer, cattle and all sorts of construction materials have begun to pour out. They’re already flowing into cities all over Quang Nam and I’m sure they’re heading to other provinces, too. It’s only natural that business in the market tends to focus upon those transactions.”

“We’re dealing with units of the government forces,” said the agent from the market across the river in the shadow of the smokestack, cocking his head.

“Maybe the problem is with the middlemen. I bet they are getting their share of this new unlimited flow of materials and are selling it in the markets. No need now for them to expose themselves to risky dealings.”

“Probably a passing phenomenon. Don’t people still say that you can even buy disassembled tanks and helicopters in the Da Nang black market?”

Nguyen Thach beamed and said playfully, “Business has already entered a new phase. We’re talking enormous quantities now.”

“How much?”

“I’m told about three hundred hamlets are to be created. New settlements with from fifty to one hundred houses each are already under construction. In Quang Nam Province alone, there will be three hundred such new settlements.”

“Three, three hundred?” The agent seemed shocked.

“Doesn’t it mean that NLF-controlled zones will be diminished and local fighters will lose their cover?”

“No. . just the opposite. Within three months we’ll be controlling all the phoenix hamlets, just as we did with the strategic hamlets before. The peasants will learn to think of the hamlets as encampments on the American or Saigon side. The people will never be pried away from us. What’s more, we should keep in mind the fact that each hamlet is to have an armed militia. The enemy is helping us by giving the local people military training as well as guns and ammunition.”

The sergeant swallowed his tea. “It’s an immense, rich lode of ore to mine!”

“It is. Still, mines and detonators, mortar shells and rifle cartridges, the latest model US automatic weapons, those are problems we’ll have to solve for ourselves.”

“By then we’ll have secured heavier firepower. I expect ammunition supplies will increase to reflect the new manpower.”

“Yes, so don’t be moaning and groaning too loudly. From now on we won’t have time to blink. First things first, right? I’ve received orders to supply armaments for the reinforcements. I hope you’re ready.”

The agent took out a piece of paper from his pocket and read it. “Subject: Weapon requisition for Fourth Company of 434th Special Action Group in the Third Special District. Five submachine guns, three M2 carbines, four.45 pistols, and three.38 revolvers. That’s all, sir. Hand grenades, plastics and detonators will be supplied later, when required for planned missions.”

“Those items should be furnished by them on their own. Any luck with a C79 rocket launcher?”

“We managed to buy a couple, but we sent them to the Quang Ngai District first.”

“We’ve got to try harder to get hold of the newer model American equipment.”

“The crucial thing,” the agent said, “is to centralize the supply channel. We’ll be looking forward to help from the new cell member operating in the old Le Loi market. As for current supplies, we’ve been able to keep a flow along the Thu Bon River. By the way, how is the new man? Is he reliable?”

“Not only is he reliable, he’s got all kinds of excellent connections. Best of all, he’s out on active duty, just like you, not a barracks man. He’s enlisted in the air force, assigned to the American air base in Da Nang. His background is as solid as they come. His older brother is none other than the adjutant to General Liam.”

“You mean Major Pham Quyen? Comrade Banh Hao will be surprised. Is the district council also aware of this?”

“Yes, they have the details. When he volunteered to join the NLF, the recruiting officer at Hue University included the details on his recommendation and submitted the report to higher authorities.”

The waiter stuck his face inside the bead curtain. “Mr. Pham Minh has arrived, sir.”

“Send him back here.”

As he walked inside, Minh shot a wary glance at the sergeant in ARVN uniform.

“Say hello,” Thach said. “This here is the army and you, Comrade, are the air force, aren’t you? So that puts the two of you on the same side.”

The sergeant held out his hand to Pham Minh.

“Comrade Pham Minh, pleased to meet you. My name is Le Muong Panh, I work down in the smokestack market.”

Minh felt shy as he grasped the tip of the hand of the sergeant who looked to be five or six years his senior.

“I am Pham Minh.”

“Graduate of the military training course at Atwat?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re from the North, I think?” said Nguyen Thach.

“That’s right, from Dong Hoi training camp.”

Le Muong Panh nodded slowly as if it were only natural. Dong Hoi was in operation even before the American intervention, which would make him a veteran among the guerrillas. He must have spent at least five years walking the thin line between life and death in the jungle and the city. Minh remembered that his friend Tanh, who had recruited him and was now fighting in the Second Special District up in Hue, also was from Dong Hoi.

“I need your guidance in many ways, sir,” Minh said earnestly.

Thach picked up Le’s things and handed them to Minh. “Let’s get this job done quickly. Comrade Pham, cross the river with Comrade Le and bring the goods over here. You can leave them in the warehouse.”

“Now, sir?”

“Yes. You’ll be going to the store run by Comrade Banh Hao often. Be a good partner for Comrade Le.”

The three men exited the pub through the front door. Nguyen Thach j scanned the street and soon a man in a collarless shirt and khaki shorts ran toward him. He was chewing on a sweet rice cake wrapped in a banana leaf.

“You have a car?”

“Didn’t you bring your van, sir?”

“A three-wheeler is probably better.”

Considering the nature of the goods to be transported, Thach thought it would be advisable to be inconspicuous. A van would be expected for moving a refrigerator or electric appliances, but grain and vegetables would be more likely to be carried on a three-wheeler. Thach signaled with his eyes to Le and Minh.

“Hurry up. Comrade Pham, bring the goods back and wait for me before leaving the office for the day.”

Minh and Le squeezed themselves into the back of the three-wheeler. It rumbled down along the shore. The driver mumbled something to Le, food still in his mouth.

“I’ve seen him only from a distance, and today was the first time I met him.”

“Ah, is that right?” muttered Le.

Pham exchanged a nod with the driver as the latter turned to take a quick look at him.

“He’s been in charge of transportation, aiding Comrade Nguyen for a long time,” Le said to Pham Minh. “I was over in Pleiku last week, and things have quieted down a bit.”

The three-wheeler crossed the bridge, turned left toward the US forces headquarters, and then drove on for some time on the wide highway to Bai Bang. Then they passed by the ARVN barracks and turned up into a working class residential area. On either side of the alleys stood small houses of similar sizes, and little shops were lining the main street. They pulled midway up a long block of shops and stopped in front of a large rice dealership.

Le entered the store first. Sacks of American AID grain and bushels of government grain stamped with official seals were stacked up to the ceiling. On the floor was a huge wicker basket full of rice, a squarish gourd used as a measure, and containers of barley, wheat flour, and other assorted grain. A couple of workmen moved aside to allow them to pass.

Minh followed Le inside the store. As they pushed open a side door, they came to a bigger warehouse, passed through it, then emerged into a yard. The yard was small, but it had palm trees, a few evergreens, and a line of flowerpots. Facing them was a house, with a door in the center and two wide glass windows on either side. A man was standing behind one of the windows with his arms behind his back, watching the two young men as they crossed the yard. The room inside the house was the office for the store. It had two desks, a sofa and a chair, and a steel cabinet upon which was pasted a map of downtown Da Nang.

“Sir, this is Mr. Pham Minh from the Nguyen Cuong Company.”

Banh’s hair was grayish, but the deep wrinkles on his cheeks and forehead gave more of an impression of strong will than of the feebleness of age. He was clad in Mack pants and a white cotton shirt.

“Welcome.”

He scanned Minh with gentle but sharp eyes.

“Supply operations are of the greatest importance for reinforcing our combat power on the front lines and for sustaining our struggle. The smokestack area and the Le Loi area should complement each other’s strengths and through cooperation fill the requisitions of the district council without any exceptions. Drop by here often in the future.”

Le and Minh returned to the warehouse. Le brought out a bundle wrapped up in an army poncho. When they cut the nylon cord and opened it, they saw cold black gun barrels.

“We’ll have to disassemble the submachine guns and carbines. Let’s get to work,” Le said.

The two of them skillfully took apart the guns. Removing empty clips and loose ammunition from another bundle, Le said, “Bring me those rice sacks over there.”

Minh realized what he was planning to do. They poured out just the right amount of rice and put the knocked-down guns, clips, and cartridges in with the rice, then resealed the bags with a stapler. The pistols were easier to bury. After finishing the packing, they sat on the rice bags and rested for a while. Le offered a cigarette and Minh lit Le’s for him. Le removed his army uniform and changed into light Vietnamese-style pants.

“If you’re a sergeant, you could’ve been discharged before now, couldn’t you?” Minh asked and Le nodded.

“Yes, but active duty is more convenient for my work. I can walk onto ARVN facilities at any time, and can also drop in at the army PX to talk a little business.”

“What’s your unit?”

“Veteran’s affairs office. Costs me three thousand piasters a month.”

“Cheaper than mine, I pay five thousand a month for duty expense.”

“Well, that’s. .” Le let out a self-derisive laugh. “I’m a higher rank than you, aren’t I?”

Minh looked around the warehouse, which was much smaller than Nguyen Cuong’s. “Is this the whole place?”

Minh’s question implied that the warehouse was far too small to be a major node of the NLF supply network for the entire central region of Vietnam. Le also looked around the place. “This place? Well, it’s a midpoint. We always go through three points. Regardless of time and place, the NLF always receives voluntary support from the people. There are lots of small traders from the smokestack down through Somdomeh to the Thu Bon River. Many of them are collecting guns and war supplies to be handed over to us. Of course, there are also many connections with the ARVN forces, which we handle directly. From now on you, Comrade Pham, will gradually learn about how our work proceeds. On our side, we already have great expectations for your innovative new enterprise across the river.”

Le stepped on the cigarette butt and got to his feet.

“Now, let’s get this stuff loaded.”

The two men hoisted the rice sacks on their shoulders and loaded them in the back of the three-wheeler. The six sacks filled up the backseat, causing the springs to hit bottom.

“Is this load going to cause problems?” Le asked the driver.

“Don’t worry, sir. Once I even had five people crammed in the backseat there.”

Pham Minh barely managed to squeeze himself in the front beside the driver’s seat.

“So long,” Le said.

29

Waiting for the general to emerge from the office, Major Pham Quyen and Lieutenant Kiem stood at attention. In one hand Kiem was holding the general’s military cap with its three stars and in the other his baton decorated with ivory and snakeskin. The general walked out looking at his watch.

“Major, why don’t you accompany me today?”

“Sir?”

“Well, there’s going to be a small party at Bai Bang. I invited Mr. Butler, the consultant at the provincial office, a few American officers, and some civilians from the US-Vietnamese Joint Committee.”

“The mayor of Hoi An and the Second Division commander aren’t coming, sir?”

“Too much trouble for them to commute by helicopter. I need you to act as my interpreter and also advise me on the proper line in the discussions.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

Taking his hat from Lieutenant Kiem, the general put it on and then snatched the baton and stuck it under his arm. As they left, Pham Quyen said to Kiem, “Stop by the warehouse and check the outgoing goods, and see to the invoices and receipts.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the two men left the office, Kiem peered out of the window to watch the raucous and flashy procession as the general departed. Pham Quyen was sitting beside the driver in the lead vehicle, a camouflaged Jeep, and directly behind him there was a soldier in ranger uniform holding a pivoting M60 machine gun. When the Jeep began to roll, its headlights and siren were switched on. Following was the general’s khaki-colored sedan, with a convoy truck following that and an armored personnel carrier bringing up the rear. The parade made its way to the smokestack bridge. As the sound of the siren died out in the distance, Kiem lounged deep in Pham Quyen’s revolving leather chair, put his feet up on the desk, and leaned all the way back.

Lieutenant Kiem had more than a few grievances lately. The office had been abuzz with whispering between Major Pham and the general, and memos had been flying back and forth between the two of them, but not even once had his opinion been solicited. They never informed him of the contents of their consultations. The commodities for the phoenix hamlets project had been streaming in from the pier to the provincial office warehouses, and from there to the settlement sites, but all he was asked to do was to keep a nominal ledger recording the flow of goods in and out of the warehouse.

The only variation was that every now and then Major Pham would call him out to the Sports Club or to a bar and hand him some extra pocket money. For a while on each payday he had been getting an extra envelope containing thirty thousand piasters. The first time he received one of those envelopes, it had made his heart pound. The sum was nearly three times his regular salary, and he almost wept. It had enabled Kiem to move his family from Dong Dao to a rented house in a safer and more pleasant neighborhood on Puohung Street.

Still, it was not a question of money. What he could not bear was that he, the chief assistant to Major Pham, knew almost nothing about the phoenix hamlets resettlement program, the most important mission being undertaken by the aide-de-camp’s office. Kiem was not a graduate from the military academy; he had just taken the officer appointment exam when they drafted him in Quang Ngai, where he had been working as a kindergarten teacher. He was an ordinary conscript officer. But he was no idiot; he knew better than to assume that Pham Quyen was walking all over him and failing to delegate him any tasks because he was single-mindedly absorbed in his mission. When he had received his promotion to the provincial government office from his prior duty as platoon leader of a supply company on the outskirts of Hoi An, his fellow officers had agreed that, “In three years, you’ll be out of this hell for good.” And some civilians had told him, “When you get there, save up some money and find a way to move into a police detachment.”

Such had been the conventional wisdom among his fellow officers. A certain colonel was said to have refused a promotion to general and instead went daily to visit a powerbroker he knew, begging the man to appoint him as a police superintendent. That Kiem had been chosen for the provincial office duty was due to his outstanding record in the administrative training course at officer school. Kiem slowly took his feet off the desk. He poured some coffee that had been brought in from the Grand Hotel, the quality of which Major Pham was always complaining about, and drank it cold.

There was no need for him to hurry over to the warehouse just because some transports were on the way. Besides, there was nothing for him to supervise over there, either. All he had to do was mechanically collect the invoices and receipts. The engines of the trucks were noisy enough for him to hear as they rolled in and he could then leisurely stroll downstairs to the warehouse. Just then the telephone rang. Instinctively, Kiem sprang up from the chair, snapped to attention like a good soldier, and picked up the receiver.

“Office of the aide-de-camp!”

“Is Major Pham in?” asked the voice on the line.

“Ah, he’s out of the office for the day. Who’s calling, please?”

“This is his younger brother. You’re Lieutenant Kiem, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. The chief has accompanied His Excellency, the Provincial Governor, to an important conference. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No, thank you. Are you, Lieutenant, by any chance free after work today?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have an hour’s extra duty this afternoon. Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

“What is it?”

“At seven o’clock, you know the Guangzhou Restaurant next to the Hotel Thanh Thanh, don’t you?”

“The Chinese place?”

“Yes. I’ll be waiting there.”

Kiem was about to say something more when the phone clicked off. What could it be about? Kiem didn’t have the faintest idea. As for Major Pham’s younger brother, he had once had tea with him when he took the Land Rover to deliver a month’s worth of rice to the major’s family, but they had not had a real chance to talk. The major always exuded pride when he mentioned how his younger brother had studied medicine at Hue University and was now carrying out his military service obligation. But Kiem had sensed that this brother had bought his way out of military duty and had been idling around the house and occasionally playing the role of agent for his brother in conducting business deals. Upon further thought, however, it occurred to Kiem that it could not do him any harm to be on better terms with the younger brother of his immediate superior. In fact, he was the one Kiem ought to have gone out of his way to contact in order to make a favorable impression.

At seven twenty that evening, Kiem strolled into Guangzhou Restaurant. Through the picture window across from the door he could see the beach and the narrow sea running to meet the Thu Bon River. The glow of the setting sun fell on the far side of the harbor, and the masts of a junk sailing by shone a pale red in the fading light. The window was open and a glass wind chime was clinking. Each table was enclosed by a wicker screen. A waiter approached.

“How many people, sir?”

“I’m here to meet someone. I’m Lieutenant Kiem.”

“I see, this way please, Lieutenant.”

Pham Minh was waiting in a corner room off of a crescent-shaped corridor. He had been drinking jasmine tea and rose from his seat as Kiem entered.

“Some things came up, so I’m a little late.”

Kiem spoke in a formal, polite tone. Minh smiled and answered, “I just arrived myself a few minutes ago.” He added, “Now, what would you like?” just as Kiem asked, “What would you like to have?”

The two men awkwardly laughed. They ordered a set dinner and some bamboo shoot wine.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from my brother. I understand you’re from Quang Ngai?”

“Yes, but I moved my parents and younger brothers and sisters to Da Nang.”

“Sounds like you have a big family to support. Married?”

“No, not yet.”

While eating, they went on exchanging small talk. Kiem was anxious to find out what sort of favor the major’s brother was going to ask, and why he was the one who had been approached, but Pham Minh had not yet come to the heart of the matter.

“What do you say, Lieutenant? Do you suppose we’ll be winning this war?”

Kiem was momentarily at a loss. “Well, isn’t the world’s greatest power helping us now? The combat strength of the North and the NLF has almost been used up. The bombing of the North will go on. Perhaps the communists will try to negotiate.”

Kiem talked about the war in the stereotypical terms commonly used in pro-government newspapers or propaganda reports from the ARVN. Pham Minh nodded. “I wouldn’t know for sure. Do you think this war is simply between the North Vietnamese Army and the government in Saigon? At the beginning the war was against the French colonialists, and now isn’t America taking over the place of the French?”

“The reality today no longer permits us to argue about nationalism or colonialism. For we now have a government with undeniable sovereignty over South Vietnam.”

As Kiem once again assumed the tone of a government spokesman, Pham Minh abruptly changed both the topic of conversation and the expression on his face.

“Let’s not talk about silly politics. I hate both Saigon and Hanoi. Most of all, I hate America.”

“I don’t like America, either,” Kiem replied.

As he poured more wine into Kiem’s glass, Minh said, as if half-joking, “But dollars I like. Those pretty pieces of paper can turn hell into paradise, anywhere in the world.”

“My sentiment exactly.” Kiem chuckled.

Minh raised his glass. “Now, a toast, to dollars!”

They drank a toast to the one and only point upon which their opinions coincided.

“My brother is an extraordinary man,” Minh said. “He’s a solid pillar in our family and the protector of our household.”

“I too respect the major. He’s a man of great ability. All enterprises in Quang Nam Province are now in his hands.”

Minh pretended to be drunk and went on in slightly slurred speech, “But I say this, you know, too much ability can mean too many arbitrary decisions, that’s what I say.”

He chuckled and continued. “What’s this ability of his all about, anyway? The talent of making money. . with the governor behind him, is that what it is? Making me idle like this, and allowing you to lay hands on a little extra income, I’m sure. But when you think of it, what we see is merely a grain of rice stuck under a child’s nose compared to what my brother and General Liam are wolfing down, if you know what I mean.”

Kiem also almost blurted out something he had been choking back, but he managed to maintain his composure, and with a sense of decorum he said, “I can’t believe you’re saying this. The major is trying his best to work out many different things.”

“Ah, no doubt he is trying hard. But come now, let’s stop beating around the bush and see if we can come to an agreement on one thing.”

Minh held up one finger. Kiem felt his heart pounding. He avoided Minh’s bloodshot eyes.

“What sort of agreement?”

“Ah, well, nothing so special. You and I, let’s stop being burdens to Major Pham Quyen anymore, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Burdens?”

“Don’t play the fool. If you and I work together, we can do much better than Liam and my brother. My point is, why can’t we be independent, too?”

“You have some kind of plan in mind?” Kiem asked quietly.

“What do you know about the phoenix hamlets project, Lieutenant?”

“Well, its, uh. .” Kiem hesitantly replied, “It’s under the jurisdiction of the Developmental Revolution Committee. General Liam is the chairman of the committee, and Major Pham is one of the key members and should know all about it.”

“As I understand it, the Autonomous Residents Councils have been formed, is that not right?”

“Yes, and the major and I will be in charge of that program.”

“What about militia training and control?”

“I’m handling the job of liaison officer, but the training and command of the militia are under the Second Division military commander. The superintendent of the Da Nang police is to give support.”

“Isn’t the Second Division supposed to be providing perimeter defense for the stations?”

Gradually, Kiem began to grasp the intention of Pham Minh’s string of questions. Kiem explained the situation point by point.

“Officially, the Second Division is in charge of establishing and training as well as combat operations of the militias. However, they are supposed to set up a corps of training instructors who will be put under the command of the provincial office. A captain will be dispatched to our office as a liaison for the instructors. Since the militias are made up of civilians from each hamlet, the background investigations and other problems concerning conscription into the militia are under the jurisdiction of the police superintendent.”

“Aren’t you the one holding the key to the important matters?”

“In the end, yes, depending upon my effort. . but then, what I actually do will depend on what orders my superior, Major Pham, gives me to carry out.”

“There’s a famous saying: ‘In the military, duty means more than rank,’” said Pham Minh. “As far as the militia goes, I think your role is extremely important. Administering the militia is your duty.”

Kiem nodded. “In principle, it is.”

Having said this, Kiem stretched out his torso, still avoiding Minh’s gaze. Then, glancing up at the colorful patterns on the ceiling, he asked, “What is the favor that you said you wanted to ask?”

“To think over the matter we agreed upon, that’s all.”

“Did we agree on something?”

“That you and I should have an independent business together.”

“We haven’t yet reached any agreement, have we?” Kiem said, with great composure.

“I am Major Pham’s brother. Presently I’m in charge of all the traffic in goods at the Nguyen Cuong Company, one of the business contacts of the provincial office. Just like my brother, I have a full grasp of the content of the dealings being made by the office. You have no idea whether the outgoing goods are reaching the actual hamlet sites or are being siphoned away en route. That is no business of yours, but if you knew about it in advance, you’d know all the vital parts of the general’s and the aide-de-camp’s operations. Of course, it’ll only be possible if you cooperate with me. That is one of the main reasons why you and I need to cooperate.

“What’s more, you can have some independence in supervising the affairs of establishing the militias. You can make safer deals by doing business with the same dealers your superiors are already dealing with. But it’ll be bad if your superiors also have a grasp of your dealings. I’m confident I can cut off Nguyen Cuong. In a way, you and I are in the same kind of positions here in Da Nang, don’t you think? That’s another important reason. And as for the third important reason, I’ll tell you that when you’ve decided to be my partner.”

Pham Minh refilled both of their glasses. Then he held his up to eye level. “What do you say? To our partnership!”

Kiem raised his glass as well. “Fine. To our partnership!”

They clinked their glasses together and simultaneously drained them in a single gulp. Kiem spoke. “To set up the militias, they will be supplied with training allowances, rice, salaries, and an large amount of military equipment. But I’ll have to get the cooperation of Colonel Cao, the police superintendent, and the training corps liaison officer.”

“We only need to get a monopoly on certain items and distribute the rest.”

“Which items? What do you mean?”

“Weapons and ammunition,” Pham Minh said.

“Why, then. .” Lieutenant Kiem looked behind him to see if anyone could overhear them, then he leaned over the table and said in a whisper, “Isn’t that stuff traded with the NLF?”

“So? What’s wrong with that?” Pham Minh didn’t let the lieutenant answer and continued. “Do you mean to tell me you thought those construction materials, that rice and the rest of the supplies would go straight to the hamlets under strict control of Saigon? From the beginning of this war, the materiel brought in from France and America has been used by the North as well as the South. Those who profited from the trade are long gone from this hell. Even if you and I don’t do this, someone else will. Within two or three years, you and my brother will be transferred to another post. If you don’t boost your strength now, you’ll end up as a platoon commander in some small village or as a chief of militia back in the jungle somewhere, eating rations of fish and rice and eking out each day wondering when you’ll be struck down from behind. Or, perhaps you’ll dig out a channel and slip down to Saigon or escape to another foreign country. If we can drum up a ghost population of about two thousand, the things supplied to those souls — weapons, salaries, training allowances, death payments, rice, ammunition, and so on — will keep us fully supplied for our business dealings. And that’s not all. Nothing changes as drastically as military manpower. Nobody will bother to travel to those remote hamlets to do head counts to confirm the requisition quantities you record.”

It seemed unlikely Kiem would be surprised again. He busied himself for a while calculating in his mind the level of padding of manpower rosters he could get away with. “We’ll discuss this further as we go along,” he said.

“I thought you’d see it my way.”

They looked at one another and laughed.

“What are the terms of the partnership?” Kiem asked.

“Half the profits are yours. And we divide up the profits at the close of each deal. What do you say?”

“No argument.”

“I’ve already clarified the two necessary and sufficient reasons for you and I to cooperate, haven’t I?”

“Yes. If I’m not mistaken, the first was, when you and I cooperate, each with detailed information on the dealings of the provincial office, I’ll have a good grip on my superiors’ vitals. The second was that I, as Major Pham’s man, and you as his brother, are in identical key positions in Da Nang and so are natural allies. As for the third, you said you’d tell me only after I agreed to be your partner. So, tell me now, what is it?”

“I have connections. . with the NLF.” Pham Minh spoke in a barely audible whisper.

Kiem calmly asked, “Have you joined the NLF?”

“No… I’m a deserter from that side. And as for this side, I bought my way out of duty. In a sense, I’ve been separated from both the Saigon and Hanoi sides. But I still have connections with the NLF in Da Nang. So, you can safely turn your goods into cash through this partner. That’s the third reason that makes our partnership most desirable.”

“I see that now.”

The waiter came up and said gravely, “Here’s the check. Sorry, but it’s closing time.”

“Ah, we should leave.”

Pham Minh paid the bill and said to the waiter, “Give us five more minutes, will you?”

“As you wish, sir.”

Minh took a sealed envelope out of his back pocket and placed it on the table.

“Here’s a hundred thousand piasters,” Minh said, pushing the envelope toward Lieutenant Kiem. “You can consider it as an advance against profits from our coming deals. I just wanted you to have it as a token to seal our partnership.”

“Well, it makes me a little uncomfortable—”

Pham Minh didn’t let Kiem finish. “If you insist… we can set the prices for various items and commence our deals from next week.”

“On what basis will we decide the prices?”

“Naturally, we’ll observe the going rates in Saigon.”

“Good.”

Minh did not remove his eyes from Kiem as the latter picked up the envelope and stuck it in the upper pocket of his uniform, then got up from his seat. When they parted at the front door of Guangzhou Restaurant, Pham Minh held out his hand and said, “I’m counting on you.”

“Glad to have met you.”

The lieutenant drove away in a Jeep with official license plates. Minh stood for a while in front of the Chinese restaurant. Nguyen Thach approached him from behind.

“Looks like you worked it out. Well done.”

“Can we trust him?”

“He took the money, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He was quite calm about it.”

“A hundred thousand is his salary for a whole year, even if such a sum means nothing to the American soldiers.”

“Mentioning the NLF was the moment of truth,” Pham Minh said.

“He’s already cast his lot. Now, let’s get back to Le Loi Boulevard”

Starting the engine, Thach added, “If Kiem had refused the money, I would’ve had no choice but to shoot him.”

On the outskirts of the city, with the fall of night, as always, came the sound of gunfire and heavy artillery. Formations of helicopters flitted through the sky. Along Doc Lap Boulevard, Puohung Street, and White Ivory Street, lined with government offices and large buildings, there were a few vehicles but no trace of pedestrians. Even so, the small tearooms and bars exclusively for the local Vietnamese population were sometimes packed until late with young men and women who had nowhere else to go. For a few months after the Tet Offensive, there had been a lull in attacks in the city, apart from the usual assaults mounted by the guerrillas native to the environs.

The American side could not mount any major offensives, either. The general impression that the war was under the control of the US military and the ARVN had been completely shattered since the previous spring. Now, the US presidential election was set for November, and Johnson had just announced that he would not be seeking re-election. It seemed that for the time being the US forces preferred to maintain the status quo and preferred not to mount any vigorous new initiatives.

The entertainment districts of Da Nang began to blossom like the old days. The newspapers even began to talk optimistically about the biggest boom since the beginning of the war.

Lei was sitting at Café Hoitim. The entire place — interior, curtains, and tablecloths — was done up in a violet color scheme, perhaps reflecting the café’s name. It was a drinking establishment where all refreshments, from American canned beer to Vietnamese flower wine, were sold by the glass. Coffee, tea, and lemonade were also available, of course. The patrons, high school seniors, students from the technical college, young teachers, office workers, and a smattering of soldiers, were thronging in small scattered groups, talking loudly and laughing. The unwritten code of the place was that anyone who brought up the subject of the war or politics could, at the request of any other customer, be asked to make a graceful exit.

Sitting across from Lei were Chan Te Shoan and Tran Van Phuoc. Lei and Phuoc were drinking coffee, but Shoan was already having her third glass of flower wine over ice.

“Shoan, what if you get drunk?” Lei asked, concerned.

“She’ll be all right,” Phuoc said. “I might have some myself. If it gets too late, you two can sleep at my house. It’s only a block away.”

“No, I couldn’t. My family would worry.”

“I’ll call and explain it to them for you later.”

Lei and Phuoc ceased their exchange when they noticed that Shoan was quietly crying, her head leaning against the wall.

“Shoan. .”

“What’s wrong, Shoan?”

Shoan took a handkerchief from her bag and quickly wiped her cheeks. “Why ask what you already know?”

Phuoc whispered in Lei’s ear, “We’re seniors. After graduation exams, we’ll be through with school. Those qualified for college will go to Hue or Saigon, but I wonder how many of us will go? Technical colleges and commercial schools are only for boys. In Da Nang most families arrange for daughters to be engaged when they are seniors, and marriage comes as soon as you graduate.”

Lei asked Shoan, “Sister, is your family pressuring you to get engaged?”

“No, not really,” Shoan replied, smiling bitterly.

“Yes, really,” Phuoc said. “I’m so sick and tired of it. I’ve already had to see men found by a matchmaker. I was embarrassed to death. I’m pestering my father to let me slip away to Hue.”

“Is Minh at home?” Shoan asked Lei.

She nodded feebly. “Yes, but he’s changed.”

Phuoc snorted. “Phew, that coward!”

“Are you done?” Outraged, Lei pushed her chair back and got up to leave. Phuoc grabbed her hand.

“Dear, dear, sit down please. My mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Sit down, Lei.”

At Shoan’s entreaty Lei sat back down, her lips in a pout.

“I apologize,” Phuoc went on. “But remember how proud you were when you told us that Mr. Pham Minh had gone off into the jungle? I mean, our seniors in high school. . have you thought about them? Boys who left to fight for the Liberation Front, and those girls… I was only saying what I honestly felt.”

“I understand how you feel, Sister, I do.” Lei suppressed an urge to burst into tears and instead blew her nose fiercely.

“Stop it, you two. Let’s go to my house. I’ll call your families.”

Phuoc urged Lei and Shoan to get moving. The three of them left the cafe and walked toward the beach. From a club somewhere they could hear the roar of American soldiers yelling and singing. Phuoc led the way, followed by Lei and Shoan, whose gait was a bit unsteady from the drinks.

“Are you all right?” Lei asked, supporting Shoan.

“Yes, the cool breeze makes me feel much better.”

They were walking along the tree-lined road heading toward the customs house.

“Sister, would you like to see my brother?”

“I don’t know. .” Shoan turned to face the dark ocean, as if she was afraid she might cry again.

“He showed no sign of it, but I think he’s hoping that you’ll come first to see him.”

“The truth is… I may get engaged to someone else.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“My father does keep pushing me,” Shoan said, with her head down. “Mother knows how I feel, but Father is different.”

“But it’s something that happens to everyone in the graduating class.”

“I’ve already refused many times, but this time my father is very firm.”

Lei held Shoan’s hand tightly. “Sister, let me talk to my brother. I think he feels so ashamed for having left the NLF. That’s why he avoids talking to anyone in the family.”

The three girls reached Phuoc’s house. The German shepherd barked loudly. Phuoc pushed open the iron gate, muttering, “All that stupid dog does is bark, day and night. Gene, it’s me, me! Stop barking!”

A light came on in the front hall and Phuoc’s younger brother stuck his head through the open door.

“Is that you, Sister?”

“Yeah, and Shoan and Lei are with me.”

They traded hellos and entered the house, where Mrs. Hue greeted them. “Come on in, we have a guest.”

Under the gaze of the girls, a foreigner with a dark complexion stood up and bowed.

“Nice to meet you.”

Phuoc recognized him to be the Korean soldier who had been visiting her family now and then, and the corners of her eyes grew taught.

“Why is that man coming to our house so often?”

“Don’t say that, dear. He’s Huan’s friend and has been very nice to your little brother. I invited him to dinner. His own family is back home in his country, so I figured it’d be nice for him to know something about Vietnamese families, don’t you think?”

“They’re beasts who kill children.”

The boy, Huan, shouted, “Ahn is not like that! He’s my friend. Daddy said he’s a decent man.”

“He’s right. You should apologize to your brother. And since he’s a young man not so much older than you, why don’t you girls have a talk with him?”

“No, thanks. If he wasn’t a soldier we might.”

Phuoc led Shoan and Lei upstairs.

“I hate foreign soldiers. Especially the Koreans,” Phuoc said, glaring back down the stairs.

When the glass door to the veranda was open, a cool, salty wind blew in from outside. Phuoc took out a bottle of wine and some glasses.

“Today is Shoan’s day. Help yourself.”

Lei put the glasses away. “No more of this nonsense, please, Phuoc.”

“Leave it. I’ll drink,” Shoan murmured.

Phuoc and Shoan started drinking the wine. Lei pulled a chair over by the window and sat down.

“Don’t you go to Uncle Trinh’s in Dong Dao anymore?”

Shoan shook her head. “No, the members of the study circle are all scattered now.”

“Could they all have gone into the jungle?”

“Probably. Otherwise, to the universities.”

“Pham Minh is the only one who returned.”

As Phuoc kept up her insinuations, Shoan grabbed her head with both hands and said, “Please. . enough talk about Pham Minh!”

Curfew hour had come and gone, so all the fishing boats in Da Nang Bay had been pulled up on the beach. The only light visible was from the US Navy patrol boat cruising up and down the harbor. A flare went off in the distant sky. The three girls gradually quieted down. Sitting in the dark, her head propped against the wall, Shoan started reciting softly in French:

Rappelle-toi Barbara.

Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-la….10

Pham Minh and the foreman finished counting the sacks of cement and fertilizer that had been delivered and wrote out a receipt. After all of the workers had gone, Minh buried himself in the sofa, out of reach of the sunlight pouring through the window, and propped his feet up on the desk. The provisioning of weapons for the Fourth Company had now been done without a hitch. A new mission would be coming down for the reinforcements.

Minh was waiting for Nguyen Thach. The sun cast a long bright rectangular patch that reached from the desk to the center of the warehouse. A shadow appeared on one edge, and gradually lengthened. Minh quickly took his legs down from the desk and craned his neck around to look toward the entrance.

“Who’s. .”

The bottom of a white ahozai came into view, and as his eyes moved upwards they met Shoan’s. Her head was hanging, and her face was partly concealed by her long hair, but those eyes of hers were trained directly upon him.

“What are you. . what are you doing here. .?”

He was halfway to his feet. She lifted her foot, and tapping the floor with the toe of her sandal, said, “Lei told me where you were. I’ve known for a while that you were working in Le Loi market, though. Yesterday Lei mentioned the name of the company, so. .”

Like hers, Minh’s eyes were downcast. “Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked.

“Here, sit down.”

Minh pulled his chair out from behind the desk and pushed it toward her.

“Let’s go outside and talk.”

Pham Minh looked at his watch. “I still have things to take care of. If you go straight down the alley, there’s a pub called ‘Chrysanthemum’ by the bus terminal. Will you go there and wait for me?”

Shoan walked out and headed down the alley, staring down at the hem of her ahozai, in the same way as when she had come.

“Who was she?”

Minh was watching her walk away when he heard Nguyen Thach’s voice from behind. He looked back.

“Good morning, sir.”

Thach was dressed rather neatly today, like his brother, which was unusual for him.

“I asked you who she was.”

Minh walked to the warehouse door and looked outside. “She’s a friend of my younger sister, sir.”

“Is that a fact?”

Thach waited. Minh remained silent for a while, then, as Thach sat in his chair looking calmly about the warehouse, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “To tell the truth, she’s a girl I was in love with before. She stopped by to see me.”

“What do you mean ‘before’? Before you went to Atwat?”

“Yes, sir. Since then I haven’t seen her at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I kept thinking about what my friend Thanh told me. Besides, I was afraid.”

“Ah, Thanh is a fine fighter. He’s now a company commander in Hue district. Did he tell you not to see her?”

Minh stared at Thach with an air of resentment. Nguyen Thach held up both hands.

“Oh, all right. I don’t doubt that Thanh said something, like that a love affair is tragic in your generation, or that love should be sublimated into love for the Vietnamese people, well, something along those lines. You see, I know him pretty well, too.”

“The reason I’m not seeing Shoan is. .” Minh paused for a moment, and then he said in a clear voice, “. . because I’m not confident I can make her into a comrade.”

Thach just nodded. He picked up a ballpoint pen and kept tapping the desk with it, as if absorbed in thought. He seemed far away, his eyes focused in midair. Minh spoke again.

“What I find most tormenting is that I have to conceal the truth even from her. I’ve caused her and my younger sister to lose their faith and pride in me.”

“I can understand that.” Thach stopped tapping. “Everyone is bound to have some remorse about the days of their youth. I wonder if Thanh wasn’t scared himself.”

Thach stood up. “Among the NLF fighters, there are some who are waging war alongside their loved ones. They’re the happiest men and women in Vietnam. Our cases are different, however. You and I are intellectuals, Comrade. And we’re underground agents. The most important thing for you now is to keep your exposure to a minimum and maintain the security of the organization. Our foes are not only the visible power of the imperialists and their followers but also ourselves. I happened to hear that you made a date to meet her at the pub. Why don’t you go ahead there now and then come back? Meanwhile, I’ll have lunch with Dr. Tran and come back here.”

“Dr. Tran?”

“Director of the Da Nang Red Cross Hospital. It’s possible he might sell antibiotics and painkillers to us. Why, do you know him?”

“No… I mean, his daughter goes to Lycée de Pascal with my younger sister.”

Thach laughed loudly. “We certainly will win. In South Vietnam, the NLF is the only group that has any sense of responsibility for this war. Did you know? The grenade in my possession helped me.”

“Grenade?”

“You know, don’t you? That Korean investigation agent. He’s the one who’s introducing me to Dr. Tran.”

“Well, I’ll see you during the siesta hour, then.”

The two went their separate ways. Thach went out through the inside door leading from the warehouse into the front corridor. Minh walked out the main door and then pulled the iron gate shut and locked it.

At Chrysanthemum Pub, Pham Minh and Chan Te Shoan found themselves once again seated face-to-face. It was lunchtime, and the place was crowded.

“Let’s have lunch. The Puo noodles here are great,” Minh said.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Then I’ll eat alone.”

“Go ahead.”

Minh ordered noodles. They were served with minced meatballs and a garnish of fragrant herbs. He began to eat.

“Have you been back to Uncle Trinh’s?” Shoan asked.

Shoan was gently reminding him of the night they had spent together in the air-raid shelter before he departed for Atwat.

“No, I haven’t,” Minh answered curtly.

“What is it with you? I’m the same as I used to be. I don’t care whether you went into the jungle or came out of it.”

Minh quietly emptied his bowl.

“Phuoc says you’re a coward, but, my dear, I don’t think so.”

She used the words, “my dear,” but Minh responded with measured coldness.

“Shoan, I’m no longer the same man as before. I’ve changed.”

“How? You no longer care for me as you did before?”

“I see now how thoughtless I used to be. Now I’m a soldier in the Air Force of the Republic of Vietnam. I plan to help my brother make a lot of money. And then I’ll go abroad to study. I’ve no time for marriage now or for flirting with women. When I become famous and powerful I’ll have many opportunities to meet wonderful women, and. .”

“I see you really have changed, just as Lei said.” Shoan gritted her teeth to hold back the tears. But there was still a thread of hope she was clutching. She managed to speak again in a weak, quivering voice.

“I’ll probably be engaged. My family is urging me to.”

“En. . gaged?”

“Yes, I’m a graduating senior now. Once the dry season is over, we’ll have graduation exams.”

Minh averted his eyes from Shoan’s gaze. He felt his throat growing tight. “That’s good.”

“Do you really mean it?”

Minh just stared into his teacup, with both arms stretched out on the table. Shoan abruptly stood up. Then, without a word, she rushed out of the door of the pub. Minh went after her, murmuring passionately to himself: “No, I don’t want any woman but her. She has to be my wife.” He saw the white trail of her skirt disappear into the crowd.

“Shoan, wait!”

But his cry was lost in the loud rumble of engines at the bus terminal and in the shouts of peddlers trying to beckon for customers. Minh stopped in his tracks, his fists clenched, and tried to convince himself that his feet were glued to the ground. When he looked up again, Shoan was nowhere to be seen.

“Shoan. .”

All the people in the crowd, all the buildings, and everything in old Le Loi market grew blurry. Minh hurriedly wiped his eyes with his palms.

Down on White Ivory Road along the shore, Nguyen Thach arrived at the restaurant that occupied an old wooden vessel. He came upon Ahn Yong Kyu and Dr. Tran sitting on the aft end of the upper deck. Ahn introduced the two men to each other.

“This is the Mr. Nguyen Thach I’ve been telling you about. And this is Dr. Tran.”

From behind his glasses, Dr. Tran carefully scrutinized Thach. They shook hands, then Ahn said, “Dr. Tran tells me his request was granted by the public welfare section of the US headquarters, so he’ll be receiving medical supplies on a regular basis.”

“Very good. In Vietnam, there are patients dying everywhere without receiving any medical treatment,” Thach said.

Dr. Tran maintained a prudent silence.

“I’ve given Dr. Tran a bit of advice about the military hierarchy,” Yong Kyu said. “And so he sent an official letter in the name of the Red Cross Hospital to the supply command, including the official approval from US headquarters. He received an immediate approval for his requisitions. Yesterday, the first deliveries of medical supplies were made.”

“What is being supplied?”

Dr. Tran answered in Vietnamese, “Mostly antibiotics like streptomycin and Terramycin. Painkillers in plastic syringes for field use, topical disinfectants for external wounds and burns, ointments, and so on, but most of them are for use on the battlefield. We won’t need it all, only a portion will be sufficient for hospital use. We’re struggling though great financial hardship.”

“Of course. I understand,” Nguyen Thach remarked. Then he asked, “What’s the approximate quantity available?”

“Two crates of antibiotics and one of painkillers, roughly.”

“A crate means ten small boxes, with each box containing a dozen bottles and each bottle a hundred pills, right?”

“I think so.”

“That’s really a lot if they supply it regularly. The current market price for a single capsule of Terramycin has been fluctuating between three hundred and five hundred piasters, which means a bottle would run between thirty thousand and fifty thousand.”

“A crate would then be about three or four hundred thousand piasters,” Dr. Tran said, smiling contentedly.

“Can you request more medicines?”

“We only have a limited number of beds in our hospital. But, there’s another way. Every city in Quang Nam Province has a public hospital. And out in the hamlets, most people don’t have the benefit of medical care.”

“Let’s suppose that a legal channel is arranged to make a request, then can you get the medical supplies from the supply corps?” Thach asked.

Yong Kyu interrupted. “I don’t understand Vietnamese. You seem to have lost your manners — how about using English?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about your presence. I just asked Dr. Tran if he could increase the quantities of medicines being supplied.”

“He’s opened a proper channel, so I don’t see why the hospital can’t make direct purchases,” Yong Kyu said.

With Yong Kyu taking part, Thach resigned himself to speaking English “That’s only a temporary measure. The most important thing is that the supplies should be regular.”

Dr. Tran spoke in Vietnamese to Thach, “You and I are compatriots. Is there any need for a foreigner to be a middleman?”

“Don’t worry. He’s just here this once to introduce us to each other. He’ll be returning to Korea in a few months.”

Dr. Tran pushed up the rim of his glasses and, switching to English, said to Yong Kyu, “Due to budget cuts, our hospital is encountering serious financial difficulties. With the money from disposal of leftover medical supplies, we’re planning to make some new appropriations. We’ll have to follow the formal procedures on paper, however.”

“Of course, you should.”

Having decided not to intervene any further, Yong Kyu left the table for a while. Dr. Tran continued his discussion with Nguyen Thach. “If we organize mobile clinics to make rounds out in the villages, then there’ll be a good reason to expand the supply volume further.”

“Mobile clinics… an excellent idea, doctor.”

“It’ll also be good for the people.”

Thach thought to himself that connecting the mobile clinic teams with the phoenix hamlets project would be very auspicious. Ahn Yong Kyu returned to his seat and as he sat down said, “I’m famished. Mr. Nguyen, hurry and buy us lunch, if you would. Since I don’t know your language, I should have brought Toi for an occasion like this.”

Thach clasped his hands together and said, “I’m truly sorry. There’s an old Tonkinese saying: ‘A marriage arranged by the Chinese.’”

“That sounds like an old proverb about invaders. In Korea we also have a tendency to regard our good customs as legacies derived from invaders from the continent.”

They ordered fried fish and rice. As they ate, the two Vietnamese asked Yong Kyu about Korea, about the family structures and customs back home.

“I’ll send a car to the hospital tonight,” Thach said.

“Before you do, we have one more thing to discuss,” Dr. Tran said, and Thach readily grasped his meaning.

“Later when I return to the office, I’ll give you a call,” Thach said. “If you have some free time this evening, I’d like to meet you in a quiet location.”

Dr. Tran took out a business card and handed it to Thach. “I’ll be resting at home during the siesta. Call me there, please.”

Dr. Tran left first in his chauffeured car from the hospital.

“Are you headed back to the office?” Thach asked Yong Kyu as he got into the van.

“No, I have to drop by the investigation office to take care of a few things. I’ll see you in the market tomorrow morning. And you’ll have to introduce me to one of the clerks at Puohung Company as promised.”

“Of course. And that’s not all. I’ve decided to reciprocate the favor you’ve done for me.”

“Wow, I’m so grateful I almost feel like crying,” Yong Kyu said with a grin.

“No, really, I mean it. Tell your superior I can change your military notes as much as you like into greenbacks without any commission. That’ll put you in a much better position than now.”

“You mean mainland US dollars?”

“Yes, dollars. Just say the word. Bring me military currency and I’ll change it on the spot.”

“Is that all?” Yong Kyu said casually. “We can always find a few Indian moneychangers downtown, you know.”

“Yes, but they take a big bite with their commissions.”

“Well, I’m not interested, but my captain might appreciate the offer. Thanks, anyway.”

They parted. Yong Kyu headed off on foot, intending to walk all the way to the investigation headquarters at the top of Puohung Street. Thach went straight back to the office in Le Loi market. It was siesta time, so the streets were deserted. The surface of the street was a blinding white in the midday heat.

Nguyen Thach was thinking about the orders handed down to him the night before from the district committee. They were operations orders for the 434th Special Action Group of the Third Special District. With tax collection season ahead, the instructions concerned reinforcement of urban guerrilla units in Da Nang and attacks in several enemy facilities and individual targets. The first task was to blow up an oil reservoir tank near China Beach, and then to demolish the main MAC gate near Somdomeh.

The second mission was to set off a bomb over the weekend in the parking lot of the Grand Hotel, or to attack the ARVN barracks over near the smokestack. The last mission was to assassinate Vietnamese government officials or military officers who were objects of popular scorn.

These would be the first combat operations in the city in a long time, breaking the lull since the Tet Offensive. In the Da Nang region there had been the usual fighting by local guerrillas, but peace had been more or less maintained within the city limits. The Fourth Company, recently undergoing training, was due to be mobilized. The military strength of the 434th Special Action Group included one battalion from the outskirts and one from Da Nang city proper, however the companies were actually formed with only fifteen members and each platoon consisted of a five-member cell. Thach used his own discretion as the chief agent for the district and put the black mark of a target under the name of Colonel Cao, the police superintendent.

Thach reached his brother’s warehouse and walked inside. Pham Minh had buried his face on the desk, but he quickly lifted his head when he heard someone entering. As always, Thach sat astride the desk, facing the entrance and keeping an eye on the outside through the window.

“Today is the day to make contact with the company lines, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This month will end the first half of the year. So this is when we’ll implement the first periodic quota for tax collection and for levy of new recruits in the city. The operations orders have been received. This time, only the First Battalion will be carrying out combat missions in Da Nang. Of course, they’re still undergoing training, so they’ve been given relatively simple targets. Next weekend they will set up a high-explosive charge in the parking lot of the Grand Hotel. And they will eliminate the police superintendent, Colonel Cao. These tasks must be completed within five to ten days from the start of next week.”

“Colonel Cao, you say?” Minh asked, puzzled.

“That’s correct. He’s to be the real man in charge of organizing the militias for the phoenix hamlets project. No harm would be done if he cooperates with Kiem, but if he interferes, he’ll become an obstacle to our mission.”

“Judging from the way Kiem talked, he didn’t seem to worry much about Cao or about the liaison officer from the Second Division. As our investigations already revealed, Cao is a paragon of a corrupt officer. He’s deeply involved in all the vice concessions from heroin to cigarettes and beer as well as the brothels, Turkish baths, night clubs, bars, and other operations in the pleasure districts of Da Nang. Aren’t the decadent officials and corrupt military officers usually exempted from being NLF targets? Of course, he’s been an object of complaints, but the more complaints he generates, we were taught, the more the Saigon government itself becomes unpopular. A vicious village mayor should be eliminated instantly, but someone like Cao, wouldn’t he make himself useful to us in our trading operations?”

“Well. . what you say makes sense in a case like your brother,” Thach said. “But there’s a great danger that Cao might openly act on his own plans regarding establishment of the phoenix hamlet militias. We must support Lieutenant Kiem and see to it that he assumes even greater responsibility. What we want is a restructuring of the dealing channels. If a new police superintendent has to take over Cao’s role, he’ll need time to learn the ropes and then he’ll have to reclaim Cao’s concessions one by one. Meanwhile, we can use Kiem to systematically reorganize all of the dealing in war materiel connected with the setting up of the militias.

“It won’t be easy for the new superintendent to interfere with Kiem, since the new system will already be in place from top to bottom in tight order, and the new man will have to focus on his own duties. For instance, he may be content if we offer him a portion of the revenues from draft exemptions or diverted training expenses, and make that into his steady income. As you know, we’re looking now for a way we can develop a steady source of weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies. In addition, if we can solve the problem of procuring C-rations, then the NLF in central Vietnam will be able to find its feet, and that will mean the supply routes along the Ho Chi Minh Trail farther south will also be able to carry larger flows. The elimination of Cao will bring about a big change in the underground economy of Da Nang, wait and see. There’ll be an upheaval in the supply of luxury items from the PXs, and the black market will be up for grabs, since all the dealers, not to mention the Americans and the Koreans, will heatedly compete with one another.”

“Now I understand, sir.”

“Cell A of the reinforcement company is most efficient, so I’m planning to entrust the elimination of Cao to them. Cell B will be assigned to assist cell A, and cell C can take care of the Grand Hotel mission. I’ll be furnishing cell C with time-delay detonators and disassembled mines. First, tell them to put together their basic plans this week and then report on that to a higher authority. After their plans are reviewed and accepted, they can execute them. Cell B should conduct investigations into Cao’s house, his relatives and friends, his daily routine and patterns of movement, the strength and characteristics of his bodyguards, the places he most often frequents, and so on. Based on that information, cell A will select the most opportune time and location for the attack, then conduct a field survey and a dry run before eliminating Cao. What’s the contact hour?”

“About the time the office closes.”

“You now have a complete understanding of the orders for operations and the duties of each cell, right?”

Pham Minh nodded. Thach was about to leave the office when he paused and asked, “Did you see the girl?”

“Yes, just for a short time.”

“So, what’s to be done about it?”

“Seems her family is pressing her to enter into an engagement. I told her to do as she pleased.”

“Was that truly necessary? In my opinion, your judgment wasn’t very good. The same thing once happened to me. And forget about what Comrade Thanh said.”

“The truth is, I lacked confidence, sir.”

Lifting his gloomy face up toward the ceiling of the warehouse, Thach was lost in thought about something, and then murmured, as if to himself, “Now that I think of it, the road to love and the road to revolution are one and the same.”

Footnote:

10 From the poem “Rappelle-toi Barbara” by Jacques Prévert

30

Investigation Report on Atrocities by G2 and MID11

The present case arose from charges submitted at the military prison facility. An officer and a sergeant were interrogated in connection with allegations of torture. The accused were sentenced to reduction in rank and disciplinary punishment. No public announcement of the findings has been made. The informants have been released and have returned to duty assignments. Transcript of interrogation follows:

Informants: Marvin Cole, Private (Age 22, born Pennsylvania)

Von Taylor, Private (Age 21, born Ohio)

Howard Brown, Private (Age 23, born Nebraska)

Defendants: Lieutenant Sloat (Regimental intelligence officer, born California)

Master Sergeant McCoy (Division MID)

Witness: Master Sergeant Nguyen (ARVN interpreter)

Interrogator: State your prisoner numbers, your rank prior to confinement, and the charges of which you were convicted.

Cole: Number 2-40-1. Rank lieutenant, charged with homicide by misfire.

Taylor: Number 2-40. Private. Assault on a superior.

Brown: Number 2-40-2. Master sergeant. Dereliction of duty.

Interrogator: Before we begin the questioning on this incident, state the circumstances up to the point at which Lieutenant Sloat summoned the informants.

Cole: I can tell you myself. Our day usually started with roll call at 0500. Everything followed the loudspeaker’s instructions. All you could see in the dark was the spotlight and the barbed wire. After finishing breakfast, we immediately started the morning work. Lunch is the only meal we have in the sunlight. The work assigned to us was loading sand. Other teams were assigned to breaking rocks, so we considered ourselves lucky.

Interrogator: Only state the facts relevant to the present case.

Cole: I was an officer. The reason I’m mentioning prison conditions is, though it’s not included in the charge, I think these are things that absolutely must be known outside of the prison.

Interrogator: Fine. Go on.

Cole: Escape from the prison is almost unthinkable. In front is the sea, and looking over the stretches of sand is a watchtower equipped with machine guns. Beyond is the jungle. At ebb tide you can swim out about ten miles from shore, but the tide comes in so fast that many who have tried to escape were found drowned. The jungle starts about five or ten miles away.

Taylor: Some prisoners cut their way through the wire fence, planning to head for Cambodia, but they were soon captured by pursuit patrols. Or shot by the enemy.

Brown: I escaped once. Whenever I got the chance I widened a hole in the bottom of the fence a bit at a time. At night I dug out the sand and crawled out under the wire. I got to the edge of the jungle, but I didn’t have the courage to go in, so I came back. I was given solitary соnfinement.

Cole: Even so, there’s always some prisoner trying to run away. Some head into the sea, hoping to reach Japan, and are never seen again. The attempts were constant because in that prison the work is harsh, the food is miserable, and you can trust neither the friendly captors nor the enemy.

Brown: The guards would say we could rest after finishing our work, but from my experience I’d say it was better to slow down and keep working. For it became clear that as soon as we finished one thing, they’d load more work on us.

Taylor: We decided Howard was right, so we used to load the sand bags slowly and take our time carrying them. We loaded almost a full truck, but we still weren’t too tired. A new prisoner, who wasn’t used to the sun, kept collapsing. We had to fill his quota, too. At 1000 we had a five-minute break. They gave us a cup of water dipped from a rusty drum.

Cole: As we stood there drinking, gasping like dogs, we heard Brown say there was a new addition to the family. An army Jeep was approaching, raising plumes of dust. That was when he arrived. The guard shouted at us to get back to work and stop gawking, but we were so fed up with the monotony of the work we just stood there and watched. In the Jeep was a young Vietnamese boy, his hands tied behind his back, wedged between two American soldiers. The boy was in black pajamas, and was very thin with a long neck. The guards roughly dragged him down from the Jeep.

Taylor: I was stunned. I had never seen a little boy tied up like that before, and I couldn’t stop staring. The guard whacked me on the back of my head with his baton.

Brown: It was during the lunch break that Marvin and I were summoned. They called it lunch hour, but roll call took about twenty minutes, so there was only about ten minutes left to wait in the scalding heat and then gulp down that slop. The loudspeaker was blaring that vaccinations were to be given. Then Marvin’s name and number were called over the speaker. They repeated it several times, and then started swearing.

Cole: I was dozing off. The guard walked down my file, looked around and then dragged Howard and me out. After checking our numbers, he led both of us to the main gate in the wire-mesh fence. There we were handed over to the guard, who took us to one of the Quonsets outside the fence.

Interrogator: Private Taylor, you didn’t go with them, so how is it you became an informant about the misconduct?

Taylor: I was summoned later, at the very end.

Interrogator: Are you the one who disposed of the corpse?

Taylor: Yes, that’s right. The dead body was—

Interrogator: Ah, you can testify on that later.

Cole: It was dark inside the Quonset. All the blinds were drawn. There was a lamp on the desk, but it was dim. I guess the lieutenant had turned the dimmer down. The walls shook from the air-conditioner unit in the window.

Interrogator: How many people were inside, and who were they?

Cole: Lieutenant Sloat, Master Sergeant McCoy, the Vietnamese interpreter, and the little boy.

Interrogator: Sergeant Nguyen, are these men the ones who entered the Quonset at that time?

Nguyen: That’s correct. Those two men came inside.

Interrogator: Lieutenant Sloat, why did you summon these two, of all the prisoners?

Sloat: I had seen their personal records. In the first place, Cole was an officer and a college graduate, and his charge on an accidental shooting didn’t seem too bad. The file showed that Cole had studied Vietnamese at the officer school in San Francisco. He’d also been through a special training course in Saigon, so I figured he’d make an excellent assistant.

Interrogator: Do you mean to imply that Sergeant Nguyen was not capable of translating alone?

Sloat: I hate to say this, especially in his presence, but we intelligence officers don’t have so much faith in the Vietnamese military interpreters. After all, the Viet Cong and they are in the same family. They’re hard workers up to a certain point, but beyond that they tend to sympathize with their fellow countrymen — that means siding with the enemy. Having a Vietnamese-speaking American present would, I figured, make him more careful.

Interrogator: I see. So that explains Private Cole, but why did you summon Private Brown?

McCoy: That was the guard’s mistake. We gave him Cole’s number, but he wasn’t sure he had it right so he brought both of them. But once Brown had come into the Quonset hut, we couldn’t just let him go back.

Interrogator: Why not? You mean to maintain secrecy?

Sloat: Yes.

Interrogator: Then you had planned in advance to commit the atrocities. So, it looks like you were trying to conceal. .

Sloat: Gathering intelligence like we do at G2 and MID requires us to dig as much information as possible out of prisoners in the shortest possible time. Our duty is to send that information immediately to our forces in the field, and this priority allows us to make exceptions to general principles.

Interrogator: That you dragged a suspected guerrilla to the military prison, was that also against general rules?

Sloat: Yes, sir. Unless we maintain strict security, there’s a lot of leakage, and unflattering publicity can be exploited by the enemy.

Interrogator: In this case, weren’t you were more concerned with your own forces learning about your secret interrogation methods than about leaks to the enemy?

Sloat: In every department, the methods and procedures used to carry out a task are evaluated by the results. The task I undertook was not the kind of work requiring strict adherence to military regulations or the rules stipulated in international treaties.

Interrogator: The informant may state how the defendants coerced you into taking part in this misconduct.

Cole: Lieutenant Sloat called out my name to confirm which of the two of us was Marvin Cole.

Brown: He was angry that the main gate sentry had brought me along too. He ordered me to stay inside with Marvin until the work was finished. The lieutenant introduced everyone one by one and then, pointing at the boy, said they were going to interrogate him. Master Sergeant McCoy suddenly turned the dimmer all the way up, and the light was shining straight in the boy’s face. The boy, who was sitting bound to a metal chair, grimaced and tried to turn his face away. Only then did I notice the boy had already been beaten. His mouth and chin were all smeared with his own blood.

Cole: I felt so sorry for the boy I couldn’t even look him in the face.

Interrogator: The boy’s age is recorded as fourteen. Was he beaten?

McCoy: We hadn’t laid a finger on him at that point. At the time of his arrest one of the patrol troops had beaten him with a rifle butt.

Cole: That’s a lie. Their Jeep drove right past us prisoners as we paused from working. At that time the boy’s face was pale, but not bloody.

Sloat: Usually, we strip the guerrillas before we interrogate them. They might have something concealed, and anyway we need to check and see if they show any signs of having been in the jungle or any scars from shrapnel to determine whether they’re veteran guerrillas. Sergeant McCoy was bitten while trying to undress the boy. So he hit him, not that hard, and it seemed the boy caught it the wrong way.

Cole: He said he was going to start interrogating and I should interpret. But Howard, who was standing beside me, gave me a nudge as a signal not to do it. I hung my head and remained silent. Sloat said I better cooperate, and that they had to get information on the organization of local guerrillas. He also told me to forget about the prison. I asked him what that little boy, much younger than my own kid brother, could possibly have to do with the Viet Cong. Sergeant McCoy said the little bastard had been captured on Route 1 trying to ambush one of our patrols. The lieutenant then explained why he had summoned me instead of calling in another official interpreter. Since they were due to ship back home within a year, the case might be publicized back in the States, that was his explanation. But it would be safe with me, he said, because I had to serve three more years of time in prison, and then return to my unit to complete my hitch. Then he said that, depending on how things went, he could arrange for me to work outside the prison, at the division headquarters, or out on some field detachment. Then I decided I had no choice but to cooperate.

McCoy: The surprise ambushes of the guerrillas along Route 1 were giving us a real headache. The day before the boy was captured, several spots on the road were hit. At dawn the same day, a Jeep was blown up and three American soldiers inside were killed.

Sloat: The boy was carrying a bundle of Russian-made hand grenades. They were bundled up in a club shape with a percussion detonator hooked up. The little bastard apparently had been transporting supplies for the guerrillas. The patrol took the grenades and also medical supplies off of him. It was a period when we were taking constant casualties without accomplishing much, and all of us intelligence officers were being pressed hard by our senior staff officers. It was urgent that we find out where the boy was heading with those supplies.

Cole: I had them untie the little boy’s hands and interpreted Nguyen’s questions and the boy’s replies for Lieutenant Sloat. Under the bright light the boy’s black hair, his pale forehead and cheeks, and his brown eyes stood out distinctly. So did the dried blood stuck all over his soft chin. Whenever Nguyen asked him something, the boy struggled to speak through his torn lip.

Interrogator: Do you recall the contents of the questioning?

Cole: At first, Nguyen asked him where he got that stuff. The boy said from a dead soldier. An American soldier? A North Vietnamese soldier. Where was it, the dead body? On Route 1. There was no dead body of a North Vietnamese soldier on that road, in fact, was there? There was, next to a stream by the road. Why did you pick up the grenades? To protect myself. Where did the medical supplies come from? From the same dead soldier. But North Vietnamese fighters don’t carry antibiotics or painkillers, do they? I don’t know what those are. Where were you taking those supplies, tell the truth. I was on my way to see my sister in Qua Jiang. There was fighting on the other road, so I was scared. Now, given me a straight answer. Where were you taking those supplies? Really, I was not taking them anywhere, I was just going to my sister’s. My parents were killed. That was more or less how the interrogation went. McCoy was impatient, and he said heatedly that if they left the boy to him, he’d get some answers out of the little devil in no time.

Interrogator: When did the torture begin, and who initiated it?

Brown: That sergeant started to rough him up. He slugged the boy with his fists right in front of us.

McCoy: That’s not true. I didn’t start it. I had to follow the orders of Lieutenant Sloat.

Sloat: All right. I’ll tell you. The interrogation had gone on until three in the afternoon, but we kept getting the same damned answer from the boy, who claimed he was headed for his sister’s house. So I said we’d have to intensify the interrogation. So I sent Nguyen to fetch a kettle of water.

Nguyen: That’s different from the facts. I opposed rough treatment. Almost all Vietnamese are Buddhists. As you may know, the greater the agony, the harder Buddhist believers fight to endure it. They’d rather seal their lips and choose death.

Interrogator: But wasn’t he just a small boy?

Nguyen: True, but any human who’s treated cruelly tries to triumph over the pain, out of hate for the enemy. Sergeant McCoy’s blow ended our interrogation before it started.

McCoy: Shut up! Fuck, that wasn’t a real blow.

Interrogator: Sergeant, watch your language. You’re under investigation here. This investigation is being conducted by order of the high command of the US-Vietnam forces with the intention of vindicating US military regulations and methods of wartime operations. Accordingly, atrocities against prisoners of war or suspects are absolutely prohibited, regardless of rank or mission. Witness, please proceed with your statement.

Cole: McCoy complained about having no time to spare, saying he knew plenty of good methods. And Lieutenant Sloat asked me if I had any effective way to make the boy open his mouth. I did not want to hear anybody saying I’d taken part in it, even afterwards, so I just kept my mouth shut. But then McCoy struck the boy again in the face with his fist. The boy, still tied to the chair, was knocked over backwards onto the floor.

Brown: I was standing a little back, and I sat the chair back upright and saw that the boy was not moving. He seemed to have fainted. Blood was running down his face.

Nguyen: I swore at Sergeant McCoy, calling him a barbarian. It would have gone much better if we’d given the boy some food to eat. You could see he had eaten nothing the whole day.

McCoy: The lieutenant was the one who ordered us to intensify the interrogation.

Sloat: That’s misleading. The fact that I said to increase the intensity of the questioning was not an order to engage in torture.

Nguyen: It’s true that the lieutenant was angry at the sergeant. Lieutenant Sloat shouted at Sergeant McCoy to get out, saying he wouldn’t let him get away with such brutality. And when the sergeant left, he swore at him, calling him a stupid bastard of a lifer. The lieutenant seemed worried about leaving evidence behind. He ordered for a medic.

Brown: The lieutenant sent me out to get a medic and said the medic should bring drugs to give the boy a shot to wake him up. When I asked whether we shouldn’t treat his wounds first, the lieutenant flew into a rage. He told me to hurry up and bring a medic with a syringe of stimulants before he smashed my face. I ran out. It happened that the whole prison was getting vaccinations and I managed to find a medic and bring him back to the Quonset. The medic took out a little vial of clear liquid and gave the boy an injection. A moment later, his head began to move.

Cole: The Vietnamese sergeant resumed his questioning, but the boy only kept moaning “No” or “I don’t know.” Lieutenant Sloat kept pacing around the room, boiling with anger, and then he called out for Sergeant McCoy. The lieutenant told McCoy not to be too rough with the boy, to do it skillfully. The lieutenant sat down beside the boy and McCoy pulled his head backward. Then they slowly poured water from the pot into the boy’s mouth and nose.

McCoy: All I did was hold him down.

Nguyen: He ordered me to bring the pot over from the desk and pour it. I turned my head away and did as told. Every now and then the lieutenant told me to stop and asked something in English, which I in turn asked the boy in Vietnamese.

Cole: But that didn’t do anything.

Interrogator: So you moved up to the next level of torture? I mean, the shock treatment, using the field telephone as a generator?

Cole: No. Before that I asked Lieutenant Sloat to let me go back to my cell. The lieutenant tried to convince me to stay, asking what was waiting for me back in prison except hard labor. But I told him I didn’t want any part of this.

Sloat: I wasn’t the one who had picked out his personal record card. The senior staff was responsible. They said I could promise him that if he managed to get the suspect to reveal information with combat value, they’d restore his officer’s rank and send him back to his unit. He was a very competent interpreter.

Interrogator: Who was the next person to commit an atrocity and what did he do?

Brown: I saw it all with my own eyes. Sergeant McCoy made me bring some water. I brought a full basin over and then McCoy taped an electric cord on the back of that poor boy’s heel.

Interrogator: Lieutenant Sloat, did you order him to do it?

Sloat: No, sir. I left for a short time to make a report to my superior. Even as I was out, a fierce enemy attack was underway. For purposes of minimizing casualties on our side, we couldn’t afford to lose a single second in locating the guerrilla hideouts.

Interrogator: Sergeant Nguyen, the cruelty continued even after the lieutenant returned, didn’t it?

Nguyen: If he lowered his hand I kept it running, and when he raised his hand I stopped.

Interrogator: So, Nguyen had the power running and the lieutenant sent the signals. What were you doing, Sergeant McCoy?

McCoy: I wrote down the suspect’s statements as they were interpreted.

Brown: Before that, McCoy had put the boy’s feet, taped with the electric cord, into the basin of water, and then he tied both the boy’s legs to the chair. When the power was turned on, the boy let out a faint moan and his whole body shook. The boy couldn’t endure that for long, and he went limp.

Cole: After that the boy came to and fainted three more times. Still he only talked of his sister’s house. I said we should stop because we wouldn’t get anything more out of the boy. Sloat said that somewhere the Viet Cong were at that very moment getting ready to attack, and asked me to interpret the boy’s shrieks. I did. I even included when he said things like “dear Buddha” or “Momma” or “bastard” or “help me” and so on. It felt like I was the one being tortured. Over and over I kept saying the boy seemed to be telling the truth, it really was possible he meant to sell the grenades on the black market and that he meant to give the money he made to his sister.

Brown: McCoy said mockingly that yeah sure, that was possible. But even if he had a sister, McCoy said, she had to be a whore. He glared at us and kept saying that the boy had been caught red-handed carrying enemy supplies. That was when Marvin said that if the boy wasn’t a guerrilla, he sure as hell would become one when he got back home to his village and next time he’d be throwing grenades at us. McCoy got so mad he grabbed Marvin by the throat and pushed him against the wall.

McCoy: The operations guidelines issued by headquarters clearly state that any Vietnamese, regardless of age or gender, we run upon at a line of contact must be assumed to be a guerrilla. What were we supposed to think about a boy who was lugging grenades in a zone where we were conducting a desperate search-and-destroy mission?

Cole: I felt so suffocated I couldn’t budge even after I heard Lieutenant Sloat shout, Sergeant! He’s a prisoner now but he’s still an officer. Stop!

Nguyen: As soon as Sergeant McCoy stopped choking the officer by the neck, he turned and struck the boy in the face again with his fist. The boy fell sideways with the chair onto the floor. The medic was on standby in the other room with his kit, so he was brought back in and gave the boy another shot on the lieutenant’s order. There was a gash under the boy’s left eye. His ribs started to move, and a minute later the boy was breathing again.

Interrogator: So up to then it was the second degree, right? When did you start with the third degree?

Nguyen: Dinner was brought in. It began after that.

Sloat: As I mentioned before, a secret mission of this kind requires the highest degree of skill and presence of mind on our part. Sergeant McCoy bungled things. As an officer I felt responsible and was ready to take the consequences.

Interrogator: What do you mean? Wasn’t that true from the start?

Sloat: At the beginning I planned to take care of it skillfully, but after dinner I gave up.

Interrogator: You’re still not making yourself clear.

Sloat: For instance, there were already too many incriminating signs on the suspect.

Interrogator: I see. You mean you decided he would not be sent back to the prisoner of war camp?

Sloat: Yes. In the end. .

Brown: After supper, Lieutenant Sloat was drinking coffee. We had eaten stew and peas. The sauce reminded me of thick blood, so I couldn’t swallow even a spoonful. Lieutenant Sloat sat there quietly for a while, then he took out a knife and handed it to Sergeant McCoy.

Interrogator: Was it a normal knife? I mean, not a machete or a sword, but a fruit knife or a workshop knife?

Cole: It was one of those knives used by the Special Forces, with a curved tip in Arabian style and serrated on the reverse side of the blade.

Interrogator: Who was the first to use the blade and for what purpose?

Cole: Sergeant McCoy took the knife and rubbed it across his palm a few times. And then he rubbed it over the boy’s back. .

Interrogator: He couldn’t stab with that knife, could he?

Brown: He sliced through the skin, though. The boy’s writhing and moaning was too much for me and I squatted down in the corner of the Quonset and threw up. Only a few peas came up and Cole started pounding on my back to help me out. McCoy kept at it for a while, and then he suddenly tossed the knife on the table. Then he told Marvin to help him since he was a soldier, too. Both Lieutenant Sloat and Marvin were silent. McCoy sneered and said officers were only imitation gentlemen and didn’t care a lick about their comrades’ dying. That was when Sloat picked up the knife and stabbed the boy in the thigh.

Sloat: In fact I suffered, too. And I was losing patience because we’d already wasted too much time. I could no longer evade the inevitable. From then on, I did everything alone. Of course, there were some results, but. .

Interrogator: Private Marvin Cole, you saw everything in detail to the end, is that right?

Cole: Yes, because I had to interpret for McCoy who was recording every single scream of agony coming from the boy.

Interrogator: Could you be more specific?

Cole: Sir, I was a brave fighter. I’ve seen dead bodies of our troops and of the enemy torn to bits by bombs or riddled by machine guns, and I’ve shot my share. But how can I describe this? It was like butchering a live calf.

Interrogator: Well, after that, did the torture continue?

Nguyen: Lieutenant Sloat told us to untie the boy and lay him down on the desk. He said we would have to start again in the morning. Because of the wounds on his back, when the boy was laid down he moaned and gasped for breath. Sergeant McCoy turned the lamp dimmer down. It seemed they were going to get a little sleep sitting in the chairs. That man must have been sick because the two prisoners were sent out for a while.

Cole: Private Howard wanted a breath of cool air, so I took him outside. The searchlight was constantly shining around us. We sat on the sand and smoked a cigarette. Suddenly Howard put his head down on his knees and burst out crying. I thought it’d be better to leave him alone. Then he turned around and called me a son of a bitch. Since I knew Vietnamese I could have stopped it if I wanted to, he said. It never had occurred to me. I was indeed Sloat’s son of a bitch.

Interrogator: Private Howard Brown, how did you think knowledge of the Vietnamese language could have put an end to the torture?

Brown: I thought Marvin could talk with the Vietnamese sergeant. He was sick and tired of it all, too.

Nguyen: I hate the communists. But I only shoot guns. The lieutenant and the sergeant did not consider Vietnamese to be human beings. The two prisoners returned. The one who knew Vietnamese asked me in a whisper if the boy had still said nothing about the guerrillas. I told him the boy seemed to be chanting some kind of prayers. Then I looked over at the lieutenant and the sergeant and found them both fast asleep. The stories the little boy had told to me while I was the only one awake beside him, well, I told all of those to Cole. That both of his parents died a year ago, killed by strafing from US helicopters. His parents had been working in the fields when a helicopter suddenly swooped down. The boy said he was there and had seen everything, seen his parents machine gunned down and dying. Cole suggested, in Vietnamese, that he and I save the boy. He said we were the only ones who knew what he was saying, and we should gain some time for him and prevent further knifing. I agreed with him.

Cole: At that moment Lieutenant Sloat abruptly awoke from sleep. He may have sensed something suspicious from our whispering in Vietnamese. He asked Sergeant Nguyen why the interrogation had stopped.

Nguyen: I responded that the suspect no longer seemed to feel any pain. But when the boy made some moaning sounds, the lieutenant asked me to hurry and interpret. I said it meant, “dear Buddha, I want to rest.” The lieutenant told me not to lie, and said he’d use the knife again unless I told the truth. That was when the guard brought breakfast in.

Brown: It was strong coffee and bacon. They ate breakfast, sitting their cups and plates on the desk right beside the bloodied boy.

Cole: After the meal was over, Lieutenant Sloat took me outside and, putting his hand on my shoulder, said in a soothing tone: once you get the necessary information you can have your rank reinstated and head back to your duty. Who knows, he said, your major might even arrange for an honorable discharge. He said that Nguyen had been playing games from the start. The boy must have revealed something important. I said he was mistaken and that the boy had been saying the same thing over and over. Sloat suddenly turned around and opened the Quonset door, summoning the guard. Drag that Vietnamese bastard out of here, he ordered. Then, half-hysterical, he said Nguyen should be locked up until someone came from his unit to collect him. Nguyen bowed to Howard and me and then left with the guard. Sloat said to McCoy, let’s you and I do it together. He looked completely insane. As soon as he picked up the knife, he started yelling at the boy in English to tell him where the guerrillas were, and then he stabbed the boy in the knee.

Brown: I’ll never forget his eyes and face at that moment as long as I live. The boy suddenly opened his eyes and glared at the lieutenant, biting his terribly swollen lips and grinding his teeth with his whole face shaking. Lieutenant Sloat dropped the knife and took a step back. I screamed that I was getting out, I’m going back to my cell. I kicked the Quonset door open and staggered out. From behind, the lieutenant shouted for me to stop, but I kept on walking. The guard ran after me and ordered me to stop, but I didn’t. I heard a gun fire. Sand splashed up at my feet. Two more shots were fired. I fell on the spot with my face hitting the sand.

Interrogator: After that, did you receive medical treatment in the hospital?

Brown: Yes, it was a through shot.

Cole: Once Howard had been carried away, Lieutenant Sloat looked down at the boy for a while and then in a unnerved voice shouted, You better not die, you little bastard! He slapped the boy’s face. Then he called the medic. The lieutenant told McCoy to call a helicopter and take the boy to the hospital. He murmured, We’ve got to keep him alive at all costs and get the information out of him. We can start over from the beginning. Hearing those words, I made up my mind.

Interrogator: About what?

Cole: I decided it was time to give the boy his freedom to die. I spoke to Sloat, telling him I’d overheard the boy talking to Sergeant Nguyen. I said the boy had confessed that he was taking the stuff to his uncle in the swamp near Dien Banh. Sloat took Sergeant McCoy and me and hurried us to the staff headquarters. A helicopter assault force was already lifting off, having been alerted by wireless. There in the air-conditioned office of the headquarters, I watched as an outsider and secretly laughed at their hectic rushing about. For the helicopters would find nothing at that place. I just wanted to give the boy some time to die in peace even if it meant lying. As I sat in the chair drinking ice water, the medic came in and reported that the boy was dead. Lieutenant Sloat kept making phone calls, and I heard him give an order to pick out any bastard they wanted from among the prisoners and bury the boy. McCoy went out.

Interrogator: Private Taylor, I believe the time has come for you to testify.

Taylor: That sergeant brought a guard with him to our work site and asked who among us knew Marvin Cole. I’d been worrying about Marvin and Howard because they had not returned since lunchtime the day before. The three of us had become good pals while living together the past year in that prison. I said I was their close friend and asked whether something had happened to them. McCoy said they were enjoying a poker game in an air-conditioned room. I felt a bit uneasy, but not knowing what was going on, I followed him over to the Quonset hut. Inside was so dark that at first I couldn’t see anything. The sergeant who was behind me threw a vinyl bag to me and told me to put the bastard on the desk inside of it. It was a heavy, waterproof body bag used for soldiers killed in action. I opened the zipper and started to load the corpse in legs first.

Interrogator: Just describe the location and condition of the wounds, please.

Taylor: Both knees were deeply punctured and the thighs were flapping, sliced in a half-moon shape. His face was swollen and the desk was soaked with blood from cuts on his back. His eyes were open. Because of the pitiful expression of the dead little boy, his slanted eyes wide open under that pale forehead, I somehow felt he was on our side. I only learned later that he was a suspected Viet Cong. I decided to shut his eyes, and the paper-thin eyelids slid closed under my palm. Then I carried the vinyl body bag out to a place behind the garbage incinerator.

Interrogator: Did you go with the sergeant?

Taylor: Yes, he led the way. He walked in front with a shovel and I followed, dragging the vinyl bag by one end. I guess I was pulling the ankles, and the head and torso were dragging in the sand.

Interrogator: Did you bury the corpse?

Taylor: The sergeant threw the shovel down at my feet. I dug a hole as deep as my waist. . and then he gave me a hand. We each held one end of the bag and tossed it down into the hole.

Interrogator: Can you remember the place?

Taylor: Well, I’m not so sure since it was sandy in all directions.

Interrogator: Lieutenant Sloat and Sergeant McCoy, is there anything else you want to state for the record?

McCoy: General Westmoreland’s search-and-destroy operations will judge a mishap of this kind as something inevitable under the exceptional circumstances of battle in Vietnam. As a professional soldier, I’ve done my duty faithfully.

Interrogator: How about you Lieutenant Sloat?

Sloat: Nothing, sir.

Interrogator: Just a while ago, Private Marvin Cole testified that he had lied about the confession. So did you not end up wasting combat resources?

Sloat: No, sir. We annihilated an entire company of the enemy in the swamp near Dien Banh. The information proved to be most valuable.

Footnote:

11 Military Intelligence Division

31

The pleasant sound of balls hitting rackets came from the tennis courts. The maid brought in some coffee and bread. Pham Quyen set the English newspaper down, and buttering a piece of baguette, said, “Those Americans, playing tennis! What idiots!”

Hae Jong misunderstood what he meant. “Do you find it noisy? I kind of like the sound.”

From the direction of the tree line, laughter was audible. High-ranking American officers played tennis religiously every morning. Before, Pham Quyen and Hae Jong had joined in the games from time to time. The Americans had welcomed Hae Jong with open arms but cold-shouldered the Vietnamese officer. It was one of those old customs observed by white people toward the natives of their colonies. Strictly speaking, the US military’s rule barring the locals from entering the bars and restaurants was just another remnant of the old white colonialist customs. There was no real difference between the French in Indochina and the British in India.

“This is my country. A few miles from here people are dying, dropping like flies, but here. . a tennis match every morning. It isn’t right.”

“Please, stop talking about death. We’re eating breakfast.”

Hae Jong took a sip of her coffee. She sensed Pham Quyen’s sour mood and said to him, “They’re like that wherever they go. You should get some exercise, too.”

“I don’t want to play tennis. If I go down there in shorts and with a racket, they’ll all stop and stare at me.”

“It’s because they’re fighting against your own countrymen. But what about the general’s villa in Bai Bang? It has a wonderful pool, why not take me there once in a while?”

“I get too much exercise, that’s my problem. Do you have any idea how busy I’ve been lately? My belly has even melted away. At this rate, I’ll become an alpinist.”

“Are you headed up into the mountains again today?”

“What do you mean ‘again today’? We have to finish everything in one month. I don’t think it can be done. We should set up a headquarters in Ha Thanh and just stay there.”

Pham Quyen wiped his fingers with a napkin and got to his feet. “My uniform.”

Hae Jong called the maid and in awkward Vietnamese told her to bring the major’s clothes. Standing behind him after he had changed into his crisply starched uniform, she said, “So you mean you’ll be staying in the jungle?”

“The harvesting starts today.”

“I don’t like it. This place is not like in the city, and I’m scared to stay out here in the middle of nowhere all alone.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

After putting on his hat, Quyen went out into the living room and sat down on the couch. A minute later he was ready to leave.

“What’s there to be afraid of? You’re not a child. We’ll have workers from Nyugen Cuong’s side as well as from ours, but the soldiers are all under the Second Division commander and I’ll have to keep a close eye on them. We have to protect our cinnamon.”

Hae Jong gave in. “You’re right, the work is important.”

The cinnamon collection operation up in the highlands, which Pham Quyen had planned a month earlier, was going ahead without a hitch. One of the branches of the Thu Bon River ran through Da Nang but the main flow spread through the Hoi An region where half a dozen branches had formed a delta. From the delta the river wound back and ran parallel to Route 1 up to East Tuanh Bay north of Chu Lai. Upstream there are two main tributaries of the Thu Bon: the northern stream has its source in the highlands near the settlements of An Diem and Lien Hiep, while the southern stream gathers at a junction near Tabik, from which a branch also runs down southeast into the Chang River, irrigating the fields of Tam Ky.

Pham Quyen and Nguyen Cuong had gone up in General Liam’s Cobra and surveyed from the air the entire region southeast of Da Nang and on up into the highlands. Starting from An Diem, they had made a round of the Quoi River, which runs through Bien Jiang, passed the Hiep bank up the Chang River toward Tabik, then across the Jiang Hoa fields to Ha Thanh and back to An Diem. At last Nguyen Cuong spotted a large stand of cinnamon trees and cried out. Pham Quyen’s heart leapt as he peered down through his binoculars. It was indeed a sight: the cinnamon forest went on and on, most of the trees too large for a man to clasp his arms around the trunks. An entire section of the jungle covered with cinnamon trees.

After passing over a few times, Cuong gave his opinion. They needed to make a ground survey for a closer look, but that it appeared to him there was another stand of cinnamon trees across the Quoi River, too. The produce from the cinnamon harvest in the region running from An Diem past Ha Thanh toward Tabik, Phuoc Binh and An Hoa ought, he said, to sell for over one hundred million piasters.

“Before this dry season is over we should be able to manage a couple of harvesting operations. The monsoon comes in September, so we have no time to loose. Once the rains come, nothing will be possible until next March.”

“You can have them go on working, can’t you?”

“We can’t keep the soldiers in the field for that long. We’ll have to try to salvage a crop worth fifty million piasters from a shorter intensive operation.”

The corners of Hae Jong’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “And what will be our share?”

“Well. . about ten million, I suppose.”

“Why so little?”

“The area is under the jurisdiction of the Second Division commander, General Van Toan. And from his share something will have to go to the mayor of Hoi An. General Liam will take at least three-fifths, which doesn’t leave much for Cuong and me.”

“But the jungle is so vast, you say. Why not divide the area up?”

“It’s not easy to get workers.”

Hae Jong lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and after thinking for a moment said, “Aren’t the residents of the resettlement villages under your jurisdiction? You can use them.”

“Not a bad idea. Well, I’ll be back. I’ll let you know if we decide to stay up in Ha Thanh.”

Pham Quyen knelt down in the front hall to tie up the laces on his combat boots.

“If I’m not at home,” Hae Jong said from behind him, “come find me at the Sports Club.”

“You mean you’re going back to Madame Lin’s?” Quyen asked in a sullen tone. “What do you do there, anyway? Play cards and flirt with junior American officers?”

“I guess so,” she said, nodding. “The piasters you’ll be bringing in will need to be converted into dollars, and when that accumulates we’ll want to convert it all into a check redeemable abroad. You know we can’t leave the country with cash.”

Pham Quyen sighed. “It seems like you’re in too much of a hurry.”

“Wait and see. We only have a year left. Maybe even not that long.”

“Don’t worry. General Liam will be asked to join the Cabinet.”

Hae Jong pushed him softly. “If he joins the government of Saigon, he’ll change his mount. He doesn’t trust you, never has. You’re his horse in Da Nang, but he’ll have a fresh one waiting in Saigon. I know how things work in high society.”

Pham Quyen got into the Land Rover and was soon driving along Son Tinh beach. It was early in the morning, but already the mist was lifting and lingered visibly only at the distant edge of the forest. He had left home so early not to go to the office, but to pay a visit to the governor of Bai Bang. He passed through downtown, crossed the smokestack bridge, and in high spirits headed toward Monkey Mountain, north of the bay of Da Nang. The Land Rover clung firmly to the road as it crept forward like a scarab. After entering through the main gate to the headquarters compound he took the road to the left, spooking a flock of birds that raucously lifted into the air. The sea seemed rather calm. He passed under the watchtower and pulled into the parking lot. The leader of the sentry detachment, a staff sergeant, saluted him. As usual, Major Pham took out his revolver and handed it over.

“Is the old man here?”

“He is, over there.” Smiling slightly, the sergeant pointed the way. Pham Quyen heard splashing coming from the swimming pool behind the house. The dew on the grass reflected the morning sunlight and the water looked crystal clear against the white tile lining the bottom of the pool. The general’s favorite concubine, half-French, half-Vietnamese, clad in a scarlet bikini, was doing a backstroke across the pool, showing of her smooth, long legs. The general was stretched on a folding chair on the right side of the pool in the shade of some wisteria vines. Pham Quyen stopped a few feet away and saluted.

“Welcome. Come over and sit down,” the general said, taking his sunglasses off and placing them on the table he’d been using as an armrest.

When Quyen looked back, the woman held up one arm and shouted, “Good morning, Major! Come swim with me!”

Pham Quyen answered with a stiff salute and stood next to the general.

“So, the operation starts today?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Pham Quyen, taking a map out of his pocket and unfolding it on the table. “MAC will provide helicopter support and the Second Division will supply combat forces, using Ha Thanh and An Hoa as base camps. We’ll mobilize trucks, bulldozers, and tanks. The areas with concentrations of cinnamon are here, and here.” He pointed to the highlands area where the Thu Bon River forked into two tributaries.

“I called Major General Van Toan myself.”

“Yes sir, I’m aware. I’m supposed to meet him at An Hoa. The official reason for this operation will be the pacification of the refugee settlements at An Diem and An Hoa. An Diem is to be a test zone for the phoenix hamlets projects, and the Developmental Revolution Committee has planned to establish a large-scale industrial complex at An Hoa by resettling rural farmers. Deforestation is a necessary step to make the jungle farmable.”

“We should have a security battalion set up a base for defending and controlling An Diem and An Hoa districts.”

“I am sure we can mobilize troops from elsewhere in Quang Nam Province, sir.”

The Chinese cook brought out a tray heaping with fruit and cookies. The woman got out of the pool dripping with water. Pham Quyen picked up a towel from the back of a chair and wrapped it around her.

“Merci.” She dried her wet hair with the towel. “What are you two plotting?”

“Take my helicopter. And next time you should accompany us on our trip to Saigon.”

“I would be honored to, sir.”

General Liam picked up a cold slice of melon and mumbled, “At least now we’re spending our time on a worthwhile enterprise. In Saigon, everything’s in a chaos. That’s what worries the president. He had announced that the military government should step aside as soon as possible, but it’s only been a few months since the election and he’s already complaining about the corruption.”

“When things are rushed, there’s bound to be collateral damage,” Pham Quyen said gravely.

“Which is why I’m counting on you,” the general readily agreed. “Both General Nguyen Phu Quoc and Dang Van Quang, who fell out of the prime minister’s favor last year, were dismissed because they ignored the general consensus. Quoc has twelve children and always seemed to have a new girlfriend. Those close to him knew about the real estate swindles for a long time. Now he’s in Taiwan.”

“So he slipped away. What’s he doing there?”

“He’s arranging overseas business for some of the politicians and active-duty generals with whom he was connected here. Quang is back in the government, acting as a commercial deputy for the president.” General Liam scrutinized Pham Quyen with a piercing stare. “After all, that’s what it’s like in Saigon. We’re too far away here. You should also quit active duty. And work for me abroad.”

“Are you preparing to join the Cabinet, sir?”

“I’m preparing for many different things. The key is to choose the right line. There has not as yet been any conflict between His Excellency and the vice-president, but the balance of power is tense. To lose the favor of either side would not be good. You can’t ignore the young generals on the side of the reformers, but neither can you slight practical power. I’m afraid it’ll cost a lot.”

Pham Quyen straightened himself up and said, “I understand, sir. I’ll serve you the best that I can.”

“We’d better have enough cash ready. Jewelry’s not bad, either.”

“Before your trip to Saigon, let me have a list of your supporters. I’ll make detailed investigations into their families, relations with friends and relatives, and work out some contingency plans.”

“I suppose you ought to. You may go now.”

Pham Quyen got up and saluted the governor. Then he bowed to the French-Vietnamese woman. As soon as he was gone, the woman, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, asked, “Can you trust that man?”

“What do you think?”

“Looks extremely ambitious. Also very meticulous.”

The governor lightly pulled her ear. “Is that your way of saying you find him to your liking?”

“The longer you use a thing the better it suits you, but I don’t think it’s true with people,” was the woman’s witty reply.

The governor’s smile was gone and with dignity he said, “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Pham Quyen went straight to the heliport at corps headquarters and got aboard the general’s private helicopter, a Cobra. They took off and headed on their way alone, without any escort of gunships. It was ten after nine. The helicopter climbed into the skies over Da Nang and was cruising over the long expanse of rice paddies beyond Dong Dao when a formation of US gunships came into view ahead.

“They’re going the same direction, sir,” the pilot remarked.

“The offensive begins at nine, that’s why.”

At the order of the operations headquarters, the gunships were going to bomb several suspected strongholds. It would only be intimidation fire, but it would benefit the US as much as the NLF. The NLF would read it as the opening of a large-scale operation and retreat deep into the jungle and far from the operations zone. And the US forces would see it as confirmation of the progress of the pacification operations by the ARVN Second Division.

“That’s Ha Thanh, sir,” said the pilot, pointing down at a valley where the river narrowed.

The formation of helicopter gunships flew on toward the west. Below, the yellow smoke of a signal flare marking the landing zone was floating up from the makeshift heliport. From above, the entrance of Ha Thanh valley seemed congested with transport vehicles and combat forces. Three Chinook helicopters had already landed. As the Cobra descended, there was an ear-splitting din of rockets and machine gun fire. The attack by the gunships must have started.

The command post had been set up in the old district office building at the edge of the river in Ha Thanh. In the old days the same building had been used as a base for the French army garrison. It was a solid structure and fairly well fortified with cement walls and sand bags. The magistrates in both Ha Thanh and An Hoa were field-grade military officers. As Pham Quyen got out of the Jeep, the Ha Thanh magistrate, another major, greeted him. The two men shook hands without ceremony and did not bother to salute.

“The general has already arrived and is waiting for you.”

He led the way. Although they were of the same rank, Pham Quyen was in a way his superior since he was the head of an administrative unit under the control of the Quang Nam provincial government. Indeed, as the chief secretary to the governor as well as aide-de-camp to the chief commander for the ARVN in central Vietnam, Major Pham had in his hands virtually total power over personnel administration. Pham Quyen made a solemn salute to General Van Toan.

“It’s late. You should’ve been here at least a half-hour before the start of operations.”

Van Toan was wearing a metal helmet reminiscent of the Ngo Dinh Diem days and sunglasses. He was attended by three field officers and a sergeant who appeared to be his bodyguard.

“I apologize,” said Pham Quyen. “I’m a bit late because I made a report to His Excellency the Governor before coming here.”

“Did the corps commander stay in Doc Lap, or across the river last night?”

“He’s now at the villa in Bai Bang, sir.”

“What a life.”

Pham Quyen said nothing. Instead he turned to look at the map stuck on the wall with thumbtacks. “The operation is already underway, isn’t it?”

The operations officer from Division looked inquiringly at General Van Toan.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” the general said. “This is Major Pham from the Corps. Brief him.”

The operations officer, a lieutenant colonel, began to explain, using his baton as a pointer. “At 1700 hours yesterday, the reconnaissance company left Ha Thanh and seized the bridge passage leading to the Tung Duk area. In An Hoa, also, the reconnaissance group that set out from Phuoc Binh penetrated into Quang Lung and Bien Daio and set up a blocking line. The US helicopters have just bombarded the Bien Jiang and Tabik areas located at the far west of the zone. Starting now, one battalion will be sweeping down southwest from Ha Thanh, and another will sweep all the way from An Hoa to Tabik. When the cast net is drawn in, each battalion will dispatch a company of commandos to establish an independent buffer in Bien Jiang and Quang Lung. We estimate it will take approximately ten days from the commencement of these operations for us to complete seizure of all the strongholds.”

“That’s too long,” said Pham Quyen. “Move it up to one week.”

“As you can see on this map, the jungle in this area has two peaks lined up here. Hill 3383 and Hill 3750. The ravines lying between these two hills are woven crisscross like a maze. There are at least half a dozen rivulets winding through there, too. It will be very simple to pass through this area and secure Hill 3750 to the south. But, even though it takes time, unless we thoroughly comb those ravines, the enemy will use that zone to pass freely and we will be facing counterattacks from the front as well as the rear. The problem is these two little highland hamlets west of Lin Hiep and these four on the river south of Quang Lung. We know for certain that they are so-called ‘liberated areas’ under enemy control.”

At that moment they heard a loud whistling sound outside, followed by an explosion somewhere not far off.

“That’s an M114 howitzer. We’re getting artillery support from the division in An Hoa.”

“They can’t fire even one shell into the forest.”

The general laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re just hitting those ravines. Our aerial reconnaissance already fixed and passed along some precise coordinates.”

“Then those six hamlets are the only problem. The enemy will safely hole up there until the bombing and air raids are over, then make a surprise counterattack at night.”

The general smacked his lips. “Well, that’s what we’re afraid of, too. We can’t just leave them alone and we’re not in a position to bomb the places, either. I wish the corps commander would give us an order. .”

“Let’s try the methods the Americans use.”

“We, ourselves?”

“No, sir. I mean we’ll get air support.”

The idea of establishing free-fire zones by strictly distinguishing the phoenix hamlets from the enemy’s liberated areas was initially developed in connection with General Westmoreland’s orders for search-and-destroy operations. Now the locals had to stake their lives on a choice between the government and the NLF. It was no longer possible for Vietnamese in operations zones to adopt a neutral position. It was a key part of the Americans’ strategy.

Once operations began, helicopters brought Vietnamese officers in to wage psychological warfare over liberated areas by broadcasting and dropping leaflets to disseminate the message: “This is an area of combat operations; all civilians must evacuate this area and move to new hamlets which have been prepared where everyone will be able to settle down peacefully and safely; land, food, and seeds will be provided free. Evacuation must be completed by such-and-such day, following which this area will be bombed and those captured thereafter shall be treated as suspected enemy forces.”

Then the area would be demolished by saturation bombing and an infantry assault would follow. But most residents knew only too well that if they accepted the offer of resettlement they would receive barely enough rice to survive and become mere tenants working the lands grabbed by government officials or military officers. Some of them couldn’t leave their home villages because they had family members fighting with the local guerrillas. Either they ran away to safer regions, or remained in their villages, vulnerable to brutal murder. The Americans spoke of their zones of occupation as having a leopard-spot pattern: outside of the secure spots, nearly everything was a free-fire zone.

“Well, if we can get a documented order from Corps, I’ll put in a request for air support right now to the US commander at Division Headquarters,” said General Van Toan.

Pham Quyen agreed. “I’ll have the document dispatched tomorrow, sir. Better postpone the bombing until then. We can take proper steps and broadcast the warning today.”

“That’s how we’ll conduct it then. Bien Daio is the furthest point into the jungle. From there we’ll have to cut a road with a bulldozer as we advance. When we reach the ravines we’ll turn around on the southern slope of Hill 3383. We can cut the cinnamon from both hills and collect it at the ravines for transport to Bien Daio.”

Pham Quyen looked around quickly. He seemed flustered. Aside from the major acting as magistrate and the lieutenant colonel, there were two other men in the room, the battalion commander and the sergeant-bodyguard. Major Pham spoke obliquely so that the general could pick up his hint.

“A venture designed to strengthen the fiscal position of Quang Nam Province by utilizing resources in the operations area is a part of the refugee resettlement enterprise. And it is an order from His Excellency the Governor himself that the manual work involved be given to the local residents so that they can reap some benefits.”

“I understand. Shall we go?” General Van Toan straightened his metal helmet and rose. “Keep up the good work, officers.”

Van Toan, Pham Quyen, and the magistrate left the office and went downstairs.

“Isn’t there a place with a better view?” the general asked.

The magistrate led them to a bunker overlooking the river. A pair of sentinels, who had been idly lounging inside, jumped up.

“Stand guard outside,” the magistrate barked at the two soldiers. He then pointed to the dense jungle down the bank of the river. “That’s the spot, sir.”

“And the Lien Hiep bridge?”

“Over there to the right, we can climb up to the west alongside the river.”

Tanks and bulldozers could be seen crawling along the edges of rice paddies down the river. The bombing continued in the background. White smoke was drifting over the distant jungle. Inside the bunker, a wooden field cot and ammo crates had been arranged to provide seating. Pham Quyen pointed to the wooden cot and offered the seat to the general. “Sir, have a seat, please. And you, too, Major.”

When they were sitting, Pham Quyen spoke. “What the hell were you were thinking? Our operation plan is publicly described as a pacification operation for the resettlement projects in An Diem and An Hoa. If at the start you reveal the intention to harvest cinnamon, there’ll be talk.”

“Do you think so? Utilizing forest resources will also serve war aims, won’t it?” the general asked tentatively.

“In all events, the first and foremost objective is to seize and completely secure that entire section of the jungle. Once that is achieved, the cinnamon collection will be seen as a financial fringe benefit incidental to the operation. The benefit, of course, is to go to the welfare projects for the local residents.”

Pham Quyen paused and then went on. “One more thing I’d like to say. His Excellency the Governor is the administrator for this province and also holds the military command charged with looking after the life and livelihood of all Vietnamese in this region. He’s my superior and the immediate superior of the division commander. It would be unwise to make insulting insinuations or jeering remarks about His Excellency in the presence of subordinates.”

At such an uncompromising rebuke from Pham Quyen, the division commander faltered as he tried to justify himself. “I was only. . how should I put it? I was only joking because General Liam and I are close friends from way back.”

Once he had put the general on the defensive, Pham Quyen reprimanded him even more severely. “Even though this area is the responsibility of the Second Division, the present operation could have been conducted by mobilizing the defense division in Da Nang or the Rangers in Hue. I personally requested the corps commander to involve your unit.”

“I know.”

“Apart from the military action necessary for defending positions and securing the jungles of Tung Duk and Bien Daio, the military will not be allowed to participate in the task.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the civilians who will be collecting the cinnamon. The Ha Thanh villagers will handle the Tung Duk region and those from An Hoa will take care of Bien Daio.”

“You mean, the region will be divided?”

“Yes, but only operationally. In Ha Thanh, the magistrate and I will be in charge of the operation. You, General, should delegate the same responsibility to your military magistrate in An Hoa, sir. All the harvested cinnamon will then be collected in Ha Thanh and An Hoa, and from there will be transported to Da Nang.”

“So where do we stand?”

“Don’t be concerned, sir. The quantity is enormous, and back in Da Nang there are more than a few traders from India and Singapore.”

Instead of collecting and selling the goods through an operation centralized in the provincial office, Pham Quyen effectively had accomplished a division of the operations. As long as Nguyen Cuong was on his side, his ability to deal in cinnamon was huge. Cuong came from a merchant family that for generations had been collecting and trading cinnamon and he himself was raised as a specialist in the harvest and marketing operations. If he and Cuong could manage to keep a whole section of the jungle to themselves, their share would be far greater. Also, Van Toan had little choice but to allow a distinct share for General Liam, since the only place to send the cinnamon for sale was Da Nang. Thus, Pham Quyen not only had considerable leverage over the division commander, he also had the power to expand his autonomy.

“The harvesting operations are scheduled to begin ten days from now. In the meantime, gather up the workforce.”

“What will we do about wages?”

“Put in a requisition to the provincial office. There’s relief grain available for the phoenix hamlets project. Wages will be paid in rice.”

The three of them emerged from the bunker.

“I’ll go on to An Hoa, leaving the battalion commander here,” General Van Toan said.

“Have a good trip,” said Pham Quyen, saluting. “I’ll come to An Hoa often. It’s only ten minutes away by helicopter.”

“When the cinnamon merchant comes in, be sure to bring him with you.”

“As soon as you get back, please find out through the major how many workers he can round up. Then, as soon as you send a grain requisition to the office, we’ll ship it out here immediately.”

Pham Quyen and the magistrate went back into the administration building. Major Pham spoke to the officers in the room. “The Second Division commander is leaving for An Hoa. Only the officer who’ll command the battalion is to stay.”

Except for one major, the others all hurried outside. Major Pham said to the battalion commander, “From now on this place will be the command post for the pacification of the Tung Duk guerrillas in the operations area. The magistrate here will be in charge of public relations. Think of me as a reconnaissance officer from Corps.”

They shook hands. Major Pham asked the magistrate, “How many able-bodied men do you think you can round up in An Diem and Ha Thanh?”

“Hard to say for sure without a head count, but I think we can drum up about a thousand.”

“Five hundred will be plenty. Starting today, mobilize the military administration and make an announcement about the work, saying it’ll be paid labor.”

The magistrate hesitated before speaking. “That should be easy enough, but. . our country is also facing serious financial difficulties. Won’t there be some sort of benefit for the country from this pacification project?”

“Of course there will be,” Pham Quyen said, and, lowering his voice, added, “The district administration will be able to utilize one-tenth of the mobilized workers for its own purposes. The cinnamon collected by them will be entirely at your discretion.”

The magistrate understood. The battalion commander called in a signal officer, a liaison man, and a sergeant, and busied himself setting up the command post.

“The helicopter that is going to do the warning broadcasts has taken off, sir,” said the signalman to the battalion commander.

Major Pham was dozing, sitting on a metal folding chair with his legs propped up on the desk. The magistrate’s office, now converted into a command post for sending orders to and receiving reports from all the companies in the field, was in disarray. There was constant noise from the wireless sets and confusion of signals officers popping in and out. The magistrate had gone out with his assistant to conduct a tour of the hamlets in An Diem and Ha Thanh in order to mobilize the local residents.

“Special Forces has secured the stronghold in Bien Jiang, sir,” said a communications officer.

The battalion commander was about to leave when he went over to Major Pham and very cautiously woke him up.

“Will you accompany me?”

“Yeah, uh. . what did you say?” asked Major Pham, reflexively pulling his legs down from the desk.

“I’m headed out to the operations area. Won’t you come along?”

“Operations area? Where do you mean?” mumbled Pham Quyen, still not completely awake.

“I’m going all the way out to Lien Hiep bridge. That’s where we’ve set up the defense cordon for our reconnaissance units.”

“Let’s go.”

Pham Quyen rubbed his face a few times with both hands and without further hesitation got to his feet. Lien Hiep bridge was situated at the mouth of the jungle ravines below Hill 3383. At the midpoint between the bridge and the village of Lien Hiep, the river branched into three swift-flowing tributaries that ran through deep gorges to Bien Jiang and onward turned into the Quoi River. Pham Quyen realized how important that bridge was and believed that the success of the entire operation depended on their ability to secure and hold it.

There were two open-topped Jeeps parked in front of the district administration building. The major was waiting for Pham Quyen in one. In the rear of that Jeep a guard was sitting with his back turned, holding the M60 machine gun.

“Use the other Jeep, please.”

In the second Jeep, there were two guards with submachine guns sitting on iron platforms over the rear wheels, facing left and right. The battalion commander took the seat beside the driver in the lead Jeep and Pham Quyen got on the second Jeep. They pulled out through the concrete breastworks, passed through the center of Ha Thanh, and headed down the riverside past a series of narrow rice fields.

Before long they reached the junction leading to An Diem. There was a traffic control box with sandbags piled up around it, manned by some soldiers from the reserves. Nearby, an armored personnel carrier covered with camouflage netting was parked under a palm tree. A shirtless soldier sitting on top of it was so surprised by the sight of officers that he saluted with a cigarette still between his fingers. The soldiers standing around the sandbagged sentry box, also shirtless and helmetless in the heat, also gave salutes. The lead Jeep came to a stop in front of the traffic control box, and Pham Quyen’s vehicle pulled to a stop behind.

The battalion commander, still in the Jeep, asked sharply, “Which company is this? Where’s your commander?”

The men looked at each other tentatively. The battalion commander pointed to the nearest half-naked soldier.

“You. . come over here. Who’s your commander?”

The soldier’s face, smudged with sweat and dust, contorted into an awful scowl. He stammered, “Sir, I don’t know who my commander is.

The battalion commander was about to howl at the soldier when another middle-aged soldier, naked to the waist, craned his neck out from inside the emplacement.

“Why do you ask, sir?”

“And you, who are you?”

“Master Sergeant Tam.”

“Are you in charge here?”

“Yes, sir. We’re reserve defense militia of Ha Thanh District. We’re out here to guard the road from An Diem. Who are you, officer?”

The battalion commander smirked as if he found the situation too absurd to respond, then turned back to Pham Quyen and broke into laughter. He seemed relieved to have confirmed they were not soldiers from his own units. “I am the battalion commander leading the pacification operations in the Ha Thanh area.”

“I’ll make no mistake about you in the future, sir.”

The tone of the middle-aged militiaman showed no trace of surprise. The major lost his temper.

“Look, what the hell is going on here, anyway? What kind of outfit is that? We’re in the middle of an operation but you’ve lost your shirt and helmet? There are no sentries paying attention and the commander is taking a nap, eh?”

The master sergeant turned around and examined the general appearance of his men. “Don’t worry, sir. They don’t look like much, but if a situation develops they’ll all fight well. Our magistrate was through here a while ago on the way to An Diem, and he didn’t say anything about the uniforms. If you really don’t like us, sir, we can withdraw and you can have Second Division forces come instead and defend this place.”

Pham Quyen pulled out his.45 from his belt and took the safety off. With a click, a bullet from the clip settled into the chamber. The trigger was at the ready. Pham Quyen got out and quietly approached the middle-aged soldier. Then he quickly put the muzzle of the pistol against the man’s forehead

“On your knees.”

The atmosphere grew tense. Without removing his eyes from the gun, the soldier kneeled down. Pham Quyen spoke to the other militiaman. “Bring this guy’s shirt.”

The other man, who until then had been moving very sluggishly, rushed inside the emplacement and brought out the older man’s crumpled uniform top with its master sergeant chevron insignia. Pham Quyen fired three shots into the shirt.

“Pick it up,” Pham Quyen ordered the sergeant.

The man trembled as he picked up his shirt. Sunlight slipped through the three holes in it.

“Do you know what that is?”

Not knowing how to respond, the master sergeant remained silently kneeling on the ground with his head up. This time Pham Quyen stuck the muzzle of the.45 against his cheek.

“What is it? Answer me.”

“Bull — bullet holes, sir.”

“This is an operations zone. I can execute you for dereliction of duty and insubordination here and now. Shall I make another hole through your skull?”

“Spare me, please sir.”

Pham Quyen fired another round past his ear into the ground. The master sergeant shook and grabbed his head with both hands. Pham Quyen lowered the gun and looked around at the other militiamen and then at the master sergeant, saying, “You may be in the reserves, but you are still soldiers with a duty to keep this area secure. You must conduct this operation with full responsibility. A great number of militia units have been attacked because you guys don’t take your duty seriously and do stupid things like abandon your guard posts and conduct pointless ambushes. I warn you. Opportunists that seek to evade combat are acting in the interests of the enemy. Punishment will not end with the individual in question. Sergeant, do you have a family living in town?”

“Yes, sir.” The master sergeant was completely broken.

“Good,” said Pham Quyen. “If you lose this position or if the enemy infiltrates it, then you’ll be considered Viet Cong agents and you and your entire family will be shot. This is something I want you other soldiers also to bear in mind. Get into your uniforms and stay properly armed like real soldiers. Keep to your posts and be prepared to fight. Sergeant, carry on.”

Pham Quyen slowly got back into his Jeep. The militiamen started moving about energetically and looked more like soldiers. The battalion commander glanced quickly at Pham Quyen and then drove off in front. The road stretched ahead with jungle on the right and rice paddies on the left sloping down to the riverbank. The peaks of the highlands, looking like a camel’s humps, were visible up ahead. The mountains were densely covered with trees from the bottom all the way to the top.

The Jeeps hurried along to avoid snipers, raising red dust behind them. Every now and then the guards fired a few shots into the jungle. The thatched palm roofs and white plaster walls of the Tung Duk hamlets came into sight. Company soldiers who had already set up communications and fortified trenches waved to them. The battalion commander seemed to feel they had reached a secure position and ordered the driver to stop. He got out and slowly walked back to the second Jeep, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He put one in his mouth and offered the pack to Pham Quyen, who raised his hand in a declining gesture. After watching the men on guard duty across the river for a while, he turned to Pham Quyen and said, “This doesn’t feel right to me.”

Still sitting in the Jeep, Pham Quyen looked at the battalion commander with a blank face. “What are you talking about?”

“Who is behind this operation, and what is their objective?”

In a low voice, Pham Quyen replied, “Major, are you asking me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“The objective of this operation is to pacify the North Vietnamese support bases for infiltration down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, as well as the local guerrillas who are operating in the environs of Da Nang and Hoi An. In other words, in order to revitalize the phoenix hamlets project, the Second Division is now operating under the orders of the Quang Nam Province command and the Second Army of the government forces. Are you now asking me that question as a subordinate field commander of a battalion of those forces?”

The major tossed his cigarette on the ground and pointed his finger straight at Pham Quyen. “Cut the bullshit. You think I don’t know? The rumor has already spread among the soldiers. You think we’re a bunch of idiots? We know we’re being mobilized to harvest cinnamon.”

Pham Quyen remained sitting in the Jeep said, “Watch your mouth — you don’t deserve to be a battalion commander. You’re at the bottom of the chain of command in the Second Division. Cinnamon collection is only a by-product of this operation. If we leave it as is in an uninhabited area, the NLF will harvest it and use the money they earn to buy guns and ammunition to kill us. We are utilizing a national resource in order to support the local residents’ self-sustainability. Are you a major of the Vietnamese army, or a spy from Hanoi?”

Though visibly intimidated, the major protested again in a loud voice. “You saw for yourself the lack of discipline from those reserves. Do you know why they treat their commander like that? Because they’ve heard about the cinnamon.”

Slowly Pham Quyen got down from the Jeep. Thrusting his face right in front of the major’s nose, he shouted, “Major, I’m warning you. As liaison officer from corps headquarters, I am your superior. You must obey all orders that come down through me to you. If you go on repeating that misinformation about cinnamon, I will have you arrested.”

“Suit yourself. . but it won’t be that easy.”

Pham Quyen turned to the guards in the back of the Jeep and said, “The major will ride with you. We’re returning to the administrative office.”

With a wave of his hand, Pham Quyen indicated for the major to get aboard the Jeep. Stiffly, the battalion commander did so. Major Pham ordered the driver, “Turn around and go back to the office.”

Pham Quyen got into the lead Jeep. They drove back along the river and when they reached the An Diem junction Major Pham told the driver to stop. Compared to the listlessness encountered at their earlier visit, this time there was a semblance of military discipline. Everyone was in full uniform and wearing helmets, and the soldier manning the turret of the armored personnel carrier was attentive at his post with the machine gun at the ready.

“Where’s Master Sergeant Tam?”

The middle-aged sergeant scrambled out and stood at attention in front of the vehicle.

“Get in the Jeep!” Major Pham ordered.

“Sir? Who will command the guard post?”

“Who’s next in rank?”

A man wearing the insignia of a staff sergeant stepped forward.

“From now on you are in charge of this guard post,” Pham Quyen said. “And you, Master Sergeant, hurry up and let’s go.”

Looking around with frightened eyes, the master sergeant climbed in the back of the Jeep and knelt down at the base of the machine gun stand. They passed the checkpoint barrier and entered the village of Ha Thanh. From above the jungle came the booming sound of warning broadcasts:

“All residents, this area has been designated as an operations zone. The Vietnamese government has prepared land, housing, and food for your resettlement in a protected area. Do not stay in the jungle living through the horror of daily communist atrocities, leave the villages now. Evacuate your villages by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Our government cannot be responsible for any misfortunes that happen to you if you remain here. After the stated hour, there will be full-scale bombing in the operations zone followed by an assault of ground forces. Avoid the misfortune of being mistaken for an enemy. Do not loiter. Evacuate the villages as soon as possible. All residents, attention: this area has been designated as an operations zone. .”

As soon as the Jeep pulled up in front of the district administrative office, Major Pham got down and said to the battalion commander, “You are relieved of your command and suspended from duty as of today.”

The major glared back at Major Pham without speaking.

“Follow me.”

Pham Quyen marched into the magistrate’s office, which had been converted into the battalion command post. He gave an order to the communications officer.

“Get General Van Toan on the phone. Say it’s Major Pham.”

After several attempts to get through to An Hoa, the radioman held the receiver out to Pham Quyen. The division commander’s adjutant came on the phone first.

“Ah, Major Pham Quyen here. I need to speak to General Van Toan.”

“It’s me, what’s going on?”

“I’m sending the battalion commander, Major Quia, over to you now. Dispatch somebody else as operations commander.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“I’ll send you a detailed memo. Or I’ll come to An Hoa myself tomorrow morning to explain.”

“All right.”

Everyone was nervously watching Major Pham and the battalion commander. After the call was completed, Major Pham spoke to the communications officer, a staff sergeant.

“Escort the battalion commander to headquarters at An Hoa.” Then he turned to the other major and said, “Leave.”

“I’ll be seeing you again,” the major said bitterly.

“Major Quia, if I were you I would watch my tongue. That we share the same rank is the only thing that kept me from sending you down to corps headquarters.”

The major kept his mouth shut and saluted. Pham Quyen responded in kind and then quickly snapped his hand back down. The major and the communications sergeant left. The third major assigned as magistrate, who had returned a while before and had been watching the scene in puzzlement, cautiously asked, “What’s this about?”

“Nothing special. This operation has no need for an officer who can’t command.”

Major Pham gave another instruction to one of the other communications officers. “Go out and bring me the master sergeant from the militia unit.”

The master sergeant, scared to death, came inside. Upon seeing his immediate commander, the magistrate, he snapped to attention and saluted.

“Master Sergeant,” Pham Quyen said, “you can relax. I didn’t bring you here to punish you. Take a seat over there.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Do you know this man?” Pham Quyen asked the magistrate.

“Yes, he’s a master sergeant in the local militia. For the present operation, he was assigned to take charge of the guard post at the An Diem junction. Has he committed some infraction?”

The magistrate frowned, but Major Pham shook his head. “No, nothing like that. You said your name is Tam, right? What’s your occupation?”

“I’m running a drinking place, sir,” replied the middle-aged man.

“Then you know quite a few of the men in An Diem and Ha Thanh very well, eh?”

“Yes, sir. On market days, lots of people turn up at my establishment, so I know some of the men.”

Major Pham asked the magistrate, “One militia company and one guard company here at this office. Is there no other local combat force?”

“We have another newly mustered militia company and a platoon of guards dispatched to An Diem,” said the magistrate.

“Master Sergeant Tam, do you know anything about cinnamon?”

Instantly a smile appeared on the master sergeant’s face. “Naturally, sir. This village at one time was very prosperous because of cinnamon, sir. The cinnamon merchants from Da Nang and Hoi An used to stay at my tavern for months on end. I used to round up work gangs for them and I distributed wages to them myself, sir.”

“I guessed as much,” Pham Quyen said. Then he turned to the magistrate and asked, “How is it going with the gathering of laborers?”

“Well, three hundred fifty men from Ha Thanh and one hundred fifty from An Diem, altogether five hundred are to be mobilized. As soon as the strongholds in the operations zone are secured and the reconnaissance missions into the target areas are finished early next week, we’ll be ready to start work.”

“Let Master Sergeant Tam be in charge of supervising the task assignments, and give him a platoon of militia forces.”

The next day, at the hour announced in advance, the villages along the river were bombed. In the region of An Hoa, the chief targets were the two villages located between Tabik and Quang Lung on the southern tributary of the Thu Bon River, and another hamlet at the mouth of the ravines running from Ha Thanh down to the Lien Hiep branch of the river. A special company in Bien Jiang set up a barrier along the Quel River, and a reconnaissance platoon was planning to sweep down from Lien Hiep bridge to Quang Lung.

The next step was to send two search-and-destroy units out of Ha Thanh to Tung Duk, and then to comb up from An Hoa to Bien Daio around Hill 3383 and into the Phuoc Binh Highlands to secure six safe posts in the region. Finally, the workers would be sent into the jungle to begin the harvesting. As the task of collecting cinnamon got underway, bulldozers would cut a road from Bien Daio and Lien Hiep all the way into the maze of ravines. The primary collection point would be set up there at the mouth of the ravines, with the goods trucked down the road to Ha Thanh and An Hoa.

Before Pham Quyen went to An Hoa, he headed for Lien Hiep bridge with the new battalion commander dispatched by General Van Toan. The strafing from helicopter gunships that had started at nine that morning was still going strong. The major newly assigned to the operations command seemed quick to grasp the situation and looked to be more pragmatic than his predecessor. Also, he turned out to be a graduate of the same training academy as Major Pham, which very likely was a result of thoughtful deliberation by the general. The new commander had been flown into An Hoa as dawn broke, and it was apparent he had been fully briefed on the progress of the operation. Although he was a major, too, he always made reports to Major Pham and addressed him with a deferential “sir.”

Accompanied by a force of company strength from the command post in Ha Thanh, they left and headed for the bridge at Lien Hiep. When they reached the An Diem junction, the company split off and prepared to cross the river by rafts. Their objective was to secure one of the enemy strongholds on the east side of the Tung Duk, where a reconnaissance platoon had encountered resistance. The militia at the junction looked alert. The reserve staff sergeant, to whom Major Pham had given the command, was supervising the sentries from the traffic control post. The junction was crowded: two units of the militia were guarding the road as the company combat unit was heading down in a line to the riverbank. The battalion commander and Major Pham sped past in their two Jeeps toward Lien Hiep. The sky was overcast with smoke from fires blazing in the jungle villages. Occasionally, firing of small arms and mortars was heard.

“Has the ground assault already begun?” asked Pham Quyen.

“No, that’s nothing. Probably just sniper exchanges,” the driver said, smiling.

The Lien Hiep bridge came into view. Like the smokestack bridge in Da Nang, it was an iron structure dating from early in the French colonial period. The half-moon shaped metalwork rose from concrete piers. Two tanks in camouflage nets stood at the end of the bridge, firing their cannons one after another with a dull, heavy report. Smoke was whirling up over the jungle about a mile and a half off, where gunships were circling overhead, buzzing high and low, shooting rockets and heavy machine guns. In front of the bridge, a communication post had been set up in a sandbag-reinforced trench, and on the far side of the river another set of trenches and bulwarks had been built. A squad of soldiers was spread out on their bellies in the middle of the bridge around a machine gun nest.

As the Jeeps rolled to a stop at the mouth of the bridge, a soldier ran up and saluted.

“Are you the company first sergeant?” the battalion commander asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the situation?”

“Let’s go into the bunker, sir.” The sergeant led the way.

They walked briskly toward the bunker. Down below they could see low-lying rice paddies. The slope of one of the levees was covered with civilians dressed in white. Men and women, old and young. Two guards were squatting on the bridge, keeping the civilians covered with their rifles.

“Who are those people?” Major Pham asked the sergeant.

“Residents of the village being bombed over there. They’ve been gradually showing up here since dawn. It’s been a real pain, sir.”

“You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”

“We only had time to conduct quick body searches. A company-strength combat force has already left for the village. Once the village has been cleaned out, we’ll begin the search-and-destroy sweep into the ravines.”

They went inside the bunker. Once they were seated on a field cot and ammunition crates, the sergeant commanding the company commenced his briefing.

“Right now, the company command post is here at this bridge. Two platoons crossed over the bridge yesterday and headed up into the Tungdik area. As I mentioned, another company is in process of seizing the nearby village still under air attack. One platoon is defending the bridge. Around midnight last night, we experienced an enemy attack. Fighting up in the Tungdik area turned out to be the fiercest, but the enemy was soon driven back, and we think they slipped through the ravines to the rear slope of Hill 3383. We took some mortar fire here from guerrillas across the river, and we had a firefight with others who had infiltrated from the southwest. Our casualties were two dead and five wounded. As for enemy losses, we can’t say since we haven’t secured their strongholds yet.”

“What about the tank fire?” asked the battalion commander.

“I believe there’s an engagement in the jungle in the southern Tungdik area. It’s support for those forces, sir.”

“How much longer will this take?” asked Pham Quyen.

The company leader thought for a while before responding. “The problem is the ravines, sir. Even in daytime it’s dark in there and there are a lot of natural caves. I agree with the plan to sweep in simultaneously from here and from Quang Lung, but I’m afraid one platoon from each end will not be sufficient, sir. If we can get reinforcements from another battalion equipped with armored personnel carriers, then we can mop up within a week.”

“No need for reinforcements. We have artillery support, don’t we?”

The other major responded with a question. “Pacification will be difficult with cannons alone, won’t it, sir?”

“We have to drive them off, so there’s no chance of a counterattack.”

Trucks were approaching the bridge, raising thick clouds of dust. Looking out through a shooting hole in the bunker wall, the battalion commander said, “Transport the refugees to town.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the company commander was gone, the battalion commander asked Major Pham, “Don’t you think we’re trying for the impossible?”

“What do you mean?”

“An operation of this scale would take about a month, even with US military support. We’ll need two weeks to secure the strongholds and another two to sort out and resettle the displaced residents.”

“There’s no need for that,” Pham Quyen said firmly, “because we’ll be pulling out.”

“Pulling out, sir?” the battalion commander blurted out in shock, then murmured to himself, “Then, why undertake an operation like this. .”

Pham Quyen was silent. The battalion commander, quick-witted, said no more. When a lightning operation such as this one took place, the residents bore the brunt of the damage. The basis of their livelihood in the mountain jungles had been devastated in a few days. After the pullout there would be no compensation or countermeasures, and the NLF and the North Vietnamese Army would move in immediately and furnish medical care, help them reconstruct their villages, fuel their hatred for the ARVN and make them loyal supporters. In the present circumstances, a pullout would mean that they could never again hope to bring the area under the rule of the South Vietnamese government. Gradually, the enemy forces in the region would swell.

Outside, trucks were turning around in the open field, full of villagers who had all their shabby household goods on their backs and in their hands. They moved silently, without shouting or weeping. Even the little children never cried. The company commander came back inside.

“I feel relieved,” he said. “It’s done.”

“Was that all of the villagers?” the battalion commander asked.

“No, that’s not even half of them,” said the company commander, shrugging his shoulders. “The rest will be over there.”

He turned his head and, with his chin, pointed vaguely. Outside, the bombing seemed to have ceased and it was relatively quiet.

“Sir, shall I bring the meal in here?” An orderly said from the door of the bunker.

The company commander replied, “No, we’ll have it outside. Would you care to eat, sir?”

“Is it rations?” Pham Quyen asked.

“No, sir. I believe it’ll be something special.”

The company commander put on his helmet and they walked outside. Down the levee in the field, a fire had been built with broken ration crates and iron pots were hanging over it on a makeshift rack. The soldiers were filing past by squads to get rice and other food. There were some kitchen utensils, apparently taken from private houses in the nearby village. In the shade under some palm trees, a mat had been spread out and a table set for the officers. There was boiled chicken, pickled vegetables with nuoc mam, salad, and even a local wine sealed in earthenware urns. The wine must have been dug up from somewhere, for there was still damp clay stuck on the bottom of the urns.

“Field operations are tough, but then they sometimes have their own charm, like this,” the battalion commander said to Major Pham.

“There’s a wizard in each company who manages to conjure up some precious provisions,” the company commander remarked. “They say it takes a special nose to sniff out the wine and liquor.”

After the meal they sat there and drank a green tea the orderly had brewed over the fire. A message came in over the wireless. The company commander took the communication himself.

“We’ve got a problem, sir,” he said to the battalion commander. “During the search of the village they found a lot of civilians in the air raid shelter.”

“Can’t they be transported?”

“No, sir. We have neither the manpower nor the time. At this rate, it’ll be dark by the time the sweep through the village is over. But we can’t just leave them where they are.”

“Any precedent for this?” Pham Quyen asked.

The company commander hesitated. “If there are reserve forces or another detachment available, they can lead them over for transport, sir.”

“I’ll leave it to your discretion,” Pham Quyen said to the battalion commander.

“Shall I order a platoon to come back in from the Tungdik area, sir?”

All three men knew that that made no sense. The company was now in the middle of a village that had just been demolished. Pham Quyen came up with a phrase that fit the situation perfectly.

“Respond that evacuation will not be necessary.”

The company commander picked up the transceiver and repeated: “This is HQ, no need to evacuate. This is HQ, no need to evacuate.”

On the other end a voice said, “I read you, out.” The wireless then was cut off. The three men sat in silence for a while.

“Let’s head back to Ha Thanh.”

Pham Quyen was the first to rise. The two majors got back in their Jeeps and drove off to the east along the river. They entered the town and then stopped on the street on the way to the district office.

“I’m going on to An Hoa. I’ll see General Van Toan and return here by evening.”

“Have a pleasant trip, sir,” the battalion commander said, and then added, “I understand that the order you gave earlier was inevitable.”

Major Pham had turned to leave, but he stopped and glared back at the battalion commander. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. The battalion commander seemed to be passing judgment.

“The ultimate responsibility for this operation lies with the corps and division commanders,” Pham Quyen spat at him. “Full credit for the victory will go to the field commander — you.”

Day three of the operation. The command post at Bien Jiang had been attacked by the enemy and the fighting in the Tungdik area was over. On the An Hoa side, a search-and-destroy force had been sent out to deal with the two riverside villages between Tabik and Quang Lung, and had succeeded in taking one village. In Quang Lung, another platoon was standing by for mobilization and was to move into the ravines with another platoon coming up from Lien Hiep. The main combat company at Ha Thanh was going to cut over southeast to the Tung Duk region, while the company from An Hoa was set to sweep down from Bien Daio to the southwest, veering to the right of Hill 3383, and then wait there at the northeast corner of the maze of ravines to link up with the search-and-destroy platoons converging from Quang Lung and Lien Hiep.

The entire morning, 155 mm artillery from the support division had been carpeting the ravine area with shells. On the initial day of operations, the bombardment had aimed only to intimidate, but now the shelling was saturation-style, with explosions spaced only thirty feet apart. The shells were mainly high explosives, white phosphorus, and jellied gas. The goal of the bombardment was to demolish the jagged surface topography of the ravines and to collapse the natural caves beneath. No matter how well the NLF and North Vietnamese hideouts had been concealed, they would be unable to withstand this attack. As General Van Toan had said, an artillery barrage of this intensity would permanently change the topography of the area.

Once the bombardment was over, the helicopter gunships went aloft for their turn. Not even a lizard would be left alive in the ravines. Pham Quyen got aboard one of the gunships with the battalion commander, who was headed to one of the advance bases at the site of one of the demolished villages at the mouth of the ravines to the west of Lien Hiep bridge.

As they approached from the sky, what was left of the village came into sight. Black smoke was streaming up from the ravines, and the red earth upturned in the bomb craters on the traumatized hills looked like the meat inside of mangos. The piles of loose earth would wash down the valleys with the monsoon rains, filling the upper stretches of the Thu Bon River with silt, and gradually over the rainy season they would be deposited downstream in the Jiang Hoa fields, causing unavoidable flooding.

The helicopter was descending cautiously and would hover just above the ground at the entrance to the village so the men could climb down. A group of soldiers was visible on the ground, and had set of a smoke flare in an empty space to guide the helicopter pilot. As Major Pham and the battalion commander climbed down, the pilot said, “Use the supply chopper for your return, sir.”

To avoid the dust in the propwash, they covered their heads before opening their eyes. What had settled on their uniforms and faces was not dust, but white ash and black soot from the smoldering inferno. Everything in the village had been destroyed. The roofs had all been incinerated, and the plaster walls of the houses were blackened and either crumbled down or punctured and looking like tattered rags. What once had been wooden pillars now looked like shrunken animal bones as they still burned, emitting white smoke.

Burnt corpses and charred furniture and tools could be seen scattered in the ruins. The commander of the search-and-destroy company, who had been standing nearby with other soldiers, rushed over and saluted the two majors. The sentries on lookout for snipers were standing in the empty field with their rifles trained on the jungle and the smoking ravines. Everyone’s eyes were red, and the corners of those eyes seemed taught with bloodlust. The battalion commander glanced at his watch.

“The search-and-destroy team is ready to head out?”

“Yes, sir. They’re standing by at the mouth of the ravine.”

“Do you plan to set up a defensive post at this village?”

“No, sir. A platoon from headquarters will be stationed at the entrance to the ravines, and two other platoons will be set up to block the left side of the highlands and the eastern approach to Lien Hiep. It’ll be as easy as capping the neck of a bottle, sir.”

Slowly, the officers moved ahead toward the center of the village, and the soldiers standing guard trailed behind them.

“Where did you find the suspected VC yesterday?” Major Pham asked.

“Right over there, sir.”

The company commander pointed to a bamboo grove where several soldiers were pacing back and forth. The company commander spoke effusively as he walked alongside Major Pham.

“After the gunships finished strafing, the company forces blocked both sides of the village and our second platoon swept right into the heart of the burning village. As we passed this way, one soldier said he thought he heard a baby crying from over there, in the direction of the bamboo. Just by looking, we never could’ve guessed anyone was hiding there.”

They walked over and made their way in through the thick wall of bamboo. About a dozen soldiers, apparently a squad team, had taken off their shirts and were busily working, spreading out army ponchos. The outer ring of the grove was dense with bamboo, but inside was mostly clear and full of knee-high grass. The soldiers were loading dead bodies onto the ponchos and then carrying them over to a central pile. Decomposition already seemed to have begun, for there was an awful smell like overboiled salt.

“The entrance was there, sir.”

It was a low wooden box about the size of a dinner table, filled with soil and planted with grass. When the box was pulled down over the entrance hole, it seemed unlikely to arouse any suspicion. The entrance to the underground air raid shelter had collapsed completely, revealing the interior below. It looked as though the villagers had dug out a big hole in the ground, lined it with thick bamboo branches as supports, filled the gaps up with plaster, and then covered it all with dirt. Blown-up body parts were still strewn all over inside the shelter.

“Grenades?”

“We shot a rocket in first, then tossed in grenades, sir.”

The buzzing of flies could be heard from the dark interior. Pham Quyen threw a glance at the space behind him where the corpses had been laid out in piles.

“What are you doing now?”

“We’re searching for captured weapons and documents, sir,” the company commander said. “We must make an accurate estimate.”

There may have been a guerrilla or two among them, but Pham Quyen could readily see that most of the dead were ordinary villagers. In one corner of the shelter, an entire family had been killed while tightly embracing each other.

“Sweep the bodies back in and burn it,” Pham Quyen said.

“We’ll still need a record of the numbers and identities, sir,” the battalion commander said.

“We’ll do our best to finish the task, sir,” the company commander said.

Once again Pham Quyen turned back and surveyed the carnage laid out on the grass. He saw the whiteness of a brain spilling out of a head onto the ground, the swarm of flies hovering around it. The flies were attracted not only by the corpses, but by the smell of living and sweating flesh. Pham Quyen rushed out of the bamboo grove, covering his mouth and nose. The battalion commander followed behind and asked, “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yeah. Just felt a little nauseated.”

The battalion commander spat, then took Pham Quyen by the arm. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said in a low voice. “Things like this are common in jungle operations. Besides, it’s not as if you handed down a written order.”

Running out of patience with the battalion commander’s shrewdness, Pham Quyen sharply snapped back at him, “Don’t you ever forget that the commander of this operation is you. I’m just a liaison officer.”

But the battalion commander refused to back down. “Sure, we’re merely carrying out orders from Division and Corps. But, as I said, don’t worry too much, sir.”

“Worry?”

“Right. Where are we, anyway? Most of these highlanders are not even ethnic Vietnamese. In the mountains from here to the Laotian border they’re mostly Katu tribesmen. The whole tribe has joined the NLF. The Katu act as guides on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Our men don’t think twice about this sort of thing.”

“Is it like that all the way to the western edge of the jungle?”

“It’s safe to assume so.”

Pham Quyen let out a heavy sigh. “These mountains and jungles belong to the Vietnamese people. From now on, don’t evacuate any of the villagers who stay behind in any of these villages.”

The search-and-destroy platoon set off for the ravines. The other units began to excavate trenches and put up bunkers. For a passing moment, Pham Quyen wondered if the cinnamon-harvesting operation had not been insane. But he immediately shook the idea out of his mind. As long as the cinnamon was out there, he had no choice.

32

“Look, a truck is coming in,” said Toi.

“I wonder what that is. We’ll call the clerk at lunchtime and ask him.”

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting with Toi at the mouth of the second alley between the main streets into the new and old markets, overlooking the warehouse of the Puohung Company. They were lounging on plastic chairs, cans of beer in hand, around a white table set up out in front of a bar.

“Wait a minute, it’s eleven.”

Toi looked up at the clock and Yong Kyu said, “Go and check it out.”

“What if they get suspicious?”

“Don’t worry. Let’s get some fruit to eat.”

Toi did not agree. “Old man Hien, he’s a sly old fox. He already knows who I am.”

Yong Kyu squashed the empty beer can and got to his feet. “We’re making daily reports, so we can’t omit mentioning that load, can we? I’ll walk by and find out. Then I’ll meet you at the Chrysanthemum Pub. Wait about five minutes and then pass by as I do and we’ll see what you can find out.”

“All right.”

His hands in his pockets, Yong Kyu sauntered down the alley with an air of terminal boredom. Both sides of the alley were packed tight with hole-in-the-wall shops, carrying everything from candy and coffee to small but sturdy tools. Everything was US-made. Those tiny shops with nostril-sized doors should not be underestimated, for behind the miserable facades there might be a big warehouse in the basement, or the entire house itself might be a storage space. Yong Kyu repeated to himself the license plate number of the truck that was blocking the alley in front of the Puohung Company. The workers were busy unloading boxes from the covered bed of the truck and quickly moving them inside. A young American soldier who seemed to be the driver of the truck was watching the activity with a beer in his hand. Yong Kyu lingered for a few minutes, staring as if amazed by they way they worked. He recognized a fat American sergeant, with whom he had recently become familiar, sitting inside the warehouse with his back turned. Only the short-sleeved poplin shirt of old man Hien could be seen in the dark beside the sergeant.

“Get lost, gook.”

The American bastard shooed Yong Kyu away. Yong Kyu was tempted to cuss him out, but he was afraid that the old man would recognize him and so quickly turned away and left.

Once out of the alley, Yong Kyu turned right at the intersection and passed the new market headed for the bus terminal. The space in the middle of the street was barely wide enough for a single car to pass, and both sidewalks were spilling over into the street with different goods being hawked by peddlers. He shouldered his way briskly through the crowd toward the freight terminal lot. By then it was past the time when the outbound trucks normally pulled out of Da Nang for inland destinations.

He had been coming down and prowling the freight terminal at around midnight to check on the trucks set to leave at dawn the following morning. Some trucks were in the process of loading at that hour and others had only recently arrived at their warehouse docks. Since there was a nationwide curfew restricting night travel regardless of locale, the transports did all of their moving only in daylight hours and nights found them parked at rest.

There was no way to keep track of all the cargo loaded on the trucks. It didn’t much matter whether it appeared to be vegetables, grain, or handcrafts, nor was it feasible to make any accurate inventories. Even if guns and grenades were concealed inside big squashes and pumpkins, there was just no way to know without chopping them up one at a time. All Toi and Yong Kyu could do was record in their notebooks what they could find out about the routes of the various trucks that were making regular runs. Within a few months, this information might be useful in conjunction with other clues.

It was usually around lunchtime when the short-haul vehicles pulled in from the immediate vicinity of Da Nang. They were mostly three-quarter ton pickups or three-wheelers. Their main cargoes were agricultural or fish products brought in from the outskirts to be put on the tables of Da Nang residents: dried and salted fish, sprouts and sauces, ducks, chickens, cabbage, sesame seeds, beans, corn, or sometimes handcrafts made from bamboo or sedge and so forth. Yong Kyu jotted down in his palm-sized notebook as many details of the truck license numbers and their cargoes as he could. He would do a survey of a whole block, record as much as he could remember at one stretch, then put his pen and notebook away, get closer to confirm more details, and then jot more down.

When he reached the Chrysanthemum Pub, Yong Kyu pulled aside the cloth curtain and went inside. He took his usual seat next to a window with a bamboo screen for a curtain. From there he could see the bus terminal as well as the freight lots at one glance. The waiter came by and gave him a knowing look.

“Lam on vo toi, cha.”

He had ordered tea by the time Toi got there.

“That American sergeant, what unit is he with?”

“We’ll find out when we confirm the vehicle’s license number.”

They cross-checked the license plate number each had memorized and then recorded it in their notebooks.

“What kind of goods were they?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Well, some of the crates said California vegetables. I’m guessing it was potatoes, onions, cabbages, and that sort of thing.”

“Not much change the last few days, it looks like. They’ve been handling vegetables and meats.”

Toi looked at his open notebook and slowly murmured, “Hasn’t been much fruit, has there?”

“Vietnam has too much local fruit — bananas, mangos, coconuts, papayas, big tangerines.”

“The fruit I mean is the kind they use at drinking places, like king-sized cherries, lemons, oranges, grapes, and most of all, apples from Washington. The apples are the big item.”

Yong Kyu nodded. “Right. Apples don’t grow here.”

“Let’s give a call to our Smarty. Make him earn his piasters.”

Toi got up and went over to make the telephone call. He was going to talk to the bookkeeper at Puohung Company to try and get some further information out of him. The waiter brought over a pot of green tea on a tray. Ahn Yong Kyu asked him something in Vietnamese, and after receiving the reply, held up three fingers.

Toi returned. “He said he’d be here soon.”

“I ordered duck for three. In Vietnamese.”

Toi chuckled. “Not bad. Your Vietnamese is getting much better.”

Ahn Yong Kyu asked, “Is Stapley doing all right?”

“Not really, no. The landlord says he’s been sleeping all day. And at night they can hear him pacing around.”

“Have you spoken with him?”

“He’s a real hippie now. He begged me so much I had to buy a handful of marijuana for him. If this were Saigon, he could come out and wander around with no problem. There’s not a trace of military left in him.”

“His beard must be getting long by now. The day’s fast approaching.”

“We don’t know the exact date yet.”

“Don’t say another word about it,” said Yong Kyu, pointing his finger at Toi. “We promised Leon so we have to send him off safely to Nha Trang. You’re concerned about the business, aren’t you?”

Toi jumped up, upset. “What the hell do you take me for? It’s not that, it’s that the landlord’s son is on a boat that has to stop at many ports before returning here. He said he received a letter from his son saying he’d be arriving home a little later.”

“Let’s go see him today.”

As he looked out through the screen on the window, Yong Kyu spotted Nguyen Thach in a white cotton shirt over at the truck terminal area. Toi grumbled that the way he wore that shirt buttoned all the way up made Thach look like he was trying to imitate an aristocrat of the old Hue Dynasty. If he had a robe as well, he’d pass for a scholar of the old days. Yong Kyu watched him shaking hands and chatting with the truck drivers.

“Don’t you find him rather mysterious?”

“Who? Nguyen Thach?”

“Yes. You’re the one who said that even if he’s not NLF himself, he’ll be profiting from that side.”

Toi nodded. “That was my feeling in the beginning. Now, it’s just a matter of time. We’ll find out the contents of the US transactions and also who the big NLF dealer is. I’ve got lots of old friends working with the QCs at the guard posts by the smokestack bridge. I can smell something in the air.”

“Smell? What do you smell?”

“Too early to say. But the NLF’s local supply lines are sure as hell linked to the market across the bridge.”

“What’s Major Pham up to today?”

Toi laughed. “He’s out of Da Nang. Joined some operation.”

“Combat operation? You mean they kicked him out of the provincial office?”

“Pham Quyen is busy exploring the jungle. He’s obsessed with cinnamon. Rumor has it he’s issued an order to exterminate all the highland tribes up there. He’s quite a character. You haven’t seen Nguyen Cuong around either, have you? Maybe he’s also up in the jungle with Major Pham.”

“What about the supplies for the phoenix hamlets project?”

“They keep on coming out. It’s a first-rate enterprise for the office. But the reason I’m interested in the smokestack market is because the atmosphere’s a little strange.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, this is my country. I haven’t missed a single word. Go down to the pier and see for yourself. Rice keeps on being shipped out, but the cement and slate are staying put. What that means is that some other commodity is now popular.”

“It’s because Nguyen Thach has latched on to the channel for medical supplies, I’m sure.”

Toi listened without saying anything and then looked in his notebook. “Listen, Ahn, the construction material like cement and slate are mostly bought by little villages and farmers in non-occupied zones. That the first period of the NLF tax year has just started may be the reason for a shortage of money to buy such things, but in my opinion the reason is that the other items being purchased are war matériel. Guns and ammunition, to be exact. The merchants on the NLF side receive requisition orders from their district committees. What kind of items might those committees be most eager to lay their hands on? Money would flow to that direction. After a certain time passes, the money flow will be replenished. The taxes they are collecting will pour into the black market.”

“Here comes our Smarty.”

Upon catching sight of the clerk from Puohung Company, Yong Kyu cautioned Toi. A tall, lean man in his thirties entered. Toi spoke to him first. Even after he had taken a seat he kept glancing around uncomfortably.

“I don’t like this place,” he said.

“No need to worry,” Yong Kyu said, “we dine here with all the merchants in the market. This is only your second time here.”

Toi deliberately kept his mouth shut so that Yong Kyu could extract information for himself.

“Today was the navy cold storage again?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Yes.”

“Which American unit are they from?”

“Headquarters. Civic support unit.”

“Rank?”

“Gunnery sergeant.”

“What did he deliver and how much?”

“Vegetables again. Potatoes and onions.”

Toi spoke to Yong Kyu. “That’s strange. There haven’t been any big operations around Da Nang. I wonder why the Americans are still only bringing out vegetables.”

Yong Kyu waited for the clerk to reply.

“Well, that’s not really the case,” the clerk said. “No vegetables have been coming in to Da Nang from Dien Banh or the area around Jiang Hoa.”

“That’s Major Pham’s doing,” Toi said with a knowing air, then directly asked, “And why is there no fruit coming?”

“There is.”

Both men were greatly surprised.

“We’ve got a hundred boxes of apples ready to go,” the clerk went on, “but it’s been over a month since we shipped out any apples.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know. The US civic support unit is the one controlling the goods.”

“Anything else?”

“The bars and clubs downtown are complaining a lot lately.”

“Why?”

“They say Americans aren’t coming in anymore.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all for today.”

The clerk was about to get up to go.

“Let’s have lunch together.”

The clerk looked uneasy at the prospect of lingering at the Chrysanthemum Pub.

“I’ve got a box lunch. I’ll return to the office.”

“Wait a minute,” Yong Kyu said. “We told you we’d give you three thousand piasters a month, plus an extra five hundred on any day when you bring us good information. Today’s news wasn’t exactly good, but we’ll give you another five hundred today as a token of our good will.”

“Thank you.”

The clerk quickly snatched the cash and then left without even looking back. Yong Kyu sliced up the duck.

“That wasn’t anything special.”

“Well, I’m not so sure.” His lips pursed and protruding, Toi was deeply absorbed in thought.

“That fruit, I just can’t get it off my mind. The vegetables are what they normally use to control prices, but this time it’s the opposite. That’s it: they’re trying to gauge the real demand in the market. What are apples?”

“A fruit greatly enjoyed by the rich and powerful of Da Nang. You don’t die when they’re unavailable.”

“Right. It’s been over a month since the Vietnamese military officers and government officials tasted apples. If you start slowly releasing them into the market, they’ll sell very well. And when you check the volume of sales, you can estimate how much black money is circulating these days among the upper class of Da Nang. I’m sure there’ll be some choice grade meats, too.”

“But what do you make of the restriction on passes for the American soldiers?”

“Probably no military significance. We’ll have to dig around a little more to know, but some sort of change is in the air, don’t you think?”

Toi was holding up the long Chinese-style chopsticks and tapping the table with their bottoms.

“When they restrict evening passes for the GIs, there’s bound to be some change on the way.”

“They did it before the Vietnamese elections.”

“Right. They may do it when a political change is coming, for instance, when a coup d’état is expected, or when demonstrations heat up. They also might restrict passes before a full-scale offensive. But I don’t think either of those cases applies now,” Toi said rather firmly.

“Why not?” Yong Kyu asked.

“The election is over and the new government is in place. Instead, there’ll be a presidential election in America, but not until fall. As for combat operations. . I don’t think anything like that is on the way right now. The NLF is completely absorbed in reconstructing the combat power and the war material they lost during the Tet Offensive. The Americans are seeking to enter into ceasefire negotiations while maintaining the present breathing spell. Since the battle at Khesanh, neither side has been too eager to mount major operations.”

“If that’s so,” Yong Kyu said, revealing his own opinion, “what’s left is a basic change in the American operational strategy, or some political change in America.”

“I don’t know. It’s not inconceivable that the Americans will make some changes in their operations. Well, it’s already been changing, you know. The high command has passed from crazy Westmoreland to stubborn Abrams. And Johnson has announced he won’t run for re-election. But you know, I think the reason for restricting American passes is much simpler and also tentative, based on domestic conditions in Vietnam. Or it may be only a local order limited to areas under the jurisdiction of the US headquarters and the MAC in Danang. As I said before, I don’t see it as a measure of military significance.”

“Do you think there’ll be any changes in Le Roi market?”

“Change is already here. NLF money is flowing in, and American forces have been restricted from the city. Wait!”

Toi dropped onto his plate a chunk of duck he had picked up with his chopsticks.

“When was it that the Americans changed their commanding general?”

Tracing time back to the Tet Offensive, Yong Kyu counted on his fingers. Back in those days he had been haunting the PXs, absorbed in feeling the pulse of the trading in luxury goods.

“Was it the end of March? It’s more than two months ago, almost three months.”

“The Paris Conference had begun. Sergeant Ahn, I’ll be back in a little while, so you wait here.”

Toi rubbed his greasy fingers on his fatigue trousers and got up. As he went out, his silver sunglasses reflected the scene of the terminal lot outside the pub.

“Why leave so suddenly in the middle of a meal?”

“It won’t take long.”

After Toi rushed out, Yong Kyu did not feel like eating alone, so he ordered some beer. He quickly drained one can and was about to open another. As always, whenever he pulled the ring on a can it reminded him of his combat duty in the jungle. For a fleeting moment he would imagine he was pulling the safety pin out of a grenade, and that he had to grasp the can with a firm grip and lob it far off over his head, Then he would take some time to calm himself.

For a long, long time the giggling of a young veteran lingered in his ears, a young veteran showing a picture he was sneaking back home as a souvenir. “The new model grenade is nice. Unlike a fragmentation grenade, it’s smooth as an egg. Playing hens is fun. Push it in with a kick, watch it slip in beautifully. Before the egg can be laid, it’ll explode and fly in all directions.” What would that kid be doing back home now? Yong Kyu wondered. He would have become a civilian by this time and would probably be working himself to death just to make a living. And no doubt he had outlived those who died faceless to him. Would he still recall the game of playing hens? Those few short months in the jungle would be etched in his soul even after he died. . imprinted indelibly in his heart like some snapshot kept as a memento.

“It’s sure a fancy lunch.”

A white cotton shirt loomed in front of Yong Kyu. Above the top button the face of Nguyen Thach was smiling, with tiny wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Have a seat,” Yong Kyu said, pointing with his chin. “Food for three is too much for me to handle alone. .”

Without hesitation Nguyen Thach plopped down across from Yong Kyu. Then he unfastened the upper buttons of his traditional shirt, and pulled over toward him the plate and chopsticks that had been set for the clerk from Puohung Company.

“Has Mr. Toi got indigestion? Looks like the third member of the party has failed to show up.”

“Ah, both of them have stomachaches.”

Nguyen Thach picked up a piece of duck meat, dipped it in a spicy sauce and devoured it with evident relish.

“That’s a shame, to have missed such a delicious lunch.”

“Do you see Dr. Tran often?”

“I thought you knew. The goods are already being supplied. For starters, antibiotics and painkillers. Quinine and various antiseptics will be next.”

“I suppose they’ll all end up being used in the field.”

Despite this sarcastic remark from Yong Kyu, Thach kept on smiling. “Among the American goods circulating in Vietnam, is there anything that isn’t for military use?”

“Yes, a lot.”

Thach winked at Yong Kyu. “Of course, chocolates, candy, razor blades, everything down to condoms, but it’s the American soldiers under Pentagon command who eat and consume the duty-free products supplied by the various entrepreneurs in America. I no longer wish to argue with Sergeant Ahn. Our relationship is like. . how shall I put it, like that between teeth and lips. We’re inseparable.”

“Those are the wrong Chinese characters. How about the relationship between spear and shield?”

“Anyway, you do not seem to trust me.”

When Thach finished replying, Yong Kyu dropped the joking tone and said in an icy voice, “I’ve introduced you to Dr. Tran, and you’ve become the only dealer in Le Loi market with access to medical supplies. But you did not keep the promise you made to me.”

Nguyen Thach put down his chopsticks. “What are you talking about? I certainly did introduce you to a clerk at Puohung Company.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Yong Kyu. “You promised you’d give me daily information on the content of dealings by the NLF.”

Thach, fully composed, nodded and then raised both hands with thumbs extended. “Look. First you introduced me to Dr. Tran, and I introduced one of old man Hien’s clerks to you.”

Then he lifted up his index fingers. “Next, on the condition that you give me information on the dealings of Puohung Company, I was supposed to furnish you with information on NLF dealings, right? You have daily contacts with the clerk, but you have given me no information, and so neither have I. Don’t you think it’s only fair?”

Yong Kyu looked Nhuyen Thach straight in the eye. “Do you really want to know about the deals of Puohung Company? You seem to have known of their business in great detail for a long time. So Toi and I, we’re now trying to find out the information we need on our own.”

“Being independent is the first and foremost priority for any merchant, whether you run a big enterprise or a tiny hole-in-the-wall store. You and I had a relationship requiring mutual dependence. Those B-rations you brought out of Turen were a great help for both of us. And now, what exactly is it that you want to know?”

Thach began chewing duck meat again. Yong Kyu remained silent as he finished up a wing and a breast.

“Ah, so you no longer trust this Nguyen. Fine. What about this? The NLF have completed their tax collections for the first half of the year, so the black market will see a surge of activity from next month.”

“That I already know,” Ahn Yong Kyu answered curtly and fell silent again.

Thach spoke. “I hear you’ve been coming to the truck warehouse at lunchtime and again at night to check the freight vehicles and the smaller transports. I can tell you now that won’t be of much help to you.”

“Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s like checking every single household in order to search for guerrillas who’ve infiltrated the city. It leads nowhere.”

In spite of himself, Yong Kyu lost his temper and blurted out words that had been simmering inside his heart.

“We’ve uncovered information on most of the NLF’s dealing connections in Da Nang.”

Nguyen Thach laughed softly.

You’re being too hasty. You know, most of the merchants in the Vietnamese markets make it their business to deal with the Americans, Vietnamese soldiers, people from third countries, and always with the NLF. That’s fate. In a war like this there’s no other way.”

Thach gathered his hands together and stared with a serious look at Yong Kyu, then continued. “I liked you from the start. Because, unlike the Americans or the Vietnamese soldiers, you showed no prejudices. When you told me this war was not your responsibility and that you’d soon be heading home, taking off your uniform in a few months, I decided to discard my dislike for foreign soldiers and be fair with you. I did make a promise, but I did not want to see you get into any trouble while you remain here. Here is a little token to show you that I mean to keep the promise I made to you.”

Nguyen Thach paused and pulled a piece of paper out of the lower pocket of his white cotton shirt, then handed the folded sheet over to Yong Kyu.

“Of course, it’s merely a formality. But it could become extremely useful to you. You once told me you needed a wild card for protection, something suitable for the mysterious nature of your duty here, didn’t you? Well, here is the card for your protection.”

Yong Kyu looked over the paper. It contained information on the quantity and price of various goods and the destinations to which they were consigned.

“This is. .”

“That’s right. Goods that clearly have been shipped to the NLF and to the residents in liberated areas. It’s a detailed description of materials that have been fraudulently siphoned off from the supplies that were supposed to be used for the phoenix hamlets resettlement project. Can you think of a better card to hold in your hand? It’s one you can play against the Americans as well as the Vietnamese authorities.”

Ahn Yong Kyu quickly put the paper away. “Isn’t the dealer your own brother?”

“Yes, and that was a great help for discovering more detailed information. Later, I tracked down those outbound trucks and so was able to make an accurate description. If you use this card when you need to, it’ll shake up the whole of central Vietnam as well as the Da Nang administration. There’ll be a storm of personnel changes in the command of the US forces, not to mention the Vietnamese army. However, as you yourself said, whether you should actually use this card, or just gulp the information down is a decision requiring very serious consideration.”

Ahn Yong Kyu took a deep breath in order to remain calm.

“Fine. But there’s still something I’m curious about.”

“What’s that?”

“I still have no information on the dealings in weapons.”

Nguyen Thach frowned. “What do you want, to become a prize agent so the Americans will award you a silver star? You may find the metal too heavy to bear.”

“Just curious.”

“From the quantities shown on that statement, you can guess,” said Thach. “Black market dealing in the phoenix hamlet supplies is vital for the Americans and Vietnamese alike.”

“Thank you,” Yong Kyu said sincerely. “I will be leaving here in three months. And I like to travel light.”

“That’s precisely your position. Everything in Vietnam belongs to the Vietnamese. Am I not right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m glad we’ve come to understand each other. One more thing. I must inform you that things are shaping up so that it’s going to be difficult for us to share an office any longer. My brother is completely absorbed in the cinnamon he’s collecting with Major Pham in the highlands. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve had to give up my own repair shop as a warehouse for their use.”

“I understand. We’ll move out. You’ve been a great help to us.”

Nguyen Thach stood up. “Well, it’s not as though we’ll have nothing more to do with each other from here out. You can find an office anywhere in Le Loi market, and we’ll continue to do business together. Here comes Mr. Toi. I hope you’ll relay my intention to him.”

As he left the pub, Thach nodded to Toi who was just coming in. Sitting down across from Yong Kyu, Toi asked, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean? Am I not allowed to have lunch with a dealer of ours?” Yong Kyu said.

“What did Nguyen Thach have to say?” Toi asked, flipping the cold food this way and that.

“He asked us to vacate the office. Looks like his brother is going to use his service shop as a cinnamon warehouse.”

“You must have said something. You didn’t touch the very bottom, did you?”

“I’ve just found out who the main dealer to the NLF is,” said Yong Kyu.

“Who?”

“As we knew from the beginning, it’s none other than Nguyen himself. But I’ll make no more inquiries.”

Toi looked around in perplexity and then asked, “How can you say that when this is only the beginning?”

He gave me some information that can be used for a counterattack, and he has even more information than that.”

“Look, we’ve known that from the start. Did he say so himself?”

“No, but he didn’t have to. I could just tell.”

“Then the conditions have not changed.”

Yong Kyu could not resist taking out the piece of paper and showing it to Toi. “This ought to be enough. It’s dynamite.”

Toi snatched the sheet of paper and quickly scanned it. “Very specific. No doubt it’s useful. But one thing is missing here. There’s nothing at all about weapons dealings.”

Ahn Yong Kyu took the paper back from Toi. “We can make some guesses from the quantities of the goods. Still, this is sufficient for me. Now, I’ve got my hand on the main root. When I’m in a fix, I’m going to yank it out. I don’t give a damn who ends up digging potatoes later, I just don’t want to be the first one to dig. I’ll spend these last couple of months without any worry and then I’ll be on my way home. After that, it’s none of my business whether you do the job or not.”

“Same goes for me,” Toi said. “As I told you before, I’m an opportunist created by the reality of Cochinchina and South Vietnam. Even so, we have to know this. I’m just an informant employed by your detachment, but even when you’re gone I still have to make a living here. I told you there was something odd in the air across the river. We can uncover the Da Nang supply line of the NLF.”

“So? Shall we report it to the Americans?”

Toi paused for a moment then leaning low across the table, said, “We’ll lose nothing. We started by tracing back the flow of C-rations and ended up grabbing Pham Quyen by the ankle. We can go further to squeeze their throats.”

“I’m going to make a copy of this memo and give it to the captain. And our dealings in B-rations with Nguyen Thach are finished now, too. I’ll have to be independent here. But I have no problem if you want to keep digging for the NLF supply lines. If you come up with some solid information, though, you have to consult with me concerning the consequences.”

“We’ve been good partners. I’d like to do something good for you before you return home.”

“Thanks. What would be good for me?”

“Koreans are poor like us,” Toi said. “You never know when hard times will fall upon you. If we’re lucky, we might be able to make some big money. Then, when you go home, I’ll also quit the joint investigation headquarters and go to Saigon.”

Yong Kyu changed the subject.

“It’s getting late. I need to look in briefly on Stapley and then go into the office for a talk with the captain. By the way, what did you learn when you went out earlier?”

“I confirmed that the daily passes of the American soldiers have been restricted. It’s been three days. Considering the overall circumstances, a full scale operation doesn’t seem likely.”

“Where have you been?”

“I went to see an Indian moneychanger. I know his wife well. People may soon want to change their military currency. It’s like the calm before a storm. I’ve been through something similar once myself. After Ngo Dinh Diem was assassinated, there was a great bedlam in the market. Those who had inside information lost nothing, and those connected in some way with the Americans held out to the last minute. Of course, the American soldiers are given plenty of time to exchange their money. But on the street, the notes can lose 30 to 50 percent of their face value in an hour, then they will drop to 10 percent and before long they are wastepaper.”

“What about the apples at Puohung Company?” Yong Kyu asked.

“They figured it out fast enough. The upper class in Da Nang, those who are holding military currency, are eager to spend it as quickly as possible. Those with connections to the US military make arbitrary offers to purchase at a discount from face value and start gathering up the military currency. At the moment, a single apple can cost twenty military dollars. I’ve seen a hunk of frozen beef or a turkey go for a hundred.”

They got up from the messy table. The restaurant had no customers apart from a couple of people drinking tea. They emerged from the pub and headed down the back alley into Le Loi market.

“When I went to the moneychanger,” Toi said, “they already had heard of the restrictions on passes. They must have known about that immediately since the volume of money being changed had rapidly fallen. But they do not yet seem too concerned about it. After all, the main business for the third-country moneychangers lies in trading mainland greenbacks.”

“Nguyen Thach once suggested that, in return for our opening a channel of medical supplies, he would change our military currency to US dollars with no commission.”

Toi whistled. “Too bad, that was a great opportunity. The cost of changing will double, triple; who knows, it may increase fivefold.”

“What if the currency is replaced?”

“You guys have nothing to worry about. The finance department will treat the Allied Forces just like US troops, and they’ll swap it for you with no loss.”

“That’s not true. The captain, the sergeant, they will have no way out. The military currency they are hoarding, apart from the dollars sent back home, is all blind money.”

“Then they ought to find a channel of exchange in advance.” Yong Kyu and Toi kept on walking up the back alley behind the old market street. They passed by the signboard of Puohung Company, painted in red letters on a white background, in between a row of shops. A three-quarter ton truck was stopped out front and workers were busy unloading boxes and carrying them inside the warehouse.

“Look at that,” whispered Toi, “more goods coming in. If our guess was right, they will keep on coming in tomorrow and the next day, too.”

They purposely slowed their pace and stalled to loiter a while. An American military driver was sitting in the cab, smoking a cigarette. Old Man Hien was standing at the front door of the place with his hands behind his back, watching. As they passed by the truck, they took a peek inside at the boxes being carried in. Over his gold-rimmed glasses, Hien gave them a probing look. Once they had passed by, Toi spoke.

“You saw them, didn’t you? The boxes were white with frost. They’re fresh out of a freezer.”

“Right. Looked like meat to me. Must have been about a hundred boxes, since they were piled all the way to the top of the truck.”

Behind the next row of stores was a narrow alley lined with two-story houses, mostly used for inns, brothels, and small handcraft workshops. Toi pulled a rope hanging down outside of a porch covered with wire mesh. A bell sounded, and then the familiar face of the landlord slowly appeared in the hall. He shouted in the direction of the second floor, clapping his hands.

“Khach!”

They could hear thumps on the stairs, and then Stapley came into view down the steps. The man had called him “Khach,” meaning guest, and Stapley truly cut a figure too precious to rot away in Vietnam. He wore his “Run, Rat!” pendant around his neck, a pair of blue jeans, and a black Vietnamese shirt. His hair was long enough to cover the nape of his neck and his beard had filled out enough to make him resemble a medieval monk. This guest seemed to have been away from the battlefield for ages. Even his gait was leisurely. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. His eyes were dreamy and between his fingers he had a lit joint of marijuana. Yong Kyu patted him on the shoulder.

“Hey, hippie, how do you like the neutral zone?”

“I feel light as a feather. It’s a white wall.”

“Can’t you stop smoking the marijuana?”

“I’m still in a waiting room. I have no choice but to travel as I lay here. This is much better for your health than heroin.”

The landlord offered them seats. In the hall there was a bamboo bed and wooden chairs propped against the wall. Toi and the landlord started conversing.

“I heard your son’s going to be a little delayed.”

“Yes, about a week later than scheduled. He was supposed to have arrived tomorrow. Now he won’t be in port until next week.”

“Does your son know about this matter here?”

“No, not yet. But there’ve been similar cases before. One time he took several Vietnamese youths to Saigon. They included a draft dodger and also a young deserter.”

Yong Kyu gave Stapley a bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him.

“A gift. Drink it at night.”

Grinning broadly, Stapley kissed the bottle.

“So, what else have you been doing,” Yong Kyu asked, “besides torching grass.”

“I’ve done a little masturbating, and some reflecting about America too. Then I thought about what it would be like to live in some other country with a new name. Burma, India, some little village in central Asia somewhere near Bali wouldn’t be too bad. Anyway, somewhere beyond the reach of the Pax Americana. True, the world order is in process of changing these days. This war will be the last farewell to the old colonialism and the old era.”

“Things may get worse, you never know. The military will be strengthened. The weapons will be newer and deadlier, the Cold War intensified. What little money you have soon’ll be parted from you, and then what’ll you live on?”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll carve wood, make pottery, or weave mats. I just want to live in a totally different way.”

“Aren’t you going back to New York?”

“I don’t know. If the war comes to an end, I suppose I might make it back somehow. I have this friend by the name of Holden Caulfield. He didn’t know where this phony order came from — just like I didn’t know before coming to Vietnam. I wonder if I can use love to demolish all these monstrosities. Love is bullshit, it has a suspicious smell. It kicks up dust and then glosses things over. Love recognizes hypocrisy but doesn’t try to change it. It pronounces its solitary neutrality and then becomes an eternal fugitive. Listen to the lyrics of the pop songs these days, all the abstractions of defeatism, peace, loneliness, love, all camouflaged with beauty. That I run off into the jungle like some Frenchman, and don’t join the NLF, that I dream of some quiet village in Tibet or a desert island in the Pacific, those are self-imposed failures to act. There exists no island like that where you never grow to be an adult. I’m going to flee with all the children straight through the rye fields and go crashing down over the cliff.”

Stapley’s quiet and lackadaisical voice sounded to Yong Kyu as if it were coming from a faraway place. Why did he find Stapley’s sophistication so unnatural, he wondered? Was it because the bloodstained lips of the Vietnamese people were sealed tight, and that very silence was wearing a cold smile at the spectacle of these illusory and terrifying American dreams?

The sound of those shrill, crisp screams, the voices of those brown-skinned “gooks” who, like a swarm of soulless worms, had been tunneling deep into the ground, carrying bombs on their bicycles, digging pits for mantraps, falling and falling again until at last they overran Dien Bien Phu — could it be because that shrieking sound blackened out this mumbling monologue of a frustrated dream?

For the past century we the people of Vietnam have been ceaselessly struggling against foreign invaders to win our freedom and independence. In 1945 every class of our countrymen across the nation rose in a great revolt against the Japanese and the French, overthrowing them and recovering political power. When the French colonialists returned to invade us again, our people did not want to go back to being slaves. To protect our national sovereignty and independence, our people made enormous sacrifices. Thanks to the solidarity of our people and a struggle lasting nine long years, we of the resistance won a series of battles, and in 1954, in accordance with the Geneva Accords, the sovereignty, independence, unification and territorial integrity of Vietnam was confirmed and acknowledged.

Our people living in the south, however, were not able to lead a happy and prosperous life, working in a peaceful environment. America, which had long been aligned with the French colonialists to annihilate our race, stepped in as successor to the French and foisted upon us a new colonial system to enslave South Vietnam. They have perpetrated full-scale oppression, inflicting a long-term division upon our country with Ngo Dinh Diem in the lead as their agent for exploitation of the population. Now they are plotting to turn the south into a vast military base for the preparation of war in Southeast Asia.

Ever since, the invaders — in conspiracy with traitors to our country — have been running their cruel dictatorship. They have persecuted and murdered patriots and all who demand democracy, depriving us of the basic freedoms accorded to human beings in a democracy. They exploit the laborers, the peasants, and the rest of the working class, and suffocate domestic industry and commerce. They import the decadence of foreign culture to contaminate our race, to cause the degeneration of our traditions, and to destroy our nation’s spiritual foundations. They reinforce their preparations for war, erect military bases, oppress the masses, and degrade our own armed forces to make them serve the American policy of invasion.

For the past six years, not one day has passed without the sound of gunfire attacking the people in the south. Tens of thousands of patriots have been killed and hundreds of thousands have been imprisoned. Our people of all classes are moaning under the iron knout of the American dictatorship. Unemployment, poverty, levies of taxes and tribute, oppression, murder, forced conscription, expropriation of land and housing, all forms of concentration camps which have separated countless families and inflicted upon them unspeakable sacrifices and traumas.

This dictatorship has aroused severe outrage among our people irrespective of class. Even their merciless oppression could not submerge our fellow countrymen in despair. On the contrary, our people are resolutely determined to struggle against the American invasion and the dictatorial rule of their servants. What our people desperately long for now is an end to the merciless dictatorship in power and to win national independence, to secure democracy and to peacefully unify our nation. Grounded in this ardent hope of our fellow countrymen, the National Liberation Front of Vietnam came into being.

Our pre-modern agricultural nation of thirty million people is wailing aloud, for it has been turned by the invaders into a laboratory in which they test their technologies of death — cluster bombs, dinitrophenol chemical shells, Agent Orange defoliant, chloroacetate phenol tear gas, and many other weapons. The power of America in Vietnam is nothing more than that of a technology of homicide. Just as monopoly capitalism has destroyed all possibilities of paradise remaining within its own society, we cry out loudly and solemnly that in the end it will be defeated by humanity and nature.

Our race is a remarkable one. We have an ancient tradition of solidarity and invincibility. No matter what may happen, we will not allow our nation to stay submerged in darkness and suffering. We are firmly determined to eradicate the oppression of slavery and to win independence and liberation.

33

In the outer room several Americans, Chinese, and Filipinos were quietly drinking, attended by waitresses in red Chinese-style dresses. When Madame Lin had special customers, she usually led them to one of the secluded rooms located through the arched hall and adjacent to the garden. The best of these private rooms had walls of glass. On two facing sides were large aquariums, and palms, banana trees and rosebushes that seemed to press in right through the picture windows making up the other walls.

This special room had a back door opening onto a terrace from which a path led through a tunnel of wisteria vines. At the far end of that curved tunnel stood Madame Lin’s private residence, a white house with a red-tiled roof in the style of the French Riviera. She kept a half dozen rooms with double beds and private baths prepared at all times for use by her guests. The Da Nang Sports Club was frequented by American officers and civilians, and by foreigners visiting to do trade or working in local branches, but as a rule Vietnamese civilians were not allowed in. Once in a while the customers included high-ranking ARVN officers or Vietnamese government officials, but those were exceptional cases.

The waiters were all Vietnamese, hired only after a thorough background check. The hostesses, on the other hand, for the most part were Filipinas, Thais, and Chinese who had migrated from their homes to the battle zone. Occasionally a white woman, a dancer or singer, stranded from one of the touring show companies, would work at the Sports Club for a few weeks or months before heading on to Okinawa, Hong Kong, or wherever. These white women inevitably attracted Vietnamese brass and bureaucrats. Directing this traffic of customers and maintaining the female staff was the vital key to such a business, and Madame Lin managed it as skillfully as a veteran casino dealer shuffling cards.

Oh Hae Jong was in the glass room along with four others, five in all. Present were an American captain named Mike, a finance officer at the US Army Headquarters; Colonel Cao, the Da Nang police superintendent; Frank, chief clerk at the American navy PX; and Beck, an Englishman who was Madame Lin’s husband. Madame Lin herself peeked inside the room every so often and made sure that a steady flow of drinks and food was served to them.

The group was seated around a glass-topped wicker table, playing poker. Beck, who spoke Chinese fluently, was wearing a fancy ivory-colored suit, a pipe in his mouth, and was betting to the bitter end in every game. Even when he lost, he chuckled and exhibited the equanimity of a good-natured fellow. Frank, the PX clerk, was an excellent poker player. Constantly cracking jokes, he had a way of controlling the pace of wagers, cagily raising, passing, or folding to enlarge or diminish the pot in his favor. The player most seriously absorbed in the game was Colonel Cao, but he lost almost every hand to Frank.

Mike was sitting beside Hae Jong, sipping whiskey. He often folded early and seldom stuck in a game to the end. In one round Hae Jong, who was out after the draw, gave this captain a tip that led him to win big with a full house. Mike, along with the other finance officers of the division, was a regular patron and long-standing friend of Madame Lin and Mimi.

“How about some more ice, Mimi?” Mike said, extending his empty glass.

“Aren’t you overdoing it?” she replied distractedly, staring at her hand. “My luck is changing now.”

“Let me have a look. Trying for four of a kind?”

“Hush.”

“Afraid you won’t make it,” said Frank with a loud laugh. “I’m holding a royal flush here. Now, how many do you want?”

“I’m out.” Hae Jong folded and poured two shots of whiskey, one for herself and one for Mike.

“Mike, you cost me a big hand.”

“Well, even if you play until daybreak tomorrow, you’ll never make even a thousand dollars from these peanut stakes, huh?”

“Wow, Mike must have a good thing going,” Frank said, then raised his bet.

“You, you’re winning from Colonel Cao alone,” Mike said. “Colonel, have you decided to let Frank win today?”

“Well, I better make a habit of humoring Frank here. If he ever locks up that cold storage, that’d be the end of the drinking business in Da Nang, no?” said Colonel Cao, winking.

“Mimi, whatever happened with your major?” asked Frank.

“He’s out on an operation in the jungle.”

“So, your husband is out risking his life on the battlefield while you’re in here enjoying a game of poker?”

“That’s right.”

“The reason Madame is playing poker is that it’s hard for her to think of ways to spend the money Major Pham brings home,” Cao said with a cynical air.

“Making money in the jungle?” said Frank. “Is our government now paying a bounty for every VC head?”

“The jungle in the Central Highlands is one enormous cinnamon plantation, and General Liam and Major Pham are harvesting.”

At this remark from Cao, Frank shook his head. “My, my, you must have been excluded from that enterprise.”

“Unfortunately, yes, I was. After all, the jungle is under military jurisdiction, they tell me.”

“Pham Quyen is a patriot,” Hae Jong said. “He’s trying to establish an autonomous enterprise for the phoenix hamlets project by using domestic resources that would otherwise be wasted. Colonel, aren’t you involved in that project, too?”

“Yes, but only in the establishment of the militias.”

“How are the cigarettes and liquor these days? I guess you still have Coca-Cola coming in from Laos?”

At these biting comments from Hae Jong, Colonel Cao was reduced to mumbling and Beck jumped in. “Hey now, the mood is getting a little too grim, enough of that. What do you say we take a break from the cards and have a few drinks instead?”

“Do they make Coca-Cola in Laos?” Mike asked.

“I saw it in the market. Don’t they pack refined heroin into Coco-Cola cans and ship them down across the border? I thought Colonel Cao was in charge of that.”

Cao responded to Hae Jong’s icy query without animosity. “Madame, forgive me for making jokes at Major Pham’s expense. He and I are very close friends, like brothers. The Coca-Cola can problem is something we’re trying to get under control, but as it is, the scale is just too big.”

“If you please, my own feeling is that a dream flower after a bath is much better than alcohol. I was only wondering if I could ask you as a favor to get one of those cans for me.”

“Now, now, that’s enough, already.” Beck refilled everyone’s glass and held up his own. “A toast. To peace.”

Madame Lin came into the room with a waiter in tow. “Ah, it’s already begun. Let me join you.”

The waiter placed a Chinese-style salad garnished with caviar on the table, then left. When he was gone, Lin asked, “Who won?”

“Needless to say, Frank, the old pro, wiped the table clean,” said her husband.

Madame Lin sat down next to Frank, locking her arm around his. “Then you are the hero of the hour. How about a little rendezvous tonight?”

Frank kissed Madame Lin on the cheek to reward her frivolity.

“You and Lin, at last you seem to have recognized that I’ve had my mind set on her for ages. Let’s fly to Australia and live there together.”

“No thanks. But a maiden has just arrived who you can sweep off of her feet and carry away to your sheep ranch.”

“Sounds like an old stripper, a refugee from one of the show troupes, has dropped in. I don’t care much for the white girls.”

“On the contrary, she’s a precious ebony pearl. A dark nineteen-year-old from Ceylon.”

“Shall I have a look at her?” Mike said, and then Cao intervened.

“What if we decide it by a hand of poker?”

“I’m not interested in competing with the colonel over a woman,” Frank said sullenly.

“I’ll buy her,” Mike murmured.

“Mike, you’re drunk,” Hae Jong said.

“Madame Mimi is jealous,” remarked Frank, looking over at the two of them.

Madame Lin pressed the bell and a waiter instantly appeared. “Tell Losa to come in here.”

A few minutes later, a Sri Lankan dancer entered the room. Instead of the red dress that was the house uniform for hostesses, she was wearing a long dress embroidered in yellow and red over a white silk shift. Her black hair, long and lustrous, was hanging down loose over one shoulder. Her skin was dark, but closer to an ash brown color than to black. She was a striking beauty. Frank gazed at her as if oblivious to the world. Madame Lin got up from her place beside Frank and gestured for the girl to sit down. Holding her hands together in the Buddhist way, the dancer bowed ceremoniously and introduced herself.

“Unbelievable!” Mike sighed.

“Unfair, isn’t it?” Colonel Cao murmured.

“The colonel made a good suggestion earlier, I mean, why not play a hand of poker to decide,” Mike stammered.

“This is rude. Gentlemen, let’s be sensible,” Madame Lin said.

“Listen,” Mike went on, “I have an important announcement to make.”

“Captain, civilians have nothing to do with an ordinance from headquarters,” Frank said with a sneer. “Unlike those ancient Greeks, I don’t make war over a woman.”

“If you heard what I have to say, you’d probably get right up and walk out that door.”

“He’s drunk,” Madame Lin said with a frown, and grabbing him under his arms, she pulled him up from his chair. “This won’t do at all. You should go inside to lie down and rest.”

“Wait, don’t do this to me. Don’t throw me out!”

Madame Lin propped him up by the arm and signaled with her eyes to Hae Jong. “Help me, will you? And you, Mike, don’t be such a baby.”

As Madame Lin and Hae Jong led him out, everyone left in the glass room burst into laughter. Even outside on the terrace, Mike kept on mumbling to himself, “The end is coming next week. You’ll all be ruined, I mean it. Even if you beg me on your hands and knees, I won’t do you no favors, I’m telling you.”

“Shut up,” Madame Lin said.

The two women led him through the tunnel and into a luxurious suite in the house. They dumped him down on a sofa, and Hae Jong brought him a bottle of soda from the refrigerator.

“Drink this.”

“Get a good night’s rest here. Mimi will look after you.”

“No, I have to get back before dawn. No overnight pass, so can’t stay here.”

Madame Lin threw Hae Jong a look, and then asked him, “What’s happened?”

“Something big is on the way. We’re changing the military currency,” Mike mumbled.

Madame Lin’s faced showed no surprise. “We’ve got to get his shoes off first,” she said to Hae Jong.

As Hae Jong knelt down and took off his boots, Madame Lin wiped Mike’s forehead with a damp towel. “Did you say you’re changing the currency?” she asked.

As if shocked to hear it from somebody else’s mouth, Mike suddenly lifted his head and whispered, “That’s top secret.”

Mike downed the soda in one gulp and then started coughing.

“When?” Hae Jong asked.

“We’re asking you when,” Madame Lin impatiently repeated.

“The announcement’ll be next week,” Mike replied. “We’re still preparing it.”

“All over the country?”

“Everywhere there’s an American military base.”

Madame Lin looked up and then clicked her tongue. “That will get complicated.”

Around a quarter past nine, a van rolled down Doc Lap Boulevard toward the Grand Hotel. There were two men inside, both wearing grey coveralls of the kind worn by Philco technicians. A small refrigerator crate was in the back. As Doc Lap passes in front of the Grand Hotel there is a left turn onto a quiet driveway, sheltered by trees, that loops behind the hotel, while the busy street veers off the other way. Beyond the curved driveway was the shore, and between it and the beach stood a guardhouse. A patrol boat and a small launch were tethered nearby and the searchlight at the rear of the hotel was brightly lit. On the right side of the hotel, past the spot where Doc Lap turns off to the right, was a green lawn lined with palm trees, leading down toward Da Nang Bay.

A sidewalk ran from this lawn straight across in front of the hotel, and there were sentry posts on either end of this walkway. Cars entered the hotel’s front parking lot after circling from the rear of the hotel and the exit then passed by the other sentry post at the left corner of the front and then back out to the main street. Two Vietnamese police were on guard duty at that post, which had been fortified with sandbags. The van, after slowly circling around, came up to the sentry post at the entrance to the parking lot. As the policeman stepped forward, the van dimmed its lights and waited with the interior lamps switched on.

“What’s this?”

“Sir, we’re making a delivery for the Philco manager on the third floor.”

The policeman looked inside the van. “Is that a refrigerator?

“I guess it is.”

As if he didn’t want to be bothered, the policeman waved them on with his flashlight. The car passed the checkpoint and drove straight by the front door of the hotel and into the parking lot. A guard on duty in the parking lot came over to the van.

“What is this? Are you Vietnamese?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t park here.”

“We’re not parking. This is a Philco vehicle. We have to make a delivery.”

“A refrigerator?”

“That’s right.”

The guard took a peek inside, and then said in an annoyed voice, “Leave the car here and take it on over.”

The two men lifted the refrigerator crate and walked around toward the corner leading to the beach guardhouse. The searchlight shone brightly. A barricade had been erected with an iron grating. The freight entrance was at the rear corner of the parking lot, and an elevator had been set up on the outside of the hotel. A hotel clerk waved to them.

“Leave it over there.” Then he picked up the telephone and asked, “What’s the room number?”

“It’s for a Philco manager on the third floor.”

“You don’t know the room number?”

The two men looked at each other and one said, scratching his head, “Well, how are we supposed to know? You know, the gentleman just told us to bring it here, so here we are. He’s now at the company office. He’s an American, you want to check with him on the phone?”

“Ah, don’t bother. Just leave it there.”

The two men set the crate down against the wall where other boxes were heaped up. Then they walked slowly back to the parking lot and got into the van. Upon leaving they followed a different route than that by which they had come, and turned right from the looping drive and then into an alley. They made a U-turn and then halted back near the mouth of the walled alley next to a private house. They switched off the headlights but left the engine running. It was late and the neighborhood was still.

“Time allowed?”

“Five minutes.”

The cell leader, seated next to the driver, reached behind the back seat and pulled out a submachine gun. Then he got into the back seat and opened the window on the left side. He put a clip in and readied the gun to fire. He picked up a hand grenade and handed it to the driver.

“Take this. Roll it on the street later.”

“And you?”

“I’ve got three.”

They closed all the windows. All of a sudden there was an explosion, so loud and heavy that the ground kept shaking for seconds after. There was a flash of light, and shards of glass could be seen flying through the air like tracers.

“Let’s go!”

The van sped out and into the hotel driveway. A pillar of flames was rising from the building and they could see off-duty troops pouring out of the hotel’s front entrance. The van rushed around toward the front hotel, firing the submachine gun. The sentries were hit and a hand grenade tossed into the parking lot blew up in a dense cluster of vehicles. Over on the green, tree-lined lawn, three guerrillas were on the ground, shooting toward the entrance. As it drove away, the van let loose more grenades and blew up the sentry box near the exit. Then, its brakes screeched as it stopped to pick up the three team members who had been providing covering fire from the grassy promenade. They all got safely inside and the van sped away down Doc Lap Boulevard then turned over through a back alley to Puohung Street and a little way on stopped behind a row of parked cars. All five of them got out of the car and disappeared into the darkness.

At the same time, ten o’clock sharp, other units of the 434th Special Action Group also executed their missions. The first unit attacked oil storage facilities near China Beach, the second unit hit the barracks at a detachment of the ARVN First Division, and the third unit bombed the main gate at MAC headquarters.

The first unit had assembled in the slums of Somdomeh and from there penetrated into the vicinity of the navy hospital overlooking the oil terminal at China Beach. They each carried a revolver or a carbine and the team was equipped with a 107mm Chinese-made short-barreled rocket launcher. Each carried over his shoulder a canvas bag containing two rocket projectiles, making a total of ten. At the appointed time, they launched five rockets from a range of about three thousand feet, three of which hit the target. Immediately afterwards, they launched three of the remaining rockets toward the heliport on the other side of the navy hospital, then withdrew as quickly as they could. If they were not gone within ten minutes the launching point would be traced by US radar, and gunships would be sent after them while ground forces sought to encircle their position to foreclose escape. As it exploded, one of the oil reservoir tanks shot lumps of flame in all directions, causing the fire to spread to other tanks nearby.

The third unit set off a bomb at the main gate of the MAC headquarters. Instead of using blasting caps, they detonated the bomb using an electrical switch wired from the site to a hiding place in the campside slums nearby. The guard station at the gate was blown up and the wall and the barricades left were broken into rubble.

Charged with the mission of hitting the barracks of an ARVN battalion, the second unit mobilized two vehicles and made a frontal assault on the sentry box at the main gate of the barracks, mowing down the guards with AK-47s. Then they torched the main barracks, tossing hand grenades in and spattering the building with automatic rifle fire, while the backup force lobbed smoke shells into other parts of the compound to sow confusion. The soldiers inside tried to mount a counterattack, but they were in disarray after being awakened and the guerrillas inflicted more casualties and then slipped away under cover of the smoke.

The separate operations by the four units were all executed concurrently and took less than ten minutes from beginning to end. In one instance, the whole attack was over in less than five minutes.

The charge exploded at the Grand Hotel had been an anti-tank mine. The streets shook when it went off, and many houses along Doc Lap Boulevard had all of their windows shattered by the shock. At the sound of the blast, Colonel Cao, who had a woman in his arms as he sat with Frank in the glass room at the Sports Club, had a dazed look. Losa from Sri Lanka, who had been necking with Frank, let out a piercing shriek. Water began to pour down from the cracked glass walls, and suddenly the water burst out of the aquariums and there were live fish squirming around on the carpet amidst the broken glass. Cao and Frank, being men familiar with the battlefield, kicked open the door and ran outside. The customers who had been drinking in the outer room were all cowering down on the floor with the waiters. Cao dashed to the door. His driver and bodyguard rushed up, breathless.

“What’s going on?”

“We have no idea, sir.”

“Which direction was it?”

“From the north, looks like.”

“It seemed very close.”

Cao and his men ran outside to the police car. As they approached it, suddenly another car parked nearby turned on its headlights. Frowning, Cao instinctively held one hand in front of his forehead. The car lurched straight toward him, a submachine gun firing from within. Hit more than a dozen times, Cao tumbled to the ground. His driver and bodyguard pulled out their guns but also fell before they could fire a single shot. The car paused in front of the Sports Club long enough for the occupants to throw two hand grenades inside and to rake the building with gunfire, then it roared away with tires squealing.

Hae Jong sprang up in bed. Mike, who had been sleeping like a log beside her, awoke at the same time and in an instant had rolled onto the floor and crawled under the bed. The sight of his behind disappearing struck her as funny, somehow, but quickly she threw off the sheet and was on her feet. With nothing on but a robe she rushed downstairs, running into Lin, also dressed in a gown. After the first enormous explosion, there had been a lull, followed by a series of shots from somewhere very near.

Lin embraced Mimi and said, “We must escape quickly. It’s the Viet Cong. Oh, Beck, where are you?”

Beck soon appeared hopping down the stairs in pajamas. They huddled together and crossed the garden. There was an air raid shelter in the backyard that had not been used for a long time. On the way, Hae Jong pulled away and started to go back.

“Mimi, where are you going?” Lin asked.

“Mike’s in the room.”

“Don’t call him. An American soldier is dangerous.”

Still, she turned back. She could not leave Mike. Not because she had slept with that ordinary-looking American several times. In such danger, she would not have gone back for Pham Quyen if it had been him lying under that bed. But Mike was a finance officer at headquarters. If he died, she would lose the key to US dollars. Especially now, when a single day seemed to her like a dozen years. Again there was the noise of a grenade exploding. She rushed into the room.

“Mike! Mike!”

He crawled back out from beneath the bed.

“The Viet Cong are here. Quickly, get out!”

Hae Jong covered his naked body with a sheet and pulled him along by the hand. He was trembling like a leaf.

Madame Lin was waving from the entrance to the air raid shelter. “This way, Mimi.”

The four of them lay down in a clump on the damp cement floor spotted with puddles. Another fusillade could be heard outside. Then all the lights went out. When it quieted down, Lin was weeping softly.

They heard a loud siren, followed by the sound of a car pulling to a stop. They heard voices shouting back and forth in Vietnamese. Beck craned his head out of the entrance of the shelter and then said, “Sounds like government forces. .”

“We don’t know yet. If it’s not Americans, then we can’t be sure yet of our safety,” said Madame Lin, tugging at her husband’s pajama leg.

“She’s right,” Hae Jong agreed. “You can never tell who’s who among the government forces. Don’t go out until you hear English.”

Mike was shivering inside of his sheet. As an administrative officer from the American Northeast, he was the sort of soldier who, after holding a rifle a few times in basic training, had seldom been away from his air-conditioned office at headquarters, where cold drinks were always available for the asking. He had heard gunfire a few times, but never before had he experienced a firefight in close proximity like this. Hae Jong kept patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m an American soldier; the guerrillas will kidnap me,” Mike kept moaning. “They’ll drag us all away.”

Hae Jong hugged him. “It’s all over now, don’t worry.”

They heard the clomping of heavy boots, then warning shots, loud enough to deafen you, came from close by. Then another burst of automatic weapons fire tore through the darkened club. After the sound of glass breaking, several dark figures of men appeared on the terrace.

Beck yelled out, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

They heard someone say something in Vietnamese, and this time Hae Jong shouted back, “Nguoi mi, toi la nguoi Dai Han.”

Flashlights shone down into the shelter. At the order “Lai, lai” Beck went out, his hands raised. Hae Jong helped Mike, while Madame Lin, still skeptical about the situation, followed last with her back stooped low. The soldiers were an airborne squad belonging to the provincial government security detachment.

A lieutenant came up and asked Beck, “Isn’t there anyone else inside?”

Beck recognized the face of this lieutenant; he was one of Colonel Cao’s men. “No, only us,” he said. “But there were others inside the club. The colonel, what happened to Colonel Cao? Frank was also there. What about the other customers?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “The colonel was the enemy’s target. They did him in on the street.” From inside the club the Vietnamese staff and the hostesses began to emerge and the lights came on again. When she saw the bullet-ridden bar and the wretched condition of the interior and furniture, nearly demolished by the two grenades, Madame Lin broke down and cried. The wounded were still strewn all about. In the hall could be seen the blood-soaked corpses of three men and two women. The body lying under the arch at the entry to the hall turned out to be Frank’s. Beck spoke to the terrified employees and hostesses.

“Now, the men will clean up the broken glass and the rest of the damage, and you women should go back inside to the house and get some rest.

He gently nudged his wife on the back. “I can deal with the soldiers here, so you go ahead.”

Madame Lin was still covering her mouth to stifle another outburst of weeping, and Hae Jong escorted her back to the residence. Mike, who had been squatting on the terrace with a blanket, followed the two women into the house.

“Go back to the room,” Hae Jong said to Mike, “I’ll look after the Madame.”

The two women went into Lin’s bedroom suite. After helping her to lie down on the bed, Hae Jong took a bottle of whiskey out of the liquor cabinet.

“Here, have a drink. Then sleep a little, and before you know it everything will be in order again.”

Lin finished the glass in a single gulp and then heaved a great sigh. “Another, please. Nobody knows how hard it was for me to make this club, and now it’s all gone. Now you see why I was so insistent about keeping Vietnamese out of this place.”

“Poor Frank! Did you see his body?”

“Horrible, I couldn’t bear to look. Mike, where’s Mike? He was with us in the shelter.”

Hae Jong handed her another scotch and soda. “He’s back in the same room as before.”

Drinking more slowly, Madame Lin gradually recovered her wits.

“Wait, Mike said something very important.”

“Yes, and believe me, I haven’t forgotten, either.”

“That the military currency will be changed. . isn’t that awfully important?”

“It is,” said Hae Jong. “You and I just grabbed a golden opportunity. We saved Mike’s life.”

“Mimi, what time is it now?” Lin asked, gazing about.

“A little after eleven.”

Lin sat up in bed. “It’s still early then, eh? We’ve got a lot to talk over with the captain.”

Hae Jong got up. “I’ll call him.”

“Hold on a minute. No rush. First, we need to figure out what sorts of things will happen when the old currency is swapped for new. Right away many people will go into a frenzy to exchange before the old currency is no good. You’ll be able to get a commission for changing it, and the commission will grow as time runs out. By the last day, you’ll be able to buy the old currency dirt cheap with piasters, like it was wastepaper.”

As the effect of the whiskey spread over her face, Lin was gradually being transformed back into the old, sly owner of the Sports Club.

“The best time will be right at the very end, after the deadline,” Hae Jong said. “Because we’ll be in no hurry. I mean, as long as we can count on Mike’s help. The lousy commissions are for the moneychanger or the little guys — as for us, we’ll just collect worthless military currency and cash it in for new money.”

“But Major Pham must have large amounts of military currency, don’t you think?” Lin asked. “We have quite a bit, too.”

“We’ve been changing it into greenbacks each month. Of course, we were planning to change them all into checks for remittance later, but. . Anyway, what military currency we have, we can always get Mike to handle that. The big question is, how much time can Mike give us after the deadline has passed?”

By this time Lin was wide-awake and sitting straight up in the bed. “We’ll propose that we collect the military currency and split the profit with him.”

“I’ll go bring him back here.”

When she came into the room, she found Mike sitting there with only his army pants on, drinking a Coke. He seemed to have recovered his composure a little. He must have had a shower, for he was wiping off his forehead with a towel draped around his neck. Hae Jong sat across from him and took out a Marlboro cigarette. Mike lit it with his lighter.

“Thanks, Mimi. They’re all dead, I mean, Frank and the colonel.”

Hae Jong reached out with her hand and ruffled Mike’s brown hair. “Don’t be a baby. You’re a soldier and this is a battlefield.”

“I have no overnight pass and I’m getting worried about getting back. It’s time. .”

Mike was looking at his bare wrist and then started searching around the bed for his watch.

“It’s not even twelve yet,” said Hae Jong. “You said you needed to be back at dawn. Before daybreak, Beck will take you back in his car. By the way, what you said earlier, is that true?”

“What did I say?”

Hae Jong took a deep puff on the cigarette and, exhaling smoke in Mike’s face, said in a cynical tone, “So, it’s supposed to be top secret, huh? You said they’ll change the military currency.”

Mike jumped up. “Did I say that? When? Who heard me? I’m in deep shit now.”

“You said it in this room to Madame Lin and me, nobody else. You don’t need to be so surprised. Mike, you know you almost stayed behind in that room with Frank and Colonel Cao. We were the ones who forced you out. Maybe we should have left you there with them and let you die. That way the secret would’ve been kept, all right.”

Mike raised his arms, as if in surrender. “It’s an order from headquarters in Saigon. From next Monday, the exchange period is one week.”

“Then after noon next Saturday, even the American soldiers won’t be able to use the old military currency at the PXs, right?” Hae Jong thought back to those little commotions in the campside villages. Suddenly, all the American soldiers vanish from the bars, the brothels, and the souvenir shops. A desolate night descends quietly on the campside village, which starts to seem like one of those Gold Rush boomtowns occupied only by ghosts after the mine is shut down. The colorful signs, the gaudy red lights, the whores with their hair dyed yellow and their nails painted red, black, or silver — this rainbow spectrum loses all of its color the moment the link to America is cut off. The specious carnival suddenly reveals its true self. Chocolate drops and candy bars in fancy wrappers, smooth soaps smelling of fragrant dreams, cigarettes adorned with silvery scripts and graceful logos, all sizes and shapes of liquor bottles; these PX goods all lose their magical powers and are degraded into isolated things as soon as the people who consume them have disappeared.

Mornings in the campside villages are always desolate, like the stage in a theater where daylight has intruded. When a rumor circulates that the GIs will change their money, the bar owners, the dry cleaners, the pimps and the whores, even the shoeshine boys all go crazy. All they talk about is dollars, and they vent their indignation at the betrayal by the GIs. When the last day comes, they resolutely burn the most omnipotent little picture-bearing papers on earth. Touched by flames, those oily little sheets turn dark and shrivel before disappearing. The whores do not cry as they peer at the flames. So-and-so lost this much, so-and-so got an advance warning and bought such-and-such goods, so-and-so wallpapered her room with worthless notes, and so on and so forth, all sorts of stories make the circuit through the grapevine until the American soldiers reappear on the scene.

When they come back, all the inhabitants of the campside village soon forget about the money consumed by the flames. They feel relieved that living things have regained their livelihoods with the mediation of the American military. The posts of the US Army are firmly linked to such relief, such anesthesia. Think of a shoeshine boy who instantly can be reconciled to his wretched fate because a Salem cigarette is glowing with a bluish light at the tip of his filthy fingers. This carnival can last only as long as the Americans stay. All the goods and all the ornaments with which the festival is festooned manage incessantly to reproduce, making a solid network among themselves lest anything leak out.

Dollars tossed onto that field of blood, the realm of Caesar, make a blood-red mold from which blossoms emerge — dollars are the money-medium of the world, an instrument of control. The dollar is the leading edge in the imperialist order and the American ID is the organizer. Blood-red flowers are blossoming as part of the aid that spreads military and political power ever more widely over the entire world, aid providing rich nutrition for American capital acting through its network of multinational enterprises, aid to replenish the supply of dollars used as an important medium of international settlements, a medium of savings and of trust, and the solvent that assures prosperity for the international banks.

Hae Jong thought of her first night with Jerry, the American master sergeant back home. The filthy pink curtains, the cheap wallpaper, the 60-watt bulb, the fly shit, the neon light blinking all night through the dirt-smudged window, the odor of Jerry’s chest like that of a rain-soaked dog — she had laid her cheek on that pillow smeared with hair oil facing the wall and tears had streamed down over her face. Jerry stuck his dollars on Hae Jong’s pillow the same way he put paper in his typewriter at the office. The sound of his boots as he trudged away, the long honk of the car, the pop song by Mun Ju-Ran, the aroma of a salty croaker roasted on the fire, the Korean men in pajamas with toothbrushes in their mouths — through the narrow window up by the ceiling, Hae Jong had gazed over the fence of the American army base. The morning sunlight shone through the chain-link fence, casting shadows in ever-repeating shapes. Dollars — greenbacks with an image of ivy vines in a blue rainbow pattern, drawn as though powerfully and insidiously alive — that crisp, lofty paper money used to stare up imposingly at Hae Jong’s naked figure from that filthy satin pillow.

“Why are they changing it?”

“What do you mean why?” the captain echoed her question.

“It’ll only bring great confusion. And that won’t be good for the American army, either.”

“The problem is embezzlement. We’ve been losing five hundred million dollars annually, and that’s only the official figure. Just recently in Saigon we lost an entire container holding several tons of military currency with a face value in the tens of millions of dollars. The truth is, civilian businessmen and US soldiers are dumping the currency and then claiming theft to make arbitrary adjustments in freight receipts and invoices and to evade tax. We have intelligence suggesting that the amount of military currency circulating in the black market is close to a billion dollars. Now the war is reaching a new phase.”

“Then, the war will be ending?”

“I guess. . when negotiations are concluded we may pull out of here.”

“That means packing up and leaving!”

“I can understand you, Mimi,” Mike said. “But you’d better not think about settling down in Vietnam. It’s unfortunate for your major, though.”

“I can always go to a third country.”

“With the major? Do you love him?”

“Shut up.”

Hae Jong stubbed out her cigarette and got up.

“Madame Lin said she’s got something for the three of us to discuss.”

“Us?”

“That’s right. You, me, and Madame Lin.”

Lin already had taken off her gown and changed into silk pants and a T-shirt. She had prepared a table for drinking.

“Care for some cognac?”

“Not for me. I barely managed to sober up.” Mike hesitantly took a seat.

“The Viet Cong won’t be back,” said Lin. “Without a drink, you’ll be awake all night.”

“What the hell.”

The three clinked their glasses together.

“To our business,” said Madame Lin.

“What business?”

“Don’t be coy,” said Hae Jong. “You’re a finance officer, right? We’ll gather up the old military currency and you can exchange it for us.”

“There’s no rush,” added Madame Lin. “There’s still plenty of time before daybreak.”

34

A crane was lifting crashed and burned vehicles and loading them onto a huge trailer. Even the unburned cars that had escaped direct grenade hits had broken glass and were perforated with holes from bullets and shrapnel. The whole parking lot had become a junkyard. All the windows of the Grand Hotel, not to mention the front doors, had been completely smashed, and the anti-tank mine had collapsed a great portion of the wall, leaving iron reinforcing bars protruding from hunks of cement like bones jutting from the carcass of a dead animal. The portions of the structure in danger of collapse had been propped up with iron pipes, but the hotel was clearly in need of full-scale repairs. The American administrative agents had been forced to vacate the building, each section moving to its own unit facilities elsewhere in the city.

The joint investigation headquarters decided to relocate for the time being at the MAC compound across from the White Elephant. This involved the inconvenience of having to cross the river draining into Da Nang Bay in a navy ferry, or taking a lengthy detour over the smokestack bridge. The new makeshift HQ was a set of aluminum Quonsets, but at least they were all air-conditioned and much safer since inside a military compound. The American soldiers grumbled about having to eat at the military mess instead of enjoying the buffet-style meals served at the Grand Hotel. They expected some disruption and disorganization in their duties for a while, as it seemed likely the repairs at the hotel would not be done for at least a month.

The American officers also planned to rent a safe house near the investigation office on Puohung Street, so that the staff on external assignment would have a place to stay downtown. The Korean detachment decided to find a place to downtown as well. The chief sergeant, off-duty as was usual for someone with only about ten days left before shipping back home, went out to look for a house and called the hotel to report he had found a suitable place. Ahn Yong Kyu instructed the other soldiers to pack for the move and then went out to the Dragon Palace Restaurant. The sergeant was alone in one of the inner rooms drinking beer.

“The captain said he’d be coming?”

“Yes, I just reported to him.”

“You’re lucky to have found a house.”

“Hey, who do you think you’re talking to? But this close to going home — how come I have to go out and do the legwork, searching for a place?”

The sergeant cast Yong Kyu a dirty look. “Knock it off, I know you’ve been out on a leisurely tour of the PXs. Where’s the house, anyway?”

“I’m sure you know the place. It’s where the lieutenant colonel and his family used to live. .”

“Huh, I thought that was a special case. That haunted-looking house where the Hong Kong boys used to live, is that where you mean?”

“Heh, heh, it’s the only place available where we can move in right away, and Pointer keeps on growling at me. Even a house like that is not easy to find around downtown. And the rent is cheap, too.”

“Have those bastards left Da Nang?”

“They’re probably itching to grind you and the captain up and eat you. I heard they moved down to Saigon.”

The captain, wearing his uniform, stuck his head into the room. Standing astride the threshold, he said, “Why don’t you come on out? Too much trouble to take off these boots. No customers outside here, anyway.”

The three men moved to a table by a window overlooking the street.

“So you’ve found a house?” the captain asked.

“He said it’s the place where the Hong Kong gang used to live,” Yong Kyu said.

“But it’s cheap, sir,” the sergeant quickly added. “Monthly rent is only two hundred dollars. How many of us all together? Six team members counting this kid and then you, Chief, and me, so eight total. Two big rooms and two small rooms, it’s what we need, at least.”

“Hey, I know what’s on your mind. Want to get ready to head home, don’t you? Well, that house has a big enough storage space, so go ahead and fill it up.”

“You’re killing me. You pounced on me when I just tried to sell a little beer. How much can I make by taking back a few lousy appliances and a couple of cartons of cigarettes, sir?”

“Enough of your whining. I’m glad you found a place. Last time I saw Lieutenant Colonel Pak, he and I drank a toast to peace and to send him off.”

“Did he really go to Saigon?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Pak went back home, but his brother-in-law and the Pig from Tsushima headed to Saigon. Da Nang is too small, and therefore inconvenient, that’s what they said. Those bastards must’ve gulped down a fair amount.”

“I wonder how much they made. .”

At this from Yong Kyu, the sergeant wanted to show off his inside knowledge and said, “At least fifty thousand each, easy.”

The captain took a notebook out of his pocket. “So much for that. We had a meeting today. Sergeant Ahn, when are you headed home?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly, but my hitch here expires in the first part of September.”

“After you two leave, I’ll have to spend a few months on my own here. I’m afraid you’ll have to get separate lodgings until you head back. So much the better for you; that way you can work independently. One more thing, we’ve got no budget left. We’re supposed to get our food from the rec center, but there’s no time for that. Our living expenses are bound to go up with the rent for the house, wages for hiring contract workers, and so on. We’ll pick up some Korean beer and sell it in the market, just enough to cover our detachment expenses. When the new chief sergeant arrives, turn the work over to him. And since they killed that police superintendent, Colonel Cao, our channel to the Vietnamese, has been cut off. That’s something you, Sergeant, have to brief the replacement on. Lukas keeps trying indirectly to pick a fight with me. He mentioned Turen, saying they knew all about Sergeant Ahn and Toi’s activities in Le Loi market.”

“Don’t worry, sir. We know plenty about their dealings, too.”

“Krapensky was upset because he got another report from counterintelligence about NLF business transactions. You see, the black market is an area that can attract the attention of the top brass in the investigation headquarters. As soon as possible we have to submit a report feeding them some information about the NLF dealings in Da Nang, or at least something on their related movements. They’re telling me the combat capability of the local guerrillas in the Da Nang-Hoi An area is double or triple what it was. The Americans are going to restructure all their information channels and tighten up their network. Don’t get caught off guard.”

“Now that their support detachment has been separated and put on the MAC compound,” Yong Kyu quietly asked, “do we have to pass any of our own information to them? They don’t give us any information at all.”

The captain nodded. “That’s why you need a bit of military know-how.”

“I’m not quite sure yet, sir, but it’s possible they may change the military currency, sir.”

The sergeant grabbed Yong Kyu’s arm. “What? Are you sure? That’ll ruin everything.”

“Wait a minute. Yes, I think they dropped a vague hint about that at the meeting today. That was it; the PX inventorying starts next week. Even though they said it’ll just be a period of closure to do a thorough check of stocks. .”

“There’s no doubt they’ll do it. I don’t know the exact date yet, but it’s in the air.”

“I’m in big trouble, now. Tomorrow I’ll have to run around buying stuff.”

“Don’t worry. If you don’t mind losing a little, I can bring you dollars for your military currency.”

“Sergeant Ahn, you and Toi need to bring me just one case. I’ll have to finger an NLF dealer or scare up a channel into their organization.”

“I’m returning home soon. If I interfere with their internal operations, they won’t leave me alone.”

“But you can do it in late August or at the beginning of September, and then take off.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid they may change the chief of the investigation team. Krapensky’s term is almost finished. When the commander changes, I guess they’ll do a review and evaluate our performances. Besides, we’ve got to get them to think of our territory as a fait accompli. That’ll make it much easier for us to work.”

Yong Kyu thought for a while before responding. “I’ll talk it over with Toi, sir.”

The captain ordered a special Korean dinner. Then, almost in passing, he said to Yong Kyu, “Wait, I almost forgot. What’s her name, that woman they call Mimi, telephoned you. She wanted you to call her right away.”

“Who’s this Mimi?” the sergeant interrupted.

“You know, Miss Oh Hae Jong, the one I got to know because of the C-ration case.”

“Oh, you mean that bitch who’s shacked up with that Vietnamese bastard from the governor’s office?” the sergeant said. “Why don’t you coax her away?”

“I need her for business. She’s no ordinary woman.”

“She’s not ordinary at all,” the captain agreed. “There’s not a man of power in Da Nang she doesn’t know. I’ve given some thought to Major Pham’s dealings over at the provincial office, and I’m planning to hand over some information on him to the US investigation team.”

“That’ll cause a lot of trouble,” Yong Kyu said.

“Not for us, though. We’ve got to let them know we’re not all scarecrows.”

Yong Kyu neither confirmed nor refuted the captain’s remark, but merely said, sarcastically, “You have that memo thanks to me, so I suppose it should be used in some way. But don’t use it at too cheap a price, sir. We don’t know who’ll be coming in to replace Krapensky, but it’s not unlikely he’ll push and pull too hard at first. But then, scared at the roots that become barer and barer, he might try to cover them up. By that time, it’ll already have made a huge commotion.”

The captain shut his notebook and put it back in his pocket. Then he patted his pocket a couple of times.

“Neither the US Army nor the ARVN can ignore us now.”

Meanwhile, at the house in Son Tinh, Hae Jong was having lunch with Major Pham. He had been out with Nguyen Cuong to supervise the transport of the cinnamon collected between Ha Thanh and An Hoa. They were about to conclude some negotiations with a number of merchants in Da Nang. The price was not bad at all. Cinnamon from the jungle forests had always been a scarce commodity, and now that the highlands had been the site of fierce fighting for some five years, it was almost impossible to lay hands on any quantity of cinnamon. There were eager buyers from as far away as Taiwan, not to mention India and Singapore, and as many as you could wish for. They would stream into Da Nang with suitcases full of dollars.

That morning Pham Quyen had gone straight to the provincial office from the heliport and made a brief report to General Liam, adding that due to the business he would not be able to accompany the general on his trip to Saigon. The governor had told him there had been a change in schedule in any case, and that he should remain focused on the cinnamon operation. Pham Quyen was in a rather uplifted mood, partly at being back home after an extended absence, but mostly because the business was shaping up so profitably.

“How long are you planning to stay in Da Nang?” Hae Jong asked.

“I’ll be here through the end of this week,” answered Pham Quyen, all smiles.

“You know something? I have good news. The Americans are changing their military currency.”

“Is that a fact? Whether they do or don’t, it’s of no concern to us. The payment for cinnamon will be made in good old greenbacks, or in gold, at international rates — that’s the deal. Mr. Nguyen Cuong is the one with the exporter’s license, and he’ll execute all the business for us.

“Then you’re a mere laborer out in that mosquito-infested jungle?”

“It’s sort of a joint venture. The governor is the chairman, General Van Toan and I are executive directors, and Nguyen Cuong is, how shall I put it, the managing director?”

“Watch out for public opinion. I’m telling you, everybody knows what’s going on.”

“Everybody? Who are they? There’s nobody who dares to interfere with our work.”

Pham Quyen had a deep suntan and there was a growth of stubble on his chin, and he looked to be in better physical shape than when he had been on office duty. Instead of summoning the maid, Hae Jong went out herself to retrieve a bottle of wine she had put in the refrigerator to cool.

“Is there a moneychanger you know well?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I know them or not. If I need to, I can make them listen to me.”

“I’m getting started with gathering up military currency. And in the last few days before the exchange deadline. .”

Quyen immediately understood. “Has someone promised you help?”

“Yes.”

“An American?”

“Naturally. In the finance office.”

“Not bad.”

“It’s better than that. If I handle it properly, we’ll make a huge sum. Military currency that can’t be officially exchanged is worse than wastepaper. You can exchange it at one-tenth — no, one-hundredth of the face value after the expiration date. Ten dollars go from being a thousand piasters to worth only ten piasters. Isn’t that something? What’s the rate now, honey?”

“One hundred twenty piasters to a dollar, maybe. But the black market rate demanded by moneychangers may be as high as five hundred piasters for a dollar — for greenbacks, that is. That’s why the moneychangers from all over Southeast Asia are swarming this battle zone.”

Hae Jong’s eyes sparkled. “Even with greenbacks, they’re making no more than fivefold profits, and we’ll be doing business that pays a hundredfold profits. Half of the gains will go to the American, but it’ll still be a lot, won’t it?”

“Sure will. When is the day?”

“Saturday.”

“Better hurry up, then. Are you going out? I know a moneychanger just right for this.”

“Madame Lin at the Sports Club is also in on this. I imagine she’ll hire her own moneychanger.”

Pham Quyen finished his second glass of wine, then got up.

“Time for me to head out. I’ve got to see Nguyen Cuong and some of the buyers. How about we meet at seven o’clock? We’ll go see the moneychanger and then have dinner together somewhere.”

“Which way are you going?”

“To Guangzhou Restaurant, near the Hotel Thanh Thanh.”

“Then drop me off on the way at Doc Lap.”

“What’s up?”

Hae Jong glanced back at Pham Quyen. “Oh, nothing special really.”

Hae Jong walked down Doc Lap Boulevard and then crossed the street. The Korean language signboard of the Dragon Palace Restaurant came into view. Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting by himself in the otherwise empty place. Hae Jong was pleased to see nobody else there.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here,” said the old woman who owned the restaurant, fussing over Hae Jong as she sat down across from Yong Kyu.

“That soy paste you gave me last time was great. I don’t know how to thank you,” Hae Jong said.

“Shall I make you another potful? Today the stuffed cucumbers are just right.”

“Yes, please.”

Sitting across the table, Ahn Yong Kyu finally interrupted the chatting. “You asked to see me, God only knows why, but you aren’t even going to say hello?”

“Ah, sorry, it’s just it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. It won’t be too long now, will it?”

Yong Kyu didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you going back home?”

“In about a month.”

Hae Jong nodded very slightly.

“Is Major Pham still out on the operation?”

“It’ll soon be over.”

Yong Kyu was going to say something about the provincial office, but then he stopped himself, thinking it was none of his business. The moment he sets sail over that sea, everything in this place will become vague and sink into the darkness of forgetting, like an afterimage that gradually melts away, the darkness distorting and then dispersing its original solidity and bright colors.

“They say that in gambling the secret of winning is to quit while you’re ahead,” Yong Kyu said. “It’s much harder then, though. You ought to get away from this place.”

As usual, Hae Jong just let out a short laugh. “There you go again with your meddling.”

Then all at once she grew serious and looked directly into Yong Kyu’s eyes. “Haven’t you been saving up military currency for your return home?” she asked.

“No, not at all. Since my time in the jungle, I have no use for greed. The money I get, I spend it all here. Besides, I’m not making any money now. When I head home, I’ll just take my shaving kit.”

But Hae Jong did not seem to take his words at face value. Her cold eyes asked him why the hell he had come there and risked his life.

“Listen to me carefully,” she said, “there’s no reason why we should come all the way here just to be outdone by the Americans. I’ve heard they’ll be changing the military currency. They may have announced it today at their headquarters. As you know, the GIs haven’t been allowed off their bases since last week.”

Yong Kyu nodded. “We already guessed that much. Maybe the rumors will start to spread gradually tomorrow. Anyway, I appreciate your concern.”

“Isn’t anyone in your unit returning home before you?”

Yong Kyu thought of the sergeant and answered, “As a matter of fact, there’s a man leaving in about ten days.”

“What do they call it, a transit container allowance? What’s the limit on those when you go home?”

“Each of us is allowed two. All you need to do is take the stickers they give you and paste them on the containers.”

Hae Jong assumed a business-like tone. “Mr. Ahn, would you introduce me to that man?”

“To send goods home?”

“Yes. I want to ship some things to my mother and my sister. I want to make sure they are taken care of even with me away.”

For a few moments Hae Jong’s gaze was focused off in the distance and then she was back. “All your unit members have ration cards, don’t they? When the currency is swapped, their ration cards will also be replaced. If you buy all the items covered by the ration card it would make a few truckloads of goods, but if you stick with the high-value things you can limit the bulk. I don’t need any appliances. Help me partner with him. I can provide him with an unlimited supply of military currency to buy things, and he can keep half the purchases for himself.”

Ahn Yong Kyu let out a short laugh, as she had earlier. “That proposal will make our sergeant jump for joy, you can be sure. I’m afraid you’ll have to hurry. They say the PXs will start an inventory within a few days.”

“I know. They’re always like that. Soldiers can buy whatever they want until this weekend.”

“I’ll introduce him to you.”

“When?”

“This time tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Hae Jong said, advancing the meeting time.

“We’re extremely busy today and probably tomorrow, too. We’re moving, you know.”

“Major Pham’s Land Rover is available, so he and I can use that car to shop at the different PXs. After the purchases are made, we can store them at Son Tinh.”

“Don’t worry about that; the house we’re moving into has a huge warehouse right outside.”

“How about ten tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll tell him. Anyway, will I be left empty-handed after building a bridge between the two of you?”

“I’ll buy you a new shaving kit, won’t that be enough to keep you happy?” said Hae Jong, suddenly breaking out into carefree laughter.

They left the restaurant and walked together for a while.

“What will you do after you get back home?” she asked.

“I don’t know. . I’ve learned a lot here.”

“About what?”

Yong Kyu abruptly altered his tone. “Money sure isn’t everything, that’s what I learned.”

This time Hae Jong did not laugh. “Money is power, and freedom, too. In every country, the soldiers are the sorriest ones.”

“The guerrillas seem different somehow. Here and here don’t seem to be in opposition,” Yong said, pointing to his temple and then striking his chest with his palm.

“Whatever you say, we all live in a world of money.”

Hae Jong waved down a passing rickshaw and said to Yong Kyu. “I’m in trouble. Now that time is running out, I like you more and more. I’m going. Don’t forget, ten o’clock tomorrow.”

The rickshaw with Hae Jong inside lurched away.

Ahn Yong Kyu headed straight for the Bamboo Club. Compared to the Da Nang Sports Club, it was practically an open place. Vietnamese soldiers, American GIs, third-country nationals, even local civilians came and went freely there. There were no rooms, only a big hall with a bar in the center. During the daytime hours, simple meals and beer were served, and at the bar you could get standard mixed drinks like gin and tonic or bourbon and Coke. The hostesses worked only at night.

Many of the staff from the joint investigation headquarters frequented the Bamboo, and merchants from the new Le Loi market often came in for lunch. Prices were reasonable. It was the right sort of place for simple business affairs or to meet a stranger for the first time on a provisional basis, but nobody would arrange a secret rendezvous there. The location was excellent, right at the intersection where Doc Lap Boulevard, Le Loi Boulevard, and Puohung Street converged. Toi made it a habit to stop by the Bamboo at least once each day just to take the pulse and sniff the general atmosphere of the city. When Yong Kyu walked in, Toi was sitting at the right corner of the bar, half-facing the entrance.

When Yong Kyu sat down beside him, he lowered his voice and said, “What do you say? Was I right, or what? Tonight MAC will broadcast the official announcement from the high command. It’s already generally known on the US bases. By tomorrow, word will be spreading in town.”

“I made a report on it to the captain, too. It won’t affect us too seriously. But we were given an order to dig out a dealing connection with the NLF, you think it’s possible?”

Toi raised his voice, “What’s this? Has the principle changed?”

“My principles are same as ever. All we want to do is to prove the independence of our detachment.”

Toi tsk-tsked. “The captain is mistaken this time. You guys are part of the command structure of the joint investigation headquarters.”

“But the captain says Krapensky is to be replaced. And now that we’re separated, the new man will want a fresh evaluation of the Korean team, so he wants to set a precedent for independent operations. Naturally, after we give them the information, it’ll be the Americans who undertake the final investigation to confirm the accuracy of our leads.”

“It’ll soon be clearer who’s who, but I’ve been trying to see that the information is not wasted in an undiscriminating way.”

“I got the impression the captain is intending to use our memo reporting on the dealings by Major Pham and Nguyen. I didn’t tell him of our suspicions about Nguyen Thach.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s easier to aim and shoot when the enemy’s a little farther away from you.”

“That’s far from what I think, but anyway it’s a good thing you didn’t talk about it. Today I’m going to comb through the whole area from Somdomeh over to the smokestack markets. If you’ll join me, that is. But I’ll keep my hands clean of the matters that require reports to the captain.”

Yong Kyu was dismayed by Toi’s reproachful tone. “Listen, Toi, I’m a soldier. Don’t be angry with me.”

“You know, I get thirty or forty dollars a month from you people for feeding you some stupid information and my interpretations. And then I take a few morsels of goods from Turen and sell them on the market. Because it’s your business. But now I’m talking about business deals among the Vietnamese. Big scale operations, and very big risks. This may well be the last opportunity for me. I already lost an eye in this war. And I’m not getting any disabled veteran’s pension.”

Yong Kyu hung his head and stayed silent for a time. Toi again urged him.

“Ahn, I don’t want to cheat behind your back. You have no obligation to follow the captain’s request. You’ll be off-duty in a month, and then all you need to do is a little shopping and then off you go on your way out of here.”

“Anyway, it’s agreed we’ll work together to gather the information, right?”

Reluctantly, Toi nodded. Then, glancing down at his watch, he pounded on the table. “God, I’ve got to go see Stapley. The landlord called me. His son made it back home.”

“When’s the departure time?”

Toi finished the rest of his drink and patted Yong Kyu on the shoulder. “Tonight. You should come along, too. No sleep for us tonight.”

The two men walked over to the back alley of the old market where Stapley was holed up. As usual, they pulled the bellrope and the landlord came out to the front hall, looking half-asleep. This time, however, he swung the door swiftly open and waved to Toi. The two of them followed the old man into the kitchen, where wicker chairs had been set up around a long meal table. When the landlord said something in a loud voice, the door opposite opened and a uniformed Vietnamese naval officer appeared. The insignia on his sleeve were a lieutenant’s. At the sight of the two visitors, he bowed.

Toi spoke. “This is the landlord’s son who I told you about.”

“Let’s call Stapley.”

Toi went thumping up the steps. The landlord muttered, “Beaucoup sleep, beaucoup sleep,” putting both hands on his cheeks.

“He means your friend sleeps a lot,” the naval officer explained.

As he walked in, Stapley grabbed Yong Kyu’s hair and gave it a tug.

“We’ve already made a deal with your father,” Yong Kyu said, opening the business discussion.

“So I heard. I understand the destination is Saigon. That’s possible. And I’ve already been introduced to this gentleman.”

“He told me,” Stapley said, “that in Saigon there are many organizations helping AWOLs to slip out of the country. The European missionaries and civilians are doing that, he said.”

“That’s true. I know a Frenchman and a German who have been doing that. One is a priest and the other a doctor.”

“What ship are you on?” Yong Kyu asked.

“It’s an LST.”

“Then he can board right from the pier. We’ve discussed it with your father: ten thousand piasters to Nha Trangh, and then another five thousand payable in Saigon on the condition that you see that he get’s onto a boat from Nha Trangh to Saigon.”

The Vietnamese officer listened with his eyes blinking and then tilted his head. “I’m not the only officer on board, you know. I’m not sure about the others, but I cannot ignore the captain of the vessel. Let’s make it twenty thousand piasters here and another ten thousand later, and I’ll need half of the first part right now. You see, I have to get back on board my ship before nightfall. That way I can get everything prepared.”

“Twenty-five thousand, what do you say?”

Toi started talking hurriedly in Vietnamese. Then in English he said to Yong Kyu, “I told the lieutenant to keep the agreement we made with his father. I also told him about all the things we brought to his father since Stapley has been here.”

“Oh, all right, twenty-five thousand.”

With this assent from the lieutenant, Yong Kyu made a signal to Toi with his eyes, whereupon Toi took out a bundle of bills and started to count out the initial payment.

Stapley stood up and said, “Look, this is my business. Don’t be spending your money.”

“Hey, hippie,” Yong Kyu said, pointing at Stapley, “you just sit tight. What little cash you have you’ll be needing to open that pottery shop in Tibet.”

Once Toi had handed over the money to the lieutenant, the latter quickly handed it to his father, who began slowly counting it out one bill at a time.

“Now, let me go over the tricks to get you on board,” the officer said.

“What are you talking about?” Yong Kyu asked, his voice showing irritation. “You mean you won’t be taking him aboard yourself?”

“Let’s hear him out,” Stapley said.

“You know where we dock, don’t you? The outer port, what you people call Monkey Mountain, but the real name is Bai Bang. Have you been to that cargo terminal?”

“Yes, I know it.”

It was the landing where Yong Kyu had first set foot on Vietnamese soil. But when he shipped out they would arrange for a launch to pick him up at a pier downtown and take him out to the middle of Da Nang Bay.

“There’s a barricade in the navy cargo yard. The American forces, Vietnamese forces, and foreign ships each have their separate and exclusive areas. Boarding will have to be done after eleven tonight. After lights out, everyone will be in their cabins except the petty officer on deck duty and one guard team. At the entrance to the pier there’s a sentry post. The American shore patrol is on guard at another checkpoint inside, but they usually are watching their own separate gate. I’ll wait at our sentry post. Then he’ll walk with me toward the ship and climb up on the deck with me. That’ll be it. I’ll arrange a place for him to sleep on board.”

“Hey, that sounds simple enough!” Stapley shouted in excitement.

Toi and Yong Kyu asked simultaneously, “What about his clothes? Will he be all right as is?”

“What’s the matter with this outfit?”

Stapley, his hair and beard now long, slowly looked down at the T-shirt and blue jeans he had on. “I’ll just take this off,” he said, touching the pendant around his neck.

“Can you get an American navy uniform?”

“If need be, I can go get one right now.”

“A navy blue shirt over blue jeans and a blue hat will be good enough,” Yong Kyu said. “Still, that beard and hair would never meet navy regulations.”

“Exactly. Better get them cut.”

The lieutenant agreed with Yong Kyu, but Stapley stepped back and protested.

“No way. That’s why I’m running away. Nobody touches my beard. When I get to Saigon, I shouldn’t smell like a soldier or sailor. Passing by the sentry post, that’s done in the blink of an eye.”

Toi and Yong Kyu exchanged looks. Stapley had a point there.

“All right, but get some work clothes and put on a hat to cover the hair.”

“I’ll meet you tonight at ten o’clock at the Vietnamese navy gate. Now, everything is settled, right?”

The lieutenant shook hands with Stapley. Yong Kyu, Toi, and Stapley came out of the kitchen and went up to Stapley’s room.

“Phew, it stinks in here,” Yong Kyu said, holding his nose.

“Don’t complain. It’s the true odor of a human being. I barely get a chance to take a shower once in three days. And when I do, I just get a little splash from a bucket in the back yard.”

“Clean up the room, too.”

They looked down at all of the things Stapley had piled up: dirty plates, bowls, chopsticks, cans, a hotplate, and so on. All his clothes were in a bundle at the corner of the iron bedframe. Stapley sat down on the bed and Toi and Yong Kyu sat in the wooden chairs.

“Toi and I will see you get to the pier tonight,” Yong Kyu said.

“When I get out of this country, I’ll write to you from the first port I reach,” Stapley said.

“Leon wanted to come and say goodbye, but we wouldn’t let him.”

“He’ll win the bet.” Stapley acted like a man who had departed Vietnam long ago. “If not for the war, I wouldn’t mind living here in one of the seaside villages.”

“Right, thanks to American tourists like you, before long this place will soon become a hell of a place to live. You’ll turn round and round a few times and then end up back in your own country.”

“Ah, don’t tell me horror stories like that.”

“We’ll be back tonight. In the meantime, get some sleep.”

At nine that night, Ahn Yong Kyu and Toi drove over again to pick up Stapley. Instead of the van, they had deliberately taken the sergeant’s army Jeep, keeping the canvas top up. It was Toi’s idea, to get through from the smokestack bridge to Bai Bang without any strict inspection from the guards at the checkpoints. Toi was dressed in his army uniform and Yong Kyu had on his jungle fatigues. When they got there, Stapley was waiting with a small vinyl bag. He wore a navy work shirt and a blue work hat with a warrant officer’s insignia on the front. The beard posed a little problem, but he might conceivably pass for a seaman just back from a long voyage.

Stapley was not in a mood to talk much. They drove up White Elephant Street, passed the oil tanks with the Shell markings, and headed down toward the bridge. The area was lit up like broad daylight. Briefly, they stopped at the guard post and a Vietnamese QC came out with the American guard. Toi raised his hand to wave, and the guard recognized him and with a smile lifted the barricade. At the Bai Bang entrance they had to pass through another inspection checkpoint at the three-way junction leading to the pier and the naval headquarters, but made it through and headed down along the shore. On the left side there was nothing but the ocean and some barren yellow dunes, and the searchlights set up at intervals shone all the way to the pier standing ahead in the distance. Offshore, navy vessels and patrol boats of various sizes were blinking their signal lights. One of the searchlights whipped by and then slowly licked the surface of the water.

“Let’s stop up here.”

Toi pressed on the brakes. They pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and got out, then walked down toward the asphalt square at the entrance to the pier. A high wire fence had been set up and there were indeed two gates side by side. On the right gate, “Stop!” was written in red, and on the left “Dung Lai” in yellow. Yong Kyu said to Stapley, “It’s the left entrance over there. Do you see the sentry post?”

“Thanks. Now you two should head on back.”

“No, we’ll keep a lookout from here. Looks like the ship is up there by the red signal light.”

“Hurry up,” Toi said, “it’s ten now.”

When Yong Kyu extended his hand, Stapley didn’t shake it but instead removed the wooden pendant from around his neck and put it in Yong Kyu’s hand.

“Bye.”

Stapley gave Yong Kyu a friendly pat on the back and twisted his knuckle on Toi’s cheek.

“Good luck.”

Without looking back, Stapley walked out toward the gate. Every so often the searchlight glided by just offshore with a sudden flash. Toi and Yong Kyu stood there with cigarettes in their mouths and watched. From that point forward, everything happened in little more than an instant.

Stapley’s tall and lean figure approached the left gate and he exchanged a few words with the guard. Presently, the lieutenant appeared and went inside the sentry post. Then, an American SP emerged from the sentry post at the American gate on the right side. His white helmet was visible. He went over to Stapley and seemed to be asking some questions. Then, another American SP came outside and walked over outside the fence separating the two gates. Stapley walk around with the American guards, who seem to ask more questions. Then, suddenly, Stapley took off s running toward the pier. They could hear someone shout “Hey!” and what followed was distinctly audible even from where they were: “Come back! Stop! Stop!” then the sound of gunfire. Toi and Yong Kyu saw Stapley fall but could see nothing more.

“He’s been hit,” Toi said in a faint murmur.

Yong Kyu tensed up, ready to dash over to the scene, but Toi grabbed him from behind by the waist.

“It’s no use. It’ll only get us in hot water.”

From inside the fence the commotion got louder. Toi pulled at Yong Kyu to leave. They walked back to their Jeep, then sped out the way they had come. Yong Kyu gripped the wooden pendant tightly in his hand.

“Bad luck,” Toi said, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.

Yong Kyu wanted to cry, not just for Stapley, but also for himself. No tears, however, came out.

35

By the time the storm passed, business in Da Nang had shriveled. The stores that had closed down began to reopen one by one, but quite a few still had their shutters shut tight.

Pham Minh emerged from his house, hopped on his motorbike and drove toward the customs house across from the air force PX. Lately, this trip had become part of his daily routine. The public pier was down below the customs house, and to the left from there all the way to the barge docks was the inner port exclusively for military use. Down to the right of the customs house was a cluster of civilian wharves and warehouses as well as the main fish market for Da Nang. The fish market area was surrounded by restaurants, bars, wholesale fish stores, marine tackle shops, dried seafood processors, and so on.

Nguyen Thach had succeeded in obtaining a license from the Da Nang district office to open a nuoc mam factory in that neighborhood. There were two more of the same kind of factories nearby, so the area reeked with an unbearably foul odor. American soldiers referred to the awful smell as the stench of hell, or as corpse perfume. Often they cracked dirty jokes by saying that gook girls had their crotches pickled with nuoc mam. A salty sauce made from boiled and fermented fish, nuoc mam was used in just about all Vietnamese food.

Nguyen Thach’s establishment bore the outward appearance of a nuoc mam factory, but in fact it was a major collection and distribution center for weapons and ammunition diverted by the NLF from the supplies flowing to the militias of the new phoenix hamlets. These weapons and ammo, plus some construction materials, were moved down from the provincial office and dropped in conex boxes in the military pier area, and from there things were moved at night in small quantities by three-quarter ton truck through the side alley into the fish market area and to the nuoc mam factory. Once there, the crates were piled up inside among the real crates of fish to be sent out later all over the region. In the factory, the disassembled guns and ammunitions were hidden inside the bottom of large earthenware urns used to ship nuoc mam, then these urns were padded with straw and packed in wooden crates. Since nuoc mam was in universal use throughout Vietnam these packages could easily be sent anywhere by truck or coastal vessel.

Pham Minh entered the factory from a back alley of the fish market. Inside, three rank-and-file cell members were at work as laborers. They called the place a nuoc mam factory, but the process required not machinery, but rather a big gas burner on which two big cauldrons were sitting, plus about a dozen large fermentation casks and a cement tank always brimming with water. The work proceeded by first skimming the fermented fish juice, then scooping it into one of the cauldrons where it was boiled and the foam removed. After boiling, the concentrated fish sauce was poured into the earthenware urs, and after cooling, those were moved into storage further inside before being packed and shipped out. Upon opening the door of the place, there were always boxes of small fish stacked around amid bushels of salt. Pham Minh checked around and then walked on inside. The foreman followed him. Some familiar looking crates were stacked in one corner. One of the workers opened the door to a storeroom.

“This is the stuff brought in yesterday. Check it, please.”

Pham Minh used a crowbar to lift the lids off the boxes, one at a time. There were brand new carbines still coated with dark grease from their original packing, pistols, M1 rifles, bullets, and hand grenades. The two of them sweated profusely as they sorted out the ordnance and loaded them into sets of nuoc mam urns. After they finished, Pham Minh wrote down the quantities for each item: 80 carbines, 30 Ml rifles, 20.45 caliber pistols, 50 cartons of bullets, 70 hand grenades. Not bad, he thought. This meant that they were siphoning off nearly one-third of all the weapons and ammo being supplied to the hamlet militia. At the same time that new supplies of weapons were being lifted off the ships in the pier area, a few feet away the same items that had landed shortly before were heading for the nuoc mam factory, and from there being delivered to local guerrillas.

“The requisition to be shipped to the Hoi An and Tan Binh districts, is it ready?”

“Yes. We’ve already moved them to the backyard.”

“They needed two heavy machine guns. I suppose those have been included?”

“Yes, the stuff we received last week is now being shipped out, too.”

Pham Minh went to the backyard and made a quick count of the neatly arranged nuoc mam pots, then sat down on a wooden bench. The yard was more of a vacant lot stretching between their factory and a neighboring one, and was used by both as a kind of parking lot and loading area. It was unfenced, but they had nailed some wire mesh to some low wooden poles around the urns to keep passersby out of the fish market. No foreigner would ever voluntarily come to a spot dense with nuoc mam factories, and even if they did, the air was sure to give them such a headache that they would not be able to stay for long. Indeed, the neighborhood was known to the American soldiers as “fish sauce ground zero,” and it may have been that joke which gave Nguyen Thach his idea.

Once the three-quarter ton truck arrived, the workmen carefully loaded up the urns. The driver was a cell member who worked at Banh Hao’s store. As usual, Pham Minh got into the truck first and sat in the front beside the driver. When the loading was done, they drove slowly through the crowded marketplace and turned up the thoroughfare leading to the smokestack bridge. Banh Hao’s store on the other side of the Thu Bon River had been performing the function of supply warehouse for the local units up and down the coast. Pham Minh delivered daily supplies to the store and passed along updated information from Da Nang to send out to the provincial villages. Sometimes he also distributed pamphlets for the People’s Revolutionary Party.

“That’s the truck,” said the staff sergeant in the sentry post.

Toi and Yong Kyu peered out through the wire-reinforced window. A three-quarter ton truck rumbled up to the checkpoint gate and stopped. A policemen and a military guard took a quick look at the cargo in the back and then waved.

“See that fellow sitting next to the driver?” Toi asked.

Yong Kyu immediately recognized the wiry Vietnamese youth with sunken cheeks and a tense posture. It was the younger brother of Major Pham Quyen, who had been hired as a clerk at the Nguyen Cuong Company.

“Well, isn’t this getting interesting? Let’s tail him.”

As Yong Kyu walked out of the sentry station, Toi slowly followed. “No need to follow them,” he said. “They’re headed for Banh Hao’s store.”

Toi asked a few more questions of the QC instead. As they got back in the Jeep parked below the bridge, Toi remarked, “Goods in the back were nuoc mam. Now they’re really making us laugh. No doubt Nguyen Thach and that young fellow are in the same group. Listen, Ahn, I know where that nuoc mam is manufactured.”

“Where?”

“The factories are all jammed together down by the fish market.”

“You mean by the inner port terminals?”

“That’s right. Right next to the military pier. Remember when that dog bit you?”

“At Dr. Tran’s house?”

Toi’s white teeth shone beneath his mercury sunglasses. “Remember how they had mountains of fertilizer and construction materials piled up there? Remind you of something?”

“A warehouse in the fish market not far from that terminal. Am I right?”

“To be more precise, a nuoc mam factory. I’ll bet you anything there are guns in those nuoc mam pots. Wow, we’ve found it. We’ve just hooked a whale. All we have to do now is pull.”

“I’m off-duty from here on out.”

“What does it matter?” Toi was driving skittishly, jerking the wheel recklessly. “I’ll let you have a grand sum when you leave for home.”

“I don’t need it. I’m just thinking about passing a tip to the captain before I get on board to ship out.”

Pham Minh walked inside the Banh Hao store. Gunnery sergeant Le Muong Panh, who had been sitting there, raised a hand in greeting. Pham Minh reported the types and quantities of goods, then added, “There are some pamphlets, too.”

“What kind?”

“A speech to be delivered at headquarters and also at Nguyen Ai Quoc School. For educational use of the members of local organizations.”

“Let’s go in.”

They gave the workers orders on how to handle the cargo and then passed across the yard to the office. Banh Hao, who was leafing through some papers, gave them a cheerful welcome.

“So, you’ve just arrived?”

“Yes, sir. The two machine guns are included. They’re light machine guns, sir.”

“The urgent thing now is for us to expedite supplies of rockets and mortar shells.”

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

“Soon with the rainy season there’ll be an offensive all over the country. We must fill those requisitions by then, without fail.”

“Comrade Nguyen is doing his best, sir. As you know, the supplies to the militias only include small arms. Heavier weapons are only released to the regular ARVN forces.”

“They come in every now and then,” said Le Muong Panh, “but it’s too irregular. We’ve got to open a supply source in the regular army.”

They had some tea together, then, out of the blue, Banh Hao asked, “The fourth company across the river will mount the attack on the air base, right?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

Because Pham Minh seemed puzzled, Le intervened, “Uncle, Comrade Pham is an undercover administrative agent, so he has not been participating in combat operations.”

“Oh, is that right?”

There was a brief silence. Pham Minh got to his feet. “I’d better be going now.”

“Say hello to Comrade Nguyen Thach for me.”

Pham Minh went over to the Hoitim Cafe in order to work up his daily calculations. He spotted Lieutenant Kiem sitting back in one corner.

As soon as Pham Minh sat down, Kiem lowered his voice and quickly said, “We’ve got to suspend things for the time being.” He peered around nervously and then continued, “A security officer and an unfamiliar civilian came in to the adjutant’s office. They said they wanted to see Major Pham and the governor. When I told them that both were away, they said they wanted to have a look around the warehouses, so I showed them the storage at the provincial office. Then they left, saying they would be coming back.”

“Maybe they were conducting an audit?”

“This is not the time of year for audits, you know that. They didn’t say a lot, but they sure acted high and mighty.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“He’s gone back up to Ha Thanh.”

“The cinnamon harvest is not done yet?”

“It’ll soon be finished, I heard.”

“What about the general?”

“He’s gone to Hue. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

Pham Minh thought for a while before speaking.

“Very well. We’ll stop everything for a few days. But I don’t think it’s anything so big. You know, the general is a direct relative of the president himself. Nobody can challenge his authority.”

He handed over a fat envelope to Lieutenant Kiem. “This is for yesterday’s.”

Kiem snatched the envelope and left the café in a rush. Without touching his coffee, no longer hot by this time, Minh was absorbed in thought for a while. He needed to put some distance between himself and Kiem. It was then that he heard the rustle of silk, and a white ahozai dress approached his table and then stopped. He looked up.

“Ah. . you’re. .”

“You don’t recognize me?”

The girl in the ahozai was Tran Van Phuoc. Pham Minh had met her a few times in the company of Chan Te Shoan.

“Mind if I sit down with you for a little while?”

Pham Minh straightened his posture and gestured with an open palm to the chair facing him.

“Mr. Pham Minh, what on earth happened to you, anyway? Do you know what the students behind you in school are calling you? A coward, a government army dog. Things like that.”

Pham Minh quietly said, “Did you sit down here just to say that?”

Phuoc smiled and then shook her head. “No, there’s more. Is it true that your leaving the NLF has something to do with your change of heart toward Shoan?”

“Nothing at all. You’ll have to excuse me.”

As he indignantly got up to leave, she quickly continued, “Shoan’s getting engaged today. I’m going to the ceremony right now. Any message for her?”

Pham Minh paused for a second, then just walked past the counter and out the front door of the café. From the violet interior, he had walked out into streets that seemed all grey. The humidity was getting worse and worse. The monsoon season with its daily downpours and hot, humid blasts of jungle air was just around the corner.

Pham Minh revved the accelerator of his motorbike all the way up and for a long time just flew down the school road with trees racing past on both sides. The loud whine of his engine bounced from muffler to the surface of the road, echoing far and wide. Recklessly, he whizzed around a last corner and skidded into Nguyen Thach’s maintenance shop. All the vehicles in the yard were gone, and in their place cement, fertilizer, slate, and other materials from the provincial office were stacked everywhere. The warehouse where Pham Minh had his office was now filled to the rafters with cinnamon, and they had just rented another additional warehouse over by the bus terminal. The current situation offered a ready excuse for Pham Minh to share office space with Nguyen Thach.

Thach was sitting inside with a puzzled expression on his face. Without speaking, he watched closely as Minh came in the office and plopped down on the sofa. Then Thach said, “Everyone in Da Nang must have been notified by now that Mr. Pham Minh is in a bad mood, eh?”

Pham Minh said nothing in reply. Thach picked up a newspaper and moved over to the armchair in the middle of the office. As he sat down, he asked, “Anything new?”

Pham Minh mentioned the meeting with Kiem. Then, unable to restrain himself any longer, he spat out more. “Sir, do you not trust me?”

Nguyen Thach was wide-eyed and at a loss.

“What do you mean, do I distrust you? You and I make a good team. We are one and the same.”

“Then why didn’t you let me know about the offensive to commence with the rainy season, or the assault on the air base in Da Nang by the reinforcement troops. The members across the river had the information before I did.”

A cold look returned to Thach’s face. “Ah, that was because Comrade Pham has a crucial mission to carry out.”

“I, too, will join the offensive. I cannot loiter in the markets any longer.”

“That mission is in fact to take part in the operation.”

“Sir?”

“It will not be the Fourth Reinforcement Company which will attack the air base. The main force is a regular army commando unit coming down out of the mountains. Our fourth company will be conducting a diversionary operation elsewhere near the air base. Comrade Pham, you will have to guide the commando unit as it infiltrates through Dong Dao to an advantageous spot for the attack. You should know that area better than anybody else, since you, Comrade, are in the air force, are you not?”

“I am to guide them, sir?”

“The route and point of attack will soon be fixed. This is an important mission. We may suffer annihilation.”

“The target?”

“Enemy Phantom jets. While the Paris talks drag on, we must keep up military pressure on the enemy. And now you, a cell member, are angry because you had no explanation from above?”

“Ah… I was wrong, sir.”

Pham Minh hung his head very low, then suddenly, as if he had just remembered something, he looked up and said, “I know a safe house very close to the air base, sir. We can make it inside the house without anybody noticing and wait there for nightfall.”

“Good idea. What’s its location, roughly?”

“In Son Dinh village.”

“That’s. .”

“Right. It’s the residence of our teacher, Trinh.”

Nguyen Thach evaded Pham Minh’s glance.

“No, not there.”

“Do you know him, sir?”

“He was the principal of our grammar school in the old days. I was a member of his Buddhist Students Association.”

“But, why not? Don’t you trust him?”

“It’s not that. Many of the senior officers in the NLF also greatly respect him.”

“Then, let’s drop it.”

“Who said anything about dropping it?” Thach shouted. “If you had not brought it up, I might not have remembered. I don’t know “

Thach stopped himself. Then he sat silently with his eyes trained on the newspaper. Minh spoke.

“Correct me, please.”

“What’s wrong with you today, anyway?” Thach asked, his face concealed behind the paper.

“I got rather agitated over a personal matter, sir.”

“What sort of personal matter?”

Minh tried his best to speak in a calm voice. “I ran into a student from school who said the other students are saying that I’m a coward who deserted the NLF. And then she told me that Shoan is getting engaged to somebody else.”

Thach put down the newspaper. His eyes were bloodshot. “It can’t be helped, really. I, too, had a similar experience. Your mention of Shoan made me recall a certain girl I knew when I was in the Buddhist Students Association. Congratulate them from the bottom of your heart, that’ll make you feel better. After that, promise yourself that the children they bear will inherit a proud and free country, and with that, go out and fight bravely. That is what I meant when I said that love and revolution share the same path.”

“I’d better go back to the fish market, sir,” Minh said, heaving a long sigh.

“I appreciate your telling me,” said Thach. “Neither of us seems to have the time for marriage. Go and speak with Mr. Trinh. And also check out the situation in Son Dinh village.”

All day long the clouds had been heavy and low, and that night the rain began to pour down. From the mountains in the distance came the sound of thunder, a sound not at all like that of bombs. When the lightning flashed, it was more beautiful than the light from a flare rocket. The monsoon season had begun. Along the coast, the weather was cooling off and the fog was getting heavier.

In accordance with orders, at 2200 hours Pham Minh went outside to get an emergency communication line ready. As a precaution, he was wearing an air force work uniform. The infiltration route for the commandos had been planned to begin from Phu Hoa, passing from there through the forest between Dong Dao and Ap Dai La, and then they would rendezvous on the hillside just west of Son Dinh. The meeting signal was to be made by striking a wood block: two sets of three beats with an interval in between, followed by many rapid beats in a row. The response would be a single beat followed by a pause followed by many rapid beats.

It was raining hard and in the pitch darkness you could not see your own hand in front of your face. The cold rain seemed to soak through your entire body, making you feel numb. Pham Minh scaled the hill from the village and crawled through the bamboo. Lizards could be heard scurrying about nearby. He stretched his legs out between some bamboo stalks and lay there on the mushy ground. The place reminded him of Atwat, up by the Ho Chi Minh Trail. He thought of the young men who had died namelessly in the jungle, their bones left there to rot.

Ah, and he thought of Shoan, engaged to an elderly merchant. Her parents must have felt greatly relieved. Like his own father, who died of a heart attack in a bathtub in the midst of the struggle against France, would they also lead happy existences disconnected from larger history? No, what Nguyen Thach said had been right, he should congratulate them, and fight so their children can grow up in a better nation. No, that was nonsense. What he ought to have done is tell Shoan his true feelings and persuade her to take the same path he had taken. But that was an ideal only for those with that destiny. Shoan — her name, recalling the jasmine of old Tonkin, was most fitting — had been to Trinh’s house just the day before he came. Hadn’t the doctor’s daughter made a joke of it? “Shoan was here just yesterday, so did you two make a date to come separately?” That was it, Shoan had wanted to go there the day before her engagement.

That night before Minh left for Atwat, that gorgeous night with its beautiful stream of shooting stars one after another, would never come again. When he had gone out to the backyard with a desolate heart, he had found a white ramie handkerchief lying inside the air raid shelter, filling it with the fragrance of canna. From ancient days, the women of Turen have been renowned for loving only one man in their lives. When their beloved set out; on a journey to a distant place, they would make a kerchief from their torn slip and give it to him as a memento.

Pham Minh was suddenly startled. Through the shish of the rain pouring down through the bamboo he heard the sharp, clear sound of a wood block being struck. In the jungle, a bamboo stick and wood block took the place of wireless sets as the main means of communication. Pham Minh became all ears. The signal was repeated. Quickly he sat up and struck his own wood block. Again there was silence. Minh stared into the darkness to try to make out something moving through the bamboo. Then there was a click and something jutted into his back.

As he turned around to look, a man lifted his gun up and growled, “Don’t move. Your name and unit?”

“Pham Minh, assistant agent with Third Company, 434th Special Action Group.”

“Any changes?”

“None.”

“The safe house?”

“Son Dinh, just down there.”

“Well done, Comrade.”

The soldier fumbled to grab Pham Minh’s hand and helped him up. He blew a short whistle, and the commando squad appeared from out of the darkness. There were ten in all. A man appearing to be the leader came forward and shook hands with Pham Minh. They were fully equipped with AK47 rifles, rocket launchers, and light machine guns. Some were bareheaded; others wore peasant hats with round brims. All were clad in black Vietnamese clothing and, instead of raincoats, they wore vinyl capes of various colors over their shoulders, as Pham Minh had in Atwat.

The advance guard and Pham Minh led the way and the others followed noiselessly in dispersion. Like water, they seeped silently into Trinh’s house. Two of the soldiers remained posted as guards at the front and back doors of the house. The moment they went inside, they heard a match strike and there appeared the white hair and beard of old Trinh. Very calmly, he lit a candle.

Pham Minh bowed to him politely, and said, “Forgive me, Uncle. I should have told you in advance.”

“You did mention that some friends of yours might come by. These are them? Come in, please. It’s been a long time since I’ve had young people in the house.”

Under the light, the commando leader looked to be a middle-aged man. His short hair made him look even more strong-willed and full of confidence.

“Pardon us, sir, for causing you inconvenience. Members of the army of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, we fight today as a liberation force under the command of the People’s Revolutionary Party in the south. Would it be all right if we stay in your place until we can safely leave to accomplish our mission?”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then please sit down and rest yourselves.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The soldiers, following the leader’s gesture, quietly sat down with their backs against the wall. Nobody opened their mouth. The leader sat beside Pham Minh.

“Based on our reconnaissance from the mountaintop, we have made our own rough estimate of the situation. Tell us about the infiltration route.”

“Heading up north from Son Dinh along the rice paddies, you’ll run into a stream. It runs south to the Thu Bon River, but if you go north upstream for about two kilometers you’ll reach Ap Dai La. From there to the perimeter fence around the air base is less than a mile. Of course, there’s some danger of ambush. We’ll have to identify any guards along the path in advance and take them out. Once that’s done, it’ll be no problem.”

When they heard the sound of heavy gunfire and cannons, the soldiers picked up their weapons and headed outside before any order was given. The diversion operations had begun at various points around Da Nang.

They stooped low and fanned out as they made their way across the rice paddies. Thinking to himself that the farmers would forgive them for trampling the rice shoots, Pham Minh hurried to keep up with the point man. At last they reached the stream. Normally, the water level was down around ankle-high, but with the recent heavy rains it had risen to chest level. In case anything went wrong with the operation, they all agreed to jump in the water and float back to this point. Then they crossed and raced up north along the levee on the far side of the stream. The rain was still pouring down. After about an hour, they all reached the hill overlooking the air base from which they would mount the attack.

The advance soldier mounted first to check on any ambush. When he returned and reported the way was clear, they all headed up onto the hill. The air base was brightly lit with searchlights and landing lights. Each of the soldiers took two rocket shells out of his patched vinyl knapsack and these were gathered together. With small field shovels, they hurriedly began to dig a trench in the wet earth. An hour passed as they completed the digging, the trench was shallow and a man of ordinary height standing in the bottom would find the ground level at his stomach, but it was large enough that everyone’s entire body could fit down inside. There were twenty rockets to be launched, but it was very unlikely that enemy artillery would remain quiet that whole time. Their plan was to retreat in the lull after the initial round of the counterattack.

Two rocket launchers were set up at either end of the trench. These launchers were simple, nothing more than a gadget resembling a tube as long as your arm. They could even be fired while the shooter and loader were on the move. The preparations had been completed. The leader gave the order “Fire!” in a quiet voice. With a sound of Ka-wump the first rocket was away, whistling as it went with flames shooting behind. The first was immediately followed by a second. A pillar of flames could be seen rising from the middle of the air base. Then, an emergency siren went off. They continued firing. Within two minutes, enemy artillery was beginning to target them.

“All have been fired, sir!”

“Stay down!”

Shells were hitting all over the hill. It was Pham Minh’s first experience under heavy explosive fire. The shock from the blasts made his face swell up and he thought his skin might burst. He buried his face in the dirt, his mouth gaping open and his hands cupped over his ears to shield them.

As soon as the barrage stopped, the leader shouted, “Retreat, now!”

They leapt and practically rolled down the hill, then jumped into the stream and drifted down on the rapid current. By the time they made it back to the path through the rice fields, helicopters could be heard overhead, but they were not afraid. On such a night, there was no way for the helicopters to locate them as they lay down among the rice plants. If they attempted to fly in low they would respond with light machine guns. Whenever a helicopter fired a flare, they hit the ground, waited it out, and then got up and ran on. Finally they reached the forest near Son Dinh and paused for a rest. Four men were missing. They must have been lost during the bombardment up on the hill. One man, apparently wounded in the leg, was being carried by two comrades. The leader came up to Pham Minh and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“We made it. From here, we’ll head straight to our base. Good-bye. Long live Vietnamese Liberation!”

With the break of the new day, a state of emergency was declared for the entire city of Da Nang and its environs. The questioning at checkpoints became more intense and barricades were set up at every corner in the city. American soldiers were not allowed to leave their bases unless they were armed. The American headquarters belatedly realized that the enemy had commenced its usual rainy season offensive. The attack on the air base had destroyed two Phantom jets and burned up the conex box. The operation had been a major success. Pham Minh purposely went in to his air force unit the next morning and took part in the repair work on the runway. Later, when he returned to the office, Nguyen Thach told him to take a few days off and get some rest at home. Thach was clearing off his desk before heading out to make a detailed report to the district committee.

“How are you?” said a familiar voice.

Thach saw a pair of silver mirrored sunglasses as Toi stepped in through the door. Outside it was still raining. Toi removed his glasses, put them in the case hanging on his belt, and plopped down on the couch across from Thach’s desk. Wearing a look of displeasure, Thach gazed at him.

“What business brought you here?”

“Ah, I was just passing by and stopped in to see how your business is going.”

Thach frowned. “As you can see, my brother is getting so prosperous that I’m washing my hands of my old business,” said Thach, looking around his own office as if it were a strange place. “What can I do for you? I was about to leave.”

Toi glared back at him, squinting his one good eye.

“I’ve come to talk something over with you. Because I can’t make up my mind.”

Nguyen Thach looked over at Toi with a blank expression.

“I’ve come across certain information recently.” Toi continued. “That young man, Major Pham’s younger brother, has he already gone home?”

“Get to the point.”

“All right. I discovered that you and he are the ones in charge of NLF supplies in Da Nang.”

“Is that all? I suppose you’ll want a list of all the merchants dealing with the NLF? I advise you to go out into the market and ask around. Everybody will cooperate with you, I’m sure.”

Toi sneered. “You won’t get away with such a predictable answer. They’re just merchants, but you two are NLF cell members. I know you’re constantly siphoning war supplies intended for the militias. What are you up to at the nuoc mam factory down in the fish market? What do you have inside those urns?”

Thach raised his hand to cut Toi off. “That’s enough. What is it you’re after?”

“Fifty thousand dollars. In mainland cash.”

“You don’t expect me to have that kind of money here now? Besides, that work is my brother’s. I had no choice but to help him. He’s been a member of the revolutionary party from way back.”

“Really? Even better. He can easily cough up ten truckloads of cinnamon. And I suppose Major Pham is his partner for these deals?”

“I can have the money ready by this time tomorrow, what do you say?”

Toi snickered. “You think you can fool me with such childish gibberish? Then you could clean up all the evidence overnight. Don’t worry, I know very well. I can’t arrest you yet. Why not write me a promissory note? Then I’ll give you until tomorrow.”

Nguyen Thach stared at him for a long while and then reached to open a drawer in the desk.

“Don’t do anything rash.”

In a flash Toi pulled out his.38 and leveled it at him. Calmly, Thach took out a paper and wrote on it. Then he signed and even sealed the note before handing it over to Toi.

“Will this do?”

Toi scrutinized the note and then stepped backward.

“If you fail to pay, I’ll use this to open an investigation on you. The Vietnamese secret police can make even a stone spill its guts.”

Nguyen Thach remained seated at his desk even after he heard Toi’s Jeep pull away. He lit a cigarette and smoked it all the way down to the filter. Then he picked up the telephone. On the other end was Pham Minh.

“Minh? It’s me, Nguyen Thach. We’ve had a mishap. Yes, rather serious. Keep out of sight today. No time for that. Don’t hang around the fish market, and report back to me by phone later. I’m sure we’ll solve the problem soon. If not, your duty can continue under someone else. Anyway, nothing to be too alarmed about. I’ll contact you soon.”

Suddenly his motions became very swift. He dumped everything out of his desk, and sorted out the papers from the small memos to the receipts. Then he checked the time. It was seven. On a clear day it would have been twilight, but outside it was already dark.

Toi arrived at his home, located off Le Loi Boulevard near the new market, around nine o’clock. He’d had a few drinks at the Bamboo Club and was in an exuberant mood. The lights were all out except in the living room. There was no answer when he rang the doorbell. Had everyone gone to sleep? Grumbling, he gave a light kick to the wooden gate on the side of the house. It swung open without a sound. Still grumbling, he unlatched the door and went into the house. The moment he entered, he found the muzzle of a gun pressed right against his forehead.

“So, in the habit of coming home drunk? Nice leisurely life you have here.”

Meeting these jeers, Toi quickly peered about. A man was sitting in the chair right in front of him, another stood in the doorway to the interior, and the third was holding the gun on him. All three were armed.

“Who are you people?”

“Shut up! Get down on your knees!”

The man next to Toi forced him to kneel in front of the seated figure.

“My family. .” Toi stammered.

“Don’t worry. They’re all in the back room. Who do you suppose we are?”

“NLF.”

“Not bad. And what do you do for a living? You’re a traitor. We’re here to hold a summary court-martial. First, after finishing your military duty as a conscript, you volunteered to work for enemy intelligence headquarters. Worse, that enemy is a foreign power. Second, ignoring the struggle of all the people of Vietnam today, you’ve been spying on and disrupting the historical mission of the NLF. Finally, you used the fruits of your treachery to try to extort money from a patriot and you threatened his life. Therefore, in the name of the People of Vietnam, the Quang Nam District Committee of the National Liberation Front hereby sentences you to death.”

Having spoken thus, the man turned and looked in turn at the two others. Both repeated the word “death,” as if to underscore it. Toi had no time even to attempt any excuses. The man in front of him spoke again.

“We shall make no compromises with a shameless scoundrel like you. Because ours is the righteous path.”

The man standing beside Toi swung his arm, and Toi’s mouth fell all the way open. Then he looked down at his own belly and fell sideways. A sharpened bamboo stick was jammed deep into his stomach. They had followed the method of execution used by the guerrillas out in the villages. After searching Toi’s fallen body and retrieving the note, they quickly fled from the house. Across the street, a van turned on its headlights and they got inside. Nguyen Thach drove away. One of the men handed him the piece of paper.

“Tear it up,” said Thach.

“What next, sir?”

“I guess it’s time to go underground,” Nguyen Thach answered brightly.

It was nine forty-five when the Korean investigation office received a call from the police. The recently arrived new chief sergeant took the call and then shouted, “I think they’re looking for you, sir.”

“All right, I’ll take it in my office,” the captain replied.

A few moments later the captain came back out, searching for Ahn Yong Kyu.

“Get dressed and get your weapon. And you, Sergeant, better come with us.”

“Sir? What about the boys. .?”

“The three of us will do. Toi’s been murdered.”

“What?!”

“That was the police, calling from the scene.”

Yong Kyu picked up a semi-automatic carbine with a folding aluminum stock that had belonged to the old chief sergeant. He also grabbed two clips, each holding thirty rounds.

“Where?”

“His house.”

There were three Vietnamese police cars parked in front of Toi’s house. When they rushed inside, a familiar police chief saluted the captain. Toi’s wife, his children and his old mother were all huddled together crying. Yong Kyu stayed in the hall, looking down at Toi’s corpse. It was the first time he saw Toi’s face up close without those mirrored mercury sunglasses. His mouth was gaping widely as though he were howling with laughter. His blind eye stared into space. The bamboo spear had been pulled from his body and lay beside him, drenched in blood like some living thing.

“It was guerrillas, sir. According to the wife, they broke into the house at around 2000, vaulting the fences from three sides. Then, she said, they held a summary court-martial. The crime they charged him with was helping you people. They also said the victim had tried to blackmail them.”

After listening to the report, Yong Kyu said to the captain, “I know who killed him. Let’s go and get him.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

In a fury, Yong Kyu pointed out through the gate with his carbine and shouted, “I say we go and get those VC!”

As Yong Kyu ran outside, the police chief asked the captain, “What’s that all about?”

“He told me he knows where the guerrillas are who did this.”

The chief gave orders to two of his policemen and they then hurried outside followed by four others. Yong Kyu got in the Jeep, and sat there without a word.

“Where are we headed?” the captain asked Yong Kyu.

“To the fish market, down by the pier.”

The Vietnamese police followed right behind them. When they reached the customs house, Yong Kyu turned and parked the Jeep at the square before the fish market. Empty wooden crates were stacked up everywhere, but there was no sign of people in the rainy streets.

“See that vacant lot down that alley?” Yong Kyu asked. “By that white wall? They’re two entrances, a big door out front and a side door from that vacant lot.”

As the captain repeated Yong Kyu’s words to the Vietnamese police chief, Yong Kyu dashed ahead into the alley, calling back, “Cover me, Sergeant!”

Yong Kyu crept up next to the door of the factory with the sergeant close behind him. The door opened a little. One at a time they ran inside. Then two policemen followed them in, jumped over some baskets of salt and crates of fish, heading for the middle of the building. Another policeman hit the lights. Two lamps hanging from the ceiling came on. Yong Kyu kicked the door on the side leading to the storeroom. The lamps were pouring light that way, but nothing could be seen except a row of nuoc mam urns. From the other side of the storeroom, a policeman opened the door and entered. The captain was looking on from behind them.

“Nobody around?”

“We’re too late. Toi and I knew about this place.”

Yong Kyu cracked one of the urns with the butt of his gun. The nuoc mam poured out, revealing gun stocks inside. The police chief and his men started breaking the other pots.

“All of them have guns inside,” said Yong Kyu as he walked outside.

“Why hadn’t you reported this yet?” asked the captain.

“We were conducting a secret investigation, sir. Call in some reinforcement, please.”

“Call the Americans?”

“Never mind. I’ll speak to him.” Yong Kyu went over to talk to the police chief who was enthusiastically smashing a row of urns.

“There’s another houseful of guerrillas across from Bai Bang. Call in some reinforcement.”

“Right. We’ll go together.”

They went back out to the parked vehicles. The police chief radioed to his headquarters. A short while later, two trucks arrived with backup police power.

“Divide up the forces and send some to Nguyen Cuong Company in old Le Loi market,” said Yong Kyu. “Have them also search the car repair shop behind the store. Now, follow us with the rest of your men.”

After crossing the smokestack bridge, they sped toward Bai Bang. The rain was pouring down on the windshields.

“You should have filled me in before you went off duty,” said the captain to Yong Kyu, looking straight ahead.

His hands locked on the steering wheel, Yong Kyu was peering at the shafts of rain frozen in mid-air by the Jeep’s headlights.

“I didn’t want to take the responsibility. .”

“But now, have you changed your mind?”

“Toi was my partner, sir.”

What Yong Kyu was feeling then was entirely different from what he had felt at Stapley’s death. He had no way to identify with Stapley’s behavior. There had been no choice for him. Toi’s death, however, was a disgrace, like the ends of Korean soldiers whose limbs had been lopped off, or whose remains were carried off as heaps of ashes. Yong Kyu seemed angry with himself for feeling self-pity. Something hot was running down his face. I’m exhausted, Yong Kyu murmured to himself. His throat was throbbing.

Yong Kyu had only been to that alley once, but he remembered it well. He parked the car on the edge of the market on a street lined by small shops. As he got out the Jeep, the police chief came up to him.

“Their base is in the Banh Hao store.”

“Where is it?”

“In the middle of these shops. In back of the store there’s a warehouse and a residence.”

They crept up stealthily. The police chief led his men around to the house in the rear, and Yong Kyu and the captain, with a few policemen, gathered out front by the shuttered windows of the store. There was a wooden door in front, reinforced with tin sheets. Realizing there was no other way inside, they began to crack the shutters with their boots and rifle butts. The wood splintered noisily and the glass behind the shutters broke into pieces.

When they started trying to climb through, a spray of bullets came from automatic weapons on the inside. One of the policemen was hit and went down. Yong Kyu and the captain dashed inside and took cover behind some rice bushels, then returned fire towards the interior. Judging from the shooting noises, a fight was also raging at the house out back. As in the jungle, Yong Kyu kept on firing as he rushed over to the warehouse door. A policeman came up beside him, stuck his gun into the warehouse and fired. Another policeman meanwhile had pulled the ring on a grenade and lobbed it inside the storage area. There was an explosion and from inside, flames and smoke rushed out.

The first to enter the warehouse was a police lieutenant. Yong Kyu rushed right behind him, instinctively firing a burst of rounds at a spot from which he heard something. A mountain of flour sacks piled almost to the ceiling tumbled down, a man’s dark figure falling with it. A shaded light hanging from the ceiling was swaying back and forth. Yong Kyu’s shadow stretched onto the wall and then shrank again. Quickly he took aim at the form of the fallen man. The air was full of white dust raised by the torn flour sacks. The man stared up at Yong Kyu, who saw that it was the younger brother of Major Pham. An AK47 was lying on the floor near his bent arm. He stretched out his arm to try to grasp the rifle. Yong Kyu fired again. The man’s body twitched from the shock of taking close fire, and soon stopped moving. The flour bags beside him gradually turned red.

“Sergeant Ahn, are you all right?” came the captain’s voice behind him.

The police lieutenant was down by the door, gasping desperately. Another policeman who had followed Yong Kyu in was lying at the side door and firing into the inner quarters of the house. The captain and Yong Kyu carried the moaning lieutenant outside. After a while the gunfire ceased.

Two visitors arrived at the general’s villa in Bai Bang. They came in a khaki sedan for VIP use, dispatched from the American forces. It being early in the morning, the general was still in his bedroom. A staff sergeant with the security detail stopped them to check if they were armed. One of the two men wore a uniform without any rank insignia, and the other was in a white half-sleeve shirt and a pair of black pants. The man in uniform was holding up a black umbrella for the civilian and himself.

“I have to confirm your identities, sir,” said the staff sergeant.

The uniform took out a badge of the security forces from his back pocket and showed it to the staff sergeant. But the latter would not step back.

“The general is commander-in-chief of Quang Nam Province, sir. Whatever your unit affiliation may be, you should observe the proper security protocol, sir.”

“This gentleman is from Independence Palace. Get out of the way.”

As the uniform spoke thus, the civilian intervened in a gentlemanly tone, “Ah, leave him be. I’m from the military council.”

He took out an ID and handed it over to the staff sergeant. Freezing at attention, the staff sergeant still managed to salute with propriety. The civilian put his ID away and asked in a gentle voice, “May I see General Liam now, please?”

“Yes, sir, let me show you the way, sir.”

The staff sergeant walked like a robot to the front hall and pulled the rope. There came a low and heavy sound of a bell, and a butler dressed in a traditional cotton shirt opened the door.

“These gentlemen just came from Saigon,” said the staff sergeant. “They are here to see the general.”

The butler bowed politely and stepped aside. The civilian took a long look at the luxurious interior decor, then walked over to a sofa and sat down. The uniform stood in one corner in a posture of parade rest. The general came down the stairs in his bathrobe. The civilian got up slowly and spoke with a smile on his face.

“It’s been a long time since we last met, sir.”

They shook hands.

“And what brings you here?”

At the general’s question, the civilian scanned the living room once more. “A very nice place you’re living in, sir.”

Noticing that the general’s glance was riveted on the uniformed man standing in the corner, the civilian spoke to the uniform.

“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat?”

Only then did the uniform salute the general.

“As I understand it, Colonel, your unit is in Hoi An, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. But I’ve been assigned to escort the Cabinet member here.”

The butler brought in morning coffee.

“Has some emergency arisen?” asked the general, raising his cup.

“We have a big problem. Recently the National Liberation Front issued a statement, and its content appeared in a few newspapers in Saigon. The statement, issued in the name of Immi Allero, chairman of the People’s Autonomy Movement in the highlands of Quang Nam Province, criticizes the recent operations in the districts of Ha Thanh and An Hoa.”

The general began to raise his voice. “That’s no more than typical enemy propaganda, isn’t it?”

“The problem is, sir, that the commanding officers in the area gave out arbitrary orders to massacre the Katu, one of the highland tribes.”

At those words from the civilian, the general finally got to his feet and started pacing about the room.

“You mean to tell me you’ve come here with a local problem like that? Does the military council have a shortage of work to do?”

“Sir, no need to get excited, please. The military council had discussed this problem in the presence of His Excellency, the President, as well as the vice-president. We’ve reached the conclusion that this is something that must be handled quietly within the council. The reason I came here is to take care of that problem, sir. Independence Palace had received several different kinds of grievances concerning the enterprises conducted by the government office of Quang Nam Province. His Excellency the President himself understands you, sir.

“It’s been several days since I arrived here. I’ve investigated the points raised in the complaint letters and also checked the validity of the enemy propaganda concerning the operations in An Hoa. As for the deployment of materials for the phoenix hamlets project and the cinnamon operations. . they can be settled within the council, but we have determined that the massacre of the Katu tribe must be handled publicly. Of course, you, sir, will not bear responsibility for anything. Your successor will have to deal with all the aftermath.”

The general seemed somewhat relieved, and he lit his pipe and sat down on a chair again.

“What do you mean successor… are you telling me I should resign from the provincial governorship?”

“You’ve been requested to join the Cabinet, sir. Except, just until the situation is quietly settled down, take a six-month trip abroad, please.”

“When am I to leave?”

“Leave for Saigon today, sir. Until the successor arrives, I’ll stay at the provincial office and try to take care of things there. And. .”

He signaled with his eyes to the uniform sitting next to him. “A man named Pham Quyen is your chief adjutant, isn’t he, sir? It’s inevitable that he be punished.”

As he spoke he took out several documents. “This is an indictment filed by Lieutenant Colonel Quia, a battalion commander who previously was in charge of Second Division operations in Ha Thanh. He sent this to the military council and to Independence Palace. And this other document is a report on the phoenix hamlets project submitted by the late Colonel Cao, the former police superintendent in Da Nang. Based on these documents we’ll be able to sort out the persons to be punished. We were hoping that you’d give us a little of your time and cooperate with the colonel, sir.”

The general agreed wholeheartedly. “I understand. Shall we to go to my study together?”

“On this visit, I’ve become deeply interested in cinnamon, sir,” said the civilian.

“Central Vietnam has been famous for its cinnamon crop from the old days,” said the general quite nonchalantly as he headed up the stairs. “That’s something His Excellency, the President himself, is very much aware of.”

When the Governor entered into the office of the chief adjutant a little later than his usual office hours, Major Pham and a private were the only ones on duty in the office. Lieutenant Kiem’s desk was vacant. As the two men stood to attention and saluted, the general walked quietly into the governor’s office. Of the two men who’d followed him in, the one in civilian dress spoke bluntly to Pham Quyen in a low form of speech. “You, are you Major Pham Quyen?”

“That’s right, but. .”

Abruptly, the uniformed man standing next to the civilian slapped Pham Quyen in the face. “Speak like a soldier.”

Pham Quyen knew very well who the man without any rank insignia was. In spite of himself, Pham Quyen stretched up into an erect posture.

“Take this bastard in at once,” said the civilian.

“Where’s Kiem?” asked the uniform as he snapped handcuffs on Major Pham’s wrists.

“He’s not in yet, sir,” answered the private on duty.

“Arrest everyone involved and search their houses thoroughly,” said the civilian.

As soon as he was pushed out into the corridor, Pham Quyen saw the officers from the security department of Da Nang district standing there. They thrust Pham Quyen into a covered Jeep. He still knew nothing of Pham Minh’s death, neither was there any way for him to know that Lieutenant Kiem had set out for Atwat and was long gone.

The forklifts were lifting up boxes and piling them neatly on the crane cradle. When the limited space was filled, the naval crane lifted the loads of cargo up high and then lowered them down into the open hold beneath the ship’s deck. One load of cargo that had been lifted up to the level of the vessel’s deck suddenly tilted to one side, dropping a few crates onto the ground. There was the deafening sound of a whistle. The stevedores stopped their work. The boxes of coarse plywood had broken apart when they fell, and the contents were strewn all over on the concrete.

Several owners of the boxes rushed forward in a fluster. Without uttering a complaint, they ran here and there after their scattered articles and gathered them up. Left over C-ration tins, saved-up paper sacks of powdered milk, cartons of cigarettes, American military uniforms and jungle boots, and occasional electrical appliances with labels like Sony, Akai, National, Sanyo, Sharp, or Hitachi.

Meanwhile, on the square out in front of the pier, the soldiers about to depart for home were receiving an inspection of their equipment in preparation for the departure ceremony. There were prominent officials from the city administration of Da Nang, military officers. A big contingent of middle school girls wearing white ahozai and broad-brimmed hats, waving bouquets of flowers and the national flags of the two countries was sure to appear on the scene. The military band would strike up the national anthems of both countries as well as of the other allies, and innumerable photos would be snapped from every conceivable angle.

With the boarding and the freight loading yet to be finished, the ship would not be ready to sail until dawn the next morning. Ahn Yong Kyu left the square and walked down toward the open cafe near the customs house. Having ordered a drink, he sat on a chair watching this unfamiliar city with a detached mind.

Out of the sea of camouflage uniforms worn by the departing soldiers, a white dress fluttering in the wind was gradually approaching. The woman was wearing sunglasses, but one still could tell she was a beauty. Yong Kyu almost waved his hand and called out to her, but turned around instead. The woman stepped in between the sidewalk tables and walked about peeking in here and there along the line of sunshade umbrellas. Yong Kyu heard her voice from behind.

“So you’ve been sitting here?”

“How have you been?”

Hae Jong removed her sunglasses. “You know, I’ve been looking for you for quite a while.”

“Looking for me?” Yong Kyu replied absentmindedly.

“You’re too much. I tried to contact you several times, but you didn’t call me back.”

“Your house is. .”

“I’m at the Thanh Thanh. It’s not the same room as before, though. I came out here to send some baggage back home, and as long as I’m here I thought I would ask a favor of you.”

“Baggage? But you don’t have a transit allowance, do you?”

“Ah, I got an allowance from the captain,” Hae Jong said lightheartedly. Then she took out a small gift-wrapped box from her handbag and placed it on the table.

“Here’s a souvenir.”

“What is it?”

“A watch. A cheap one.”

Yong Kyu took it quietly. Then, in an indifferent tone, he said, “Aren’t you going home?”

Hae Jong shook her head. “No, not me. But I am planning to leave here in a few days.”

“Where to?”

“I’ll go to Hong Kong. Sister Lin asked me to.”

“You made a lot of money, didn’t you?”

“A wee bit, only enough to open a small pub.”

“How’s Major Pham?”

She hung her head. Then without looking up, she said, “I was a little shocked. I’m all right now, though. The investigation is still underway, but since they’re all in the same boat, I suppose there’ll be a demotion and transfer, something along those lines.”

Hae Jong dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and then held up her hand again.

“His younger brother. . was a very gentle young man. .”

Yong Kyu looked back in the direction of the pier, where the military band had struck up another tune. The flags in the hands of the schoolgirls were fluttering in the breeze. Hae Jong spoke.

“The favor I have to ask is this. You see, I’ve already shipped the baggage. This is the consignment number and that is the bill of lading. When you land in Pusan, I’d like you to have a forwarding company deliver the things to this address. Here’s the money. That’s all.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Yong Kyu took from her a piece of paper on which was written some address in Uijeongbu where Hae Jong’s mother and younger siblings were living.

“Good-bye.”

Hae Jong got up. Yong Kyu nodded. The review ceremony seemed to have begun, for the anthems of the allies had changed to a march. Yong Kyu put money on the table and got to his feet. Across the street, he saw the fluttering train of a white skirt vanishing into the crowd. He walked back toward the ship. The thought of going somewhere and drinking until dawn no longer seemed attractive. He did not want to run into any of the faces he had known in Vietnam.

Content

Hwang Sok-Yong
The Shadow of Arms

FOREWORD

PREFACE FROM THE FRENCH EDITION BY EDITOR CÉCILE WAJSBROT

MAIN CHARACTERS

THE SHADOW OF ARMS

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