Edge of War

by Larry Bond

  “Why are you out on the street?” demanded the soldier.

  “I was trying to get a train.”

  “Papers,” demanded the soldier.

  Jing Yo reached into his pocket. He was unsure whether the soldier was just being officious, or had some reason to be suspicious.

  He could take the gun from the private’s hand easily enough. But there were a dozen other men here. Could he kill enough of them to get away?

  And what of Hyuen Bo?

  The soldier grabbed the documents. “What unit are you in?”

  “I am not in the army. I have a disability.”

  “You’re not blind.”

  “My heart is weak.”

  The soldier scowled.

  “What is the matter?” asked Hyuen Bo, running up to him. “I found out where the buses are.”

  “Who are you?” asked the soldier.

  “His wife. We were hoping to go to Saigon—”

  “The place has been called Ho Chi Minh City since before you were born,” snapped the soldier.

  “My mother is there.”

  “Use some sense then. Use the proper name.”

  “Do you know when the trains will run again?” asked Hyuen Bo. “We have to get to her.”

  “Everyone is to remain where they are. You’re not afraid of the Chinese, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Your boy is.” He threw the papers at Jing Yo, dismissing him.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” said Jing Yo when they reached the scooter. He spoke softly, sensing the soldiers were still watching them.

  “You need me,” said Hyuen Bo.

  * * *

  Hyuen Bo had a small scooter. It held about three gallons of gas, and though it could get nearly a hundred miles per gallon, its capacity was far too small to get them to Ho Chi Minh City.

  But it was the best option. Jing Yo had some plastic tubing to use as a siphon; he would steal gas along the way if he couldn’t find a gas station. He found a pair of water jugs on the street a short distance from the station and took them to use for extra fuel.

  He thought of leaving Hyuen Bo, of just pushing her off and driving on, but he couldn’t do it. There were practical reasons—she’d already demonstrated how useful she could be dealing with the soldiers and officials—but the real reason was his love for her. He did not want to leave her, or lose her.

  And yet, he would have to, at some point. Taking her with him surely exposed her to more danger, far more danger. If she was caught with him, she would surely be hanged as a spy.

  “It’s a long ride,” he told her as they approached the highway. “Many hours. And it will be very hard.”

  “We will be together,” she told him, wrapping her arms firmly around his chest.

  * * *

  The night air gradually turned damp, the moisture and darkness interconnected. Stars faded behind thickening clouds.

  They had been traveling for almost an hour when they came to the first military checkpoint. Jing Yo didn’t see the trucks across the road in time to turn off without arousing suspicion. The trucks were Chinese-made troop transports, and at first their boxy silhouettes confused him. He thought for a moment that he had stumbled onto a Chinese army unit, and while under orders to conduct his mission with complete secrecy, he decided he would have the soldiers take him immediately to their superior. He’d ask his help getting farther south. But Jing Yo’s first glimpse of the soldiers warned him that he had been wrong; these were Vietnamese units, ordered to hold the road to Cam Thuy against a possible advance.

  Jing Yo throttled down, keeping the scooter in a low idle as he stopped before the soldiers. He could tell they were nervous. There were three men in the road, with others off the road nearby. Jing Yo knew from his own experience in the army that bored, nervous soldiers suddenly presented with excitement were apt to do many things, including killing innocent civilians.

  “Why are you on this road?” demanded the first soldier.

  “We are going to help my mother,” said Hyuen Bo behind him. “She is an old woman and needs our help.”

  “I’m not talking to you,” said the soldier.

  “It’s true,” said Jing Yo. He began to cough, a ruse in case his accent seemed unnatural.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “Saigon,” said Hyuen Bo.

  “Saigon?”

  “Where in Saigon?” asked another soldier. “You answer, not her.”

  Jing Yo named a district at the southern end of the city where he had stayed during his last visit. The soldier asked if he knew of a restaurant at a certain address. Jing Yo said that he didn’t, but that the address itself seemed to be wrong. Perhaps it was in another city district—a common problem in Saigon, where the border of each small district meant the street numbering system was restarted.

  The answer seemed to mollify the soldier. “You should look it up when you get there,” he said. “I recommend it.”

  “I will.”

  “Has the enemy broken through?” asked Hyuen Bo. “Will we be able to get there?”

  “Since you ask, I would not advise driving any farther,” said the first soldier. “Where have you come from?”

  “Hanoi,” said Hyuen Bo.

  “You shouldn’t drive at night,” said the soldier who had asked about the restaurant. “The Chinese send their airplanes out to strike anything on the road. They don’t care if you are civilians or the army.”

  “You’re in danger yourself,” said Hyuen Bo.

  “It’s our job to be in danger,” said the first soldier. “And we’re not afraid of any Chinese bastards.”

  “I hope I see one. I’d shoot the bastard in the face,” said the third soldier, speaking for the first time.

  “Are they that close?” asked Hyuen Bo.

  “Only their planes,” answered the first soldier. “Their army has been stopped at the reservoir. They’ll be kicked back to China soon. They are dogs. We have always beaten them, from ancient times.”

  “What’s the safest way south?” asked Jing Yo. “If we have to go.”

  “The Ho Chi Minh Highway,” said the third soldier. “It’s the only way.”

  “That is for military use only,” said the first soldier. “It’s closed to civilians. And I would stay away from it—the Chinese will bomb it.”

  “Could we drive it?” Hyuen Bo asked, addressing the soldier who had mentioned the Saigon restaurant. “Would it be fastest?”

  “Why are you talking to him? I told you already it’s closed.” The first soldier practically shouted. Jing Yo was familiar with the type—a small-minded man, suddenly handed a little authority, who became completely unnerved at the slightest perceived threat to his position.

  “We must stay away from the highway,” said Jing Yo before descending into a coughing fit.

  “Go,” said the soldier, waving his hand. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  * * *

  They avoided the cities. Jing Yo worried that there would be additional patrols on the outskirts. Much of the land had only recently been claimed from the jungle, and the roads were rough and twisting, old trails that connected new farm fields and skirted bogs and sudden sharp rises in the terrain.

  It took them nearly a half hour to go only ten miles south. The twists and turns jumbled Jing Yo’s sense of direction, and he was able to navigate only by catching occasional glimpses of dim lights and the sound of trucks close to the city, which lay to his west.

  Finally, Jing Yo realized he had no choice but to go through the heavier populated areas that lay near Cam Thuy. And if he was going to do that, then he might as well take the Ho Chi Minh Highway, military restriction or no. They drove into the city and, noticing that the gas tank was only about half full, found a block where several cars were parked and stole more fuel.

  Hyuen Bo continued to be more helpful than he could have wished; she held the tube down into the other car’s tank, and when they
heard someone coming, she managed to free the tube and hop on the scooter so calmly he would have sworn she was a guerrilla herself.

  The city was under blackout restrictions, and in theory under a curfew. But people were gathered on the main streets in the business district, crowded together on the sidewalk, talking—or so Jing Yo imagined—about the war and their prospects for remaining safe. There were several tanks parked near the bridge over the Ma River, but no soldiers made an effort to stop them as they crossed, even though they were technically on the Ho Chi Minh Highway. A pair of motorcycles and a small car passed them going the other way.

  There were more vehicles moving in the southern suburbs. A Mercedes sped past them, so close that the wind almost threw them into a ditch.

  A short while later, a pair of military jeeps, old Russian models, rushed past in the opposite direction. Jing Yo took this as a sign that others would follow. He found a side street that paralleled the main highway, and got off, swinging away from main road. But within a quarter mile the road came back to the highway, and Jing Yo had no choice but to follow.

  Two more small trucks passed. These slowed as he approached. One flipped on a small searchlight mounted near the driver’s side. Jing Yo pushed his head down and revved the throttle, willing the small scooter forward. As they whizzed past, he tensed, expecting gunfire, but no one fired and the trucks didn’t stop.

  The road began climbing a hill, negotiating a gentle curve. As they rounded it, Jing Yo caught sight of a line of shadows moving ahead.

  A large gravel pit had been built into the side of the highway during its construction. Jing Yo drove into it, angling toward the steep slope where he could hide in the darkest of the shadows. But just as he reached it, the scooter hit a rock hidden in the weeds, and he and Hyuen Bo went flying off.

  Jing Yo’s reaction was automatic. He entered a realm where thought and action, body and mind, are joined completely to each other. He felt himself flying, and without thought or other preparation, moved his elbows and tucked his shoulder to roll on the ground. The uneven gravel bit at his body, but Jing Yo had taken many such falls. His momentum brought him to his feet. He ran to the scooter and turned off the engine, then looked for Hyuen Bo.

  She lay heaped on the ground. He scooped her up and ran with her into the shadows, collapsing into the brush as trucks approached. He sat with his lover in his arms, her head and upper body cradled in his lap. Never had a grown person seemed so small, or so fragile.

  “Hyuen Bo?” he said softly. “Hyuen Bo?”

  She didn’t respond. Jing Yo took a breath, steeling himself against her death.

  No matter what one believed about the universe, whether it was a place filled with heavens and hells, or simply an empty consortium of atoms, there was no easy acceptance of death. Brave words about passing to a better place would be meaningless to Jing Yo, and all his training no consolation for Hyuen Bo’s loss.

  He prepared himself.

  But then she stirred, alive.

  Jing Yo let go of the iron armor he’d bound himself in. “Ssssh,” he whispered. “You’ll be all right.”

  She turned her head toward him in the darkness and opened her eyes. “I know I will.”

  “What hurts?”

  “My head.”

  “Can you move your arms? Careful,” he added quickly. “The army trucks are coming up the highway.”

  As soon as Hyuen Bo demonstrated she had not broken any bones, Jing Yo gently removed her from his lap, laying her softly on the ground. He told her not to move.

  “I want to see the trucks, what they are,” he whispered. Then he crawled away, moving carefully to a point a dozen meters away where he could see the road.

  There were tanks as well as trucks. They made an easily discernible sound, their treads grinding against the smooth pavement of the highway. They were T-55s, and even if Jing Yo hadn’t been familiar with the whine of their engines from his time in Malaysia, he would have easily recognized them by their silhouettes and long gun barrels.

  The crews were driving with their hatches open, anxious to escape the stifling interior. Jing Yo counted twenty-two before the line was broken by a pair of low-slung command vehicles. The sharp angles at the front indicated they were probably BTR-40s, very old trucks that were still used for various purposes by the Vietnamese.

  A second group of tanks followed, this one bigger than the first, with the tanks taking two files rather than one. Most of these were T-55s as well, but there were bigger tanks mixed in, T-59 main battle tanks. Jing Yo counted thirty-two.

  Supply vehicles followed, then towed artillery. Jing Yo concluded that he was looking at elements from three or four different units, perhaps tank battalions stripped from their normal infantry division and rushed north to reinforce whatever was trying to bog down the advance at the reservoir the soldiers had mentioned earlier. He thought of using his phone to warn of the advance, but realized that would be foolish. For one thing, the Chinese air force would undoubtedly be watching, either by satellite or by UAV. For another, his mission required complete secrecy, and every use of the phone threatened that.

  Jing Yo crawled back to Hyuen Bo. She had pulled herself upright, and sat with her knees curled against her chest.

  “Is the scooter okay?” she asked.

  “We’ll check it in a minute. There may be other trucks coming,” said Jing Yo. “There are always stragglers.”

  “In every army?”

  “It’s universal.”

  He knelt next to her, wanting to inspect her head for cuts. She misinterpreted his intentions and turned to kiss him. He tried to pull back but her lips pressed into his, and he yielded to her insistence. She unfolded her arms and they moved into an embrace. Worried that they might be seen above the weeds, Jing Yo leaned to his right, bringing her down gently to the ground with him.

  They stayed like that for nearly a half hour. There were several stragglers, all troop trucks.

  Finally, Jing Yo renewed his resolve and pushed himself back up to his knees. Hyuen Bo clung to him.

  “We have to check the scooter,” he told her. “We can’t stay here.”

  The bike started right up. He didn’t realize the front wheel was badly bent until he tried to drive it out of the quarry. The scooter bucked violently, its wheel wobbling.

  They worked together to fix it. Hyuen Bo found a pair of large rocks, and helped anchor the bike in place while Jing Yo used his feet as levers, returning the hub to round.

  Or almost round. The scooter pulled to the right once they were on the highway. But it was far better than walking, and even at forty miles an hour, Jing Yo found he could hold it steady with relatively little pressure.

  They drove for roughly another hour, still on the Ho Chi Minh Highway. Nearing Thai Hoa, Jing Yo got off to use local roads. He ran into a pair of roadblocks almost immediately. At the first, a bored Vietnamese sergeant barely looked at their papers before waving them away. The soldiers manning the second, however, told them that the curfew was being strictly enforced. They threatened to put them in jail until Hyuen Bo began to sob. They relented, but insisted the pair find a place to stay until dawn, warning that other patrols would be stricter, and that sooner or later they would be arrested.

  Jing Yo was wondering whether to take this advice to heart when he heard a high-pitched whistle in the distance.

  He reached his hand to his chest where Hyuen Bo’s were, grasping them and squeezing. In the next moment, there was a low crash, the sound thunder makes when lightning splits trees ten or twelve miles away.

  White light flashed in the distance ahead. The flashes looked like signals sent from a ship in the distance, whiteness streaming through shutters opening and closing.

  The sound of the explosions followed.

  And then, finally, air-raid sirens began to sound. Antiaircraft weapons began spewing streams of tracers into the air. The ground shook with a dozen different vibrations, and the air popped with rounds as they were
expelled. Searchlights began to sweep the clouds. Jing Yo heard jets in the distance.

  He angled back toward the highway. It took several minutes to find it. Just before he did, he heard the whistle of bombs falling toward him.

  Or thought he did. Jing Yo reasoned later that if he had truly heard the bombs, he would have been blown up by their explosions. And he was not blown up, merely covered with dust and severely rattled. The ground heaved violently and he nearly went over, but with all of the other sounds and chaos, it was impossible to say if the concussions were nearby or not.

  Hyuen Bo tightened her hold on his chest.

  “Hang on,” he said, squeezing the throttle. “We must get as far south as we can while the attack continues.”

  19

  Near Thai Hoa, Vietnam

  Mara had just crossed out of the city’s precincts when DeBiase called and warned her that an attack was on the way. She drove to a high spot south of the city, then pulled over and got the others out of the vehicles, fearing that the approaching Chinese aircraft would mistake them for soldiers.

  The air strikes began with a fury of explosions, half a dozen cruise missiles striking ahead of the airplanes. At first, the Chinese seemed to be aiming at a Vietnamese division headquarters, which was located along the Ho Chi Minh Highway south of the city. But within minutes, unguided bombs were falling in a broad semicircle that took in the residential areas of the city. Some missiles in a third wave even fell on nonmilitary targets, striking the buildings on the eastern side of the highway and flattening the business area beneath a tremendous red and black mushroom cloud.

  “Caught a gasoline tank,” said Kerfer. “The Chinese aren’t pulling many punches.”

  “I wouldn’t expect them to,” said Mara.

  “You know them well?”

  “I fought against their commandos in Malaysia. They’re bastards.”

  Kerfer remained silent. Maybe, she thought, that was his way of apologizing for having underestimated her.

  Probably not. He wasn’t the sort that apologized for anything, not even subtly.

  “Now’s the best time to drive,” said Kerfer as the planes flew off. “Everybody’ll be hunkered down.”