The Shadow of Arms (59 page)

“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.”