No, the strangers, Nguyen stopped and corrected himself, the cadres for that is what they obviously were, should have told harmless, believable stories while listening to what the villagers complained about. They should have told funny stories that made people laugh, about how foolish administrators got tricked by wise peasants, how rich arrogant people got cut down to size by shrewd workers. Then, when they came back, they could have stories that built on and amplified the real grievances the villagers had. Stories that people would have believed because the earlier ones had been true.
But, no, they'd ruined it and they'd been too self-absorbed to even notice how the atmosphere around them had changed. Nguyen had been worried when the strangers had attacked the King, that was a really good way to start something ugly, but the villagers had held their tempers. If the strangers had known their business, they would have praised the King but sadly added that sometimes his advisors mislead him. Whoever had trained these two had done so very badly. They'd read the books and read the words but they hadn't understood them. They'd read the theories of Mao but hadn't absorbed the realities and wisdom beneath them. That sounded like the Japanese.
Eventually, the two cadres left, probably to repeat their lamentable performance at the next village. “What should we do Khun Phong?” The village headman was now showing his worry and anger. It was happening again, strangers meant trouble.
“We should finish our party and forget those boring, ill-mannered barbarians who would spoil it. But first we should report their arrival here to the Tambon.” That brought nods from everybody. Making a report would do no harm and if the other villages reported and they did not, questions might be asked. “And we should keep a watch out. Strangers mean trouble”
Again everybody nodded. Nguyen was pleased that he was accepted now, these were good people and he owed them. They'd taken him in even though there were centuries of rivalry between Thais and Vietnamese. Nguyen had tried to escape from Vietnam with his family when the Japanese occupation force had started to grind down hard. They'd fled through the jungle south and east, hoping to cross the Mekong and find refuge. But it was hard trip and evading the Japanese patrols was harder. His father and mother were suffering badly from lack of food and exhaustion. They were trying to persuade the others to leave them behind when soldiers found them.
At first Nguyen had thought they were Japanese and had almost cried with despair but they had green uniforms, not khaki and carried short, stubby rifles with long curved magazines, Russian-made AK-47s not the Arisakas the Japanese used. They were Thai troops, sent in to find escaping refugees and bring them to safety. They'd brought Nguyen's family out, treated their wounds and taken them to a refugee camp where they had been given food and shelter. Then, Nguyen had been interviewed by some Thai soldiers. When they'd found out who he was and what training he'd had, they were replaced by much more senior people, who had talked with him long into the night. Friendly talk with good beer and good food.
Then, one day, he and his family had been taken to a derelict farm in Cambodia. In the part the Thais called “the recovered provinces”. Their guide had told them that French policies had caused the rural population to fall and many such farms were abandoned. But they were on good land, rich land. The farm could support a family that worked hard - and everybody knew the Vietnamese could work hard. If Nguyen's family wanted this farm, they could have it. They would have to stand on their own feet but they could work it and improve it. One day, when Vietnam was free again, they could chose, stay here or go back to their own farm in Vietnam. Do the former and they could keep the farm, choose to go back and the Government would pay them for the improvements they had made and give it to other refugees who needed a start. Then the guide had asked Phong Nguyen, “would you do something for us?”
“What?” he'd asked. The guide had explained the need for those with certain special skills to go to villages along the Burmese border, to help them defend themselves. Nguyen had those skills, would he go? The guide had hastily explained, this was not connected with the farm, his family could have that whether he decided to go or not. But his help was needed.
There hadn't been a question really, he couldn't say no. If the request had been a price for the farm he might have, but the farm had been a gift. One that had put him in a debt of honor, and such debts must be paid. So his family settled into the farm and started to rebuild it. His brothers and their wives put up a new house, other family members started to clear the land and plant crops. A European with a strange accent came one day and brought them a male buffalo and two females. “A present from Oz' he'd described them. Oz, they'd found out, was Australia. A country far away, but one that was a good friend. Phong Nguyen had stayed for a few weeks, seen the start of the derelict farm getting back on its feet and then left for his new village. And that was how Phong Nguyen, once a Senior Political Cadre in the Viet Minh and a personal student of the great Vo Nguyen Giap, had become a chicken fanner in Ban Rom Phuoc and commander of the village's Tahan Pran militia unit.
Captain’s Bridge, INS Hood, Mumbai
Captain Jim Ladone was proud of his ship. Old, she might be, and certainly she'd seen better days, but she was still The Mighty 'Ood, once the pride of the Royal Navy and now flagship of the Indian Navy. For a ship forty years old, she wasn't in that bad condition. After the Great Escape back in 1942, she'd found her way to Singapore and then she'd been refitted and modernized. New anti-aircraft guns, radar, and a desperately needed machinery rebuild. Yet she still looked like the ship that had been the showpiece of the Royal Navy in the 1930s.
Even so, he knew her day was done. This was her last commission, even in the reduced role of training ship. Soon, she would be withdrawn from service and sent to the breakers like Repulse and Renown before her. There was little room for battleships in today's world and the crew needed to run Hood were assigned to the two ex-American Essex class carriers that had just been purchased.
Carriers ruled the sea now, but they didn't look the part. There, Hood still had them, her beautiful lines unsullied by the modernization work on her. But she wouldn't last ten minutes against air attack and Ladone knew it. Nor, in truth, was she really capable of taking on a Second World War battleship. Any of the American battleships could deal with her let alone the Japanese monsters. Ah well, to the task at hand. It was the annual Midshipmen's training cruise. Across the Pacific to Australia, port visits to Melbourne and Sydney, then over to San Diego and San Francisco, back across the Pacific to Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. Port visit to Thailand and then back home and the scrap yard.
India's burgeoning heavy industries needed the scrap steel so The Mighty 'Ood would have to go. Ladone ran his eyes down the manifest. Full load of 15 inch ammunition for his guns, they didn't really need that but a battleship without ammunition wasn't a real ship any more. Anyway, he had the last 15 inch guns in the world, might as well have some practice with them before they were silenced forever.