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?”