The Shadow of Arms (62 page)

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.