Two Peasants and a President (63 page)

“You may go.”

Then, as the officer turned his attention to the van, its passenger door opened, and a soldier with a Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder stepped out, saluting sharply.  The officer until now had not noticed the dull green un
i
forms in the dark cab of the van.  The sight of a weapon prompted h
im to
glance briefly over his shoulder toward the heavy machinegun now aimed at the soldier in front of him. 

“Why are you traveling in that van, Corporal?” the officer demanded.

“Transporting prisoners, Sir,” the soldier rep
lied.  “The tires on our truck
were flattened and we commandeered this van.  Respectfully request that you assist us in escorting the prisoners into Beijing, Sir.  These are the ones they have been looking for.”

The officer motioned his driver to get out of the jeep to assist him.

“Open the back,” the officer demanded, “Carefully!”  The soldier driving the van stepped out, keys in hand, and went to the back of the van where he unlocked the doors and swung them open while the corporal kept his Kalashnikov leveled at the Americans, reinforcing their status as prisoners.  

The officer and his driver moved cautiously behind the van where they could see four Americans sitting on the floor, hands apparently cuffed behind them, looking very much like subdued prisoners. 

“These are the Americans they have been looking for,” the corporal said.  “We are relieved that you can now take charge of them.”

The officer smiled, realizing he had just been handed a serendipitous gift. The capture of the most wanted men in China, for which he would now take credit, doubtless would result in a promotion and perhaps even a better apartment for his family.

“The People’s Republic is greatly indebted to you, corporal.  You will be handsomely rewarded,” he lied as he turned to see the Kalashnikov now pointed at his chest.

“Do not move, either one of you, or you will not live to see your fam
i
lies,” the corporal said menacingly.  “Remove your side arms slowly and place them on the floor of the van.  Do not attempt to move from behind the van so the soldier with the machinegun can see you.  If you do, you will be shot.”

The officer’s imperious demeanor evaporated when he found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle with whose capabilities he was quite familiar.  He laid his pistol on the floor of the van and nodded to his driver to do the same. 

“Now, listen very carefully,” the corporal continued.  “I’m going to return to the jeep with you where I will sit in the rear seat with my gun pointed at your back.  You will order the tank crews to form up with you in front, followed by the van, and the tanks bringing up the rear.  You will continue to lead your armored convoy as before, but this time according to my instru
c
tions.” 

The machine gunner was surprised to see that soldiers ha
d been driving the
delivery van, but saw little cause for alarm.  From his position ahead and to the right on the shoulder of the highway, he could see nothing on either the left side or directly behind the van with its back doors open.  He watched as
one of the soldiers got back in the driver’s seat of the van and the other fo
l
lowed the officer to the jeep.  Then his radio crackled with the familiar voice of his officer ordering the tanks to escort the van, for reasons he did not e
x
plain. 

Jun had continued on the rural road for a quarter mile before pulling over.  The worst case scenario was now reality; the Americans had been captured along with the defectors who would be tortured and would implicate him and others.  His mind was struggling to find some course of action when his phone rang.

“Hey, Jun buddy, you still there?” It was Jim.  “We’ve got ourselves a military escort now.”

“Why are you calling me if you’re under arrest?” Jun asked incred
u
lously.

“Who said anything about arrest?” Jim replied.  Corporal
Sheng’s
in the back seat of the jeep with a gun aimed at that officer.  The tanks have been ordered to escort us.  Now we need you to scout ahead and tell us what you see.”

“Where are you?” Jun asked.

“We just pulled onto the highway heading northwest.”

“I’ll try to find a way to get back on the highway somewhere up ahead.  I’ll call you then.”

Through a pair of small windows in the back doors of the van, the Seals could see the head of the tank’s driver protruding from his hatch, directly below the barrel of the main gun.  Both the turret and the drivers position in the T-99 closely resemble that of the American Abrams tank, but then many Chinese and Russian weapons systems resemble their American counterparts, from which they are often copied.  Except during combat, when the tank would be fully ‘buttoned-up
,’
this position allows the driver at least a fair view of what is in front of the massive fifty-four ton machine.

While the tank driver sat quite low in the hull and could not see into the back of the van ahead, he had a clear view of its rear doors.  In the tank turret was a soldier who could fire its coaxial machinegun, which is next to the barrel of the main gun and could quickly turn the van into scrap metal, should he be ordered to do so.  For that reason, the soldier manning the machine gun on top of the turret had resumed his seat inside and closed the hatch against Molotov cocktails, which were increasingly being employed as the gover
n
ment called out more of its tanks.  No one in either tank had been informed they were escorting prisoners and as far as they knew, there could be other soldiers in the van, or perhaps even officers traveling incognito to avoid being attacked by the mobs.  For this reason the driver concerned himself with
keeping his fifty-four ton machine on the road.

The astonished Seals now found themselves with a most unlikely e
s
cort, one they hoped would allow them to pass unchallenged through roa
d
blocks.  But the fact that their convoy was under the control of one who, while a defector, was a Chinese soldier who could conceivably experience regret and strike a deal with the officer in the jeep, troubled them.  However, he had shown himself to be both resourceful and convincing thus far, and they had no choice but to trust him, at least for the time being.  But at some point in the very near future, they would need to lose their armored escort
;
how no one had yet determined, so the unlikely convoy continued northwest toward Beijing. 

Less than a week ago,
Sheng
Guangzu
had been an army corporal based at the Beijing garrison.  Now he sat in the backseat of an army jeep with a gun in one hand and a compact satellite phone borrowed from one of the Seals in the other.  Having been pressured by circumstance to join the army, he had not found the brutal way enlisted men are treated to his liking.  Studying history was his first love, something he had inherited from his parents whose level of education brought them considerable grief during the Cultural Revolution.  They had both died before their time, primarily the result of the treatment they had received in their youth from the Red Guards.

Ironically, Corporal
Sheng
had only risen to the rank of corporal b
e
cause he had more education than the other privates, something more highly valued now than in the time of Mao and the Red Guards.  But in the eyes of the officers, corporals and privates comprise a lower class suited only for menial and dangerous jobs, of which the army has many.  They are unive
r
sally despised and disrespected, not only in the army but even by the merchant class who themselves have historically occupied a low stratum in Chinese society.  

So Corporal
Sheng
kept his feelings to himself and shared little about his past with his fellow soldiers for fear of being ridiculed.  His was not a happy lot, but it was nevertheless one that would have been envied by many a peasant in China’s long and troubled history.  At least he had plenty to eat and a dry place to sleep at night.  He had allowed his mind to wander back in time when the officer’s voice intruded. 

“Why are you doing this, corporal?  It will not end well for you; you know that, don’t you?”

“Shut up!”
Sheng
spat out, surprised at hearing such words come out of his own mouth, then belatedly realizing that it had felt rather good to treat this pig officer as he had so often been treated. 

“It’s not too late,” the officer persisted, hoping to persuade the corporal
to change his mind.

“You’re right,”
Sheng
answered, “It’s not to late for you and your driver to join our movement and bring democracy to our country.  Know this: a tyrant whose p
eople hate him will not survive.  S
ooner or later
,
he will be replaced and you would do well to be on the winning team.”

“You will not live to see it,” replied the officer.

“And you will precede me in death if you do not do exactly as you are told.  I have nothing to lose now.  You and your driver would do well to remember that.” 

Sheng
thought back to what he had been promised by the Seals: a new life in the United States.  He hoped the Americans had not deceived him, but regardless, he had already made his fateful decision on the day when the convoy was attacked.  The sheer audacity of attacking with bows and arrows an army convoy armed with assault rifles!  It was a stupendous gesture of unbridled courage by young people yearning for the right to speak and to be heard, and it had filled his heart with a joy he had not experienced since he entered the army.  The decision to join them had been spontaneous. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of the phone.

“Hello,” he said, realizing he would now need to communicate in English, something he had done infrequently since school.

“Ask the officer what his orders were before he stopped back there,” said Jim. This
Sheng
did.

“He says he was ordered to form a roadblock at an intersection in Be
i
jing.” 

“Where?” asked the Seal.

“It’s just outside the 3
rd
Outer Ring, in northeast Beijing,” he says.

“Do you know how long it will take to get there?”

“About thirty minutes, I think,” replied
Sheng
. 

The Seals conferred in the back of the delivery van.  In the jeep, the officer’s radio crackled.

“Give it to me!” ordered
Sheng
.

The officer handed it across the seat.

“Yes,” answered
Sheng
, trying to speak with the authority of an officer and at the same time elevating the muzzle of his Kalashnikov slightly, lest those in the front seat be tempted to speak up. 

“We have been delayed by the capture of important prisoners and will be forced to detour to take them to headquarters.  You will need to assign someone else to the intersection.”

“We have been ordered to take them directly and not to turn them over to anyone else,”
Sheng
responded when questioned.  “Their identity is not
your concern!”

Sheng
could not detect in the voice of the person on the other end any hint that he had been expecting someone else to answer his radio call.  He had offered neither his name nor rank but had sounded like an enlisted man calling on behalf of an officer. 
Sheng
had spoken to him as would a superior officer and, as far as he could tell, it had worked, at least for the moment.

He now hoped they would not be expected to show up at the interse
c
tion to set up a roadblock.  It did not escape his attention, however, that what he had said would likely be reported to others whose response could not be predicted, and he dreaded the likelihood that the radio would soon crackle again, this time with the voice of an officer demanding to know what was going on. 

Without revealing any destination, he ordered the driver to take the next exit, one that would take them closer to the American embassy.  In the back of the van, Jim was updating the CIA
s
tation
c
hief.

“Norwood.”  

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an escort,” said Jim.

“Would you care to elaborate?” the station chief replied.
 
“We were stopped by a jeep and a couple of T-99’s.  One of the defectors is now riding in the backseat of the jeep with a gun pointed at the driver and the officer in the front seat.  At this point, we’re in control of our escort.  I don’t think the tankers even realize who’s in the back of the van.  There was silence on the other end as Norwood processed what he had just heard.

“Are you telling me you captured two tanks and a jeep?” he finally said.

“Yeah, more or less.  We’re hoping they’ll get us through the roa
d
blocks.”