The Zenith (77 page)

Another comments to the group: “I say this—and I hope you don’t think I am superstitious. I don’t believe that our commander is alive. At six o’clock this morning when I woke up, I heard lots of vultures croaking on the mountain. Ever since Thang’s troops stepped on mines, did you ever hear the vultures in such a ruckus?”

“Right,” says another. “I also heard them, and the sound gave me goose bumps. At that time, it was barely light, and yet the vultures were out in great numbers. This must mean that they have found their food. Their cries come from the direction of Beak Mountain. That’s where the stream runs into the Nam Khuot River.”

The deputy division commander turns to his staff aide: “Comrade, tell us how much time it would take from here to there.”

“Around twenty minutes by helicopter,” the aide replies. “But a walk through the woods would take at least five days minimum. From where we are stationed to the Nam Khuot River there are no blazed trails through the woods, nor is there a road going through our encampment. Following the stream is also out of the question since the part of it right below us, less than two hundred meters down the mountain, becomes a rocky cliff that is
exactly like Death Mountain on the other side. There is only one way, and that is by following the trail used by the Van Kieu people. And that trail would take no less than five full days,. The vulture cries that you heard could not possibly have come from the Nam Khuot River. It’s three kilometers away, and no bird cries can be heard from such a distance. I suspect, however, that these vultures once they find a carcass may have a way of telling one another, of communicating by crying that way. It may be a way to call the others to come.”

“I think so, too. Our military staff assistant’s analysis is entirely reasonable,” agrees the commander of Battalion 2. He then turns to the deputy division commander and asks: “Do you think we can find a helicopter?”

The deputy shakes his head. “Our battle zone has never been granted such a favor. Even in the Peacock Hill battle, when our wounded were in the hundreds and lying all over, we could not get a helicopter, so how could we in this case?”

“Does the general staff think we are rear-echelon soldiers?” retorts the commander of Battalion 2.

“Not quite rear-echelon, still deep inside Laos. But the Lao front is understood to be less dangerous than other fronts in the south where the Americans are. Did you forget what Senior General Dong said the other day?” the deputy commander replied.

After a long moment of silence, Nha suddenly says, “Should we send someone down toward Nam Khuot River to find out? At any rate, we must do our very best. That way, we won’t have regrets later on.”

“Are you dreaming?” The deputy division commander gives Nha an unhappy look.

Nha is still uncertain how to respond when the commander of Battalion 2 turns around, taps on his shoulder, and says:

“Man, where is your head? Is it up there in heaven or down in the sea? All it takes is from now until this evening. There won’t be a piece of skin left. Did you not see what happened when Thang’s soldiers ran into the minefield? Eighteen guys altogether and yet it took the vultures only two days to clean them out.”

An watches Nha shudder. Nha then tries his best to regain his composure by putting his hands into his pockets and hanging his head. Normally the staff meeting is limited to battalion commanders, but because this is serious business, the deputy division commander has decided to open it up down to the level of company commanders. For the first time An has had a chance to observe his immediate superior at work. Clearly, Nha is somewhat less
sharp than the commanders of the other two battalions. Yet, his men’s prowess in battle has always been exceptional. Maybe it is a case of heaven favoring the simple ones. In fact, Nha looks more like a student than an army officer.

After a moment of silence, the deputy division commander declares: “I suggest that you all take turns to speak up. This is totally unexpected. I have spent several decades in the army, yet I don’t have enough experience to solve this. That’s why I have decided to get a collective opinion, and we will take collective responsibility for it.”

More silence.

Everyone looks at everyone else, as if calling for assistance or looking for sympathy. For everyone realizes that they are at a dead end. The deputy division commander takes out his tobacco pouch and begins to roll a cigarette. Other hands spread toward him. The tobacco pouch is passed around, each man taking a pinch and tearing off a piece of rolling paper. When the pouch comes back to its owner, there is left only one last pinch, enough for a second cigarette. Having finished the first one, the deputy division commander rolls another, then puts the pouch in his pants pocket.

The men smoke silently. After a while, the commander of Battalion 3, who had been mum from the beginning of the meeting, suddenly raises his hand:

“I have an idea.”

“Ah, the toad finally opens his mouth,” An thinks to himself.

“We’re listening,” the deputy division commander says.

“I think…” the Battalion 3 commander says, but then stops to take a sip of tea. Although anxious, everyone has to be patient, since he is known to be very deliberate and very sparing in his choice of words. He takes his time to drink his tea down. Then, he leisurely clears his voice before he goes on:

“I believe we have forgotten an important link in the chain. The Meo guy asked our division commander to go with him. Among us, Comrade Hoang An is the only one to have known him, but that was some fifteen years ago. During the following fifteen years, no one apparently can describe what he had done or was like. The information we get from Battalion 209 is minimal. Even that battalion itself was formed from two battalions under strength after severe losses in battle, and from a number of new recruits. This Meo company leader himself is part of the reinforcements from the north. Now, I assume…”

At that point, he slightly closes his eyes, as if watching the imagined scenes
in his mind. The whole group holds its breath in expectation. An wonders what is flashing behind those half-closed eyes. Then the battalion commander suddenly opens wide his eyes and peers at the deputy division commander.

“I am assuming that the company leader has struck a deal with the Meo king, Hoang Su Phi, a redoubtable enemy of the revolutionary forces before the liberation of the capital. I take it that he has a kinship relation with Hoang Su Phi or owes the latter a debt of gratitude. In which case he must entertain a very profound, deep-rooted enmity toward the revolution. It’s obvious, then, that he would take advantage of his kinship on the maternal side to take revenge. Comrades, you must not forget that we have had severe losses in the fight with the Meo king on the plateau of Dong Van at the northern border. Comrade Hoang An also knows that the Meo king’s troops are very experienced. Being natural mountaineers, they climb the rocky mountains or trees with ease, whereas our soldiers coming from the lowlands are not used to the cold up here and are unable to master this rough terrain. The Meo are fed well and learn to shoot at the age of ten. They are renowned to be sharpshooters who can hit their targets every time. Hoang Su Phi, being very rich, was able to equip his troops with more modern weapons than our troops could afford at the time. With all these advantages and superiority, they controlled all the one-way access roads, and from up in the mountains they could shoot down at our troops. We have thus lost I don’t know how many comrades that way. The victory on the Dong Van front had to be purchased at a very high price. I am recalling all this so that you can grasp the background behind this affair. Now, let us assume that this company leader Ma Ly is a descendant of Hoang Su Phi who has changed his name and surname to be able to infiltrate our ranks. Meeting with our division commander is the best opportunity for him to exact his revenge. He was thus able to eliminate a high-ranking officer of our army; he could smear his reputation as well. We have lived with him many years. No one could believe that he would be doing something indecent, especially in a difficult and strange situation like that. I believe that the Meo fellow referred to relations dear to the family of our division commander, then shot him surreptitiously. After that, he pulled off our commander’s pants and his own so as to leave the impression that they were having crazy sex. My hunch is that our commander is dead but that the other one is still alive and has gone into the woods. The whole thing must have been prepared carefully before he went into action. You should not forget that we, being ethnic lowlanders, are not familiar with the woods and the night,
which to us are a strange and fearful world. But with the Meo, they go into the forest as fish go back to the river.”

Everyone gasps in agreement.

“Of course!”

“It’s so simple yet no one had it figured out.”

“We all are in debt to you, Comrade. As they say without exaggeration, ‘When the frog opens its mouth, it’s well worth a listen.’”

All of a sudden everyone is talkative; now everyone can breathe. Every face is now at ease. In the end, they have found a way out. The opinion of the Battalion 3 commander is a light at the end of the tunnel. Not a single person contests his idea. The deputy division commander reaches across the table, taps his shoulder, and says:

“Marvelous!”

An looks around and secretly tells himself: “You Meo son of a bitch! In the end, you are the one marked as having changed names—not me. Now the sentence has been pronounced: you are the murderer. And so we end with the truth—that was the way it was.”

As an irony of fate, in his ear he can hear the lyrics of “The Wild Rooster”:

Right after the meeting, An returns to the underground bunker, slings himself down on the bed, and goes to sleep. Even at lunchtime he does not wake up. The deputy company commander comes and pulls him up.

“Are you sick? To the point of skipping your meals?”

“No, I am not, but I am extremely sleepy. It looks as if I’m going to catch malaria again.”

“Get up and have lunch. The kitchen says you have skipped breakfast this morning.”

“My tongue tastes bitter.”

“I have with me here some malaria prevention medicine for you. But you cannot take it unless you have a full belly.”

“Well then, I’ll try. Getting sick at this point will inconvenience everybody. Let’s go. Have you eaten?”

“I waited for you. Today the cooks found some wild vegetables. And there is some broth to go with them.”

“Are the guys in our company done eating?” An asks, then buttons up his shirt and walks out of the bunker.

His deputy follows him and answers lackadaisically: “After the meal the guys went back to their quarters to play cards or catch some sleep. They don’t have anything else to watch. Out at the stream, the on-duty guards have collected the material evidence and taken it to division headquarters.”

“Is that so…”

An bursts out laughing at the way his deputy has replied. He then asks another question: “Has the leadership given an explanation as to what happened?”

“Not enough time for them to come up with one. But the guys overheard things and already have a good idea. The information went from the division headquarters down to the battalions, then it went from the battalions down to the companies—just like an arrow.”

“That’s because we’re here in the forest.…What is there to divert them?”

“Yes, they had to wait a couple of years before they could have a night of entertainment. Who would have thought that with it would come a murder?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“I believe a hundred percent. They dare not say it but everyone believes it to be so. In the battlefield who can say he will sidestep the bullets? It’s the bullet that chooses its victim. If it were not for fate, how could it be that a bullet would hit this one and not another in that same place at the same moment?”

“Fate is something that exists and that doesn’t. For if people truly had a choice, they would never willingly take themselves to the battlefields to face arrows and bullets.”

“Ah, this question, if one were to trust the fortune-tellers, relates to the destiny of a nation, a common fate that belongs to a collective. The destiny of a nation turns on whoever leads it, not on ordinary soldiers or common people like us. In the old days, it depended on the king or emperor. Today, it turns on the president.”

“If you are right, then our president must have a truly rotten horoscope to have led our people into living deep in the jungles and forests like we do now.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that. Please, Comrade, don’t put things in my mouth,” the deputy company commander mumbles, his face turning pallid.

An reassures him: “Don’t be afraid. I am the one who said that, not you. Neither am I intelligent enough to raise such issues. I heard it from a
Vietnamese astrologer who has lived many, many years in Laos. I have merely repeated what he told me.”

“Yes,” the deputy replies and then, lowering his voice: “Do you know, I have heard one person say exactly the same thing. But he was not an astrologer, he was a historian.”