Nam

[Viridian]

Tan Son Nhat International Airport was a short distance away from Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon. Before the Communists overran the city in 1975, it was the capital of South Vietnam. State-side, the name was synonymous with the unpopular “police action” fought against North Vietnam; a conflict known in this country as the “American War”. It was the reason why I had returned to the country thirty years after the war ended.

I’d been overseas a few times before, and it wasn’t my first time in Asia. Vietnam, however, felt differently. Maybe it was because I’d never been to Indonesia, Thailand or other south-east Asian countries. The first thing I noticed was that it was hot. Not the summer’s day kind of hot; I mean the humid, sweaty hot. A few contacts had warned me about what to expect, namely the heat, the crowded streets and the pollution. At the moment, I was experiencing plenty of the first. I soon got caught in the second as I travelled by taxi from the airport. The driver spoke no English and could barely make out the handwritten note that contained the address I wanted to go to. Cars weren’t as frequent on the streets of Saigon; most commuters used motorcycles. It seemed that to earn a driver’s license in Vietnam, you had to know how to make the most use of your horn. I swear that my driver used the horn more than the indicators.

When I reached my destination, I handed a note to the driver. The Vietnamese dong had more zeroes on each note than my entire bank account. I gave the driver a pat on the shoulder for his brave work. He opened the boot and helped carry my bags. I insisted on carrying them myself, but upon seeing the apartment complex, it was a good idea that he showed me which unit I was supposed to head to. He left me at Number 10A, smiling modestly as he waved away another note I was offering. I watched him returned to his car just in time to get another passenger from a nearby apartment.

Moments later, I got my first encounter with my contact. Quynh Nhu Le, or Tina, as she preferred, lived by herself in the apartment. She was finishing up a shower when I rung her doorbell. She was wearing a white t-shirt with a tourist print. Her black hair was in thick wet strands over her shoulders; the shirt was partially soaked from her wet body, easily revealing her large dark nipples through the thin fabric. She held a small towel around her waist. Shocked at my presence, she jumped back to cover her chest, accidentally dropping her towel in the process. I bent down to retrieve the towel.

I was suddenly aware that Tina didn’t know who I was, and I must have appeared to be some bumbling white American stranger walking into her room while she was half-naked. She was stunned for a moment before she spotted the dog tag around my neck. Blushing, she took the towel gently from my extended hand and bashfully invited me inside while she slipped on a pair of loose black pants. We sat at a table in the kitchen, sipping cups of hot tea.

“I didn’t expect you to come so soon, Brandon,” said Tina. Her English was fluent with a slight New York accent. Her face was small and round with a natural shine over her cheeks. She was small and slender with a full chest. She appeared not to mind too much about not wearing a bra. Not wanting to look too sleazy, I kept my gaze straight at her eyes as she spoke. I fingered the identification tags around my neck mindlessly.

“My father knew your brother,” she continued. “During the war.”

“I received these in the mail when I was just a baby,” I said, glancing at the metal tags. Though I cleaned them frequently, the tags always felt dirty. Bringing them back to Vietnam felt ironic in a dark way. “Mum didn’t take it well. Dad was already in jail. He killed himself shortly afterwards. Michael was the son he always wanted. Mike joined the army because Dad encouraged him to be the best. To find out that he had been killed in action in a country on the other side of the world was too much.”

Tina nodded. “My father survived the war, but he was in poor health. When he died, he left behind a letter. My mother forgot all about it when we moved to Ho Chi Minh City. I found it recently. My father was a modest man and had few possessions. He was a prisoner of the communists for a long time.

“In his letter, he left instructions. He wrote down the name Michael Higgins and an address in the United States. You see, my father left something behind, but he didn’t say what it was. He only said that it had to go to Michael Higgins’s family.”

“I received your letter,” I said. “But I’m not sure how I can be of help. Everything Michael would have known died with him.”

Tina shook her head. “He said that it was something only you could know. He left instructions on where to look. We’ll be taking a coach up into the country where he fought. Our search begins tomorrow. As his only daughter, it is only right that I carry through his last wish.”

* * *

Tina’s apartment was tiny compared to American standards. It was basically one room sectioned into three with a toilet/shower at the back. Tina slept on a mattress in one room. She gave me a pillow and blankets and offered her mattress while she slept on the floor, despite my Insistence. I was jet lagged and had the sense of awe and confusion you get when you travel to another country. The sounds and smells of Saigon were unlike anything I had seen before. Perhaps it was the pollution part I was warned about. I found it easier to sleep on the coach, which took a long, bumpy road to a place I had never heard of somewhere in the highlands north of Saigon. The scenery, at least the bits that I saw, was idyllic and peaceful. It was difficult to imagine that not so long ago, this part of the country was at the mercy of American bombers.

Tina woke me up. The coach was empty. Tina commented that the sight of a sleeping American was an attraction to the locals. She escorted me off the bus and we were greeted by a young man in uniform. Surprisingly, he followed us.

“Who’s he?” I whispered to Tina.

“His name is Minh,” she answered. “He’s the political officer.”

She explained that because we were in an area that had “important military and political significance”, the authorities were obliged to send a representative to supervise the expedition and ensure our safety. Something about the way she phrased her words made it blatantly obvious that Minh was going to be more of a hindrance than a help.

“Hey, you from America?” the young officer asked. “You like Rambo?”

I eyed him with suspicion. He was doing the same for me. I was, after all, wearing army surplus fatigues while he was in his clean dress uniform. It was like opposite sides of the war meeting again after several decades. He had a permanent smile on his face – the sort that really freaked you out because you could never tell what he meant whenever he spoke. It seemed to me that all he knew about the States was Rambo. To emphasise his vast knowledge, he would often punctuate his remarks with pistol finger-gestures accompanied by an obnoxious bang-bang-bang.

Minh was more than just an annoyance. Our trek through the jungle, as Tina explained to me, was in search of a tunnel complex used by the Viet Cong during the war. I was roughly familiar with the concept. Cunning and resourceful, the Viet Cong brought their operations underground to elude the Americans, who would often build headquarters right above the VC tunnels without any clue of what was going on beneath the surface. The fighters were able to exploit their control of terrain by staging ambushes and popping off the occasional GI before disappearing into the undergrowth. Minh, being the patriot he was, spared every moment to tell stories of the exploits of those who fought for Uncle Ho.

“Not like Rambo,” he smiled. Bang-bang-bang.

I could tell he was a sneaky one. He was making a show of pointing out signs of tunnels and lecturing about them, repeating the same speeches that his superiors probably drilled into him. Even I knew that all the sights he was pointing out were just facades. The real tunnels were off limits. If we were to find our tunnel, we’d have to find out how to lose Minh. He was a smart one, though I could never tell whether he was looking out for himself or following orders from above. Anything that looked like a good clue was coincidentally “government property”. The only thing left for us was an overgrown, muddy path.

“Is that out of bounds too?” I asked, not trying too hard to mask my irritation.

“Oh, no, that fine,” Minh replied in his friendliest tone yet. “You find nothing there. You go look if you want. I go take a shit. Bang bang bang, you know?”

Tina and I looked at each other. “He probably didn’t want to get dirty,” she reasoned. It was good enough for me. I wanted out of the jungle, and the only way I was going to be satisfied was to find whatever Michael left for me.

To say the path was muddy was a gross understatement. It was almost swamp-like. The mud was thick and sucking. Even being calf-deep in the muck made it ridiculously difficult to move. I was beginning to see why Minh didn’t want to get his greens dirty, and the notion that he might be right about not finding anything here seemed more appealing. My boots were troublesome as I was knee-deep in the muck, struggling to get my legs free. Meanwhile, sensing my difficulty, Tina went around finding an easier route. She stepped on a section of dried mud only to step right through the thin crust into the dense, warm morass underneath. She plunged past her knees, and continued to sink as the mud undulated around her.

“Ugh,” she grunted. “Brandon, I need some help!”

I was up to my thighs as well and paused to gather my thoughts. “It could be quicksand,” I cautioned. “Don’t struggle too much. You’ll sink faster. See if you can grab something.”

I was aware that quicksand didn’t actually suck anything down. However, a soldier carrying a standard load would easily get pulled under. I quickly removed my pack and flung it aside. I thought for a moment that I could have used the pack for something, but the notion of using the rope as a lasso was a fantasy that I didn’t trust my life in. I had softened the mud on my side somewhat, and I continued to work on scooping large handfuls from my left side until I could cleanly lift it above the surface. I leaned forward to spread my weight out and began scooping away at my right leg. It was slow and tiring work, requiring patience and nerves.

Tina went against my advice and was trying to emulate my movements. Unfortunately, she was already mired too deep and her efforts were worsening her predicament. She quickly sank to her hips got her arms stuck many times, each time causing her to sink deeper as she pulled them free. She looked with horror as the mud shook with every movement, sucking more of her body in every second. She leaned forward, reaching for a bunch of reeds, burying her breasts as she gripped the slender stalks. The reeds came apart in her hands without any resistance, leaving her dangerously unbalanced and sinking forwards. Tina desperately shoved her arms into the sucking mud to keep her head from becoming submerged.

“Lay on your back!” I shouted. I was on my side, shuffling over the bog’s surface toward solid ground. I still had to work my way free before I could help Tina.

Tina complied, but her struggling already made her situation perilous. She rested her back on the mud, which steadily sagged and gave way beneath her. With her lower body trapped and her upper body also being pulled down, she hadn’t much time before she succumbed to its relentless assault. By the time I got myself free, all that was left of her above the surface was her face and breasts. I hurried over to my pack and grabbed the coil of rope I ignored earlier.

“Tina! Turn your body to face me. Slowly!”

Tina gawked at the command. She’d practically be swallowing mud if she did that. She had no choice in the matter – she was so deep, she couldn’t get her torso back up. The only way out was to turn around and slide out. I tossed the rope out for her to hang onto. It was an even tougher fight to get Tina out of that bog. She held her breath and kept her mouth shut as the mud crested over her shoulders. At least she was in a near-horizontal position, which reduced the drag on her body. The rope slipped through her muddy hands and slapped me in the face. Tina cried out, now floundering up to her armpits. I threw the rope to her again.

“Tie it around yourself!” I shouted.

Her hands fumbled with the rope, struggling to get it around her chest. She was up to her neck before she was able to secure it. As soon as she gave a tug, I pulled hard. Soon she was able to extend a slimy hand towards me. I pulled her to safety and collapsed beside her. We were barely distinguishable underneath our mud-caked clothing. I didn’t even realise she had lost her pants in the quicksand until after we got ourselves partially cleaned up back at the stream. Bare from the waist down, she was grateful when I offered her my shirt, which she tied around her waist to cover her exposed parts.

Minh had an amused look on his face when we rejoined him. “Ah, you had a little fall, I see. You rescue her? Big man Rambo. Maybe she give you bang bang bang?”

“Hey Minh,” I said. Before he could reply, I smashed him in the face with my fist. He hit the ground cold.

Tina looked at me wide-eyed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Look,” I said, “we’re not getting anywhere and this guy’s making a joke out of it. I reckon we had the right idea all along. Let’s go back to where the real tunnels are instead of walking around in the swamp. No one makes tunnels in quicksand.”

“What about him?” Tina asked, pointing at the unconscious officer.

“We’ll tell him he got bitten on the arse by an insect while he was taking a shit.”

Up until now, Tina had been in charge of our expedition. It was, after all, her country, and while she didn’t know the area, she at least had some familiarity with the setting. I knew all along that Minh was going to be a pain in the arse. I had been taking note of everything I had seen along the way and I was pretty certain of what I was looking for. I wasn’t screwing around now. I could piss on “government property” – and I did. Afterward, while we were backtracking, I pointed out something off the beaten path.

“Minh was deliberately avoiding this path. There’s something here. I know it.”

“But there’s nothing,” Tina protested. “Look, we have to get Minh…”

I wasn’t listening. I was sweeping the leaves off the ground with my feet, trying to find the clue that would lead us to the tunnel. It could have taken us all day, but luck was with me. Completely covered by dead vegetation was the stone “hatch” used to access the tunnel network. I had seen ones like this elsewhere – barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Only the smallest soldiers, without anything other than a torch and a pistol, could get inside. They were the tunnel rats, and Michael was one of them. I was already beginning to make the connections in my mind. I rummaged through my pack to get my torch – the same angled model that my brother would have used. I passed to Tina. She handed it back.

“You go first,” she said.

“You’re smaller; it’s much easier for you.”

“I’m scared of the dark.”

“You’ve got the torch.”

“I’m not wearing any pants.”

“You…” I stopped. She did have a point. Appreciating the irony of going into the same tunnel Michael might have crept through thirty years ago, I spent a minute preparing myself for my ordeal. Leaving my pack behind, I squeezed into the narrow opening, turned on the torch, and crawled. Tina squeezed in behind me and we both shuffled uneasily through the narrow tunnel.

It felt like hours. It was unimaginable for someone to make a tunnel this long and this small. The air was foul, forcing me to take short breaths as I inched ahead on my stomach. The dry earth scratched my exposed skin. I could smell some sort of dead rodent.

The tunnel joined onto another tunnel, this time much wider. I was able to move like a hunchback, veering towards the lower end of the tunnel. The claustrophobic walls were making me sick. I soon came upon a wide chamber. It was empty apart from a wooden stool. Seeing that made me resolved that there was more to this network. It was incredible to see this all first hand. One could only wonder what it might have been like thirty years ago, when entirely families were living in these tunnels for months.

Exploration uncovered more surprises. The tunnel was quite well constructed. The wooden beams supporting the ceiling were still intact and in relatively good condition. Not much remained in terms of equipment, but it was easy to tell what each room might have been used for. There were remains of sleeping quarters, classrooms, even a makeshift hospital. Organic remains had long been consumed by time and rats, leaving behind dull rusted metal bits.

At one point part of the tunnel collapsed while Tina was crawling through. I helped her through by digging around her torso and pulling her out. She was a reasonable C-cup size, which naturally helped in getting a “handhold”. Tina’s shirt had been shredded by the rough soil and roots, exposing her midriff and leaving just enough material to cover her breasts. Fortunately for Tina, the tunnels opened up until we came across a ladder leading up. Eager for fresh air, I ascended and shoved the cover aside, taking in a large breath. I heaved Tina up to join me. We took a minute to rest our aching bodies.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked.

It looked like something straight out of Apocalypse Now. There was a wide path, only partially overgrown despite the lack of maintenance, leading deeper into the jungle. Tina was oddly quiet. She indicated that I should take the lead. Deeper I went. The forest here felt untouched and unvisited for decades. It was too clean to be natural, but there was nothing to betray the presence of humans. The path came to an end at a small clearing surrounded by dense vegetation. At first I couldn’t recognise the object stuck in the ground. As I wiped the sweat from my eyes, I realised that it was an unloaded M14 rifle. Untouched for thirty years.

“Your brother was captured by the Viet Cong,” Tina began to speak. “My father was one of those who ambushed his squad. Your brother was tortured. He died in captivity. My father took his possessions and buried the body here.”

I stared at the rifle. Many soldiers were buried where they were slain; their resting places marked by their weapons and identified by their dog tags. This grave had no identification. I removed my brother’s dog tags from around my neck and placed them over the rifle. I left the burial site without saying anything. I saw what I needed to see. It was clear that Tina knew this all along through whatever correspondence her father had left. I understood why she held out until I had seen Michael’s grave. I gave her a silent nod of approval.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s check on Minh’s insect bite.”

[PM2K]

Cool! Nicely written, and a unique take on the qs genre. Bravo!

[YerKiddin]

Fun story! (hard not to enjoy a story where the attractive woman finds a way to wind up naked!)