Bao Ninh - The Sorrow of War

‘Nothin’ for you to stay for,’ he said. ‘Her’n’me are friends.’

Kien shouted to Phuong, his voice angrily impotent, ‘Let’s go, go! The train’s here, Phuong, let’s go!’

The big man shoved Kien away from Phuong and calmly put his hands on her shoulders, grasping her firmly with his strong fingers.

‘Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ off. Is this filthy-looking bloke a friend of yours?’ he asked her.

Phuong nodded, not looking at Kien.

‘I see.’

The big man was about thirty years old. He had a large, square face, a moronic forehead, with a squat, fat nose and a thick chin, and he smiled with a cruel leer. He stared aggressively at them. Under the striped sailor’s T-shirt his hard muscles bulged.

‘I’d hoped you’d stay with me until Vinh. Otherwise I’ll be bored,’ he said, expecting sympathy. ‘What’s up? Don’t you fancy a bit from me? That’s not fair. I stopped those other turds lining up for you again. It’s my turn now. I’ve not had my turn. I want some reward.’

Kien stepped up to him, imploring him. ‘Let us go! We’ll miss our train.’

Just then the carriage rocked and the earth all round them shook. A series of deafening explosions rent the air. There was shouting from the station. The sailor shouted, ‘That’s a bombing raid, and A-A guns. We’ll all be killed!’

Kien grasped Phuong’s wrist again and made to jump. Jets shrieked overhead and anti-aircraft artillery pounded at them. Panic broke out, with people rushing all round the train and the station.

The sailor had calmed down a little. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he said with authority. ‘They’re attacking the Dragon Jaw Bridge. Stay here with me, darling. We’ll sleep and eat well in here. As for you, piss off if you’re scared. Go on, piss off!’ he shouted at Kien.

Kien tried once more to get Phuong to leave but the big man’s hand held her firmly.

‘If you’re scared, get out. There’s a fucking war on, y’know. If we have to die, then let’s die. Isn’t that right, darlin’? Stay here with me. Have pity on me, darlin’. With you gone the rest of the trip’s going to be ratshit,’ he shouted directly to her, over the roar of the battle.

Another squadron of American jets started to descend upon them. Kien screamed, ‘Let her go, leave her alone, damn you!’

Frustrated, he rushed at the big man, but the sailor had no trouble in pushing him away. Phuong stared at the two men, seemingly not taking anything of this in, even the sounds of the bombing and the A-A fire. She seemed in the sailor’s spell. She would not move towards Kien, or the door.

As Kien was picking himself off the floor the sailor leaned out of the door. ‘Shit! They’re targeting the train now. Come on little darlin’, out we go!’

Kien had fallen on something heavy, cold and flat. In his anger – and fear – he tried to get up, but fell back again, this time on top of the object. The sailor was dragging Phuong to the door to escape. A-A guns banged like huge drums, sub-machine-guns chattered and the jets screamed overhead.

He left the door and came back to Kien, putting out his hand to pull him up. ‘Be quick. What the hell are you doin’? We’ve got to get to the shelter. Listen, I was only going to screw her until Vinh. You could have had her back after that. Hell, you’re really soft. A little bourgeois softie, aren’t you?’

Kien got up, still holding the object, an iron bar, behind him. As he stood, the sailor stumbled, shouting as he fell.

The shout was drowned out by the screaming of a diving jet. Kien lifted the bar then brought it down with a crack on the sailor’s arm. As he was trying to get clear the sailor howled with pain. Kien went for him again, but the sailor shoved him away, and the movement caught Phuong’s attention. Kien struck again. Crack! The sailor whimpered with pain.

Phuong grabbed Kien’s wrist, yelling at him, but her voice was drowned out by the jets. Kien swung round, angry she should try to stop the attack; he was infuriated, surging with hatred and his face became deformed as he grabbed her and shouted, ‘Get away, you whore!’

Phuong’s move had given the sailor a breathing-space and he kicked out at Kien, delivering an incredible blow to the groin, which forced Kien to double up, and cry in agony. But he quickly recovered and attacked again, bashing ferociously at the man’s head, drawing blood that flowed as slippery as soap across him. The sailor didn’t move again. Kien, his hands bloodied, looked up as one of the jets strafed the carriage, ripping open the roof, blasting open their little hell.

Phuong, now kneeling near the door, had the look of a mad-woman. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed as he came over, the sailor’s blood dripping from his hands.

He wiped the blood on his trousers. ‘Stand up. We’re going,’ he said calmly and quietly.

He flung the door open wide, looked up into the sky and, seeing no aircraft, bent down and lifted her up, then dropped her outside. ‘Let me go,’ she shouted angrily. But she was already down and he was beside her.

The station had been razed, like a demolition site. Kien took hold of Phuong’s wrist and firmly led her over bent rail tracks and debris towards a path out.

They had not gone far when Kien dropped to the earth and pulled Phuong with him. ‘Down!’ he shouted, as a jet screamed in on a long dive, strafing the train. And among the tracer bullets he could detect something else; a silver napalm canister, glittering in the sunlight, its long shiny sides giving off a gleam, as it came in at horrifying speed. Then another, and another. They hit the engine and the station almost soundlessly. Kien saw a black cloud, then the air cracked like broken glass and the earth seemed to be heaving under them, then falling again. Then another raid, another bomb. Explosions punched into their faces and several times Kien was certain these were his last moments. Pressure waves shuddered through them as they lay there, helpless to defend themselves. Kien grasped Phuong’s hand and their cold, quivering fingers intermingled.

Swiftly, as though coming to her senses, Phuong rolled clear then jumped up and ran for the station. A break in the bombing allowed her to get clear of the lines safely, with Kien in hot pursuit. A breeze was carrying locomotive smoke into their faces. When the smoke cleared they saw the up-line train for Hanoi was still intact, and beginning to make a run for it away from the station, a locomotive at each end, one pulling, one pushing. In the foreground their own train, completely destroyed, was just a pile of smoking ashes.

‘Phuong!’ he shouted, taking hold of her.

She turned to him, her eyes burning with pain and bitterness. A pent-up scream began to surface, but no sound came.

The train sped up, heading north, but as it did so four A-A batteries started firing and Kien knew instinctively the jets were back. Phuong used the chance to rip herself clear of him and she ran off once again. And once again he ran her down, trapping her and deliberately landing on top of her to keep her pinned down.

Bomb after bomb exploded, darkening the day. One series behind them, one in front of them and one right on target, hitting the rear locomotive – a direct hit. It blew up with tremendous force and for a long time it rained burning charcoal and hot water. Another jet emerged from the cloudless sky and emptied its cannon into the railcars, setting most of them on fire. The next one was for them, thought Kien, already astounded they could have lived so long, through two bombing raids.

Kien hugged Phuong closely, despite her struggles. She fought crazily, like a woman possessed, and as the raid continued he lost his temper, pressing into the back of her neck and holding her in an armlock. Then he embedded his ten fingers deeply into the flesh of her shoulder to keep her down. They were both terrified now, numb, and gasping, like animals wrestling.