George Elford - Devil's Guard

When they reached the middle of a vital bridge, the passenger had suddenly pulled a pair of grenades, and, before the terrified troopers could do anything, he had dropped them into a narrow gap between the ammunition crates. Shrieking “Death to the French colonialists,” he had dived into the river. An instant later the truck exploded, destroying the bridge and a company of infantry moving alongside on the narrow gangway.

“Have you come far?” I asked the girl finally, to break the silence.

She did not turn but answered tiredly, “Yes, I have come a long way.”

No, she was not a country girl, I concluded. She could have been anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, and she was slender, almost fragile, despite the odd-looking overalls she wore. She looked childishly underdeveloped and was not very talkative.

“Where are you going?” Riedl inquired after a while.

“To Hanoi,” she replied, “if you will take me that far.”

“Have you been in Hanoi before?”

“Once—a long time ago,” she said with a persistent melancholy in her voice.

My cigarette was burning away and I reached for the ashtray. “Please don’t put it out,” she exclaimed, reaching for it.

“I am sorry,” I said somewhat puzzled, offering her my cigarette case and lighter. “I should have asked you if you wanted a cigarette.”

She accepted a cigarette. When she lighted it, I caught a glimpse of her hands. They were very small and slender but rough with broken fingernails and some scars of old cuts and bruises. They seemed to be the hands of a manual worker yet she was in no shape to do heavy labor. There was something strange about her. Her cultured way of talking contrasted with her appearance.

She inhaled the smoke deeply, then leaned back, resting her head on the back of the seat. “My name is Hans and my friend is Helmut.”

I got over the formalities.

“My name is Lin,” she said. “You are not Frenchmen, are you?”

“No, Lin—we are Germans,” I conceded, surprised.

“I have noticed that from your accent.”

“Indeed?”

“Uhm…”

“But you are not a native here either!”

“I am Chinese,” she stated.

“Sure, Lin. And if you are Chinese then we are Papuans.”

Riedl turned on his flashlight and calmly began to examine the girl’s face. Lin certainly possessed some Chinese features, especially her dark almond eyes but her face lacked the strong cheekbones, the roundness so common among Chinese women. Despite the poor light I could see that her face was heart-shaped and her skin almost white.

“My father was British,” she admitted finally. “I was born in Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong is not China but England,” I remarked. “But still I cannot see how you happen to be on the road between Lang Son and Hanoi.”

“Is it so important?” she asked.

“Quite important. For your information, you happened to be walking along a restricted area where the sentries shoot at anything that moves after sundown.”

“I must have been lucky,” said she.

“Rather!” She sighed. “My story is a long one.”

“We have a long way to go.”

She shifted her eyes toward me. “Are you the people the Chinese militia calls “Yang-Kou-Ce”—the White-Faced Devils?”

“Maybe, Lin.”

I shrugged. “We are not very popular with the Chinese militia.”

“I know that,” she stated firmly.

“How do you know that, Lin?”

“I am coming from China.”

“Without a visa, I presume.”

“I’ve been in a prison camp of the militia.”

She added tiredly, “For over a year.”

“How come?” Riedl cut in.

“They did not ask me whether I wanted to go. I was a prisoner of war, I suppose.”

“Did you fight them or something?”

“Me?” She turned sharply. “How old do you think I am?” I cast a glance at her, pushed the horn twice to signal halt, then pulled up to the roadside and switched on the small map light. Behind us the armored car ground to a halt. Leaning from the turret, Karl yelled, “Anything wrong, Hans?”

“Everything’s under control, Karl!” I shouted back. “Just a short break.”

“This is a helluva place to have your break,” he growled, sweeping an arm about the dark hills which loomed on either side of the road.

“We are overheating,” Riedl advised him.

“No wonder with such a cutie riding along,” Karl remarked in German. The men in the troop carrier laughed.

I turned the flexible lamp toward the girl. She kept looking at me without a tremor in her eyes. Only her brows arched slightly, as if questioning me on their own. Her lips, slightly apart, revealed small, pearl-like teeth. I surveyed Lin’s face almost minutely but found myself as confused as ever regarding her age. I saw wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, which seemed alien there, parasitic. Her face was frail, her eyes dark and bright. The meager rations in the Chinese camp had had their effects. In some ways she appeared only a child, then older again a moment later. Her dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders in waveless strands; she looked uncared-for indeed. Yet I had the feeling that once she must have been very pretty. The bow of her mouth was perfect. She had a prim little mouth, the sort which could relax in a bewitching smile or a kissable quirk. Properly dressed and cared for, she should have been attractive.

My eyes relaxed on her lips and I saw them curving down in a wry smile. Then she sighed and turned away. “I know it is hard to believe but I will be eighteen in September,” she announced quietly. My kindest estimate would have been that she was twenty-five.

I switched off the lamp and started the engine. For some time Lin sat staring into the darkness. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she spoke finally.

“Why should you lie to me, Lin?”

“I have no reason to lie to anyone!” She fascinated me. It might have been that quiet, persistent resignation in her voice, her sadness, her way of talking. I sensed some mystery beyond her enigmatic smile and wanted to know more about her.

It was past nine when we arrived at the outskirts of the city. I pulled up and asked Riedl to take over the jeep. “I am taking Lin to eat something,” I told him in German. I helped the girl to the pavement. Riedl slipped behind the wheel and handed the girl her bag.

“What’s in it, Lin?” I asked, reaching for the bag.

She handed it to me with a smile. “Just a few old clothes. No bombs.”

“Nothing valuable?”

“Nothing at all.”

I threw the bag into the open field. “Why did you do it?” she asked me. “I might need them.”

“Let me take care of what you need, Lin,” I said matter-of-factly and turned to Helmut. “I will be back by six.”

“Take care, Hans!”

“I will, don’t worry.”

I took a cab to Ba Dinh square, then we walked until I found the shops I wanted. Half an hour later Lin had a lovely, light-blue “Ao Dai” and a pair of matching shoes.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked and she blushed.

“Satisfied? I don’t really know what to say.”

“What have you eaten today?”

“Not very much,” she admitted reluctantly. “I wouldn’t mind a sandwich or something.”

I took her to a small restaurant. At the entrance she stopped and asked me with concern, “Won’t I embarrass you?”

“Embarrass me? Why?”

“I am… not very… clean.”

“They have a ladies” room and we have time.”

Lin took her time but when she returned a good half an hour later, she looked much younger indeed and she was beautiful. “Do I look a bit more acceptable?” she asked turning on her heels childishly.

“Acceptable, Lin? You look smashing!”