Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

Once the bombardment was over, the helicopter gunships went aloft for their turn. Not even a lizard would be left alive in the ravines. Pham Quyen got aboard one of the gunships with the battalion commander, who was headed to one of the advance bases at the site of one of the demolished villages at the mouth of the ravines to the west of Lien Hiep bridge.

As they approached from the sky, what was left of the village came into sight. Black smoke was streaming up from the ravines, and the red earth upturned in the bomb craters on the traumatized hills looked like the meat inside of mangos. The piles of loose earth would wash down the valleys with the monsoon rains, filling the upper stretches of the Thu Bon River with silt, and gradually over the rainy season they would be deposited downstream in the Jiang Hoa fields, causing unavoidable flooding.

The helicopter was descending cautiously and would hover just above the ground at the entrance to the village so the men could climb down. A group of soldiers was visible on the ground, and had set of a smoke flare in an empty space to guide the helicopter pilot. As Major Pham and the battalion commander climbed down, the pilot said, “Use the supply chopper for your return, sir.”

To avoid the dust in the propwash, they covered their heads before opening their eyes. What had settled on their uniforms and faces was not dust, but white ash and black soot from the smoldering inferno. Everything in the village had been destroyed. The roofs had all been incinerated, and the plaster walls of the houses were blackened and either crumbled down or punctured and looking like tattered rags. What once had been wooden pillars now looked like shrunken animal bones as they still burned, emitting white smoke.

Burnt corpses and charred furniture and tools could be seen scattered in the ruins. The commander of the search-and-destroy company, who had been standing nearby with other soldiers, rushed over and saluted the two majors. The sentries on lookout for snipers were standing in the empty field with their rifles trained on the jungle and the smoking ravines. Everyone’s eyes were red, and the corners of those eyes seemed taught with bloodlust. The battalion commander glanced at his watch.

“The search-and-destroy team is ready to head out?”

“Yes, sir. They’re standing by at the mouth of the ravine.”

“Do you plan to set up a defensive post at this village?”

“No, sir. A platoon from headquarters will be stationed at the entrance to the ravines, and two other platoons will be set up to block the left side of the highlands and the eastern approach to Lien Hiep. It’ll be as easy as capping the neck of a bottle, sir.”

Slowly, the officers moved ahead toward the center of the village, and the soldiers standing guard trailed behind them.

“Where did you find the suspected VC yesterday?” Major Pham asked.

“Right over there, sir.”

The company commander pointed to a bamboo grove where several soldiers were pacing back and forth. The company commander spoke effusively as he walked alongside Major Pham.

“After the gunships finished strafing, the company forces blocked both sides of the village and our second platoon swept right into the heart of the burning village. As we passed this way, one soldier said he thought he heard a baby crying from over there, in the direction of the bamboo. Just by looking, we never could’ve guessed anyone was hiding there.”

They walked over and made their way in through the thick wall of bamboo. About a dozen soldiers, apparently a squad team, had taken off their shirts and were busily working, spreading out army ponchos. The outer ring of the grove was dense with bamboo, but inside was mostly clear and full of knee-high grass. The soldiers were loading dead bodies onto the ponchos and then carrying them over to a central pile. Decomposition already seemed to have begun, for there was an awful smell like overboiled salt.

“The entrance was there, sir.”

It was a low wooden box about the size of a dinner table, filled with soil and planted with grass. When the box was pulled down over the entrance hole, it seemed unlikely to arouse any suspicion. The entrance to the underground air raid shelter had collapsed completely, revealing the interior below. It looked as though the villagers had dug out a big hole in the ground, lined it with thick bamboo branches as supports, filled the gaps up with plaster, and then covered it all with dirt. Blown-up body parts were still strewn all over inside the shelter.

“Grenades?”

“We shot a rocket in first, then tossed in grenades, sir.”

The buzzing of flies could be heard from the dark interior. Pham Quyen threw a glance at the space behind him where the corpses had been laid out in piles.

“What are you doing now?”

“We’re searching for captured weapons and documents, sir,” the company commander said. “We must make an accurate estimate.”

There may have been a guerrilla or two among them, but Pham Quyen could readily see that most of the dead were ordinary villagers. In one corner of the shelter, an entire family had been killed while tightly embracing each other.

“Sweep the bodies back in and burn it,” Pham Quyen said.

“We’ll still need a record of the numbers and identities, sir,” the battalion commander said.

“We’ll do our best to finish the task, sir,” the company commander said.

Once again Pham Quyen turned back and surveyed the carnage laid out on the grass. He saw the whiteness of a brain spilling out of a head onto the ground, the swarm of flies hovering around it. The flies were attracted not only by the corpses, but by the smell of living and sweating flesh. Pham Quyen rushed out of the bamboo grove, covering his mouth and nose. The battalion commander followed behind and asked, “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yeah. Just felt a little nauseated.”

The battalion commander spat, then took Pham Quyen by the arm. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said in a low voice. “Things like this are common in jungle operations. Besides, it’s not as if you handed down a written order.”

Running out of patience with the battalion commander’s shrewdness, Pham Quyen sharply snapped back at him, “Don’t you ever forget that the commander of this operation is you. I’m just a liaison officer.”

But the battalion commander refused to back down. “Sure, we’re merely carrying out orders from Division and Corps. But, as I said, don’t worry too much, sir.”

“Worry?”

“Right. Where are we, anyway? Most of these highlanders are not even ethnic Vietnamese. In the mountains from here to the Laotian border they’re mostly Katu tribesmen. The whole tribe has joined the NLF. The Katu act as guides on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Our men don’t think twice about this sort of thing.”

“Is it like that all the way to the western edge of the jungle?”

“It’s safe to assume so.”

Pham Quyen let out a heavy sigh. “These mountains and jungles belong to the Vietnamese people. From now on, don’t evacuate any of the villagers who stay behind in any of these villages.”

The search-and-destroy platoon set off for the ravines. The other units began to excavate trenches and put up bunkers. For a passing moment, Pham Quyen wondered if the cinnamon-harvesting operation had not been insane. But he immediately shook the idea out of his mind. As long as the cinnamon was out there, he had no choice.

“Look, a truck is coming in,” said Toi.

“I wonder what that is. We’ll call the clerk at lunchtime and ask him.”

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting with Toi at the mouth of the second alley between the main streets into the new and old markets, overlooking the warehouse of the Puohung Company. They were lounging on plastic chairs, cans of beer in hand, around a white table set up out in front of a bar.