Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“That’s why you’re here.”

“You ride shotgun,” Oh said to Yong Kyu with a frown. “A single trip is a five-hundred-dollar job.”

“The going rate is that low?” the master sergeant said in a dissatisfied voice.

“That’s about right, sir.”

“I’m not taking piasters.”

“Piasters are better to start with. Then you change them into military currency. It’s safer that way.”

While waiting for the US staff to sign off on the requisition, the master sergeant asked, “Will I get the cash today?”

“Is this your first time on this business?”

“Well, it’s the first time with you people. . ”

Oh glanced back at Yong Kyu and smiled. “You can’t do business in Da Nang without going through us. In the first place, we get better prices. We don’t go out into the market. For over a year we’ve been doing deals on credit with the best customers in the city. To tell you the truth, for us a small deal like this is barely worth the trouble. This stuff is bulky and it brings in only a small profit.”

Oh kept on talking as they followed the master sergeant outside.

“We know the kind of stuff you could load in a wagon, things that are valuable and easy to transport.”

“Well, since this is the first deal, I can’t tell until I see the cash flow,” said the master sergeant.

“It’s only for the purpose of establishing relations that we didn’t turn this down and came for the goods. You wait and see how we take care of this.”

“We’ll see.”

The three men went to the PX warehouse. The door was wide open and inside was bustling with people receiving and moving around goods. The master sergeant gave the requisition to an American soldier and talked with him. Crates and packages were stacked to the ceiling. The electronic goods and bulky appliances like stereos, TVs, tape recorders, refrigerators, and washing machines were piled up in separate groups. Cameras, watches, and jewelry were in another section, behind a counter in one corner of the warehouse. Daily commodities were in the middle of the floor, and special items like cigarettes and beer were in a connected annex outside. Only the expensive liquors were in the main storage. There were three similar warehouses nearby.

Only goods that had been inspected and inventoried were released for consignment. The requisition was validated easily enough. The master sergeant gestured from inside the warehouse and a truck from the brigade motor pool came around and inched up to the loading dock. A forklift came and lifted the strapped crates onto the truck.

Looking at his watch, the master sergeant said, “We’ll be back in an hour for a shipment of our own goods. Keep a truck on stand-by for further orders.”

“We’ll have to return to the base before Route 1 is closed.”

“I’ll lead,” Oh said to a hesitant Ahn Yong Kyu. “You sit next to the truck driver and the chairman will ride with me in the wagon.”

Yong Kyu got into the truck. The driver seemed satisfied after giving him a quick glance.

“How many times a week you do this?”

As he started the engine, the driver turned to Yong Kyu and asked, “You a soldier?”

“CID.”

The driver pulled the truck away from the warehouse dock.

“Sometimes once a week, sometimes twice. Usually the bulk of the cargo is beer and cigarettes. There’s always a demand for them.”

Pushing and pulling the gearshift, the driver kept talking. Yong Kyu put his sunglasses back on and pulled his hat down.

“You know that guy well?”

“Who? You mean the civilian? I’ve seen him a couple of times at the Dragon Palace Restaurant. Don’t know him well, but the sarge said he’s the one they call Hong Kong Pig.”

The truck stopped. The master sergeant and Oh were waiting to exit the PX compound. The truck was supposed to cross Route 1 after passing through the division sector and head toward Dong Dao. Just past Dong Dao began the camp satellite villages with their rows of barracks, with Route 1 running sideways across the far end of the private residence area. On the way up from Dong Dao there was a checkpoint.

The American guards at the checkpoint left the gate down and watched from behind a wall of sandbags. The wagon stopped at the blockade, and the truck right behind it. A guard opened the trunk of the wagon, checked inside, then approached the truck.

“What are you bringing in back?”

“Ten electric fans and three refrigerators. We’re delivering them to the PX at brigade headquarters.”

“The requisition?”

The driver showed him the paper.

“There’s a discrepancy in numbers.”

“We’re moving only part for the staff members stationed in downtown Da Nang. We’ll get the rest in an hour.”

The guard craned his neck around to check the back of the truck one more time and wrote something in the vehicle log.

“Let’s see your trip pass.”

Yong Kyu had already taken out his ID and held it out so the prominent red slash was visible. “It’s fine. I’m escorting them downtown.”

The guard nodded and lifted the gate. As he pressed the gas pedal the driver muttered, “Nosy bastards. We didn’t have to go through here. If we go out the South Gate and say we’re heading home, they don’t even bother to check.”

The vehicle passed through the campside villages around Dong Dao. Originally these were just rice paddy hamlets, but when the military base and airport were built nearby the area became criss-crossed with wide streets and refugees converged there from all directions.

They turned onto Route 1 heading straight for the airport. In this area the highway wasn’t paved, but it was wide and even and deserving of its reputation as the finest national highway in Vietnam. Once you came into a garrison sector the road was either paved or oiled and no longer dusty. A couple of American soldiers, who looked to be fresh from a shower, crossed the road in nothing but towels.

There was another checkpoint at the entrance to the airport, but there they only checked for explosives and the truck was let through immediately. A formation of Phantom jets was taking off for a sortie, the loud roar painful to the ears. Their mission could have been to hit the Ho Chi Minh Trail deep in the jungle beyond the Atwat Mountains.

The third and last checkpoint was at the fork where the roads from the airbase met with those from downtown Da Nang. This checkpoint was the reason they had brought Yong Kyu along. It was under the joint control of the Vietnamese police, the MPs, and the US Army. After the guards combed through the wagon, the master sergeant got out of the car and waved for Yong Kyu to come. He got down from the truck and went over to an American guard with the requisition sheet.

“We’re transporting a portion of goods for the PX at brigade headquarters to staff members posted downtown.”

“Is this cargo the whole consignment?”

“No, it’s only a partial shipment.”

“We don’t let goods pass downtown when the quantity doesn’t match the requisition.”

“Are you telling me I’m supposed to bring the whole order and leave part of it here?”

“The destinations are different,” interrupted a Vietnamese policeman standing to one side. “The requisitions should also be different. This is a requisition for Hoi An, so how come you’re going downtown?”

“Do you think we’re taking this stuff downtown to deal on the black market?” growled Yong Kyu, taking his CID identification card from his pocket. “I’m escorting this vehicle. I’ll take full responsibility.”

The guard and the policeman together examined his ID card and then lifted their arms. Slowly the gate was raised. The wagon and the truck turned toward Puohung Street. The plan was for Yong Kyu to be dropped off just past the last checkpoint and then return to his duty post.