Duong Huong - The Zenith

The deputy shakes his head. “Our battle zone has never been granted such a favor. Even in the Peacock Hill battle, when our wounded were in the hundreds and lying all over, we could not get a helicopter, so how could we in this case?”

“Does the general staff think we are rear-echelon soldiers?” retorts the commander of Battalion 2.

“Not quite rear-echelon, still deep inside Laos. But the Lao front is understood to be less dangerous than other fronts in the south where the Americans are. Did you forget what Senior General Dong said the other day?” the deputy commander replied.

After a long moment of silence, Nha suddenly says, “Should we send someone down toward Nam Khuot River to find out? At any rate, we must do our very best. That way, we won’t have regrets later on.”

“Are you dreaming?” The deputy division commander gives Nha an unhappy look.

Nha is still uncertain how to respond when the commander of Battalion 2 turns around, taps on his shoulder, and says:

“Man, where is your head? Is it up there in heaven or down in the sea? All it takes is from now until this evening. There won’t be a piece of skin left. Did you not see what happened when Thang’s soldiers ran into the minefield? Eighteen guys altogether and yet it took the vultures only two days to clean them out.”

An watches Nha shudder. Nha then tries his best to regain his composure by putting his hands into his pockets and hanging his head. Normally the staff meeting is limited to battalion commanders, but because this is serious business, the deputy division commander has decided to open it up down to the level of company commanders. For the first time An has had a chance to observe his immediate superior at work. Clearly, Nha is somewhat less sharp than the commanders of the other two battalions. Yet, his men’s prowess in battle has always been exceptional. Maybe it is a case of heaven favoring the simple ones. In fact, Nha looks more like a student than an army officer.

After a moment of silence, the deputy division commander declares: “I suggest that you all take turns to speak up. This is totally unexpected. I have spent several decades in the army, yet I don’t have enough experience to solve this. That’s why I have decided to get a collective opinion, and we will take collective responsibility for it.”

More silence.

Everyone looks at everyone else, as if calling for assistance or looking for sympathy. For everyone realizes that they are at a dead end. The deputy division commander takes out his tobacco pouch and begins to roll a cigarette. Other hands spread toward him. The tobacco pouch is passed around, each man taking a pinch and tearing off a piece of rolling paper. When the pouch comes back to its owner, there is left only one last pinch, enough for a second cigarette. Having finished the first one, the deputy division commander rolls another, then puts the pouch in his pants pocket.

The men smoke silently. After a while, the commander of Battalion 3, who had been mum from the beginning of the meeting, suddenly raises his hand:

“I have an idea.”

“Ah, the toad finally opens his mouth,” An thinks to himself.

“We’re listening,” the deputy division commander says.

“I think…” the Battalion 3 commander says, but then stops to take a sip of tea. Although anxious, everyone has to be patient, since he is known to be very deliberate and very sparing in his choice of words. He takes his time to drink his tea down. Then, he leisurely clears his voice before he goes on:

“I believe we have forgotten an important link in the chain. The Meo guy asked our division commander to go with him. Among us, Comrade Hoang An is the only one to have known him, but that was some fifteen years ago. During the following fifteen years, no one apparently can describe what he had done or was like. The information we get from Battalion 209 is minimal. Even that battalion itself was formed from two battalions under strength after severe losses in battle, and from a number of new recruits. This Meo company leader himself is part of the reinforcements from the north. Now, I assume…”

At that point, he slightly closes his eyes, as if watching the imagined scenes in his mind. The whole group holds its breath in expectation. An wonders what is flashing behind those half-closed eyes. Then the battalion commander suddenly opens wide his eyes and peers at the deputy division commander.

“I am assuming that the company leader has struck a deal with the Meo king, Hoang Su Phi, a redoubtable enemy of the revolutionary forces before the liberation of the capital. I take it that he has a kinship relation with Hoang Su Phi or owes the latter a debt of gratitude. In which case he must entertain a very profound, deep-rooted enmity toward the revolution. It’s obvious, then, that he would take advantage of his kinship on the maternal side to take revenge. Comrades, you must not forget that we have had severe losses in the fight with the Meo king on the plateau of Dong Van at the northern border. Comrade Hoang An also knows that the Meo king’s troops are very experienced. Being natural mountaineers, they climb the rocky mountains or trees with ease, whereas our soldiers coming from the lowlands are not used to the cold up here and are unable to master this rough terrain. The Meo are fed well and learn to shoot at the age of ten. They are renowned to be sharpshooters who can hit their targets every time. Hoang Su Phi, being very rich, was able to equip his troops with more modern weapons than our troops could afford at the time. With all these advantages and superiority, they controlled all the one-way access roads, and from up in the mountains they could shoot down at our troops. We have thus lost I don’t know how many comrades that way. The victory on the Dong Van front had to be purchased at a very high price. I am recalling all this so that you can grasp the background behind this affair. Now, let us assume that this company leader Ma Ly is a descendant of Hoang Su Phi who has changed his name and surname to be able to infiltrate our ranks. Meeting with our division commander is the best opportunity for him to exact his revenge. He was thus able to eliminate a high-ranking officer of our army; he could smear his reputation as well. We have lived with him many years. No one could believe that he would be doing something indecent, especially in a difficult and strange situation like that. I believe that the Meo fellow referred to relations dear to the family of our division commander, then shot him surreptitiously. After that, he pulled off our commander’s pants and his own so as to leave the impression that they were having crazy sex. My hunch is that our commander is dead but that the other one is still alive and has gone into the woods. The whole thing must have been prepared carefully before he went into action. You should not forget that we, being ethnic lowlanders, are not familiar with the woods and the night, which to us are a strange and fearful world. But with the Meo, they go into the forest as fish go back to the river.”

Everyone gasps in agreement.

“Of course!”

“It’s so simple yet no one had it figured out.”

“We all are in debt to you, Comrade. As they say without exaggeration, ‘When the frog opens its mouth, it’s well worth a listen.’”

All of a sudden everyone is talkative; now everyone can breathe. Every face is now at ease. In the end, they have found a way out. The opinion of the Battalion 3 commander is a light at the end of the tunnel. Not a single person contests his idea. The deputy division commander reaches across the table, taps his shoulder, and says:

“Marvelous!”

An looks around and secretly tells himself: “You Meo son of a bitch! In the end, you are the one marked as having changed names — not me. Now the sentence has been pronounced: you are the murderer. And so we end with the truth — that was the way it was.”