Saigon (55 page)

Directly beneath the feet of the quarreling American and Vietnamese officers, Tuyet Luong was at that moment moving rapidly through a narrow tunnel on her stomach. Wearing the regional black blouse and trousers that had become the Viet Cong’s battle dress, she propelled herself with quick, practiced movements, digging her knees and elbows rhythmically into the dry earth like paddles. Tied tight to her right thigh so that it didn’t impede her progress, she wore a captured U.S. Army Colt .45 pistol in its holster, and a twisted garter of jungle creepers was knotted about her left thigh to make it easier, as she’d often told the men of tier special assault platoon, to drag her dead body from the battlefield. 

Through a spy port hidden among the roots of a clump of bamboo twenty yards from the edge of the clearing, she had just seen and heard the American captain and the young ARVN lieutenant talking — and although she hadn’t been able to make out what they’d said, she had been close enough to register the unmistakable hostility in their voices. She had also counted the troops she had seen entering the hamlet, and as she crawled through the dark earth, she went over again in her mind the list of their weapons that she’d memorized; a dozen World War Two M-is, nineteen M-2 automatic carbines, one BAR, and two of the formidable new M-79 grenade-launching shotguns that could fire a grenade shell accurately over two hundred yards. The American officers as usual were carrying AR-15 Armalites, and if the planned ambush succeeded, there would be a rich haul of weapons for the Liberation Army’s crack 514th Battalion. 

When she came to a larger tunnel, Tuyet Luong scrambled to her feet and began moving faster in a crouching run, anxious to report her information as soon as possible to the underground command center half a mile away. She knew her way through the fifteen-mile maze of tunnels that radiated in all directions beneath Moc Linh almost as well as she knew her way above ground because she had helped the peasants of the village with the long, back-breaking work of digging them during the previous six months. Like similar networks that had already been dug in thousands of villages north and south of Saigon, the tunnel system was of far greater sophistication than the Americans or their ARVN allies had so far dreamed. Built in accordance with the well-trained techniques of underground guerrilla warfare first developed by Mao Tse-tung’s Communists in China and refined later in Korea, the network consisted of escape tunnels leading into the surrounding jungle, storage cellars, observation shafts studded with camouflaged lookout ports, and in the banks of the canal and along the dikes of the rice paddies, firing embrasures had been hollowed out at regular intervals. lf the firing positions which covered all approaches to the village had been manned that morning, many of the ARVN troops could have been cut down easily before they had waded halfway across the open field; but the plan was to lure them deep into the heart of Moc Linh and engage them only when the troop carriers and the escort helicopters armed with rockets arid machine guns had lifted off that way the Liberation Army would risk fewer casualties and capture more weapons. 

As she ran, Tuyet Luong was careful to avoid the numbered entrances to the special decoy tunnels that had been planted with mines and poisoned punji traps — sharpened bamboo spikes smeared with buffalo or human excrement. These passages had been prepared with special care so that if enemy troops discovered and entered the tunnels, they could be ambushed easily in the darkness. So far, she knew, the ARVN soldiers had shown little inclination to enter any of the few tunnels they’d found in other villages; the smoke bombs, flame-throwers and grenades they used had often failed to dislodge the guerrillas hiding in them, and the government forces, unaware of the extent of the networks, had usually been content to blow up the odd entrance they found without looking farther. The command post at Moc Linh had been set up in a “Dien Bien Phu” kitchen, an under.. ground chamber from which sloping shafts radiating outwards like wheel spokes dispersed cooking smoke invisibly from dozens of ovens into thick jungle hundreds of yards away, and when Tuyet Luong entered she was surprised to find the gangling figure of Ngo Van Dong, the 514th Battalion commander, engrossed in conversation with an authoritative-looking stranger. 

“At Outlet Seventeen, Comrade Dong, I counted thirty-four Diemist soldiers with two officers and two Americans,” she said breathlessly, without waiting for an invitation to speak. “They’re carrying a dozen M-1 Garands, nineteen M-2 automatic carbines, one Browning automatic rifle, two Armalites — and two of the new M-79 grenade weapons The Diemist lieutenant interrogated the three women we left in the huts but afterwards he and the Americans argued and they seemed indecisive.” 

Ngo Van Dong, as gaunt and gangling in his early fifties as he had been in his youth, turned with a faint look of irritation on his face, but his expression relaxed when he saw who had spoken. “Are there only thirty-four troops in all, comrade?” he asked, moving quickly to the map of Moc Linh and its tunnels that was tacked to the mat-covered wall of the cellar. 

“No, I said I saw only thirty-four myself,” replied Tuyet tersely. “But the lookouts at the forward ports around Field Thirteen told me a full-strength company of over one hundred men landed from the helicopters.” She pointed to the map. “They’re grouping together here in the first hamlet.” 

Dong stared thoughtfully at the point she had indicated on the map. “Good — then we’ll stick to the plan we’ve made.” Smiling suddenly he turned to the gray-haired man at his side, “I’m sure you’ve already heard something about our famous platoon leader Tuyet Luong. She’s as fearless and resourceful as all the stories about her suggest.” He turned back to Tuyet. “Our visitor is a senior officer of our movement who’s Come to observe today’s operation. He’s an old comrade-in-arms of my father —- and I fought under him at Dien Bien Phu. For reasons of security he’s known as ‘Comrade Pham.’” 

Dao Van Lat’s lined face creased into a gentle smile as he studied Tuyet’s appearance. Her combat clothes and her cheeks were smudged with earth from the tunnels, and she wore her hair scraped back severely from her face, but her proud bearing, her slender figure and the pistol on her thigh nevertheless made her a compelling figure. “Your reputation as a courageous fighter is well known,” said Eat without taking his eyes from her. “But your beauty which is also widely spoken of still has the power to take a stranger’s breath away.” 

“The latter is of little importance compared with the former,” replied Tuyet, her face stiff and unsmiling. “Compliments about my appearance are of no interest to me.” 

Lat’s gaze flickered briefly over the drab black tunic, which didn’t entirely conceal the soft outline of her breasts, and for a fleeting moment somewhere deep inside him he felt a muted tremor of the agony that had continued to assail him intermittently over the years at moments like this; something indefinable in Tuyet’s expression —- perhaps it was a rare fusion of beauty and a fierce pride — made him think of Lien for the first time in many years, and suddenly it was as if a ghostly hand was forcing the honed edge of that glittering knife against his flesh once again. “For a patriotic woman of such great courage perhaps it’s not important, Tuyet Luong,” he said softly. “But for the impressionable young fighters you lead, I’m sure it helps inspire them to even greater deeds of bravery.” 

Tuyet stared straight in front of her and said nothing. Since joining the guerrilla forces she had deliberately kept her relationships with the men around her cold and impersonal, and she had never made any exceptions to this rule, even with high-ranking cadres. She was astute enough, however, to guess that “Comrade Pham” must have come south recently from Hanoi to help strengthen the Liberation Front’s organization, and knowing that Communist purists saw her as an unreliable adventurist acting on emotional impulses, she decided it would serve no useful purpose to alienate his sympathy. “No doubt you yourself have come here to Long An province to perform special tasks of much greater importance, Comrade Pham,” she said formally. “In which case, I wish you success.” 

“I’ve come to contribute my modest talents to the struggle which we all know will one day be crowned with a general uprising in the South,” said Lat, his eyes twinkling as he served up the official Liberation Front line with elaborate courtesy. “I hope you and I will be able to work side by side towards that goal!’: 

“I’m ready to do whatever is required,” replied Tuyet in a tight voice. “But for now I must return to my observation duties.” 

For several seconds Lat continued staring at the tunnel exit through which Tuyet Luong had left, then he walked thoughtfully over to where Dong was standing by the wall map. During their conversation a steady stream of messengers had been arriving with little envelopes containing slips of paper two or three inches square; most of the messengers were spindly-legged boys of not more than eight years of age, bare-chested and dressed only in ragged shorts, and Dong praised each one quietly before scrutinizing the information they’d brought. Their young faces mirrored their inner excitement as they waited impatiently for Dong’s scribbled response, and he sent them all on their way with an encouraging pat on the head. A table beneath the wall map was already piled high with used slips, and pointing to them, Dong smiled. 

“It’s going to plan, Comrade Pham. All observers report that the Diemists and the Americans are advancing straight into our trap. They’re in the second hamlet now, searching the huts and interrogating the old women again. It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes to get them where we want them.” 

Lat nodded his approval and accepted a little beaker of bitter yellow tea from one of Dong’s aides. Sitting down beside the map, he sipped the steaming liquid thoughtfully. “Comrade Tuyet Luong is obviously a remarkable young woman. I seem to remember hearing that her husband was killed by Diemist torturers in Saigon — am I right?” 

“Yes, two years ago. She swore then to avenge his death. He was Dang Dinh Luong — he joined the Viet Minh while he was a student.” 

“But she has mixed blood, doesn’t she? Could that be what makes her so aloof?” 

Dong shook his head. “I don’t think so. In battle she’s merciless — she fights just like a man, and she has killed many times. Perhaps the coldness is her way of keeping the strong emotions inside her under control.” 

Lat stared at the battalion commander with a pensive expression. “But there’s just a hint of hysteria in her manner now. The hardness is becoming brittle.” 

Doug shrugged and smiled. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, Comrade Pham. I hadn’t noticed anything.” 

“What’s her family background, Dong?” 

“Her mother came from a rich mandarin family, but she was born before her mother married and had to be raised in secret by relatives. She grew up very bitter and ran away to marry Luong when she was seventeen. They had two children, and people in the village say she was happy then for the first time in her life. When Diem’s thugs murdered Luong, she had to go and identify his body — but she didn’t weep. She just vowed there and then to avenge him.” 

“And did she?” 

“Yes. She planted a bomb under a café table and killed his Vietnamese interrogators. She threw a grenade at two American CIA agents who’d questioned him too — but they weren’t seriously hurt.” 

“How did she get into your battalion?” 

“She had to flee from Saigon when another tortured prisoner gave her identity away. She brought her children to her husband’s village near here, but she couldn’t settle, and the local Liberation Front cadres persuaded her to join a special activities cell. She adopted her husband’s name as a nom de guerre — Tuyet Luong — and without much persuasion she carried out several assassinations of corrupt village officials.” 

“Is that how you got to hear of her?” 

Dong nodded. “Yes. About a year ago I put her in charge of a special assault platoon. Twenty or thirty percent of our fighters are females down here — but Tuyet Luong is by far the most fearless in all the main force units.” 

Lat drained his teacup and stood up. “And what have you assigned her to do today?” 

“I’ve put her in command of two platoons — forty fighters. They’ll advance through this field to kill any survivors of the ambush and drag away their weapons.” He pointed to the map. “Between the third and fourth hamlets there’s a dike half a mile long which the enemy will have to cross in single file. The canal runs along one side and we’ve set up a machine gun on the far side of the canal halfway along the dike. The Diemist troops will be strung out, so our gunner will make sure he doesn’t hit too many of them with his opening burst just enough to make them all jump off the dike into the paddy field to take cover.” He paused and smiled slowly. “We’ve lined the bottom of the bank with mines and punji traps and set up two other machine guns in a camouflaged tunnel opening in the top corner of the paddy so that they’ll be firing along the bottom of the bank from close range at those who survive the mines and the traps. Tuyet Luong will take her men through the tunnels to the other side of the field and lead the charge to finish off the remnants.” 

“It sounds like an excellent plan,. comrade — worthy of a chien si Dien Bien.” Lat patted Dong warmly on the shoulder and nodded towards the Dien Bien Phu campaign insignia which the battalion commander still wore proudly on the left breast of his tunic. “How did you lay your trap? Enemy forces haven’t penetrated into this region before, have they?” 

“No, we moved five companies of the 514th Battalion through Moc Linh yesterday as bait. We made sure a known government informer saw them, and we ordered then to remain here until just before dawn. Then I marched them away into the jungle — they’re ten miles from here now, hiding underground. Our agents tell us a whole battalion of Diemist troops is standing by to fly in when contact is made — that’s why I’m putting only a small number of our fighters at risk. They can disappear quickly into the tunnels OU see before an air strike is launched or any new troops are landed.” He smiled again. “It’s a simple operation.”