Shock of War (10 page)

A bare hope, but all he had.

“Money!” said Christian. He'd found a small change purse between the seats. “How much?”

Zeus tapped the brake, jerking the truck to a stop just even with the window of the booth. A woman who barely came up to the handle on the truck's door peered up quizzically.

“Give me the biggest bill,” Zeus whispered to Christian.

Christian handed him a twenty yuan note. Zeus leaned his hand down to the toll taker, hoping that she wouldn't get a good glimpse of his face and realize he was Caucasian.

The woman began jabbering at him. He guessed she was asking if he had something smaller, since she hadn't taken the bill.

He shrugged, holding his hand out in an empty gesture.

“We should just go,” said Christian under his breath.

The gate was down. He could break through it easily enough, but that would mean they'd have to ditch the truck.

Zeus glanced to his right, looking to make sure there wasn't a police car on the shoulder ahead. He was about to stomp on the gas when Christian tapped him across the chest.

He held out a toll card.

Zeus took it and handed it down. The tollkeeper said something in an exasperated tone, probably accusing him of being a dope. She kept talking, asking for something else. Maybe his license—were foreigners allowed to drive in China?

It didn't matter. He didn't have a Chinese license—or
any
license. And he certainly wasn't going to give her his passport.

The woman scolded him. Zeus realized finally that she wanted more money.

“Give me another bill,” he told Christian, turning to him.

“What?”

“Just give me some more money.”

“There are two tens.”

Christian gave them to him. Zeus held them down. The woman took them.

The gate remained down.

All right, thought Zeus. That's it. He put his foot on the gas. But instead of revving, the engine stalled, flooded by the sudden surge of fuel.

His throat tightened in an instant.

Quickly, he reached for the key. Nothing happened. He slipped the truck into neutral. Before he could try again, the tollkeeper banged on the door. He glanced in the mirror, saw her holding her hand up.

Change.

He reached down, took it, and with his hand shaking, restarted the truck. The gate was open; he eased through.

“Here,” he told Christian, handing him the money.

*   *   *

They drove in silence
for another fifteen minutes. Zeus's eyelids started to droop. Despite the anxiety and adrenaline, he teetered on the edge of sleep. Sleep was what he really needed—sleep would erase much of the fear; sleep would restore his strength; sleep would help him think clearly. If he slept, he could sort everything out. He could figure out how to get back to Vietnam.

He could decide what he felt about killing civilians.

He knew how he felt about that: he should not kill civilians. He could not. Even if he were at war, it would not be right.

If they tried to kill him?

Then they weren't civilians.

What if they didn't try to kill him themselves, but told other people who would try to kill him? What if they were going to do that, but hadn't yet?

Where was the line?

“Hey—you fallin' asleep?” asked Christian.

Zeus shook himself back to full consciousness.

“I'm okay,” he said.

“You got a plan?”

“We go south. We get close to the water. We get a boat.”

“Right.”

“So you gotta get us close to the water. But not a big town. A small one.”

“If we're gonna steal a boat we gotta do it soon,” said Christian. “It'll be light maybe in an hour. Less.”

“Yeah.”

“I'd like to sleep,” added Christian.

“So would I,” admitted Zeus. “But we can't.”

Christian checked the map. They were driving in the direction of Fangchenggang, a large port city. Would they have an easier time getting a boat there, or just outside it?

Outside, Zeus thought.

“We have to find a good road to take us around the city, into the suburbs but near the water,” he told Christian. “It would be better south—the closer we are to Vietnam, the better.”

Christian studied the map.

Zeus spotted a truck off the side of the road ahead. He slowed, saw it was two trucks. Then he realized both were army trucks.

“We're getting the hell off this road right away,” he told Christian. He spotted a turnoff ahead. “Figure out where we are.”

13

Beijing

Cho Lai shook
his head as his interior minister continued speaking. There had been more food riots overnight in Harbin. Meanwhile, the governor of Guangdong Province had sent police to “guard” a number of factories owned by party officials—a move meant as a threat to get more aid from the central government.

“All of this disruption when the country is at war,” said Cho Lai finally. “It is treason.”

The minister bowed his head.

“Criminals will be dealt with harshly,” continued the premier. “Remind them of that. And note, too, that we will not be blackmailed.”

“Yes, Premier.”

“You're dismissed.

Cho Lai struggled to maintain his calm. On the one hand, he realized his people needed food—the shortages were severe, even here in Beijing: he had seen them himself on unannounced tours of the markets. On the other hand, he was solving the country's problems. All he needed was time.

The premier rose and walked around his large office, working off some of his frustration. Things in Vietnam were not going as planned. His generals were like frightened children, afraid to take even the smallest of losses.

And despite everything, they remained petrified of the Americans. The Americans, who were hiding in the shadows.

Why be afraid of them? China had succeeded in blocking any vote in the UN. Cho Lai was confident that there would be no vote of condemnation from the American Congress, either. He had spent enough money on lobbyists there to feed Harbin Province for a month—if only there were food to buy.

Still, one American remained beyond his reach: the President. He was a clever enemy, the dragon of many forms.

Why should Greene of all people help the Vietnamese? It was absurd and unfair. They had been Greene's tormentors.

Admittedly, this had been an error of Cho Lai. He had thought the President would secretly endorse the punishment of Vietnam. He had even fantasized about calling him and sharing a few boasts. In his imagination, his foolish imagination, Cho Lai had thought Greene would welcome the country's humiliation.

The intercom buzzed. Lo Gong, the defense minister, was waiting outside.

Cho Lai ordered him in.

“We are proceeding with a new plan to take Hai Phong,” Lo Gong said. “We will move down the coast with our tanks. And then, a stealth attack—we have ships that are prepared to enter the port.”

“Excellent,” said Cho Lai.

“The storm is the only difficulty.”

“What storm?”

“The typhoon, Your Excellency.”

“Damn the weather! Move ahead. Always timid! Is every general in my army a coward?”

The minister's face reddened.

“Out!” thundered Cho Lai. “Out, before I lose my patience.”

The defense minister left without saying another word.

14

Outside Fangchenggang, China

There was still another hour
before dawn, but the city was already stirring, with a stream of trucks headed both toward and away from the harbor area. Traffic had already congealed on the major roads. Even the small byroads Zeus threaded through had a fair amount of vehicles.

Clusters of PLA trucks and soldiers were parked along the sides of several roads. Their mission, if any, seemed to be one of reassurance rather than actual security. In any event, they weren't stopping civilian vehicles.

“There's a line ahead,” said Christian. “More traffic.”

“Any way around it?”

“Not that I can see. Nothing on the map, either.”

Zeus drew to a stop behind a late model Buick. The GM car was a status symbol here, a sign of wealth and probably political influence, which went hand in hand.

“There are some lights about a half mile ahead,” said Christian, leaning out of the cab to look. “Must be a checkpoint.”

“You see a place I can turn around?”

“Nothing.”

Pulling a U-turn at this point would undoubtedly draw a lot of attention. He could do it anyway, find a side street, turn off.

“Look for a store with a parking lot,” he told Christian. “We'll pull in there and leave the truck.”

“Yeah.”

A better solution presented itself as he crept ahead: a gas station sat ahead on the left. He'd have to cross traffic to get there. But it would be perfect.

Zeus waited for the Buick to move up a little farther, then began angling the truck in the direction of the service station. There was a stream of cars coming from the other direction, spaced just far enough apart to make it dangerous to cross.

Finally, he saw his chance. The truck bucked, nearly stalling as he gave it too much gas. This time he was able to back his foot off the pedal in time to keep the engine working, and they made it across into the service station without stalling or getting hit.

As they pulled alongside a pump an attendant came out of the nearby building.

“We're outta here now,” Zeus told Christian, turning off the engine.

The attendant looked at him quizzically as Zeus jumped from the truck.

“Fill 'er up,” said Zeus.

He tossed the man the keys, hitting him in the chest. With a quick stride, he walked around the back of the truck. Christian was already out.

“The ocean's in that direction,” he told Zeus.

“Let's go.”

*   *   *

It took them nearly two hours
to get close to the water, walking down narrow streets that curled through mini-hamlets before opening into wet fields of salt marsh and muck. The area was crisscrossed by canals and bridges. Not many years before, rice fields had dotted the land, which had been partially reclaimed from the ocean centuries ago. But effluence from the nearby city and factories had poisoned the shallow bay waters. The ocean was rising gently, flooding into the muck, but it couldn't come fast enough to cleanse the ground.

Adding insult to injury, much of the land was now being filled in, legally and illegally, with garbage from the industrial north. Zeus and Christian wended their way past several massive dumping grounds. One was a mountain of old computers and other electronic gear. A trio of squatters huts sat at the edge of the dump near the road, as if standing guard. An old woman and two children watched them as they walked past, no doubt wondering what they were up to.

The sea smelled worse with every step closer. A thick, oily stench hung in the air, stinging their eyes.

“End of the road,” said Christian, pointing toward the rocks ahead. “God, the smell is wretched.”

Zeus remained silent as he walked toward the water. He was calmer than he had been before, but even more tired. His stomach felt like a marble rock, smooth and hard. His mouth was dry, his neck ached.

The sun, low on the horizon, pinched his eyes when he looked back at it. They'd come out on the western side of a peninsula opposite the city proper, which lay two or three miles across a shallow bay. Zeus stood at the water's edge, gazing across at the buildings in the distance. A jungle of red seaweed and algae floated nearby, giving the water a purplish cast. Barges were lined up to the right, a vast array bereft of cargo.

A navy vessel was anchored in the open water to his left, too far to be identified even if Zeus had been an expert on the Chinese navy. From here it looked rather large and ominous.

“Now what do we do?” asked Christian.

“We find a boat,” said Zeus. “There should be plenty of fishing boats around somewhere.”

“Let's try this way,” he said, starting back. “We'll work our way along the coast and see if we see anything.”

“I really need to rest.”

“Soon.”

*   *   *

About a half hour later,
after zigging and zagging across a few marshy dunes and hills of grass that came nearly to their chests, Zeus spotted a pair of boats anchored together about twenty yards from land. They rocked gently with the light breeze.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. Zeus sat down in muddy sand, and took off his shoes.

“We're swimming?” Christian asked.

“Unless you got a better idea.”

The oily film on the water made Zeus decide he'd keep his pants and shirt on. He put his shoes on a rock, thinking he'd come back for them, then he put the gun there, too.

The mud and weeds were soft, like a carpet thrown beneath the water. The first few yards were almost flat; the angle was very gradual after that.

Zeus got within arm's length of the nearest boat when the depth suddenly dropped off. He reached out with his arm and grabbed the side of the boat, kicking his feet free of the muck.

Long and narrow, the wooden-hulled craft looked more like a racing shell than a fisherman's boat. It was propelled by two long oars, one at the bow and one at the stern. A tiny, open-sided canvas tent sat just aft of the midway point, its stretched fabric bleached and brittle from the sun.

“Front or back?” said Christian, working through the water behind him.

“You take the bow.”

Zeus pulled the long oar from the bottom of the boat and positioned it in the yoke.

The boat was tied to a stick that poked out of the water on the starboard side. Christian unleashed it, then moved up to the bow.

“We'll go back for our shoes,” Zeus told him. “We may need them.”