The gears made a loud grinding noise as Tâm shifted from second to third. She grimaced as the truck lurched forward. She’d been at the wheel only two days, and this was the first time in her life she’d driven a vehicle at all, so her ability to manipulate the clutch and gearshift was crude. To make matters worse, the gearshift was actually behind her, so that she had to reach almost to the small of her back to shift gears.
She was driving on Highway 1 on the outskirts of Saigon in the middle of the night, which was a blessing since few vehicles were on the road. Still, she had to look out for enemy air attacks, especially as she approached the Hồ Chí Minh Trail northwest of Saigon. Which was where she was headed. With her was Đắc, another truck driver, who’d been assigned to teach her how to handle the truck and avoid the main roads during a bombing.
They were delivering a truck full of medical supplies to medics in the Cu Chi tunnels, two hundred kilometers of tunnels originally built by the French but upgraded and expanded by the North. The tunnels, not far from the southern tip of the Hồ Chí Minh Trail, were now the major transit route between North Vietnam and the Saigon area.
Tâm cruised down the highway. In the dark, it seemed to stretch out forever. She should step on the fuel pedal to gain some speed.
Đắc cut into her thoughts. “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where are you from?”
She was intentionally vague. Better to be careful. “A training camp in the south. You?”
“I live in Saigon. Sixth district.”
She looked over, surprised. Small and slim, he wore jeans and a T-shirt that bore the seal of an American baseball team. Very Western. “You didn’t you go to a training camp?”
He shook his head. “But I know all the back roads. And I know these trucks.” He pulled out a cigarette, tore the filter off, and lit it with a match.
Tâm scowled.
“You don’t want to be a driver?”
Tâm had thought that as a result of her success at training camp, they’d give her a plum assignment. But either word didn’t spread, or the commanders didn’t want female fighters, because here she was delivering food, medical supplies, weapons, and ammunition. Away from the battlefield. At the very least, she’d hoped Dr. Hằng would put in a good word for her. She was disappointed, but she said, “I’m here to do my duty. Whatever that is.”
Đắc grunted. “Spoken like a loyal comrade.” He was quiet. Then: “The first rule of driving is that when Americans start bombing, you need to get off the main road as soon as possible. Particularly as you get closer to the tunnels and the trail. Most of the bombs come after midnight—they know we travel at night.”
She glanced at both sides of the road. Nothing looked familiar. She could make out a few shacks, small businesses, and fields, but she had no idea where she was. “How frequent are the air strikes?”
“Maybe a few times a week. They used to be every day. I guess they think there is not much more to bomb.” He laughed. “But as I said, on the trail, it is every day. Do you know what we call the bombs?”
She shook her head.
“The war against trucks.”
Tâm peered at her companion. “Really?”
He nodded. “Thousands of these trucks carry supplies up and down the Hồ Chí Minh Trail every day. When the enemy strikes, you get off the road, camouflage the truck, and say a prayer that you’ll find another road. You have a map? I will draw some of the roads I use.”
“It is under your seat.”
Đắc pulled it out and started drawing lines on it. “This is a Russian truck, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s saved my life more than once.”
She cocked her head. “How?”
“It has four-wheel drive. So you can drive it over logs, stumps, and boulders. You can even cross streams of water up to one meter deep. It also has a creeper gear that helps to grind its way up the steepest, most rutted trail.” He went on. “All of which means if there’s a bomb and you don’t see a road close by, it is safe to turn off the road wherever you are and hope you outrun the blast.”
Tâm swallowed. “Is it sturdy enough to withstand a bomb?”
Đắc shrugged. “It won’t win a prize for beauty, but it’s stronger than ten oxen.”
Tâm shot him a wan smile. The truck was ugly, painted camouflage green with an open bed in back framed with skinny steel poles in case a tarp was needed to cover or hide the contents. The tires were thick, and the chassis underneath was old and dusty.
“If your truck does get stuck, it’s fitted with a winch and a generous length of cable so you can hitch it to a nearby tree and pull yourself forward.” He paused. “Of course, you will become its chief mechanic.”
“What? Me?”
“You’ll learn every screw, bolt, and wire of your machine, what it needs and when, and how to repair it. You’ll be making those repairs. Ask questions when you bring the truck back to an outpost on the trail. Or when you come across other drivers.” He twisted around and motioned. “There is a toolbox in the bed of the truck. That’s where you’ll find the cable and the winch.” He cleared his throat. “Consider this your new home,” he said. “You can even sleep in the bed of the truck. I do.”
She nodded.
Suddenly a flash of light ahead of them flared, followed by a thunderous blast. Tâm jumped.
“Ayii! We have company tonight. Get off the road. Now!” He fumbled with a seat belt. “Watch for trees. Strap yourself in. Hurry!”
Tâm’s pulse began to race. Fear snatched her breath. Was another bomb headed toward them? She shifted down to first, turned the wheel sharply, and stepped on the gas. The truck pitched forward into a field. Luckily there were no trees nearby.
Đắc shouted, “Look where you’re going! Avoid boulders, holes, and bushes if you can.”
Over the next few minutes the truck bounced and bucked like a young bull, but Tâm was able to put distance between them and the road. No bomb dropped on the field. “The bombers cannot track us, can they?”
“No, but they know we use this road. Keep going across the field. There will be another road in a kilometer or two. QL 1. Turn left onto it.”
Another flash of light and explosion sounded behind them. Tâm arched her back. Part of her wanted to ditch the truck and run for cover. She didn’t.
“You see?” Đắc yelled. “We would have been killed if you hadn’t gone off road. Good job.” He lit another cigarette and dragged deeply.
Tâm’s senses were on high alert. The danger they’d narrowly escaped reminded her of her training mission. She barreled straight across the field, clutching the wheel so Đắc would not see her shaking hands. When she reached the alternate road, she turned left. The wheels squealed and the truck bounced again. This two-lane road was unpaved, and ruts were filled with water from the monsoons, but they were safer here than on the main road. She slowed, relief surging through her. Still, it took ten minutes before her breath returned to normal.