They reached the Cu Chi tunnel area an hour later. Tâm drove down on a dirt road that ended at a cluster of jungle-like woods. Spools of leftover chicken wire lay in random spots along the path. She slowed in case there were traps.
“Stop here.” Đắc pointed to her left. “You see that low-hanging branch? The one that’s almost broken off the guava tree?”
Tâm nodded.
“Head about twelve meters left of that, where there is a gap between trees. You should see tracks from previous trucks.”
Tâm did what he said and turned her headlights on bright. Squinting through the windshield, she saw he was right. Rough tire treads in the dirt led deeper into the forest.
“Something like that”—Đắc gestured to the branch—“will always tell you where to go. It might be a broken branch, used chicken wire, flowers on a bush that don’t belong, perhaps even a khăn rằn. Look for the signs.”
Tâm wasn’t worried about finding a signpost. She was knowledgeable about plants and bushes and trees. “But how will I know if the signposts are a decoy? I don’t want to drive into a trap. Or an ambush.”
“You’ll learn.” He took a drag on yet another cigarette. “One outpost might use flowers and suddenly change to fruit. Another may have used a scarf but changed to flowers. When you see other drivers on the trail, ask. They will tell you. We look out for each other that way.”
Tâm steered the truck on the tire treads and drove deeper into the woods. About one hundred meters farther, a clearing suddenly appeared.
“We’re here.”
Tâm cut the engine and opened the truck door. Đắc jumped down from his side of the truck. “I’m looking forward to checking out the tunnels,” Tâm said.
“You’re not going into them tonight.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t have the right smell.”
Tâm planted her hands on her waist. “What?”
“When the enemy comes looking for us in the tunnels, they bring large dogs. German shepherds. Because the dogs have such a sharp sense of smell, they can detect us underground. We have learned to wash with American soap so the dogs smell friendly Americans and won’t bark. You need to get some American soap at the market and start bathing with it. Then you can go into the tunnels.”
“I don’t hear any dogs tonight.”
“They can show up at any time.”
“So we ‘Viet Cong’ are safe because of American soap,” she said wryly.
Đắc smiled and shrugged. Then he sobered. “I’ll tell them we are here. Come to the entrance so you’ll know how to get in the next time.”
He made his way in the dark to a large boulder on the edge of the clearing. He squatted next to it and rolled the boulder aside. “It’s hollow.” He kept his voice low. The resulting hole in the ground was a square shape about thirty centimeters on all sides. Đắc inserted one foot, then the other into the gap. Then he jumped down inside. Tâm saw only his torso from the waist up. He raised his arms over his head and slithered down even more. Now only his head was visible. He reached over, grabbed the rock, dipped his head, and slid the rock so it covered the hole. He had completely disappeared. Tâm’s mouth opened in surprise.
Ten minutes later a group of twenty young troops emerged from the same hole and gathered at the back of the truck. Some wore green uniforms, but most were dressed like her in black áo bà ba. Nearly half were women. They formed a human chain between the truck and the tunnel entrance and passed supplies one box at a time to a young man whose torso, like Đắc’s, was half-hidden beneath the ground.
Within fifteen minutes the operation was finished and the back of the truck was empty. The guerrillas bowed their heads and thanked Đắc and Tâm. Đắc asked if anyone needed a ride to the Hồ Chí Minh Trail.
He turned to Tâm. “You must ask every time you deliver something. The truck can carry more than twelve people. Usually someone needs a ride.”
But this time no one did. The guerrillas returned to the secret entrance and slid back down into the tunnel. Five minutes later the jungle was quiet. It was impossible to tell that anyone had been there.
“Usually I stay and help them carry the supplies, but since we still have more driving tonight, I’ll stay with you. But you should help.”
Tâm was still astonished at the efficiency with which the entire operation was handled. “Does it always go this smoothly?”
Đắc laughed. “We hope.”
Thirty minutes later, at Đắc’s direction, Tâm headed northwest toward the border with Cambodia. She was managing the truck with more dexterity now. Her steering was more precise. Gearshifts became a challenge rather than a worry.
“Where are we going now?”
“An Loc.”
“Why?”
“You will see.”
It was still dark, but the moon made an appearance, shining a bluish silver backlight on the scrim of clouds. Tâm’s watch said it was past three in the morning. Less than two hours until dawn. They were passing through farmland now, and the smells of hay and cattle rose from grassy fields and pastures. Their familiarity cut deep, reminding Tâm of home. Her village was farther south, and on the river. Still, the scents were a bittersweet reminder that she no longer had a home. Like a caterpillar that has been transformed and now dances in the sun, she was adrift, waiting for the transformation that would turn her into a butterfly.
Đắc said, “They bomb here every night. But the attacks are over for tonight. Even the enemy must sleep.” He looked through the windshield. “And while they sleep, we work. Pull over and stop the truck.”
“What are we doing now?”
“Now that the moon is out, we will search the fields where they have dropped bombs. If we can, we will take the unexploded bombs—there are usually some—and load them in the truck.”
“Why?”
“We reuse them. Give them to the NVA if they are not damaged. Or make grenades and other explosive devices for ourselves.” He paused. “One more thing. You should look for land mines as well. But be careful.”
Tâm looked over. “How do I avoid them in the dark?”
“Use your flashlight. Walk slowly. If you find one, let me know. I can tell whether it is inert. If it is, we can reuse it to make a new bomb.”
“Is there anything you do not want me to scavenge?”
Đắc shook his head. “We waste nothing. We can’t afford to.”
As Tâm and Đắc searched the field for unexploded ordnance, she began to respect the Communists’ ingenuity. Nothing—food, supplies, even enemy munitions—was squandered. The fighters saw themselves not as individuals but as part of a whole. If one soldier failed or was struck down, another would take his place. They shared an unwavering belief in their mission. Like everyone else in the struggle, Tâm was just a tiny cog in a huge machine.