They arrived at the tunnels by dawn.
“Perfect timing,” Bảo said as Tâm pulled into a thick forest and braked at a ramshackle abandoned hut, the floor of which led down into the first tier of tunnels. The entrance was closer to the north end of the sprawling network, rather than the southern portion she’d seen with Đắc, but Bảo knew the route.
“I want to go through them with you.”
“Why?”
Tâm didn’t tell Bảo it was because she didn’t want their time together to end. She wasn’t sure that was the only reason anyway. “I know there are many traps inside, as well as tunnel rats and dogs above. I have been bathing with American soap, and it is time I learned how to navigate the tunnels. I can be much more useful if I know my way through when I deliver supplies. Will you take me with you? So I can learn?”
“Do you not have another assignment to perform?”
“My schedule is—flexible.” That wasn’t the complete truth. Tâm could delay her return trip by claiming that a bombing attack or nearby fighting forced her off the road. But guerrilla fighters were desperately needed by the Communists. If she accompanied Bảo’s squad, her superiors probably would not complain.
Bảo looked at Tâm with a knowing expression. She reached across and gently touched Tâm’s arm. “You will have to do what I say. Follow my lead exactly. I know where the traps are.”
Tâm nodded.
“When we arrive at the other end, I will find someone to guide you back to your truck.”
Tâm nodded again.
Bảo flashed Tâm a radiant smile. “Then, yes. I will take you with me.” Bảo’s hand was still on Tâm’s arm.
Inside the tunnels were passages where the women could stand and move quickly. Other passages were dark, dank, and claustrophobic and required them to crawl on their hands and knees. Had Bảo not been leading the way, Tâm would not have made it through. They always moved in single file, and no one spoke unless it was absolutely necessary, and then only in whispers.
There were three levels to the tunnels, with steps and trapdoors at strategic points leading up or down. Every so often, Bảo would slow or stop to point out the traps. They weren’t hidden exactly, but they didn’t call attention to themselves. Tâm recalled hearing about them at training camp. She saw the sticking trap, the armpit trap, the swinging-up trap, and the fish hook trap, all constructed with sharp pins or spear tips that could at minimum maim and—more likely—kill an enemy if he or she missed a step and bumped into them. She ran her hand up and down her arm, suddenly chilled.
The tunnels were hives of activity. In addition to providing a refuge during combat, as well as the ability to secretly advance or retreat, the tunnels contained air vents, hospitals, cooking areas, latrines, conference areas, radio and communication areas, caches of weapons, and sleeping quarters for hundreds of North Vietnamese fighters. Bảo told her that at the other end of the tunnels, in the North near Bien Hoc, villagers actually lived in the tunnels and had been doing so for years. Although air sometimes felt scarce, and the entire network was poorly lit by flashlights, spots, or in some cases, torches, Tâm had to acknowledge how remarkable was the self-sufficiency of the NVA fighters.
Tâm stayed with the group of Long Hairs as they made their way to their living quarters, two levels down in the tunnels. Here they could whisper and murmur without danger. Bảo made room for Tâm next to her mat. “Try to sleep,” she said. “We will go up and out when it is dark.”
The living quarters were pitch black, and Tâm slept surprisingly well. Bảo woke her before midnight. As she stretched and got up, she noticed two welts, one on each arm.
“What are these?” She asked Bảo.
Bảo aimed her flashlight at them. “Spider bites, probably.” She bent down and rummaged in her backpack. “Here is some cream, but it will not do much.”
Tâm thanked her and picked up her mat. Ants scurried from underneath. Tâm groaned and shook it out. “Are there biting ants as well?”
Bảo tilted her head. “Sometimes. The tunnels are not a paradise by any means. Besides ants and spiders, there are scorpions, and, of course, rats. When there is heavy bombing or fighting we must remain underground for days at a time. Many people get sick with malaria. And everyone has intestinal parasites.”
Tâm took in a breath.
“But, on the other hand, the Americans have been trying to destroy them for years, and they have not succeeded. So that is good.”
“Tell me about the human tunnel rats,” Tâm said.
Bảo shivered. “They are the biggest danger. We never know when they will pop up. They have only one mission, and that is to kill us.”
“So then why not sleep in the open? I could drive your troops to a safer part of the Iron Triangle.”
“My assignment is to protect the tunnels. I cannot shirk my duty.”
The bombers came that night. The Long Hairs fired well and often, but they did not shoot down any B-52s.
Bảo frowned in frustration. “Our commanders order us to shoot down B-52s, but our antiaircraft guns can’t reach them. Our surface-to-air missiles can hit helicopters and transport planes. But the B-52s fly too high.”
“Then why do they order it?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps they do not know.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
It was close to dawn when the Long Hairs were satisfied that the carpet-bombing for that night was over. Bảo was happy none of her troops were killed or wounded. “We go back in now.”
“No.” It slipped out.
Bảo stiffened. “You are not coming?”
“Yes, but not yet. Come with me.”
Her expression grew puzzled. “Where?”
“We’ll go for a walk.”
“I—I cannot. I must stay with my troops.”
“Just a few minutes. We will come back.”
Bảo relaxed, and a sly smile came over her. “Oh, Tâm. You are a devil to tempt me.”
“Please.”
Bảo glanced at her troops, who were waiting for her at the tunnel entrance, then looked back at Tâm. She walked over to one of the women and spoke quietly to her. The woman nodded and began to wave the others toward the tunnels. Bảo watched as they went back down and disappeared. She went to Tâm, whose pulse was beating so fast and loud she was sure it could be heard up and down the Hồ Chí Minh Trail. Bảo took her hand, and they headed into the woods.
As they walked, the air between them turned electric. Tâm was tightly coiled, aware of not only every movement she made, but Bảo’s as well. Was her hesitation a rejection? Was the blink of her eye a good sign? What about the way she scratched her arm? Ahead of them was a thick rubber tree. Tâm slowed as they approached it.
Years later Tâm still didn’t know if Bảo reached for her, or she for Bảo. But somehow they ended up in each other’s arms, Bảo kissing Tâm’s neck, her cheek, her forehead. Tâm pushed her against the tree, her fingers losing themselves in Bảo’s hair. She pressed herself against Bảo, trying to mold her body to every curve, indentation, and fold of Bảo’s. Then she cupped Bảo’s head and cradled it between her hands. She kissed her lips. She had never tasted anything as full or sweet or exciting.
They never made back to the tunnels.