The attack ended as suddenly as it had begun. By then Tâm’s hearing had gradually returned. Bảo and her troops waited until they were sure the bombs had stopped, then went back outside to help scour the area for survivors. Finding bodies that were charred beyond recognition was harrowing. Unless they were in the traditional green NVA uniform, or bore the scarf of the Communist fighters, it was difficult to identify them. Even then, the rapid turnover of Vietnamese recruits and the scarcity of dog tags often prevented commanders from ascertaining exactly who the soldiers were.
While troops carried the wounded in hammock litters from the field to the underground hospital, Bảo methodically searched each soldier’s face. “I am missing one of my troop,” she said. Ten minutes later Bảo suddenly slowed as one of the litters approached. She held up her hand, and the men carrying the litter stopped. A woman with long hair lay without moving. Her face was burned, and her neck and arms were already blistering. Bảo sucked in a breath. “She is mine.” She bent her ear to the woman’s chest. “She is still breathing.” She looked up at the men. “Hurry. I will be there soon.”
As the men trotted over to the entrance to the tunnel with their makeshift stretcher, Bảo went back to the spot where they’d found her soldier. She spotted the soldier’s Soviet SA-7, a portable surface-to-air missile launcher, not far away on the ground.
“Tâm, come here.” Tâm went to her. “Can you pick that up?”
Tâm bent over and did what Bảo asked.
“Slide it onto your shoulder.” She did. “Can you handle it?”
It felt awkward and heavy in Tâm’s hands compared to her AK-47. But she nodded.
“Stay here. I will be back. I will teach you how to use it. This is one of our two missile launchers. Tomorrow you deploy with us. One of the squad members will calibrate your targets.”
Bảo taught Tâm the basics of firing the SA-7. They stayed outside until the sun rose and a field officer waved at them to come inside before they were discovered by the enemy.
Back in their sleeping quarters, Bảo and Tâm whispered as they lay on their mats.
“You are a good—no, a great leader, Lieutenant Diệp Hồng Bảo.” Tâm rolled over so they were face-to-face, although in the dark of their quarters, they could not see each other. “Where did your dedication come from? Is that your nature? Who taught you how to operate the SA-7s? You were so calm tonight. Especially with the wounded soldier.”
“So many questions.” But Bảo’s thoughts apparently were elsewhere. “Tâm, I have changed my mind. I do not want you to deploy with us. You must stay here.”
Tâm frowned. “Why? I want to try out the SA-7.”
Bảo was quiet. Then, “I have lost too many soldiers. Good girls, all of them. I still mourn their deaths. But if I lose you, I will not be able go on.”
Tâm leaned across to stroke Bảo’s hair. “If something happens to me, you will go on. You are the strongest commander I’ve ever met.”
Bảo shook her head. “No, Tâm. I cannot lose you too. Not now.”
“I will be fine. You are just upset because—”
Bảo cut her off. “Listen to me. Our chances are not good. Fewer than half of us will survive. If malaria doesn’t kill us, the bombs will. I will never forgive myself if you are injured. Or worse.”
Tâm pulled Bảo into her arms. Bảo was crying. Tâm kissed her neck, her cheeks, her tears, and whispered words of love and reassurance. It took some time, but Bảo finally fell asleep in her arms.
For Tâm, sleep was a long time coming. She knew she was walking an emotional tightrope. Her passion for Bảo was equal to her fear of death. Her yin and yang. But she also knew she was exhausted from not getting enough sleep, the lack of decent food, and the inherent dangers in the tunnels. Still, the reality of finally meeting her other half, the person who filled up the hole inside, was too precious for her to waste a single moment.