When they woke, Tâm went with Bảo to the underground hospital. Tâm waited outside. Bảo was inside for about five minutes. When she emerged, head down, trudging like a heavy boulder had landed on her shoulders, Tâm knew her soldier had died. Tâm put her arm around Bảo but Bảo pulled away, walking two steps in front.
The hospital was on the second level of the tunnels, and they made their way to the steps that would take them either to the first level or down to the living quarters. As they reached the steps, Bảo turned around. “I need to go outside for some air.”
Tâm nodded. “I will go with you.”
Bảo started to object, but at that moment, a blur jumped out of the dark and launched itself at Bảo. Tâm froze. For a split second she was unable to process what was happening. Then it registered. A man was attacking Bảo, overwhelming her from behind. Since she was facing Tâm, he was able to seize her under her arms and press a knife against her throat.
Tâm always carried her utility knife, most of the time in her boot. She bent down to retrieve it. At the same time, Bảo began to struggle against the man.
“Help!” Tâm shouted at the top of her lungs. “We need help now! The enemy is inside!”
But it happened too fast. Bảo was able to partially loosen his grip with her hands. She tried to slide out underneath his hold. Tâm rushed at him, knife in her hand, but before she could stab him, he tightened his hold on Bảo again and shoved his knife deep into her stomach.
The light inside was dim, but Tâm saw the blood oozing from Bảo’s middle. Bảo’s eyes rolled back in her head and she would have collapsed, except the tunnel rat was holding her up. He pried out the knife from her stomach and tore into her, stabbing her again and again, this time in her chest. Once more Tâm screamed for help, but no one came. The man let Bảo crumple to the ground, where she lay, not moving, between him and Tâm. The man pocketed his knife and gazed at Tâm with a satisfied grimace. She thought he was coming for her next, but he surprised her. He whirled around, scrambled up the steps, and disappeared out of the tunnel.
The first night without Bảo was torture. Yes, they had spent only a few months together, but Tâm had never imagined that Bảo would not be in her life. They had promised each other. If anyone perished, Tâm thought it would be her. Bảo was too good a soldier.
At first she lay on her mat, pretending Bảo was just checking the guns, cleaning weapons, or instructing her troops. She would return in a few minutes. When Bảo didn’t show up, she thrashed from side to side, sleep impossible. Finally, she abandoned the pretense, got up, and headed to the hospital.
She headed through the tunnels in a daze. On some level she knew she wasn’t reacting normally. Emotions were simmering under the surface, but she couldn’t bring them to consciousness. What were they? Grief? Rage? Self-pity? Her inability to define them kept her removed from reality, and she felt as though she was floating through time and space without making a tangible impression. She might have been a ghost.
Help had finally come, but it was too late. Soldiers lifted and placed Bảo in a hammock litter. They raced to the hospital, where she was pronounced dead. Now Tâm entered the hospital. In a quiet voice she asked to see Bảo to say farewell. The staff searched a small cave they said was the mortuary, but they couldn’t find Bảo’s body.
Tâm was puzzled. “She was brought in only a few hours ago.”
A female, probably a nurse, gave Tâm a compassionate look. “Sometimes we keep bodies to conceal the true body count from the enemy. Other times, we bury them in mass graves if it is possible. For sanitary reasons. The area aboveground is quiet today. They took her and many more. They will bury them after dark.”
Tâm felt completely abandoned. She didn’t have the chance to say goodbye. Or to find a small keepsake of Bảo—a lock of her hair, perhaps. A button from her uniform. A sandal. She turned away from the nurse and trudged wearily out of the hospital.
Two days later, while marching south with the Long Hairs, Tâm’s mist of emotional detachment snapped. The woman who had taken Bảo’s place as leader was rigid and controlling. She took Tâm aside one evening.
“You are not officially a member of our squad,” she said. “You are from the South. You are . . .” She paused then spit out, “Viet Cong.”
“What do you mean?” Tâm replied evenly. She knew she’d been insulted. Communist fighters usually didn’t refer to themselves as “Viet Cong” unless they were insulting someone.
“We are NVA.” The woman straightened. Arrogance tightened her face. “You do not have our training or discipline. You are a handicap to us. All you were was Bảo’s lover.”
Tâm gazed at the woman. She could not believe what she was hearing. “We are all on the same side.”
“In a way. But you do not know how to operate our weapons, and you—”
“Bảo taught me how to use the SA-7.”
The woman cleared her throat. “Let me say it this way. I do not have confidence in your ability to fight with us. You are a weak link. Bảo was selfish to bring you in.” She smirked. “But Bảo thought she was invincible. Like Triệu Thị Trinh.”
The woman was referring to a famous, almost mythical female Vietnamese warrior who, during the Chinese Han dynasty’s occupation of Vietnam nearly 2,000 years earlier, rebelled against Han oppression. Legend had it that Lady Triệu, as she was known, waged thirty successful battles against the Chinese before being defeated. But Bảo’s successor was not complimenting Bảo’s leadership skills.
“Bảo was never the heroine she thought she was. And we do not promote concubines to be soldiers. You are no longer welcome. Go back to your truck.”
Time splintered into before and after. Tâm’s reaction to the woman’s venom was overwhelming. The leader didn’t understand their relationship. Or she did and resented it. Or she was jealous of Bảo. Rage suffused Tâm’s core. Anger pierced her veil of blankness, replacing it with purple fury. How dare this woman debase Bảo’s memory? How dare she relegate Tâm to the role of concubine? Tâm wanted to tear the woman apart, limb from limb. Mortally wound her and watch her die a painful death. She towered over this woman. She could take her down. Finish her off with her knife. Her fingers itched. She forced herself to breathe. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then she had a better idea.