The Shadow of Arms Read Free

up. White rays of a scorching sun enveloped the sandy terrain, the barbed wire, and the cactuses. The few clumps of jungle scattered about looked like they were floating, like ships on water. A narrow road flanked by sandbags and barbed wire wound its way around them, connecting the battalion and the troops. Shots—warnings fired from the watchtowers built at every traffic control post—rang out in the silence between the blasts.
    Sand rose up in dense clouds behind the hill. It mushroomed up into the air and then rolled down over the slope, swirling out across the field. The supply trucks had already come through by then. Then a Jeep veered sharply and sped into a narrow passage between two rows of sandbags.
    For an instant, the field disappeared in the cloud of sand. A soldier standing guard out in front of the barricade yelled out, “Vehicle, headed this way!”
    â€œWhere’s it from?”
    â€œHeadquarters looks like, sir.”
    The exchange between the squad leader and the lookout caused a stir among the soldiers. Those who had been squatting in the trenches cleaning their weapons were now up, leaning over the barricade to see what would happen.
    â€œIt’s definitely from headquarters, must be coming for somebody.”
    â€œA liaison officer, maybe.”
    â€œThat new guy just got here. So someone’s got to be leaving.”
    The Jeep came to a sudden stop in front of the defense post. The sentry pushed the barricade to one side. As the dust settled the passenger in the Jeep became visible. He was not in jungle uniform, but in simple, black cotton Vietnamese clothing and a Special Corps jungle cap with a broad visor. The driver was dressed the same way. An unmanned, unloaded machine gun was mounted on the back of the Jeep. It hung diagonally on its stand and swayed for a few seconds before coming to rest.
    â€œWhat is it?” the company commander asked the two men dressed as civilians, as he emerged from his bunker. They did not remove their dark sunglasses.
    Without saluting, the passenger handed a piece of paper to the commander and said, “CID 2 . We’re here for the transferee.”
    The commander took a quick look at the paper. The soldiers stopped all activity and turned to look at him.
    â€œCorporal Ahn Yong Kyu. Corporal Ahn!”
    The soldier whose name had been called hesitantly rose from the trench. He glanced around. Visibly perplexed, he walked toward the company commander. Except for a missing helmet, he carried a fighting man’s standard issue of arms and equipment. Like most infantrymen in the dry season, Private Ahn had cut his jungle pants into shorts, revealing his knees above his boots. Ragged threads from the unhemmed edges dangled over his calves.
    Waving the orders in the air, the commander griped to the man in civvies, as if he were in charge of personnel, “It’s tough, you know. If you take all my veterans, who’s going to fight? We won’t have a single man.”
    The man took off his jungle cap and fanned himself with it. “Everyone who’s faced death is a veteran.”
    â€œWhat matters is combat experience,” the commander went on. “We have only a couple who’ve done six months of duty. You can’t send them into the field before eight months, and the new recruits are a problem. It’s only after three months that you could call them infantrymen, barely. Any earlier . . . they get carried off in body bags by helicopters.”
    The commander handed the paper over to the senior sergeant and cast a helpless look at the soldiers standing around. The driver turned the Jeep around to head back and the man in black shouted at the confused soldier, who hadn’t moved from his spot: “Let’s go! Get in!”
    â€œI have to report, and there’s my things.”
    â€œFuck your report, this is an order. You can come naked for all I care. Let’s go!”
    The soldier looked