"Cannot," Lan said. "Not captain. Come up, Remo." Remo climbed up to join Lan at the turret hatch. He looked around. Then he saw the other tank. It had been laying for them at the edge of the camp clearing. Like the finger of doom, its gleaming cannon was pointing directly at them.
Remo grabbed the turret gun. He pointed it at the back of Captain Dai's head.
"Tell them to back off or I'll blow his head open," Remo shouted.
Frightened, Lan relayed Remo's threat.
The tank commander stared back stonily. Remo watched him out of the tail of his eye, afraid to tear his gaze from the back of Captain Dai's head. Dai turned. His face was alight. He bared his shovellike teeth in a sneering grin.
"Don't be so smug," Remo said. "I killed you once. I'll be happy to do it again."
Lan relayed Remo's words. Captain Dai's face lost its catlike grin. A variety of expressions crossed his features. "What are they doing?" Remo whispered.
"Waiting," Lan said. Her face was drawn.
"For what?"
Then they knew. Out from behind the tank, a line of men marched with heads bowed and shoulders drooping. They wore gray cotton. They were Americans. Behind them marched others, who were not all American. Lan recognized them as her fellow Amerasians. Her throat tightened painfully at the realization that they hadn't made it to Thailand. To Remo, they meant nothing.
The stone-faced tank commander pointed to the line of captives. They were under the menace of several soldiers' rifles. The officer shouted angrily, gesticulating at Remo and again at the prisoners.
"Don't tell me," Remo told Lan. "We surrender or they get chopped down."
Lan nodded silently, fighting back tears.
Remo's fingers tightened on the machine-gun trip. He wanted very much to pull it. Captain Dai saw the look in Remo's eyes. His smile completely fled. Sweat broke out all over his unlovely face.
Finally Remo said, "You're not worth it," and backed away from the machine gun, its muzzle dropping impotently. Remo raised his hands.
"No choice, kid," he said thickly.
No longer fighting her tears, Lan threw her AK-47 into the dirt. She raised her hands.
"Good-bye, Remo," she whispered thickly.
"We're not dead yet."
The soldiers surrounded the tank and motioned Remo and Lan down from the turret. They forced them to kneel, their crude hands feeling their clothes for hidden weapons. Remo's helmet was cast aside. Others helped Captain Dai off the tank. He had difficulty walking. His knees wobbled.
Unsteadily he walked up to Remo and slapped his face twice, first in one direction and then with the back of his hand on the return sweep.
"Hai cai nay ra!" Dai screamed at the tank officer. Lan was dragged away to a thatched hut. The prisoners were marched after her.
Then they escorted Remo across the camp, taking him to the far side, where a bulky steel container about the size of a garbage- dumpster stood in the dirt not far from-if the overpowering stench meant anything-an open latrine trench.
Remo was forced to kneel again, and the sudden night of Vietnam fell upon them. The refrigeratorlike door at one end of the long container was thrown open and Remo was kicked and jabbed into its dark interior.
The door clanged shut and the locking lever was thrown.
Remo found himself in a stifling cube of heat. The air was heavy with stale human smells. A little light filtered in through bullet holes in the sides.
Remo put an eye to one of the holes and tried to see outside. A low voice pulled him away from the hole. "They don't usually put two men inside at once," it grumbled. "But I do appreciate the company."
"Who's there?" Remo asked.
"Who do you think, fool? Youngblood. You been brainwashed or something?"
"Youngblood?" Remo asked. "Dick?"
"Hey!" Youngblood suddenly shouted: "I don't recognize your voice. Who the hell are you?"
"It's me, Remo."
"Yeah? Remo who?"
"Williams. How many other Remos do you know?"
"Williams ... Remo Williams...... The voice was low, as if tasting the name. I usta know a marine by that name."
"Dick. It's me."
"Prove it."
"Tell me how."
"Lemme see your face. Get over by the vent holes back here, where there's light."
Remo scrooched over. His eyes were becoming used to the lack of light. He made out a dim, hulking form with bright, suspicious eyes.
The eyes came closer. They were familiar. But not the surrounding face. It was thicker, the skin coarse and lined.
"Shee-it!" Youngblood said. "It is you, you sonovabitch!"
"You look old," Remo said slowly.
"The hell you say," Youngblood scoffed. "After twenty years, what did you expect, Nat King Fucking Cole?"
"Then it is true."
"What?"
"The war. It's over."
"You ain't heard?"
"I haven't been able to believe it," Remo admitted.