“They know some trails across the frontier.”
Before the war Suoi had attended a French missionary school at Lao Kay, and she spoke good French. She was a very pretty girl with long black hair which she wore in braids. Small but beautifully proportioned, she had almond eyes and a slightly upturned nose. Now her eyes were swollen but dry, for she could no longer cry. Looking at her as she sat staring at the table, still in a semi-stupor, she reminded me of Lin. How identical were their stories. Separated from one another only in time and space, they were victims of a common enemy. It pained me that we had to torment her with questions.
Her male companions were deeply shaken but in their eyes I could see nothing but murder. It has often astonished me how much suffering the Orientals can bear without breaking down. Pain which would have sent a white man raving mad they often withstood without a moan. It might have been their heritage of countless centuries. Death came often and unexpectedly into Oriental homes, even in times of peace.
“We shall go with you,” Phu stated resolutely. “Will you give us weapons, so that we may kill?”
“We want to do nothing but kill… kill… kill every Viet Minh and every Chinaman,” Cao added vehemently. “When a thousand enemy die, we will rest… but not before.”
“You might kill, too,” Schulze nodded. From his map case he took a sheet of paper and laid it on the table. “We are going to punish the terrorists who killed your people. They have a camp in China where they feel safe. You can help us to wipe them out, but first of all you must tell us everything you know about the land between the border and Man-hao.”
Erich drew a line across the paper which followed roughly the contours of the border. “This is Lao Kay and here we have Ch’i-ma-pa.”
He put a few minute rings on the paper. “Here we have Muong… and the line here is the Song river… they call it Kiang in China.”
Working briskly he added more and more details, carefully adopting the approximate positions from the map. “This is Man-hao with the railway line to the north connecting Lao Kay and Meng-tzu.”
He glanced at the two men.
Phu nodded. “You draw well,” he remarked with appreciation which Schulze acknowledged with a quick smile.
“Now tell me about every hill, road, path, creek, stream, ravine, settlement, or lonely hut that you know of between this village and Man-hao. Try to recall the distances between them.”
With the interpreter translating, Schulze began to question the men expertly, mapping details however small or insignificant. He interrupted the men every now and then to double-check miles, yards, or even paces between the various topographical objects, which he then marked on the map. Phu and Cao knew the frontier area well but they had never ventured as far as Man-hao. “There are Chinese militia posts here,” Cao announced suddenly. He pointed at a spot on Erich’s diagram.
“How many posts are there?”
“Two posts. One right along the road, the second farther up on a small hill.”
Schulze drew a wavy circle marking the hill. “What is the distance between the posts, Cao?”
“About five hundred yards.”
“Is it on the left or on the right side of the road?”
“On the right side,” Cao said without hesitation.
“I see,” Erich nodded. “How high is the hill?”
“Not very high. Maybe four hundred feet.”
“Is it forested?”
“No trees. The militia cut the trees. Otherwise they could not see the road and the railway line.”
“There are trees,” Phu interposed, “but only halfway up the hill.”
Schulze shaded the hill accordingly. “Are there trees all around?”
“Yes,” said Cao. “And there are two paths up to the guardhouse, one facing the road, the other one leading into the hills.”
He leaned closer to the diagram and drew a line with his finger. “This way the path runs.”
“On the northern side?”
“Yes.”
Schulze was very talented in drawing accurate maps of uncharted lands. Questioning the villagers on details, he proceeded from sector to sector. More than an hour went by before he finally announced, “I think it will do, Hans.”
We had a diagram of the Chinese side of the border; every creek, path, ravine that the men could recall had been marked with numbers indicating the approximate distances, grade of elevation, and similar data. Eisner sent a trooper for tea and sandwiches.
“Eat something, Suoi. You must be very hungry,” he said to the girl. She shook her head at the food but accepted the tea, then burst into tears once again. “We know it is difficult for you to talk now,” Erich said softly, “but you must help us. You are the only one who knows Man-hao, where the guerrillas are hiding, Suoi. If we don’t smite them now, they will return to murder more people.”
Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed.
“Let her be!” Riedl exclaimed indignantly. “She is only a young girl trying to bear a terrible grief.”
Karl swore between his teeth. “They didn’t spare a soul in her family. She is alive only because she was visiting another family when the raiders came, and escaped into the jungle.”
Schulze prepared another sheet of paper and waited patiently for Suoi to gather herself. Phu spoke to the girl quietly in her native tongue, and after a while she dried her eyes and announced that she was ready to help us. Erich drew her closer and ran a line across the center of the paper, explaining softly, “This is the river right across Man-hao. Can you recall how many bridges are there, Suoi?”
“Oui, monsieur. There are two bridges,” she replied.
“In the center of the town or outside it?”
“One of them is in the center, at the marketplace. Near a small temple.”
“So we have a square with a temple,” Erich noted down, sketching rapidly. I was thinking of the excellent maps of the Chinese cities gathering dust in the reference section of our Troisieme Bureau.
“How long is the square, Suoi?” I heard Erich asking.
“It is not a very large square. Maybe a hundred paces across.”
Schulze’s pencil worked but he kept talking to hold the girl’s attention. “And the bridge… is it opposite the temple?” Suoi shook her head. “No monsieur. It is on the right side.”
“A stone bridge?”
“Oui,” she nodded. “The other bridge is near the end of the road to Meng-tzu,” she added, placing her finger on the drawing. “Here, along the river is a market with many shops.”
“Very good, Suoi.”
Erich paused for a short while, then glanced up. “Do you remember how many streets enter that square?” Suoi was thinking. “I think five. Three streets run opposite the river, two others parallel with it, on both sides of the square. The right side road goes uphill to where the militia barracks are.”
Schulze looked up sharply. We were on the right track. I nodded. “Go on, Erich. You seem to be doing fine.”
“Now this is very important, Suoi,” Erich went on. “Is it the only road to the barracks, or have you seen other roads too?”
“The other road goes to Meng-tzu,” she said.
“I see. Now about those militia barracks. Have you ever been close to them?” Suoi shook her head. “No, monsieur. No one is allowed up there. The soldiers have barriers on the road.”
“How far from the barracks?”
“At the bottom of the hill,” she said. “With guardhouses.”
“Is there a wall around the camp?” Eisner cut in. Suoi turned slightly and shook her head. “Only a wire fence.”
“No trees?”
“No,” she replied, “The hill is bare.”
“We will take heavy MG’s,” Eisner remarked rather to himself.
