Edge of War

The woman said something in Vietnamese that he didn’t understand. M? answered.

“Okay, Joe?” asked the woman.

“Yup,” said Josh, who didn’t understand what she had ordered, but figured it would be okay.

“She tell us it was on the house?” asked Little Joe.

“I have no idea,” said Josh.

“You don’t know Vietnamese?”

“Not really. They taught some phrases and things, and we practiced a little, but when people talk real fast, I can’t get it,” Josh said. “The tones are tough — the same sound can mean a bunch of things, depending on how they inflect it.”

“Well that’s a bitch. We’ll have to take pot luck, huh?”

“I ordered white coffee. It’s coffee with milk.”

“What if I wanted tea?”

“Oh. Um — ”

“Just busting you, kid. Coffee’s good.”

Though Little Joe called him “kid,” the SEAL seemed to be about his age. Maybe being in combat made him feel older than other people.

“So you’re a scientist, right?” said Little Joe. “What do you do? You know, science-wise?”

“I’m a weather scientist. Actually, what I study is the relationship between weather and biomes. We were looking at the plant life, how it’s changed in the last two years.”

“Global warming, right?” Little Joe smirked.

“I really hate that term. It doesn’t describe what’s going on. Vietnam’s average temperature is actually lower than it was a decade ago. People think everything’s getting hotter but it really isn’t.”

Josh began explaining that the effects of rapid weather change were extremely complicated. In Vietnam’s case, the changes had actually increased the arable land and lengthened the growing season.

Little Joe chortled. “What’s ‘arable’?” he said.

“Just farmland,” said Josh. “They grow a lot of rice, and what they’ve been able to do with increased crops — as much from genetic engineering on the rice as from the weather, but the weather did really help. Anyway, what they have now are two and even three crops per year, with yields that five years ago would have been unimaginable. They even do better than we do back home. That’s given them an incredible boost. That’s why China’s invading. They want the food.”

“Nah, it’s their oil,” said Little Joe. “They got tons of it offshore. That’s what this is about.”

“Oil’s important,” said Josh, who knew that the oil fields off Vietnam’s eastern shores were reputed to hold over twelve billion barrels, nearly double the estimate of a few years before. China was a voracious consumer. “But food is the reason people go to war. Vietnam has food and China doesn’t. Or not enough, anyway.”

“Nah. Always about oil, kid. It’s always oil.”

* * *

Mara tried to stay focused on what Phai was telling her about his cousin, but it was difficult. The SEAL and his submachine gun had drawn the attention of everyone in the room. It would be clear that they were together.

“The difficult problem in his village is thinking the Americans are friends,” Phai said. “No one accepts that. Always be on guard.”

“I understand.”

“Then good luck.” He started to rise.

“Wait,” said Mara, grabbing his hand.

It was a breach of etiquette, a mildly serious one, since they were different genders, and Phai immediately tensed. Mara let go.

She apologized. He nodded stiffly and asked what she needed.

“I have some things to sell. Satellite phones. I need to find a place — ”

“I can take them.”

“No. They may be bugged. I don’t want you connected to them.”

He named a gold shop on Ha Trung, and gave her directions. Then he rose and walked out quickly arms tight to his body as if he were trying to shrivel into the air.

Mara fished out money for the bill, adding extra dong to cover M?, Josh, and Little Joe. She got up and walked to their table.

“Leave. Now,” she said, and without waiting dropped the cash on the table and walked out.

The SEAL with the truck was waiting at the head of the alley. Nothing like being conspicuous. Mara gritted her back teeth.

“Hey, spook,” said Little Joe, practically swinging as he came out the door. “Where to now?”

“You jackass. What the hell did you go in there with your gun for?”

“Bunches of people have their guns with them,” said Little Joe.

“Bunches of people aren’t Americans. They’re the militia.”

“Nobody complained.”

“Get in the fucking truck,” said Mara. She turned to Josh. “You have to have more sense.”

“I uh — ”

“Get M? in the truck,” said Mara.

“Listen — ”

“You thought he knew what he was doing, is that what you were going to say?”

“No. I mean — ”

“He’s got a brain the size of a pea. They all do.”

The three walked back to the pickup. Josh started to get into the open bed.

“Joe goes back there,” said Mara. “You stay in the front with me.”

Inside the truck, she told Eric to take them to Hotel Nikko.

“I don’t know where that is,” said Eric.

“It’s on Tran Nhan Tong Street. In Dong Da.”

“If it ain’t in Michigan, I don’t have a clue.”

“It’s south,” said Mara. “Go up a block and take a left. Go clown Ba Trieu. There aren’t too many troops.”

“Direct me.”

The hotel was one of the city’s best. A large Western-style building near Hoan Kiem Lake, it was located in a neighborhood that included several embassies, and so far had escaped damage.

“Stay with the girl and the truck,” Mara told the SEALs as they pulled up to the thick overhang that marked the entrance. There were soldiers around the corner, but none in the plaza at the front of the hotel.

“No, we’re with Josh until the place is secure,” said Little Joe. “Orders.”

“Screw your orders,” she told him. “The more attention we attract, the less secure we all are.”

“Hey, I’ll go inside and scout,” said Eric, jumping out of the driver’s seat. “If I spin around, something’s up. You stay with M?.”

“Fine with me,” said Little Joe.

Eric pulled his shirt out, making sure the front concealed his holster. Mara frowned. She waited a few seconds, then led Josh inside. The lobby was crowded with foreigners sitting on the couches or milling around, making nervous conversation.

Kerfer was sitting near the bar, nursing a beer. “Took your time,” he said.

“I’m not on your schedule,” said Mara.

“Longer we wait to leave, the more chance the Chinks have to overrun the place.”

“I wish you’d watch your language.”

“That’s rich. You think any of these people would object? Fucking Chinks are breathing down their necks.” Kerfer took a swig of his beer. It was a Sapporo. “You know the restaurant’s supposed to be pretty good. I ate here a couple of years ago. How are ya today, Doc? You eat yet?”

“I’m not that hungry,” said Josh.

“Don’t blame you. Heard you didn’t sleep well.”