The March of the Dragons by Andrew McAuley

Author:Andrew McAuley [McAuley, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yorkie-Montague
Published: 2016-06-30T04:30:00+00:00

Phượng

20th March, 09:15

A Tank was parked directly outside the University. Behind it, a trio of army trucks with wheels taller than her. Phượng stopped her bike in the road and looked back the way she came; three soldiers accosted a student she’d passed moments before. The student stood at the side of the road with his hands on his head. One soldier kept his weapon trained on him while another searched his rucksack. The third solder was watching Phượng. She couldn't go back. At the school gates a half dozen soldiers waited for her.

She mouthed a silent prayer and twitched the throttle. Driving slowly toward the University entrance. Two soldiers began walking toward her; one held up his hand for her to stop. They were Vietnamese. The realisation filled her with revulsion. They wore the green boiler suit and red armband of the 'Vietnamese People's Volunteer Police'. Some looked as young as her, but one who stopped her was much older, his receding hair more grey than black. His tan skin leathery and wrinkled. They carried no arms other than two foot batons.

'Em, you're a student?' the elder man asked.

'Yes, anh.'

'Show me your ID card.'

'It's inside my moped.' She slid off the seat and began to lift her bike seat when one of the younger men touched her hand with his baton.

'Careful. Let me see.'

Trying to control the trembling in her limbs, she stepped back, allowing the militiaman to rummage through the storage compartment. He tossed her belongings to the floor. The other guards watched the process. A Chinese soldier leaned against the tank, smoking a cigarette, watching his Vietnamese subordinates work.

'Hey, what are you looking at?' the older man snarled. Prodding her chest with his baton. 'You look nervous.'

'She's hiding something,' said another. Losing interest in the bike they gathered around her.

She stepped back. They were enemies in each direction. There was nowhere to run.

'Search her,' commanded the elder man.

A short guard with a vicious face, sweat stained armpits and greasy hair lunged; grabbing the front of her blouse. 'Stay!' he barked.

Batons prodded her. The sour little man pulled her yellow motorbike hat off her head- hurling it aside. Someone grabbed her left wrist. Another seized her right arm above the elbow. She squirmed. Grips tightened. The little man ripped the surgical mask from her face. She cried out. His hands pressed against her ribs; firm and rough they ran up to her armpits and across her chest. His hands clasped her breasts, squeezing hard.

'Stop, please!' She cried. She stumbled. Her captors pulled her back to her feet.

The little man grabbed her breasts again. Staring into her eyes, his mouth twisted in a sadistic leer. His hot, fetid breath filled her nostrils. His hand went down the top of her blouse, inside her bra. Fingers pinching her nipple, making her cry out again.

A baton was pressed under her chin. The hands binding her pulled her to the ground. The short man straddled her stomach. She turned away from his evil, sneering face.

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