John Farson
Banned
It was close to midnight, and the sky was clear.
The old man, dressed once more in his old uniform, looked towards the north over the city from the rooftop of the office building. The building itself was almost deserted. Most of the civil servants who would normally be on duty at this time had either gone home to be with their families or were attempting to flee the city. The old man had done neither. His children were all grown up and lived elsewhere, and he had already sent his wife to her relatives in the country. And if his guess was right, running would be pointless. What was coming could neither be outrun nor outdriven.
The old man looked down. If a miracle occurred, he would go back to his wife, take her in his arms and not let go. But until then… this seemed more appropriate, somehow. More fitting.
A gun went off, the third time in 15 minutes. Another suicide, the old man thought to himself.
For the past week, a growing sense of disbelief and outright panic had seized the Politburo. Though things were tense, it was inconceivable that the superpowers would actually go to war with each other. Then three days ago the unthinkable had happened as the Warsaw Pact had attacked NATO in an offensive stretching from the Arctic Circle to the Adriatic.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the look on General Secretary Duan's face when the report had come. Knowing all too well the very potential implications, his hands had visibly shaken. All sorts of contingency and emergency plans had been activated, in addition to earlier ones, with everyone hoping that they would awaken from the madness and sanity would prevail.
The old man opened his eyes with a snort. If this uncaring universe actually answered hopes and prayers, the French would never have colonized Vietnam in the first place, the Japanese would not have invaded, the French would not have re-occupied, and the Americans would never have arrived to prop up their dissolute lackeys in Saigon.
Down below the noise on the streets increased. Despite the government's attempts at information control, word had filtered out to the populace. People were running, shouting, praying to whatever deities they believed in, or milled about apathetically or stood around, awaiting for what was to come. Like him.
Though he no longer held any real political power, he had been offered a chance to leave the city. He had turned it down. He had not started out as a soldier, but he had become one, and he knew how to die like one.
It was about six hours ago that word had reached them of the nuclear blast in West Germany. This had been shortly followed by another. It did not truly matter which side had fired first. With the first nuclear explosions in anger since Nagasaki, even a blind man could see where all this would lead. Le Duan had certainly understood, as he had shortly after had his fatal heart attack. The old man could only wish that he could have been so fortunate. But his doctor had recently given him a clean bill of health, telling him that he was in far better shape than most men his age. One of his friends had jokingly told him that he would outlast them all, living to be 100, at least. He emitted a bitter chuckle at this. His friend was about to be proven wrong in the worst way possible.
Mentally, he cursed both Reagan and Ogarkov for their idiocy, but Ogarkov most of all. If only Andropov were still around… Even in the midst of it all, he could not help but think analytically about his country's strategic situation, and why it was about to be hit worse than ever before. The first reason was right north of the border. Their ancient and hereditary enemy, whom they had most recently beaten back only five years earlier. Communism or no, one does not forget 2000-year-old hatreds quickly. So far the Chinese and the Russians had only engaged in sporadic artillery and small arms fire across their frontier. But the old man had no doubt that once the East-West exchange began, the Russians and Chinese would also settle their scores once and for all. And that score settling would include their allies. The Soviets had a base in Vinch Cam Ranh, after all. China had a limited arsenal, but they would certainly spare a few against Vietnam, and probably one for Phnom Penh and Vientiane, as well.
They did not even need to use that many, because of the second reason, namely America. The old man was certain that they would use the "opportunity" of Armageddon to avenge their defeat ten years earlier. After all, if they were going down, they would certainly not let the "filthy 'gooks'" have the last laugh, now would they? Whatever the Chinese would miss, the Americans would take care of.
Hanoi, Haiphong, Vinh, Dong Hoi, Hue, Da Nang, Vinch Cam Ranh, Saigon… just how much of his country would be left when the smoke finally cleared?
An air raid siren blared, then another, and another.
Is this what it was all for? All the wars, the killing, the suffering? All the men who died under my command? All for nothing?
His strategy had driven the French and Americans from their homeland. But against this enemy, there could be no strategy, no attrition. This time the Chinese and Americans would not seek to conquer and colonize them, no. Now, they would merely seek to annihilate them. What had taken those murderous Khmer Rouge lunatics years would be dwarfed in split seconds by the combined Sino-American fist…
All around Hanoi, points of light rose from the ground as the surface-to-air missile batteries fired their weapons at the unseen enemy coming from the skies.
The old man turned his head in the direction of the mausoleum where his friend was still lying in state after all these years, even though he had explicitly wished to be cremated.
My friend, you will finally get your w-
The last thing that Deputy Prime Minister Vo Nguyen Giap – schoolteacher, journalist, revolutionary, general of the Quân Đội Nhân Dân Việt Nam, politician and a leader of men – ever saw in this life was the night turning into day as his eyeballs melted in their sockets. A fraction of a second later the blastwave struck his charred corpse, still standing, vaporizing it and sending his mortal remains up into the atmosphere together with those of hundreds of thousands of Hanoians caught in the blast of the 3.3 Mt Dongfeng-3A medium-range ballistic missile.
[FONT="]
It was the first bomb to hit Vietnam. But far from the last. [/FONT]
The old man, dressed once more in his old uniform, looked towards the north over the city from the rooftop of the office building. The building itself was almost deserted. Most of the civil servants who would normally be on duty at this time had either gone home to be with their families or were attempting to flee the city. The old man had done neither. His children were all grown up and lived elsewhere, and he had already sent his wife to her relatives in the country. And if his guess was right, running would be pointless. What was coming could neither be outrun nor outdriven.
The old man looked down. If a miracle occurred, he would go back to his wife, take her in his arms and not let go. But until then… this seemed more appropriate, somehow. More fitting.
A gun went off, the third time in 15 minutes. Another suicide, the old man thought to himself.
For the past week, a growing sense of disbelief and outright panic had seized the Politburo. Though things were tense, it was inconceivable that the superpowers would actually go to war with each other. Then three days ago the unthinkable had happened as the Warsaw Pact had attacked NATO in an offensive stretching from the Arctic Circle to the Adriatic.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the look on General Secretary Duan's face when the report had come. Knowing all too well the very potential implications, his hands had visibly shaken. All sorts of contingency and emergency plans had been activated, in addition to earlier ones, with everyone hoping that they would awaken from the madness and sanity would prevail.
The old man opened his eyes with a snort. If this uncaring universe actually answered hopes and prayers, the French would never have colonized Vietnam in the first place, the Japanese would not have invaded, the French would not have re-occupied, and the Americans would never have arrived to prop up their dissolute lackeys in Saigon.
Down below the noise on the streets increased. Despite the government's attempts at information control, word had filtered out to the populace. People were running, shouting, praying to whatever deities they believed in, or milled about apathetically or stood around, awaiting for what was to come. Like him.
Though he no longer held any real political power, he had been offered a chance to leave the city. He had turned it down. He had not started out as a soldier, but he had become one, and he knew how to die like one.
It was about six hours ago that word had reached them of the nuclear blast in West Germany. This had been shortly followed by another. It did not truly matter which side had fired first. With the first nuclear explosions in anger since Nagasaki, even a blind man could see where all this would lead. Le Duan had certainly understood, as he had shortly after had his fatal heart attack. The old man could only wish that he could have been so fortunate. But his doctor had recently given him a clean bill of health, telling him that he was in far better shape than most men his age. One of his friends had jokingly told him that he would outlast them all, living to be 100, at least. He emitted a bitter chuckle at this. His friend was about to be proven wrong in the worst way possible.
Mentally, he cursed both Reagan and Ogarkov for their idiocy, but Ogarkov most of all. If only Andropov were still around… Even in the midst of it all, he could not help but think analytically about his country's strategic situation, and why it was about to be hit worse than ever before. The first reason was right north of the border. Their ancient and hereditary enemy, whom they had most recently beaten back only five years earlier. Communism or no, one does not forget 2000-year-old hatreds quickly. So far the Chinese and the Russians had only engaged in sporadic artillery and small arms fire across their frontier. But the old man had no doubt that once the East-West exchange began, the Russians and Chinese would also settle their scores once and for all. And that score settling would include their allies. The Soviets had a base in Vinch Cam Ranh, after all. China had a limited arsenal, but they would certainly spare a few against Vietnam, and probably one for Phnom Penh and Vientiane, as well.
They did not even need to use that many, because of the second reason, namely America. The old man was certain that they would use the "opportunity" of Armageddon to avenge their defeat ten years earlier. After all, if they were going down, they would certainly not let the "filthy 'gooks'" have the last laugh, now would they? Whatever the Chinese would miss, the Americans would take care of.
Hanoi, Haiphong, Vinh, Dong Hoi, Hue, Da Nang, Vinch Cam Ranh, Saigon… just how much of his country would be left when the smoke finally cleared?
An air raid siren blared, then another, and another.
Is this what it was all for? All the wars, the killing, the suffering? All the men who died under my command? All for nothing?
His strategy had driven the French and Americans from their homeland. But against this enemy, there could be no strategy, no attrition. This time the Chinese and Americans would not seek to conquer and colonize them, no. Now, they would merely seek to annihilate them. What had taken those murderous Khmer Rouge lunatics years would be dwarfed in split seconds by the combined Sino-American fist…
All around Hanoi, points of light rose from the ground as the surface-to-air missile batteries fired their weapons at the unseen enemy coming from the skies.
The old man turned his head in the direction of the mausoleum where his friend was still lying in state after all these years, even though he had explicitly wished to be cremated.
My friend, you will finally get your w-
The last thing that Deputy Prime Minister Vo Nguyen Giap – schoolteacher, journalist, revolutionary, general of the Quân Đội Nhân Dân Việt Nam, politician and a leader of men – ever saw in this life was the night turning into day as his eyeballs melted in their sockets. A fraction of a second later the blastwave struck his charred corpse, still standing, vaporizing it and sending his mortal remains up into the atmosphere together with those of hundreds of thousands of Hanoians caught in the blast of the 3.3 Mt Dongfeng-3A medium-range ballistic missile.
[FONT="]
It was the first bomb to hit Vietnam. But far from the last. [/FONT]
