January 2, 1963

Premonition hung thick as the fog, curling around the huts and wrapping the village of Tan Thoi in an ethereal blanket.

Titi awoke before the sun, hastening through her morning chores by the light of Me Dè's candle. Bian was gone, manning the radio tower and listening to the enemy's transmissions. Today was the day. The Americans were coming, and the jungle would run red with blood.

Many of the women and children had left the village seven days before, traveling on foot with their scant possessions in their arms. The colonel had assigned a small company of guerillas to move them to Ap Vanh twenty miles away. It was to that village that the Viet Cong would remove when the battle was won.

Major Quon had explained the matter to Titi, who with Me Dè and Cam Lan had remained behind. The Americans would come, but there was nothing to fear, for they did not know the terrain. The Viet Cong under the valiant colonel would surely triumph. Then they would withdraw swiftly and silently into the jungle where the Americans with their clumsy vehicles and heavy arms could not follow. A great victory would be won this day: a credit to the men of the North and a triumph for the cause of mighty Ho Chi Minh.

In a long line of entrenchments, the battalion lay concealed amid the jungle foliage, curling around the north side of Ap Tan Thoi, and spreading along the treeline toward Ap Bac: a mile and a half guarded well by dour warriors armed with M-1 rifles and an assortment of other weapons, such as they had been able to scavenge, steal or buy. They guarded the southern flank of Bac, and extended parallel to the canal bank to the south. A great crescent was formed. Outside the arc was trackless jungle. Within it were the broad, flat rice paddies: the only terrain flat enough for the Americans' choppers and bulky machines. Thus those defending the villages and the radio tower would be concealed by the terrain, invisible by ground and from the air, while the aggressors would be forced to fight on the flat, naked land, exposed to fire from foes they could not see. What the Viet Cong lacked in weaponry they made up for in knowledge of the land. Major Quon had explained, very clearly and carefully, that that was what would make all the difference.

Titi did not know what to believe. She wanted to trust him, for he was a soldier and surely more knowledgeable in such matters than a mere girl, but she could smell the fear in the air. Cam Lan was frightened, and there was a deep terror in Me Dè's eyes, though she still walked with her back erect and her head held high. She prepared the morning rice, but none of them could eat. The knowledge of the impending battle robbed them of peace of mind and of appetite.

When the mists grew gray with the rising of the sun, Me Dè filled Bian's bowl with rice and bade Cam Lan and Titi take it to her. On most days, it was a task for one girl, but today Me Dè did not want them to go alone, and Titi was glad. She was afraid of the fog. It seemed like an enemy today.

Cam Lan held her hand as they walked. It was difficult to remember that Titi was the younger of the two, for Cam Lan was more open with her fear. Titi squared her shoulders and tried to be strong, but the smothering miasma surrounding them sapped her quickly of her courage.

North of the village, the rearguard of the battle line was hidden among the trees: old men and skinny young boys who nodded respectfully as the girls passed. They reached the tower and entered the low shack huddled at its base.

Bian and a young man who wore the uniform of the North Vietnamese army were seated on high stools, the heavy headphones on their ears. Cam Lan halted at the doorway, reluctant to go any further. Bian's dislike of the older girl had not abated. Even Titi's revelation that they were all three sisters had done nothing to placate Bian. If anything, the idea that she shared the blood of this cowardly schoolteacher seemed to make her even less inclined to forgive Cam Lan's shortcomings.

Titi approached and laid the dish on the table before her sister. Bian looked up briefly, her eyes grim and dark. Her lips curled into a cold smile, and she mouthed her thanks. Returning the smile, the younger girl retreated from the building. Cam Lan followed. They walked back to the village in silence, two slender wraiths in the mists. They were not twenty feet from their hut when they heard it.

It was a sound like thunder, but more high-pitched and far more rapid. It was a sharp sound, a killing sound, and it froze Titi's heart in her mouth. Cam Lan listened, wide eyed and trembling, but she was the first to regain her voice.

"Gunfire!" she breathed. "The Americans. They are here!"

For a moment Titi thought she would scream, but suddenly Cam Lan was on her knees, tears coursing down her cheeks. She lifted the hem of her smock and hid her eyes in the coarse cloth. Whimpers of terror welled up in her throat. Titi placed a hand on the young woman's head, trying to focus on the sounds. She wanted to know where the Americans were, from which direction the sounds were coming, but the fog muffled the noises, making them echo so that it seemed as if the entire village was under attack.

Somehow, control returned to Titi's limbs. With strength disproportionate to her size she seized Cam Lan and dragged her to her feet. Pulling the terror-stricken teacher after her, Titi fled towards the little hut. They dove inside just as the cacophony of an explosion tore through the sounds of the guns.

Me Dè was watching the door, and she cried out in relief as the girls entered. Cam Lan, terrified and lost in horror, fell to the ground and began to weep. Me Dè bent to comfort her. Titi watched for a minute, but as the pounding of her heart slowed, she moved towards the entrance, and peered out into the thick mists. She could hear the guns in the distance. She could hear the sounds of war, violating the silent jungle. The sounds seemed to rape the land, stealing from it something that was an integral part of its essence. The quiet world Titi had known all her life was gone.

She was afraid, but another emotion beat within her breast as well.

Anger.

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All day the guns were heard. The fog melted as the sun rose, and by noon the village was bathed in yellow light. Still the sounds of battle were heard, and Titi huddled with the two women in the hut in the empty village. Me Dè tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, but it was useless. Her hands shook so she could not light the cooking fire, and in any case none of them would have eaten.

When the shadows grew long and the sun was stained red, Titi heard voices close at hand. Presently she realized that they were speaking in the language of the Americans. Me Dè did not seem to realize it, but Cam Lan, who had hardly stirred from her corner all day, did. She shook worse than ever and her frightened sobs redoubled.

The first voice was that of a man: harsh and angry. It was shouting commands and reprimands—though Titi did not recognize the words she knew the tones. Then another voice bit back: female, defiant and belligerent. Before Titi could let out a cry of recognition, Bian was thrust into the hut. She fell to her knees. Her long braid had come loose, and the curtain of hair billowed around her. She cursed and spat, then sprung to her feet and tried to run from the building. Before she could, a foot thrust against her knee, driving her back, and Major Quon entered after her.

His uniform was rumpled and stained with sweat, mud and blood. He carried two rifles: his own M-16, the pride of his armory, and an M-1 such as most soldiers used. His face was red with exertion and rage, and he was spewing the strange sounds with such vitriol and rapidity that Titi, watching in confusion and fright at the transformation that had overcome this usually calm and courteous man, half expected him to morph before her very eyes into one of the fire-breathing lizards of legend. His voice rose to a shout, and Bian bit back in kind, also using the alien tongue.

Stiffening with rage, Quon swooped and struck her full across the face with the back of his hand. The blow carried such force that she fell like a bundle of rags, her black tunic and flowing hair dwarfing her tall, bony frame.

"You are a soldier!" Quon roared, reverting to his own language and dealing Bian a vicious kick with his booted foot. "You are a soldier, and you will obey orders!"

"They are bad orders!" Bian snapped, scrambling to her feet. Blood was streaming from her nose and coursing over her lips and chin. "I can fight—"

Quon struck her again, but this time used only his palm, so that although her head whipped to one side she did not fall. "You can fight!" he taunted. "The Americans are so thick on the field that the boys who cannot hit a water buffalo at twenty paces can fight! For the useless soldiers I have such duties! You with your misguided pride—you I need here! Take your orders, you foolish—"

"Orders!" Bian scoffed. "To hide, to skulk here with the old woman and the coward and the child when there is an enemy to conquer and glory to be won—"

Again, Quon struck her. Me Dè was watching, wide-eyed with horror. She flinched as Bian took the blow, but did not cry out. Titi wondered why she did not stop it. This man was harming her daughter, and Me Dè did nothing…

"Glory? We do not fight for glory!" he bellowed. "We fight for truth, for freedom!"

Bian answered back, using the Americans' language. Quon replied in kind, and thrust the M-1 rifle into her hands, pointing at Titi as he spoke. Then from his belt he took a black handgun. Titi recognized it. It was called a forty-five. Quon bent and seized Cam Lan by her hair, forcing her to sit up.

"And you help!" he snapped, throwing the small gun into her hand. "You will protect Giang and Titi, and help Bian when the call for retreat comes! You will show the nobility of your blood and as you love your life you will not shame me this day!"

Cam Lan, terrified and confused, nodded frantically. Then suddenly the warrior was gone, and the four females were left alone.

Bian muttered something and spit again, ferociously pushing the strap of the rifle over her shoulder as she paced the narrow floor.

Me Dè crouched down on the floor, watching her daughter. The mother did not speak. There was awe in her eyes, and the same respect she showed the men who even now were doing battle outside the village.

Cam Lan drew her knees to her chest and hid her eyes against them, trembling in silence.

It was Titi who finally spoke, getting to her feet and approaching Bian. "The battle—" she began.

Bian turned, and her eyes smoldered with black fire. "The battle goes well!" she said. "We will see victory this day!" The pride gave way to resentment. "And here I sit, minding the weak and the craven."

Titi was not satisfied with the scant information. "Will the colonel—"

Again Bian cut her off. "The colonel is dead," she said coldly. "He was slain on the field. Major Quon commands now."

"Have you… did you fight?"

Bian's pride was daunting: it seemed to fill the hut with its power. "Five I have slain," she said. "Three of the groveling dogs, slaves to the French. Two Americans." The look of arrogant pleasure vanished. "Every minute more come, and now I may not fight!"

She looked as if she wanted Titi to ask more, but the girl could not. She backed against the wall and slid down to the floor, staring at the gun in Bian's hands. She had killed today. Bian, her beloved sister, had killed not only two Americans, but three of her own people. Titi knew they were traitors to Ho Chi Minh and to the true Vietnam, but still they were of the same blood, of the same land, as she and Bian.

She did not understand, and it frightened her.

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Titi must have fallen asleep, because suddenly Me Dè was shaking her awake. The hut was dark, but silhouetted against the moonlight in the doorway was Bian, her rifle held at the ready. Cam Lan was cowering near Me Dè's feet, clutching the gun she had been given. She was holding it by the barrel, like a hammer.

"Come!" Me Dè whispered.

"What is it?" Titi asked, bewildered. Something was wrong, but it took her a moment to figure out what it was. The guns were silent.

"We are leaving," Bian said coldly. "The enemy will have reinforcements in the morning."

Silent and swift, the four women moved through the village and into the jungle to the east. Bian led the way, a black shadow with an M-1. Titi trotted behind her. Me Dè and Cam Lan followed, arms about each other.

Suddenly, Bian stopped. She gestured that the others should crouch in the foliage. Then she wrenched the gun from Cam Lan's hand and forcibly curled the older girl's fingers around it properly. "Protect them!" she hissed. On silent feet, she vanished into the jungle.

Titi sat in terrified silence, aware of Me Dè's laborious breathing and the muffled sobs of Cam Lan. Her heart went out to the young woman. She was so afraid. The older girl was even more frightened that Titi herself.

There was the harsh noise of gunfire, and Cam Lan screamed. Then Titi could hear booted feet thundering through the undergrowth. Not knowing what else to do, she seized the gun from Cam Lan's cold, quivering hands. She had never used one before, nor even held one, but she had often seen the men practicing their marksmanship. She pointed it towards the vastness of the trees, safely away from Cam Lan and Me Dè. Then she pulled the trigger. Titi did not hear the shot as it rang through the night, for she was consumed by the way the weapon kicked in her hand. Cam Lan screamed again, startling Titi into action. She sprang to her feet, grabbing the older girl's wrist.

"Come!" she hissed. "Run!"

Dragging Cam Lan after her, she sped through the trees. Another gunshot rang out but this time it was not Titi who fired. A woman screamed in anguish. Then there was the whistle of an M-1, and silence. Still, Titi kept running, the yards vanishing beneath her as she sped eastward. Suddenly strong arms were grabbing her, and she struggled, trying to close her finger on the trigger again.

"Thtt!" her captor hissed. "Titi, be silent!"

It was one of the young lieutenants. Titi almost wept in relief. She fell against the strong arms, weakened by the strain of the last few minutes and the slow, gnawing stress of the hellish day.

She was being carried, and then someone laid her in the bed of a truck, and Cam Lan climbed up next to her, still weeping. More bodies gathered in around her, and they roared off into the darkness. Titi reflected as she gave in to her faintness that this was the first time she had ever ridden in a truck.

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Ap Vanh had been carefully prepared as the place of refuge. The Viet Cong, victorious and proud, were greeted as heroes. They were fed with the best that the villagers could offer, and their wounded were tended to with the greatest care and dignity.

Eighteen men had been harmed in the battle. Doctors of the North Vietnamese army were waiting to tend to bullet wounds and broken limbs. Major Quon had been injured also, and he was spirited away into the outpost bunker, borne on a bamboo stretcher by six of his men. He had rallied the troops after the death of the colonel, and led them to the great triumph, the news of which was by morning already spreading across the land. Spies from Saigon brought the tidings: the Viet Cong, outnumbered four to one, had slain more than a hundred of the enemy and wounded four score. Of their own dead, there were fewer than two score.

Titi did not learn this until afterwards. All that day, she and Cam Lan sat in the bed of the truck that they had ridden from Tan Thoi to Vanh, cold and bewildered. Titi still held Cam Lan's weapon. Around mid-morning, an old woman brought them each a bowl of thick pumpkin soup, which they drank gratefully. Neither of them spoke. They just huddled close to one another and watched the battalion, three hundred strong, as they cleaned their weapons and relived their triumph.

It was mid-afternoon when Bian appeared, coming out of the concrete bunker. Her hair was pulled back in its plait again, but she had lost her hairpin, and so was obliged to let the rope hang down her back. She had her rifle strapped across her shoulder blade, and her face seemed more chiseled and proud than ever.

Titi almost cried out for joy when she saw her, but Bian's expression warned her that something was amiss. There was a coldness in the dark eyes as she approached the truck.

"Major Quon rests," Bian said coolly. "He asks if you will come to him, Titi."

"Of course," Titi said. "What is wrong with him?"

"Shrapnel struck his eye. The doctor has taken it out," Bian said inscrutably. She turned her hard gaze on Cam Lan. "And you, coward," she spat; "you are to come also."

Cam Lan nodded meekly, her head bowed in shame. The two girls climbed down from the truck and followed Bian. Inside the bunker, Major Quon lay on a mat on the floor. His right eye was obscured by a thick wadded bandage through which blood was soaking. There was a curiously vacant expression on his face that Titi learned much later was a result of the morphine the doctor had given him for the pain. He turned his head a little as they entered.

"Ah, Titi," he said, a fond smile on his lips. "Titi who took up arms to protect her commander's woman. Titi who fired upon American soldiers. Brave, valiant Titi."

Titi didn't know what he was talking about at first, but then she remembered the flight from the village: she had grabbed Cam Lan's forty-five, and…

Major Quon was beckoning to her. The gesture was small, as if it pained him. Titi hastened to kneel at his side, and with an anguished effort he raised his hand to touch her face. She placed her small hand over his to hold it against her cheek.

"You are a valiant young woman," he said. "I am proud."

Titi blushed with pleasure. From the corner of her eye she could see Bian raising her chin in pride. Quon smiled again, and then turned his good eye upon Cam Lan, who stood by the door, her head bowed in shame.

"And you!" he spat. "Faithless and worthless! Coward and fool!" He gestured at Bian. "Kill her," he said coldly.

"No!" Titi cried as Bian took the rifle from her shoulder. Cam Lan let out a little whimper of terror and sank to the ground, shaking violently. Before she realized she had moved, Titi was standing over her, between Bian's gun and the cowering girl. "No! No!" Titi shouted again. Bian froze, the cruelty in her eyes wavering for an instant.

"What is this?" Quon whispered. "Titi, come here."

"No!" Titi cried. "No, you cannot kill Cam Lan! You cannot! You must not!"

Bian looked at Quon, who motioned that she should lower the rifle. She did so. "Come here, Titi," the wounded warrior repeated. This time she obeyed, trembling a little as she knelt next to him. Again he touched her face. "You would have me spare this piece of filth? This wretched coward who has allowed the Americans to kill Giang?"

Titi gasped. Me Dè was dead? It could not be so! Me Dè could not be dead! She looked frantically at Bian, hoping to see denial. Instead, the older girl nodded, her eyes hard again. Somehow, in the commotion of the flight from the village, the Americans had found Me Dè and killed her. Titi felt tears prickling in her eyes, but she fought them. She would not let them fall.

"You would have me spare this craven slut?" Major Quon asked.

Titi looked at Cam Lan. It wasn't her fault. She had just been frightened. She had been too frightened to do anything. It wasn't her fault…

She couldn't articulate this. All she could do was nod.

Quon closed his eye and sighed, nodding his head wearily as he leaned back against the cushion beneath his head. "Little Titi, with so much love in her heart," he breathed. "Very well. For your valor I will give you her life. Coward, remember!" he barked, raising his head to glare at the other girl. "Titi has spared your life. Now get out of my sight. I do not want to see you again while the winter lasts!"

He fell back against the cushion again, and Cam Lan fled.

Titi lingered, unsure of what to do. Major Quon did not move, nor did he open his un-bandaged eye. Presently a heavy snore escaped his lips. He was asleep!

Bian put her hand on Titi's shoulder. "You can go," she said, with the formal respect of a soldier addressing an honored lady. "The women of the village will house you."

Titi got to her feet and tottered from the room, trembling.

She found Cam Lan on the edge of the village, hiding near the midden where none of the soldiers would see her. The shame in her eyes was obvious, but the grief was stronger. Titi went to her and knelt beside her. They held one another and cried. They wept for Me Dè, they wept to relieve their fear and the strain grating their young nerves, and they wept for the loss of the world they had known. They lay there for so long that the world seemed to lose coherency. There were only tears. Tears and terror and hatred and death.

It was only after the sun had set that one of the village women came and brought them to her hut. She fed them and then sent Cam Lan out to bathe in the stream. Titi was given a basin of hot water and a dish of lye soap with which to wash herself. It was the first of many slights Cam Lan was to endure in the coming years. She was shamed, and she had shamed Quon, and he would not soon forget or forgive.

Left alone in the old woman's hut, Titi undressed and bathed. It felt good to scrub off the sweat and grime of the last two days. When she was finished cleaning her body, she donned a fresh smock that her hostess had provided, and turned to wash her own clothes.

The inner seam of the trousers of her ao dai was wet with blood. She stared at it, and then lifted the smock she wore in order to inspect her body. She touched herself between the legs, where the small curling hairs grew. Her hand came away red. Titi gasped, and then she began to cry again. She wanted to tell Me Dè, for she would have been so proud and happy, but Me Dè was dead. Titi had no one to share this joy with tonight. She could not even take joy from it herself, for she was so weary and sad. She could only recognize the truth and wonder what it would mean for her life now that everything else was also changed.

Today she was a woman.