Ride The Tiger. Lindsay McKenna

the knowledge that if either side broke its word, the Villard plantation, which had been in the family since the early 1930s, would quickly be destroyed—a fate that already had befallen so many other French plantations since the battle at Dien Bien Phu.

      Placing her purse in the car, Amy Lou called out, “Au revoir, Dany. I’ve been so bored for so long. This is a wonderful opportunity for me to get out and enjoy myself.” She pouted playfully. “Now, you will not hold that against me, will you, ma doux?”

      Dany’s throat tightened with complicated emotions. Then she sighed in helpless resignation. “No, Maman.” Her mother was a butterfly, Dany had decided long ago, and she, the dutiful, hard-working water buffalo, possessing neither her mother’s lilt, glitter and gift for small talk, nor her love of parties and social status.

      Dany looked down at her hands as Amy Lou slipped into the Renault. They were long and slender like her mother’s, but there the similarity ended. Amy Lou had her hands massaged daily and anointed with expensive creams by her personal maid, getting her long nails polished bright red. My hands are red, all right, Dany thought ruefully, slowly turning them over. Her nails were blunt cut, with dirt beneath them from working among the rubber trees. Although she scrubbed her hands and nails nightly, Dany could swear they retained a faint red stain, as if her skin were permanently marked by the soil she loved so fiercely. Dany didn’t see it as bad, but rather as a badge proclaiming her oneness with the land.

      “Do not worry about me,” Amy Lou called lightly as she put the little car in gear. “I will share the gossip I hear at lunch with you when I return later this afternoon.” She blew Dany a kiss with her gloved hand.

      The sudden urge to run over to the car and give her mother a genuine kiss startled Dany. There had never been real warmth between them, although Dany had sometimes ached for it. Butterflies like her pampered mother were airy and light, never landing anyplace long enough to learn about deeper, more serious commitments. Dany took two steps forward, then checked herself. If she did run over and kiss her mother’s cheek, Amy Lou no doubt would playfully chide her for making a childish demonstration, and would not return the kiss. Much better to quell her own emotional needs and avoid embarrassment, Dany thought.

      Licking her lower lip, she raised her hand. “Bye, Maman. Have a good time.”

      “Oh, I will! I will!”

      Dany felt oddly emotional—shaky without knowing why. The Renault started down the quarter-mile-long driveway. Built from imported red brick, the driveway wound toward Highway 14, a main thoroughfare to Da Nang. Tall, lovely silk trees paralleled the road, adding to the rich veneer the Villard plantation presented to those passing by the highway. But lately, the only vehicles to pass had been long convoys of American marines in trucks, an almost constant occurrence. The Renault coughed noisily as it chugged toward the dirt highway, and bluish smoke popped several times from the exhaust pipe.

      The midmorning sun lanced through the canopy of trees near the front steps, and Dany felt perspiration begin to dot her face. High temperatures and equally high humidity were a fact of life in Vietnam. But, born at the plantation, Dany had never been bothered by the weather as her parents had.

      Dany frowned as she saw another American military convoy making its way past their driveway on its way to Da Nang, ten miles to the north. Dany was terrified that if any American vehicle came into their long driveway, for whatever reason, Binh Duc would retaliate—violently. When the Americans had landed on Da Nang’s soil in March the Villards had made it known that the plantation was off-limits to any and all military personnel. Thus far, the brash Americans had respected the Villards neutrality and land.

      The Renault had almost reached the intersection to Highway 14, still sputtering and spitting a bluish trail of exhaust. Dany smiled. Her mother knew nothing of mechanics and would drive the Renault until it stopped dead on the spot. Amy Lou would die of embarrassment if her car stopped somewhere other than where she wanted it to. Rubbing her brow, Dany decided she’d better have the car looked at when her mother returned. One of their Vietnamese workers, who was something of a genius with inventions, also served as makeshift mechanic, although he never did well on the Renault.

      Just as Dany began to turn toward the house, a huge fireball enveloped the Renault. As if part of a movie stunt, the small car lifted upward through the fireball, flew apart and landed in pieces alongside the brick drive.

      “Maman!” Dany barely had time to scream before the pulverizing sound concussion slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Another cry tore from Dany as she hit the brick driveway. Skin was torn from her elbow and hand, but she barely felt it. No! her mind caterwauled. In a daze, she lurched to her feet, the heat momentarily stinging her skin, the smell carried on the blast a combination of oil, metal and another odor her mind instantly rejected. A sob tore from Dany and she began running toward the flames.

      As she sprinted down the driveway, a second blast erupted from the already charred wreck with a force of heat that scorched Dany’s skin. This time the sickening odor was undeniable, and her stomach lurched. Choking back the bitter taste of bile in her mouth, Dany threw her hand up to protect her face and eyes as she continued to run headlong. Her mother! Denial surged through Dany along with nausea at the terrible smell of burned human flesh. Dany raced on, her mouth open in a soundless shriek, her eyes blurred with tears.

      * * *

      “Good God!” Major Gib Ramsey breathed as the blue Renault exploded into a fireball less than a quarter mile away. His hand flew to the jeep’s dashboard to steady himself as Captain Pete Mallory slammed on the brakes. As the jeep skidded to a stop, Gib leaped out and began running toward the car, already engulfed in flames. The French car must have hit a land mine—or someone had put a bomb in it. He knew, even as he ran, that no way could anyone in that car have survived the explosion.

      Adrenaline shot through Gib, making him excruciatingly alert. His nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed in calculated swings from right to left. VC could be hiding nearby. This could be an ambush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slender young woman screaming as she ran down the driveway toward the burning Renault. The charred remains of the car body had landed on its side and fire and black smoke poured upward through the arms of the silk trees, smudging the bright blue sky.

      Gib’s heart pounded triple time, fear of stepping on another land mine foremost in his mind. Still his huge strides carried him forward along the bank of the narrow dirt road. Mines usually were buried in the dirt near the tire-track ruts, so he avoided the center of the road. Realizing there was nothing to be done for the driver of the car, he changed direction to intercept the young woman, who seemed to be aiming herself directly at the burning car. Didn’t she realize that if the gas tank hadn’t already exploded, it could, possibly killing her as well?

      Jerking a look across his shoulder as he ran, Gib yelled, “Pete, get the fire extinguisher! Stop one of these trucks and get some help.”

      Pete lifted his hand in acknowledgement, quickly stepping out of the jeep.

      All of Gib’s attention centered on the woman. At first, he thought she was Vietnamese, with her long, flowing black hair, dusky golden skin and traditional Vietnamese farmer garb. But he changed his mind as he ran around the burning wreck and drew closer to her. Her eyes were huge with shock and tears, her face heart-shaped, with high cheekbones.

      Tucking away his immediate impressions, Gib came to a halt in her path, both hands outstretched to prevent her from getting any closer to the car.

       “Maman! Maman!”

      It vaguely registered on Gib’s senses that she was speaking French. He’d been in Vietnam long enough to pick up a smattering. Maman meant mother. It must have been the woman’s mother in the Renault. Oh, God... Even after two years of combat, Gib couldn’t stop the welling up of emotion. He knew firsthand what it was like to lose a mother.

      His nostrils flared and Gib drank in huge draughts of air and steeled himself to take the woman’s full weight. She wasn’t slowing down. It was as if she didn’t even see him in her path.

      “Wait,