The Call of the Thunder Dragon (20 page)

The crowds of men and women were
pressing forward to listen and observe the Japanese soldiers, who
were now encircled by fishermen and hoteliers, already inches away
from the bayonets of the soldiers.

Colonel Haga-Jin hissed a warning
to Captain Soujiro, who nodded in agreement. Barking commands the
Captain directed the men into a tighter square, the prisoners were
pushed together, along with Song into a standing huddle; cornered
by bayonets. The rest of the men formed into firing lines, the
front rank kneeling and the second behind, held the rifles up at
the shoulder ready to fire.

Falstaff had been watching from
a side alley further up the street. He saw Zam amongst crowd in
front of the hotel. Sensibly the crowds were starting to disperse,
taking cover in doorways or alleys.

Falstaff gasped, as he saw the
prisoners stand. Ang and Jinling were among them. As the group,
jostled, he saw old man Bo was well. They looked pathetic, cold and
pale. Falstaff could only imagine how long they’d be prisoners,
stripped and bare foot in the cold winter night. Seeing the
brothers decided him, he had to take radical action.

Withdrawing back into the alley,
he climbed the fence into the yard of the next property and
continued up the hill in the same fashion, confident that no
pursuit had been organised to find him.

At the top of the hill, he rushed
across the avenue looking for the brother’s truck. He found it
parked in a backstreet, behind the bar where they had enjoyed the
meal the previous night. It was a big 1929 Volvo, the cabin now
entirely made of wood. Repaired with unfinished pine and scrap from
a dozen different doors. The wires hung down low under the
dashboard. He vainly tried the button next to it, without success.
Bending he pushed his hand into the bunch of wires and curled his
fingers around the switch wires and pulled them out. Stripping
them, he twisted them together and pushed the ignition button.

There was a judder and the engine
stalled. Taking care to keep the clutch pressed down he tried
again. Falstaff panicked momentarily as the truck started to move
backwards. He stirred the gearbox again hoping to find the correct
gear. Raising the clutch slowly, the van started to move
forward.

Colonel Haga-Jin, gripping the
boots in one hand and his pistol in the other berated the crowd.
Demanding they bring him the pilot. Captain Soujiro was no kinder
to the prisoners he ordered the bayonet’s to be pushed closer. The
prisoners jostled in a huddle trying to escape the scratching
bayonets.

Two smart Japanese marines, in
dark green with white gaiters, come up the avenue from the flying
boats holding their rifles across their chests. They carried orders
to withdraw immediately.

Captain Soujiro approached,
pointing to the hotel.

“Take the four wounded first. The
dead are being prepared. We cannot leave until the foreign pilot is
dead.” Insisted the Captain, torn between staying to see the
stand-off to a proper conclusion and to punish the inhabitants for
hiding the pilot or obeying his strict orders.

As the officers conferred, his
men come out of the hotel with nine stretchers. Improvised from
hotel doors and cupboards. The dead were wrapped in sheets, the
wounded bandaged with field dressings. Captain Soujiro nodded his
approval as they were taken away to the shore to be loaded aboard
the big four-engined Kawanishi
¹⁶
flying boats.

As Captain Soujiro walked up to
pass on the orders to Colonel Haga-Jin, he heard a car horn
honking.

“Nani?” Haga-Jin gulped. “What is
that?”

They looked at each confused.

Falstaff crunched the truck into
a higher gear and put his foot down. Banging the horn again:
‘dahh-dah-dah-dah-dahh, dit-dit’; ‘Shave an’ haircut’ – two-bits!
The musical prompting lost on the Japanese.

The noise attracted the attention
of the crowds who pressed further back into their doorways or
decided to shift altogether and get off the street.

With the engine roaring and the
load of tools and the scrap metal and wood jangling and sliding
around Falstaff rocketed down the hill towards the Japanese square.
Falstaff tried the breaks. His foot flapped at the pedal, that
rocked loosely like a beer tap without pressure. He grabbed the
hand brake and gently pulled it, intermittently, in short
touches.

The Japanese stirred uneasily.
All turning at the sound of the horn. The sight of the truck
jerking and twisting across the ice towards them slowly sank in.
The guards lowered their bayonets. The prisoners took their chance,
bolting in whatever direction opportunity gave them.

The Japanese sidled as a group,
like sheep towards the Colonel and Captain, then scattered as the
cultural bonds of the group broke in favour of
self-preservation.

The truck smashed through the
fleeing Japanese line, hitting four of five of the slower soldiers.
Colonel Haga-Jin himself was hit, clipped by a protruding implement
as the truck flipped around flinging farm tools and saws at the
astonished troopers.

The Colonel crawled to his feet.
His men all but dispersed to the sides of the avenue, many
following the lieutenants and sergeants towards the lake shore.
Running to the safety of the waiting flying boats.

Falstaff skidded the truck to a
halt. Half off the avenue, – half onto the loose gravel near the
shore. He could see the track leading to the Caproni on one side,
the two Japanese flying boats on the other. Revving the engine, he
decided to make sure the Japanese had got the message. He revved
the engine, flinging a shower of gravel out behind him as the
wheels spun. Bumping and swaying the truck circled the area in
front of the hotel, the Japanese starting to organise themselves,
thought finally to stand their ground and fire the odd volley.

Falstaff swung the wheel around
and brought the truck skidding sideways towards them. The flag of
the rising-sun, pride of the Imperial Japanese navy, went down into
the icy mud.

All but a handful remained,
Haga-Jin among them clutching Falstaff’s boots, straggled after his
men swearing on the pride of Japanese nation that he would have
revenge. Tears rolled down his face as he almost blindly followed
Captain Soujiro towards the flying boats.

Falstaff’s twirling and twisting
came an abrupt end, his leg jolted off the clutch as he went over a
pothole in the cobbles, the engine stalled. Then refused to
start.

“Damn!” He roared his passion for
motor racing driving his senses. “I was enjoying that!” He thumped
the wheel in frustration then jumped from the truck cab to find
himself facing the Japanese flying boats.

He pulled his revolver from his
holster. Running across the front of the truck.

He came face to face with Captain
Soujiro. The captain, a master of Jiu Jitsu, reacted before
Falstaff could bring up his gun. He punched the English pilot
solidly in the stomach.

The grunt of pain and the spasms
from his broken rib counteracted the enforced exhalation driven by
the punch. Falstaff rolled away heaving.

Colonel Haga-Jin eye’s glazed
over with joy. He stood by Soujiro. Even clapped him on the back.
Something had gone his way. Maybe his silent prayers and oaths to
the gods for revenge had been heard.

Soujiro and Haga-Jin approached
the prone Falstaff. He rolled away as he scanned around for his
fallen revolver. Slowly Falstaff stopped gasping for breath. He
rose, fumbling with his pockets. He pulled out the Mauser, but
Captain Soujiro was too fast. His leg flicked out and stamped down,
knocking the gun from his hand then clamping his wrist against the
icy gravel. The Captain grabbed Falstaff’s hair and pulled his head
back.

Colonel Haga-Jin seeing the pilot
punished so made up his mind. He would take Falstaff with him,
alive. After interrogation, he would ensure Falstaff suffered a
long slow painful death. Haga-Jin grinned.

“Are these your boots?” The
Colonel flung them into Falstaff face. “Don’t think for a second
that the people who helped you will escape punishment!”

Falstaff smiled inwardly. His
boots, his comfortable, strong, warm leather boots. He’d worn them
through the Spanish civil war. Become an ace twice over when flying
in them. Falstaff didn’t prey, he didn’t believe in luck. He held
luck that was something you made yourself, by being prepared.
Always equipped to seize the moment.

“Thank you.” Falstaff grinned.
“You should have read my file, these boots are infamous!”

“Quiet!” Captain Soujiro rammed
Falstaff’s head down with his fist locked in his hair.

“The Colonel is speaking!” The
Captain bawled and kicked Falstaff to ram home the point with his
boot.

The Captain let go and stood back
while Falstaff took hold of the flying boots. His hand slipped
inside one of them.

“Oh, the smell of leather and
lambskin wool!” Falstaff goaded.

Captain Soujiro stepped forward
to kick Falstaff again, Falstaff ducked towards the Captain’s
trailing foot and planted a knife through it into the gravel
beneath. Gripping the hilt with two hands to prevent Soujiro’s fall
from pulling the knife from his grasp. Falstaff took impetus from
the Japanese Captain’s fall. He held on tight, then leapt forward
bringing up the knife towards Haga-Jin.

The Colonel held up his hands too
late as Falstaff slashed at his face.

“Yes, these are my boots,
Colonel,” Falstaff pressed forward hissing into the colonel’s face.
“My thanks!”

A rifle shot boomed, then a
volley followed close over his head filling the air with shrill
cracking and whistling bullets. Falstaff ducked, time for me to
leave he mused. He pushed Haga-Jin away, then ran for his life.

“See you in hell! You and your
yellow army!” Falstaff burst out as pushed aside the struggling
officers.

The Colonel floundered covering
his face with his hands. Shame. Then rage built up in his chest
causing crushing tightness.

“Haji!
¹⁷
” He screamed as
blood washed down his face, ruining his uniform.

Clutching his knife and boots,
Falstaff ran up the avenue back towards the hotel. Unexpectedly his
foot found a patch of solid, smooth ice. He slipped and fell
plunging unto the cobbles with a thud, just as another volley of
rifle fire smacked into the cobbles all around him.

The Japanese troopers
concentrated on the recovering their officers, leaving Falstaff
lying senseless, to the Chinese who were now swarming down the
avenue.

Falstaff awoke back in their
room. Zam soothing a bump on his head. He looked at her with a
smile. Had it been a dream he thought? Then he focused on the noise
that had woken him. The roar of one of the four engined flying
boats taking off.

“Are they gone?” He asked.

Zam smothered him in kisses.
“You’re awake! John di-di, I thought you’d been killed.”

“Just knocked out. I think? Glad
too – my ribs were killing me after that guy smacked me down like a
chump! Have the really gone?”

“They collected their injured –
you hit quite a few with that truck. Ang and Jinling, are
downstairs – they were so delighted they’ve being singing about
your victory all morning!”

Falstaff sat up, “That’s good to
hear, it’s nice to be appreciated! What time is it now?”

“You’ve been sleeping for about
an hour or so. It’s still early.” Zam reassured him, pushing him
down. “Now let me feed you di-di.” She spooned more medicinal tea
into his mouth.

“We have to leave now!” Falstaff
said, between spoonful’s. “They’ll either find my plane or bomb the
town if we stay.”

“One flying machine is still
here. I think a few of the troops and their headmen stayed. They
are still on the beach. They stopped all the fishermen. Took their
boats to tow the machines around.”

“Which way is the flying boat
facing?” Falstaff asked.

Zam pointed out across the
lake.

“Then they’ve turned it around
ready to leave.” Falstaff guessed.

“Yes, I told you,” Zam kissed
him. “But they are not leaving without your body!”

“What? They think I’m dead?”

“Yes, they saw you fall and
thought they’d shot you.” Zam pressed his cheeks and kissed his
lips.

They remained together, clasped
like that warm in each other’s embrace.

“I’m so glad they didn’t,” Zam
said eventually.

“So am I!” Falstaff grinned.
“Kiss me like that again!”

The wind gusting off the lake
rattled the shutters which banged open, announcing the arrival of
more snow.

“Okay, it’s time to go,” Falstaff
announced. “Get some coffee on!”

Get, while the goings good,
Falstaff thought, especially if your foe or your lover thinks you
dead!

The local
Chinese police had arrived, taking charge. The rifles dropped by
the fleeing Japanese had been taken up by the local fishermen were
reluctantly returned. A sort of barrier had been thrown across the
avenue with overturned markets stalls. The latest incursion of
Japanese forces had been reported to Kunming, but no help was
coming.

Opportunistic
traders and swag seeking boys were collecting the discarded
rucksacks and helmets dropped by the troopers.

There was no
longer any value in the Japanese staying, the police idled across
the avenue watching the Japanese watch them. The police, outgunned,
were waiting and hoping nervously for the Japanese to leave.

Colonel Haga-Jin’s face had been
stitched, his forehead, eyelid, cheek and jaw would carry the
lengthy scar for the rest of his career. Now with a patch over his
eye, he talked into the radio.