The Call of the Thunder Dragon (23 page)

Zam blinked. Thankfully
understanding none of it. The harshness of his words muffled by the
thunder of the engines and layers of padding around her ears.

Falstaff anger subsided. There
was nothing he could do, he tried to relax and find the serenity
flying normally gave him. He thought it through. He preferred
flying on rather than stopping; having to walk out of the farm land
leaving the Caproni and possibly Zam behind.

Below the paddies flashed past
with relentless monotony. Fuel was down to 15 percent. Falstaff’s
watch showed half past two. They had been in the air for four hours
and twenty minutes. Falstaff was dog tied. His eyes starting to
close. All he could do to mark the moment was to bawl out for more
coffee.

Counting rivers, confusing them
with tributaries, as he went Falstaff felt helpless. They were
starting to fly over lowland hills and deeper rocky gorges. All
potentially death traps and nowhere to land.

He headed west following a river
once more winding through a deep gorge. It felt like a dead
end.

There was no use carrying on in
the same way he supposed. He climbed up to 8,000 feet hoping to
spot a landmark when suddenly the clouds cleared. Ahead a great
wall of ridges facing them and almost directly ahead the ridge
dipped sharply. It was without doubt, their target the Kambaiti
pass. They had reached the border with Burma.

“Well, I’ll be a one eyed owl! I
have believe we’ve make it!” Falstaff exclaimed.

As the sun come out, the air felt
warmer. The skies began to clear. Falstaff cheered briefly at this,
but their fuel was down to less than 5 percent and according to his
calculations, they had nearly an hour’s flying to go.

“Zam, gorgeous, obliging lassie
of mine? Please would you empty the gasoline cans into the fuel
tanks? Please, will you my dear?” Falstaff shouted nervously. “All
of the them damn it!”

The filling caps were just behind
their seats on the top of the twin tanks either side of the
nacelle. With funnel in place, Zam fumbled, struggling with the
heavy gasoline cans, one after the other until all six 5-gallon
cans had been emptied into the tanks.

Falstaff steered them further
westward as the engines droned on.

Zam yawned, stretching and felt
the light bounce of the cabin against the air. She stifled a
scream, suddenly realising where she was. High in the air, sleeping
in the clouds, having nodded off again. She felt sick and elated
all at once as she rubbed her eyes to wake herself. She crawled to
the cockpit. Falstaff’s thick outer coat was hard and frozen. She
nudged him again. Terrified at the lack of response she crawled
into the co-pilot seat.

Falstaff slowly turned his head.
Grinning behind the layers of scarf.

“Nice of you to join me!” He
waved.

She punched him hard, breaking
the icy layer on his coat. “I thought you were dead!”

“Dead cold, please promise to
warm me up?” Falstaff grinned again. “See how much clearer it
is!”

He pointed to the skies. “It’s
almost blue now! We’ve come right down out of the mountains. We’ve
crossed the border we are now in Burma! About an hour and a half to
go!”

Zam was intrigued, she’d crossed
the border over the Kambaiti pass herself. Clambering through the
cabin, she decided to have a good look herself. Slipping up through
the back edge of the tight canvas cover, she pulled herself up to
get a foot hold on the cage above the pusher engine. Up the ladder,
she ducked into the cramped basket-like cage and looked back at the
ridge.

The path worn into the hillside
leading up to the dip in the shoulder of the ridge was clearly
visible, a muddy black road up to the top of the ridge against the
green of the brush and trees.

Directly below was grass and the
occasional pine tree or bushes. Zam gazed down mesmerised for a
moment. Zam thrilled at the sight tiny people riding below, leading
horses laden with goods. The path was still busy; rice, Tung oil,
timber, paper, sugar, hemp, vegetable tallow, hides and leather,
resin or alum were all regularly exported in quantity over the
mountains to China. So long as the pass was free of snow they
continued, although at a much-reduced pace compared to spring and
summer.

Zam was amazed to see a flock
birds pass by below them. It was a strange feeling. Instinctively,
she looked up and then turned in horror dropping hurriedly down the
ladder.

The Japanese pilot relayed the
news back to Colonel Haga-Jin. It had been an uneasy flight.
Following the slow Caproni had been easy, but the Japanese Colonel
and the troops were cold and impatient. Keeping at high altitude,
they slipped over the mountains, plotting the Caproni’s course from
above. Never losing sight of the red machine, as it flitted through
the white clouds below, trailing a thin black wisp of oily
smoke.

The original thought was that
Falstaff would be heading for Kunming. They had scrambled fighters
to follow, but these were recalled as Falstaff turned westward
instead. Haga-Jin and Soujiro had then studied the maps and guessed
at Dali. A rich city, Dali that stood beside a large lake, it was
famous for many types of marble for construction and decoration.
Haga-Jin knew of Nationalist units and guessed that Falstaff may
try to contact them.

The Paratroopers prepared to jump
on Dali and ambush Falstaff upon landing.

However, Falstaff had pressed on
to the north-west. Colonel Haga-Jin was now at the limit of his
jurisdiction. Getting on to the radio, he sought further
orders.

They were not long in coming.
Shoot him down. Force him to land inside China. The orders were
clear and unrelenting. Failing that Haga-Jin was given authority
for a clandestine landing to ensure Falstaff was to be stopped at
the earliest opportunity; by assassination or sabotage.

“He’s crossing the border!” The
pilot called again.

Haga-Jin pulled on the cumbersome
earphones and held the microphone to his lips. “Shot him down,
now!”

The big grey-green Kawanishi
turned into a steep dive. The large lumbering four-engined monster
dropped towards the red Caproni, circling to aim at the red plane,
attacking him from the side.

Zam wriggled into the co-pilot’s
seat, urgently tugging at Falstaff’s arm.

“What’s wrong? I can’t move! I
have to keep my hands on the controls?” Falstaff pulled his arm
back, but Zam persisted in waving at the rear as if the plane was
on fire or they were being chased by Lei-Kung, god of Thunder
himself.

Seeing Zam so unnerved, it
started to panic Falstaff, who finally rose in his seat to look
back. “Bugger, there’s nothing there? Where’s the fire, damn
it?”

Zam pointed behind and above this
time. “There!”

Turning away from Zam, Falstaff
scanned the shape of the huge thick wings and the four engines
looming larger and clearer every moment.

“Oh, Bugger!” Was all Falstaff
had time to say. He thrust all the throttles forward. He turned the
Caproni to face the oncoming monster head on and then dived. As
soon as his speed increased, he climbed. Shallowly at first, then
as he accelerated, straight towards the oncoming Japanese
plane.

The machine gunner in the bow
fired in frustration as soon as Falstaff turned. The red flying
boat’s approach was too fast for him to follow, even as he
corrected his aim, the Caproni suddenly rose into the air and
flashed overhead.

Falstaff ignored the fuel gauge
that now showed empty. He throttled down only slightly and turned
in a steep dive towards Sadung the last peak before the Irrawaddy
and the wide gorge leading to Myitkyina.

They descended almost nose down.
Zam pressed herself into her seat, bracing her feet against the
control console and the fuselage. She might have been a troublesome
tomboy in her youth, seeking danger and excitement in the
mountains, but this was out of her experience. She screamed out
loud. Below the green tree covered mountain rushed towards her.

“Scream if you like! I find it
more helpful to swear like Gordon Bennett himself!”

Falstaff pulled up just over the
tree tops. Starting to zigzag west. He skimmed the tree tops
waiting for a gulley to open up. Spotting a line of trees to Port,
Falstaff veered suddenly and dropped into the narrow space opening
up between the trees.

The pilot of the Kawanishi
struggled to bring the enormous plane around to follow the Caproni.
He climbed, wary of Falstaff changing course again.

“You’re lost him!” Howled
Haga-Jin over the intercom, drowning the directions the gunner was
also shouting to the pilot.

The Japanese pilot turned to the
west, sure that Falstaff was intent on landing in Burma. “Is he
still climbing?” He asked.

“He went over us!” Shouted the
front gunner.

“He’s dropped down below us and
is heading South!” The rear gunner caught sight of Red flashing
through the trees below.

Falstaff knew he had to stay
close to the ground now. Their fuel had all gone, but the engines
were still running without let up. He planned to descend following
the ridge, 3,000 feet right down to the valley floor. He hoped that
Kawanishi wouldn’t be able to attack again if he kept low and
behind the ridge.

“Come on girl fight it! Come on!”
Falstaff gritted his teeth, willing the struggling Caproni to stay
in the air.

He veered left, pulling up over
another rise and turned sharply west again. He grinned; he could
see the Irrawaddy river in another deep, wide gorge. The gorge that
should lead right down to Myitkyina. He doubted the Japanese would
attack near the town and risk unsettling the British.

“Aren’t I the greatest! Nothing
can stop us now!” Falstaff boasted.

The Kawanishi came lower and
lower, slightly ahead of the Caproni, the Japanese pilot held out,
sticking to his westward course, ignoring Haga-Jin’s ranting.

“We’ll cross his path in a few
seconds!” The pilot checked his height 2,000 feet, the Sadung ridge
filled the sky behind him and bobbing over the ridges to his left
the Caproni appeared.

The front and rear gunners opened
fire one after the other. The streams of tracer fire and hot lead
crossed as the Red Caproni crested the tree line then he was out of
shot ducking behind the opposing side of the ridge.

Falstaff had heard Zam screaming
and heard a distinctive ‘tink’ of something striking the aircraft
somewhere.

Falstaff pulled up sharply and in
an instant pushed down. They nearly clipped the trees as they went
over and Falstaff turned in towards the Kawanishi. In an instant
the paths of the two turning aircraft crossed and the rear gunner
started firing the cannon. Falstaff turned the yoke and kicked the
rudder over. The Three tail rudders turned and Caproni side slipped
and twisted sharply down into the Irrawaddy gorge as shells
exploded across their former path.

“Damn!” Falstaff held the yoke
with one hand, his ribs with the other. “By George! I can’t take
much more of this wretched rib!”

He let go of the yoke and yanked
Zam back upright in her seat. “Are you okay?”

Pale and white as the snow she
nodded and blushed at her own fear. She felt embarrassed for
showing weakness beside Falstaff, who seemed to be taking the
attack lightly.

“I am still here.” She whispered,
then repeated it in a stormy shout.

“I’m sorry!” Falstaff let out his
breath and then yelped in pain. “Not fat to go! Must watch the
sides of the gorge! The Japs can’t get us here!”

Falstaff wasn’t about to admit he
was ready to faint. He grabbed the last of the Brandy, which set
his heart pounding and took away the pain of fatigue. His head
cleared, but he was dead tired. He felt warmer for a moment, he
opened up the thick over coat and unbuttoned the leather jacket
underneath. Cold air rushed in both reviving him and freezing him
to the bone.

“Zam, can you check in the cabin?
Make sure we haven’t any damage?” Falstaff urged her as his teeth
chattered.

She crawled into the nacelle and
immediately noticed the strong smell of gasoline. She ran her hands
over the port tank and found nothing. The starboard tank had a hole
clean through both sides a couple of inches down from the top.
There was no fuel leaking now, other than what splashed out during
their descent. The rear engine was smoking and she saw steam and
bubbles blowing from the radiator pipes.

Falstaff shut down the engine. He
wasn’t sure if the engine was hit or just leaking and overheating.
There was nothing else they could do to cool it, at least it hadn’t
failed yet Falstaff tried to tell himself. The thought of the work
which would be required to get the engine flight ready again made
him groan.

Colonel Haga-Jin was furious.
His rage vented over the intercom had done nothing to slow him
down. He entered the cockpit shaking his fist and pointing at the
pilot.

“Yatsu! You shit! Turn this
aircraft around!”

The co-pilot pushed Haga-Jin out.
“No, Colonel-Sama! Please, this is not a fighter plane we cannot
pursue further!”

Clearer in the head, Captain
Soujiro, interjected. “We must prepare to jump! Falstaff must land
now – he has been in the air for nearly six hours?”

“Hai! Hai!” The Co-pilot chimed.
“That aircraft is small... it cannot possibly fly any further
without landing!” The Co-pilot thought on. “We must turn back
ourselves – we will barely have enough fuel to get back to Foochow.
We must turn back now!”

Shut out of the cockpit and
pressed on two sides Haga-Jin calmed down.

“All right prepare to jump!
Soujiro, the map show me where are we?”