The Call of the Thunder Dragon (28 page)

“Is that the Dutch pilot? Who’s
that with him.” The Captain heard the cocking of a rifle beside
him. “No, wait. It’s not Falstaff. I wish we were closer we could
listen to what they were saying?”

Crawling through the thick brush
behind them came Abe, the barber he was able to identify the
passengers.

“We spotted the car on the road.
It’s the pilot with the mail and his passenger the retired General,
Ainsley Smyth, he’s probably going back to Bangladesh. That’s his
driver at the wheel.”

The barber and Captain squatted
on their haunches, heads together.

“We can ignore them unless they
are passing on a message.” Soujiro supposed.

“It is many days flight, but more
comfortable than the train. By the time any message reaches
Bangladesh, you’ll be gone… Captain Soujiro-Sama?” Abe looked at
the soldier’s dressed in a ragged collection of work clothes, their
belts and kit barely hidden under loose coats or working
jackets.

Abe didn’t want to be seen or
caught with them. He might have trained as a spy for the
intelligence task force, he might have attended the best Barber
collage in Tokyo all at the expense of the Navy, but he was, in
fact, a university graduate. He held a degree in classical
literature. He had hoped to go on and find work with a publisher or
newspaper, but like so many highly skilled middleclass men, there
were no jobs to be found in Tokyo or the rest of Japan.

Abe had taken, like many others,
to holding up a billboard and walking back and forth across the
Nihon Bashi Bridge advertising his skills. Many desperately bored,
debt ridden, educated and unemployed turned to suicide there. Many
more were recruited into the army or the Manchu administration or
Manchu civil police. Most with crippling debts or families to
support. Abe had ended up a barber at peace, in the backwaters of
upper Burma. His parents receiving a small sum every month to aid
them and service his debts.

Soujiro rocked on his heels,
wincing in pain. The injury to his foot a constant nagging reminder
that Falstaff was still at liberty.

“We need to get closer. Abe, you
go to watch!” Soujiro pushed the barber, urging him away. The
Captain sat down in the dirt stretching his legs. The jump from the
flying boat the day before had been agonizing on his injured foot,
but like a true Japanese Bushi he’d had born the pain.

“Go on now, you’re fit aren’t
you?”

Abe looked startled. “Why
now?”

“We have a civilian aircraft
coming to pick us up soon. It will arrive soon. You will go to the
sheds to wait and observe.” Soujiro hissed.

“But what excuse shall I give?”
Abe pondered

“You’re slow aren’t you? A plane
is coming from Hanoi, besides its pilots, there will be another
agent. Say he is your uncle or something!” Soujiro stiffened
speaking in a scolding tone. He was having to think for everyone
now he thought, gritting his teeth as foot began to throb anew.
“Go! Baka ne! That Falstaff! I’ll make the dirt bag
Kimpatsu
²⁸
pay!”

Falstaff woke with Zam’s head
upon his shoulder. Still warm and cosy, he was tempted to sleep on
for longer, but his stomach requested attention. The pangs of
hunger could not be ignored.

As they stirred, crawling beneath
the tarpaulin, searching for clothes amongst the layers of bedding
and blankets, Falstaff heard a faint sound. The sound of distant
engines.

Putting on his shirt, he pulled
himself up with one hand into the cage. Overhead a two-engined
flying boat swept past. It was poorly painted white, covering the
grey beneath. The tail bore the colors of the French Tri-colour
next to this had been painted a Chinese pavilion in black. The
fuselage the word Formosa.

“Strange, why would anyone be
coming from Formosa or could it be Hanoi? That’s an odd aircraft as
well. Looks like a Grumman goose, but the engines are up on top the
wings on struts.”

“Do you think it is a problem?”
Zam climbed into the cage with him.

“I’m not sure, I don’t think
they’ll have seen us, we are right under the trees on this bend, he
turned hard over to port when he passed the airstrip.”

Sure enough, the plane continued
around and landed from the North touching down on the grass to taxi
towards the shed.

Abe stood gawking at the
aircraft. He’d given Alistair his feeble excuse for being there and
retreated to the grass covered shack beside the runway to wait.

He watched the Dutchman load the
mail and pompous General Ainsley Smyth take his seat. Ludwig and
Alistair were in the processes of pulling the chocks from beneath
the wheels so the Puss Moth could begin its taxi up the runway when
the flying boat unexpectedly arrived.

Abe couldn’t keep his eyes on
both, as one taxied out and the other landed. He wasn’t sure, but
he thought he saw Alistair hand the retired General a note, it
could have easily have been a newspaper or a letter. Then the grey,
white flying boat bounced down the runway on its two ballooning
tires, dragging its boat like tail behind on a single trolley
wheel. Abe blinked, the Puss moth was gone.

“So this is your uncle is it?”
Ludwig appeared at his side. “Is he a barber as well, non?”

Abe ducked out of the shack
without a word to the Frenchman, running to meet the tall Asian who
had appeared at the rear door of the aircraft.

He wore a formless black felt hat
and a long washed out cheongsam. Abe bowed and presented himself.
“Uncle!” He cried loudly to attract attention.

The man looked astonished for a
moment. “Haga-Jin?”

“Hai, this way I will take you?”
Abe bowed.

Alistair and Ludwig watched
suspiciously as Abe greeted the stranger. The two pilot’s
approached, pausing to watch the Puss Moth receding into the
sky.

“We’ve got to get rid of these
two and their plane,” Alistair spoke out of the corner of his
mouth.

“Tell them we’ve no fuel left.
We’ve just filled the Puss Moth and the Russian crate.” Ludwig
suggested. “The rest of our fuel is at the depot on the wharf
anyway!”

“Okay, I’ll lead them away, - you
take our friend the welder down to the shoreline. The rowing boat
is here, make it look like you are heading back to town. Hopefully,
they’ll think Falstaff is a no show. Doesn’t seem like they’ve
started looking for him yet?”

Ludwig nodded and waved to the
old welder, helping him with his tool box towards the river bank,
casually the French squinted towards the end of the runway where he
was sure the Japanese were watching.

Alistair started forward towards
the pilots. “Ahoy there! Are ye gentlemen after fuel? I’m afraid
we’re all oot! We normally bring it up by boat from the town. It
would be as easy to fly doon seein’ as ya in such a fine flying
boot?”

Ludwig and the welder stopped by
Abe and the stranger. “We’ve work to be done in town, - lots of
repairs! You best try get a lift with the General’s driver, oh, no!
You might have missed him?”

Ludwig, slightly over did the act
and waved as the driver turned the big green Bentley around and
spun the wheels in the gravel as it hit the road.

“Ah! He’s gone! Mon dieu! My
apologies; perhaps you both could go with the plane? I think they
are going back to town also?”

Abe looked over his shoulder,
watching Ludwig go. Desperately he called out. “But how are you
getting back?”

“By boat, it is slow but the old
man Li here never flies!”

Abe mumbled, wishing he’d been
quicker. He disliked flying it could have been an excuse to stick
by Ludwig, who he felt sure was up to something.

Reluctantly he followed Alistair
and his ‘uncle’ back to the flying boat, the Scotsman even helped
him up the ladder. Abe stole a nervous glance over his shoulder
towards the trees.

Soujiro gaped. He lowered his
field glasses. With the departure of the Dolphin flying boat the
air strip was deserted and worse, Abe was now with their agent Ono
Itchi heading who knew where.

Falstaff was standing on one of
the floats, turning the little motor boat they’d used to come
downstream the night before.

“John!” Zam called to him. “John,
it’s that noise again! Someone is taking off?”

They’d seen the Puss Moth go,
then following it came the bigger flying boat.

“That’s it! It is a Dolphin 129!
Thought the Chinese had a few once. Crashed or captured by the
Japs. We’d be very lucky if it was the Japanese and they’d all
left, don’t you think?” He chuckled.

Zam nodded, making a big issue of
hugging him as he clambered back up into the cockpit. “Do you think
so?”

“I’m alright, stop fussing!”
Falstaff pressed his fist into his palm frowning. “What the hell’s
going on?”

His answer came almost
immediately.

“Monsieur Falstaff!” Ludwig
called to them from the river. Beside him sat the welder. “I
thought we could start the repairs on your fuel tanks before we
moved her! This is Li, he’ll get her patched up. Best welder we’ve
got this town!”

Li got to work immediately, he
stripped the paint by hand, rubbing until Falstaff thought he was
intent on putting more holes in the tank. After half an hour of
scrubbing and hammering, Li shooed Falstaff away, whilst he started
a fire on the bank to heat his welding irons.

“God I hope he realizes he’s got
a tank that’s had gasoline in it!” Falstaff stood on the bank and
listening to Ludwig’s account of the morning’s events.

“Do you think they’ll follow? I
mean the guys watching the airfield, provided they give up here and
go back to town?” Falstaff said, pulling at the tufts of grass
growing around his feet.

He was sick of it, the waiting,
the hiding, all acting to try his patience. At least he had Zam to
make the acceptance of ills more bearable and at the end of the
journey a grateful rich father? Remembering her, he suddenly
realised she was missing.

“Hey, where’s Zam?” Falstaff
looked around, there was no sign of her. The trees grew thickly by
the river bank, an embankment rose steeply behind that masked all
sight of the land or town, there was just the spit of sand the
Caproni’s floats rested on.

“She’s gone!” He shouted.

Ludwig looked around, left and
right; his boat was still there. “Merde! She has vanished!” He
exclaimed.

Zam had wondered into the trees
to attend a call of nature. Subsequently curious and hopeful since
the speculation that the Japanese had simply climbed aboard and
left. She climbed the riverside embankment to get a better view of
the surrounding area.

As a child, she’d walked many
miles, climbing steeper slopes. A tom boy who’d learnt to ride a
pony up the narrow, dangerous paths in the mountains around her
home or to climb hand over hand up rock faces if necessary. As
she’d grown older, she’d been expected to behave more like the
lady, she was, after all, daughter to Lord Druk. However being the
youngest she was perhaps also the most rebellious and had kept fit
walking and riding, instead of staying at home waiting for the
visit of suitors.

Looking around Zam could see the
bend in the river, the trees did indeed hide the red Caproni
completely. Stretching out flat and wide towards the distant road
was the airstrip. Between her and the runway was several hundred
yards of sandy marsh and neatly ploughed field, dusted with frost
and waiting for crops to be planted. With the danger past she
wondered if it was time to tell Falstaff the truth about her
father’s chamberlain, Palden Jampa. The deception was weighing on
her mind.

Captain Soujiro sat back down in
the ditch, staring at the fields behind them.

“What was he doing?” He said
aloud to his men. Abe had walked down the runway and flown off with
their transport?

His men crawled back from the
edge of the runway, there was no one left to watch. Gripping their
rifles they waited for the Captain to give them fresh orders.

While the Captain chewed his lip,
wondering what to tell Colonel Haga-Jin, whose temper and outbursts
he was beginning to tire of. The short operation to seek out the
ground crew and Chinese Nationalists had turned into a wild goose
chase. Now their transport had arrived he longed to be away, back
to normal operations. If the chatter he’d heard on the radio was
correct, there were two major battles in progress and he was
sitting in a ditch nursing a perforated foot instead being back
with his division.

“Captain-Sama!” One of the his
men yapped, scrambling for his field glasses. “Who is that?”

Soujiro’s heart raced. He swung
the glasses up to his eyes adjusting the focus he couldn’t believe
his eyes. There stood on a levee beside an open field was a girl.
He recognised immediately from the hotel. She had been standing
quietly in the crowd while his men had searched the hotel. The
identity of Falstaff’s companion had been immaterial up to that
point.

He pulled the shirt of the
nearest man, “Go get Colonel Haga-Jin, - tell him we’ve found
them!”

As the man left, Soujiro gave a
nod; the remaining paratrooper followed him without question.

They sprinted along the ditch,
keeping the brush and trees between themselves and girl until their
ditch met the side of the field. Then they leapt, charging over the
loose soil of the tilled field.

They were half way there, within
30 yards before Zam saw them. She tottered on the side of the
levee, rushing to turn and climb back up and through the trees on
the embankment.

Soujiro was on her seconds. She
started to scream but found Soujiro’s hand clamped across her
mouth, his earth covered fingers probing between her lips, tugging
at her cheek, his other hand wrapped around her body and grasped at
her breast. Zam froze in horror as she was bodily pushed to the
ground. Her face pressed into the dirt, with the Captain on top of
her. She could smell his foul breath and the sweat.