The Call of the Thunder Dragon (29 page)

Giving her no chance to scream
the Captain turned her over and punched her hard in the stomach.
His fist still pressing her face into the dirt. He’d done this
before and taken pleasure from it, the girl couldn’t draw breath to
struggle and would most likely pass out shortly. He grinned pushing
her face deeper into the dirt while the other trooper tied her
first her legs together and then her hands, entwined through her
legs with the same rope.

Soujiro lifted her, shoving a rag
in her mouth. Zam bit hard, her eyes blazing at the Japanese
Captain. She tasted his blood as the rag was stuffed hard into her
mouth.

“Carry her!” The Captain snapped,
inspecting his thumb, gashed to bone, pulsing with blood. “Get her
out of here!”

He went to kick her, but his foot
flared in pain instead. Throbbing, he could feel new blood there on
is foot too. The short run having opened the wound. He limped after
the paratrooper who was carrying the trussed Zam like a sack over
his shoulder.

A shot rang out and the trooper
staggered dropping the girl.

Alarmed, the Captain whirled,
unable to see the shooter, he backed away. A cool sweat broke out,
he realised unexpectedly how out of breath he was. He had just
reached the girl when a second shot came clipping his shoulder. He
saw Falstaff climb the embankment, his head and shoulders coming
into view, a revolver held out steadily in front of him. The
Captain gasped, Falstaff was over fifty yards away and he’d shot
down the trooper, hitting him squarely in the middle of his back
without hitting the girl with only a revolver. The proficiency took
him by surprise, for a moment he knew real fear for the first time
in his life.

Ducking down, Soujiro dragged at
the trembling body of Zam and swung her up onto his back. Running
in a crouch, he fought back the tears from the pain in his shoulder
and foot. With his fist, now dripping with blood, grasped at the
girl’s tunic. He screwed the fist into the fabric as he fought to
keep hold of her, the bleeding thumb making his hand slippery with
blood. He darted along swearing revenge on Falstaff for his pain
and another death of one of his company.

Colonel Haga-Jin sat in the rear
of the cramped little taxi with the small company’s radio operator.
Biding his time, he waited for his revenge on Falstaff, not just
for the damage he did as a fighter pilot, but personal revenge. He
felt sure Soujiro felt the same. They would identify the woman with
him and kill them slowly. He would make them beg for mercy. In his
mind, he pictured a fire and the white-hot blades he would use to
carve his name in Falstaff’s flesh. Killing him would not be
enough.

The radio squawked at that
moment. The operator grabbed the headset pressing the earphones to
his ears.

“It’s the flying boat
Colonel-Sama,” The operator looked puzzled. “It’s gone?”

Haga-Jin screwed up his face in
rage. “Nani? What!”

He grasped the operator’s collar
even as he continued to speak into the radio. “They’ve moved,
they’ve moved... They believe there may be a workshop in the town
centre on the River.

“Alright, tell them to keep in
touch.” Haga-Jin glowered about. They waited in silence, apart from
the odd buzzing or crackles coming from the radio.

Just where the hell was Falstaff
he thought? If he was in town, why were all his men here watching
the airfield? He slammed his fist down. Dust rose from the
dilapidated seat. The air now stank of dried fish.

“This is disgusting!” He called
out, another low Falstaff had caused him to fall to.

The rear car door flung open, it
was one of the men sent with Captain Soujiro. He was panting.
“Colonel-Domo! We’ve found them!”

The driver started the engine
while the other men piled into the taxi or ran alongside.

Suddenly just as they were about
the turn onto the runway they were waved to a halt.

“Nani?” The colonel screeched.
“What is it now?” He twisted around trying to see out, finding the
view obscured by the men crammed into the front.

The driver turned. “They heard
firing.”

The Colonel spluttered into
action. “Out, out spread out!”

The three troopers fanned out
around the taxi. Then heading up the runway came Soujiro, carrying
his prisoner. They ran to relieve him.

“Get down! Open fire!” Captain
Soujiro shouted at once throwing himself down. He let the girl fall
with a heavy thud. He lay there getting his breath, ignoring the
sobs of pain coming from the girl. He listened to his Lieutenant
Goemon giving orders. Even without seeing it, he could visualise
the men taking firing positions on the ground.

The rifles and machine guns
started popping, the sound thundering up out of the ground, echoing
off the runway. He waited for the next volley then lifted his head
and ran for the taxi.

His men retreated in order back
to the taxi that had turned and was now rolling away up the
runway.

Lieutenant Goemon paused. Looking
down at the prisoner. He had expected, from the description given a
large foreign man. Instead he found a sobbing woman. He took a deep
breath and shook his head, before stooping to lift her off the
ground.

Falstaff pounded up the
embankment, jumping over the ditch to the levee and up the other
side. The Japanese carrying Zam was already across the field out of
range. He ran to the fallen trooper and grabbed the fallen rifle.
The man was unconscious, bleeding into the dirt. Falstaff stepped
over him, giving him no thought.

He ran, gulping for breath until
he got to edge of the runway. Volleys harmlessly whizzed through
the air overhead, keeping him pinned down behind the ditch. As they
firing petered out Falstaff jumped up and ran up the side of the
ditch. He was too late. All he saw was Zam disappearing into the
back of the taxi. He dived back into the drainage ditch as a volley
of shots hit the ground in front of him. He heard Ludwig cursing
with Gaelic colour, as he followed behind to dive into the ditch
beside him.

Zam lay on the taxi floor. The
soldiers had piled into the taxi cursing and swearing with vicious
Japanese humour, careless of where their boots landed. She curled
up, hunching her shoulders in an attempt to protect her head. Her
hands wrapped around her legs couldn’t be lifted higher than her
knee and were useless to shield herself.

As she lay there, she thought it
was the end; that she’d soon die. She wondered what Falstaff would
do if he knew the truth about her father’s chamberlain, Palden
Jampa and the treasures she had hidden in the aircraft. She hopped
she’d die quickly, shuddering at the thought of the leering men all
around her.

Eventually, the buffeting of the
taxi along the rutted road stopped. Zam eyed her eyes a crack. The
dirt had stopped dancing in dry dust piles amongst the boots on the
taxi floor. The muddy brown boots stopped gouging her back or
hovering over her face. Was this punishment for her transgressions
she thought?

Li had carried on with his
welding, oblivious to the noise. He had patched and soldered one
side and painted the metal with grey primer. Calmly he packed and
moved his tools to the top of the damaged tank, then started over
on the second hole on the outside of the aircraft.

Falstaff ran crashing, heedless
of the branches, ripping at his shirt as he hurtled back through
the woods. He spotted Li sitting up on top of the tank. “You
finished?”

Li shook his head.

“Can you row?”

Li nodded, bemused.

“Sorry… but you’re rowing
yourself home!” Falstaff cut the mooring line for the motor boat
and jumped in. He urged Ludwig to hurry. The one eyed pilot was
close behind, rushing to keep up.

Falstaff ignored Li, letting him
carry on his work, he had no concern for his aircraft right now; if
Li cut it up and made windmills out it he wouldn’t care less. He
wanted Zam back from the Japanese pigs who had taken her. The
thought of the brutal treatment and callous way in which she had
been tied and carried like an animal carcass ready for the butcher
infuriated him. He was red in the face, angry beyond all sense and
reason.

Ludwig paused before asking.
“What’s your plan?”

Falstaff ignored him, pushing the
motor boat out, Ludwig fell into his seat. Impatiently Falstaff
shoved him to one side.

“Out of the way! I’ll start the
motor! sit down!”

Falstaff started the little
outboard motor in a single, fury driven pull.

Zam found herself being lifted
between two men, looking around she could see little; glimpses of a
dark, shadowy back street, it could be anywhere. She was taken
upstairs dropped onto a table. She glanced around, she saw two
faded posters on the wall: Hair tonic and cigarettes. It was the
barber shop then she thought, she’d heard Falstaff and Alistair
talking about it. Her spirits lifted, perhaps there was hope.

Haga-Jin took a seat at the head
of the table. He stroked Zam’s hair. “Find somewhere else to treat
the Captain’s wounds. You two sit there, by the door. Have your
knives ready in case she tries something.”

The Colonel saw Zam’s eyes sweep
around the room, he raised his fist to strike, Zam squeezed her
eyes shut, but the blow never came.

“Blind fold her, immediately!”
The Colonel shouted.

For a long time, she lay blinded
on the table, left like a sack of meat. The Colonel returned and
ordered tea and food to be prepared. He and the two men sat eating
while she lay there on the table trembling. She heard them slurping
nosily. She imagined that she could feel their breath on her back
and her thighs. She could feel the heat from the bowl of hot
noodles and hear sickening slurping and satisfied grunts of the
three men.

She listened while the two
soldiers commented on her fate while the Colonel sipped, sucking
noisily at his hot tea. Her heart pounded; the only other sound was
the clatter of pots and chopsticks and crude hungry gulping. At
every pause between that hated sound, she shuddered, wishing the
silence away. But she also wanted them to go on eating making the
dreadful noises, dreading the sound of bowls being slammed down for
the final time. She knew her turn would be next. She wondered if
Falstaff could possibly find her before it was too late?

Falstaff sat steering the little
boat towards the curve of the river, his eye staring ahead while he
imagined the worst. Zam in the hands of the Japanese. The spiteful,
vengeful, unregulated Japanese military; unrestrained, subjugating
Asia with their own violent, forceful means, taking bestial
pleasure from their domination.

Ludwig looked into Falstaff’s
face and saw his eyes burning with rage. He noticed the bandages
over Falstaff’s shoulder had gone, his left arm unrestrained free
to move and act. A spot blood appeared on the bandages beneath the
tattered shirt.

Falstaff noticed Ludwig’s gaze.
“Yeah, it hurts! Now, what do we do next?”

Ludwig rubbed his grey moustache.
He hadn’t lived as long as he had by mixing with types like
Falstaff. He knew there was no point telling Falstaff not to rush,
to wait or get help. He thought carefully. “There are only three
places they are likely to go. I’m sure that the Dolphin flying boat
wasn’t here by accident. They’ll aim to get to aboard somehow.”

“And what about Zam?” Falstaff
asked avoiding Ludwig’s gaze, boiling with rage inside. Why had the
stupid emptied headed bitch wondered off? How had the Japanese got
so close?

“Like I say, three places. The
barber shop, the boarding house where the laundrymen sleep or our
workshop by the river, near the fisherman’s wharf, the Dolphin will
be there.”

“Alistair went with them, is he
armed?” Falstaff asked leaning forward trying to get more speed out
of the boat. It was unsteady and hard work steering against the
fast current.

“He’s armed, has a revolver in
his coat. He’ll try to foul up those engines on that machine if he
can. I know I would!”

“Okay, I’ll take the barber shop,
you find the doss-house. Are you armed?”

Ludwig nodded and produced a
small pistol and held it out in his right hand.

“Hope you can shoot straight?”
Falstaff asked, realising Ludwig had lost his right eye.

“I lost this to debris from my
engine. A bird did the engine, engine hit my face. I flew blind
until I touched down. They said it was a miracle! A blind man
landing an aeroplane? I was lucky that day. Belgium is flat! Had I
been in Paris, it would have been different!”

“During the war?” Falstaff
enquired, mindful of his own father.

“No, two weeks after the
armistice, so in many ways I wasn’t so lucky?” Ludwig smiled. “Pull
into the bank here, the barber shop is up that street on the left.
We’ll meet at the cafe from last night?”

Falstaff nodded and handed over
the tiller to the Frenchman. “Bon chance, blind Ludwig? Merci!
Mourir avec honneur!
²⁹
”

Ludwig took a deep breath and
pushed off heading for the far side of town. ‘Speaks French as well
as Chinese? Can’t be all bad?’ he thought.

Falstaff found the barbershop
quickly enough. He’d attracted a few stares having run up the hill,
with a gun in hand. He Slowed down and pocketed the revolver,
tucking in his tattered shirt as he went. He checked his watch, it
was four thirty. The street was still busy, but dusk was
approaching. He went up to the Barbershop, it was dark, closed and
locked up. A glance through the glass window in the door showed
that there was no rear door to the shop.

Falstaff circled around to the
back and found the alley empty.

Zam hadn’t been moved, she had
lay still trying to calm herself. She could hear the Colonel’s
quiet, rasping breath behind her and the noisy erratic snorts from
the soldiers sniggering and no doubt pointing at her, she
imagined.