The Call of the Thunder Dragon (8 page)

Falstaff put passport and visa in
the leather map case. The wallet was empty, except a few chits from
several well-known establishments in Shanghai, Falstaff pocketed
these carefully.

In Shanghai, it was possible to
enter any restaurant or club and inscribe your name and address on
a slip of paper in order to settle the bill. At times, Shanghai
hadn’t always been a safe place for Europeans to carry cash. For
those well enough known, they could leave a chit and bills could be
settled at the end of the month. However, chits were no longer that
common, due to the increase of foreigners coming into Shanghai,
making it impractical for the Chinese traders who used the chits
like currency. Pity the poor fool left holding chits at the end of
the month for ‘John Smith’? Falstaff at least recognized the names
of the clubs, perhaps Garcia hadn’t been broke as he’d let on.

They carried him up to the tree
line, where the roots of the pine trees emerged in a tangle above
the terraces. They placed him in the embrace of the roots. Then
pushed in the surrounding pine needles and woodland litter until he
was covered with a thick fragrant bed of pine. Sombrely Falstaff
hung the leather case, with passport and visas, on a branch above
the body. There was nothing else to do.

They walked in silence back to
the aircraft.

“Right, Zam?” Falstaff turned to
face her. “Let’s get you to Kunming, eh?”

“No! Not Kunming di-di!” Zam held
each of his arms at his side and looked up at him, eye to eye,
pleading.

“Zam, Kunming is secure and only
about 240 miles? About 4 hours flying, it will be easy!” He spun
around and pointed in the direction of the North-East. We could
just take off. If we’re lucky and with a bit of skill, - I’ve got
plenty of that!” He boasted with a grin.

“No, John-di-di!” Zam grew
insistent. A little frown creasing her forehead. She pursed her
lips, looked deep into Falstaff’s eyes. “My father is in Lamgong,
Paro in Bhutan!”

She left it there hanging in the
air between them. Bhutan, who knows how many thousands of miles
away or Kunming less than a day Falstaff thought?

Falstaff tried to think it
through. Fly to Kunming first, let his ribs heal and then go to
Bhutan? Ditch the old Caproni and find something else. Something at
least designed in this decade. Given how effective Japanese bombing
had been it was unlikely he could find a spare aircraft to buy. He
could feel his ribs throbbing again. He guessed it would take more
than a few days to make the journey? Kunming would be only be three
or four hours at the most. Bhutan, a week’s flying he estimated?
But then there was the mountains as well? Maybe two weeks, he
corrected himself. The reality started to dawn on him. It would be
a challenge.

As boy grow up in a decade of
aviation records set in the wake of the Great war. The notion of
attempting the journey were extremely appealing. The illustrious
deeds of airmen like Macpherson-Smith; Alcock and Brown; Sir
Charles Edward Kingsford Smith whom he’d met in 1934 while talking
about his terrific plans to set a new speed record with a flight
from England to Australia. Falstaff bristled at the memory. He’d
been fed on Aviation records on an almost weekly basis; new and
more challenging stunts ever since he’d started to read for
himself. For him it seemed for a moment that the skies-the-limit,
where nothing between the horizon and heaven was impossible, then
again Kingsford had crashed.

He glanced again at the huge
wingspan of the Caproni, it could certainly carry them both, with
fuel and cargo to spare. Ploughing through his memory of
aeronautical history gleaned from flight magazines and papers
avidly read as a boy. Caproni held a record for a nonstop Milan to
London flight, six hundred miles, over the Swish French alps,
highest point would be about 8,000 feet. Falstaff stood looking at
the wings for a long time, the Himalayas would have higher peaks.
‘Was it worth the risk?’

His ribs gave a sudden twinge.
Kunming would mean going straight back to work fighting the
Japanese. He needed a break, he winced with a sigh. Then he
grinned, there was the possibility of reward or even the attention
of Zam herself, she seemed pretty damn keen?

Remembering the chits Falstaff
thought Sam Wu would be just as reasonable and would hold on to his
money for him. The Chinese were like that, proficient, if not
wholly honest. Very complete in their record keeping. He might have
over two thousand pounds in gold waiting for him from bounties for
Japanese planes shot down, but how much was a princess worth he
guessed? A little lucrative holiday, a profitable trip to Bhutan?
Get away from the Japanese, who’d been nipping at their heels for
months. Make a small commission with less risk?

Falstaff thought it through, was
it worth the chance? As an aviator, he didn’t like being grounded,
he thought he would take the chance.

“Okay Zam, I’ll help you! But
you’ve got to help me first. Lake Ximah down there was where you
started from? What’s the town like? Is it big? I mean are there
cars anything like that?”

She shook her head. “No, very
small, the mountains are overgrown with pine. Not even cut for
timber. I got there by horse for the tea!”

Falstaff looked at the lush pine
forests and tea plantations on undulating hills.

“Right, there’s gonna be nothing
to help us there. I can only assume Master Garcia was passing
through!” Abruptly, he broke off and climbed up to check the fuel
tanks.

“All full!” He shouted down with
a satisfied grin, his immediate concerns put to rest.

“If there was nothing but tea and
horses I can’t see why he stopped. I was told the only interesting
thing to happen there was that the prime minister of the Shu State
once washed his horse in the river!” He smiled wickedly. “Let’s go
to Bhutan – but first I need to get my ribs fixed up! I hear there
are bathhouses down by Lake Meizihu?
⁷
”
Falstaff indicated to the distant south with a jerk of his
thumb.

Illustration 3: The
Customary kiss

After a final check of the Bosch
starting magneto, Falstaff was ready. He flipped down the cover,
which was located between the pilot and co-pilot’s chair.

“Okay, let’s go.” He rubbed his
chin thoughtfully.

Zam stuck by his side. He watched
her climb into the co-pilot’s seat.

“You know it’s customary for a
lady to kiss the Captain on her maiden flight?” He raised an eye
brow, leaning towards her.

He kissed her gently on the lips.
However, before he could take hold of her more firmly, a wind
gusted up the hillside from the south. Rocking, the Caproni, crept
forward towards the edge.

“Sorry, we’ll have to do that
later. We best be going now!” Falstaff exclaimed. “It’s now or
never!”

The situation got worse. The
drone of aircraft overhead had now returned. Looking up in alarm
Falstaff saw three large aircraft in the sky. Falstaff didn’t need
to point out they were flying directly overhead with open
doors.

“Rikusentai!” Falstaff shouted.
“Paratroopers? Hell! They are special-forces... probably a team
sent to mop up the rest of the airfield and catch guys like me.
Just hope they don’t spot us here?”

The engines took another five
minutes to get firing after the rough landing. The juddering only
caused the plane to slip further towards the drop.

Zam bit her lip watching Falstaff
climb in and out of the cockpit to turn the props. The pilot’s
temper was getting worse by the minute.

“Oh, Bugger!” Was all Falstaff
could say as the rear engine stalled again. He kept the two wing
mounted engines ticking over. The rear pusher engine choked again,
Falstaff swore loudly and punched the instrument console then he
noticed the propeller was still turning slowly. He dropped back
into his seat, taking a deep breath he pushed the middle throttle
all the way. Then with an exasperated huff, pushed the starter.

It failed to mesh immediately
producing a screeching that turned to a steady whine. There was a
roar. Then a burst of black smoke. At last the engine fired.

He instantly he pushed all three
engines to maximum. The throttle levers shook and tapped against
the edge of their metal guides. Falstaff pulled the yoke up to
neutral; the cables tightened, the rudders straightened; the whole
airframe shook as the engines thundered.

The tail lifted and they dropped
forward off the terrace. Falstaff with his eyes almost shut, peeped
out through slits at the horizon. He cut out the ground and
terraces rushing up at him from his mind. He ignored the ground. He
ignored the tea bushes rushing towards them. He kept the ailerons
flat, fighting the urge to pull up too sharply.

“Mustn’t stall!” He shouted over
the din of the engines and rushing of the air.

In those few seconds they
levelled, the floats occasionally brushing the taller tea plants,
Falstaff kept the plane level, letting the ground slowly drop
away.

Slowly Falstaff pulled back and
struck with the right balance of speed and control. They soared
upward. Falstaff’s eyes watched Zam as she opened her eyes in
amazement to watch the rows of tea disappear below.

“See! Easy wasn’t it! You can
hold my hand if it makes you feel better?” Falstaff offered his
hand, with a sly grin. “No problem. You know I’m famous around
here… I shot down three Jap planes!”

Zam squeezed his fingers tightly,
then tentatively leaned out to see the world below. Falstaff could
not tell if she was impressed or not.

Falstaff checked his watch.
Scrutinizing the altimeter. Zam was motionless, gazing at the scene
below them. They climbed until Falstaff slipped his watch back into
his pocket. “Not bad four thousand feet in seven minutes!”

Chapter Three – Into the boiling pot came the pigs

On the crest of the next ridge,
two figures emerged, their binoculars flashing as they caught the
sun. They were joined by others, soon thirty or forty men stood on
the tree line watching the bright red Caproni as it flew trailing a
thin wisp of black smoke south towards Lake Meizihu. The efficient
Japanese war machine lined up ready to go to war.

“Captain Soujiro!” A senior man
dressed in civilian clothes called to the young solid looking
Japanese paratrooper.

The dark green uniforms with dark
black belts and harness were covered with the instruments of war.
The Captain lowered his binoculars at the sound of his superior’s
voice. His padded steel helmet turned towards the senior officer
beside him. He bowed low ready to receive his orders.

Automatically his men had formed
a picket line along the ridge. The unit badge was a special banner
worn on the right arm; a little rising-sun flag beside the navy
white anchor. As a Marine unit, they also wore naval life-preserver
vests over their uniform and webbing. However impractical the vest
looked, the men were still heavily armed. In addition, they carried
spare cartridges, hand grenades. They carried the weight easily.
Armed with rifle or carbine, as well as a Nambu automatic pistol. A
knife in belt or boot likewise showed their willingness to wage
war.

The senior officer calling to the
Captain, stood in a separate group with his three colleagues. They
were dressed in dark civilian suits. The young Captain quickly but
politely approached with a bow. He waited patiently. The older man
was out of breath, panting and perspiring heavily.

“Your men can run at quite a pace
Captain Soujiro! You are to be commended for your discipline! What
is it you have seen?”

“It is the Caproni aircraft of
the Italian, Haga-sensei
⁸
,” Soujiro answered. He
admired the elder man, Colonel Haga-Jin. The Imperial Japanese Army
Intelligence officer who was in charge of intelligence for Pu’er.
Gathering reports to assist in the subduing of the Chinese
population in the Simao area. A superior to whose status and rank
he aspired. It was his agents that had provided the perfect details
of the airfield and all the aircraft in the area before the bombing
raid.

Colonel Haga-Jin was ruthlessly
efficient. His agents in Pu’er had learnt of the preparation and
building of the airstrip. They had been ready to smash it the very
day it was due to become operational.

“We just had news that the
Caproni had been shot down. The Italian may not be fighting with
the nationalists yet… But he is vulnerable! In debt, he may be
tempted to join General Chiang Kai-Shek’s forces? The report
specifically said the pilot was likely to have been injured in
their attack. However, some other pilot may be with him. Either way
the pilots and the plane must be destroyed understand?”