The Call of the Thunder Dragon (9 page)

Captain Soujiro nodded. It would
follow these instructions to the letter, even if it meant the death
of his men or himself.

Colonel Haga-Jin turned to the
agents behind them. “We will accompany you, with five of your best
men. The rest should split up into two groups then head North.
There are two rendezvous setup for noon with collaborators in the
village. Your men will find my agents there. Destroy all equipment
found. Kill the nationalists and any other foreign pilots that may
have survived this morning’s raid!”

“I expect that in two days you
will have been successful and we can regroup to radio and fly off
the far shore of Lake Meizihu.”

“As arranged Haga-Dono!” Captain
Soujiro turned and gave instructions to his men. One by one, they
filtered back into the trees.

Captain Soujiro remained with his
picked men. Waiting while Colonel Haga-Jin conferred with his three
cohorts.

“Captain, where is in the
container with my uniform and sword?”

“Hai, My lieutenant, carries them
for the Colonel!” He pointed to the largest man in the group.

Lieutenant Goemon bowed. “It is
an honour Colonel Haga-Jin. I will guard your sword with my
life.”

He held up the khaki green tube
in which the precious sword had been stored during the parachute
drop.

The colonel nodded, seeming
satisfied. The lieutenant was a stalwart soldier, a career
professional.

“Take care of the sword and my
things lieutenant. I would not want to lose my soul. Keep them safe
until I might need them. After living among those peasant farmers
for a month, it will be good to be back in uniform! But first my
agents will search the town below! Captain? Are you ready?”
Haga-Jin’s cold black eyes fixed on him.

“Hai, immediately!” The Captain
bowed.

They moved with enthusiastic
efficiency typical of the brutal Japanese military, filtering south
through the trees and then down onto the terraces of tea
bushes.

The lake was a tree-shrouded
mirror, its frame burnished with golden sand. Falstaff had taken
the aircraft slowly through its paces. It was a gentle giant. A
fast climber, easy to turn, but difficult to control in a bank. The
lake had been perfect for their landing. The floats cut the still
water surface gliding them into the North Eastern shore. There was
a beautiful wide cobbled avenue leading to the town surrounded by
trees. The avenue led up into the market town where lines of stalls
stood, flanked hotels.

The plane had been pulled up onto
the shore with the help of some honest fishermen. Once on the soft
sandy shore it had been easy to wheel the Caproni. Zam and Falstaff
directed from the cockpit.

They moved up the shore quickly.
There was no lack of enthusiasm from the team of fishermen. They
shouted urging themselves on until they were well up the path into
the woodland. Taken off the road into a clearing, beside a pile of
lumber waiting to be cleared they rolled to a rest. The crowd that
had gathered disappeared and the fishermen went on their way with a
friendly wave.

“Well, we did ask for somewhere
out of sight!”

Falstaff dropped to the ground
from the cockpit, his legs giving way. “Ouch! I’ve had happier
landings! Oh! God, that hurts!” He touched his side and fainted
gasping for breath.

Zam regarded the filthy, oil
covered pilot, she decided it wasn’t entirely fair to judge him on
present circumstances, perhaps a bath was what he needed, after
all?

“Oh, Bugger!” Was all Falstaff
managed to roar before the rickshaw bounced again. He slid forward,
collapsing into the road as the rickshaw puller stopped outside the
hotel.

Zam pursed her lips. Her eyebrow
raised at Falstaff’s dramatics. They had left the Red Caproni
secured and covered with canvas tarpaulins. It was now early
evening. Falstaff had moaned about his ribs and pain right through
the work, which she had to partly assist with.

Falstaff didn’t remember how he
got to his room. He just lay still insensible on the floor, while
the ceiling spun around him. Zam arranged everything. Tea was being
prepared as Zam’s bags were brought in. Falstaff had nothing. All
his clothes having gone up in smoke in the tent on the airfield
that morning.

Zam undid his collar, pulling off
the red silk scarf wrapped around his neck. To her surprise, he had
no shirt and was wearing only a vest underneath his leather
coat.

“I was in a hurry. I missed
breakfast and just hopped straight into the first plane I could
find!” Falstaff said happily, the pain still evident beneath the
facade.

Zam held up the red silk scarf,
still warm from Falstaff’s neck. She spread the scarf out. It was a
short silk charmeuse nightgown, with a black lace front.

“No way! You’re crazy, you horny
man!” Zam threw it aside.

“Well, I really was in a hurry to
dress, the Japanese really know to interrupt things when they’re
going well!”

Zam leaned over him, frowning, so
her eyebrows came down to meet at a sharp angle. Falstaff stared at
the sharp little crease in the centre of her forehead. She looks
like a worried Ox when she’s cross thought Falstaff, but look at
those pouting lips.

He managed to lift his right arm
and place it around her shoulders. He tried to pull her down to
kiss him, but she pulled away, he fingers curled angrily, twisting
the silk garment in her fist.

“She didn’t mean anything to me.
It was just one of those things! A Mayor’s banquet. Drink and, of
course, many merry and thankful ladies on hand, and all that?”

“I do not like men who go with
sluts!” Zam said firmly.

“She wasn’t a slut. It was the
Mayor’s daughter!” Falstaff protested. “A slip of a girl, you’d
fill that nightie much more nicely, much… fuller!”

“Quiet!” Zam touched his lips
then handed him some tea. “Drink up!”

Falstaff drank the tea in
silence. He his head throbbed and his ribs were so stiff he
couldn’t move. Propped up with pillows, he was able to see the
beautiful hotel room and to one side and a view of the lake on the
other. Zam fussed in the background giving instructions to the
chambermaids as they scuttled around.

“We’ve sent for a doctor, his
name is Tian Yong. He is a good doctor. He used to be in the army,
he fought with the communists in Shanghai. He has much experience
with wounds.” Zam spoke with pauses still clutching for her words.
Falstaff with no choice, now entirely in Zam’s care, he lay back
and relaxed.

Falstaff woke a short time later
to sharp pain. He felt someone pushing and pulling at his broken
ribs with cold iron hard fingertips. He opened his mouth to scream,
but Zam pushed a chunk of bamboo in his mouth.

“Bite!” She hissed.

Falstaff looked into her eyes. He
tried to fight, but he found that his hands and legs were tightly
bound. He bit hard. Zam’s enchanting eyes held his gaze.

The prodding stopped, replaced by
pressure. “Take a deep breath John-San!” The voice of an old man
croaked.

The pain stopped, mostly. Then he
could feel them rolling and nudging him even more, as a bandage was
tightly applied around his chest. This went on for some time. It
seemed like his chest was getting repeatedly crushed. The pain came
accompanied by the repeated words, “Take a deep breath
John-San!”

When it stopped, Falstaff lay
groaning until Zam came to take the bamboo out of his mouth.

“John-San breathe now!” The old
voice said.

Falstaff lay on his back
groaning. The friendly face of an old man appeared leaning over
him. He was balding with a few tufts of hair. White, comical
eyebrows hung over his eyes. He smiled, his teeth were white and
clean. A good sign for a doctor this far east Falstaff thought.

“I am Tian Yong. So the Japanese
did this, eh? You are fixed up now. You have one broken rib, which
I set. I stitched the wound. You are lucky the rib didn’t puncture
your lung?”

Falstaff tried to raise his hand
but found his wrists bound. The Doctor took his hand, clasping his
hand around John’s.

“I will leave you with Zam now. I
come back tomorrow. I’ve left special tea to restore your strength.
Now eat well and rest.”

The Doctor went. Lying in the
floor Falstaff waited. Hearing the rustling of footsteps then the
pad of Zam’s light feet returning.

“Tea and soup are coming.” She
said. “First we must get you ready for the baths.”

Falstaff made to sit but found he
was still bound tightly.

“Don’t worry; the maid is here to
take your dirty clothes they will be cleaned and returned
tomorrow.” Zam pushed him back onto the floor.

There was the rustle of feet, a
swish of gowns dragging on the floor. Falstaff lay on his back with
nothing but the ceiling to observe. He heard whispers; then a peal
of girlish laughter. He glimpsed the maid coming past him. Zam
crouched down then put her hand on his.

The maid cut the binding on his
legs and yanked off his socks. They tugged at the hem of his
trousers as Zam undid the belt.

“Oh lord!” Falstaff bayed as his
trousers were stripped off leaving him bare.

The rustle of feet faded and he
was left naked. He started to think he was going to be left as a
nude exhibit in the hotel window, ‘See the foreign devil, captured
and naked’, one piece of copper only!

Then there was the girlish
laughter again.

Zam returned clutching something.
She kissed his forehead and stepped back opening a crisp white
sheet to cover him. With a heavy blanket on top, he started to feel
relaxed. He smiled at Zam who sat on her side looking down at him,
mothering him with kisses.

“John-di-di, are you feeling
better?”

As he lay prone under the
blankets, he frowned.

“Di-di?” He said, “You said that
before? What do you mean?”

“I’m the youngest sister, of
three and they are all older and taller than I. I was the youngest
and the smallest. I never had a brother. If I’d had one, I’d have
had a little brother – I’d have called him di-di! If I could give
him an English name, it would be Billy!” Zam smiled then turned
away covering her mouth as she laughed. Abruptly she swung around,
so she was cross-legged. The cotton housecoat provided by the hotel
opened wide.

Falstaff let his head roll to the
side so he could see her. He quickly looked back at the
ceiling.

“I see you’re ready for a bath as
well! I don’t believe a word you say! Di-di indeed?” Falstaff
sucked his lip, calculating bitch he thought? She’d been trying to
suck up to me, mother me and seduce me since she set eyes on me!
“Were you really all the way out here with just the Chamberlain as
a chaperone? I bet you seduced him and ran away with him didn’t
you?!”

“John-San!” Zam exclaimed, “I did
not! He was an ugly old man! You would know if you had ever seen
him!”

They were interrupted by the
arrival of more tea and chicken soup.

Zam unbound his hands. “It was to
stop you fighting and lashing out?” She reassured him with a peck
on the forehead. “Did it hurt terribly?”

“Yes, it did. Worst is not being
able to … breath.” He finished with a pain filled sigh.

The maids swished smoothly in and
out. Shortly rice was also brought. After starting by sipping tea,
then being spoon fed the soup, he was able to sit and scoff some
rice before he collapsed exhausted.

He lay savouring the flavour of
the rice and soup. The first real thing He had eaten all day. It
tasted sublime.

Zam ran her hand along his firm
jaw. He was a strong man, who could bear pain she reasoned. He’d
flown in the sky and fought the other flying machines. Zam wanted
to lie down next to him and talk to him about things, about life.
Questions were bubbling up about England. About the war, about
China, about Falstaff and about the silk chemise she’d found around
his neck? She stopped in disgust at the thought. Zam took a deep
breath, the Englishman’s willingness to bait and tease, just as
much as she, made her stop and think. She felt uncomfortable with
his brutish lewdness.

Baiting and teasing were her
games. It felt different to receive such attention. Not that she
hadn’t experienced men before, but those few occasions had been
instigated by herself. She was also surprised how she’d enjoyed
caring for the man, cleaning his wounds, feeding him. Having never
wanted for care herself, nor found herself having to provide it
before this was a new state of affairs for her. She realised she’d
actually developed a concern for the man she’d have happily mocked
and lured along all the way to Bhutan without letting him lay a
finger on her. Was it possible she felt something for the dirty
English man?

Zam looked at him again. Falstaff
had woken up, his face on one side towards her. He smiled and
winked.

Zam eyes traced a line from his
eye to her open thighs. “Bastard! Don’t look!” She squealed,
slapping him across the chin. She rearranged herself, wishing she
hadn’t prepared for the bath so soon.

Falstaff hadn’t been sure if his
legs would hold, but he’d made it to the bath house, thankfully not
too far away. The baths offered were all within the old inn itself.
The prospect of a rickshaw ride to an external bathhouse made him
shudder. However, it had only been along the corridor and barely a
few steps down.

Zam was there all the way.
“Di-di, be careful now!” She patiently coaxed him all the way.

“Damn it, I’m not a baby? I’ve
broken a rib that’s all!” Falstaff wasn’t about to admit how weak
he felt or how much the pain was tiring him.

This was not how he had pictured
his imagined bath, a ‘victory tub’ with the pretty almond-eyed
girls and hot tub with warm rice wine on tap.