The Call of the Thunder Dragon (25 page)

Ono slipped out of the temple
carrying a small sack. In the morning, the monks will have a shock
he considered off hand. The police would be called to the bloody
scene, but the body would not easily be identified. Unless they
found the head? Ono smiled callously to himself, he would be
sending it to another leading Chinese businessman. A reminder of
his own debts owed to the Japanese.

He stopped briefly, collecting
his instrument case and slipped away into the dusk.

Falstaff standing in the middle
of the road cocked his ear. “Hullo! I hear something.”

He hauled Zam to her feet. The
noise of a truck or car came rolling round the bend towards them.
Falstaff stuck out his hand.

It was an old bus. A small short
bus with the driver sitting on a bench seat in the open, with the
passengers sitting inside. A ladder also led up a wooden bench
bolted along the ridge of the bus. The driver smiled. Blabbing he
grinned. Pointed to the sign and then back again towards the
town.

“Do you speak Burmese?” Falstaff
asked as he helped Zam aboard.

Zam shook her head.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I think
he said aeroplane anyway?”

At this, the driver grinned,
nodding. “Aero-plane yes? Yes?”

He helped them up with their
bags.

“Aeroplane!” He babbled and
pointed towards the town.

The matter of fare was settled
with a few Chinese coppers. After barely two minutes, the driver
turned off the dusty road. He banged on the glass between him and
inside of the bus and pointed out. “Aeroplane.” He grinned.

Falstaff looked around and
realised the road actually cut across the end of the airstrip,
cleared amongst trees on one side and farmland on the other.
Driving down the runway, they could see two aircraft. Beside them
was a group of people.

The first aircraft was a
single-engined De Havilland Puss Moth typical of the aircraft used
for irregular airmail or services to the remotest parts of British
India. The next was a larger air ambulance monoplane. A Kalinin K-3
Soviet air ambulance, converted with wheels and floats, powered by
a BMW IV engine. Its metal frame and an enclosed cabin held up to
four passengers where once stretchers could be easily loaded and
unloaded.

The group climbed aboard the bus,
surprised to see more passengers and to hear they had just landed
on the river themselves.

Two of the men were mechanics,
introducing themselves one at a time. One a scot was a former RAF
mechanic, the other a former French pilot, no longer flying after
losing an eye. They both lived in Myitkyina and worked at the
airfield when required. They shook hands, pleased and surprised at
meeting another British pilot. They introduced each other as
Alistair and Ludwig.

Ludwig was in his fifties, his
face lined, one eye gone. The stitched socket a continuation of his
deeply lined face. His hair a wild spurt of thick grey hair,
matched by a grey moustache. Alistair was in his early forties,
tall dark haired and broad shouldered. His hands calloused and
deeply lined with oil showing the hard labour of his trade.

The first pilot to board had been
a Dutchman, flying the Puss-moth to collect a passenger and bags of
mail. His first time to upper Burma, so infrequent was the air
service to Myitkyina. The other passengers came from the Russian
air ambulance, now owned by the polish noble woman, a pilot
herself. She boarded, accompanied by two German pilots; who would
have both passed as the perfect image of inflexible Prussian
nobleman or officers.

Falstaff concentrated on talking
to Alistair and Ludwig, he explained about the Caproni and where
she was. Detailing the damage to the fuel tank, missing out the
particulars concerning the Japanese. They agreed to help without
question. Falstaff spent the rest of the journey into Myitkyina
discussing the details.

The Polish woman, Adrianna, was
past middle aged, but full of verve. Dressed in a fashionable beige
fur trimmed flying suit. On her lap sat a Polish Lowland Sheepdog
Puppy, happily panting with its tongue out. Adrianna held onto it
tightly, stroking its fur. The dog seemed to be completely at ease
on the shaky bus.

Adrianna was talked to Zam, who
may or may not of been listening. The two Prussian pilots had both
heard it all before, they watched out of the window, patiently
waiting journey’s end.

“Oh, darling I said to myself –
there’s no use staying at home now. Since my brother died – I am
the only one to keep the family name! So many died in the Great war
you know? All those noble officers, all from great noble families!
It will be the end of us! Poland, Prussia, Russia, Belarus,
Ukraine! So many good, good, men - all gone! So I said to myself -
there is no point staying at home, no more!”

“Poland, Prussia, Europe is all
turned to revolution now! No more the old ways! So I said to
myself, stay home no more. Spend the money darling! See the world!
So I became pilot and bought das’ aeroplane! Yes, darling, me! And
these two darlings, my proper Prussian pilots, we are flying to see
all the Empire in India. Then I think I will retire to Hong Kong,
or Shanghai or, maybe darling how about... Singapore or
Saigon?”

Having exhausted his description
of the Caproni, Falstaff had been drawn in by Adrianna’s monologue.
He looked at the Prussian officers. Foremost in his memory, despite
having been in China for over a year, was Poland. He tried to
remember. Poland had been invaded by Germany in September the
previous year. England had been at war with Germany for three
months.

“Pardon me for asking, when did
you start this journey?”

“Oh!” Adrianna with such a thick
accent, she made the single vowel curious and perplexing. “It was
last summer! We flew across Europe around the Mediterranean, the
Danube, oh Vienna! Then Budapest, across the Black Sea and to
Turkey then Persia! And of course, India!”

Falstaff managed to get a
question in before she started again, addressing the Prussian
pilots. “What about you? Are you going to settle down in Singapore
as well, or are you returning to Germany?”

The pilots look at each other
stiffly, then laughed. “No, No!” They both laughed. “We cannot go
back to Germany now! You joke! Never, we are both from Prussia, we
supported the Kaiser to the end! We both fought, first as cavalry
officers against the Russians, then as pilots on the western front!
German politics has no room for the Kaiser. No room for us nobility
that supported him! Do you think I would take orders from a deaf
artillery Gefreiter!
²²
I plan to go to New
Zealand. I have money with which to settle there. I’m told the
mountains are even more beautiful than the Alps! My friend here
says he will go to Canada, but I don’t believe it! I think he will
go to California for the fresh, fruity wine!”

Falstaff. “I see? I’ve never been
to Canada but I can assure you the wine in California is fine!”

“You are thinking about the
invasion of Poland aren’t you?” The other officer chipped in. “You
are asking yourself, how we Prussians, - Germans, can holiday with
this Polish lady? Well, we are of the old world. There is no place
for us now, - we cannot pick sides! But you, - you are young... you
should go home! Fly to England. You should, how do you say?
Join-up? Fight against the Luftwaffe! Believe me there is war
coming. I have met this Chancellor Adolf! He is mad, He will bring
Germany to ruin!”

The bus halted, arriving at the
one western hotel in Myitkyina. The mechanics staying at a
boarding-house nearby waved from the bus, as they both agreed to
meet Falstaff at nine the next morning.

The hotel was a two-story
building, with sprawling gardens around it. There was an air of
remote colonial sanctuary about it, conveniently located next to
the railway station. The corridors were decorated with pictures of
polo meetings, paintings of polo ponies and cricketers.

The room was comfortable and
practical. The decor less than grand, more urgently in need of
dusting than redecorating. Zam flopped onto the bed. While Falstaff
stood by the window slowly undoing his jacket. He peeled off the
shirts and vests underneath.

“Yow! Better ring the bell for
service, this lot needs to be washed. He dropped the bloody shirts
on the floor. I think I need some coffee and a big steak with
mashed potatoes!”

Colonel Haga-Jin, Captain
Soujiro and the paratroopers jumped as their plane passed over the
river. The Kawanishi turned eastward back over the border, radioing
for an unmarked aircraft to be sent as soon as possible, to
rendezvous with the men for later extraction.

Colonel Haga-Jin’s anger burnt,
his loyalties split between his duty to the Imperial Japanese Naval
Intelligence force and immediate operations now under way in China
to crush the Nationalist resistance. There were uprisings in
Foochow and now in the eastern Shanxi Province where 10,000
Japanese troops were launching a counter-attack to relieve the
surrounded Japanese 36th Division.

The colonel had to remind himself
of his purpose as an intelligence officer and how killing a man
like Falstaff would prevent him from continuing to be a thorn in
the side of the Japanese. Also, there were men in Myitkyina working
for him who needed to be remained that there was a war on and were
their allegiance should lie.

The Myitkyina hotel may not of
been 5-star according to the Michelin guide, but it employed the
best available staff; English-speaking Indians, Sikhs and Japanese
laundrymen.

The Laundry received the bloody
shirts and immediately made enquiry and note of the source. When
Bandages were requested, they were supplied. Delivered to the door,
the injuries and recipient’s description noted. Thus, when at seven
O’clock the rear door to the Laundry opened to admit the scarred
Colonel Haga-Jin and two paratroopers, the answer to his questions
was already waiting.

“We need clothes ourselves,” The
Colonel ordered, “Plain clothes, anything will do, but a suit for
Captain Soujiro and myself. And Hats, we must have hats!” Haga-Jin
reminded them. His first priority was establishing themselves if
they rushed in now they may be caught before they could escape.
They needed cover before they made any move.

The laundry man nodded, his two
co-workers, also Japanese carried on with the washing.

“We have a few clothes here and
some luggage which was left behind by guests. We can take these
now, follow me.”

The white-aproned laundry man led
the officer and the two troopers through the dark backstreets to
the rear of a barber shop.

“In here and up the stairs. There
is equipment and clothing for travel locked in the chests there.
Here are the keys. Is there anything else?” the laundry man
bowed.

Haga-Jin beamed at the
efficiency.

“We have four other men watching
the hotel. They will be relived as soon as these men with me have
changed clothing. You will go back with them to show the way we
came. Find out if there is any change with this Falstaff. He
apparently is still suffering from the injuries he sustained
recently.” His smiled at the thought. He now knew Falstaff had shot
down several fighters, before his crash, before he stole Garcia’s
Caproni. That meant the deaths of several Japanese pilots if
Falstaff was injured and in pain all the better.

“If there is change or his plans
for this evening are known, send word. Is your number two still
working downstairs?”

“Hai, the shop will be open till
late.” The laundry man bowed and led the paratroopers out to change
into trousers and loose fitting work clothes.

Haga-Jin looked around the shabby
room and decided to get a haircut while the soldiers changed into
civilian clothes.

Ha Long Bay

Hanoi

Captain Akira considered himself
to be a great pilot. He had been the best in class in the Imperial
Japanese Army Air Service, worked with imperial Japanese airways,
watched and flown with many foreign pilots. The Imperial Japanese
Navy had used his experience and knowledge he was amongst the first
to fly off the new aircraft carriers.

He also currently liked his
lifestyle. He now worked for Japanese Naval intelligence; posing as
a Formosan pilot, he had been equipped with a two engined Douglas
Dolphin. Originally it had been seized from the Chinese Air
force.

Akira had the appearance of an
affluent freelance pilot, flying freely between the Chinese treaty
ports and French Polynesia. His expenses were paid, he asked no
questions, carried passengers when asked, took photographs or
dropped equipment. Be it for agents in China, Indo-China or even to
drop agents into Malaya and India.

His only anchor was the radio,
controlled from Formosa or Shanghai, he kept in touch with his
chiefs, following their instructions to the letter. He had just
come off the radio, he had landed at the busy French port of
Haiphong, the legendary Ha Long Bay was behind him. A beautiful and
busy spot for marine aircraft passing through. He had been ordered
to collect Ono Itchi, a passenger he’d carried before. A vicious,
efficient killer employed by the intelligence services to dispose
of anybody endangering or interfering with the great Japanese plan
for co-prosperity or the profits of the Japanese civil and military
services in China.

Akira left instructions for his
co-pilot to oversee refuelling while he hired a boat to go ashore.
He put a telephone call through to the Japanese village next to
Cholon in central Hanoi. On his return to the docks, the refuelling
was complete. They set off for Hanoi to collect Ono Itchi; the man
called the silent dragon.