The Mercenaries (35 page)

‘I reckon she’ll forgive me.’

Sammy paused, staring at his feet, then he lit another cigarette. He seemed in control of himself at last, and though his face was still thin and dangerous and his eyes were bright with rage, he seemed to be getting a grip on himself.

‘We’re finished here, Ira,’ he said in a flat grieving voice. They don’t want us any more. We don’t belong here. Perhaps we never did. Perhaps we ought never to have come.’

He looked up and managed a twisted smile.

‘Now, I reckon I’d better get down to some work,’ he said. ‘It don’t do to sit about moping. Life’s got to go on, hasn’t it?’

Ira nodded, his heart torn by the look in Sammy’s eyes, and Sammy turned for the door.

‘Sooner we get the De Havilland finished,’ he said, ‘sooner we can cut and run from the bleddy place.’

It was a new and frightening feeling to find the hatred and bitterness pointed directly at them. They had been indifferent to all the strong feelings rampant in China and unconcerned by the rise of Nationalism They had all been resilient enough to overcome the various disasters that had overtaken them.

because they were young, and had never really felt themselves concerned with the confusion and the distress and the violence around them. But this hatred, aimed at them personally--not at another warlord, or another section of the Chinese community or even at the missionaries or Europeans in general, but at them--struck a new chilling note that seemed to put everything they were doing, everything they were hoping, in the balance. With Mei-Mei’s death, their work suddenly became more urgent, a thousand times more important, and suddenly utterly devoid of joy.

The shock absorbers they had been waiting for turned up on the last steamer to reach the city and they worked all night to fit them. The De Havilland was almost finished now, the engine back in place, the wings loosely assembled and ready to fix to the fuselage, and the bruised longerons strengthened with steel fishplates.

An uneasy quiet lay over Tsosiehn. The Chang-an-Chieh and the single hotel in the city were filling up with refugees and missionaries from up-country, moodily waiting for transport down-stream. The news was that General Kwei had started to move north and west again and they knew that this time Tsu would be defeated for good.

The alliance of the northern warlords had never materialised, and Kwei and Chiang and a few other generals who had sworn to build the Chinese nation were simply defeating them one by one. It was not too difficult, because propaganda had ruined their armies, and their men were deserting every day to join the forces from Canton.

With the engine in place and the undercarriage rigged and tight, they wheeled the De Havilland out of the barn at last, thanking their lucky stars they were far enough from Tsosiehn not to have been noticed. There had not been a single militiaman near the field yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time and that then the coolies would disappear like smoke in a wind, and there would not be enough of them left to protect the aircraft, their stock of petrol, tents and spares.

It took some time, even with Heloïse to provide the power, to get the fuselage horizontal and ready for rigging, with only levels, planks and protractors. As with all De Havilland aircraft, the wings were dihedrally placed and the angle had to be exact, and Sammy, his face still peaked and dangerous, a curiously silent Sammy suddenly, had fashioned an inclinometer out of a long wedge of wood to give them the true angle. With this along the wing and the level on top of it, and with the aid of more wedges and a pair of sheerlegs, they adjusted the rigging screws until the wings were fixed. They also had to rig for a fore-and-aft angle and a stagger but with the aid of blocks and pulleys and Heloïse’s steam, they managed it within two days, and Sammy went round the machine tautening wires and the drag and anti-drag cables, checking the centre section wing panel, the struts and longerons, the turtleback, the control cables, the tall curved fin, elevator and rudder.

Then he glanced once more at the shock absorbers and screwed on the drip pan below the engine and the cowling round the exhaust pipe and radiator, and, straightening up at last, looked up at Ira, his face grey with exhaustion.

That’s it, Ira,’ he said. ‘It’s done. All we’ve got to do now is fly her.’

Ira walked round the machine, frowning, touching the rudder and the ailerons and kicking the tyres, then he looked up at the sky. There were patches of cumulus and a layer of broken cirrus, but the day was bright and cold. For a moment, he felt a twinge of uncertainty at the thought of the unknown, then he nodded to Sammy.

‘Start her up,’ he said.

Sammy glanced at him. ‘I’ll take her, Ira,’ he said. ‘I think Ellie’d prefer it if I did.’

Ira paused. He’d known for some time that Ellie had been dreading the first flight of the De Havilland.

‘I’ll still take her, Sammy,’ he said.

Wang and the coolies were outside the barn, burning joss paper near the aeroplane to ward off the demons, and Ellie was sitting just inside alone, smoking. She looked round with a quick nervous smile as Ira entered.

‘I’m going to take the De Havilland up,’ he said.

She seemed to shudder and lifted her cigarette to her mouth with a hand that was unsteady. ‘Can’t Sammy take her?’ she asked, blowing out smoke.

Ira shook his head. ‘This is something Sammy can’t do, Ellie.’

‘Suppose something goes wrong?’

‘Then I’ve a better chance of getting her down safely.’

She paused, then she threw her cigarette away. ‘Don’t fly it, Ira,’ she said.

He was struggling into the old castor-oil-smelling leather coat, his face grim and unhappy. ‘I’ve got to fly it, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Someone’s got to fly it, and the first time it’s got to be me.’

She shuddered again. ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered. They say these D.H.s burn when they crash.’

He didn’t find it hard to understand her fear, but he was quite unable to share it. They had built the machine carefully and there was no reason why it shouldn’t fly.

‘Ellie, I’m not going to crash her,’ he pointed out gently. ‘I’d trust my judgment and Sammy’s skill anywhere.’

She shook her head, stubborn and miserable. ‘I’m just scared, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it happen before.’

He began to fasten the coat. ‘I’ll be all right, Ellie,’ he said quietly. ‘In an hour it’ll be all over.’

She looked up quickly and he realised the double meaning that could be attached to his words.

‘Stop worrying, Ellie,’ he begged. The machine’s sound. The engine’s sound. There’s no reason why anything should go wrong.’

She allowed him to put his arms round her. ‘It’s something I feel, I guess,’ she said ‘Something I can’t explain. I’m suddenly scared of airplanes.’

‘Why, Ellie? I know my job.’

‘So did Ches Putnam.’ Her eyes were tragic. ‘And there’s not that much goddam luck in the world.’

‘Ellie, aeroplanes are getting better every year. We’ve only just started. These are great days for flying.’

‘Are they?’ She stared at her feet, her mouth bitter. ‘For every guy who gets anywhere in this game, there are a dozen who get smashed up or burned to death. For every good airplane there’s a bundle of bloodied wreckage. We’re still building by rule of thumb and we still fly by the seat of our pants, and pre-flight checks are a plonk on the wires and a kick at the wheels. It’s the folk who’ll come afterwards who’ll benefit. They’re the ones who’ll live.’

He was silent, aware that what she said was no more and no less than the truth. Their planes were old and had been repaired and rebuilt too many times and, because he knew it, he began to lose his temper.

‘Damn it, Ellie, I’m not going to kill myself! It’s a good aeroplane! ‘

She whirled on him, her eyes blazing. ‘I don’t need aeroplanes,’ she said. ‘It’s kids I need.’ She stared at him for a second then her face crumpled and she began to cry. ‘I want to get married, Ira,’ she whispered.

He put his arms round her again. ‘To me?’

Her head came up, her eyes bright and challenging. ‘Who the hell else, you dope? I want your kids. I want to cook your meals and keep your home tidy. For God’s sake, I want to grow old knowing I can put my hand out in the dark and feel you there. I’ve lived out of a suitcase with a bunch of guys on an airfield so goddam much I’ve forgotten I’ve got all the instincts a woman usually has. There’ve been times, in fact, when I thought I hadn’t got them at all. But I have, Ira, I have, and I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll grow old and never hear a voice in the next room that’ll tell me I’m not alone.’

He held her against him and gave her his handkerchief.

‘Ellie, it’s a sound machine. The best we’ve got, I reckon.’

He could feel her quivering tension and the tears that dropped on his hands, then she moved away from him restlessly. ‘Ira’--she reached for another cigarette for something to do with her fluttering fingers--’let Sammy do this. We’ve only had a few weeks together and I know it can’t go on.’

For a while, he stood staring at her. Her words had shaken him because he’d been too long used to the old tough Ellie who gave nothing and expected nothing, and it had more than once come as a shock to see her weak and feminine, wanting all the warm comforting things that were instinctive with other women.

‘I know how you feel, Ellie,’ he explained. ‘But this thing’s got to be done and Sammy can’t do it. I’ll be down in an hour.’

She whirled on him, furious. ‘You’ll kill your goddam self!’ she said harshly.

He paused in the doorway, trying to think of some way to calm her, but he couldn’t, and in the end he decided to let it go.

Sammy had finished filling the tank with petrol and was checking the oil when he arrived. ‘She’s yours,’ he said, giving him a quizzical look, as though he were wondering what had taken place inside the barn.

Ira climbed into the cockpit, and Sammy pulled the propeller through its turns to suck fuel into the cylinders, then, linking arms with Cheng, he heaved against the pressure.

The engine roared and the propeller became a circle of light against the wintry sun. For a while Ira worked the throttle, feeling the shudder of power through the fragile fuselage, then with the coolies hanging on to the wings and tail, he turned her, throttled back, and went carefully through all the pre-flight cockpit checks.

For a while, he taxied the De Havilland about the field, lifting her once or twice from the ground, to get the feel of her, then, satisfied, he faced her into wind. He paused for a second, thinking about what Ellie had once said--’It was always the other guy’--then he pushed the thought from his head abruptly, and thrust the throttle wide open. As the engine roared, the machine rolled forward, the long wings dipping and swaying, their tips quivering, as he moved over the uneven ground.

As he gathered speed, he moved the stick forward and the tail came up. For a moment, he kept her there, holding his breath, then he cautiously pulled back on the stick and the rumbling beneath him stopped. The De Havilland was airborne.

He let her gather speed then he eased the stick back further, and she began to lift over the trees and the river, climbing with all the power and thrust of the great engine. She laboured a little from the small field but, at five hundred feet, he did a climbing turn round the Chang-an-Chieh and at a thousand he levelled off, trying to get the engine into a steady rhythm. The machine felt safe under his hands, though her gliding angle was steep and she flew left wing low. He banked her and put her into a climb and levelled off at ten thousand feet, the big propeller beating. Below him, as far as he could see there was a level plain of white cloud, sparkling in the sun, alabaster castles and snowy rainbowed valleys, with here and there gaps through which he could see the brown of the earth. The light was brilliant and came from every direction at once so that the immense sky was a crystal-clear bowl of blue, where the sun was brighter than anybody on the earth ever saw it. As high as this, with only the drumming, sighing and creaking of the aeroplane, and the smell of oil and exhaust for company, he could feel his spirit surge with elation.

The distance he could see was enormous. Below him was China, varied as a mosaic of silks where it showed through the cloud, an ancient land with the imprint of generations of patient peasants on it. Whatever floods, famines, plagues or wars came, they went on working their tiny plots and raising their families, always on the verge of starvation but always staying alive.

He sailed along for some time, his face frozen by the propeller blast but forgetting the tragedy that was taking place across the broad earth below him. He found cloud fortresses and sailed round them, trailing the vapour from his wing tips, throwing his shadow against the mistiness and sweeping in and out of the towers of swelling whiteness and among the pearl and oyster shadows.

Eventually, he became aware of how cold he was. His nose was dripping and his left foot felt numb, and he huddled lower out of the blast and began to stamp his feet. Then, throttling back, he pushed the nose down, circling towards the earth, and finding a gap in the clouds he descended through it, saw the river and began to fly east along it. He soon saw Hwai-Yang and movement to the east of the city drew him to a line of troops, led by officers on shaggy ponies and followed by a string of ox-carts and guns.

Out of curiosity, he went down low and saw at once that they could never belong to Tsu. They were smart in green uniforms and, instead of teapots and parasols and umbrellas, they carried the red flags of the Kuomintang with their blue squares and the white sun insignia. They seemed to be mostly of student age and even included girls, and he noticed that, at the sight of the aeroplane, they didn’t stop and point, but continued to march stolidly westwards. Only when he flew along the column did groups of them step to the roadside and start firing at him--not in sporadic bursts that could do no harm but in volleys directed by their officers. A strip of fabric on the wing near the outer strut began to flap and he turned away west, picked up the loop of the river that contained Tsosiehn and, from it, taking a line past the pagoda, picked out the field at Yaochow.