Shanghai Twilight

by Matthew Legare

  Tom sighed. There was no point going down this road of dead ends and self-pity.

  “I understand why you want to leave Shanghai,” Tom said, clearing his throat. “This city has been heaven for me, but hell for you.”

  Mei-chen said nothing but gave a grateful nod. Tom fished into his pocket and removed the documents he’d confiscated earlier, then pressed it into her gloved hands.

  “Here, Miss Margaret Wong. You’ll need that to get back to America.”

  “Tom...I...thanks…”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We still need to make it to the International Settlement.”

  “Think we have a shot?” she asked, already sounding like an American.

  Tom shrugged and said, “I think we’ll have better odds once the sun comes up.”

  She nodded and they both fell into a deep silence, surrounded the droning noise of cries, moans, and worried murmurs that echoed all throughout the warehouse. In between a stack of crates, he could see a nurse – wearing a red swastika armband – standing in the center of the warehouse, clasping her hands together. Through moans, wails, and worried murmurs, she began to sing.

  “Overthrow the foreign powers, overthrow the foreign powers,

  Eliminate the warlords, eliminate the warlords,

  The National Revolution is successful, the National Revolution is successful,

  Let’s all sing together, let’s all sing together!”

  Tom recognized the tune, and not only because it was sung to the melody of “Frère Jacques.” It was the “Song of the National Revolution,” the anthem of the Kuomintang during their Northern Expedition to defeat the warlords. Captain Tung had taught him that song shortly after they first met, and Tom always had the Twilight Band play it on Double Ten Day, the founding of the Chinese Republic. It was clumsy, awkward, and somewhat ridiculous, but it spread an infectious patriotism. The wounded Chinese soldiers – those who weren’t completely doped with opium – managed to sing along, its strains filling the warehouse like a symphony.

  The little girls – now satiated with congee – jumped up and down, bellowing out the refrain. Tom looked over at Mei-chen, fast asleep. Fatigue gnawed at his entire body, drooping his eyelids and pulling out a loud yawn. Tom found himself humming “Song of the National Revolution” before exhaustion overtook him completely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Shrill wailing stirred Tom awake. The woman and her two little girls were gone now, replaced by a young mother and her squalling baby. Tom checked his Rolex – almost seven o’clock. It would be sunrise soon, and that meant they could make their way south to the International Settlement with a little more ease. He reached out and shook Mei-chen awake. She blinked her reddened, bleary eyes and fixed Tom with an inquisitive look.

  “I feel like I could sleep forever,” she said with a sigh.

  “You can sleep all you want once we get down to the International Settlement,” Tom groaned, rising to his feet.

  Despite the early hour, many people were awake, but most stared straight ahead into dumb nothingness. Tom peered over a line of crate to the pit of wounded soldiers. Most slept or remained dazed by opium, and he wondered how many would be fortunate to wake up again.

  Tom and Mei-chen snaked their way through the rows of wooden crates until they came out to the main loading area, now converted into a makeshift kitchen. The gate was wide open for any new stragglers, welcomed by a Red Swastika banner flapping in the early morning breeze. Several members of the Red Swastika Society busied themselves with large pots, preparing a new batch of congee.

  “Breakfast will be ready soon,” an old man rasped, a red swastika armband wrapped around his silk changshan long shirt.

  “Thank you, uncle,” Tom said, “but we won’t be staying.”

  “We appreciate your kindness,” Mei-chen added.

  “You’re going outside?” The old man’s eyes goggled. “You can’t! All of Chapei is a battlefield! The 19th Route Army and Japanese devils fight for every block.”

  Tom and Mei-chen exchanged dark glances. “That may be, uncle, but we have to reach the International Settlement. You see,” he looked over at Mei-chen, “we’re Americans.”

  Mei-chen flashed him a surprised smile, before they walked out into the street.

  *****

  Shanghai looked like a ghost town in the misty morning light. There were no people out, but evidence of battle was all too apparent. Broken glass carpeted the streets and glittered like fine jewelry. Bullet holes pockmarked buildings and broken rubble lay strewn about in piles. Up ahead, Tom and Mei-chen saw movement at an intersection. Tom peered into the distance and saw figures moving about in a fortified outpost. It was hard to make out any features aside from their uniforms – blue-gray tunics with field caps. Chinese soldiers of the 19th Route Army!

  Tom rifled through his overcoat, still draped around Mei-chen’s shoulders, and yanked out a white handkerchief. Dangling it overhead turned it into a makeshift flag of truce, and they began advancing toward the outpost. Their steps were slow and plodding as they avoided the twisted debris and glass.

  Coming closer, the Chinese soldiers spotted them and raised their rifles to defensive positions. Tom waved the white handkerchief with more pep, but the soldiers kept their weapons at the ready. Several troops were busy stacking sandbags a few feet high, but other than that, these soldiers – no stronger than a platoon – were without a robust fortification.

  Rifle barrels flashed in the morning sun, and Tom counted at least ten were trained on them. As they approached, an unarmed soldier marched out to meet them just a few feet from the outpost.

  “Greetings,” Tom glanced at the soldier’s collar rank insignia, “Corporal. Can we speak to your commanding officer?”

  The Corporal snorted. “Our lieutenant and two of our sergeants were killed last night. I’m in charge of this platoon now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said.

  The Corporal seemed unmoved. “Why are you out here? Civilians should remain indoors.”

  “We’re heading down to the International Settlement,” Tom answered. “We’re Americans who lost our way.”

  Shrewd skepticism wrinkled the Corporal’s face. “You’re Americans? Then let’s see your papers.”

  Mei-chen handed over her phony passport, and the Corporal scrutinized it. Tom searched for his until remembered that it must have been left behind somewhere in the smoldering ruins of Club Twilight.

  “I apologize, Corporal, but in last night’s chaos, I lost my passport,” Tom said, reaching for his wallet.

  Perhaps a small bribe would be enough identification. This was still Shanghai after all. But as Tom’s hand drifted to his pocket, the ten or so rifles raised and leveled straight at his heart. Tom lifted and opened his hands in a token of submission.

  “No sudden movements!” the Corporal bellowed, snapping Mei-chen’s passport shut. He jerked a hand in Tom’s direction, and another soldier lowered his rifle, then began fishing through his clothes.

  “Watch out, I’m ticklish,” Tom said in English, hoping that would vouch for his nationality. Instead, the soldier continued prying into his jacket before plucking out the Browning automatic from his shoulder holster. The soldier presented it to his superior, then raised his rifle back at Tom’s chest.

  “And what’s this?” the Corporal asked, gripping this pistol.

  “A gun, apparently.”

  Scowling, the Corporal said, “Don’t try and be funny. Why would a civilian, Chinese or American, have a gun?”

  “Shanghai is a dangerous place,” Tom answered with a shrug.

  The Corporal was unamused. “We’ve been harassed by those Japanese ronin lately. Are you one of them?”

  “Do I look Japanese to you?”

  “Maybe not,” the Corporal scoffed, “but you could be in their pay.”

  Tom glanced over to Mei-chen. Would the gods be so cruel as to allow him to be executed as a Japanese agent and let her go free? He ha
dn’t escaped an execution by the Green Gang just to let the 19th Route Army shoot him. The hell with that. Tom Lai was a man who made his own destiny.

  “Look Corporal, my name is Thomas Lai – Lai Huang-fu – and I’m a Kuomintang member. I’ve supported the Nationalist Government and Generalissimo Chiang for years now. If you need further verification, you can contact Captain Tung Hsi-shan. But I’m telling you straight, I’m loyal to China.”

  The Corporal flashed suspicious glances between him and Mei-chen. Not that Tom blamed him – after all, one of them actually was a spy for the Mikado. As he continued his scrutinity, one of his men stacking sandbags gawked at them with an elated expression.

  “Ho Mei-chen? Is that you?” the young soldier – still just a teenager – asked, drawing closer. His simple, blocky face possessed an unknown familiarity.

  “Private, you know these two?” the Corporal asked.

  “Yes sir, this is Ho Mei-chen,” the Private said with eager nods, “the famous taxi dancer at Club Twilight. And this man is Mr. Lai, the owner!”

  “Oh yes,” Mei-chen cooed, shaking the boy soldier’s hand. “I remember you, Private. Such a graceful dancer you are!”

  Tom shook his head. Boy, could she lay it on thick. Still, he’d fallen for her act as well, so who was he to judge? The Private blushed and looked positively smitten. Of course! Tom had seen this young soldier dancing with Club Twilight only days ago, right after he’d returned from Feng’s opium den horror show. It only figured that nobody, especially a simple soldier, could forget Ho Mei-chen.

  “Alright, Private. Return to your work,” the Corporal ordered. The Private saluted and flashed a broad smile at Mei-chen, before trotting back over to the sandbags.

  “Your club is popular with a lot of the officers and men,” the Corporal conceded. “Taxi dances were always half off for soldiers.”

  “Anything for China’s fighting men,” Tom said with an ingratiating smile. “I was a soldier too once…”

  The tension began to melt and they traded respectful nods, soldier to soldier. Just then, the hammer of gunfire echoed off the buildings. Tom peered into the distance down the street and gasped. A force of Japanese Marines advanced down directly toward them. Tom began counting and quickly realized just how outnumbered the Chinese were.

  “You were once a soldier?” the Corporal snapped. “Prove your loyalty to China by helping us right here and now!”

  He pressed the Browning back into Tom’s palm. Before he could think it over, Tom found himself dumbly nodding. He’d always claimed Shanghai was his new home – now he would fight for it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Tom turned back to Mei-chen, her face clouded with concern and confusion. He strode toward her and grasped her by the shoulder.

  “Go and hide.” Tom pointed to a Buick Coupe, parked nearby. “Don’t come out until I come get you.”

  Mei-chen’s concern and confusion gave way to indignation. “You’re going to fight? Have you gone insane?”

  “The Japs are blocking the way down to the International Settlement,” Tom snapped back. “We either stand and fight or hide like rats in Chapei.”

  Mei-chen opened her mouth to speak, but a cacophony of gunfire shut her up. Instead, she nodded, turned, and dashed toward the Buick. Crouching low, she vanished from sight behind its hood. Tom joined what remained of the Chinese platoon, taking a position next to the Corporal. Kneeling down, he thrust out his pistol and took aim.

  The Japanese Marines were closer now, firing potshots at them. Bullets whizzed overhead or slammed against the sandbags. Their Arisaka rifles – fastened with bayonets – were almost as tall as they were, but the Mikado’s warriors handled them with finesse.

  The Browning automatic now felt like a brick in Tom’s hand. Still, the Chinese soldiers held their position, taking aim but not firing. For a moment, Tom Lai left Chapei, left Shanghai, left the Orient, and found himself back inside a damp, muddy trench in the Argonne Forest. A shrieking bullet crashed into a nearby sandbag and brought him back to the present.

  The Corporal fired his rifle, echoed by the remainder of the platoon. The Browning automatic jerked in Tom’s hand, blasting out a steady stream of lead at the onrushing enemy. Some of the Marines fell, clutching their bellies, arms, or legs, screaming in agony. Tom didn’t need to speak Japanese to understand their suffering.

  The carnage wasn’t one-sided. Japanese bullets found their mark, ripping through two Chinese soldiers, their bodies sagging limply over the sandbags. Both sides kept firing, but despite being outnumbered, the Chinese had the upper hand. Although their fortifications were paltry, the Mikado’s men were completely exposed and found themselves inside a shooting gallery. Most were lowly seamen, identified by their Cracker Jack uniforms and white gaiters, but an officer – with silver insignia on his collar and brandishing a sword – urged his men forward.

  “Tenno Heika Banzai!” the screamed out in unison, rushing forward. Long live the Emperor.

  Tom reloaded his pistol then aimed at the officer leading the wave of advancing Marines. The gun spat out quick staccato bursts, hurling the Japanese officer back. The sword dropped from his hand, clattering onto the ground. But the Marines continued their charge, running straight into a wall of lead. Bullets shredded blue uniforms and flesh, dropping almost half of their force to the ground. Those that survived halted in their tracks and crouched low, taking defensive positions.

  However, without an officer to lead them, and with half their unit gutted, the Marines began edging back down the street. Both sides continued to exchange gunfire, but with the conflagration was tempering now, and fresh casualties had mercifully subsided. Within minutes, the retreat and withdrawal of the Mikado’s Imperial Marines was complete, leaving Tom with the mixed sensation of numb ecstasy.

  The Chinese Corporal rose his fist and cheered, “For the Republic! Long live China!”

  “Long live China!” the troops chorused. Without thinking, Tom joined in, surprised by his own passion.

  *****

  Tom holstered his pistol and stood, but the Corporal gripped him by the arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  Tom let his confusion show. “I’m not one of your men, Corporal.”

  “Please,” the Corporal whined with imploring eyes. “Captain Tung promised us reinforcements, but they won’t arrive for another hour or two. We need every man in case the Japanese devils make another assault.”

  There was such sincerity in the Corporal’s voice, Tom couldn’t refuse. But his eyes drifted toward the Buick Coupe, where Mei-chen stood behind.

  “Very well, but let me speak to my…” Tom trailed off, unsure of how to describe Mei-chen now. The Corporal didn’t press and dismissed him. Tom detached from the platoon and joined Mei-chen beside the car.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” she cried. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tom stared back at her, scrutinizing that pretty face for any vestiges of duplicity. How he yearned to embrace her, kiss her, and love her again. But could a spy even love? Maybe not, but she had saved his life. Or maybe she was just keeping him around long enough to escort her back to the International Settlement. It didn’t matter either way. Nothing would be the same anymore. Not for him, not for Ho Mei-chen – whoever she really was – and not for Shanghai, if it still existed after all this. All that mattered right now was surviving. There was something thrilling in fighting back rather than skulking through alleyways like frightened mice. Perhaps Tom Lai was still a soldier after all.

  “We can’t,” Tom said. “The Japanese are everywhere. But if we wait for reinforcements, then we’ll have protection. Or maybe they’ll be a truce and—”

  “Enemy approaching!” someone cried out. Tom turned and found the Chinese soldiers resuming their positions. Glancing back at Mei-chen, he ordered her to hide before running over to the platoon. Crouching next to the Corporal, Tom slid out his Browning and peered down the street. In the distance, a few Nippo
nese Marines were visible, clustering around an imposing, steel beast – an armored car.

  Rifle fire erupted from the Chinese platoon, pummeling the vehicle with lead. Tom emptied his clip and reloaded again, the last of his ammunition. Bullets pinged and whined off its sturdy hood, but the armored car continued to lumber toward them, implacable and unstoppable. The turret swiveled and aimed its machine gun straight ahead, then raked the Chinese fortification with a lethal spray. Sandbags were ripped asunder, their contents spilling out onto the street. The armored car fired again, pumping out waves of bullets which cut the Chinese platoon to ribbons. Soldiers vomited out death rattles, then convulsed over what remained of the sandbag fortifications.

  Tom kept his head low and tried to draw a bead on any Japanese who exposed themselves. He fired off the remainder of his clip until there was an empty click. Just then, a heavy weight pushed against him, distorting his aim. Tom glanced over and found the Corporal – his face reduced to gory pulp by a well-placed bullet – leaning against him. Sliding the corpse off, Tom saw what remained of the platoon beginning to retreat.

  They turned and ran pell-mell, but a renewed volley of machine gun fire cut them down like rabbits in an open field. As the armored car trundled closer and closer, the Marines fanned out to mop up any remaining resistance. No point in staying put. Tom low-crawled out of the fortification and toward the Buick Coupe, now riddled with bullets.

  “Mei-chen!” he cried, still crouching low.

  Her terrified face appeared behind one of the windows. Glancing around, Tom saw the Mikado’s Marines finish off the few remaining Chinese defenders with their bayonets. Before he could think, one of the Japanese bounded toward him. Within seconds the Jap had him covered, his rifle and bayonet aimed point blank at Tom’s head.

  “Kosan se yo!” the Nipponese Marine screamed. Tom didn’t know much Japanese, but he understood a command to surrender in any language. There was nowhere to go now, except a prison camp – if he was lucky. The Browning pistol slid from his fingers and clattered onto the ground. Holding his arms up, Tom stood and lowered his head in submission.