Japanese troops stationed at Fengtai, south of Peiping, crossed out of their boundaries Wednesday evening to conduct exercises in the forest. No advance warning was given to Chinese authorities, according to a government spokesman.
At approximately eleven PM local time, Japanese soldiers were fired upon by Chinese troops from the walled town of Wanping as the former approached the Marco Polo Bridge, about ten miles southwest of Peiping. The Japanese briefly returned fire before returning to their camp.
The exact cause of the incident is unknown.
After the skirmish, Japanese officers conducted roll-call, and one soldier was found to be missing. He has been identified as Private Shimura Kikujiro. Shortly after midnight Thursday, the Japanese demanded to enter Wanping to look for the missing soldier. The Chinese commander refused, and a unit of Japanese infantry attempted to breach the town’s walls by force. They were repulsed by the Chinese garrison.
The article said that the Chinese 29th Army was mobilizing around the town, and the Japanese were also sending reinforcements, as fighting continued.
Doug hoped a truce would be called, but with the tensions that had been building in China the last several years around Japanese expansionism and aggression, he doubted that was possible. If it did boil into a larger conflict—like the “Shanghai Incident” in 1932, which had turned into a two-month war in the Chapei District north of the International Settlement—then the Asiatic Fleet might send his ship north to observe the Japanese navy in the area.
His telephone rang, and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach for a second. He had only given his telephone number to a handful of people—Commander Rose, of course, plus Lucy, Kenny and Abbie.
No, it’s not possible, not yet. He exhaled and got up to answer the phone. It must be Lucy; there was no way the fleet would have already ordered their ship out of port.
“Hello?”
“I heard you were back in town,” a familiar gruff voice said, but not one that Doug had expected. Not one who should have known his number, either. It took him a second to recover from the confusion.
“Jonesy? How did you get this number?”
Jonesy chuckled, and Doug could picture the reporter’s smug expression. “You know I have my ways. There are lots of folks in this town who owe me favors.”
Doug closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Anyone I know?”
“Shame on you, Douglas,” Jonesy said, his playful mocking grating on Doug’s nerves. “You know I never reveal my sources.”
Doug let that go. “What’s the reason for your call, Jonesy?”
“Thought you might like to have a chat today, about that Marco Polo Bridge incident last night. I’ll even buy your lunch.”
That surprised Doug, but only a little. “I doubt I know anything more than you do. In fact, I’d be willing to bet you already know more than I.”
“Then this should be to your benefit. No reason for you to say no.”
“Then, what’s in it for you?”
“Besides the chance to see your pretty face? You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Doug closed his eyes again and took another deep breath. He really hated it when Jonesy said things like that.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Jonesy said a couple of seconds later. “Meet me at the Cathay at noon, I’ll be at the bar.”
The line clicked off before Doug could protest.
**
Doug arrived a few minutes before noon. There were a handful of customers at the bar, all westerners, but no Jonesy. The young Chinese bartender brought him a pot of tea.
Jonesy arrived a few minutes past the hour. “The regular, Xiao,” he said as he took a seat next to Doug and placed his brown bowler hat on the bar.
“It’s been a while, Jonesy,” Doug said.
“Yeah, it’s been a few months, hasn’t it? You look well—navy life must agree with you.”
Doug wondered how he knew that. The last time Doug had seen Jonesy had been in the spring, before he got his post-immersion assignment.
Jonesy must have seen his questioning look. “Don’t worry, I’ve not been checking up on you. I ran into Lucy on the sidewalk outside Sincere Department Store a couple of weeks ago. We chatted for a bit, and she filled me in.”
“And she must have told you when I’d be back.”
“I asked when you were coming back, and she told me.” Jonesy laughed and held up his hands. “Don’t frown like that, it was all perfectly innocent. She wasn’t my source for your phone number, by the way. But that’s all I’ll say.”
“I didn’t think she was,” Doug said, stiffening.
“Uh huh. Thank you, Xiao.” Jonesy took a sip from the martini that Xiao placed in front of him. The Cathay Hotel was air conditioned, but there was already condensation forming on the glass.
“What do you want to discuss with me?” Doug asked.
“I’m looking for some analysis, what’s really happening up there, and what it means to the readers back home.”
“And you think I can give you that?”
Jonesy gave him a crooked grin. “Who better?”
“How about your contacts at the embassy?” Doug asked. “Why not ask them for analysis of the situation.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?” Jonesy took another sip of his martini. “They can tell me about the political situation, the implications for Chiang Kai-shek’s government, the communist rebels, what the Japanese embassy isn’t saying publicly, that kind of thing. When it comes to the military stuff, they’re hopeless. That’s where you come in.”
“I’m not sure I know enough to give you a decent analysis,” Doug said. That was the truth.
“Let’s order some food. You’ll think better on a full stomach.”
Doug ignored the back-handed compliment and stayed silent while Jonesy waved over the bartender. Jonesy ordered a club sandwich in English, and Doug ordered drunken shrimp with rice noodles in Shanghainese.
“I ran into your friend Kenneth last week at the Rec grounds,” Jonesy said, cheery all of a sudden.
“Oh? Kenny didn’t mention it.”
“No reason he should have. We only talked for a moment. At the baseball diamond. He was there with a bunch of people to watch the championship game, and I was there to cover it.”
“You don’t cover sports, Jonesy.”
“I’ll write about athletes sometimes, you know that. There was a player on the American team I was there to watch.”
Doug cringed, knowing full well where Jonesy’s interest lay. “I don’t need to know more.”
Jonesy scoffed and took another sip of his martini. “Still as uptight as ever, I see. All that male bonding time onboard ship didn’t loosen you up?”
“Stop it.”
Jonesy held up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“Let’s stick to business. We’ll start with you telling me everything you know that I didn’t already read in this morning’s paper.”
That wasn’t all that much, as it turned out. Jonesy filled him in on the latest news coming over the wires the last ten hours or so, since the morning papers were printed. There was nothing too surprising in any of it.
Jonesy had heard a couple of rumors that did interest Doug, about Mao Tse-tung activating communist cells for sabotage attacks on Japanese troops, or to resume attacks on Japanese concessions in cities throughout China. The latter had come to a dramatic halt after last September, when Japanese marines had retaliated by occupying the Hongkou district for three days.
“So? What do you think?” Jonesy asked.
Doug was in the middle of a big bite of noodles, which gave him a moment to think about it. “For starters, if the reds assassinate any Japanese police or marines in Shanghai, we can be sure to see a repeat of last year’s occupation—only, it would be sure to get a stronger response from the Chinese this time. It might even provoke a full battle.”
“You think it will?”
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Doug shrugged. “How should I know what the reds will do? You have sources, ask them.”
“It’s cute that you think they would just answer that directly,” Jonesy said with a smirk.
Doug concentrated on his noodles and ignored him.
“So if that all happens,” Jonesy began, slowly, as if he were thinking aloud. “What would you anticipate the ‘stronger response from the Chinese’ to be?”
Doug shrugged. “The army is not my area of expertise.” Seeing Jonesy’s frown, he decided to offer up the little he did know. “Chiang Kai-shek admires German military tactics, and he hired a bunch of German advisors a few years back, to train elite divisions within the Nationalist army. The two best—the 87th and 88th—are stationed east of Nanjing. Either one could be here in a few hours by train.”
“The japs don’t have enough marines in the area to face off with an entire army division,” Jonesy said, stroking his chin.
Doug nodded. “But if Chiang sent regular troops into Shanghai, that would violate a score of treaties. You know that. The Japanese might respond by sending their own battle forces to ‘enforce’ the city’s demilitarization.”
Jonesy’s green eyes lit up. “By sea, of course. That would be your area of expertise, wouldn’t it?”
Doug stared at Jonesy in silence for a moment before answering. “Classified.”
“Of course it is.” Jonesy finished the last of his sandwich, wiped the crumbs from his mustache with his napkin, and laid several coins on the bar. “Well, I’m not sure it was worth the price of lunch, but it was something, at least.” He stood and grabbed his hat, turning toward Doug as he put it on. “Thanks for the insights, Douglas, such as they were. Always a pleasure.”
“Always glad to help, Jonesy,” Doug replied as the stocky reporter walked away, shaking his head.
**
Friday, July 9
Doug’s telephone rang that evening while he read a book in his armchair. He still wasn’t used to having a telephone, and the loud ring made him jump. He looked at his watch—it was only six-forty; Lucy was meeting him for dinner at eight, so it wouldn’t be her.
“Hello?”
“Commander Bainbridge, sir, this is Ensign Farnsworth from the USS Valparaiso. I’m sorry to bother you at home.”
Doug’s heart dropped again. Even with the continuing fighting up north, around Beijing, he didn’t expect that the fleet would have called their ship out of port yet to observe anything. He was hoping to stay in Shanghai until their next scheduled patrol.
“It’s alright, Ensign. What can I do for you?”
“Commander Rose ordered me to notify all of the ship’s officers that Seaman Second Class Nicholas Bonadio has gone A.W.O.L. You are to be on the alert for any sighting of Seaman Bonadio, and notify Commander Rose immediately if he’s found.”
Doug stifled a sigh. He wasn’t really part of the ship’s hierarchy. Apprehending and dealing with A.W.O.L. sailors wasn’t part of his job description.
“Thank you, Ensign. You can assure Commander Rose that I will notify him if I spot Seaman Bonadio anywhere.” If I happen to see him anywhere in this city of more than three million people.
“I will. Good night, sir.”
Doug reopened the novel he’d been reading, but instead of concentrating on the pages he thought about Nick Bonadio going absent without leave. One guess where he is right now, Doug mused, thinking of the pretty American dance hostess that Nick had started a fight over.
If anyone knew the girl’s name, or where she lived, it would be a cinch to find Bonadio... He shook his head to put it out of his mind. None of my concern.
**
Monday, July 12
“Will they add port time back to you after this cruise?” Lucy asked, brushing imaginary lint off of Doug’s shoulder. He was back in his navy uniform, having received a message this morning by courier, that the USS Valparaiso had been called out, to sail north into the Yellow Sea that day.
“It’s possible,” he told her, though he doubted it. “It depends on what we find up there.”
The fighting in the north around Beijing was escalating. Now Japanese planes were bombing Chinese ports along the Yellow Sea—and not just Tianjin, the port that served Beijing. A dangerous situation was brewing, and the Asiatic Fleet was sending several vessels north to protect American merchant ships in the nearby sea lanes; Doug knew that the Valparaiso had been selected specifically because it had an Intelligence Officer. Admiral Yarnell wanted first-hand observations of the Japanese naval maneuvers.
They would not be the first ones to return home.
“I feel cheated,” Lucy grumbled. “You were barely home for ten days.”
“I know. I do, too.” He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to sound reassuring. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I’m worried. You’re sailing into a war zone, for all intents and purposes. What if something happens? How will I know?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll write to you as soon as I can.”
“That’s not what I mean, Doug.” Her blue eyes held an intensity he rarely saw. “What I mean is, what if something happens to your ship, and you’re not able to do anything? Who will tell me what’s going on? I’m not your wife, Doug.”
So that’s what she meant. Doug’s stomach dropped, and was replaced with butterflies tumbling around his gut. “That’s true,” was all he could think to say.
“I doubt your mother will even think to cable me if she gets a telegram from the Department of the Navy.” Her expression was stone cold serious. “That’s who they would contact, as your next of kin. If the worst happened. Does she know how to send word to me? Would she think to do that?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, embarrassed that he honestly had no clue.
Lucy regarded him for a moment, and he grew uncomfortable. “What does she know about us, Doug? What I mean is, does she know we’re serious? Or does she just think we’re having some laughs?”
Doug’s cheeks burned hot. He didn’t want to have this discussion right now, not when he had to leave in a few minutes.
“I’ve said a lot about you in my letters,” he said, unable to help the defensive tone in his voice. “She knows what you’re like, where you’re from, your education at Vassar, I’ve told her about your teaching—lots of things.” And from the amount of space he’d devoted to Lucy in the brief and infrequent letters he sent to his parents, it should be clear to them how important she was.
“Does she know my address?” Lucy asked, pointedly.
He stiffened. “No, I’ve never had a reason to give it to her.”
She was quiet for a second, but then stepped back and nodded. “No, I suppose not. And if I’m being honest, I’ve never had a reason to give your address to my parents, either. Maybe we should both rectify that. Under the circumstances.”
This was not the way Doug wanted to spend his final moments with Lucy before he left for an indefinite amount of time. He frowned. “This is an awfully dark conversation, darling. Can’t you think of something happier to talk about before I go?”
That came out sharper than he’d intended, and a startled look crossed her eyes, followed by a flash of anger, but then settling into sadness.
“You’re right, I know—but I think we should’ve had this conversation before now.”
She wasn’t wrong. Still, the timing was terrible. And she’d been the one to bring it up, not him. “We’ll talk all about it when I get back, I promise.”
“I will hold you to that, Douglas Bainbridge.” But she didn’t sound mad. She put her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him. “I love you. Now go, so you won’t be late.”
He gave her one more kiss of his own—a long, slow one, pulling her tight against him—reluctantly letting her go. Then he put his hat on, and walked out her door.
6
Doug encountered Ben Trebinski standing guard outside the mess hall that evening when the crew
lined up for dinner. He stood at attention, staring straight ahead. All of the seamen rotated guard duty along with their usual duties, but Doug couldn’t help but notice that everyone standing watch since he’d come back aboard that afternoon were men who had been involved in the brawl at the Majestic Café. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Commander Rose handing out extra duties as punishment.
Plus, every seaman on First Dog Watch would have to wait to get any dinner.
When he filed inside, Doug saw Nick Bonadio dishing up mashed potatoes on the food line. KP was a time-honored punishment in the Navy, and Doug wasn’t surprised to see the instigator of the fight doing time in that role.
And not looking too happy about it, either.
Doug was in line between a Petty Officer and an Ensign, each of whom was engaged in conversations with others; so when Doug’s turn came for the potatoes, he was able to acknowledge the man serving them. “Good to see you, Seaman Bonadio. Could I get a little more, please?”
“Yes, sir,” Nick Bonadio replied, flat. He dumped a little more onto Doug’s plate, unceremoniously, and passed it on.
“Thanks, Bonadio,” Doug said, ignoring the young man’s attitude.
The two dozen officers aboard the Valparaiso always took a pair of tables near the front, never mingling with the enlisted men. Doug found an empty seat at the table where Commander Rose occupied the head; the XO, Lt. Commander DeVries, occupied the opposite end. Those were unspoken assigned seats for the first and second in command, but the other officers migrated among the other seats at the two tables.
“Ah, Bainbridge—we were just discussing the ship’s course,” Rose said when Doug took his seat. “We’ve been ordered to get as close as possible to Tianjin, and keep a watch on the Japanese gunboats there. Lieutenant Wharton will be in charge of making sure our guns are all loaded and ready, but I don’t anticipate trouble. We should arrive tomorrow around noon.”
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