by Peter Watt
The two men were approached by a Boxer warrior Tung immediately recognised as one of Han’s men. He stepped back.
‘Most Honourable Commander Tung,’ the man said respectfully, bowing at the waist, ‘I carry a decree from our new commander that the woman known as Naomi Wong is to be immediately placed in the custody of the most honourable Commander Han.’
The messenger thrust a scroll into Tung’s hands.
‘This cannot happen!’ Andrew gasped.
Tung’s grim expression told Andrew that it could, and that he was powerless to stop Han from reclaiming her.
Naomi’s protest had proved futile when Han’s personal bodyguard came to fetch her. As she was roughly manhandled she realised that, if the rumours she had heard of Han being favoured by the new commander were right, then there would be dire consequences not only for her but also Tung.
Han was waiting for her and she was shoved into his presence.
‘You can forget Commander Tung,’ he snarled. ‘You have been returned to me by the order of the honourable leader.’
Naomi attempted to display defiance by staring Han in the face. He stepped forward and she felt a crashing blow to her head from his closed fist. Stunned, Naomi collapsed to the ground, tasting the coppery blood that filled her mouth. She tried to recover her feet but was battered by a rain of blows until she could take no more and fainted.
When she regained consciousness Han was on top of her, grunting like a pig as he carried out the rape in the presence of his men. Naomi’s hatred for the man rose up as a fire that could not be quenched, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder, biting so hard that his scream echoed through the hallways of the building. Naomi could taste his blood until a savage blow to the side of her head returned her to the blackness. Maybe she was dying, Naomi thought sadly, carrying the last thoughts of her father’s smiling face with her.
But she was not dying. She did not know how long she had been unconscious and had little memory of what had happened prior to waking up. As she focused her eyes she became aware of her head throbbing and the pain was intense. When her eyesight cleared she could see Han staring down at her with such hatred that no words were really necessary. Blood had dried on his blouse top and he grimaced when he moved.
‘I will kill you,’ he hissed, leaning forward into her face. ‘I will kill you for being with Tung.’
‘No you won’t,’ Naomi croaked, spitting blood from her mouth.
‘Why not?’ Han sneered, amused by her bravado.
‘Because I carry your child,’ Naomi laughed bitterly.
The look of surprise on Han’s face was also an expression of confusion. But Naomi was not sure if the statement she had made would have any effect on him. Was it possible for a demon to have human feelings? The answer to that question would mean the difference between her living and dying.
‘I cannot allow my sister to go back to Han,’ Andrew had said.
‘Nor can I,’ Tung replied quietly. ‘She is a woman worth dying for.’
Andrew glanced at Tung, registering surprise at the man’s answer. ‘You like my sister,’ he said.
Tung did not reply but looked away, lest he show any embarrassment at displaying his feelings in public. Composing himself, Tung turned to Andrew. ‘I will go to Han and return Naomi to you,’ he said.
‘How will you do that?’ Andrew asked, knowing Tung had lost support when his uncle had left to oppose the allied forces slowly advancing on Pekin. Andrew was increasingly aware of the delicate nature of shifting allegiances in Chinese politics and, at the moment, Tung had no support in the city.
‘My men are loyal to me,’ Tung replied confidently, but a quiet voice warned him not to take their loyalty for granted. ‘I will speak to them.’
‘I will stand by you,’ Andrew said. ‘No matter what should eventuate we are brothers and this is now my land.’
Days had passed and John had not seen Liza. He had eventually been relieved from his place on the barricades and chose to go in search, finding her at her post in the hospital feeding the wounded with the monotonous but essential stew of horse meat and coarse rice. She glanced up at John standing at the end of the ward with his rifle slung on his shoulder, and put down the bowl she was holding to feed an Italian soldier shot in the hip.
‘You look wonderful,’ John said awkwardly when Liza approached him. ‘I am sorry that I was not able to meet with you in the last few days.’
Liza looked tired but John noticed that her eyes registered pleasure in seeing him. ‘You did not risk your life going out in search of your son and daughter,’ she said. ‘I am very happy to see that you are still here.’
‘You know that I must search for them,’ he said. ‘But I must be getting old because I have listened to wise advice to wait for the right time before I do so.’
Liza smiled. ‘I am glad you did,’ she said.
John frowned. Was it that she was frightened that he might be killed? It was not a question he would have asked himself until now.
‘Being out there on the barricades I have had time to think about many things. You have always been among my thoughts. When this is all over I would like you to return to Queensland with me – as my wife.’
Liza was stunned by his proposal. ‘We hardly know each other,’ she protested.
‘Under the circumstances I would say that fifty days here is worth fifty years outside the legation walls,’ he replied with a warm smile. ‘All I know is that from the very first moment that I saw you, I was bewitched. I know that we have not had the opportunity to court each other but I also know I have met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I am not a poor man, Liza. I have all the means to take care of you.’
Liza’s expression reflected her confusion, doubt and at the same time barely concealed love for the man standing before her with his gentle smile.
‘I am Jewish,’ she said. ‘I do not even know what faith you hold.’
‘I have never thought about religion,’ John said awkwardly. ‘I guess my beliefs are a bit like those of the blackfellas of my country. I see life in everything around me – the rocks, trees, billabongs and the stars above. I guess I have thought of all of them as having a spirit.’
Liza reached up to touch his grimy face with the tips of her fingers. ‘You have a soul, John, but you do not know it.’
Her gentle touch warmed John in a way he had not felt for a long time and he even felt moisture in the corner of his eyes. The moment had taken him outside the besieged city to another place where his soul lived.
‘I smell gum trees,’ he said, taking her hand.
‘What does that mean?’ Liza asked, puzzled by his statement.
‘If you choose to marry me,’ he replied, ‘then you will understand.’
‘I will think about your offer,’ Liza said.
‘Have you heard the news?’ a voice called from the end of the ward. Both John and Liza were distracted by the British soldier who had hobbled into the dormitory on crutches. His excited voice had caught the attention of all within hearing.
‘News from a General Gaselee who is leading the relief force has reached us that they are on their way. A Japanese general has also sent a message to say that they should be here around the thirteenth or fourteenth of the month.’
His announcement brought a cheer from the wounded men in the ward and John turned to Liza. ‘I hope the news does not change your mind about marrying me,’ he said, with a broad smile.
‘I have not accepted your offer,’ Liza replied, but from the smile on her face John felt confident.
‘What day is it?’ John suddenly asked, realising that he had not kept track of days, let alone months, since he had arrived in Pekin.
‘It is the eleventh day of August,’ Liza replied.
Two to three days before the relief forces would arrive, John calculated. He would have to act before then, otherwise there was a chance a retreating Chinese army might execute their prisoners.
&nbs
p; Robert scanned the newly arrived Chinese troops, planting their black and yellow banners a mere thirty yards from the barricades. ‘What do they say?’ he asked the young English civil servant interpreter beside him.
‘They declare the names of generals I have not heard of,’ the interpreter replied, lowering the binoculars.
‘Not good,’ Robert mumbled.
As if to confirm his worst fears the air was suddenly rent with the crack of bullets and the blast of artillery showering down on their positions. Robert had guessed the Chinese would make one last effort to crack their defences before any forces could arrive to save them. Short on ammunition and low on food supplies as the defenders were, he knew that the Chinese just might succeed.
Both men ducked behind the sandbags as an explosive artillery shell found its mark, blasting a hole in the barricade. And then, with everything they had, the Chinese poured death and destruction into the legation.
‘Yu Hsien, the governor of Shansi, has promised to take the legation in five days,’ Tung said to Andrew after he had returned from a briefing. ‘One of his generals has stated that he will not leave any fowl or dog alive.’
‘Any news of Naomi?’ Andrew asked. He now wore the Boxer uniform Tung had given him. Wearing the uniform allowed Andrew to move freely in the city.
‘I saw Han at the briefing, but we did not talk,’ Tung said. ‘I think if he had harmed your sister he would have boasted to me of the fact. He did not look well.’
‘Do you have a plan to rescue Naomi?’ Andrew asked.
‘I would go to Han’s headquarters and seize her myself if I could,’ Tung replied. ‘But I have been relieved of my post as intelligence officer, to return with my men to the forward lines. We know that a force of Japanese, Russian, British, American and French bolstered with troops from Italy, Austria and Germany are advancing on the city. It appears we must defeat the legation defenders before they arrive and so I have been ordered back to the front. I cannot do anything at this stage but pray that Han is also too busy with his command to care about Naomi. I am going to send Meili to his headquarters to report for me, as the girl knows where to go. You should prepare for the wounded we expect from our attacks on the legation.’
Andrew was frustrated by Tung’s answer, although he knew that he was right. To attempt to snatch Naomi from Han’s quarters would be suicidal. All he could do was pray that Tung was right about Han being too busy and that Meili would get through to his sister and be able to report back to them.
John wished he had a bayonet. His bruised shoulder ached with each shot and he knew his ammunition was running low. A bayonet would have turned his rifle into a weapon when his ammunition ran out and he could take at least a few of the enemy with him to hell. The pitch black of the night was torn constantly by flashes of lightning drowned in the sheets of rain beating down on the desperate defenders. Rolls of thunder all around them were in turn drowned by the crash of rifle and artillery shells exploding around the three flags hanging limply on their staffs atop the Tartar Wall. The British, American and Russian flags had been hoisted earlier that day to show the advancing allied troops that they were still alive and fighting.
As a desperate final act the Imperial Chinese army and its Boxer allies had launched an all-out attack on every point of the defences and now John found himself leaning against the sandbags next to Private Larry Gilles, snapping off shots at any figures that might appear in the flash of a lightning strike.
In the Fu, the Japanese commander, Colonel Shiba, had his men banging pots and pans to give the illusion that their numbers were greater than they actually were. At last light the Chinese had wheeled up a modern, quick-firing two-inch Krupp gun to a high point on the wall to blast with deadly accuracy the defenders’ positions. It wreaked havoc until its crew were wiped out by the defenders’ Colt machine gun while waves of Chinese soldiers threw themselves at the barricades adjoining the Mongol Market, and the fighting in many places came down to hand-to-hand combat.
‘Are we gonna die?’ the marine private shouted to John in the dark as he chambered another round.
‘I don’t know,’ John answered, feeling along his bandolier for rounds left. His fingers found nine rounds and he knew he would fall back, deserting the defences, when he was down to one round. He would find Liza, and if the Chinese overran them, shoot her with his last bullet rather than allow her to fall into the hands of the Chinese. It was not something he had ever spoken of to her but he also knew that she kept a small calibre revolver as her own insurance not to be taken alive.
Suddenly, a part of the sandbags defence collapsed on John and a figure loomed above him on the wall. An attacker had got through. Instinctively John swung the barrel of his rifle up to thrust into the enemy soldier’s stomach. The blast ripped through the Chinese soldier who screamed in his shock and pain, falling on top of John. Private Gilles immediately thrust his bayonet into the body, narrowly missing John under the now fatally wounded Chinese soldier. John extricated himself and groped around for the dead soldier’s weapon. He found it, recognising the rifle as a modern, German-manufactured Mannlicher carbine. He also found a full bandolier of ammunition. If nothing else, the prize had extended his time on the barricades, guaranteeing the death of many more of the attacking Chinese soldiers.
‘Listen!’ Private Gilles yelled above the din of gunfire. ‘You hear that?’
‘I hear it,’ John replied. ‘It’s not the Chinese guns.’
In the distance, beyond the current crash of rifle and artillery fire originating from the Chinese forces, a deep booming could be heard. The crash of Chinese artillery and rifle fire suddenly died away as did that of the defenders. In the lull separating both sides European and Asian listened.
Sitting by a dying German soldier in the hospital, Liza also heard the distant boom.
‘They are coming,’ a voice shouted from outside the hospital.
Liza rose from her chair to go outside into the shell-blasted street where she saw men, women and children cheering, crying, laughing, hugging each other and some even dancing in the dim light thrown up by fires burning from the rubble. Liza sighed as an English woman she knew from her work in the hospital clasped her to her ample bosom, crying with joy as she did. ‘We are saved,’ she sobbed. ‘They are coming.’
Relief might be at hand, Liza mused. But men were still fighting a desperate defence on the barricades. Her thoughts were with John, whom she now had not seen in three days.
‘If I die then my men have orders to kill you,’ Han said to Naomi, who was curled on the bed. ‘I would have by now but for the news you have concerning the baby. For all I know it could be the child of one of my men who first had you,’ he continued. ‘When it is born I will know, and your fate will rest on that day.’
Naomi did not know for sure whose baby she carried. It could well have been conceived by one of the many men who had first raped her, but for some strange reason she felt it was Han’s child.
Han strapped on a broad sword and reached to touch the inflamed wound close to his neck. Although it felt hot and the reddening had increased, he thought it would heal. After all, the woman had only broken the skin and he had suffered worse wounds in the past from enemy swords and spears. For now his only concern was the bullets of the foreign devils when he joined his men preparing to make a final assault on the barricades opposite the Mongol Market.
‘Pray that I return in the morning,’ he sneered at Naomi as he left.
Naomi prayed instead that Tung would come for her as he had for her brother before the sun rose.
The number of wounded being returned to Andrew was overwhelming. He worked under the dim light of lanterns, treating each casualty who was laid out on the large wooden slab Andrew had been able to convert into an operating table. The wounds were mostly from bullets but towards dawn he noticed many of the soldiers and Boxers being brought to him were suffering the terrible wounds associated with shrapnel from artillery shells.
Andre
w knew that they could not have been inflicted by the legation’s single gun and when he questioned the soldiers acting as stretcher bearers, they informed him that the Chinese defensive lines on the eastern side of the city were being shelled by the advancing forces of the foreign devils.
So they were finally coming, Andrew thought, wiping his blood-soaked hands on the legs of his trousers. What would his old medical instructors say if they saw him doing that? But hygiene hardly mattered to most of his patients whose only hope of recovery mostly lay with their own will to live. He did not have any real medical supplies or equipment at hand and was barely providing first aid for the least critically wounded. But still his endeavours were appreciated by the wounded soldiers whose pain was at least the concern of another human being.
‘Honourable doctor,’ a young Chinese soldier whose face was smeared with blood said, ‘we have brought another of the wounded to you.’
Weary from his non-stop attempts at treating the wounded, Andrew hardly looked up from the patient, whose shrapnel-shattered leg he was sawing off below the knee. Two of the wounded man’s comrades held the screaming man down as the saw bit into raw nerves, f lesh and bone.
‘Place him on the ground,’ Andrew said through gritted teeth as the saw broke through and he reached for a sharp knife to cut the flesh holding the severed leg in place. It was not until then that Andrew glanced down at the next wounded man he was to treat and saw Tung’s pale face staring up at him. Andrew suddenly felt sick, fighting to stay on his feet. His friend was covered in blood.
Meili had no trouble talking her way into Han’s headquarters, as the few soldiers remaining behind recognised her.
‘Where have you been?’ one growled, lifting his lantern as she walked into the courtyard.