The First to Land (1984)

by Reeman, Douglas

  Blackwood stared at his crouching, smoke-grimed men. They were rocking about and laughing as if it was the greatest joke in the world.

  ‘Open fire!’

  Along the train the few remaining rifles cracked out, while the two machine-guns scythed back and forth with deadly effect.

  O’Neil said over his shoulder. ‘Nearly out of ammo’, sir.’ He glanced at his mate. ‘Sergeant Kirby wouldn’t be happy about that, eh, Willy?’

  ‘They’re in full retreat, the bloody hounds!’ The man ducked and swore as a stray bullet sang past his head.

  The train stopped at the exact spot where Blair had made his brief speech.

  It was a strange feeling to climb down without anything happening. There was a slow, hot wind across the open ground and it stirred the white and bloodied garments of the fallen Boxers so that it appeared as if they really were invulnerable and returning to life.

  The marching column was completely hidden in dust and haze, as if it too had been swallowed up.

  They piled up their spare kit and ammunition on the two Nordenfeldt carriages, and then, pushing and pulling the ungainly wheels, they hurried after the others.

  Blackwood saw the engine driver pause to stare back at the abandoned train. Like a master leaving his ship, he thought. The train looked forlorn as it stood with its doors open, and steam still trickling from the boiler.

  Blackwood said, ‘Come on. There’ll be other trains.’

  The driver shook his head. Suddenly his whole life was in ruins and he still did not understand why.

  ‘Not like her,’ was all he said.

  Swan fell into step beside him, his rifle slung, the great blade shining across his other shoulder.

  The captain had been afraid for him. It touched Swan more deeply than any bloody medal.

  Blackwood lay beside the colonel, his elbows wedged into some pebbles as they trained their glasses on the scene below. The hill, like the others which rolled away on either side, was not very high, but compared to the flat countryside it still offered a good vantage point.

  ‘There’s the river anyway.’ Blair moved his glasses with great care. It was sunset and the sky was fiery red, but still strong enough to reflect from a lens if you moved too sharply.

  The river was narrow and probably quite shallow like the other one had been. At the point where it joined the Peiho was a long squat building like an ancient fortress. They had seen it earlier when they had been placing the sentries and setting up the machine-guns.

  The two marines who had been wounded were only suffering from flesh injuries and with luck would soon recover.

  Blair remarked, ‘You notice that wide road coming from the rear of the building. Odd, that. It’s the end of nowhere, I’d have thought.’

  Blair stiffened and readjusted his glasses as a tiny figure appeared on top of the wall.

  He said softly, as if the far-off man might hear, ‘Soldier, Imperial Army.’ He lowered his glasses and studied Blackwood thoughtfully. ‘No Boxers in sight. You know what I think, David, this is an arsenal. That would explain the size of the road.’ He snapped open his pocket compass. ‘Which by my reckoning goes straight into Tientsin.’ He nodded to confirm his ideas. ‘There are several big arsenals around the city. I was just thinking, it’s a pity we had to leave the two field-guns on the train. Still, they’d have slowed us down even more.’

  Blackwood waited, it was fascinating just to watch his mind work.

  The two little cannon had been rendered useless before they had left, their breech-blocks thrown into the engine’s furnace. Even a first-class gun would be so much scrap after that. But surely Blair was not even considering an attack on the arsenal? They would have to cross the river, and even though there did not appear to be any heavy defences it would be an almost impossible task.

  Blair twisted on to his side and looked at Swan who lay behind them, his rifle to his shoulder. Just in case.

  ‘How much drinking water have you got, Swan?’

  Swan sounded surprised. ‘’Bout an inch, sir.’

  ‘You see, David? Swan is a veteran and even he’s only got a swallow left in his flask. The younger ones will have drunk the lot by now, no matter what threats the NCOs hurl at ’em!’ He looked again at the long building which was already falling into deep shadow. ‘There’s fresh water and rations galore over there, or I’m a Dutchman. The whole countryside is obviously raised against us, so we must act accordingly. They’ll need us badly in Tientsin. That’s where we’ll go.’

  ‘And Admiral Seymour?’

  Blair gave his impish grin. ‘Who?’

  He became serious instantly. ‘Fetch the petty officer and one of the student interpreters.’ He tapped his teeth with the strap of his binocular case. ‘A diversion is what we need.’

  He slithered a few yards down the slope. ‘I’m going to tell the PO what I want.’

  Blackwood peered at the building until his eyes throbbed. They had come all this way and had suffered only two casualties. As far as they could tell there was no pursuit, not yet anyway. Perhaps the other Boxers had changed their minds and had gone to join their army massing in Tientsin as they were in Peking.

  He heard Blair say, ‘There are several abandoned boats down by the river. Ran like hell when they knew the Boxers were coming, I expect.’ His tone sharpened. ‘I want you to take one as soon as it’s dark and make your way downstream. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll give you a message for Captain Masterman, how about that?’

  The petty officer’s voice rumbled, ‘I’ll ’ave a go, sir.’ The mention of his captain’s name had knocked his defences aside like a battering ram.

  ‘You’ll do better than that, Petty Officer.’ Blair’s voice was incisive. ‘We’re all depending on you.’ He swung round before the man could say anything more. ‘David, muster the sailors and see that they’re armed.’

  As Blackwood walked downhill towards the hidden marines he tried not to think about the beheaded, mutilated corpses. It was lucky that the petty officer had remained inside the train.

  Gravatt and the others were waiting for him, while Fox stood just the required number of paces to one side.

  Blackwood told them briefly what Blair intended and stressed the vital importance of the food and drink they would find in the arsenal.

  Nobody spoke, but their shocked silence made it worse.

  Blackwood finished by saying, ‘As soon as it’s dark I want the men to get as much rest as they can.’ He saw them stare as he added, ‘The colonel wants the horse led down and watered at the river as soon as we’re sure it’s safe.’

  Gravatt said politely, ‘Did he say why, sir?’

  Blackwood grinned, the colonel’s mood was infectious. ‘He’s going to ride the bloody thing when he leads us into Tientsin, because that’s where we’re going next!’

  Gravatt looked at Lieutenant Bannatyre. ‘’Pon my soul, Ian, I do believe he means it!’

  Blackwood found the colonel sitting alone, his back propped against a huge rock which had been split in equal halves, like an egg. Without the others near him he seemed tense, on edge.

  Blair said, ‘It’s the only way, David. If the trap closes around us this time, it’s over.’

  ‘I know.’ Blackwood sat down beside him. He found that he was touching the locket beneath his tunic.

  Was she safe? he wondered. Did she think of him sometimes?

  His head lolled and then he was asleep.

  12

  The Last Bugle

  The silver calls trilled in salute as Captain Masterman stepped on to Mediator’s quarterdeck and touched the peak of his cap in acknowledgement to the flag.

  Commander Wilberforce hurried forward to greet him but did not get a chance to speak.

  Masterman said, ‘Bloody hopeless. Allies indeed? You would think we were all on opposite sides!’ He glared across at the other warships. ‘The Japanese want to go in and attack, the Russians want to wait here off the Taku bar, the Germans
are keen to bombard the forts, and the Americans won’t do a damn thing. Their Admiral Kempff has his hands tied by a directive from Washington which forbids him from taking part in any hostile acts against the Chinese. The fact that the Americans have their own marines cut off in Peking too, and that we are in a state of war to all intents and purposes with Johnnie Chinaman seems to matter not!’ He lowered his voice with an effort. ‘I might as well have stayed here. Seymour’s second-in-command will do nothing until his master returns. If he returns!’ He peered over the side. ‘And what is that object doing tied to the boom?’

  Wilberforce tugged at his collar. It was all going wrong, and Masterman was in no mood for mistakes today.

  ‘I was going to tell you, sir. Stoker Petty Officer Gooch arrived aboard just after you’d gone across to the flagship.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Two seamen who were polishing the brass nameplate stiffened to listen, their cloths motionless.

  Wilberforce tried to explain. ‘He got downriver in that boat, sir. He has a signal from Lieutenant Colonel Blair.’ He wilted under Masterman’s angry stare.

  Masterman strode to the quarterdeck companionway leaving the officer-of-the-day and his midshipman gaping after him.

  The stoker petty officer was found in his mess and bustled aft to the day cabin where his captain was still studying Blair’s message. The petty officer had been greeted as something of a conqueror by his messmates, and had even found time to down a large tot of rum after his escape from the river. Masterman soon changed all that.

  ‘How long has this man been back aboard, Commander?’

  Wilberforce replied unhappily, ‘Since eight bells, sir.’

  Masterman looked at the petty officer and asked almost gently, ‘Why did it take you so long, Gooch? According to this message, you left the others as soon as it was dark.’

  ‘We ’ad trouble, sir. The boat ran aground twice, it were that shallow. Then when we reached the main river we ’ad to ’ide in some rushes. There were Chinese soljers on th’ bank. An’ further downstream they was layin’ mines, least I think they was.’

  Masterman frowned. He had heard as much aboard the flagship. If the Chinese succeeded in mining the Peiho’s entrance not only would Seymour and his men be done for, but also the last chance of relieving Peking would be gone.

  He stared hard at the petty officer. But for him they would know very little. Blackwood and his men were still together, and whereas the petty officer could only thank his lucky stars that he was safely back in his ship, Blair was planning an attack. The Allies would have to act within forty-eight hours at the very latest.

  They had to capture the forts, and open a passage for future reinforcements. If they achieved neither they might as well up-anchor and leave the Taku bar for good.

  ‘How were the marines when you left them?’

  Petty Officer Gooch tried not to drop his eyes under that remorseless stare.

  ‘Tired, sir, ’ungry too, an’ there’s no water left.’ He flushed. ‘They give the last of it to my lads.’

  ‘They would.’ Masterman looked away. Over the years he had taught himself to stay calm while he considered his plans, item by item. The poor devils could die out there for nothing.

  He said quietly, ‘Fetch the Chief Engineer and Gunnery Officer. At once.’ To the petty officer he added, ‘If by the Grace of God you still have that rank on your sleeve at the end of the day, Gooch, you will know I have intervened with Providence on your behalf. Now get out of my sight!’

  Wilberforce was almost knocked over by the petty officer as he ran from the cabin.

  ‘I’ve sent for them, sir.’

  The captain moved to the stern ports and stared across the placid water. The tide had turned again, and the land, apart from some small islets, was hidden.

  Wilberforce said carefully, ‘I suppose we can’t really blame Gooch, sir. It was quite a responsibility for him.’

  ‘I’m not. I blame you for not making a signal directly he came on board.’ He relented slightly. ‘Now get the chart of the Peiho and those forts.’

  The chief engineer entered the cabin and waited, his eyes flitting from one to the other.

  ‘How long to raise steam, Chief?’

  The engineer shrugged. ‘I’m ready any time, more or less. When you ordered a state of readiness, well, I know your standards by now, sir.’

  Masterman smiled. ‘So you do, Chief.’

  The gunnery officer, some breadcrumbs on his chest, hurried into the cabin.

  Masterman eyed him gravely. ‘I am going to get under way, Guns. We shall go to the bridge and compare Blair’s little map with the chart. As we cross the river-mouth you will have to fire on a difficult bearing, but it must be accurate.’

  The gunnery officer glanced at Wilberforce who quickly shook his head. Masterman added, ‘The Royal Marines are going to attack and capture an arsenal, Guns. We will keep the enemy occupied, although – ’ he glanced at the bulkhead clock, ‘I fear we are already too late.’

  He snatched up his cap. ‘Clear lower decks, John. Steam on the capstan and hoist all boats inboard.’

  He looked at them and smiled. ‘And later, John, you may clear for action.’

  Wilberforce hurried after him beckoning to boatswain’s mates and messengers as he tried to keep up.

  ‘Are you sure, sir? I – I mean, is it our responsibility?’

  Masterman paused, framed against the blue sky above the ladder. The question would ensure that Wilberforce would never hold any real responsibility.

  ‘It’s mine, John. It’s called initiative.’ He ran up the last steps. ‘Now get the people moving!’

  He strode into the wheelhouse and aft to the chartroom. Men were bustling everywhere, and already he could hear the dull clank from the capstan as the cable was hove short.

  He paused and glanced at the wheel, with the gleaming binnacle and telegraphs. He really loved this ship more than any other, and he could remember how proud his wife had been when he had been given Mediator. In a matter of hours his career could easily be in ruins. Then he thought of Blackwood, how young he had looked when the German countess had asked for his escort. When you compared him with Wilberforce’s hesitancy – he shook himself. There was no comparison.

  ‘Special sea dutymen to your stations! First part o’ starboard watch muster on th’ fo’c’sle!’

  Mediator seemed to stir beneath his white shoes.

  ‘Signal from flagship, sir.’ The lieutenant sounded confused. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  Masterman eyed him thoughtfully. Nelson would have known what to say. He always did.

  ‘Make to Flag. My duty.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The lieutenant hurried to the flag deck, convinced that the captain was going mad.

  The bridge party had closed up now. Quartermaster, telegraphsmen, yeoman of signals. Masterman’s tools.

  ‘Anchor’s weigh, sir.’

  ‘Slow ahead together.’

  The light cruiser moved quietly ahead, her dripping anchor still being hoisted as she turned towards the open water.

  The lieutenant was muttering to the yeoman of signals. Then he said uncertainly, ‘From flagship, sir. Your signal not understood.’

  Wilberforce entered the bridge in time to see his captain burst out laughing.

  Masterman said, ‘The truest words we’ve heard yet!’

  He saw Wilberforce and said more calmly, ‘When we pass abeam of the last fort I want you to sound Action Stations.’ He walked out on to the sun-blistered wing and stared at the land. ‘They might hear it. From one of their own.’

  Blackwood scrambled up the slope and dropped beside the colonel. Blair was peering through his binoculars and said, ‘Dawn any minute now.’ He sounded quite calm again. In control.

  Blackwood peered through the rough gorse towards the arsenal. How he had managed to sleep he could not begin to understand. It was behind him now. This was another day. Perhaps the last. />
  ‘I’ve checked with the pickets, sir, and re-sited the machine-gun where it will perform best.’ He had ordered all the Nordenfeldt ammunition to be taken to just the one gun. The other one would have to be abandoned like the field-pieces.

  Blair never asked him where or what he had been doing, and he liked him for that. He trusted and he delegated, unlike some field officers Blackwood had known.

  He watched the growing light seeping across the top of the arsenal, and wondered if the stoker petty officer and his party had reached safety. What could Masterman do anyway?

  Blackwood had spoken to most of the marines while they were munching the last of their meagre rations. Without water or tea to wash it down it was an unhappy way to begin a day like this.

  Fox had awakened him during the night after the pickets had found two white-clad sailors stumbling about in the dark. It was a miracle they had not been bayoneted before they had identified themselves. They were both Austro-Hungarian sailors who had become separated and lost from Seymour’s column. One spoke a little English, and with the aid of gestures and a crude map they had explained how the column was in full retreat, dropping weapons and equipment to make as much speed as possible. They did not know how far Seymour had reached, but they had told a gruesome story about another massacred village, and about the Boxer flags flying over Tientsin’s Native City. The International Settlement there was obviously their goal.

  Blair had remarked, ‘Well it’s two more rifles. That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘Look!’ Blair touched his arm. ‘Now there’s a sight!’

  Blackwood imagined he had seen an enemy movement but realized that the sea had suddenly become visible. It was like a dark blue barrier beyond the jutting land which supported the arsenal. Blackwood thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  ‘There’s the other fort. Just beyond the bend. Must have been built to command the main river. They have good modern artillery in those forts, I’m told.’ He shot Blackwood a grin. ‘But they all point out to sea. Bit of luck, eh?’