Wings of a Flying Tiger

by Iris Yang

  The next several days were relatively quiet. Jasmine could still hear gunshots from time to time, but no Japanese entered the church. More refugees rushed inside. Panicked and hungry, they had fled to the International Safety Zone with nothing but the clothes on their backs. With them came more stories of Japanese atrocities.

  Hundreds of women, as young as twelve and as old as seventy-five, had been raped. “Operation Sweep,” a Japanese campaign designed to round up Chinese combatants, was underway. Tens of thousands of disarmed soldiers were slaughtered—mowed down by machine guns, buried alive, burned alive, or used for bayonet practice.

  Jasmine and Xiao Mei helped in the kitchen and tried to feed many hungry refugees. The food came from the Red Cross and from a few Westerners who had managed to travel outside the city to buy provisions.

  Lu Ping and his companions volunteered to remove the benches in the main church sanctuary so it could accommodate more civilians and former soldiers.

  On behalf of the International Committee, Father John wrote a long letter. He begged the Japanese military commander to show the disarmed combatants mercy and to treat them according to the Geneva Convention. To his great relief, an officer replied with leniency. “As long as the Chinese soldiers put down their weapons, they can enter the Safety Zone and their lives will be spared.”

  On the fourth day, several dozen Japanese troops stormed the church. With bayonets fixed upon the barrels of their rifles, they herded the frightened refugees into the main sanctuary and separated the men from the women. One by one, they examined the men’s hands and shoulders. After that, they bound some with ropes and shoved others to the side with the women.

  Standing in the second row, Jasmine cringed. She understood what the Japanese were doing. Daily use of guns and backpacks caused calluses on certain areas of soldiers’ fingers and marks on their shoulders. She remembered seeing calluses on Cousin Birch’s hands.

  A heavy set Japanese man walked over to the fourteen-year-old boy soldier. He towered over the teenager, grabbed his arms, and took a quick look at his fingers. Then he hauled the boy by the collar and shoved him so hard that he staggered and fell to the ground near the feet of the women. One older woman extended her arms, and the boy scrambled to his feet and stood with her.

  By then, dozens of young men had been dragged outside, their hands tied behind their backs. Most of them were Nationalist soldiers, but a few were policemen or coolies who also happened to have calluses on their fingers.

  The Japanese betrayal infuriated Father John. His face, neck, and bald head turned red with anger. He waved his arms and argued with an officer, trying to prevent the men’s fate.

  Now it was Lu Ping’s turn. As a Japanese soldier twisted his hands behind his back, the lanky ex-soldier wrestled his arms free. He rammed his fist into the enemy’s face. “Fight!” he yelled. Throwing kicks and punches to the Japanese around him, he roared, “Die fighting; not being slaughtered!”

  A few men followed him. Chaos broke out. Screams, cries, and shouts filled the church. A Japanese officer with a mustache fired his pistol into the air.

  All struggles stopped, and the men raised their hands above their heads—all except for Lu Ping.

  The Nationalist sergeant was skinny, but much taller than his opponents. In the turmoil, he’d seized a short Japanese soldier by the neck. Jerking the little man from side to side, he used him as a human shield. But he didn’t last long. Armed soldiers surrounded him and thrust their bayonets into him from behind and from the sides.

  Groans of sorrow and shouts of rage rose from the onlookers.

  Lu Ping howled. He fell, taking the short man with him. His fingers clasped the soldier’s neck like iron claws. He never loosened his grip, even after he was stabbed multiple times. Lu Ping died, but not before he choked his enemy to death. They both lay in a pool of blood, eyes open wide.

  Men lowered their heads. Women recoiled and wept.

  Tears streamed down Jasmine’s cheeks. Without a second thought, she pushed past the row before her, stepped forward, and leaned down. With great reverence, she moved her hand over Lu Ping’s eyelids and closed his eyes. May you be with your family soon, she prayed.

  As she straightened up, a Japanese man with a pockmarked face grasped her upper arm. He hauled her against him with violent speed. “Hua gu niang—pretty girl.” He grinned. Turning to his buddies, he added, “Pikankan—let’s see her open her legs.” He dragged Jasmine toward the back of the church. His remark and his actions brought a round of obscene laughter from his fellow soldiers.

  Terror seized Jasmine. She was too petrified to scream, but she fought her assailant.

  “Father John!” shrieked Xiao Mei, throwing herself on Jasmine and encircling her thin arms around the taller girl.

  “Father John!” everyone cried.

  The priest had been standing by the door, trying in vain to stop the Chinese from being taken away to be executed. He rushed inside at the frantic sound of his name. “She’s my…my secretary,” he said, clamping his fingers on the man’s forearm, his face stern.

  The heavyset Japanese raised his rifle to Father John’s temple.

  “I’m an American,” the priest said, lifting his hands. “Miss Jasmine is a U.S. citizen, too.” He turned his gaze to her and urged, “Tell them. In English!”

  “I’m…I’m Father John’s secretary,” she mumbled, her voice trembling. “I…I came from…the United States.”

  The pockmarked face turned to the man in charge.

  The officer with a tiny mustache assumed an aggressive stance with feet apart and shoulders braced. He bore down on Jasmine. His eyes were hard. “Miss Jasmine,” he finally acknowledged in English, tipped his head in a curt bow, and dismissed his subordinate with a wave.

  Grudgingly the pockmarked face let go of Jasmine. Licking his lips, he snatched Xiao Mei’s forearm.

  “She’s my assistant!” blurted out Jasmine, and repeated it in Japanese. Her hands encircled the housemaid’s shoulders. “I need her help with daily affairs. Please!” She turned to the man in charge and pleaded.

  Again the officer’s gaze zeroed in on her. A few seconds later he relented.

  In the end, the Japanese identified all the Nationalist combatants except for the fourteen-year-old boy. They left with their captives in ropes without further harassing the women.

  But Father John was worried. “I’m going to send you and Xiao Mei to Ginling Women’s College,” he told Jasmine. “Professor Valentine will take good care of you. She was your mother’s best friend.”

  Jasmine nodded. At least the Japanese had no excuse to search for soldiers in a camp full of women.

  Chapter 9

  The International Safety Zone was an area of two-and-a-half square miles, including the American Embassy, various Chinese government buildings, a hospital, and several universities. Many Westerners were living in Nanking before the invasion, but most of them fled as the Japanese approached the city. However, a handful of Westerners—businessmen, journalists, and missionaries—chose to stay and formed the International Committee for the Safety Zone in order to protect Chinese civilians.

  By the time Father John escorted Jasmine and Xiao Mei to Ginling Women’s College, refugees had packed the buildings and spilled onto lawns and into open streets. Over a short distance, they walked past hundreds of dwellings and straw huts. Every tree, shrub, and fence was strewn with diapers and clothes of all kinds and colors. The area was littered and filthy, bearing no resemblance to what Jasmine remembered.

  The fenced campus was no better. The once beautiful college grounds now swelled with not only female refugees, but also males.

  “A few days ago Professor Valentine allowed only women and children,” the priest said as they entered the front gate. “I guess she had no choice but to allow others as well.”

  Jasmine nodded. Several wild-eyed girls with blackened faces and short hair ran past them.

  A large crowd had gathered on the quad
rangle in front of the Central Building. On the wilted lawn, the Japanese trained two machine guns on the people and had already separated the men from the women. One by one, they dragged the men before the crowd. If a woman vouched for him, he was released to his family. If no one claimed him, he was tied up with other men.

  The day was chilly; a nipping wind made the bitter cold even worse.

  Jasmine turned up her coat collar and watched. It took her a couple of minutes to realize the Japanese strategy. Her heart sank. Soldiers had no family in the city. As she understood it, a man in his late twenties was shoved in front of the crowd. He was tall and athletic, dressed in a drab gray suit that looked as if it belonged to someone shorter and thinner. It seemed hopeless to convince the enemy he was a civilian.

  Two Japanese soldiers held his arms. A third man waited with a piece of rope in his hands. And a fourth pointed a rifle at him, the bayonet already reddened with fresh blood stains. Steps away, a body with a stab wound on its back lay face down on the ground. Half-frightened and half-pleading, the Chinese man searched the crowd for help.

  No one spoke up.

  The Japanese officer sitting on a chair waved a gloved hand. The two soldiers twisted the young man’s arms behind his back, and the one with the rope moved closer.

  “Wait!” Jasmine yelled at the top of her lungs from the back of the crowd. “Wait,” she repeated. Before Father John or Xiao Mei could stop her, she elbowed her way through the throng of hundreds. Moments later she stood panting before the Japanese officer.

  A sheen of perspiration clung to her forehead, even though it was cold. “He’s…” She sucked in a ragged breath, forcing a calm appearance that belied the trembling inside her. “He’s Bai Hua, my cousin, a teacher in the high school,” she said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear and jabbed a finger at the direction of the school she’d attended.

  The Japanese officer turned to the young man and asked in broken Chinese, “Name and occupation?”

  “Bai Hua… I’m…a high school teacher.”

  The Japanese looked suspicious. “Teaching what?”

  Before the man opened his mouth, Father John hurried over and answered for him. “Physical education. I’ve seen him lead his students in running. They came here once in a while, right?” He turned to face the young women in the crowd, his eyes pleading.

  A few girls nodded.

  The Japanese officer waved his hand, and the two soldiers released the young man.

  Quickly “Bai Hua” slid away with Jasmine. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said once they were a safe distance from the crowd. His breath rose in the raw December air. The cold sun brought no warmth. He leaned over and whispered, “My name is Li Ming, a lieutenant of the 88th Division.”

  Her eyes widened. In a hurry she asked, “Is Li Suying your mother?”

  He shook his head.

  Jasmine heaved a sigh, relieved and disappointed at the same time. The odds of meeting the son of the middle-aged train passenger were next to zero. “Well, from now on you’re Bai Hua—my cousin Birch. We have to exchange some basic information in case they ask again. Hey, do you have a brother or friend here? Maybe we can save another—”

  “Stop it, Jasmine.” Father John rubbed his bald skull in frustration. He lowered his voice and said, “You scared me half to death. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

  “I just want to save—”

  “You can’t save them all.”

  “Does that stop you from trying?”

  Father John’s mouth hung open, but no words came out. He shook his head.

  Just then Xiao Mei cried, “Big Brother!”

  “Oh, Lord,” muttered the priest as he followed the servant girl.

  Jasmine ran a few steps and then pulled on Father John’s sleeve. “It’s okay.” She was breathless with relief. “He really is Xiao Mei’s brother.”

  Xiao Mei’s entire family huddled together and wept.

  “I’m so sorry about your parents,” Minnie Valentine said as she gathered Jasmine in her arms. The fifty-one-year-old American headed the Education Department at Ginling Women’s College. “Father John told me what happened. I can’t believe it. I had dinner at your parents’ home a week ago. They refused to leave. They thought they could help. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Jasmine nodded. Her cheeks were red in the cold. The sun had sunk below the tree line to the west. They’d been waiting outside Minnie’s apartment for hours.

  “Come in,” said Professor Valentine, stepping into the foyer. “A Japanese colonel summoned me to his office. I didn’t return to the campus until a couple of hours ago.”

  “What did he want? Is everything okay?” asked Jasmine. Candles on stools lit the hallway. The electricity had been off since the fall of the city. In the dim light, she noticed a faint bruise on the American’s face. “Are you all right?”

  The professor sighed. “It was a trick. They kept me away so they could come and search for the soldiers. I heard what happened here.” She reached out and placed a hand on Li Ming’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I promised I would—”

  “It’s not your fault. The Japs are devious.”

  Professor Valentine turned to Jasmine to explain: “I helped the trapped Nationalist soldiers change to civilian clothes. Our gardeners burned their uniforms and threw their weapons into the pond. I told them I would protect them.” She shook her head. Turning back to Li Ming, she asked, “How did you—”

  “Jasmine and Father John saved me. No one else vouched for me.”

  “He’s now Bai Hua,” Jasmine said.

  “Bai Hua? Birch?” Professor Valentine stepped back and took another look at him. “Hmm…you do resemble her cousin, only you’re a few years older. Tall and athletic… No wonder no one dared to vouch for you. Young man, you’re lucky to get away.”

  “Don’t start, Auntie Valentine. He’s already thanked me countless times. Even thanked me on behalf of his wife and baby.”

  “You have a baby?”

  “Two years old.”

  They walked into a living room with two dozen people. Briefly the professor introduced everyone. They were her servants or colleagues and their families.

  “Thank you for having us,” said Jasmine, indicating Li Ming, Xiao Mei, and her family.

  “You’re more than welcome. Your mother was my best friend. Your aunt was also a close friend before she left Nanking. How’s she doing in Chungking?”

  “She’s fine…probably very angry with me right now, though.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I…I left Chungking without telling her or Uncle.”

  “Jasmine!”

  Jasmine lowered her head.

  Professor Valentine said, “We’ll call them as soon as the phone is working again.” Then she waved everyone to the dining room and apologized, “Too bad we don’t have any meat or fresh vegetables. All the shops are closed.”

  “No, no, no! This is great,” Jasmine murmured her appreciation. She’d had only rice porridge for days. Steamed rice with a bit of pickled vegetable tasted heavenly.

  As they sat around a big redwood table, eating and catching up, a sudden, shrill whistle blew outside the house. The sound sent Professor Valentine jumping to her feet and running toward the door.

  Li Ming, Jasmine, and Xiao Mei followed.

  “Stay! Don’t come out. All of you!” the American shouted, and with that, she disappeared from the house.

  “Please, sit down, Miss Jasmine,” said a middle-aged servant. “Japs must have sneaked onto the campus.” She sighed. “They come to search for girls. Professor Valentine tried her best. She set up a warning system. She hasn’t had a meal without being interrupted for days. The Japs have snatched a number of girls, coming through the side gates or jumping over the bamboo fences.”

  The room grew quiet.

  Li Ming plowed his fingers through his dark hair.

  Jasmine lowered her head and chewed in silence. The steamed rice, which had ta
sted so good a moment earlier, now seemed tasteless.

  An hour later, Professor Valentine returned, exhausted. “Don’t leave the house,” she warned Jasmine and her companions again. “You’ll only get into trouble.” She heaved a long sigh. “I didn’t tell you everything the Japanese colonel said. They…they were coming tomorrow to take all prostitutes away from the camp.”

  “You didn’t agree, did you?” Jasmine asked, shocked.

  “He said he’d set up a brothel for his soldiers. I thought, you know, maybe then they wouldn’t kidnap innocent girls anymore.”

  “Oh, no, Auntie Valentine! You can’t trust them.”

  “Right,” Li Ming agreed with Jasmine. “They may take innocent girls as prostitutes!”

  “What could I do?” the professor asked, her voice frustrated and vulnerable. Her hand smoothed her cheek, then ran through her graying brown hair. “I argued with him. He wouldn’t listen.” Exasperated, she added, “They don’t need my permission to do what they want to do. Like today. I never would have allowed them to come in the campus. Well, they forced their way in, killing a volunteer who wore a Safety Zone armband.”

  In the candlelight, a shadow of anguish passed across Jasmine’s face. She lowered her head, feeling sad for the women who would become Japanese victims, and sorry for the American who had tried everything. But her everything wasn’t enough to quell the Japanese madness.

  Chapter 10

  The next day a crowd of one thousand gathered on the quadrangle. This time they were all women; Jasmine and Xiao Mei were among them. Initially, Professor Valentine had kept them in the house. But the Japanese announced that they would kill anyone who tried to hide from them. “Not just the girl,” an interpreter had said, “but everyone in the room!”

  A Japanese officer sat on a chair facing the crowd, his gloved hands resting on a sword between his legs. An interpreter and a few soldiers stood next to him. One by one, the women walked in front of them for inspection. The Japanese picked out anyone with permed hair, makeup, or flashy clothes.