Wings of a Flying Tiger

by Iris Yang

  By the time they reached the military airport on the outskirts of the city, the sun had slanted toward the western horizon, and except for a short line of vehicles, the area around the gate was quiet. A guard with acne stopped them. After identifying themselves, Big Wang handed him the envelope he’d taken from Song Fu.

  The young guard opened the envelope, read the letter, and his expression turned more serious. “There’s a plane leaving in twenty minutes.” He signaled to the runway, and then handed the letter back to Big Wang. “Hurry! You might catch it.”

  The three started to move.

  “Wait!” The guard stepped in front of them. “She’s a civilian. I can’t—”

  “She’s with us,” Big Wang cut him off.

  “Yes,” Little Wang joined. “Look.” He motioned Jasmine to turn and pointed to the bloodstains on the back of her coat. “This is the blood of our friend.”

  The young guard hesitated, stared at Jasmine, and then nodded.

  The three raced toward the airplane across the field. They yelled and waved their arms to gain the attention of the man who was about to close the door.

  “What is this?” An officer stepped out of the plane. “What’s going on?”

  Big Wang handed him the envelope.

  The officer read the letter and lifted an eyebrow. He was an imposing man in his late thirties, tall and broad shouldered. “Colonel Lin Bin? I know him. How is he?”

  Both men lowered their heads. “All the surrendered soldiers were killed by the Japs,” Big Wang answered after a moment of silence.

  Grief darkened the officer’s face. “How did you two get away?”

  “Before surrendering, Colonel Lin asked for volunteers to break through. He said it would be dangerous, but he needed someone to get back to Chungking.”

  The man looked surprised.

  So did Jasmine.

  “Colonel Lin told the volunteers he’d saved a Nationalist spy. The man was badly wounded and begged the colonel to send this to Chungking.” Big Wang fished out a roll of film from his pocket.

  The officer looked at the film and considered it for a while. “I’ll escort you to the Central Intelligence Headquarters.”

  The two soldiers moved toward the stairs. Jasmine followed.

  “No!” The officer stretched his arm. “No civilians.”

  Oh, no! Jasmine thought. His stern expression had given her the impression that he was a man of principle.

  Big Wang and Little Wang defended her as before, but the man wouldn’t budge.

  “Her uncle is a colonel—”

  “I don’t care if her uncle is Chiang Kai-shek,” the officer cut Big Wang off. “No civilians!” His mouth pressed into an uncompromising line as he checked his watch. “Wheels up in one minute.” He took the stairs two at a time. At the top of the steps, he turned around, his tall figure blocking the door, “Are you coming or not?”

  The two soldiers looked at each other, exchanged a nod, and turned to Jasmine.

  “I’m really sorry,” said Little Wang with a sympathetic look.

  “Me, too,” grunted Big Wang. “But we have to go to Chungking.” He motioned to the film in his palm. “This is important. Too many people died for it.”

  Jasmine watched the airplane take off. The forest green dot became smaller and smaller until it disappeared from her sight. A sudden stab of loneliness struck her. She was standing by the side of the airfield, alone. Dad was killed. Mom is gone. Uncle, Auntie, Birch, and Daisy are so far out of reach. A world separated her from her loved ones.

  What am I going to do? With little money, she would last only a few days. There were over five hundred miles between Wuhan and Chungking. How could she reach her family?

  The wind tossed fallen leaves around her and moaned on the perimeter of the field. Jasmine felt sick. She was like the leaves, tumbling, not knowing where she would end up next. Bending forward she hugged herself so she wouldn’t be blown away. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare release the floodgates for fear they might never close again. She shut her eyes. A shadow crept over her, and she felt totally exhausted from the strain and sadness of these days. She had seen too many gruesome deaths. How could she live with such memories? She had considered following her parents to the grave when she’d first seen their bodies. Only the words and actions of the two housemaids had dragged her out of that dark place.

  Perhaps it’s time. No one was here to help, to prevent her from self-destruction. Xiao Mei was with her family. Chen Hong, too, hopefully. Father John and Professor Valentine were out of reach. Li Ming had joined the Communist resistance. Lu Ping and Song Fu were dead. Big Wang and Little Wang had left her to her fate.

  Jasmine opened her eyes. A nearby lake shimmered in the sunlight. It looked like a perfect place to rest. She walked toward it. The rhythmic slapping sound of water seemed so familiar.

  She was a good swimmer, but she wouldn’t last long in the freezing water. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Soon she would meet her parents in the other world. Her mind whirled as she stepped closer to the water.

  Then a memory emerged, catapulting her back in time. She heard a voice in her head: Come on, Jasmine! Keep swimming. You can do it.

  It was thirteen-year-old Cousin Birch. He was standing at the edge of a tiny island in the middle of a lake, waving his arms.

  I can’t! Jasmine screamed in her mind. She was exhausted. Her eight-year-old limbs seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each. She couldn’t lift her arms or kick her legs. As she let go, she heard a splashing sound and Birch’s voice, “Turn onto your back!” She felt his hand under the small of her back. “Let yourself rest. That’s right. You can do it.” He swam by her side, supporting her. “Never give up. Do you hear me?”

  With his encouragement, she made it to the island, and after a break, she swam back to the shore.

  “Five hundred meters each way,” he announced, pride in his voice.

  She’d learned to swim earlier that summer.

  “I told you,” Birch added. A radiant smile lit up his face as he splashed and teased. “Let’s go back. I know you want to swim more.”

  The memory had broken the spell.

  The wind cleared her head and sharpened her mind. Jasmine pulled her coat collar a little higher as she reflected. Her uncle and aunt loved her. Birch adored her as much as he adored Daisy, who was like a sister to her. If she died here, they would never know where she was or what had happened to her. She turned to watch an airplane land on the grass strip. Her hands curled into fists inside her coat pockets. Every fingernail dug deep into her palms.

  Never give up, as Birch had said. Walk!

  Chapter 17

  “Jasmine?”

  She turned to the sound of her name. She saw a young man climbing down from the plane that had just landed. He walked toward her with huge strides. His tall, athletic frame was silhouetted against the pink sky. For a moment she thought it was her imagination—she missed her family so much…

  The young man began to run. “Jasmine!” he shouted as he took off his flight cap and sunglasses. His dark hair glinted in the sunlight. Astonishment and concern etched on his face.

  Now she saw him clearly. She ran and flung herself into Birch’s arms.

  “What on earth are you doing here? Mom and Dad told me you left for Nanking. What happened? How did you end up in Wuhan? Where are Uncle and Auntie?”

  His rapid-fire questions opened the floodgate she’d tried so hard to keep closed. Huge teardrops rolled down her cheeks.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “The blood…” Birch pointed to her back.

  “Not mine.”

  He heaved a sigh of relief and pulled her into a fierce embrace.

  After a moment, Jasmine spoke: “Mom and Dad…” Pain ripped through her throat, robbing her of words. She stood clinging to his tall frame for support. Minutes later she took a ragged breath, found strength, and related the terrible story of their de
aths.

  Her experiences shocked Birch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as if he was going to speak, but the words died on his lips. All he could do was hold her in his arms and let her release her anguish.

  When he finally spoke, his face was grim, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t imagine how you survived all those horrors.”

  She pressed a hand to her eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but a mournful wail erupted from deep inside her. “I wanted to…follow them. They died such a painful death. I should not have left them.” Her voice trailed off in whispered remorse. Her body shuddered with the pain of loss.

  Jasmine had held back her sorrow. When she was with the housemaids, they’d been in a life-and-death situation. And when she was alone, she’d barely had the energy to pull herself out of deep depression. Grief had been a luxury. Now that she was in front of her Big Brother, all her bravado disappeared and her weakness surfaced. She felt like the eight-year-old girl who’d cried out that she couldn’t swim.

  Birch let her go. “Listen to me.” He grabbed her elbows. “You won’t bring them back by following them.” He squeezed her arms; his eyebrows creased. “If you die, you just let the Japs kill one more innocent person without even using their guns or knives. I know it’s hard; it’s very painful. Being alive can be harder than dying. You’ve got to be strong, Jasmine.”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod, eyes still glistening.

  “Don’t let the bastards kill you. Don’t let them win so easily. Live! Do the things you love to do! Paint lots of pictures. You have such talent. Live a productive life, for Uncle and for Auntie. For all of us!”

  Jasmine nodded forcefully this time. She understood. She’d just needed reinforcement. Wiping tears with her knuckles, she raised her chin. Slowly, her sorrow and her feelings of helplessness dissipated, and her mood began to lift. “Why are you here?”

  “Nanking fell. Wuhan will be Japan’s next target. We must protect it. We’re getting ready to bring fighter planes here and transfer the bombers and training aircraft back to Chungking.”

  Birch guided Jasmine across the airfield, keeping a hand on her back and allowing her to lean on him. They entered a room filled with young airmen who were talking and smoking. A clay stove kept the area warm.

  “Well, well, well,” said a muscular man in his early twenties. He knocked Birch’s arm with a fist. “Look who is lucky today.”

  Birch lifted a hand. “Cut it out, Meng Hu. She’s my cousin. She has escaped from Nanking. Both her parents—”

  “I’m sorry,” Meng Hu mumbled. A frown creased his brow.

  A thin man with a half-smoked cigarette in his mouth stood up. He shoved his chair toward Jasmine. Birch set her down. He nodded his appreciation then relayed the stories that Jasmine had told him.

  “They dragged our unarmed soldiers out of the refugee camps by the thousands, even though they were in civilian clothes.” His voice quivered with outrage. “They mowed them down with machine guns, buried or burned them alive, or used them for bayonet practice or killing contests!”

  Groans and shouts of anger rose from the airmen.

  Birch addressed all, “Fight the Japanese bandits to the death. Do you hear me?” The muscles in his jaw tightened. Every inch of his body radiated fury. “Don’t put down your weapons. If we die, we die fighting, not in humiliation. Never surrender!”

  “Fight the bastards to the end!” Meng Hu punched his fist high into the air.

  “Fight to the last man!” A collective determination seized the group. Exclamations erupted.

  After the excitement subsided, Meng Hu asked, “What do you plan to do with her? Wuhan isn’t safe.”

  “I won’t leave her here. But I need your help.”

  The thin man took a draw on his cigarette. “What would you like us to do?”

  “A flight suit...”

  “Consider it done,” said a young man.

  “And a cap and goggles.”

  “Then what?” someone asked.

  Birch ran a hand over the thick stubble of his crew cut. “I’m not sure if it’s possible, but I’m thinking of letting her sit on my lap—”

  “Are you crazy?” interrupted Meng Hu. Almost six feet, he stood with feet planted apart, hands in his pockets. “The cockpit is already small for guys like you and me. It’ll be—”

  Birch cut him off, “Tight, yes. But I think it’s possible.” To Jasmine, he said, “It’ll be uncomfortable, and maybe dangerous.”

  “Just get me out of here, Ge.” Despite her thick coat and the warmth of the room, her voice shook. She hugged her arms to her body.

  “How about letting her get on our big bird?” suggested the thin man, a bombardier. Tapping the ash off his cigarette, he looked at his bomber crew members. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

  There was nodding all around.

  Birch said nothing. Jasmine’s face conveyed her anxiety. After all that she’d been through, he couldn’t blame her for being afraid.

  His brow knitted. The bomber was scheduled to take off the next day. What if someone blows her cover, he thought? What if another commander refuses to take her? I can’t look after her if I leave earlier.

  The image of her standing in the empty field came to mind. He put a protective hand on her shoulder. “I won’t leave her behind. She’s been through enough. We have to stay together.”

  “I’ve got an idea!” Meng Hu snapped his fingers and paused for effect. “Let her take my seat. I’ll find a spot on the bomber.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Birch. As a fighter pilot in training, Meng Hu was supposed to fly tandem with him. “You’ll get into trouble if they find out—”

  Meng Hu raised his broad shoulders in a devil-may-care shrug. “If she were my cousin, wouldn’t you do the same?”

  Birch clasped a hand on his friend’s forearm and tipped his head in appreciation. To Jasmine, he said, “The cockpit is open. You’ll sit behind me. Can you handle it?”

  Jasmine gave a firm nod.

  Chapter 18

  Peter Peterson was scared. The Japanese had started bombing Chungking in February, 1938. Like their other terror campaigns, the air raids focused on civilian targets. Thousands of people died. Only a thick layer of clouds that covered the area for half of the year saved the “Fog City” from complete devastation. Everyone in Chungking was nervous.

  The American art teacher was no exception.

  Whenever a siren shrieked, he ran with the screaming Chinese to the nearest shelter. Once he lost one of his leather shoes. Another time he watched a boy being trampled. He tried to help, but before he reached the child, the crowd pushed and shoved him forward. He learned a hard lesson—civility barely existed when life was threatened.

  The panic was contagious. It got on Peter’s nerves.

  The battle in Wuhan was about to begin. How long would the city last? A little over three months like Shanghai? Or four days like Nanking? Halfway up the Yangtze River, Wuhan was a major transportation hub in inland China. If it fell, Chungking was in danger.

  No need to waste my life in this foreign country, Peter thought. He was lucky to have options. His homeland was safe. When the time came to renew his teaching contract for the fall semester, he politely declined. No one blamed him. If they could, they would have made the same choice.

  Summer was fast approaching. Peter could catch the first boat once school was over. But he didn’t want to leave without Jasmine. He loved her. He wanted to marry her and take her away. Peter had seen what the war had done to her. She’d returned from Nanking a few months earlier, and she lived with her uncle and aunt again. She never talked about what had happened in Nanking. But he had heard enough horror stories to guess what she’d been through. She was quieter now. Sadness lurked in the depths of her dark eyes.

  But she’d started to paint again. Her first picture was a stunning landscape of a mountain and a meadow. On the ground sat a forlorn figure surrounded by wildflowers in full bloom. Her face w
as partly obscured, but her sorrow was evident.

  How did she do it? Peter loved her artwork as much as he loved the girl.

  Since Jasmine refused to meet him outside class, he set up a meeting with her aunt and uncle in the same restaurant where he’d proposed to her. He knew arranged marriages were common and most were decided by parents according to the families’ economic and social status. Many people never met their mates before the wedding. Peter had learned the Chinese culture well.

  “May I have your permission to marry Jasmine?” he asked them. “I promise I’ll love her and take good care of her.” He ordered a tableful of dishes. Kung Pao Chicken, Double-Cooked Pork, Nanking Salted Duck, Lion’s Head, Lotus Root Soup, Steamed Shrimp Dumplings, Yangzhou Fried Rice, Red Bean Rice Cake—a combination of the spicy Sichuan cuisine and Nanking’s favorites.

  The Christmas decorations were long gone, but the red lanterns remained, and soft music was playing. Peter hoped they were open to the idea.

  “She could go to school in the U.S.,” he added. “Her artwork is shaping up so nicely. She’ll be even better once she has the chance to learn from the best.” His eyes blazed when he imagined their bright future together.

  Bai Wu, a colonel in the Chinese Air Force, and his wife nodded in unison.

  With a pair of chopsticks, Peter picked up a piece of roast duck and put it in Mrs. Bai’s bowl. “Her talent will be wasted here. Who cares about oil paintings right now? Never mind that it is dangerous to stay in the country. Life-threatening, actually.”

  He hesitated, taking a sip of his tea before asking, “What happened in Nanking? I can tell she’s sad. How are her parents? Before she left for Nanking, she told me she wanted to convince them to leave.”

  Briefly Colonel Bai told him the story. He ended by saying, “Thank God Birch bumped into her in Wuhan. It was pure luck. I can’t imagine how she would have survived. It’s over five hundred miles between Wuhan and Chungking, impossible for a girl without money or someone to help her.”