Wings of a Flying Tiger

by Iris Yang

  Once the coffin was set upon the ground, Colonel Bai placed the bouquet of violets on top of it. He caressed the casket as if touching his wife. His hands trembled. Sadness lurked in the depths of his dark eyes, but he didn’t linger long before signaling to the young men.

  Daisy cried when dirt fell upon the coffin.

  “No tears!” ordered Colonel Bai, his haggard face hardened. He turned to face the crowd, his brow damp with sweat. The air was thick with humidity and the cloud approaching from the east was an angry gray. “The bombing is the Japanese leaders’ attempt to break our resistance. They want us to be fearful. They hope we will surrender to their terror.” He curled his hands into fists, his jaw set in resolve. “We will not let them break us!”

  “Chase the Japanese bandits out of our country!” Birch yelled while punching his right fist high above his head. Veins on his forehead bulged. “Fight them to the death!”

  Shouts of rage and determination erupted from the crowd.

  “I’m going to send you both to Tao Hua Cun—Village of Peach Blossoms,” Colonel Bai told Daisy and Jasmine once they were home. He did not hesitate to send his son to the front. Protecting the country was every man’s duty. Although the Chinese Air Force had never been a match for the Japanese flyers and was now barely functional, he was more determined than ever to lead his regiment against the enemy.

  But he could not allow the violence to reach his daughter and his niece. Delicate young ladies should not be exposed to the hideousness of warfare. He knew he could no longer take a chance.

  “Yunnan is so far away,” Daisy protested.

  “That’s the point. The war will not reach you there.”

  “I don’t want to leave you and—” Daisy stretched her hand to clutch Birch’s arm.

  “It’s too dangerous here,” Colonel Bai said.

  “But…”

  “No buts!”

  “I can’t—” Jasmine mumbled.

  Colonel Bai turned to his niece, his face stern. “Your posters won’t help win the war.”

  Jasmine opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it.

  “I should’ve insisted when Mr. Peterson proposed to you,” Colonel Bai continued. His brow creased with thought. “It would be so much safer for you in the U.S.”

  “That’s not altogether true,” countered Daisy. “Look at Professor Valentine. She was in America when she killed herself.”

  Professor Valentine had left for her hometown in the U.S. a year after the Nanking Massacre and had kept in touch with Jasmine by mail. In her final letter, she’d said she couldn’t stand the nightmares anymore. The living Goddess of Nanking, who had saved thousands in China, could not save herself in America.

  “No argument!” Colonel Bai lifted his hand. Turning to Jasmine, he added, “You’re the elder cousin. You must take care of Daisy in Yunnan.”

  Jasmine had no choice but to agree.

  Part Two

  The Wind Beneath His Wings

  Chapter 22

  Western Yunnan Province was shielded from the chaos of war, just as Colonel Bai had hoped, but in the summer of 1942, a year after Jasmine and Daisy had left Chungking, a loud noise overhead startled them. “Run!” Jasmine screamed at Daisy. Still disoriented by the initial shock, she dragged the younger girl by the arm and rushed toward the nearby woods. Under the safety of tall leafy trees, they knelt down, occasionally daring to peek up at the sky. Their mouths opened when they watched an airplane cross the sky above them, black smoke streaming behind it.

  “What—?” Daisy cried out. Before she finished her query, the plane had spun out of control and was plunging downward. A small dot tumbled out of the aircraft, burst into a white bubble, and floated to the earth. The plane tightened its spiral and plummeted toward the ground.

  Whump!

  Smoke mushroomed from the explosion site as the plane crashed. Jasmine covered Daisy with her body and arms. Within minutes, the parachute fell into the meadow.

  “What is that?” asked Daisy, peeping out from her elder cousin’s shield, her voice low and shaky.

  “An airplane,” answered Jasmine, removing her arms from the younger girl.

  “I know it’s an airplane. Whose plane? What has happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Jasmine said. Her eyes focused on the pile of white fabric at the far side of the meadow. Nothing was moving. “We have to investigate.” She straightened up.

  “No!” Daisy snatched Jasmine’s arm. Her voice rose in panic. “Don’t do it! It could be a Japanese plane.”

  “But what if it’s a friendly one?”

  “We can’t take the risk.”

  Jasmine trained her eyes on the white dot. “I think I saw Tiger Teeth painted on the airplane. Remember what Birch told us—”

  “I don’t care. Let’s leave before too late.” Daisy swiveled, ready to bolt.

  “We can’t just leave. What if it’s Big Brother Birch over there?”

  “If it’s him, he can take care of himself. He’s the one who brought us here. We’re not supposed to get involved in the war. Remember?”

  Jasmine thought briefly. “No! We have to wait.” Her voice was soft yet accompanied by an undertone of something much stronger.

  Kneeling amidst bushes and brambles, the pair stared at the white mound in the distance. They waited, barely blinking. Seconds ticked by slowly as beads of cold sweat formed on their cheeks. It was a fine summer afternoon. The field was dotted with wildflowers in full bloom. Fresh mountain air mingled with the smoke from the crashed airplane.

  No movement. The area was eerily quiet.

  “Stay here,” Jasmine ordered. She jerked her arm free. In spite of Daisy’s protest, she started walking. After a couple of steps, she turned back. “May I have…?” She made a stabbing motion.

  Reluctantly, Daisy produced a switchblade from her pocket. “Be careful!” she whispered.

  With a shaky hand, Jasmine took the knife. “I will.” She unfolded the blade and grimaced before clutching the handle in an iron grip.

  Blue, orange, and red wildflowers filled the meadow. Surrounded by lush green trees and facing a mountain peak, this was a place that Jasmine and Daisy were fond of visiting. With sketch pads, a few pencils, and a bamboo water carrier, they’d often occupied themselves for hours on this pastoral hillside. But today the meadow seemed far from peaceful. Pushing through the vegetation, Jasmine moved toward the white parachute as quietly as she could.

  What if Daisy is right? What if it is a Japanese pilot? Anxiety glazed her eyes; her heart beat out a frantic rhythm. She wiped her moist palm on her skirt to better wield the knife.

  A mountain breeze blew a lock of hair in front of her face, momentarily blocking her view. She brushed the hair off her cheek and continued to move forward. A carmine red scarf flapped in the wind behind her neck.

  A few yards away, she could see what seemed to be a person underneath the pile of fabric. Only the back of his head, a white scarf, and a pair of brown leather shoes were visible. The man seemed tall, much taller than most Chinese or Japanese. A full head of curly, toffee-brown hair defined him as a Westerner. He was definitely not Japanese!

  Jasmine cautiously moved a little closer. The man wrapped within the parachute did not move. She held her breath. With her right hand still gripping the knife, she used her left to lift an edge of the fabric. Slowly, she removed the cover from the figure. As soon as she spotted a patch sewn onto the back of the flight jacket, she dropped her arm that held the knife. Taking a few deep breaths, she turned around, waved her arm, and signaled for Daisy to come.

  Moments later, the reluctant young cousin joined her. “Who is he?” she whispered, eyebrows furrowed.

  “Look…” Jasmine sounded excited, pointing to the writing on his back. In Chinese, it read: “This foreigner has come to China to help in the war effort. Soldiers and civilians, one and all, should protect him.” The flag of the Republic of China—red with a navy blue patch bearing a white sun
with twelve triangular rays—was painted on top of the cloth.

  This Blood Chit was issued by the Nationalists to the American Volunteer Group, addressed to any citizens who might come across American pilots in difficult circumstances.

  “He’s a Fei Hu! A Flying Tiger!” exclaimed Daisy.

  “Exactly.” Jasmine squatted down. “Hello,” she called out, touching the man’s arm. “Can you hear me?” She spoke in English, her voice soft and full of concern. Receiving no answer, she gently turned the man over. The pair gasped in unison.

  The pilot’s eyes were closed. The left side of his forehead had a deep laceration along the hairline. Dried blood had matted his brown hair and had dried upon his cheek and neck. Dark spots spattered his white scarf. A few droplets of blood blemished the image of a winged tiger leaping out of a Victory “V” on his chest. His left arm and leg seemed to be injured.

  Daisy covered her mouth with her hands. Nibbling the knuckles, she asked, “Is he dead?”

  Dropping to her knees, Jasmine placed her right index finger under his nose. “I think I can feel him breathing. He’s still alive!”

  “What should we do?”

  Jasmine doubted that they could carry him back to the village. It was a long walk over rugged terrain.

  “What should we do?” Daisy asked again.

  “We must get help, but we can’t just leave him like this.”

  “How do we get help if we—”

  “You go to the village. Find Doctor Wang.”

  “I can’t go all by myself. I don’t know the way.”

  “It’s not hard. We’ve been here many times.”

  “But I’ve never paid attention. I just followed you.”

  Jasmine touched the young man’s face. His cheeks were warm with fever. She looked up at Daisy. “Then you stay with him. I’ll go back to the village.”

  “I can’t stay here with him.”

  “Look, there are only two choices.” The elder cousin was adamant. “You can go back to the village to get help, or you can stay here with him. I’m sorry we have to split up. But we can’t leave him injured and alone in the wilderness. It’s too dangerous.”

  Seeing that Daisy was about to argue, Jasmine lifted her palm. “It will get dark soon. Choose!”

  Reluctantly the seventeen-year-old chose to go back to the village. “Are you sure you’ll be okay out here alone with him?”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure. But what choice did she have? The man lying in front of her was an American pilot who had come halfway around the world to fight for her homeland. She just couldn’t leave him behind without protection. “I’ll be okay. Go, before it’s too late!”

  Daisy turned to go.

  “Remember to turn right after you cross the third creek. Don’t go straight.”

  Daisy nodded as she waved and ran. Like Jasmine, she was in typical student outfit—blue cotton shirts, slate-gray skirts, and black cloth shoes. A pink scarf flapped behind her slender neck.

  “Wait!” Jasmine called after her younger cousin.

  “Yes?”

  “Send someone to tell Uncle and Birch. They have to know what has happened here.”

  Chapter 23

  After Daisy was out of sight, the reality of her situation chilled Jasmine: she was alone with a wounded man who might die at any moment. She had no idea how she could help, but she couldn’t simply watch him take his last breath while doing nothing.

  As a girl who had grown up in cities, Jasmine didn’t know much about traditional medicine or herbs. Luckily, though, she’d lived in this mountainous area for a year now, and as one willing to learn, she’d picked up some basic treatments from Doctor Wang, a sixty-year-old herbalist.

  The sun slanted toward the western sky, and the rays crowned the snow-tipped peak with a hazy orange halo. Jasmine guessed that she had a couple of hours of daylight left, so she went into action. Fortunately, forget-me-not, the herb she most needed, grew all around her. It was about two feet high and produced ample sprays of small flowers during summer. With dazzling blue petals and a sunny yellow center, it was one of the prettiest of the little wildflowers.

  Jasmine had seen Doctor Wang smash forget-me-nots to treat a little boy’s cuts on his knee and elbow. What could she use to mash the flowers? She quickly gathered a handful of the wildflowers and returned to the pilot’s side.

  Taking the square red scarf off her neck, she wrapped some blue flowers in it and beat them with a rock the size of her hand. Once they were mashed, she placed the puree carefully over the cut on his forehead and tied a knot to make sure the herbs stayed in place.

  Since her experiences in Nanking, Jasmine hated blood. It made her sick, but that didn’t stop her now.

  The injuries to his leg and arm also needed attention. She unbuckled him from the parachute. That was easy compared with taking off his clothes. He was dead weight, and she didn’t want to cause more damage. So she took out the knife from her pocket and tore open the sleeve of his jacket.

  What else can I use? She considered using the parachute. But what if it’s still important to him? She didn’t want to destroy something vital to his mission or his survival. Her eyes dropped to the long white scarf around his neck. Even with bloodstains, it was a fine silk scarf. She took it. I’ll buy him a new one, she promised silently before tearing it into several strips. Again she wrapped forget-me-nots inside the strip, smashed the flowers, and placed the herbs on his wounds.

  The injury on his arm was bad, but his leg was worse. She let out a horrified gasp after slicing through his pant leg. Between his left knee and ankle was a dark hole caked with dried blood. The flesh around it was pink, yellow, and speckled with leathery brown and black burnt spots. Jasmine recoiled at the thought that she might hurt him. Her hands shook, and she took a few deep breaths to stabilize them. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she gently placed the herbal strip around his wound.

  It was lucky he was unconscious. Jasmine doubted she could do anything for him if he were wide awake. Treating him as she watched the pain in his eyes would be impossible.

  Is his leg too damaged? Her frown deepened. If they were in a big city, they could seek immediate medical help from a Western hospital. What would the doctor do? Amputate his leg? She felt deep sadness for this Flying Tiger. Without a leg, how could he walk? How could he fly?

  Hopefully, Doctor Wang has Yunnan Paiyao. The medicine, known as White Medicine from Yunnan, was powerful. The hemostatic powder had gained prominence as a miracle drug after it had been used on an army commander. He’d recovered from a severe injury with no amputation, which a French doctor had originally recommended. But Yunnan Paiyao wasn’t cheap, and even if the herbalist had it, there might not be enough.

  Her mind wandered as she worked. Once finished, she let out a breath, as if she’d held it for hours.

  The sun had already slipped behind the mountains. Late afternoon shadows slanted across the land. She covered the pilot with his parachute. She still needed to find another herb. Sweet wormwood wasn’t so abundant in this area, even though she knew what it looked like. Doctor Wang had used it to treat Daisy when she’d come down with a cold several weeks ago.

  Jasmine wished that time would slow down so she could find the herb before dark. Running along a creek at the edge of the woods, she checked the undergrowth and shrubs. Frantically she searched for the life-saving medicine.

  She let out a cry of relief when she spotted the tall shrub with fern-like leaves and primrose-yellow flowers. Reaching up, she smelled the plant, and her face broke into a dimpled smile. It was sweet wormwood. She was familiar with its distinctive aroma. She tore off the top part of the plant and dashed back to where the flyer lay, but as she reached him, her smile disappeared. This medicine was usually served to a patient as soup, but she had no means to cook. She’d been so focused on finding the herb that she’d forgotten about this practical issue.

  Jasmine didn’t know anything about this pilot, but she knew about the
Flying Tigers, a group of American volunteers who were courageous enough to risk their own lives to help China. Cousin Birch had told them many stories. She felt bad that she wasn’t able to help the American more. He’d been injured while fighting for her country!

  Chapter 24

  Only the tree line in the distance was discernible in the waning light. Jasmine sat at the pilot’s side and stared at him with sad eyes. His condition was growing worse. His forehead was damp with sweat, and he was speaking almost incomprehensibly. The only words she understood were “Jack” and “sorry.” Who is Jack? Why does he keep saying sorry? When she touched his face, the wounded man grabbed her hand. “Jack!” he called out. His big brown eyes gazed at her face as if he was trying to figure out who she was, but before she could react, he closed them again.

  Jasmine felt a sudden flush of heat. Traditionally a female couldn’t be touched in any way by a male before marriage. Although she was in college and thought of herself as a modern woman, she had never held hands with any man outside of her family. Not even Peter Peterson, the American teacher who had proposed to her.

  Automatically, she tried to withdraw her hand, but the unconscious pilot held on to her with a death grip. She couldn’t pull away from his grasp.

  “I don’t know who Jack is, but he must be very important to you. Is he your brother? Wake up! Jack is waiting for you. Your mother and father are waiting for you back in America. Do you have a sister? If you do, I’m sure that she is worried about you.”

  The pilot did not respond. After a while, he let go of her hand. His body trembled then spasmed.