Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

Matt didn’t really understand what made him to do it, look at the English writing on the side of the wooden containers, he just did.

  “Rosa, no,” he barked.

  Her face jumped back in surprise, a mixture of confusion and irritation on her face at his sudden interference.

  “What?” she mouthed in obvious annoyance.

  “Look at the crates, the writing,” he whispered.

  She craned her neck to see the words ‘Fireworks – Handle with Care,’ painted boldly along the wooden surfaces.

  “That’s why they were in no hurry,” he said. “Whoosh,” he added, indicating a huge explosion with his hands.

  This fresh information galvanised their thinking. Both sets of eyes focussed simultaneously on two large wooden doors they could now see in front of them. The doors were pinned together by a thick wooden beam, held in place by supporting metal latches. This was the end of the building where goods were loaded and stored.

  Matt crawled forward and sat underneath one end of the beam. Placing his hands underneath he mimicked raising the bar to show her what he had in mind. Rosa edged over and copied his movement. He mouthed to the count to three and they pushed upwards together. Slow inch by slow inch, the beam started to rise above the latches. Rosa struggled to cope with the weight. Matt managed to get his fingers behind the heavy pin and, with an extreme burst of energy, lifted it away from the door.

  “Get on with it,” he whispered in irritation and she pushed hard.

  Matt’s end fell clear but Rosa’s dropped back down and got stuck. He leapt over to her side of the floor, pushed upwards with his arms and freed the wooden pin from its resting place.

  “Now what?” she said.

  He leant forward, eased one of the wooden doors away from its position and pointed to the winch fixed to the outside wall, silhouetted by the emerging sun. Then he looked down at the sea lapping against the dockside wall below.

  “A markswoman, you say?”

  She nodded in approval. Matt handed her the rounds from his ammunition clip.

  “Once I get the doors open I’ll jump onto that wire. You follow me. There are two shots to make while I’ve got hold of you. The first is at the furthest container in there, that is the second,” he said pointing to the safety catch holding the winch mechanism to the wall.

  “Piece of cake,” she grinned.

  Matt pushed the remaining wooden door aside, leaving a cavernous opening yawning in front of them. He looked back into the ever-lightening grey murkiness behind them. Neither could hear a single noise. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped turning on its axis.

  “Wait,” said Rosa, rummaging through her holdall.

  He stared in disbelief at the unexpected appearance of a flare pistol.

  “And the kitchen sink?” he said.

  Rosa grinned, tucking the gun into the top of her trousers.

  “Like nobody is going to spot a firework display,” he said.

  She raised her little clenched fist and a finger rose into the air, then the second.

  “Three,” she mouthed.

  Matt leapt outwards, the remnants of his torn shirt wrapped around his knuckles to help him grip the wire cable. Rosa followed and just reached him, her fingers scratching at the flesh on his arms until she managed to grip on to his trouser belt. Matt released a hand and snatched at her collar, dragging her up until she could get an arm round his waist.

  Rosa fired two rounds into the warehouse, at the furthest container. Nothing happened so she fired again. Another shot rang out and Matt felt a missile whistle unnervingly close to the side of his head.

  “I thought you said you could shoot,” he shouted.

  “Shut up and hold me steady,” she yelled back.

  This time she fired three rounds in succession prompting bright colours to spring into view. The yellowy orange ball of flame sped towards them at a frightening speed. Rosa turned and fired the last round at the safety catch.

  She missed.

  “Oh shit,” Matt yelled as he watched the angry ball of fire surge towards them.

  Instinctively, he released his grip on the cable. Rosa screamed as the brightness shot out of the warehouse and passed over their heads just as they began to drop. Hurtling down uncontrollably, she somehow managed to free the flare gun and fire it into the sky. They hit the sea at uncomfortable angles and sank into the cold depths. Matt was the first to re-appear.

  He heard the surface of the water break behind him and turned to grab hold of Rosa. The two bobbing heads looked around to try and get their bearings.

  “This way,” she shouted, pointing out into the bay.

  He was long past the point of arguing. They swam away from the dockside into the open water. The after effects of the explosion were still being heard. Further erratic mini blasts sounded from the dock as they increased the distance between them and the shore, the shouts of angry men being lost amidst the loud cracking sounds.

  Matt had no idea how far they had gone when the hull of a long speedboat loomed into view, engine roaring with brute mechanical power. He feared the craft was set to run them down until the sound of the diesel suddenly quelled and Rosa stopped stroking the water.

  Seconds later and the boat eased up to where their heads bobbed above the surface. A rope ladder dropped down the side and the broad face of a young Chinese man bowed over it. Rosa stepped up two of the rungs and was roughly hauled on board by Hang Chi strong arms. Matt received the same treatment.

  “Go, Gratia,” yelled Rosa and the boat shunted forward in a burst of acceleration.

  Such was the rapid surge it threw Matt backwards, onto the seat of his pants. He looked to the cockpit and saw her smile, the long raven hair being blown by the wind to either side of her face. This was no time to ask how she was doing. A hand stretched forward in welcome and pulled Matt to his feet.

  “Am I glad to see you,” said Matt to Hang Chi, and then turned to Rosa in astonishment.

  “I told you I was prepared,” she said with an impish smirk.

  “Okay, so I’m impressed.”

  The speedboat bounced along the rippling waves and sped under the Xiamen Bridge, leading them into the Taiwanese Straits.

  “We’ve got company,” shouted Gratia from the wheel.

  They rushed to join her. Two grey hulled motor launches had appeared in the distance, slicing through the waves. One approached from the island to their right, the other hugged the main peninsula to their left. Like a pair of spiky steel talons, they were moving rapidly to snap the trap shut.

  “They’re trying to cut off our escape,” Gratia tried to yell through the wind. “We should head for Quemoy as it is closer, only two miles or so.”

  “This will give us another problem,” chipped in Hang.

  “What problem?” Rosa asked.

  “Mines and anti-landing barricades still litter the beaches there, a legacy of past conflicts,” said Hang. “We cannot slow our approach, so will hit the beach at speed and ...”

  They guessed the rest.

  “Do it,” ordered Matt.

  The sound of the first cannon shell looped over their heads, crashing ahead into the sea.

  “That was a warning shot,” said Hang. “There will be no more.”

  “Do we risk it?” asked Rosa.

  “Take evasive measures, Gratia,” ordered Matt. “And go faster.”

  They lurched violently from side to side as Gratia swung the boat in wide arcs, one way then the other. Two more shells sounded, one from each of the pursuing vessels. The first fell to their left, several feet away. The second shell exploded to their rear, into the area of ocean they had just left. Matt looked to see they had narrowed the gap to the approaching shore, to around a mile.

  Another volley of artillery shells sounded. The approaching whistling noises told them they would be closer still, too close for comfort.

  “What should I do,” shouted Gratia.

  “Put her back onto a straight course and ma
ke the bloody thing go faster,” yelled Matt in return.

  Despite her surprised expression she did what he asked and pointed the speeding machine directly to the shore. The sound of ammunition thumping into the ocean made them jump. The first shell threw up a huge cloud of water, to the right side of the boat. The impact of the next round was louder, showering them with cold water as they cut through the waves. Both had missed, the second by no more than a few feet. The distance to safe ground narrowed further. Matt waited a few seconds longer.

  “Time to jump,” he yelled.

  Tumbling into the water with the grace of four sacks of potatoes, they popped back up to the surface and watched as their transport speared towards its destination on Quemoy. With an angry squeal the craft ploughed forward, cutting a wide trench through the sand as it vaulted onto shore. Then they heard the blast as it disintegrated into pieces after hitting a land mine.

  “At least there’s a path now,” said Matt, casually.

  Two more shells sounded.

  “Swim,” he shouted, “Swim for your lives.”

  The two shells punched holes in the ocean, several yards behind the fleeing pack, creating a shock wave which lifted and carried them forward. Powerful tidal currents helped to sweep them along, further closing the gap to shore.

  Short bursts of machine gun fire replaced the sounds of artillery. Instinctively, all ducked under the waves and swam below the surface for as long as they could. Bullets whooshed past them, into the depths below. Re-surfacing for air quickly brought the hissing noises of further fire to their ears and they submerged once more. A few more yards and they rose again above the waves. Matt could see the heads of Gratia and Hang ahead, but nothing of Rosa. He stopped to have a quick look around, bullets fizzing past his head. Taking another gulp of air he went back under, almost at the same point a full head of drenched blonde hair burst into the surface and disappeared again.

  Three more times the fugitives had to resurface for oxygen before reaching the shallows. Gratia was first to crawl up onto the beach, closely followed by Hang Chi. Both collapsed onto their backs in near exhaustion, gasping for air. Matt held back in the waist high water to search for Rosa, looking to both left and right for some sort of evidence she had made it too.

  There was no sign.

  Diving headlong into the onrushing wave he swam back out into the depths, submerging to avoid another rat a tat burst of gunfire spitting out from a motor launch.

  She had to be here somewhere.

  He pushed the water behind him to sink deeper towards the sea bed, his mind screaming out her name. Nothing in front or to the side, so he swivelled full circle to see if she’d somehow managed to pass him. Her little feet, a few yards ahead, barely moved. Lungs bursting, he powered towards the almost stilled figure. There was no way of knowing how long she’d been under. Sweeping past, he grabbed fiercely at the trailing arm and yanked her up to the surface.

  They pierced the water as a large wave appeared, picking them up like flotsam and violently tossing their bodies at the beach. With a tight grip around Rosa, he made sure they rode the powerful force of nature as it hurtled forward. As soon as they reached the shallows, he grabbed her hands and hauled the limp figure on its back, up the incline onto the dry warm sand.

  “Rosa, Rosa,” he called.

  There was no response.

  His fingers touched at her neck to feel for a pulse. It was weak, barely a beat. Matt gulped in a lungful of air and knelt over the petite frame. Forcing her mouth open with his fingers he bowed and blew hard, into her lungs. In the absence of a response he repeated the exercise. Then he punched her chest before pressing up and down against her heart.

  Her stillness remained. The eyelids were closed and the sound of her breathing dormant, intensifying the fear biting into his soul. Gratia and Hang joined him as he struggled to massage life back into her body.

  “Rosa, please,” he pleaded. “Breathe, for Christ’s sake, breathe.”

  Matt took yet another deep breath and blew the air into her lungs, his lips falling desperately against her open mouth for a third time. Still she would not co-operate.

  “I said you shouldn’t have come,” he said angrily. “Didn’t I tell you that? Please, Rosa, breathe.”

  Her ongoing silence chilled his heart. For what seemed like minutes on end he continued to punish her body, kept trying to spark her into life. Matt refused, wouldn’t contemplate, letting her go.

  “Fight, goddamn it,” he yelled. “Fight if you want to live.”

  Whatever he tried was met with a sickening silence. Devoid of ideas, he could do nothing more other than to cradle Rosa’s head against his chest.

  “No,” he said quietly. “Not like this. Don’t go like this, not without a struggle. You’re getting married for Christ’s sake. Please, Rosa, fight just a little harder.”

  “You’ve done everything you can,” Gratia whispered gently into his ear.

  His fingers slipped to touch Rosa’s neck, to feel for her pulse. He wanted confirmation it had stopped, that she had decided to leave him. That she had gone.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  An Air of Understanding