The First to Land (1984)

by Reeman, Douglas

  He watched the pain moving from her face like a cloud. She lifted her chin and looked at him curiously.

  ‘I was in Hong Kong with my sister to buy some things. I saw the British marines there. I know about the military, you see.’

  Figures loomed through the door and a petty officer said, ‘Good God, sir. I thought you were done for!’

  Blackwood replied, ‘Carry on with the search. Any ship’s officers alive?’

  ‘Two, sir.’ The petty officer’s eyes were fixed on the slim, elegant woman as if he were mesmerized.

  She said, ‘The captain was a fool. He took on a deck cargo of passengers. When the junk came near they rushed the bridge. Only the mate had sense enough to hold the saloon until he too was hacked to pieces.’

  She slowly released her grip from his arm. ‘In the next cabin –’ She looked at his eyes without flinching. ‘Are they killed?’

  Somehow Blackwood knew the question was far more important than she had made it sound.

  ‘I am afraid the lady is dead. The man with her is too stunned to move.’

  She walked slowly to the scuttle and stared out at the clean, blue water.

  ‘She is my sister.’

  He saw her shoulders begin to shake, the pretence and the tenacity falling away like a loose robe.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and said gently, ‘I understand, Countess.’

  She twisted round and stared up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Do you? Do you indeed?’

  He said, ‘My brother was killed recently.’

  She nodded and then reached up to touch his face. ‘You are strong. Will you take me to her?’

  Blackwood’s mouth was dry like a kiln.

  She saw his expression and laid her fingers flat on his mouth.

  ‘I know what to expect, but I shall need your strength.’

  Swan stood in the passageway and leaned on his rifle, one eye on the groaning figure inside the cabin.

  Some seamen clattered along the bloodstained passage-way and Swan jerked his head. ‘In there. Wounded.’ He thought of that tiny silver pistol. She had shot two of the bastards. They must have left her until last. There had to be a reason. The attack was no clumsy hit-or-miss affair. It had been managed like a military operation.

  He saw one of the sailors pick up the fallen sword and felt a shiver at his spine.

  Bloody hell. If all the Boxers were like these. He jerked to attention as Blackwood reappeared with his hand around the countess’s arm.

  Her face was ashen, but she had her chin lifted. She even tried to give Swan a smile as she passed.

  Blackwood said, ‘The boarding party has taken charge, Countess. May I suggest that I have you carried across to the cruiser. It will take time to clean up this ship.

  She watched him thoughtfully. ‘That is kind of you.’ She beckoned to her tiny maid. ‘Anna, lay out my things. Perhaps it would be possible to have a bath, yes?’

  Blackwood looked at her with amazement. Her strength was returning even as he stood near her. One hand touched the torn gown, her fingers brushing over the bruise left on her skin.

  Most women would have covered their faces and run through the horrific debris and not looked up until they were safely aboard the warship.

  She felt his gaze on her and said, ‘It would not do for your gallant captain to receive me looking like this, I think.’

  He closed the door carefully and left Swan on guard outside. It would take an avalanche to shift Swan.

  He found Hudson sitting on a bollard having his head bandaged by a young midshipman.

  Hudson tried to grin but winced instead.

  ‘Didn’t lose a man. And you saved the German countess.’

  Blackwood stared across at the ship. Of the junk there was no sign. Safe amongst the fishing boats and the crowded islets.

  Masterman would not relish the prospect of risking his own ship’s keel if he moved closer inshore. Anyway, he had done well. He watched a corpse being dragged across the deck. So they were Boxers. It explained the uniformity of their clothing. White robes and red turbans. Originally instituted as a powerful body-guard by Yu-Hsien, the Prefect of Tsau-Chaou, they now represented a force in their own right. Blackwood had heard from Major Blair of their fearful acts of barbarism, the inhuman killings of anyone who would not support their cause and their hatred for the ‘Foreign Devils’.

  Blair had said they were termed Boxers by the Europeans almost as a nickname because of their original title. The Patriotic Harmony Fists. He looked at the terrible pools of blood which were already drying in the sunlight. Big Knife Society seemed far the more suitable.

  Hudson stiffened and stood up. ‘Is that her?’

  Blackwood turned and nodded. It was a picture he would never forget.

  She was dressed in a cream, high-necked gown, her honey-coloured hair curled on the top of her head and shaded by a wide-brimmed hat which matched her gown perfectly.

  It was like seeing an entirely different person from the one in the cabin with the pistol in her hand. Swan and the small Chinese maid followed her at a respectful distance, but Swan kept his eyes on his captain to watch the effect.

  She walked slowly to the side where an accommodation ladder was already rigged, and Blackwood noticed that Masterman had even sent his steam pinnace to collect her. He felt suddenly shut out, and then angry with himself for his foolishness.

  She paused and looked at him, her violet eyes almost hidden in shade.

  She held out a white-gloved hand and he took it as she said gravely, ‘Thank you, Captain Blackwood. We shall meet again.’

  He raised her hand to his lips, seeing it as the one she had held out to him in that terrible cabin.

  Around them the seamen and the engine-room crew who had survived the battle by sealing themselves in with the boilers stood motionless and spellbound.

  She rested her hand on the midshipman’s sleeve and he guided her carefully down the side to the swaying pinnace.

  Blackwood watched the pinnace swing away from the ladder and searched for her but she had already been guided below to the cockpit.

  She knew my name. She must have been speaking with Swan.

  He removed his helmet and wiped his face with a crumpled handkerchief.

  Swan joined him by the rails.

  ‘Real lady, sir.’ He nodded admiringly. ‘’Er ’usband must be proud to ’ave a lady like ’er, sir.’ He watched the words go home like bullets.

  Blackwood gave a great sigh and tried to return his mind to his immediate duties.

  ‘Signal Mediator for a Royal Marines bugler. We shall have to bury all the remains before we can do anything else.’

  He shaded his eyes to look for the pinnace but it had already vanished around the stern of the light cruiser.

  He thought of her sister, and how the countess had held her until her husband had at last released his grip.

  Courage was not the name for it.

  Later as the two ships lay hove-to and the little marine bugler sounded the Last Post the pathetic bundles wrapped in canvas were dropped over the side.

  Blackwood knew she would be watching and hoped she might find some comfort from the simple ceremony.

  Then both ships got under way to leave the islets and the fishermen undisturbed.

  4

  A Bit of a Lark

  Commander John Wilberforce, HMS Mediator’s second-in-command, handed Blackwood a glass of Scotch which he had taken from a passing steward and beamed at him.

  ‘Exciting, eh, Soldier? I wish to God I’d been with you! When the Countess came up the side you could have heard a bloody pin drop on the quarterdeck!’

  Blackwood smiled and glanced through one of the wardroom scuttles. Shanghai, crammed with ships, lighters, junks, even a few of the old trading schooners. The Waterfront of the World.

  If Captain Masterman was annoyed at having to break his passage to the Peiho River in the north he had not shown it. Th
ere were some coal lighters being warped alongside already, so the captain was even using the occasion to replenish his supplies.

  Blackwood could hear a petty officer bellowing threats at the coolies in the nearest lighter about standing away from the Mediator’s immaculate white paint.

  Wilberforce was saying enthusiastically, ‘What a lovely woman. God, no wonder they were after her.’

  Blackwood asked, ‘Her husband. Do you know about him?’

  Wilberforce blinked as he tried to recover his train of thought.

  ‘Count Manfred von Heiser. A sort of soldier-diplomat. Enormously rich, from an East Prussian family. Personal friend of the Kaiser. They say he is in China to decide which German concessions and legations are worth keeping, and which should be bargained for.’

  Once again Blackwood felt on the outside in his ignorance.

  Across the big wardroom where the ship’s officers were enjoying their first noon drinks since the anchor had splashed down, he saw some of his own subordinates, chatting and laughing like the rest. He tried not to consider how Ralf would have behaved if he had been with him and the boarding party.

  Wilberforce said, ‘The Old Man has been speaking with a couple of consulate officials for an hour at least. One German, the other one of our chaps. Not his line of country at all!’

  Blackwood realized he had emptied his glass without noticing it.

  We shall meet again, she had said. He imagined the feel of her gloved hand in his, the level gaze from those violet eyes. He shook himself. He must be more like his father than he had realized.

  A messenger, cap in hand, hovered by the wardroom door.

  Commander Wilberforce frowned. ‘Here we go. They’re all going ashore, I suppose.’

  But the messenger’s eyes rested on Blackwood.

  ‘The Cap’n’s compliments, sir, an’ would you join ’im in ’is day cabin?’

  The commander grinned but sounded disappointed. ‘Lucky devil.’

  Someone else shouted, ‘Trust the Royals!’

  Blackwood could sense the difference. That one brief action had broken down the barriers. They shared it with him, and wanted to show it.

  The Royal Marines sentry stamped to attention at the door of Masterman’s quarters. The sleeping and day cabins and the necessary offices filled a considerable part of the light cruiser’s stern. As a steward opened the door for him Blackwood realized he had only been in this place once since he had come aboard.

  Blue curtains across the polished scuttles matched the furniture covers. Mediator was a new ship and the colours of some of the fittings had a woman’s touch, he thought. Probably chosen by Masterman’s wife after the commissioning ceremony. Strange, he had never thought of Masterman being married.

  The man in question turned to face him, his tall figure impressive in white drill.

  ‘Ah, Blackwood, may I introduce these gentlemen? He gestured to a dispirited-looking man in a pale grey coat. ‘Mr Pitt from the British consulate.’ He waited for Blackwood to shake hands before adding, ‘And Herr Westphal his German counterpart.’

  Blackwood smiled and wanted to look at the countess who was standing right aft framed against the large open ports which were the captain’s privilege.

  She said quietly, ‘Good-day, Captain Blackwood.’

  He said, ‘It is good to see you so well, Countess.’

  They both sounded like total strangers.

  Masterman grunted impatiently. ‘There has been a lot of trouble along the coast as well as inland. Attacks on villages, even missionaries by these –’ He hesitated and cut back an adjective, ‘ – these Boxers.’

  Blackwood waited. He sensed there had been some kind of argument.

  Masterman continued, ‘There is a steamship leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow. It is armed and able to beat off attack by such pirates, and I can think of them as nothing else.’

  Mr Pitt said gently, ‘The horse and stable door, er, Captain Blackwood, is it not?’

  The German wiped his face and chin with his handkerchief, for in spite of an offshore breeze and the deckhead fans it felt like an oven.

  He said, ‘We have no ship of His Imperial Majesty’s Navy here.’ He looked grimly at Masterman. ‘Not yet. But a cruiser is to join your ship off Taku. There is only an Italian gunboat, a veritable relic, here in Shanghai which is available for the Countess.’

  Her voice cut across the cabin unhurried but very definite.

  ‘I am not setting foot on that thing!’

  Blackwood could feel her watching him although she was in dark silhouette.

  ‘They are concerned for my safety, Captain Blackwood. I should have met my husband here and accompanied him inland to the most recent trading mission.’ She gave a shrug, as if it was of little importance. ‘But he left without waiting for me. I am expected to be with him. It is my purpose for being.’

  ‘Inland?’ Blackwood could only think of her last sentence. What sort of man would leave his wife in a situation like this anyway?

  Masterman explained, ‘The mission is fortified, and there is a German river gunboat on regular patrol.’ He hung on the words. ‘In truth I would be happier if the Countess stayed aboard my ship, better still if she left the area altogether.’

  She moved down the centre of the cabin and looked calmly at Blackwood.

  ‘They are talking about me as if I were not here, as if I were a piece of cargo, yes?’

  The German named Westphal mopped his face even harder. ‘But, dear Countess, it is your safety which it is my duty, my honour to uphold!’

  He said something more in German but she cut him short. ‘In English if you please, Herr Westphal!’

  She did not even raise her voice and yet Westphal seemed to cringe.

  Masterman said heavily, ‘It’s the Hoshun River, about two hundred miles to the north-west of here. Impossible for a ship this size.’

  Blackwood said, ‘But if there is a German gunboat, sir.’

  She smiled gently. ‘You see, gentlemen, the gallant young captain has faith.’ Her eyes suddenly flashed. ‘I loved my sister very much. Do you imagine I would take unnecessary risks after what they did to her!’

  Masterman bit his lip. He obviously hated the complications of the land. He turned to Pitt.

  ‘If you can obtain a steam vessel suitable to carry Countess von Heiser and whatever staff she requires, I will escort her to the Hoshun River, or as close as I can.’ He saw Pitt give a relieved nod. ‘Furthermore, I can guarantee a naval escort aboard the steamship.’ He looked meaningly at Blackwood. ‘Your company can easily supply a suitable detachment, right?’

  Blackwood swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’

  God, he thought, Count von Heiser must be influential. The countess had turned away their ideas with barely concealed contempt. Westphal had all but hinted that relations between Mediator and the German cruiser which was also expected off Taku might be damaged without Masterman’s co-operation, and Pitt appeared as if he would agree to almost anything which might shift the responsibility elsewhere.

  ‘That is settled then.’ She looked at Blackwood. ‘I make just one small request, gentlemen.’ They froze, not knowing what to expect.

  ‘I would wish that Captain Blackwood should command my escort. I feel certain that the Emperor would be grateful.’

  Masterman beckoned to his steward who was standing with an empty tray, as if turned to stone.

  He said, ‘I could send Mediator’s own senior Royal Marines officer.’

  She moved towards Blackwood until they were almost touching.

  ‘Has your officer been decorated for gallantry, Captain?’

  She reached up and very gently touched the blue ribbon on Blackwood’s tunic. ‘I believe this is the highest award your country can give, yes?’

  Masterman spread his hands and gave a grudging smile.

  ‘I admit defeat, Countess. Captain Blackwood it shall be.’ He nodded. ‘Carry on, if you please.’

  Blackwood backe
d away and then found himself outside the cabin beside the marine sentry.

  ‘I must be mad!’

  The sentry stiffened even more. ‘Sir?’

  Blackwood looked at him with surprise. He had not even realized he had spoken aloud.

  He found Swan in his cabin gathering up shirts for the Chinese dhobyman. He looked neat and contented, and it was impossible to picture him with his rifle balanced under his forearm as he had lanced the screaming Boxer with his bayonet.

  Swan watched him warily and said, ‘Sounds more interestin’, sir. More our sort o’ style. Bit of a lark to go inland, so to speak.’

  Blackwood dropped his head in his hands. What was the point of questioning Swan about anything? The whole ship probably knew by now.

  He could still feel where her finger had touched the VC ribbon on his breast. If he opened his tunic he could almost expect to see a mark or a sign there.

  A bit of a lark. It would be more than that. A whole lot more.

  Swan left the cabin with his bundle humming gentle to himself. Just like old times.

  Sergeant Major Arthur Fox stood very erect beside the small desk in the Royal Marines office and watched as Blackwood leafed through a list of names. Beneath his polished boots the deck swayed very gently as if even Mediator respected his presence.

  Blackwood could sense Fox watching him and knew what he was going to ask. Eventually.

  ‘Why the Second Platoon?’

  ‘Well, sir, you’ll be needin’ Mr Gravatt to stay aboard with ’is men, seem’ as ’ow ’e’s in command durin’ your absence. The Third Platoon, well, sir, Mr de Courcy is fairly experienced too. So I thought you’d wish to take the Second an’ Mr Bannatyre.’

  Blackwood leaned back and listened to the confident thump of engines, the whirr of fans as Mediator ploughed her way through the smooth water. Fox was right, of course; he usually was. Bannatyre was a very likeable lieutenant but the least experienced of his officers. So if things went wrong he would be the least missed.

  He looked at Fox. Unbending, reliable in any situation and yet still something of a mystery. He had offered him a chair, but Fox had politely declined. Come to think of it, Blackwood realized he had never seen the sergeant major sitting down.