The First to Land (1984)

by Reeman, Douglas

  Blair heard him despite his low voice. ‘No. We keep together. My orders are to reinforce Peking, but first we have to protect our rear and supplies by holding Tientsin, do you understand?’

  Blackwood nodded sadly. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Blair peered at him searchingly. ‘You’re a good chap, David. Now get round the sentries and see that our people are fed.’ He seemed to think of something. ‘Where’s the horse. I want to see it.’

  Blackwood climbed some narrow stone stairs, how many he could not guess. When he reached the high parapet he saw the dead soldiers who had been caught by their machine-gun, the exhausted marines leaning behind the wall as they watched the white-hulled cruiser.

  Gravatt and the sergeant major had everything in hand; there was even woodsmoke rising from a spindly chimney as they broke open some rations.

  Swan handed him a full canteen. ‘’Ere, sir.’

  It was water from an internal well. It tasted like champagne.

  There was more gunfire, but intermittent and further along the coast. The Allied admirals had been driven to action at long last against the other fort. But for Mediator’s example he doubted if they would have quit the Peiho bar.

  Blackwood walked down the stairs again where after the parapet and the river it seemed almost icy.

  He saw the horse standing in the centre of the courtyard, drinking from a bucket and apparently unharmed by the battle.

  Blackwood crossed to the main building and saw several marines resting on their rifles, and Blair still sitting on the box.

  Blackwood said, ‘The horse is here, sir.’

  Sergeant Greenaway leaned over. ‘’E don’t ’ear you, sir.’ He closed Blair’s eyes, his big hand surprisingly gentle. ‘’E won’t get no ride after all.’

  Blackwood looked at Blair’s upright figure. It was as if he was still with them. He felt it like a personal loss, as if they had all been cheated in the face of victory.

  They were all watching him. Gravatt and de Courcy, the colour sergeant Nat Chittock, and the bugler whose grandfather had been related to a Blackwood servant.

  He heard himself say, ‘We’ll bury him with the others. Tomorrow we move on. To Tientsin.’

  He glanced again at the watching colonel.

  I hope you heard that, old friend.

  Another salvo shook the hillside. It sounded like a last tribute.

  13

  Soldiering

  As the last notes of the bugle died away Blackwood handed the small prayer book to Lieutenant Gravatt. He looked at the six crude graves and hoped they would be left unmolested. It already seemed strange without Blair. Later it would dim like the other memories. But now . . . he sighed and then drove Blair’s sword into the head of the grave.

  De Courcy said in a hushed tone, ‘More firing downriver, sir.’ Blackwood nodded. He had already heard it. A machine-gun too. But it seemed excluded from the place, this moment.

  He saw his cousin watching him from the far side of the courtyard. So far they had not spoken since the incident. Sergeant Greenaway had said nothing, nor would he unless it was dragged out of him.

  A sentry shouted from the ramparts, ‘Boat comin’, sir!’ His voice seemed too bright and cheerful after the burial, and Blackwood guessed that it was one of Mediator’s boats.

  ‘Take charge here, Toby. Have the wounded ready to be moved.’

  Some of the marines heard what he said, and he saw one of the wounded move into the ranks of the others. He did not want to leave. Blackwood saw it was a private called Carver, the one who had tried to save his friend when he had fallen overboard.

  The sentries opened the big gate and Blackwood walked down towards the river. Apart from the abandoned boats and some blood-stains in the dirt there was nothing to show of their wild, desperate attack. He shaded his eyes to watch the boat as it manoeuvred awkwardly amongst the sandbars and treacherous rushes. Smoke gushed from the brass funnel, and it appeared to be crammed with men, and there was a machine-gun in the cockpit.

  He recognized the lieutenant in charge of the boat and saw the man’s astonishment as he waded ashore, his eyes taking in the marines in their crumpled uniforms, the stains which told their own story.

  ‘My God, David, you are full of surprises!’

  Blackwood shook his head. Two Englishmen meeting in the middle of nowhere. He wanted to laugh, but needed to cry.

  ‘The Colonel’s dead, Harry.’ He could feel the naval officer’s concern, his inability to grasp what they had all endured.

  The lieutenant said, ‘The Old Man intends to land his own marines and some Bluejackets as soon as the other captains agree. They are shelling the other forts, and once we’ve driven them back we shall occupy the port.’ It sounded easy. He added, ‘We received word that Admiral Seymour’s force have taken another big arsenal, and are staying put until relief arrives.’ It seemed to amuse him. ‘The rescuers awaiting rescue, so to speak. The message said that his men were starving when they took the arsenal.’ He watched Blackwood’s strained features and said, ‘You must have been on your last legs too.’

  Blackwood said, ‘Him and his three days’ rations!’ He did not hide his anger and bitterness.

  ‘By the way, I’ve brought some of your chaps with me. The Surgeon says they are recovered from their injuries up to a point. Anyway, they pretty well insisted.’ He turned his head as more shots echoed from the main river. ‘We were fired on by Chinese soldiers on our way here. It’s war as far as they’re concerned.’

  Blackwood heard the returning marines being greeted by ironic cheers. With men like these . . . Blair had said.

  The lieutenant wanted to go. Not because he was afraid, but because it was not his world.

  ‘Tell Captain Masterman, thank you from me. It was a near thing.’ He pulled out a hastily written message and handed it to him. ‘This will explain about a letter which the Colonel left on board. Perhaps Captain Masterman will deal with it if –’ If – the word hung between them like a threat.

  The lieutenant thrust the message into his pocket and shouted to his coxswain, ‘Get those wounded on board, Thomas! Fast as you like.’ He turned to Blackwood again. ‘There’s something else, sir.’

  Blackwood saw his eyes move towards the boat and when he looked he saw Sergeant Kirby marching purposefully towards him.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  It was unreal. Even the way Kirby was holding back his shoulders, the set of his jaw, his attempt to conceal his pain and discomfort. The fact that he was dressed from top to toe in clean, fresh whites made it even harder to accept.

  Kirby stamped to a halt and saluted. ‘The NCOs in Mediator’s barracks kitted me out, sir.’ He sounded very calm, but his eyes were anxious.

  Blackwood knew he should not be here. Men in battle could often stand up to almost anything as Blair had proved. But sooner or later they broke.

  He said, ‘I’m glad to have you back again.’ He held out his hand. ‘You’re more than welcome.’

  Kirby stared at the proffered hand. He must be going mad. Then he seized it and walked up the slope to where Fox was waiting to greet him.

  The naval lieutenant said softly, ‘We had news. His wife died in a fire.’

  Blackwood looked at the marines who were gathered by the gates.

  ‘Poor devil. No wonder he wants to get back with the company. I know I would.’

  The lieutenant nodded. ‘But he’s been put up for the VC I hear.’

  Blackwood thought of his dead brother in South Africa, of his frail mother and the pretty girl he had left behind. No decoration on earth could fill that gap.

  He walked across to a stretcher as Twiss was carried to the boat.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the horse.’ He had not even seen the riding instructor struck down.

  The man grinned up at him, his face pale with pain. ‘You ride him. You’re in command now.’ He waved to the marines as he was lifted over the gunwale. The engine driver shook Bla
ckwood’s hand but said nothing. It was all too much for him.

  Corporal Lyde said, ‘He misses ’is engine!’

  Sergeant Owen Davis of the First Platoon exclaimed, ‘Well, there’s sorry I am indeed, Corporal, but he’s still alive, look you!’

  The coxswain touched his hat. ‘All aboard, sir. The sooner we gets one of ’em to the Surgeon the better, I’m thinkin’.’

  ‘Wait.’ Blackwood waded through the yellow water and clung to the gunwale. Without their spiked helmets how young they seemed. The man referred to by the coxswain was a private named Campbell. He looked as if he was dying even while one of the Bluejackets supported his head on his lap.

  ‘Good luck, lads.’

  Blackwood heard someone give a weak cheer. ‘You too, Blackie!’

  Blackwood strode up the bank, afraid they would see his face. Good God Almighty, what have we done to them?

  The lieutenant held out his hand. ‘The Old Man would quite understand if you decide to return to the ship, David. Even if we take the forts we’ve still got a bloody great army to smash through before we can lift the siege on Tientsin. You’ll be stuck there with a mixed garrison, to all intents on your own.’

  Return to Mediator? It was strange but Blackwood had never even considered it. If the new attacks were repulsed by the Chinese Army, which had obviously joined forces with the Boxers, there was an even greater need for reinforcing the International Settlement in Tientsin.

  A small figure dashed past him from the boat and he saw it was the other interpreter who had gone downriver with his message for Masterman. The one who had remained with the marines broke through the group by the gates, his face split in a great grin as his friend ran to meet him and threw his arms around him.

  The lieutenant said, ‘They must be pretty fond of one another, what?’

  Blackwood smiled. ‘You must have been at sea a long time, Harry.’ No wonder they had not wanted to be separated. ‘If you’ve forgotten what a girl looks like!’

  The girl had removed her pointed straw hat and her long hair hung down her back like black silk.

  ‘I stay.’ She stepped between Blackwood and her friend. ‘We work for you.’ She gave Blackwood a coy smile. ‘I born in Tientsin. I know secret way through wall.’

  Gravatt murmured anxiously, ‘It’s a big risk, sir. Can she be trusted?’

  Blackwood put his fingers under her chin and lifted it gently.

  ‘I believe her.’ To the other interpreter, who was also about sixteen, he added, ‘Lucky chap.’

  He heared the boat churning astern away from the land, and hoped it got back to the cruiser without more pain and damage.

  Inside the courtyard it was as if the boat had never been, and the graves were the only reminder of this long day.

  A marine was feeding the horse. Blackwood was reminded of its last owner’s simple statement. You’re in command now.

  He crossed to the horse and patted it, his eyes distant as he remembered Blair, his divided affections for the Corps and this mysterious land.

  Ralf was waiting by the stairway. He said, ‘It wasn’t my fault!’

  Blackwood studied him calmly. ‘What happened exactly?’

  Ralf looked startled. ‘Did Sergeant Greenaway –’

  ‘Nobody’s said anything. What did you expect?’

  Ralf replied, ‘Greenaway was trying to make me look a fool in front of the men. I am quite capable of doing my job without interference from his sort.’

  Blackwood felt sickened by it as he watched the petulant strength returning to Ralf’s features. He gestured towards the rough graves, and the one with the sword glittering in the filtered sunlight.

  ‘We lost some good men today. But for your stupid, intolerant behaviour we might have escaped with fewer casualties, so think of that for a change!’

  Ralf hung his head. ‘I thought you would stand up for me.’

  ‘So I will.’ Blackwood knew Fox was waiting for him. There were plans to be made, a route to be discussed with the interpreters. There was not much time to rest. If half of what the naval lieutenant had told him was true most of the Boxers would be rallying to withstand a possible landing. It would be their only chance to get into the city before they too were cut off by the enemy.

  He added, ‘Even at a court-martial. Now be off to your duties and see that your people eat and rest in turns. Show that you are interested in them, that they can rely on you.’ He touched Ralf’s shoulder but felt more like hitting him. ‘That you’ve got the gut for it.’

  He walked away, knowing that as before Ralf had seen right through him.

  Blackwood spread his map carefully on the table while the officers and senior NCOs pressed closer around him. In the light from a solitary lantern the room was spartan like most of the arsenal; there were even some half-consumed dishes of tea left by the small detachment of soldiers when Ralf’s revolver had raised the alarm.

  It would be dawn again very soon, but it was difficult to believe they had been here since yesterday. Outside the little room he could hear the marines being mustered by their corporals, the horse stamping its newly muffled hooves on the cobbles. Each man would be carrying a full pack which they had recovered from the opposite bank during the night. Blackwood half expected an attack, but Bannatyre’s scouting party had found nothing. Mediator’s unexpected bombardment had worked. Only corpses lay beyond the humped hill.

  Blackwood was sorry they had thrown the second machine-gun into the river. There was three-oh-three ammunition in plenty for it and any other weapon stacked within the arsenal. There was ample food too, but if the marines were required to fight without warning they would have to rid themselves of their overweight packs and equipment.

  It was amazing what a good meal and a few gallons of tea had done for his depleted company. In spite of their losses and what still lay ahead they were able to joke about it, to impress the returned wounded who had been the original heroes until now.

  Blackwood pointed at the map. ‘We shall skirt round the city and make our approach from the south-west. That way we shall avoid the more crowded parts and another big arsenal which will be heavily guarded. It appears that Admiral Seymour’s forces have occupied the Hsiku arsenal to the north, that too will be under siege by now. So if our ships are attacking the forts most attention will be concentrated on the places mentioned.’ He saw Sergeant Kirby sway forward as if to study the map more closely. Incredibly brave, foolish too. It was hard to know which he admired most. Kirby knew exactly what he was doing. Reason had flown out of the window.

  ‘I intend to leave at first light, and enter the city at dusk.’ He glanced around their intent faces. So much depended on the interpreters’ information. He had spent over an hour discussing his tactics with them, and it was remarkable how quickly they had grasped his ideas. The girl, who had been born in Tientsin, had even changed his plan from his original one. She had described a long, empty gully which ran from the south-west wall of the city, intended originally to deal with rare but overwhelming rainfalls in the area.

  Madness, just the place the enemy would be guarding? But why should they? The defenders were penned inside the various concessions and could not break out, and the only real danger came from the sea. He half smiled. It was just about the craziest plan he had ever heard, let alone created.

  Fox said, ‘I laid ’ands on a cart, sir. Useful fer ferryin’ wounded an’ the like.’ He was only concerned with details. The chances of risk and survival were not his to question.

  De Courcy remarked, ‘We’ll need some good scouts for this one.’

  He glanced at Sergeant Greenaway who nodded and said, ‘Taken care of, sir.’

  Chittock, the colour sergeant, said, ‘I borrowed a spare flag from the boat, sir. Don’t want to damage our own.’

  Several of them laughed. They all knew what Chittock meant by ‘borrow’.

  Blackwood straightened his back and looked at each of them in turn. ‘You may think this is a waste of t
ime, perhaps a waste of lives. But think of yourselves under fire in Tientsin, hoping and praying for a relief which never comes. You’ve all seen what the Boxers are capable of. When we enter the city it will give them new heart.’ He had almost said if instead of when.

  ‘One thing, and it has to be said. There will be no surrender. It would only prolong the agony.’ He made himself grin. ‘So be prepared to move.’

  When the others had left Gravatt said, ‘Will we blow the arsenal, sir?’

  ‘No. We would lose any chance of surprise. At the moment the enemy seems to think we left in Mediator.’

  Gravatt laughed. ‘It would seem the sensible thing to do!’

  Blackwood glanced at the empty room. ‘You are second-in-command now, Toby, you may need a plan all of your own!’

  ‘A sobering thought, sir.’

  Blackwood clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Take my – er, Mr Blackwood with you.’ He saw Gravatt’s surprise. ‘And watch him, for all our sakes.’

  Gravatt nodded, his mood changed. He probably guessed what it had cost Blackwood to say it. But there was far more at stake now than family ties.

  Gravatt looked down at his uniform and groaned. ‘God, look at us!’ Like the rest of the men his tunic and trousers had been soaked in a vat of boiled tea, so that they had a dirty mottled appearance. But Blackwood knew from the past it offered some cover and disguise.

  Gravatt was unimpressed. ‘Lord knows what my chap in Savile Row would say!’

  They left the room. Blackwood felt like his adjutant. It was a shame to abandon the arsenal intact. All those weapons and ammunition might one day be used against them. Perhaps Masterman’s guns would finish the job once they had moved inland again.

  In the courtyard the air still felt cool and damp.

  He glanced at the scouting party which Greenaway had hand-picked himself. He thought suddenly of Blair and his trust in others. It worked. They were all there. Corporal O’Neil, Dago Trent, Roberts, the crack shot who said he came from a farm. A poacher more likely. There were a few others too, faces as familiar as his own in a mirror.

  Sergeant Greenaway strode towards him, ungainly and heavy.