by Buzz Harcus
"Lucky the Japs didn't have twenty-millimeter cannons and missiles like the modern jets carry," Harry said.
"Damned Japs," Captain Andress cursed.
A trail of smoke off the port bow caught Harrys eye. He squinted. Was it the pilot boat? "Boat off the port beam!" he called out. "Heading our way."
Both Captain Andress and Sigmund grabbed up binoculars and focused in the direction of the smoke. "It is der pilot boat," Captain Andress said. "Back off der telegraph to slow ahead."
Harry grabbed the handles and racked them around to slow ahead.
"You two stay on duty until ve reach port," Captain Andress said. "Harry, you know der port. Keep us informed."
Harry gave a wondering glance at the captain. Hell, he hadn't been in the port in thirty years. What the hell did he know about the damned entrance? He'd only sailed in that one day on the troopship Breckenridge, and besides, it was raining and he was just one of many Marines forlornly standing on deck in the rain looking at the dismal gray town and blurred hills.
Within minutes, Harry could feel a change in the operation of the ship. It was slowing perceptibly. The pilot boat was closing rapidly, black smoke belching out of it's stack, trailing far behind it. It was a squatty craft, similar in style to those he had seen in the Caribbean and other world ports. The boat came in at an angle and swung about easing up almost touching Nurad. A ladder had been dropped over the side of the ship. Riding close to the hull, the small craft seemed to ride the crest of the bow wake steering as close as possible without touching. Two Orientals, one in a tan army uniform; the other in a black uniform, stood on the deck of the boat waiting to jump to the ladder. First one, then the other, successfully made the leap and clambered up the ladder to the deck of Nurad. They were greeted by Captain Andress, resplendent in his tailored uniform. There were cursory handshakes and then the Captain was ushering them toward the bridge. The small pilot boat, under a full head of power, headed back toward homeport.
"Dis is Mr. Lee Fong, our pilot, who is vis der harbormaster's office; and dis is Major Wan Sang, our military escort for Tsingtao," Captain Andress said introducing them to Sigmund and Harry. Again, there were handshakes all around. Mr. Fong spoke nearly flawless English. He quickly established that he was the pilot and in command of the ship as he gave Harry instructions for the course to steer into the harbor. Major Sang was more low key, moving to the back of the wheelhouse out of the way, content to observe the operation, quick, however, with a big toothy grin.
In about thirty minutes Harry could see the harbor entrance. Goosebumps swept over his body as he saw the temple at the end of the Tsingtao pier. Soon, he told himself, soon.
Major Sang said something to Mr. Fong, who turned to Captain Andress asking to see the ship's manifest. The three moved to the chart table where Captain Andress opened the document for their perusal. Major Sang reviewed the document, the smile on his face all the time.
Seemingly satisfied, Major Sang had another sing-song exchange with Mr. Fong, who next asked to see the ship's crew listing. Captain Andress seemed somewhat surprised at the request, but, in the spirit of cooperation, he pulled the listing off the shelf and brought it back to the chart table for them to look at. He commented briefly about his crewmembers, and the loss of one officer and one oiler, as they leafed through the document.
"Ah yah," Major Sang uttered, the smile widening.
"Somesing der matter?" asked Captain Andress.
Harry recalled the Chinese were always saying "Ah yah." Sometimes it meant nothing, or it could mean everything, depending on the inflection given.
"No," Mr. Fong replied. "We wanted to get a count of the number of crew members you have on board."
Interesting, Harry thought. Funny they didn't ask for that kind of information when they docked in Shanghai.
Mr. Fong stepped in closer to Harry standing just behind him. "You are an American?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Nothing. It seems unusual to have an American on board an all-Swedish manned vessel." He raised his glasses and scanned the harbor entrance.
Harry shrugged. Big deal. He glanced over in Major Sang's direction. The man was looking at him, his eyes squinting, the big smile still present. Interesting, Harry thought, interesting.
The long pier and pavilion passed by as they moved into the port of Tsingtao. The city lay sprawled before them much as it had thirty years before. It was nestled along the waterfront and sprawled back inland around and through many hills. Still standing starkly above the town, high astride one of the hills, was the Mayor's house looking almost the same as it did so many years before. It held a commanding view of the harbor. Beyond it, on the next hill, Harry could faintly discern the buildings that once comprised the old United States Marines Compound. What was it now? Oh, yes, the Shantung University.
Nurad moved slowly around the harbor joined by two ancient, black smoke belching tugboats. Then Harry saw the dock area. A lump formed in his throat as he saw the dirty red brick fence around the old Japanese Compound, the tiled roofs of the many godown storage buildings clustered within. Many of the old landmarks were still evident including the dirty, grimy railroad bridge where the dead coolie had lain for two weeks that winter of 1947 because no one would claim the body and be responsible for the burial of the remains.
To the right a new building had been constructed on the site of the old Nationalist Army supply depot that had exploded into smithereens one sunny summer morning killing at least 500 Nationalist soldiers and civilians. The Marine brass had warned the Nationalist command countless times about the potential danger of storing gasoline and ammunition adjacent to each other. A spark was all it took to kick off the holocaust. And, apparently, that was what happened. The sight of the dead, of headless corpses, legs, arms, and live, unexploded shells laying about the ground still haunted him.
"Come to full stop," Mr. Fong ordered, to which Harry quickly responded almost automatically. Shortly, the tugboats had warped the huge ship in closer to the dock where anxious docking crews stood waiting. Reminiscent of Shanghai, a long queue of large Russian built trucks lined up along the length of the dock ready to receive the golden grain from America. Harry felt a gentle bump as the ship nestled to the dock. The Nurad had arrived; the telegraph was secured.
The dock crews and deck crews labored feverishly in the cool morning air to tie off the ship as huge hawsers were lowered, then winched tight against the large steel bollards. It was 0800 hours when Nurad was officially secured and ready to discharge it's cargo.
Relieved by the next watch, Harry stepped out onto the starboard bridgewing. It was cold, much like the morning he'd first stepped ashore in Tsingtao so long ago. At least it wasn't raining. Not surprisingly, the same feeling of excitement he had felt then as a young Marine Private still tugged within his chest.
As several trucks had deposited them in front of the 12th Service Battalion that rainy morning a Captain had met them. Tall, ramrod straight, his chest bedecked with medals, he bluntly warned them they were guests in this country and they would be held personally responsible for any unsavory action. He also warned that they would be held responsible for the reduction of venereal disease in the battalion which, Harry soon found out, had the highest incidence of infection on the whole compound.
The second piece of "good news" came from their Master Sergeant. All Marines had to serve a minimum of two years before being eligible for rotation back to the states, unless in the case of an emergency. Harry recalled glancing around at the bleakness of the compound and shaking his head; two damned years in this godforsaken place. It had been a depressing thought.
A smile broke across his face, at least this time he'd be out of the place in twenty-four hours, time enough to unload the grain, time enough to get his loot and git!
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a large, old black 1949 Buick limousine. He watched as it moved slowly down the dock past the long line of empty trucks, watched as the dock personn
el fell back clearing a path for it, watched as it came to a halt in the shadow of the ship close by the gangway. The driver hopped out and dashed around to open the door on the far side for his passengers. Two Chinese officials stepped out. Each was resplendent in crisply tailored uniforms, one military brown, the other in black. The latter wore a captain's cap replete with scrambled eggs.
They stood momentarily looking up at the ship. Mr. Fong stepped up beside Harry, looking far over the railing, waving and shouting to get their attention. The two officers nodded, and then proceeded up the gangway.
Unable to find Captain Andress, who had disappeared moments before the car arrived, Sigmund scurried down the ladder to the main deck racing to greet the two officials, arriving just as the two stepped on board. He snapped off a smart salute, which was promptly returned. There were brief exchanges of pleasantries and handshakes, and then Sigmund was escorting them to the bridge.
Harry noted all the activity along the dock had ceased. Apparently any action was dependent on the approval or disapproval of these two men. He was about to leave the bridgewing for the galley and a welcome breakfast when Sigmund entered the wheelhouse with the two officials.
Almost immediately, Harry recognized one of the men, the man in black: it was Mr. Ma. There was no doubt in his mind. This was the same Mr. Ma he had known so long ago. Time had been kind to him. His hair was silver-gray at the temples. Yet, under the brim of his cap could be discerned the countless wrinkles of aging etched across his forehead and in the fine lines of his face. He still stood erect with a military bearing which Harry recalled so vividly. Black piercing eyes took in the wheelhouse in a glance. His eyes stopped momentarily as they came across Harry, then moved on, with no sign of recognition on his part.
The other officer, too, took in the wheelhouse in a continuing gaze not uttering a word, just looking.
At that moment, Captain Andress arrived, slightly out of breath, buttoning his coat, a wide grin on his face, and apologizing for his tardiness in greeting the two Chinese officials.
Harry smiled. What a hell of a time for the call of nature. He hoped it wasn't an omen for the next twenty-four hours.
Chapter 57
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
“Captain Andress," Sigmund said as he approached, "I haf der pleasure of presenting Mr. Ma, director of der Port Autority, und Colonel Wen Pui, Military Attache to Mr. Ma."
Thrusting his beefy hand forward, Captain Andress encompassed the smaller hand extended by Mr. Ma, shaking it vigorously. He repeated the procedure with Colonel Pui.
"Ve are most pleased to meet you," Captain Andress said. "It is an honor for us to be here today for dis truly historic occasion, to haf der S.S. Otto J. Nurad delivering dis important cargo to der people of China."
Mr. Ma nodded politely. "We awaited the day your ship would arrive. On behalf of the Chinese government we sincerely want you to know how greatly your effort is appreciated."
"Tank you," Captain Andress beamed. "Of course," he said, continuing, "you have met my First Officer, Mr. Helmstrund, and dis is our helmsman, Harry Martin." Both Mr. Ma and Colonel Pui nodded in recognition. "Harry vunce served here in Tsingtao mit der United States Marines, ven vas it, Harry? 1948?"
Harry nodded. "1947 through 1949."
Mr. Ma's eyes focused sharply on Harry. He smiled. "Yes, of course, I thought your face looked familiar. I think I recall you in an office setting...here on the dock area, am I right?"
"Yes, sir," Harry smiled. "Right over there, the old Japanese Compound. I used to be Corporal Harry Martin then. Twelfth Service Battalion. I had the pleasure of working with you in the compound in several of the old godowns."
"Of course, of course," Mr. Ma replied and then turned to Colonel Pui and explained to him in Chinese of having worked with Harry so many years before. Colonel Pui listened attentively, looked at Harry, and then smiled broadly, nodding.
"I had wondered at times what ever happened to you and all the other fine Marines after you left China," said Mr. Ma turning back to Harry. "Did you fight in Korea?"
"No. Went home. Went to college. Got married and raised a family." Harry sensed he was blurting out his life story in a matter of seconds, almost choking at the thought his life hadn't been that exciting. He stopped to take a breath, adding, "And that's about it in a nutshell." His eyes met a smiling Mr. Ma and he wondered what was behind the smile. "I, too, wondered often about those I left behind, all my friends here in Tsingtao -"
"Correction, Harry," Mr. Ma interjected sharply. "It is now Qingdao. Our names are no longer Anglicized. Beijing instead of Peiping or Peking. Qingdao instead of Tsingtao."
"I see," Harry replied, bothered at the blunt correction. "Anyways, I enjoyed serving here in Qingdao - I hope I said it right - with you, Margaret Chang and all the other nice people. In the back of my mind I kind of hoped the day would come that I could return, and now," he shrugged, "and now I'm here."
"I'm sorry to report that many of those you worked with did not make it through the great purge that swept our country. Margaret, I'm not sure of, but the people's courts were swift in dispensing justice."
A feeling of disgust shocked Harry at the thought that Margaret might have faced the swiftness of Chinese justice. He had seen it with his own eyes back then as the Nationalist Chinese defenses were crumbling and the Americans were preparing to vacate. He had watched, sick at heart as hundreds of alleged communists prisoners, boards strapped to their backs, the tops sticking up above their heads bearing their printed criminal charges, were marched past the Marine headquarters building to a site where they would be executed by machine gun or beheaded by the swiftness of a sword. Most mornings Harry could recall seeing at least two or three hundred prisoners march past. The communists, too, were equally swift in meting out justice in the same manner when they came into power. Could that have been Margaret's fate?
"But, as you can see, Harry, I survived to become an important member of the People's Party, a leader in my community and director of the Port Authority," Mr. Ma added, breaking into Harry's thoughts.
Survived. Harry caught the subtle notation that he was a survivor. The comment the Chinese coolies had made so many years before came to his mind: Mr. Ma was one of the few who had survived through the Japanese occupation, now the Communist occupation. He worked opportunities to his advantage; he was indeed a survivor.
"Well, that's some consolation," Harry said forcing a smile. From office flunky to head of the Port Authority; that's a big jump, Harry mused. Now he's letting me know he's a big shot. His smile suddenly broadened. Maybe the big shot might be the ticket for his getting ashore later on. It was worth a try.
"What brings you back to Qingdao, Harry," Mr. Ma asked. "I would think being married with a family would keep you at home working to support them."
"Long story. Suffice it to say I got divorced, chucked my old job and decided to become a free spirit, dedicated to spending the rest of my life pursuing the things I want to enjoy."
"Ahh, a free spirit, something we all want to be at some time in our lives. Good. And your freedom brings you back to Qingdao. How interesting. Is it the adventure of sailing the many oceans of the world or is there something else that brings Harry Martin back to our ancient shores? We must find time to talk, to fill in the years." He smiled giving a slight nod, then turned his attention back to Captain Andress. "Are you prepared to unload the grain, Captain?"
Harry stood with his mouth agape. He had hoped to pursue their conversation a bit longer, had hoped to get around to going ashore to see the city. Mr. Ma had cut him off abruptly, had turned back to the business at hand.
"Ve are ready to unload with your approval, Mr. Ma," replied Captain Andress.
"Good. But first, I would like to inspect your holds."
"Of course." Captain Andress replied, and led the small delegation from the bridge to the main deck.
"Dat vas interesting, Harry," Sigmund said watching after the departing trio. "Vy does he vu
nder dat you should vant to return to China? It seems he is playing some kind of mouse und cat game vis you." He shook his head. "I don't trust him. I don't know vy. I just don't."
"Aw, he's okay," Harry retorted, sloughing it off. "He was the same way when I was here before. Just natural curiosity, I suppose. I guess I'd probably wonder the same thing. Probably not that many ex-Marines beating a path back to Tsingtao, oops! I meant Qingdao." He loosed a light chuckle.
But, now that Sigmund had brought it to his attention, Mr. Ma's question had bothered him. It seemed like an innocent question, wondering why he would want to return half way around the world back to Qingdao. Hell, maybe Mr. Ma could read his mind. The damned cache of money was uppermost on his mind of late, except for stolen thoughts of Osa. Naw, let it ride, he decided. No sense in reading anything into an innocent remark.
As he headed below to get a now belated breakfast, Harry passed close behind Captain Andress and the two officials who were watching as the large cargo covers were being removed. Captain Andress reached back grabbing his sleeve. "I vant you to stay on deck und talk to dose officials. Ve could use some good public relations vis dem. You know Mr. Ma. He seems pleased dat you vould return to your old Marine base. Talk. Talk. Besides, I haf some paper vork to get done. Okay?"
"Sure," Harry agreed, "be happy to." He ignored his grumbling stomach and joined Mr. Ma and Colonel Pui at the ship's railing. They exchanged small talk watching as the unloading operation got into full swing.
"It sure takes quite a number of trucks to unload all this grain," Harry commented as the large siphons were driven deeply into the grain, the rattling sound of grain noisy as it moved through the system and then spilled into waiting trucks.
"There are many, many hungry mouths to be fed," Mr. Ma replied.
