“No,” she said shortly. “They are not fierce at all. But they are hungry and tired, and have just escaped death, perhaps.”
She was hungry and tired herself and she sighed and suddenly wished with all her heart that the war was over.
Where was the glory of battle? When the General surveyed the scattered weary men who were his allies he wished himself unborn. Not one word came out of his lips, but his heart turned to a stone. These were not allies but burdens to add to all the other burdens of a strange country and alien people and an enemy superior to them in every weapon and way of war. He had hoped that at least by joining his own men to these something stronger might come of the union than either was apart. But he knew as he looked at them that when he allied himself to these he was adding weakness, not strength.
Nevertheless he marched through their ranks steadfastly, paying no heed to their few feeble cheers. At his side now there was Charlie Li, for the General could speak only his own language and he knew that he must report himself to the one whom the Chairman had put over him, the American.
He turned to his men. “You may be at your ease,” he told them, and this word went down the line. “Rest,” he told them, “and eat. We do not know when we must take up the battle again.”
For there was this fortune that after fighting all night the enemy had ceased battle for the moment, and there were not even planes in the afternoon sky. In this short peace men had thrown themselves on the ground in whatever shade they could find, and some lay on their faces, some on their backs with their hats over their eyes, and some sat with their heads down upon their knees, their guns thrown down. The newly come Chinese stood staring and silent, looking doubtfully at their allies. Some of the white men, seeing them stand, lifted weary arms in salute, some smiled, some shouted out hoarse greetings, but for the most part they simply sat or lay in silence, as though their weariness were too deep for cheer.
Through them the General went his way, and soon he saw coming toward him the lean figure whom he knew to be the American. The two stopped short and each saluted the other, and then to the General’s surprise, he heard the American begin to speak in his language. Now he had heard that the American did speak Chinese, but he had not believed it fully, and yet he understood well enough what it was he was saying. It was not perfect speech, and it was learned from common men, but the meaning was clear.
“I greet you,” the American said. “But I fear you are too late,” he added curtly.
“It is not my fault if we are late,” the General replied coldly. “We were kept waiting on the border for many days.”
“They could not easily find rice for so many men as you have,” the American said.
“We could have found our own rice,” the General said, “and we told them so.”
“Whatever mistakes have been,” the American said, “it is better to remember that we are allies, and the only hope we have is to work together and not against each other. Are you prepared for attack?”
“We have nothing else in mind,” the General retorted.
By now he knew that he and this American would not like each other, and be sure the American knew it too. The knowledge showed in his shrewd blue eyes and dry voice. He looked past the General.
“Your men look fit,” he said calmly. “It is pleasant to see somebody looking fit.”
“My men are accustomed to hardships,” the General said proudly. “They can travel thirty miles a day carrying all they need and find their own food.”
“Then,” the American said slowly, “I advise you as soon as you can to attack to the west. The enemy is entrenched in the city whose pagoda you see over those hills. Under cover of your attack we can reorganize and straighten the lines with the English.”
He hesitated and then went on unwillingly. “I suggest that you quarter your men a little apart from these others — say, over beyond that stream. It is better to avoid quarrels among weary men.”
“Quarrels!” the General said haughtily. “My men will make no quarreling.”
But now Charlie interposed with a smile upon his lips. “What the American means is that the white men will not welcome us too near them. By all means let us remember that we are not white and let us keep to ourselves.”
The General turned a sudden red under his sweat. “It will please us better also,” he said.
The American looked grave and he put pleading into his voice and he said, “We have a fearful duty ahead of us if we are not all to be killed. Let us accept what is a fact and forget each other’s faults. I will grant you whatever you are thinking, but in God’s name forget it and help us. Afterwards — when the battle is won — take your revenge. But now,” he flung out his hand and turned away, and then he took out his handkerchief which was wet and soiled and wiped his forehead and lifted his hat and wiped his bald head. “We may have only minutes,” he said, “before the attack begins again.”
“He is right,” Charlie said to the General.
The General stood his ground a moment longer, motionless, struggling with himself. Then he saluted sharply, turned on his heel and shouted to his waiting men,
“Men! Fall in, to the left — march!”
They fell in, turned and marched toward the little stream and splashed across it, waist deep, and then climbed out on the bank beyond.
And the American stood watching them, sadness upon his exhausted face. His shoulder bones stuck out under his wet shirt and his hands hung at his sides like weights. Who knew what he was thinking?
Sheng, marching past him with his men, stared at him curiously. So this was the American! He looked old, too old for this life. So old a man should be at home among his children. Were there no young men in America? He was very thin, too, and his leather belt was wrapped nearly twice about his narrow waist. The muscles stood out on his lean neck and his face was so thin that his ears looked big. But big ears were a good sign of a kindly wise man, or so Sheng’s mother had always said.
The American, catching Sheng’s bold young eyes, smiled suddenly.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“How is it I understand your talk?” Sheng asked astonished, stopping where he stood.
“Why not, when I speak your language?” the American asked. “I have lived in your country for twenty years.”
“Almost as long as I have,” Sheng said with his own great grin.
“You are young — a boy,” the American said. “I could be your grandfather.”
Sheng suddenly liked this American greatly. “It is true you are too old,” he said politely, “you should be resting in your home.”
But at that word “home” a flicker went over the bright blue eyes under the tattered sun helmet which the American wore. “It is better not to talk or think of home,” he said in his dry voice. “Who has a home now?”
“My father’s house still stands,” Sheng said proudly.
“Where?” the American asked.
“Near the city of Nanking,” Sheng said.
Then Sheng went on and the American stood there watching the long line of men and he let them all go until the very last, which were the carriers of goods and the hospital supplies and then the doctor and the women. These he stopped.
“You might stay, doctor,” he said to Chung. “I would take it kindly if you could tend our wounded before the flies eat the flesh off their bones.”
So Mayli, when they came to their allies, saw only a horde of hungry filthy weary men. Their faces were black with grime and streaked with sweat and their beards were unshaven and their eyes sunken in their sockets. The wounded lay in the small shadows cast by bushes and some were dying and many were dead. Her heart beat in her throat as she commanded her women quietly,
“Here is our work. We will lift those wounded but still living into the shade of that one great tree yonder. Then let each of you dip up water from that pond. We will not stop to boil it but I will pour disinfectant into it, and then each of you tend those who seem the weakest. Hsieh-ying, you are so strong. Gather some fuel together and we will build a fire and heat food for them. Ten of you will care for the wounded and two will help Hsieh-ying. Pansiao will stay by me.”