The War of the Dragon Lady by John Wilcox Page B

because some of the American dead and wounded had slid halfway down it on the defenders’ side. Slipping and sliding on the debris, Simon climbed to the top and ducked under a sword, swung horizontally by a tall Boxer. He thrust with his bayonet and caught the man in the breast, freeing his lunger and pushing the Boxer down the barricade by thrusting with his boot on his chest.
    He was conscious of Jenkins at his side deflecting a pike thrust with the butt of his rifle and spearing his man with his own bayonet. All along the top of the barricade, the marines and the remaining Americans were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a mixture of Chinese: a sprinkling of young Boxers with their red head-and-hip bands far outnumbered by troops of the Imperial army in blood-red and green uniforms and the less-bizarrely attired Muslims from the north in their dun-coloured overalls. Looking ahead, Simon saw further troops doubling along the Chinese part of the wall to reinforce the attackers.
    ‘Marines!’ he screamed. ‘Give them a volley. Fire!’
    Not all of his party were able to disengage to fire but enough were able to do so and some sixteen or seventeen of the Chinese, either on the barricade or at its base, fell. ‘Reload,’ shouted Simon. ‘Another volley. Are you ready? Fire! Reload. At the men running towards us – Fire!’
    At such short range the volleys were completely effective and all the men in the first and second ranks of the reinforcements fell. Their comrades hesitated and stood for a moment irresolutely.
    ‘Now’s the time, boys,’ shouted Fonthill. ‘Straight at ’em. Charge!’
    As one man, the marines, plus a few of the Americans, tumbleddown the barricade, levelled their bayonets and ran towards where the Chinese stood. A volley from the attackers could have done incomparable damage in that small space but none came. Instead, the Chinese broke ranks, turned and ran along the road in full retreat.
    ‘Halt!’ ordered Simon. ‘Reload and give them one more volley to send them on their way. Right? Fire!’
    Once again the Martini-Henrys, mingled with the Americans’ Springfield rifles, spat fire and more of the running Chinese fell.
    Fonthill turned to look for the familiar figure of Jenkins, but the Welshman was not at his side. Whirling round, his heart in his mouth, he saw his comrade sitting on a pile of masonry at the foot of the barricade, holding his foot.
    ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he called.
    ‘Twisted me bloody ankle on this bedstead thing, look you. You can’t fight a war like this, see, climbin’ all over stuff. It’s askin’ too much.’
    Grinning, Simon looked at his panting marines. ‘Any casualties?’ he called.
    A sweating sergeant nodded to the barricade. ‘Marine Robson got a sword thrust in the belly, sir. But I think that’s all. I ’ope we don’t ’ave to do much more charging in this ’eat, sir.’
    Fonthill shook his head. ‘Back to the barricade. But it looks as though we shall have to build it up a bit. I just hope the Chinese don’t direct artillery fire on it, that’s all.’ He turned to one of the gaitered Americans who had charged with them. ‘Have you been shelled?’
    ‘Noo.’ He spoke in the lazy tones of the Deep South. ‘Ah guess they was afraid of knocking down this old wall an’ all. Say, we allsure are thankful for your help heah. Might have let ’em in iffen you hadn’t shown up.’
    ‘Don’t mention it. Do you have an officer with you?’
    ‘Did have. But the cap’n got himself shot,’ he nodded his head, ‘back there. We sure took some casualties.’
    ‘Ah. I’m sorry to hear it. Call the Legation if you get into more trouble. We’re a sort of firefighting company. Come on now. Back to the barricades in case the Chinks recover their nerve.’
    But they did not, and after shoring up the barrier, giving first aid to the marine with the wound in his stomach, which turned out to be only superficial, and tying a tight