Nanking was bordered on the northwest, north, and northeast by a bend of the Yangtze, and the rest of the walled city was bounded by a network of outlying villages and mountains.  One of the mountains overlooking the city to the southeast held the tomb of the father of Nationalist China, Sun Yat-sen.
        Hao couldn’t have cared less about the history of the place.  To him, the city contained the relatives his father had told him were waiting for him.  Getting them out was his first priority, and he had thought that out. 
        He would get them to Hefei somehow, then use the Air Force uniform he wore and the papers Father had given to him to get them aboard a plane to Canton.
        The closer he was to Hong Kong and Xiu, he thought, the better off he would be. 
        The population of the city had swollen with the influx of troops and refugees from the east.  Panicked reports of massacres, sacked cities and burned villages in the wake of the Japanese advance circulated among rumors that General Chiang would not defend his capital, but instead declare it an open city and order its evacuation.
        The sun was setting as Hao stepped from the boat to the dock, waved at the boatman and noted that an American gunboat was moored a short distance away with a pair of uniformed sailors stationed at the gangway.  Hao looked for a moment at the trimly utilitarian ship with its large American flag hanging limply from its mainmast before heading into the city through one of the massive gates. 
        There were troops there, and when they saw the rank bars on his sleeve they saluted.  He returned their salutes and asked the detail’s officer, “Excuse me, I’m looking for the Finance Ministry.” 
        The wolf blinked at him.  “You’d better hurry,” and after giving Hao the address and some directions added, “General Tang’s given orders for the government to clear off to Wuhan before too long.”
        Inwardly, Hao cursed.  He hadn’t foreseen that. 
        “Thank you, sir,” and saluted him before moving on into the city.
        Most of the people seemed to look a bit desperate, with some looking doubtfully up at the sky.  Hao took advantage of their distraction to replenish his dwindling supply of money at their expense.  He was tired, hungry and still a bit rattled from his crash, but there was nothing wrong with either his fingers or his reflexes.
        With more money in his pockets than he arrived with, Hao ate a filling dinner before finding a hotel and getting a room. 

November 27:

        The following morning Hao caught up on the news.  Most of what he read in the paper was grim enough, and he resolved to get the hell out of Nanking as soon as possible.
        General Tang, the commander of the city garrison, had declared that the Nationalist Army would fight to the death to defend the city.  Judging from the soldiers he had seen so far, Hao was doubtful about that.  Rumor had it that the government would be leaving soon despite the General’s soothing words, and the city’s actual government would be given over to a group of Westerners.
        Hao snorted.  As if barbarians could do anything right in China.  After reading the paper and eating breakfast, Hao sought the Finance Ministry building.       
        “Excuse me,” he said to the clerk inside the building’s entrance, “I am looking for Mr. Kung Tse-tao, please.”
        “Mr. Kung?  Upstairs, Room 35,” the bored-looking canine replied with hardly a glance in the red panda’s direction.
        Good; he hadn’t left the city yet.
        Hao took the stairs two at a time and paused at the landing to straighten his uniform and smooth back his headfur.  He went up to the door and knocked.
        “Come in.”
        Kung Tse-tao looked up as a young red panda dressed in a slightly rumpled and dirty uniform stepped into the small room.  Traces of grime soiled the usual white fur in his ears.  The young man closed the door behind him.  “Good afternoon.  What can I do for you?” Kung asked.
         The younger man smiled.  “You’re Kung Tse-tao?”
        “Yes, I am.”
        “My name is Ni Hao.  I was told you would be expecting me.”
        As Kung sat there, blinking up at him, Hao had time to look the older red panda over.  Maybe fifty, going gray around the muzzle and a bit stout around the belly, dressed in a cheap gray suit.  There was a family resemblance, true, but this man had never lived on Krupmark, and had never had to do what he had to survive.
        He may have looked a bit like Father, but he was softer.
        “Ah.  I was told that you’d be coming,” Kung said evenly.  “Can you identify yourself?”
        Hao smiled, and dug into his uniform tunic.  “I have this,” and he flashed a Kuo Han passport that bore Kung’s photograph.  The older man’s eyes bugged out as Hao eased a file folder aside and traced a design in the dust on the desktop.  “You were told to look for that as well.”
        Kung looked at the passport, then at the design, a mixture of Red Talon and Black Dragon sigils.  He moved the file folder back.  “I take it, then, that you are not really in the Air Force?”
        Hao smiled. 
        “No, you’re not,” Kung said, peering myopically up at him.  “You are a spy for Kuo Han, or something else?”
        “Nope.  I’m here to get you out, because you’re part of my family.”
        Kung nodded.  “You do favor my brother when he was younger.”
        “There’s more than just you and your family here in Nanking?” Hao asked with a frown.  “I only – “
        “No, they live well to the south of here,” the older man replied.  “Out of the way of the Japanese, one may hope.”  He looked at the passport again, flipped the small booklet closed and gave it back to Hao.  “I will leave the office for lunch,” he said, “and you will come with me to meet the rest of the family then.”
        “But – “
        “I can’t come and go as I please,” Kung said flatly.  “At least, not until the Ministry gets the word to leave.”
        Hao jammed his paws into his trouser pockets.  This old man even sounded a bit like Ni Hei.
        Kung looked up at him, then smiled and stood up.
        “Pleased to meet you, Nephew,” and he extended a paw.

        Hao kept to his hotel room.  The Army was press-ganging anyone it could get its paws on in order to shore up the city’s defenses.  A young Air Force officer would be easy prey, so he changed back into civilian clothes and stayed out of sight until it was time for him to meet with the Kungs.  Only after making sure there were no soldiers visible did he step out into the street.
        He was still having some trouble realizing that he had cousins.
        “There you are,” Kung said as he rounded a corner.  The older man had been waiting out in front of the Ministry building.  “Come with me.  As a member of the Government I can avoid ending up working on the walls, and you’ll be with me.”
        Hao nodded and fell in beside Kung as he headed up the crowded street.  Passers-by didn’t really notice two more red pandas, but would have seen the younger of the two constantly moving his head and eyes, looking for any possible threat.
        They walked past a pile of tumbled and blasted masonry, still streaked with soot from a fire.  “What’s that all about?” Hao asked.
        “Air raid, two weeks ago,” Kung replied, picking his way around a beggar on the curb.  “This was a school.”
        “Seems a stupid waste of a bomb.”
        “They might have been aiming at something else,” the older fur conceded, “but the Japanese are wild animals – they think nothing of killing anything in their paths.  You should have read the accounts coming from Shanghai.”
        Hao shrugged.  “I haven’t been paying attention.”
        “Well, you should.  You’re Chinese, too.  I heard a rumor that two Japanese officers were having a competition while they were on the march from Shanghai.  They even got mentioned in the Japanese newspapers.”
        “I guess it wasn’t baseball.”
        Kung glared at him.  “The competition was to see how many Chinese heads they could lop off with their swords.”
        Hao nodded and said nothing.  He might have actually put some money on that.
        The Kungs lived on the second floor of an apartment building on the south side of the city.  Mr. Kung unlocked and opened the door and Hao’s ears perked at the sound of children’s laughter.  “Mei!  I’m home!”  He smiled at Hao.  “And I’ve brought company!”
        There was a pause, and a woman came into view, wiping her paws on the apron tied around her waist.  She came up short when she caught sight of Hao and she put a paw to her mouth.  “Tse-tao . . . “
        “Didn’t I tell you?  Isn’t he the spit and image of my brother?”
        She looked at Hao closely, and he felt himself blushing a bit.  Other members of the family came forward, drawn by curiosity to see what their mother and father were talking about.
        Father’s contacts were correct, Hao thought.  The Kung Family consisted of the parents, two daughters and two sons.  The sons were twins, under ten years old.  They looked up at him, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
        A memory hit him:  Father talking to Inspector Stagg, saying “There but for the grace of God . . . “
        There indeed.
        He swallowed and tore his gaze away from the two boys and looked around.  There was only one girl-child in evidence.  “Isn’t there another daughter, Mr. Kung?”
        “Oh yes.  This is my daughter Li, and my sons Ji-tsao and Ji-shan.  Is she here, Mei?”
        “She was getting ready to go to work,” Mrs. Kung said.  She said to Hao, “She’s a nurse, you know, at the hospital.”  Her ears perked at footsteps.  “Here she comes.”
        Hao blinked.
        The young woman was older than he was, and about an inch taller.  The black fur on her arms and throat was actually closer to a dark brown, while the red fur on her face was a vivid red.  Her headfur was done up in some kind of high style that kept it up off her collar, and she was wearing a stiffly starched white nurse’s uniform.
        The startling thing was her eyes.
        They were a bright green-blue.
        “Hao, this is my oldest daughter, Kung Fei-cui,” the older fur said.
        “If this is another husband you’re trying to marry me off to, Father, I’m not impressed,” Fei-cui said tartly before Hao could open his mouth. 
        Despite her odd fur color, her voice reminded him of Shin’s.  She had the same snide twist to her voice.
        “Fei-cui,” the elder Kung said patiently, “this is the young man I told you all about – “
        Hao recovered his poise.  “’Kingfisher-feather,’ that’s your name?  Matches your eyes.”  He offered a paw.  “I’m Ni Hao.  My father’s offered to get you all out of Nanking – “
        “I’m not going,” she said, ignoring his outstretched paw.  “I’m needed at the hospital.  There’s a lot of wounded furs there, and more on the way if the Japanese get any closer.”
        “Fei-cui,” Mei said, “We’ve been over this before.”
        “Yes, Mei, we have.”
        Hao lowered his voice and whispered to Kung, “She doesn’t much look like your other children.”
        “First marriage.  Shan died giving birth to her.”
        Hao nodded.  Kung was older than he’d thought, then.
        “Look here,” and he raised his voice to interrupt the woman and her stepmother, “whether you want to stay or not is immaterial.  You’re going.”
        “Hah!  Who’s going to make me, you little runt?” Fei-cui scoffed, and moved to slap him.
        Before she could react Hao grabbed her wrist, twisting the arm and bending the wrist hard enough to make her cry out, while at the same time placing two fingers at the cleft of her collarbone.  He pressed down and inward, and Fei-cui was driven backwards by the pressure point until Hao maneuvered her into a chair.  The younger children giggled to see their stepsister treated that way.
        Hao twisted her arm a bit further as he brought his muzzle to her ear.  “Listen, moron – I’m getting you and your family the hell out of here.  You can either come along or come along with your arm in a cast, your choice – but you are coming.”  He released her then, and she grimaced as she rubbed her abused shoulder and wrist.
        “No choice, eh?” she growled.
        “Nope.  None at all.”
        “We’ll see about that.”
        Hao smiled, the small tight smile that usually presaged mayhem.  “Yes, won’t we?” 
        Fei-cui stood up and straightened her nursing uniform, put her nose in the air and walked out.  Her tail swatted Hao across the back of his head as she stormed past him.  She sidestepped her father and slammed the door closed behind her.
        Hao brushed at his headfur as Kung said, “Please forgive my daughter, Hao.”
        “It’s no problem, Mr. Kung,” Hao said.  “She needs to realize that family comes first in circumstances like this.”
        “That’s an interesting attitude.”
        “It’s kept my family alive and in one piece for years now.”
        The older fur put a finger to his muzzle and gazed at Hao speculatively.  “Yes, you need to tell us about that – over dinner.  Mei, do you have enough for our guest?”
        “Of course.”
        While Mei busied herself with final preparations for dinner, the youngest daughter took the twin boys in paw and made sure they were cleaned up.  Hao took a seat at the dinner table, feeling rather ill at ease.
        The dinner meal itself was not bad, given a shortage of most foodstuffs.  Deliveries to the city from outlying farms and villages, it seemed, were either delayed or nonexistent.
        “It’s the Army,” Mei said sadly as she ate.  “They’re taking everything in order to feed the soldiers.”
        “Do you think we can stop the Japanese?” Mei’s daughter Li asked Hao as he sipped at his tea.
        What’s this ‘we’ business? Hao asked himself.  Do you have a cricket in your pocket?  Aloud he replied, “It’s possible.  I’m not a soldier or military expert.  I’m just here to get you out of Nanking.”
        “Yes, about that,” Kung said, and after the table was cleared and the children sent off to play Mei and her mate spread a map out for Hao.  He traced the line of the river as Kung asked him, “How do you want to do this?”
        Hao lit a cigarette and took a few drags before saying, “I think the best idea is to wait until you get the word to leave for – Wuhan, was it?  Wuhan – and when that order comes, we’ll move.  I have forged papers for all of you, and hopefully they’ll respect diplomatic immunity.”
        “Diplomatic immunity?” Kung asked.
        “Yes.  You’re a member of Kuo Han’s trade delegation, traveling with your family,” Hao said with a grin.  “Clever, huh?  Anyway, I think we’ll avoid crossing the river until we reach here,” and he pointed at the village of Taiping, on the south bank of the Yangtze.  “From there we’ll head for Hefei.”
        “Hefei?” Mei asked.  “That’s a long way.”
        “I know, but it puts you out of the reach of the Japanese.”  I hope.  “From there we’ll head south for Canton and Hong Kong.”
        “It sounds like a good plan,” Kung said.  “Now, tell us about your family, Hao.  I’m very interested in learning how your branch of the family has fared.”
        “Not much to say, really,” Hao replied, studying the lit end of his cigarette.  “I was eleven in ’29 when Father took us to Spontoon for holiday . . . “
        The Kungs sat and listened as Hao told them a bit about the family’s history since the day they had learned that the clan had been wiped out in Tientsin by the warlord Won Lung Ho.  He deliberately glossed over a lot of what had happened, but what he did tell was still enough to appall his audience.
        “Fallen on hard times,” Kung said.  The look in Mei’s eyes showed that she now thought very differently of Hao.
        Almost like prey may think of a predator.
        “Yes,” Hao said.  “But we’re back on our feet, and Father never really gave up hoping that there were members of the clan still alive.”
        Kung nodded, and glanced at the clock.  “It’s getting late.  Go back to your hotel, and we’ll wait for the signal.  Meet here with you when it’s time to go?”
        “Yes.  Pack very light.”

November 28:

        Hao woke up as a heavy fist pounded on his hotel room door, and his paw was on his pistol before he really thought about it.  Concealing the weapon he cleared his throat and called out, “What is it?”
        “Lieutenant Won?”
        “Yes, that’s me,” he replied, recalling the masquerade he was playing.
        He rolled off the bed and landed in a seated position on the floor as the door splintered and flew open, revealing several soldiers pointing rifles at him.  Hao immediately raised his paws, his gun hidden between his legs as his tail covered his crotch.  “Hey!  Don’t shoot!”
        The soldiers kept him covered as a tall sambar deer wearing the same rank he was affecting stepped gingerly into the room.  “You’re Lieutenant Won, right?”
        “Yeah.”
        “Air force,” he remarked, glancing at the rank badges on the uniform tunic draped over a chair.  “But an officer, nevertheless.”
        “That’s right.”
        “You realize, Won, we’re at war.”
        “I got shot down two days ago,” Hao said.  “I’m not the brightest guy, but I sort of guessed at that point.”
        The buck grinned.  “Good.  You look healthy enough, despite being shot down.  We need healthy officers to lead the forces defending this city.”
        Hao quelled the urge to spit.  The odds were much against him, and even if he managed to shoot a few of the soldiers the chances were good he’d die in the attempt.  Most of the furs covering him looked nervous enough to shoot him by accident.
        “Who says I’m not doing my part?” he countered, trying to brazen it out.
        “Well,” the sambar said, propping a hoof on the seat of the chair and running a paw over Hao’s uniform, “you were seen coming in here, and leaving a while later dressed in civilian clothes.  The uninformed might think you weren’t displaying proper zeal in defending your country against the invaders.”
        “Yes, they are uninformed.  I pulled myself out of my plane and swore that I’d kill every Jap I could lay my paws on.”
        “Good man!” the deer applauded.  “So, you wouldn’t mind demonstrating that zeal by putting on this uniform and helping us, would you?”  He scooped the tunic off the back of the chair and tossed it to Hao, who caught it.  “Well?”
        “And suppose I should say no?”
        The sambar’s smile grew a bit wider.  “As I say, you can either come with us – or be shot right here and now for desertion.”

        The sambar deer had given Hao a group of conscripts with two members of the Military Police to make sure the red panda didn’t desert.  The conscripts, a total of twenty, were largely refugees from the debacle west of Shanghai and were not likely to be much good in a fight.  They were dressed in ragged uniforms, footsore and tired.  About a third spoke only Mandarin, while the others spoke only Cantonese.  Fortunately Hao spoke both dialects, which made giving orders much easier.
        After learning what his orders were, Hao didn’t care either about his watchdogs or the state of the troops he’d been given.
        General Tang had ordered a one-mile zone around the city rendered barren and uninhabitable, determined to deprive the advancing Japanese anything they could use to support their forces.  Homes, stores, factories, a police training school and other facilities were stripped, looted and put to the torch.
        Hao particularly enjoyed setting fire to the police school.
        Maintaining discipline within the ranks of his small unit were problematic until he had an idea.  He hired and paid his crews on Krupmark largely by catering to their vices, so he adopted the same strategy and paid his men with cigarettes, alcohol and even drugs filched from buildings that were already slated for demolition.
        The conscripts were suitably grateful, and one even carried messages for him to the Kungs, reassuring them that he hadn’t abandoned them and that he would help them to leave Nanking.
        He just wasn’t certain when he could get free.  The soldiers assigned to guard him were watching him like feral wolves watch an errant sheep.  The sambar (why did he always have to have trouble with cervines, he wondered) obviously didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.  The red panda had noticed, however, that the two guards had greedy looks on their faces when Hao paid his troops at the end of the first day.
        Bingo, as the tourists said on Casino Island.
        By the first of December the military policefurs worked for him, and not the sambar buck.
        And all the while they worked they could hear a soft, distant rumble, like a looming storm just over the horizon.
        “Artillery,” one sergeant muttered, and the others looked scared.
        “They’re comimg.”
       

        On December 2, the cultural and artistic treasures of the Palace Museum were evacuated from the city.

December 5:

        Hao saluted as soon as he entered the room at the forward headquarters, aides bustling about and telephones ringing.  “Lt. Won reporting, sir.”  As the captain returned the salute absently and returned to his reports the red panda glanced around, his gaze lighting on a map tacked to the wall.
        Most of the symbols were completely meaningless to him, but the intent was crystal clear.  The Japanese were getting ready to encircle Nanking.  Hao had seen the state of the defenders firstpaw, and what he saw convinced him. 
        It was time to go.
        “You have finished your assignment, Lieutenant?” the captain asked, the feline’s fingers stained yellow from tobacco and his fur ungroomed.  At Hao’s nod he coughed and said, “Good.  You and your men will report to the Guanghuamen,” and he pointed at another map showing the city’s gates, “and help defend that point.”
        The red panda saluted again and left the room.
        He unbuttoned his uniform tunic (the weather was getting cooler, but he had felt hot) as he walked over to where his men were waiting for him.  The sergeant who had identified the sound of approaching artillery asked, “Where we going, sir?”
        “Guanghuamen,” Hao replied.  “We’re making a stand there.”
        Once they reached the strong point, Hao made the excuse that he had to report to Air Force Headquarters for further orders.  The colonel in command at the gate merely nodded, and Hao started walking.
        But not to where he said he was going.
        When he was escorted from the hotel, he had left his satchel in the hotel safe, paying extra to ensure that it would be secure until he returned for it.
        So he went straight to the hotel.
        The hotel manager went pale under his feathers, and the duck started to stammer as Hao entered the office and closed the door behind him.  “Wh-what do you want?” he asked.
        “Oh, didn’t expect to see me so soon, eh?” Hao said with a smile.  “You have something of mine.  I want it back.”  He sat on the edge of the desk and leaned over the avian.  “Now.”
        He followed the manager as that worthy headed for the safe and opened it, then offered the satchel with a trembling paw.  Hao carefully went through the contents until he was certain that everything was there.
        He looked up.  “One of the passports is missing.  Where is it?”
        “Um, that is, ah – “
        “Tell me.”  Hao flexed his paws.
        The duck slowly opened his desk drawer and took out one of the Kuo Han passports.  Hao took it and noticed that there were some scars along the edges of the photograph.  He grinned at the avian and waggled a finger.  “Naughty, naughty.  Don’t you know that forged documents are illegal?”  He chuckled, and the manager started to relax.
        He relaxed further as Hao placed some money on the desk, closed the satchel, and extended a paw.
        The manager took it.
        Hao yanked at the paw savagely, pulling the manager across the desk as he twisted to the right, his free paw coming down hard against the base of the duck’s skull as the head extended out over the edge of the desk.
        There was a sickening crunch of breaking bone.
        “That settles our unfinished business,” Hao remarked in a soft tone as the man, paralyzed, wheezed out his life.  The red panda made sure he was dead before going through his pockets for the office key.
        When he left, he took care to close the door quietly, lock it and slip the key into his pocket.
        He took the money, too.
        Hao was well away, the office key tossed into a sewer, before the hotel staff broke down the door and found the corpse.

        “Well, well!” Fei-cui said as she opened the door and sneered at the grimy red panda in his dirty uniform.  “I didn’t think you’d hang around.  I figured you were a coward.”
        “Not in the mood, Fei-cui.  Where’s your parents?”
        “Out,” she said, with a slight toss of her headfur.  “I’m looking after the children right now.  When Father and Mei get back, I’m off to the hospital.  You going to sell them another set of lies?”
        “I wasn’t then, and I’m not now,” Hao replied.  “Unusual for me.”
        “I’ll bet.  I heard from Mei about what you told them, and I asked one of the doctors at the hospital about Krupmark Island.”
        “And?”
        “You’re not taking us there.”
        “No.  My instructions were to get you and your family the hell out of here, and to safety.  Right now, that’s Hong Kong.”
        “And later?”
        Hao shed his uniform tunic and lit a cigarette.  “Don’t know,” he admitted.  “I’m likely to be shot for desertion if I’m seen, so I’m staying here for a couple days until they stop looking.”
        A speculative look came to her green-blue eyes.
        Hao matched her gaze, his own dark eyes growing cold.  “Don’t even think about it.”
        “Why not?”
        “I’ve already killed one fur today,” he said blandly, and the nonchalant tone of his voice brought her up short.  “Killing another won’t matter one way or the other.”
        “But . . . we’re family, aren’t we?”  Her voice had an odd quaver to it as she realized he was serious.  “You wouldn’t – wouldn’t dare.”
        Hao smiled, the expression stopping short of his steady gaze.  “If I must, I will.  We may be cousins, Fei-cui – in fact, you sound like my sister Shin - but threaten me again and I’ll kill you with my bare paws.”
        She gulped and said, “Are you that certain you can?”
        “Yes.  I can tell from the way you move that you’ve never been taught to fight.”  An ear flicked.  “Someone’s coming to the door.”
        The door opened just then, and Kung stepped in.  “Hao!  Where have you been?”
        “You got my note, didn’t you?”  The sudden shift in tone from threatening to businesslike made Fei-cui shake her head in bewilderment for a moment.  This strange young man was certainly nothing she had expected.
        “Yes, of course,” her father was saying.
        “Well, I had to get an opportunity to get away.  I need to lie low here for a couple days until it’s safe for me to move, and we go then.”
        “So soon?” the older man asked.
        Hao nodded.  “I may not be able to read all of a military map, but I can tell when I’m about to get trapped.”
        Kung’s nosepad went pale.  “Trapped?”
        “You heard me right,” Hao assured him.  “If we don’t leave, we’re stuck here – and you yourself told me what the Japanese have been doing since Shanghai.”

December 6:

        Hao was teaching his younger cousins Revolution Rummy (Shin had taught him the game, and he liked its point of abusing the authority figures represented by the face cards) when the sirens started.  It was a fur-raising sound as it slowly rose and fell, and underneath the wailing was a soft thunder.
        “Air raid,” one of the twin boys said.  The ten-year-old looked at the visitor and asked, “Are you all right, Hao?”
        “Huh?” he asked.  He had been staring at the ceiling, his banded tail fluffing out at the sounds.
        “Are you all right?”
        “Oh!  Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”  He studied his cards in an attempt to cover his discomfiture. 
        He’d been getting jumpier lately.
        When he had been outside, he and his small unit had come upon the remains of buildings damaged or destroyed in the air raids that had started back in August.  Several of the buildings hadn’t been fully cleared away, and the sickly-sweet stench of unburied bodies had made him feel a bit weak in the stomach.
        Which was odd – he rarely, if ever, felt queasy when faced with the same things in Fort Bob.
        The drone of plane engines slowly grew louder, providing a new theme to the strident wail of the sirens and the thud and crump of bombs.
        Hao felt his mouth go dry as his palms started to get damp from sweat, and he shook himself.  What was happening to him, he wondered as he drew a card from the deck and placed the face card in his tumbrel.  The twins, apparently satisfied that nothing was wrong, resumed play as well.
        He still felt a certain discomfort when looking at the twins.  Based on the family resemblance, it was possible that he had looked like that when he was ten.
        Nine years can certainly change a fur.
        Eventually Hao lost the game and grinned as he flipped his cards over.  “Not so much in the tumbrel, I’m afraid.  Just jacks and tens.”  The lowest card in his revolutionary tribunal was a five. 
        Shin would have laughed at him.
        One of the twins, Ji-shan, giggled.  “I got two kings and two queens.”  His brother Ji-tsao pouted.
        The building shook and the lights flickered.  “Hao,” Mei called out, “you and the twins come here, please.”
        “Coming.  Right, you two, let’s go.”
        “But I want to watch the bombing!” Ji-shan protested, gesturing at the blackout curtains on the window.
        “No, and you listen to what your mother tells you,” Hao said.  He gathered up the cards and started shepherding the twins out of the room.
        There was a high, shrill note, rapidly descending.
        The edges of the blackout curtains were briefly edged in stark white light, then they flew off their rods as the concussion from the exploding bomb shattered the window and all the lights went out.  Hao grabbed both boys into a tight hug and flattened himself against the floor as the noise of the blast pushed through them.  The door slammed shut from the force of the blast, almost splintering against the jamb.
        Hao had his mouth open, but the pressure wave still made his ears pop.  As soon as bits of plaster and bits of curtain stopped falling around him he shook his head and flinched as a largish piece of plaster landed on his back. 
        The droning of the planes died away, as did the sound of the falling bombs.
        His ears were ringing as he slowly got to his feet and shook his cousins.  “You two okay?” he asked the twins.
        Both of them were crying, but otherwise uninjured.  He blinked dust from his eyes and tried the door, then yanked hard on it until it finally creaked open.  “Get out!” he shouted, and the two scampered to the safety of their mother as he squeezed out of the room after them.
        “Hao!  Are you all right?” Kung asked.  He hurriedly lit several candles before saying, “Let me brush you down.  You’re covered in dust.”
        Hao caught a look of himself in a mirror, now hanging askew and cracked, and he had to start laughing.  “I – I look sort of old and gray,” he chuckled, feeling a rising hysteria and trying valiantly to keep it down.  “I think we should leave tomorrow night – no matter what.  These planes are getting a bit too close.”  He tried to keep the shaking out of his voice.
        “We might still have some trouble with Fei-cui,” Mei said, hugging her twin sons to her as her daughter helped clean the dust off of them.  “She refuses to leave her post at the hospital.”
        “We can’t leave her behind,” Kung said, giving Hao a worried glance.
        The younger red panda finished brushing dust from his headfur and clothes and glared at his relative.  “She’ll come with us, or I’ll break her leg and drag her along.”
        “You don’t mean that!” Mei protested.
        The young man managed a smile.  “No, I don’t mean it.  I’ll see to you getting away safely, and come back for her.”  He closed his eyes briefly and shuddered as the all-clear sounded.  “I’ll be in my room,” and he walked out.

December 7:

        “We’re leaving tonight,” Hao said to Fei-cui the next morning as she came home from her shift at the hospital.  He looked haggard from lack of sleep as he lit one of his dwindling supply of cigarettes.  “I figure this will be the best possible chance we have to get out.”
        “I’m sure,” she said with a smirk.  “I’ve heard that the Japanese will never take Nanking.  The Army will hold them off.”  She shed her overcoat and her tail shivered.  “It’s chilly out there,” she remarked as she gave Hao the coat and she headed for the kitchen to brew some tea.  Hao tossed the coat onto the sofa and followed her.
        There was a long pause as she filled the kettle and lit the gas stove.  Despite the bombing, their building at least still had some running water and its gas supply (although service was prone to interruptions).
        “If you’re wrong, Fei-cui, I might not be able to get you out.”
        “Look, even if the Army pulls out, whoever’s in charge will only declare Nanking an open city, right?” she asked reasonably.  “I think Father’s wrong – the Japanese can’t be the monsters he says they are.”
        Hao grimaced as he looked at her.  His ears had rung most of the night from the effects of the bombing the previous night, and he still had a splitting headache.  “I’ll tell you what, Fei-cui: I’m going to get your parents, sister and brothers the hell out of here.  Tonight.  If I have to come back for you you’re not going to like it.”
        The red panda femme greeted this with an airy wave of one paw while the other lifted the boiling kettle clear of the stove.  Pouring hot water for her tea she said, “Do what you have to.  I still say nothing’s going to happen.”

        “I still can’t believe she’s not coming with us,” Mei said as she finished putting Ji-tsao’s coat on him.  Once she was certain that the youngest children were bundled up, she put her own coat on.  “Keep your coats on,” she admonished.  “It’s going to be chilly.”
        Kung asked Hao, who was now dressed in his civilian suit and a coat, “We’re only traveling at night?”
        “Right.  Darkness is our only friend right now,” Hao replied.  “I want you all to trust me.  I’ve worked in the dark for a long time now, and I know where we’re headed on the map.  I figure if we keep to the south bank of the river we’ll get there.”
        “It’s about twelve miles,” Kung said.
        “I know, but we have about twelve hours of darkness,” Hao said as he blew out a candle, plunging the room into shadows.  “So it evens out.”
        “That’s going to be a hard pace for the children,” Mei remarked.
        “If we can get hold of a vehicle, sure, we’ll take it.”
        “What if they won’t give it to us?”
        His reply sent a chill down the older woman’s spine.  “Leave that to me.”  Hao patted his pockets; in addition to his pistol he had several other items secreted in his clothing – a kitchen knife and several long pieces of framing wire taken from pictures around the apartment.  He had braided the pieces into a serviceable garrote.
        Apart from their clothes they were traveling light, carrying only a few essentials.  Hao was carrying his satchel with the forged passports, and they joined a stream of people who had obviously had the same idea.  There were hundreds on the road headed west along the south bank of the Yangtze.
        Hao set an easy pace, walking slower than he usually did so that the Kungs could keep up with him.  The masses of people moving steadily told him that this road, at least, was still clear and pointed the way to safety.
        He was still angry that Fei-cui was being so mulish, despite her not being equine.  It must run in the family, as Shin was much the same way.
        Thinking of his sister brought a smile to the young red panda’s face.  He caught himself looking forward to being back on Spontoon.  Shin was fond of relating her school adventures, and now he’d be able to share one of his own.
        There was a brief mutter from the crowd as a flash and roll of thunder to their left told them that someone was firing artillery.  It was still well south of them as they walked along silent streets lined with abandoned and destroyed houses and shops. 
        More thunder followed, and a few people paused.  Mei looked back and gasped.
        “What?” Hao asked.
        “Look,” she said, pointing.  “The Purple Mountain.”
        The Purple Mountain was part of the range that protected Nanking on the east and south, and as they watched there were explosions and the flicker of fires as shells found their mark and the Chinese fired back at the invaders.
        Mei’s voice was curiously subdued as she said quietly, “There’s an old legend – if the Purple Mountain burns, Nanking will fall.”  Others in the crowd heard her, and muttered their agreement.  A few crossed themselves, and a few others prayed aloud while others merely shouldered their burdens and trudged on.
        Hao looked at the flashes of artillery and bursting shells, brief lightning illuminating the darkness.
        He urged his cousins along as he said, “I don’t need an old legend to tell me that, Mei.”

December 9:

        They spent part of the day sheltered in an abandoned building on the riverbank, a ramshackle affair that reeked of fish and wet rot.  As the sun went down they ate hurriedly and rejoined the mass of refugees making their way out of the city.
        As they neared a village on the way to the town of Taiping the next day, Hao turned to Kung.  “Here we are.  You and your family try to find a place to hide.  I’ll head back into the city to get Fei-cui.”
        “Please don’t hurt her,” Mei pleaded.
        “I won’t,” he assured her.
        At least, not much he thought as he headed back toward Nanking.

        The same day, Japanese planes again flew over Nanking, strewing leaflets pledging fair treatment if the city surrendered.  A small party of Imperial Army officers under flag of truce also presented themselves at one of the gates, waiting for negotiations to start.
        General Tang refused the offer of parley, and tore up the leaflet he’d been given.
               

December 10:

        Retracing his steps to Nanking seemed harder than leaving the city.  It took a bit longer, too.
        It took him a while to figure out why.
        Leaving Nanking was something he wanted to do.  He was going back to fetch Fei-cui because he had to, and he didn’t like the idea.
        As a result, he wasn’t liking her much either.
        It was also taking longer to breast the tide of people fleeing the area.
        The artillery seemed to be louder and closer than it had been, and several times he had to seek cover as Chinese Army patrols passed by.  As soon as he was sure the way was clear, he kept going into the beleaguered city.
        Things seemed fairly stirred up, the remaining civilians scrambling to find cover.  Hao went to the hospital where he knew Fei-cui had been working.
        To his surprise, it had taken some damage from either bombs or artillery over the past day or so, and there were a few Westerners gathered at the front steps.  A much larger group of Chinese were clustered around the Euros, looking apprehensive.
        “It’s positively criminal!”
        This statement came from one of the Westerners, a canine dressed in a gray suit and sporting a small Nazi swastika badge on his lapel.  Hao recognized the symbol from Spontoon, and was surprised to hear that the man’s Chinese was nearly flawless.  He paused to listen as the man continued.
        “The Japanese swore they wouldn’t attack any more hospitals!” the man fumed.  “Bad enough that General Tang’s left the city government in our laps – he could at least have helped us defend the Safety Zone.”
        “Calm down, John,” another Euro, this one with an American accent, said.  “We only have a few things left to get organized.”
        “Yes, yes we do.  Come inside and we’ll make some plans, but we have to move quickly,” and the group of Westerners entered the hospital.  Before the doors closed he could be heard saying, “There is a question of morality here . . . “ 
        Hao stepped in behind a feline in a doctor’s white coat and brushed his sleeve with a paw.  “Excuse me,” he said in English.
        “Hmm?  What can I do for you?”
        “Do you know a nurse here, named Kung Fei-cui?”
        The man thought for a moment, then said, “I believe she survived the attack.  She works night shift here; you might find her at home.”
        Hao nodded.  “Thank you.”  He left the hospital, stopped at a noodle shop, and was eating lunch when he heard a noise and his ears pricked up.
        Above the scattered crowd noises was a new and uglier sound, composed of a large number of voices raised in either anger or fear.  There were also scattered gunshots and Hao slipped his paw into his jacket as he moved into an alleyway.
        He reached out and waved to a man who ran past.  “What’s going on?”
        The goat’s eyes rolled as he caught his breath, panting.  “Haven’t . . . haven’t you heard the news?”
        “No.”
        “Some of the soldiers have deserted their posts,” the caprine replied.  “There’s been talk of looting.  Now, let me go!  I have to get my wife and kids and get out of here!”  He stepped back from Hao and took off down the street.  Hao watched him go, realizing that things were getting a lot less safe.
        “I hope to hell she’s all right,” he grumbled. 
        “Because I’m going to kill her.” 
        He looked out of the alleyway and headed off toward the Kung’s apartment building.
        Being on the south side of the city, he had to seek cover more than a few times as Japanese artillery raked the city’s defenses.  More than once he had to seek refuge in a convenient doorway, but he was starting to get used to the fall of the shells.  Hearing a sound like the world’s biggest piece of linen being ripped, he ducked into a building around the corner from the Kung’s and covered his ears as the explosion echoed down the street.
        As he straightened up, he heard a noise behind him.
        And everything seemed to explode in a bright flash, followed by darkness.

        Hao stirred.
        He took a breath, and sneezed.  Sneezing made him wince as his head pounded in sympathy. 
        He felt cold.
        Slowly the red panda rolled over and pulled himself into a sitting position, holding his head in his paws and feeling for any injuries.  He blinked, looked around, and started swearing.
        No wonder he felt cold – whoever had knocked him out had taken his clothes.  There was a Chinese uniform and equipment lying nearby, and he fought through the throbbing pain in his head as he tried to think.
        The conclusion he drew was that he had been hit from behind by a deserter, who had stolen his clothing and was now trying to find his way out of the war zone.  It seemed only sensible, and he would have done the same.  His treasured Colt .45 was gone, but not the kitchen knife he had taken from the apartment.  A moment’s inspection revealed that he still had the wire garrote hidden under his tailfur.
        Slowly the throbbing ebbed, replaced by a dull headache, and Hao realized that he’d been out for several hours, at least.  The sun was starting to go down.
        He had to find Fei-cui and get out of the city.
        But he needed clothes first, so he staggered to his feet (damn, the guy had even taken his shoes) and started to explore the building.
        The first place he looked was a ground-floor apartment that had been looted rather haphazardly.  The family that had lived there had been practically peasants from the quilted jackets in the closet.  Most of the clothes were women’s, the male clothing having been picked through and largely gone.
        Hao sighed.
        Well, he’d done it before . . .
        So it was that a short woman in a peasant’s coat and a large, floppy hat made her way down the debris-strewn road.

        When he got to the apartment he found that the door was locked, so he hid in the shadows of a stairwell for her.  He reasoned that since she worked the night shift, he would either catch her as she came down the stairs, or intercept her in the morning.
        The building had taken a bit of a beating, but was otherwise intact.
        He bundled himself up in his overly-large coat and settled down to get a bit of sleep.  His head had started hurting again.
        He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he closed his eyes (the soldier had also lifted his watch) but he heard footsteps.
        Below him, but coming up fast.
        Several sets of footsteps.
        Followed by a woman’s scream, and sounds of a struggle.
        Hao got to his feet and drew the knife he carried, keeping the blade edge-on so it would not reflect a stray gleam.  He pressed himself further back into the shadows until he could see what was going on.
        The footsteps resumed, scrabbling against the stairs along with sobbing.  His ears laid back as she screamed “Help!  Somebody help me, please!”
        It was Fei-cui.
        She went running past him, headed for the Kung’s apartment, and hard on her heels were three men, all canine with bushy, curled tails.  He couldn’t see what color uniforms they were wearing, but from their voices he knew who they were.
        Japanese.
        It seemed that at least part of the defenses of Nanking had already fallen, and he’d slept through it.
        There was a scuffle on the landing above, followed by another scream, quickly muffled as if a paw had covered her muzzle.  A crash as the door was kicked in, and more sounds.
        Japanese voices, male and hoarse with lust.
        A woman’s whimpers.
        And the sound of tearing cloth.
        Hao kept to the shadows as he listened to the struggle going on.  A cold feeling sat itself in his stomach. 
        He had to admit that he’d witnessed rapes before, on Krupmark and on Kuo Han.
        Hell, he’d even participated in a few.
        But Fei-cui was family, so something had to be done.
        The red panda crept up the stairs, moving very gingerly to avoid loose treads that could creak and give him away.  He slipped the knife back into his coat and released the loop of framing wire from its hiding place around the root of his tail.
        He had reinforced each end with strips of cloth, and he paused to study what was going on before acting.
        One of the Akitas was at the door, watching the action in the room beyond.  His paws were occupied, his rifle and kit set against the railing.  Sounds of a struggle and cries came from inside the apartment.  The other two soldiers had apparently been unwilling to wait until they reached the bedroom with her.
        The living room floor would have to suffice, it seemed.
        He crept up behind the soldier at the door, and in a single swift movement he swept a loop of the garrote around the canine’s neck, pulling it taut and dragging him out of sight of the other two.  The man gasped and gurgled as Hao strangled him, then he gave a sighing groan as he died.
        One of the soldiers in the apartment said something, and the other laughed.
        It sounded to Hao as if the joke was on the dead canine, who he gently lowered to the floor before drawing his knife.  He spied the haft of a bayonet among the kit on the floor, so he drew that as well.
        Fei-cui was in the middle of the living room floor, her coat pulled aside and her white nurse’s uniform torn to rags.  One soldier was holding her arms down at the wrists while the other, his pants already down around his ankles, knelt between her legs.
        He hadn’t started yet.
        Clearly exhausted by her struggle, his cousin was breathing hard, panting and repeatedly whimpering “No . . . “
        The soldier poised over her laughed, reached for her – and paused, looking surprised.
        His surprise turned to a grimace of pain and a wide-eyed look of terror as the tip of a fifteen-inch Arisaka bayonet erupted from his chest.
        A figure in a Chinese peasant’s coat loomed up behind him.
        A dark-furred paw jerked the Akita’s muzzle up as another paw drew a knife savagely across the soldier’s throat.
        Blood and other fluids spurted, flying from the hole in his chest and the slash across his throat.  Droplets sprayed out over Fei-cui and even in the third soldier’s face.
        The man blinked, gasping as he recoiled.
        Hao flung the dying soldier aside and slashed with the kitchen knife, catching the remaining soldier across one eye as he flinched.  The canine howled and scrabbled at his face as Hao stepped over Fei-cui.
        Hao had the scent of blood in his nose and the taste of it in his mouth.
        He’d been right, after all.  Japanese were easy to kill. 
        The kitchen knife sank into the Akita’s belly, dragged across, then turned and pulled up toward his breastbone.  The man screamed again, one paw still pressing against his damaged eye and the other now trying desperately to keep his entrails from spilling out of the gaping wound in his abdomen.
        “Shut up,” Hao said in his stilted Japanese.  “I save you trouble of doing hara-kiri yourself.”  The other soldier was already dead, wheezing his last breath in a puddle of bloody pink bubbles from his throat.  A whimper made him look down.
        Fei-cui was a mess now, spattered with blood and her tail growing soaked in gore (it was lying in the spreading pool of blood from the solder at her feet).  He had to admit she was very attractive.
        Had this been anywhere else, and she hadn’t been a relative . . . well.
        Hao stooped over her and grabbed her shoulders, then shook her.  “Fei-cui!”
        She babbled something, incoherent, then looked up at him.
        Then she screamed and started fighting him.
        Hao growled, catching her wrists in one of his paws.  “We don’t have time for this, Fei-cui.  Snap out of it!”  He started to slap her, open-pawed, across her face.
        Three slaps later and he found himself enjoying slapping her.  After all, she deserved it for making him come back for her.
        Finally she stopped screaming and yelping and started yelling “Stop!”
        He obliged and said, “Welcome back.  You all right?”
        “Huh?  What?  Hao!  Hao, is that – “ she squinted at him in the darkness, taking in his face and what he was wearing.
        And she started to laugh.
        “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he growled as he released her wrists and stood up.  “I got attacked by a deserter, so I grabbed what I could.  It’s cold outside.”
        Realization came back to her in a rush and she squealed, sitting up and gathering up what bits of her clothes as she could to cover herself.  Hao smirked at her frantic actions and said, “Relax.  I’ve seen better.”
        Her anger suddenly blazed at him.  “Like hell you have!”
        “If we live through this, I’ll introduce you to her,” he said in a mild tone he guessed would needle her further.  “Right now, though, we have to get out of here.”
        “My clothes – “
        “Well, yes.  You’re also covered in blood.”  She gasped and retched as she felt her drenched tail and scrambled to her feet.  The red panda femme bolted out of the room, a paw pressed to her muzzle, and a liquid splat sound told Hao that she’d failed to reach either a sink or the toilet.
        “Do yourself a favor,” he called out, “and dress in dark colors.”
        He waited, taking a moment to further mutilate the second Akita he’d killed. 
        Amusing himself as the sounds of running water could be heard.
        The third soldier died slowly, whining and gibbering.
        After a while she came out into the living room, fully dressed.  As he had suggested, she wore dark colors.  “What are you doing?” she asked.
        He had pulled down the curtains and arranged some rugs to soak up most of the pooled blood.  “No sense in walking through it on our way out,” Hao said.  “Here,” and he gave her a sheathed bayonet.  “I took a moment to look after our guests.”
        “And?”  She felt her gorge rise as she saw that the one who had been about to rape her now had his severed genitals in his mouth.  Fei-cui controlled herself with an effort, gripping the bayonet like a drowning fur would cling to a lifeline.  She hadn’t always believed that Hao was as bad as he implied he was.
        Now she was convinced.
        Hao grinned in the shadows.  “The guy about to take you was an officer,” and he hefted a Nambu automatic.  “It’s not my Colt,” he said, “but there’s more ammunition.  Now,” he said as he buckled the gun belt on under his peasant coat, “are you still wanting to wait around here and see what happens?  Or do you want to see your family?”
        “Yes!  I want out of here, Hao,” she said firmly.  “I’m sorry – but I thought, I thought – “
        “You thought it wouldn’t be so bad,” Hao finished for her.  “You guessed wrong.  But you’re still alive to learn from your mistakes.  Now, we get some food and start getting out of here.”  He stopped her as she tried to walk past him.  “Rules.”
        She gulped and he could see that she was watching him.
        Good.  The fear in her eyes made him feel better.
        “You have a bayonet in your paws.  You’re a nurse, right?”  She nodded.  “You know how to use one of those little knife things, right?”
        “A scalpel.  Yes.”
        “This is bigger.  You use it to defend yourself.  Aim at the eyes, throat or belly,” he said tersely.  “We travel at night, so we’re going now.  We travel only at night, got it?”
        She nodded.
        “Good.  Let’s get out of here.”
       

December 11:

        It was sometime after midnight, Hao guessed from the stars.  The constellations didn’t change much.
        The artillery had started firing again, the Japanese firing regularly, the Chinese batteries answering erratically.  The flashes lit up the sky like summer lightning.  The only difference was the thunder that accompanied the flashes.
        They had joined another stream of refugees leaving the city.  Fei-cui still looked shaky despite having cleaned up.  Hao allowed himself a moment or two of sympathy for her.  Of course, when she showed signs of slowing down and sobbing as the trauma caught up with her, his sympathy extended to kicking her under her tail to spur her on.
        “I hate you!” she yelled at him at one point, tears edging her voice.
        That suited him fine.
        So long as she kept moving and didn’t dwell on what had nearly happened to her.  That could come later, once she was reunited with the rest of her family.  Right now he didn’t need her freezing up.
        It was cold enough already.
        “Get moving,” he urged, swatting her across the rear with the sheathed bayonet he carried, and she whirled to face him.
        “Will – you – STOP – doing – that?” she grated at him.
        “I will, if you keep moving,” he said.  “Gods, you’d think you’d never done it with a guy before.”
        Her breath caught in her throat.  “I – I never did,” she said, sounding like a little girl.
        “Never?”  Hao was incredulous.  “You’re older than me!”
        “I’m saving myself for marriage.”
        “Uh huh.  So, that guy I killed – “
        “You got there just in time.”  She chuckled.  “My cousin, the hero.”
        “Yeah, right.  Don’t get any silly ideas,” he grumbled.  Her words did tickle his pride a bit, though, and like most young men he had a lot of that.
        They were following the route he had taken when he had helped the Kungs leave the city, hugging the river.  A chill mist rose from the banks and Fei-cui shivered.  The artillery flashes continued though.
        There was another ripping sound, and Hao shouted, “Get down!”  He grabbed her and the two fell flat on their faces as the shell exploded in the water not thirty yards away.  More shells began to fall women in the throng screamed and men began shouting.
        Hao grasped Fei-cui’s shoulder and yelled, “Get going!  If you see soldiers, hide and don’t be afraid to use that knife!  If we get separated, you know where your folks are!”
        “Yes!”
        “Good.  RUN!”