Remember

He took the lead. The three of them ran down a narrow opening between the rows of tents, and came out into an open area of the square, just to the north of the Martyrs’ Monument.

Lines of troops were rapidly advancing in their direction, and behind them came the APCs and tanks intent on destroying everything that stood in their path.

Nicky swung to her right, called, ‘Follow me!’ and ran the opposite way, aiming for the monument and the entrance to Changan just beyond it.

Her heart sank as she heard the sound of rifle fire behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Yoyo and Mai were keeping up, were close on her heels. And so she continued to race across the square, putting distance between herself and the encroaching army as fast as she could. The sound of the oncoming armoured vehicles and the blazing guns were ominous to her ears.

Drawing closer to the monument, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that the last few students were retreating, trying to escape as they were.

‘Nicky! Nicky!’

Without slackening her pace she looked back. To her shock she saw that Mai was down. Yoyo was bending over her.

Nicky spun around and ran back to them. ‘What happened?’

Yoyo’s face was stricken. ‘Mai shot.’

Nicky dropped to her knees, examined the girl’s bleeding shoulder, touched her face gently. Mai opened her eyes, blinked, closed them. Nicky stood up, then, bending forward, she slipped her arms under Mai, trying to lift her. The girl moaned and, afraid to move her, Nicky swiftly laid her on the ground again.

Her hands felt wet and she looked down at them, saw they were covered with blood. Her heart tightened. Mai must have been shot in more than one place. She wiped her hands on her pants, straightened, and raised her eyes, looking straight ahead of her.

The tanks had increased their speed, were almost upon them. There was no time left. She said to Yoyo, ‘Quickly, take Mai’s legs, I’ll lift her under her arms. We’ll carry her behind the monument.’

These words were barely out of her mouth when she was bodily pulled away from Mai and pushed, almost flung, to one side. As she rolled over, she heard Clee shouting, ‘Move it, Nick! Move it, Yoyo! The tanks are closing in!’

People were scattering in panic around her, and screaming.

Struggling to her feet, she spotted Clee running out of the line of fire, carrying Mai in his arms. Yoyo was right behind him. Nicky half ran, half stumbled after them and they made it to safety just in time.

Tanks and APCs, their guns blazing, rolled over the spot where, a split second before, she and Yoyo had been crouching next to Mai. Several students had been less lucky. They lay dead or injured, crushed by the tanks. One boy had had his head smashed in, and there was a pool of his blood and brain on the stones.

With a convulsive shudder, Nicky averted her eyes, and went to take cover behind the Martyrs’ Monument, where Clee was placing Mai on the ground. This area seemed to be relatively safe, at least for the moment, and there were no troops in sight. She sank onto the steps and discovered she was shaking all over.

Clee came and sat on the steps with her, put his arms around her, held her.

She clung to him tightly. ‘That was a close call, Clee,’ she muttered. After a small pause, she said against his bloodstained jacket, ‘And you just saved my life. Thanks.’

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face, stared at her without speaking.

Nicky stared back. He had the most peculiar expression on his face, one she had never seen there before. It puzzled her.

Finally, he said, ‘Let’s get Mai to a hospital.’ He took his camera off, hung it around Nicky’s neck. ‘Look after this for me,’ he said, bent down, and lifted Mai up into his arms.

Yoyo, who had been hovering over his girlfriend, let go of her hand, grabbed his canvas bag, and together he and Nicky followed Clee.

When they reached Tiananmen Gate, Nicky paused and turned to look back at the square.

The Goddess of Democracy was no more. It had been toppled by a tank and demolished - smashed to smithereens. The tent encampment had been flattened to the ground. She prayed that the few remaining students had managed to escape before this had happened.

And she felt an immense sadness flowing through her as she hurried after Yoyo and Clee.

Changan Avenue was congested with tanks and troops. The dead and the dying lay in pools of their own blood, and the anguished residents of the city were trying to do what they could to help those less fortunate than they.

Nicky and Yoyo walked ahead of Clee, pushing through the chaos and the crowds, clearing the way for him as he carried Mai.

They had almost reached the Beijing Hotel when Yoyo caught hold of Nicky’s arm. ‘Look!’ he cried excitedly, pointing. ‘Red Cross flag on Number 38 bus. Ambulance. Take Mai to Xiehe Hospital.’

Nicky turned around to Clee. ‘Let’s get her to that ambulance. The medics can take over.’

Clee merely nodded, ploughed forward with the injured girl. He hoped to God the doctors could save her.

Nicky stood in the middle of the ATN suite at the Beijing Hotel, concentrating hard, focusing on what she had to say. It was fifteen minutes past eight on Sunday morning in China. In New York it was thirteen hours earlier, exactly fifteen minutes past seven on Saturday night.

She held her cellular phone, talking into it clearly, steadily, and without pause, using what she termed her television speed. She was coming to the end of her hardhitting newscast about the events she had just witnessed in Tiananmen, and her final words were dramatic:

‘The late Mao Zedong once said political power grows out of the barrel of a gun. The People’s Liberation Army turned their guns on ordinary citizens and students today. Innocent people. Unarmed people. It was a massacre. And they did it at the command of ageing leaders desperate to hang onto their political power. Seemingly Mao Zedong spoke the truth. At least, as far as China is concerned.’ There was a small beat, before she finished, ‘This is Nicky Wells saying goodnight from Beijing.’

At the other end of the line she heard Mike Fowler, the ATN anchorman, saying, ‘Thank you, Nicky, for that extraordinary and tragic report from Beijing. And now to the news from Eastern Europe …’

Nicky clicked off the cellular, looked over at Arch who was sitting at the desk, the phone to his ear.

He smiled, nodded several times, held up a bunched fist, his thumb jerking to the ceiling, indicating that she had done a good job.

He was on the wire to the network, talking to the News Editor, Joe Speight, who was in the control room at ATN Headquarters in New York. ‘Thanks, Joe,’ Arch said, beaming. ‘We’ll ship the film out in an hour. You should have it tomorrow night. Okay. Ciao.’ He hung up, rose, walked across the floor to her. ‘Great, Nick! They loved it. You were just great!’

Jimmy said, ‘That’s one of the best pieces you’ve done from here … but the moving film we just shot is even better.’

‘I second that,’ Luke said, grinning at her.

‘Thanks, guys.’ She smiled at them. Their praise mattered, meant a lot to her. They always spoke the truth, did not hesitate to tell her when she had not been as good as she usually was.

There was a knock on the door and Luke went to open it. Clee walked in. He looked awful, drained, even haggard, and Nicky knew what he was going to say before he said it. She could tell from the empty expression in his dark eyes.

She stared at him.

‘Mai died,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘They just couldn’t save her. They tried. But she’d lost too much blood.’

‘That’s tragic,’ Jimmy said. ‘Poor kid.’

Luke sat down heavily on a chair without uttering a word; Arch looked bereft, and was also rendered silent by the sad news.

Nicky walked over to Clee, feeling a little unsteady on her legs. ‘I had a horrible feeling she wasn’t going to make it,’ she said, biting her lip. She paused, overcome by emotion, but swiftly regaining her equilibrium, she continued, ‘You look terrible, Clee. Come and sit down, let’s get you some coffee.’

Clee took a step closer to her. He lifted his hand and with his fingertips wiped away the tears on her cheeks, which she did not even know were there. ‘It’s all right to cry, you know,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘How’s Yoyo?’

‘Devastated.’