“You see,” he went on after a moment, “Since the colonel led his ragged little army out of Burma—that was at the start of the rainy season, months ago—he’s been planning and working.”
“I know,” she agreed. “They told him this ridge couldn’t be crossed.”
“But he and his ragged band crossed it.”
“Yes. Then they told him it would take years to make a road into Burma.”
“And he said, ‘Only a few months.’ That’s just how long it’s been!” Jimmie drew in a long, deep breath. “And now look! There’s a road up one side of the ridge and down the other side—a road the Japs don’t know a thing about. That’s not all. This great forest has been cleared of brush.”
“There are roads all through it,” she said.
“Yes, and miles of airplane runways. Our air base is in the heart of the forest. When there is an air raid alarm we can come popping out at them from north, south or west. They have no way of knowing where to drop their bombs.”
“But, Jimmie!” she exclaimed softly. “Do you mean that you are flying a fighting plane now, and will be going out after the Japs?”
“Sure! Why not?” He laughed quietly. “That’s my job. I’ve got the swellest little fighting kite you ever want to see. It’s a new type. You’ll be able to recognize it if you have a field glass. You see—”
“But Jimmie! That’s terrible!” she broke in.