“Nick isn’t a fair sample,” Stan said quickly. “Before you get out of China, you’ll meet a lot of fellows who are right good men.”
They walked across the grounds to headquarters and turned in. Wing Commander Beakin was seated at his desk. In spite of the heat, he was dressed in full uniform. He frowned heavily as he looked at them.
“Deserters?” he asked in clipped tones.
“No, sir, just recruits,” Allison answered.
“China, eh?” The commander did not wait for an answer. “Well, boys, you can serve up there better than down here right now. We all know trouble is on the way. Japan is about ready to strike. The stronger China is, the safer we are down here. We have to keep supplies moving in over the Burma Road just as long as it can be kept open.”
“Yes, sor,” O’Malley broke in. “That’s just the way we had it figured out. Once we get up there that road will be safe.”
Commander Beakin’s leathery face cracked into a smile. “Aren’t you the pilot who brought in a new model German gun and laid it on the desk of my friend, Wing Commander Farrell?”
O’Malley squirmed uncomfortably. Allison spoke up. “The same man, sir. He herded a Jerry right down on our landing field.”
Stan laughed. “We shall try to uphold the traditions of the service, sir,” he said.
Commander Beakin cleared his throat. He pulled a sheaf of papers toward him and glanced at them. Then he shoved them across the desk.