Allison shook his head and his smile vanished. He leaned forward. “I say, old man, isn’t it just a bit foolish and risky?”
“If it is then I’m a foolish nut,” Stan answered. “We owe that girl a great deal.”
“When you put it that way, all I can do is give you my blessing,” Allison said, the old-time flicker of a derisive twinkle gleaming in his eye.
“The Japs may well take Rangoon. They have to get it out of the way in order to slow up the flow of supplies to China. They can put ten planes into the air for every one we can send up. But as long as Rangoon stands, it will not be blasted from the air. That’s our record so far and that record is going to stand. It’s up to you fellows to make it stick.” Stan stared hard at his pals. “Now don’t let me catch you running out on the job to start looking for me.”
“If yer in that mood, I guess we may as well start plannin’ a celebration for the colleen,” O’Malley conceded.
“Now get out and keep still. I’m going up on routine patrol flight. Just to check up on what you fellows are doing. Regulations call for a man in command while I’m out.” Stan grinned as he got to his feet. “And I’m itching to be on my way.”
Allison and O’Malley went out and Stan got into his flying outfit. He had done a bit of work on his P–40. He had fixed a seat in the crowded bird cage for an extra passenger. He walked out and examined the ship. The ground men stepped back and stood watching him admiringly. Stan Wilson was very popular with all of the crews.
Stan climbed in and opened up the motor. He roared off the field and spiraled up to ten thousand feet, then headed south and east. His flight was hardly that of a commander checking his patrols. He flew in a line and kept the ship knifing along well above cruising speed. Sweeping over the Salween, he headed out over the jungle. He checked the rice plantations in the clearings below.
The sky was clear of all planes. He saw no Flying Tigers and no Japs. Easing down in a steep dive he floated over the edge of the jungle. He had sighted the clearing where he and Allison had set the Martin down. Skimming low over the grass he set down and rolled up to the edge of the timber.
He moved along slowly until he located a spot where there was an opening, a little avenue between big trees. Stan spent the next half-hour backing the P–40 into the avenue and covering her with vines and creepers. If his calculations were right, he should find a road leading into the jungle. That road should take him to the temple with the red roof. The Jap general had driven a car over a road in getting to this spot, so there must be at least a trail.