“Lieutenant Wilson can take you to the Chinese general who will give you your credentials. These papers will release you and they will entitle you to return to this service without prejudice. I understand you are to report at once.” His face had returned to its flinty hardness, but his eyes showed the pride he had in his men.
The three fliers gathered up their papers and about-faced. O’Malley seemed to have forgotten the heat. He set a brisk pace. Allison slowed him down.
“What’s your rush? China will be still there when we get to Rangoon,” he drawled.
They walked across town to the waterfront where the harbor was crowded with craft from every nation of the world. A mass of frail vessels marked the Chinese boat colony where several thousand Chinese, some of whom had never set foot on land, used boats for homes and as a means of livelihood. The waterfront was swarming with a motley crowd of races and colors, all jabbering and shouting and talking. Few white men were to be seen.
“Our man lives in a little shack down a few blocks,” Stan explained. “He has his office in one half of a single room and he lives in the other half. But he has plenty of authority and Uncle Sam is backing him.”
They hurried on through the colorful throng, hardly paying any attention to what went on around them. They were eager to be on their way to China and the skies over the Burma Road.
CHAPTER II
CHINA WINGS
Stan Wilson led his pals to a small shack on the waterfront and halted before a flimsy door of matting. Over the door and along the wall were Chinese characters painted in red. Below the characters was a faded poster showing a slender American girl in a riding habit and wearing a cocky little hat. The girl was holding high a glass of Coca Cola. Stan pointed to the familiar advertisement.
“Looks like home,” he said.