“I am Stan Wilson. This is Bill O’Malley and March Allison,” Stan said. “Allison will command our flight.”
O’Malley was looking closely at the soldier. Tom Koo was dressed the same as a thousand other Chinese they had passed on the waterfront. Suddenly he asked, “You come from San Francisco?”
“Yes,” Tom Koo answered, “but how did you know?”
“I’m an expert,” O’Malley answered. “Anyway, no man could fail to recognize a Yank.” O’Malley grinned broadly and Tom Koo looked greatly pleased. He turned to Stan.
“You, too, are an American?”
“I sure am, and we’ll show up the Irish and the British, Tom,” Stan said very seriously.
The Chinese flier laughed softly. “That will be a very difficult thing to do. You see, I am informed of the records of Majors Allison and O’Malley.”
“It’s action we crave, Spitfires and Japs,” O’Malley broke in.
“Japs you shall have in large numbers,” Tom said. “And spies and crooks and saboteurs to add to the excitement.” The smile faded from his face and he looked grim. “But first you have a boat ride which will take you to an island where we have a flying field. It is best that you do not return to your barracks. Your bags will be forwarded to you.”
The three walked beside Tom Koo. About them milled shouting and laughing Tamil and Hindu traders, expounding the value of their wares. In the midst of such a group stood a fat Chinese. His shrill voice rose above the tumult and the shouting. Tom shoved his way toward the fat boatman.