“I reckon you learned to speak Chinese in a United States plane factory,” Stan said, and his eyes locked with Munson’s.
“I picked up a few words along the waterfront in Frisco,” Nick answered.
The motorboat roared away and the junk moved on its slow course around a small island beyond which they could see a larger expanse of land. Stan sat back and watched Nick Munson who was giving O’Malley a big line about dive bombers. O’Malley was taking it all in and grinning amiably at Munson.
Presently they sighted low buildings on the island, then the gray and silver forms of several transport and bomber planes rose into view. As the junk moved closer they saw that the island was humming with activity. Malays and Chinese ran about and many white men mingled with them.
“Hudsons and P–40’s,” Stan said.
“Fine stuff,” O’Malley chimed in. “They got full armament.”
“China, here we come!” Stan shouted.
Allison leaned back and there was a sardonic look on his face. He puffed out his cheeks as he watched.
“Not bad, old man, not bad at all.”
Nick Munson stood up, his eyes moving swiftly over the scene, taking in all the details. His lips curved into a smile.