“I’m takin’ me a nap,” O’Malley declared.
“I think I’ll try for a wink of sleep myself,” Allison said.
Stan walked out into the night. There was a breeze blowing that carried pungent smells from the city and the harbor. The city was blacked out, except for the lights along the dock. Stan headed in that direction and finally reached a point where he could look down upon the scene below.
Floodlights revealed masses of trucks and cars loaded with boxed supplies and piles of loose materials. Hundreds of new passenger cars were lined up in the big yard. They were familiar cars, all American made—Buicks, Chryslers, and Fords—and all destined for China’s army. In a yard beyond the car lot stood hundreds of new trucks being serviced by American and Chinese mechanics. Soon those trucks would be heading for the Burma Road to haul freight over the towering mountains.
The noise and the activity attracted Stan. He sauntered toward the car lot. Two guards stood at the gate of the yard. Stan was not in uniform, except for his trousers, so he did not approach the gate. He seated himself on a bank in the deep shadows under a spreading tree.
A car passed the guards and rolled away. It was a new Chrysler. A few minutes later another car rolled out. With idle interest, Stan watched the cars go by. He was wide awake and the busy scene fascinated him. Another new Chrysler came out. It turned left and passed close to where Stan sat.
Two fat men sat in the front seat. As the car rolled by, someone in the back seat lighted a cigarette. The flare of the light revealed two men in the rear. The cupped flame lighted a bony, hawklike set of features which were not Oriental. Stan started and leaned forward when he saw the figure beside the man who had lighted the match. He was wearing a uniform and Stan got a glimpse of his face. He recognized Nick Munson.
Stan got to his feet and walked around the parking lots. Down the street a number of men were working under a big light. He moved down to them and saw that they all were Americans and that they were assembling car parts.
The boss of the crew looked up. When he saw that Stan was an American, he smiled in a friendly fashion.
“Hello,” he said. “Where did you come from?”