Stan nodded. He had eased into position back of his gun controls. The Martin went down lower and bumped across the rice field. It hit solidly and rolled toward the three men. The Chinese remained at the edge of the woods, waiting.
Allison heaved back his hatch and looked out. “They look like Chinese officers,” he shouted above the rumble of the twin motors that he had left idling.
With a flip, he spun the Martin around and set the brakes. Stan and Allison swung down to the ground. They waited for O’Malley to come out but he did not show up.
“It may be just as well to leave him to guard the ship,” Stan said.
“Good idea,” Allison agreed.
Stan called up to O’Malley. “Stick around and watch the ship. We’ll be back with the general and his baggage in a few minutes.”
The rumbling of the motors drowned out any reply O’Malley might have made. Stan turned to join Allison. They walked across the grass toward the three officers advancing to meet them.
When they were a few yards away, Stan halted. “Those aren’t generals,” he groaned. “They are Jap noncommissioned officers.”
Allison stopped and muttered softly, “Right you are.”
Before the two pilots could wheel, six men slid out of the jungle. They were armed with rifles which were pointed at Stan and Allison. One of the officers rasped in perfect English: