Stan smiled at them. He knew how they felt and what made them shout. “This isn’t going to be a short war,” he said slowly. “I think we’ll all have to take some hard knocks out here. You fellows will be taken back into your old outfits without prejudice if you return with clean records. If you run out on the Chinese, you won’t get a clean slate.”
Munson glared at Stan. He was trying to smile but not making a very good job of it. The boys were silent when Stan ceased speaking. Their better judgment began to assert itself.
“You came here from the Royal Air Force, didn’t you, Major Wilson?” Munson asked deliberately.
“I did,” Stan answered. “I’d like to be flying with the United States Army, and I can get my release as quickly as you can. But I’m waiting to hear from my commander and from Uncle Sam. If he wants me to stay here, this is where I’ll stay.”
“Isn’t it true that you couldn’t get into the Army Air Corps? Weren’t you grounded as a test pilot in the States?” Munson shot the questions at Stan and went on before Stan could answer. “Wasn’t there a nasty matter of a cracked-up ship and a few military secrets that got away to Germany? Didn’t you get into the Royal Air Force as a Canadian?” Munson was smiling when he finished shooting his questions at Stan. His lips were curved into a leer of triumph.
All eyes were on Stan. He flushed. Munson certainly knew a lot about his past record. Allison stepped up before Stan could answer. His voice was cool and hard.
“I handled all of the papers on Stan Wilson. I had all of the Washington and London Intelligence Office reports. Stan was framed by spies from Germany. If his record had not been clear, he would never have been allowed to stay in the Royal Air Force.” Allison looked around the room and waited for someone to challenge his statement.
O’Malley had shoved in. His chin was sticking out and he was ready to take on all comers.
“You’re a pal of his?” Munson asked the question with a sneer. “You helped him cover up.”
“’Tis no livin’ man can make cracks at Stan an’ not feel the fist of an O’Malley on his chin,” O’Malley snarled. “Many’s the time I’ve looked at that big mouth of yours, Colonel, and wish’t for the chance to lay one on it. Get up yer fists, you spalpeen!” He moved toward Munson.