"The most delicious of all meats. The Americans sent us terrific quantities of it. We soldiers ate all that we wanted."
"But you always do anyhow, in Russia," said Wu.
"Nothing like the American food. Never so much. Never so good. Not for poor soldiers like me. I am no Russian. I am not in the police or a Guards division."
Wu said, mildly, "Some things surpass my understanding. You have been away from the Party too long. When we discuss Communist principles, you will be able to resolve such problems. Believe in Stalin and everything will be all right."
"Can we eat and talk at the same time?" asked Dugan.
"First we talk to the boss," said Wu.
They had come into the village and were approaching the police building. The Imperial Manchukuo insignia had been beaten off with hammers. Pictures of Stalin, Mao Tse-tung, and Sun Yat-sen were hung in front. They were on weather-beaten canvas.
When Dugan looked down from the pictures, he got the surprise of his life.
A man was standing in the doorway. A white man. Wearing an American Army uniform with Air Force insignia and captain's bars on his shoulders.
He waved to them and Wu saluted.