Stan’s story told in clipped sentences over the telephone brought an immediate response from the Chinese commander, as well as from the British and American officers attached to the force. Colonel Fuller was in a furious mood when Stan, with Allison and O’Malley at his side, barged into the control room.

The headquarters at Rangoon was temporary and planned to be moved wherever China might need the Flying Tigers most. Colonel Fuller had been handling twice as much work as one officer could handle. He now strode across the room and faced Stan.

“My compliments, Major Wilson. You have saved me from being taken in by a scoundrel.”

“It couldn’t be Colonel Munson, by any chance?” O’Malley asked with a grin.

Colonel Fuller’s scowl vanished and he157 laughed. “It happens to be a certain Von Ketch,” he said.

The Colonel led Stan and his pals into a small room. There they saw a mixture of uniforms, British, Dutch, Australian and American officers’ mingled with the Chinese. Fuller turned Stan over to three colonels. One was a boyish young Chinese with horn-rimmed glasses. One was a colonel of Marines, a leathery faced veteran of many campaigns. The other was a British officer who had seen service in Norway.

Stan and Allison saluted smartly. O’Malley made a ragged gesture. The Chinese colonel spoke to Stan.

“You have brought remarkable news from across the border. But first, my compliments upon your daring escape from the enemy.” His English was smooth and unaccented.

“Thank you, sir,” Stan said.

“What action would you recommend?” The colonel was smiling as he asked the question.

“I had hoped to catch Colonel Munson at the field and thus keep him from warning the158 enemy. He saw and recognized Te Nuwa’s ship and got away,” Stan said. “But if we go over at dawn we can catch them before they can move out many planes. I do not think their field has any large floodlights.”

“That sounds feasible, and of course it will be a job your men will enjoy.” The colonel regarded Stan gravely. “How will you proceed?”

Stan flushed. He wasn’t in command. The colonel had made a slight error there. But there was no time to argue.

“The spot is a jungle hangar. I think they will have to take off one or two at a time and rendezvous in the air for any attack or defense,” Stan explained. “If we hit there at daylight we can go down and smash about a hundred planes on the ground, as well as blow up their ammunition dumps.”

“Reasonable plan,” the British officer agreed.

“But I do not happen to be in command,” Stan said. “I am merely reporting for Colonel Fuller.”

“You have been in command a full hour,”159 the young Chinese colonel said. “Colonel Fuller has so much to do he cannot be up with his squadron.”

Stan started to protest but the colonel lifted a hand. “You are in command of the squadron at your field. You will be joined by another squadron from Base One. You will have twenty bombers and twenty-four fighter planes. You will command the raid.”

“Major Allison has always been in charge of our flights,” Stan said.

“Shut up!” Allison snapped, then grinned at the young colonel. “I beg your pardon, sir, but this Yank is stubborn at times.”

“Let’s get going,” O’Malley broke in.

The three colonels smiled widely. The Chinese officer spoke. “We have ample need for leaders of squadrons. I have a place for at least two more colonels at once. Major Wilson will make plans for the attack. Please confer with the Air Commander and the supply officer.”

The three fliers saluted. As they turned away, the colonel of Marines called after them:

160 “Give them a grubbing, boys. Wish I were going along, I’d like a whack at that rat Munson.”

Stan grinned back at the Marine. Allison also smiled.

“If he’s a sample of your Marine Corps, I’d like to work with them,” Allison said.

“He’s a typical devil dog,” Stan said. “The world’s finest fighting men. Not many of them, but they’re tough and hard—always first at a hot spot.”

They went into conference with General Dern, who was to have control of the entire operation covering both Stan’s fighter escort and the bombers. Dern was a Georgia boy who had fought all over China and who had been in service long before the Flying Tigers came into being. He had fought the Japs from Lashio on the Burmese border to Kweiyang within the last year. He was a lank six-footer with a typical southern drawl.

“You can give us the location,” he said. “That’s about all we’ll need.”

Stan prepared maps for Dern, giving the location of the temple with the red roof and161 the location of the Jap planes and supply dumps.

“Sure, we know the spot,” Dern said. “I know Te Nuwa personally. The old rascal is supposed to be one of our close friends. He was to oppose the penetration of Thailand by the Japs. We furnished him quite a stock of small arms for his men.”

Stan looked up from the map thoughtfully. “If we can prevent it, I think we should avoid blasting the native quarter of the town, which is here.” He put a circle around a spot south of the temple.

“You like the Thai natives?” Dern asked.

“I’d be stiff as a codfish right now if it hadn’t been for one of them. She helped me get away,” Stan said. “Ever have a silk cord draped around your neck and then have some bird yank you off the ground?”

“No,” Dern answered. “But I’ve seen a couple of fellows who were finished off that way. You must have a way with women, Major.”

“She was a Jap spy, a Burmese girl,” Stan said seriously. “I’d hate to think we returned162 her good turn by dropping a bomb on her.”

“Did you tell her you were coming back to blast her village?” Dern asked.

“Yes,” Stan answered.

“Then she’ll clear out,” Dern said. “Now to get the big babies loaded and ready. You get your fighters ready. We’ll assemble in your mess and go over the whole plan with the men.”

Stan and his pals headed for their barracks. The boys were routed and the mess soon was filled with eager fliers. Stan told them briefly what was expected and showed them his maps. They gave a rousing cheer when they heard he was to be Flight Commander of their group. Every man had one ambition and one resolve, each intended to get Nick Munson if possible. It was to be an individual duel.

Dern and his bomber crew dropped over for a few minutes. The Raid Commander spoke briefly, then walked over to Stan and let the boys do their own planning. After the men had talked things over, the bomber163 crew left and Base Two Squadron settled down to wait for the signal to go.

The signal came through soon after Dern had left. Stan and his boys rushed out to their ships and piled in. The P–40’s stood on the cab rank, their flaming exhausts making a pattern of shadows on the ground. Stan palmed his hatch cover forward and adjusted his mike. He had a near attack of stage fright as he set himself to take over. He was a flight leader and had a squadron behind him.

“Temple Flight, are you ready?” he called into his flap mike.

Twenty-three signals came back to him, eager, snappy.

“Temple Flight, check your temperatures,” Stan called. The tightness had gone out of his throat and he was eager to be off. He had a group of deadly fighters to lead and it would take some savage fighting to keep ahead of them. One thing he dared not do. He could not make any mistakes. Mistakes in the air meant death for someone.

“Temple Flight, upstairs!” Stan called.164 He reached for the throttle knob and opened the P–40 up.

Kicking one brake, he spun his ship around and headed down to the shadow bar. The ground officer’s Aldis lamp blinked and lifted. A line of trim Tigers slid down the runway and roared into the coming dawn. With tails up, they surged off the field and circled to take formation.

“Temple Flight, close in,” Stan directed. “Right echelon line on Allison. Left echelon line on Wilson.” Stan felt a sudden surge of confidence run through him. He could see O’Malley in the right-hand slot, holding on his aileron groove. Other shadowy forms slid through the sky on either side and back of him.

The fighters went upstairs, circled and picked up the two engine bombers. Dern’s voice came in clear and loud:

“Take the fighters up to twenty thousand, Wilson. Blank out radio. Take over up there.”

“Fighters going up to twenty thousand,” Stan called back. He snapped an order to his fighters and up they went.

165 They climbed into the sky with their exhausts roaring. They hit twenty thousand feet above the sea level and headed south and east. As they swept over the Salween River, day was breaking. It burst over the jungle and the rice paddies like a great light flashed on in a dark room.

The Flying Tigers were silent. There was no cocky banter or wisecracks such as they would hurl at one another once they opened up on the enemy. This was grim business and the Tigers were masters of the surprise attack. Hit fast and hit hard. Get the yellow man’s planes off the ground. Beat him to the punch. Stan checked his guns and listened to his motor. He was casting an eagle eye about. The Japs should have planes up, looking for bombers. It was his job to intercept them.

The silence was broken by the crisp voice of Dern. “Temple Flight, Temple Flight. Bombers going down over objective. Peel off and go down. Wilson, stand by. Kariganes coming up.”

The voice snapped off. Stan cupped his flap mike and called to his Flying Tigers:

166 “Peel off and go down. Take ’em!”

Stan could see the bombers below. They were laying over and going down, one after another. Far below he saw the red roof of the temple gleaming in the sun. Stan could see the observer gunners in their turrets far out on the nose of the bombers. Their guns flashed in the morning sun.

Stan spotted the fighters coming up. This would be an even battle for once, unless he had been mistaken about the number of fighters the Japs had available. Stan’s eyes suddenly narrowed. The Jap fighters were led by a trim P–40. Munson was heading the pack.

............