“What were you doing, besides dealing out the hand?” I asked grimly.
The pilot swore.
“Whistling,” he replied. “And why in hell shouldn’t I?”
I rolled over on my face again, tried to shut out the sound of Sock’s
raving. I was thinking about Marcosson. I felt sorry for him, sorry as
hell. It was just the beginning.
* * * * *
Three days after the transport steamed in past Cavite and docked within
a half mile of the Manila Hotel and the Luneta, I ran into Jimmy Blake
at the Army and Navy Club.
“Some of ’em are swell, Mac,” Jimmy stated. “I flew Colonel Brace around
while he picked out locations. The Administration is all excited over
this experiment. They’ve got a couple of fields staked out in jungles.
Have to fly gas and oil in. One of ’em is slated for a spot that hasn’t
been missed by a typhoon in the last ten years. They’re all hot. Thank
God I’ve got two months’ leave due me.”