When it was delivered she said, "I thought that you were telling him something like this."

"You did?" he asked.

"Your eyes lit up like a naughty boy's," she said.

He didn't know what to make of this missionary lady. She was being much too friendly. And he was well aware of the kind of relationship possible between American women and Marines in China: none. American women, probably because there were so few of them, were on a sort of pedestal. They were presumed to be ladies. They wore gloves and hats and did no work. And they did not speak to enlisted Marines, who were at the opposite end of the American social structure-only a half step above the Chinese. Most American women in China pretended that Marines were invisible. They did not walk arm in arm with them under umbrellas, or sit at tables with them in restaurants, or look directly-almost provocatively-into their eyes.

He could only come up with two explanations for Mrs. Reverend Feller's behavior. She could simply be acting according to her private idea of what it meant to be Christian; in other words, treating him as a social equal out of some strange notion that everybody was really equal in the sight of God. Or else maybe she was in fact flirting with him, or at least pretending to.

There were a couple of reasons that she might be doing just that. One was that she had caught him looking at her when she was putting perfume on her teats and thought it was funny. If that was the way it was, then she knew she could tease him and have her fun in perfect safety, because she knew that only a goddamned fool of a Marine would make a pass at an American lady missionary. And might even be hoping that he would say or do something out of line, so that she could run and tell the Reverend about it.

He'd heard about that happening. Not with a missionary lady, but with the wives of American businessmen. They'd catch their husband with a Chinese girl and decide to make it look like they were paying him back by getting some Marine to start hanging around and panting with his tongue hanging out. They had no intention of giving the poor fucker any; they just wanted to let their old man know there was a Marine with the hots for them. And then if the old man went to the colonel and the Marine wound up on the shit list, that was his problem.

Whatever Mrs. Reverend Feller was up to-even if she was just being Christian-it made him uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He changed the subject.

"There's one good thing about the bad road," McCoy said. "We can stay at Chiehshom tonight. It's going to be too dark to go any farther today."

"What's at Chiehshom?" she asked, looking at him over the edge of her teacup of beer.

"A nice hotel," he said, "built by a German. The plumbing works, in other words, and the kitchen's clean. It's on a hill over the lake."

"You always stay there?" she asked.

"Normally we get a lot farther than this," he said.

"When you don't have to carry missionaries with you, you mean?"

"I didn't say that," McCoy said.

"No, but that's what you meant," she said.

McCoy stood up and put his campaign hat on. "I'll go down to the ferry and see what's up," he said. "You can stay here. You'll be all right."

Chapter Four

(One)

Chen- chiang, China 1500 Hours 15 May 1941

While the Reverend Feller, Lieutenant Macklin, and "Mr." Sessions ate in the "big" restaurant, and the Marine drivers at one of the tiny stalls, Ernie Zimmerman took the opportunity once again to carefully check the vehicles, paying particular attention to the tires. Changing a tire on a muddy road was bad enough, but changing one in the rain, at night, was a royal fucking pain in the ass.

Zimmerman found a couple of tires that looked as if they might blow, one on a truck, the other on one of the Studebaker sedans, and ordered them changed. McCoy and Zimmerman were watching a PFC remove the wheel of the car when Lieutenant Macklin and Sessions walked up to them.

"We about ready to roll, Sergeant?" Lieutenant Macklin asked.

"Aye, aye, sir," Zimmerman said.

"Well, get everyone loaded up, please," Macklin said. "We'd like a word with Corporal McCoy."

"Aye, aye, sir," Zimmerman said, and walked off toward the food stalls where the drivers were eating. Macklin and Sessions walked out of earshot of the driver changing the tire, and McCoy followed them.

"Under the circumstances, McCoy," Sessions said, "I decided that it was necessary to make Lieutenant Macklin aware of my real purpose in being here."

"Yes, sir," McCoy said.

He was not annoyed, but neither was he surprised. Sessions was more than a little pissed about their conversation in Nanking; and it was clear that Sessions was about to put him in his place. As missionaries have no authority to order Marine corporals around, it was necessary to let Macklin know who he actually was. He had thus told Macklin that he was an officer on a secret mission, and now they were both thrilled about their importance in the scheme of things-and prepared to deal with a lowly corporal who was standing in the way of their doing their duty. Captain Banning had warned him this was likely to happen.

"And we've been looking at the map," Sessions said. "Lieutenant Macklin thinks we can make it to Chiehshom before it gets dark. Do you agree with that?"

"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "It's a good place to spend the night. There's a good hotel there."

"So Lieutenant Macklin tells me," Sessions said. "More importantly, McCoy, it's not too far from Yenchi'eng, is it?"

McCoy's eyebrows went up as he looked at him. The Japanese 11th Infantry Division was at Yenchi'eng.

"No, sir," he said, "it's not."

"Have you ever been to Yenchi'eng, McCoy?" Sessions asked.

"Yes, sir," McCoy said.

"Do you know how the divisional artillery of the 11th Japanese Infantry is equipped?"

"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "They've got four batteries, they call it a regiment, of Model 94s. That's a 37-mm antitank cannon, but the Japs use it as regular artillery because they can throw so much fire. And the Chinese have damned little to use for counterfire."

"I want to check that out, McCoy," Lieutenant Sessions said.

"Sir?"

"I want to find out if the 11th Division has been equipped with German PAK38 (Panzerabwehrkanone, caliber 5cm, Model 1938) cannon."

"They haven't," McCoy said. "What they've got, Lieutenant, is maybe thirty-five Model 94s. Eight to a battery, plus spares."

"You seem very sure of that, McCoy," Lieutenant Macklin said.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"You know the difference between the two cannon?" Macklin pursued, more than a little sarcastic.

"The PAK38 is bigger, with a larger shield and larger wheels than the Model 94," McCoy said, on the edge of insolence, Lieutenant Macklin thought. "And it has a muzzle brake. They're not hard to tell apart."

"And you're absolutely sure the 11th Division doesn't have any of those cannon?" Sessions asked.

"I took some pictures of their artillery park a couple of weeks ago," McCoy said. "That's what they've got, Lieutenant. Thirty, maybe thirty-five 94s. Captain Banning sent the pictures to Washington."

"But we have no way of knowing, do we, Corporal McCoy, whether or not the Japanese have received German cannon since your last visit? Without having another look?" Macklin asked sarcastically.

"We have people watching the docks, and the railroad, and the roads. If the 11th Division had gotten any new artillery, we'd have heard about it."

" 'We'?" Macklin asked sarcastically.

"Captain Banning," McCoy said, accepting the rebuke, "has people watching the docks and the railroads and the roads."

"Under the circumstances-and after all, we are so close-I'm afraid I can't just accept that," Lieutenant Sessions said. "How long would you say it is by car from Chiehshom to Yenchi'eng?"