Sessions was naturally all excited, and had a hard time keeping himself under control. But he didn't order McCoy, he asked him whether it would be a good idea to send somebody-maybe him, maybe Zimmerman-right off to Tientsin with the film. Or to take the whole convoy to Tientsin instead of making the other stops.

And Sessions just accepted it when McCoy told him that if he or Zimmerman took off alone with the film, the Kempei-Tai, who had been following them around since they crossed the Yangtze River, would figure there was something special up, and that would be the last time he or Zimmerman would ever be seen.

"Chinese bandits, Lieutenant," McCoy said. "Since there really aren't any, the Japs have organized their own."

"And similarly, taking the whole convoy to Tientsin right away would make them think something was out of the ordinary?"

"Yes, it would," McCoy said. "They probably would leave the whole thing alone, but you couldn't be sure. If we do what we told them we're going to do…"

"That would be best, obviously," Sessions concluded the sentence for him.

"Aye, aye, sir."

And it will give us another night on the road, maybe more if I get lucky and one of the trucks breaks down. And maybe that will mean maybe more than one other night with Ellen. Christ knows, I've done all the crawling through rice paddies I'm going to do on this trip.

He had no such luck. They spent the next night in a Christian Missionary Alliance mission, where he was given a small room to share with Sergeant Zimmerman. Since he was in a different building from the officers and missionaries, there was just nothing he could do about getting together with Ellen.

He wondered if he might get lucky in Tientsin. He hoped so. It would probably be the last time in his life he would ever have a woman like that.

It was about two hundred miles from Huimin to Tientsin. About halfway there, there was another ferry. This one crossed a branch of the Yun Ho River. It wasn't much of a river, maybe two hundred yards across, and the ferry was built to fit. He thought for a minute that he and Ellen were going to get to cross first, which meant they would be alone for a little while. There probably was no place where they could screw- except maybe the backseat of the Studebaker. But he would have willingly settled for that.

At the last minute, though, Sessions decided to go too, and climbed in the backseat. And then, as McCoy was about to drive down the bank onto the ferry, Sessions had another officer inspiration.

"Sergeant Zimmerman!" he called. "Would you come with us, please?"

A moment later, he leaned forward.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to be all alone over there," he said, significantly. "Do you?"

"No, sir," McCoy said. "I guess not."

What does he think is going to happen over there? I shouldn't have told him about the Chinese/Japanese bandits. If I hadn't, he would have stayed behind, and I could have had fifteen, twenty minutes alone with Ellen.

When Ellen turned to smile at Ernie Zimmerman as he moved into the back beside Sessions, she caught McCoy's hand in both of hers, and held it for a moment in her lap. He could feel the heat of her belly.

On the other side of the river, he drove the Studebaker far enough up the road to make room for the convoy to reform behind it as they came off the ferry.

And then Lieutenant Sessions did something very nice.

"McCoy, you stay here in the car with Mrs. Feller. Sergeant Zimmerman and I will walk back to the river to wait for the others."

"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.

He took Ellen's hand as soon as they were out of the car. She held it in both of hers and drew it against her breast.

McCoy watched the rearview mirror very carefully until Sessions and Zimmerman had disappeared around a bend. Then he turned to her and put his arms around her.

"What are we going to do?" Ellen asked against his ear.

"I don't know," he said. "At least I got to put my arms around you."

She kissed him, first tenderly, then lasciviously, and then she put her mouth to his ear as she applied her fingers to the buttons of his fly.

"I know what to do," she said. "Just make sure they don't suddenly come walking back."

After a moment, she sat up to let him reach down and open her dress. Then he slipped his hand behind her, unclasped her brassiere, and freed her breasts.

And then, all of a sudden, the hair on the back of his neck began to curl, and he felt a really weird sensation-of chill and excitement at once.

He was being a goddamned fool, he told himself. He was just scared that the two of them would be caught together doing what they were doing.

And with a strange certainty, he knew that wasn't it at all.

He lifted himself high enough on the seat to look in the backseat. Zimmerman's Thompson was on the floorboard. That left Zimmerman and Sessions with nothing but Zimmerman's pistol.

"What are you doing?" Ellen asked, taking her mouth off him.

"There's a Thompson in the backseat," McCoy said. "You grab it and run after me."

He pushed his thing back in his pants and took his Thompson from the floorboard.

"What's the matter?" Ellen asked.

"Goddamnit, just do what I tell you!" he snapped, and sprang out of the car. As he trotted down the road, he chambered a cartridge in the Thompson. ' I'm going to race the hell down there and find the two of them sitting on a bench waiting for the ferry. And they are both going to think I've lost my fucking mind.

But they weren't sitting on a bench when he trotted around the bend.

They were up against a steep bank, and there were twenty, twenty-five Chinese, dressed as coolies, crowding them.

The convoy would be broken in pieces in only one place between Huimin and Tientsin. The only place, therefore, where it could credibly be reported that Chinese bandits had attacked it. And the Japanese had damned well figured that out.

And they had handed the Japs the opportunity on a silver platter. Sessions and Zimmerman were isolated and practically unarmed. After the 'bandits' finished with them, they would have come to the car.

Zimmerman had the flap on his.45 holster open, but hadn't drawn it.

"Take the fucking thing out, for Christ's sake," McCoy called out.

The Chinese looked over their shoulders at him. Several of them took several steps in his direction. Several others moved toward Zimmerman and Sessions.

McCoy was holding the Thompson by the pistol grip, the butt resting against the pit of his elbow, the muzzle elevated. He realized that he was reluctant to aim it at the mob.

Goddamnit, I'm scared! If I aim it at them, the shit will hit the fan!

He pulled the trigger. The submachine gun slammed against his arm, three, four, five times, as if somebody was punching him. He could smell the burned powder, and he saw the flashes coming from the slits in the Cutts Compensator on the muzzle.

Everybody froze for a moment, and then the Chinese who had been advancing on Zimmerman and Sessions started to run toward them. After that the shit did hit the fan. Pistols were drawn from wherever they had been concealed. McCoy saw that at least two of the pistols were Broomhandled Model 98 Mausers, which fire 9-mm cartridges full automatic.

McCoy put the Thompson to his shoulder, aimed very carefully, and tapped the trigger. The Thompson fired three times, and one of the Chinese with a Broomhandle Mauser went down with a look of surprise on his face. McCoy found another Chinese with a Broomhandle and touched the trigger again. This time the Thompson barked only twice, a dull blam-blam, and the second Chinese dropped like someone who'd been slugged in the stomach with a baseball bat.

As he methodically took two more Chinese down with two-and three-round bursts from the Thompson, he saw Zimmerman finally get around to drawing his pistol and working the action.