Eagles at War Read Online Free Page A

splashed into blood.
    The American pointed to the copilot slumped against the control wheel, blood pouring from wounds stitched across his chest. "He's dead. Pull him out of the seat, and fly copilot for me. I might need you if those bastards come back."
    The rest of the flight into Hankow was uneventful; Lee sat in the blood-stained seat, queasily aware of the gore oozing through his trousers. The roads outside the city were jammed with people leaving, most walking with their possessions slung on poles, a few lucky ones with carts piled twice as high as they stood.
    The pilot pointed. "Refugees evacuating. We're expecting the Japs in a week or so. These people don't want to stay here for a replay of the rape of Nanking."
    The runway was a disaster, pocked with holes, its margins strewn with the wreckage of crashes, the pennons of their tattered fabric showing that some had been there for years. When they taxied in, he could see a Packard staff car pulled up to the flight line. Chennault himself was driving, no mustache now, but his face as craggy as ever.
    "What the hell happened to you, son? You hurt? Trying to start your own war even before I get a chance to tell you what's what?"
    Chennault 's Southern-accented bellow betrayed his deafness. Lee saluted and Chennault, relieved to see that he wasn't wounded, grinned. "That's right, play it military with your ass dripping blood like a stuck gator! Don't think you're going to ruin the seats of my car.
    Throwing Lee's bags in the trunk, he commanded, "You stand on the running board next to my window here, and hold on. I'll try not to scrape you off against a rickshaw."
    Chennault drove with flair and his horn, sending pedestrians scrambling, talking continuously and doing little listening.
    "They don't like me to drive myself, they say I lose face, but my Chinese drivers are too dangerous."
    Lee hung on as the Packard wheeled into the arched entrance of Chennault's compound, squealing to a halt in front of a mass of servants.
    Chennault waved expansively, saying, "Manpower's the one thing there's no shortage of in China. You go get a bath, and come down for drinks and some home cooking. Civvies will be fine."
    The big old house was cool and silent as Lee and two servants padded down teak-paneled hallways to a huge room overlooking the central atrium of the compound. A garden was at one end, with fruit trees now losing their leaves and well-tended flower beds; at the other end the kitchen, laundry, and garage ran haphazardly into each other.
    There was a tub of hot water in his room; Lee bathed, changed into wrinkled shirt and slacks, and went downstairs. As he entered he heard the welcome clink of ice dropping into glasses.
    "J.C., you look just like your daddy—he's about five-eight, too, isn't he? And the same red hair and freckles. By golly, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
    He gestured at his brimming drink. "I just have two a day. You probably need one after your flight. Tell me all about it."
    Chennault listened intently to Lee's account of the attack.
    "Yes, the bastards are getting bolder. You're right about them being out of ammunition; that's the only reason they let you go. I'm surprised they didn't try to fly you into the ground. Hankow's about the limit of their range; they were probably short on fuel, too."
    He swallowed with the lip-smacking appreciation of a man who knows he likes to drink too much.
    "For a while, they weren't shooting at CNAC planes, but now that they're almost in Hankow—and we don't have any air defense—I guess they're starting up again."
    "No defense? How many planes do you have?"
    "Damn few. The Chinese busted up all their Curtiss Hawks in landing accidents. Let's eat."
    The food was served in endless steaming trays, delicious but successively spicier. Lee could see that Chennault was teasing him, seeing how much he could take; as they ate, he watched Lee closely, all the while popping little red and green peppers into his