The Dakota came toward them and stopped. A couple of waiting-ground crew wheeled steps forward and waited for the door to open.

"So you don't think I'm asking dear old Chairman Mao too much?"

"Hell, no!" Stillwell laughed. "To be honest, Louis, if he agrees, I don't see how you'll be getting very much in return for all that aid you intend to give him."

"Better than nothing, old sport, especially if he agrees."

The door swung open, a young Chinese officer emerged. A moment later Mao Tse-tung appeared. He paused for a moment looking toward them, wearing only a simple uniform and cap with the red star, then he started down the steps.

Mao Tse-tung, Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party, was at that time fifty-one, a brilliant politician, a master of guerilla warfare, and a soldier of genius. He was also the implacable foe of Chiang Kai-shek, and the two sides had been engaged in open warfare instead of taking on the Japanese together.

In the office, he sat behind the Station Commander's desk, the young officer behind him. To one side of Mountbatten and Stillwell stood a British Army Major. His left eye was covered by a black eye patch and the badge in his cap was that of the Highland Light Infantry. A Corporal wearing the bonnet of the same regiment stood against the wall behind him, a cardboard office file under his left arm.

Stillwell said in fluent Cantonese, "I'll be happy to translate for these proceedings, Chairman Mao."

Mao sat facing him, face enigmatic, then said in excellent English, an ability he seldom advertised, "General, my time is limited." Stillwell stared at him in astonishment and Mao said to Mountbatten, "Who is this officer and the man with him?"