A Yankee Flier in Italy (a yankee flier) Read online

  “Thirty days,” Allison replied. “It was the best deal I could make.”

  “Thirty days!” Stan repeated. “Italy will be captured by that time and we’ll miss the show.”

  Allison grinned. “You know, I got the idea the general figured Italy would be out of the war by then.”

  “’Tis the first time I iver promised to stay in jail,” O’Malley said sadly. “But after lookin’ down the barrels o’ them Nazi rifles, I’m not kickin’ on the bargain.”

  “Yes, we’d have missed all of the show if Allison hadn’t outsmarted that Gestapo officer,” Stan agreed.

  CHAPTER VII

  REST CURE

  General Bolero took his prisoners to a villa a few miles from Naples. Here they had comfortable quarters and good food. They saw little of the general, as he was busy attending to the fortification of the Salerno and Naples water fronts. When they did see him, he always spoke with little respect for his German allies. Stan and Allison liked the general, but O’Malley did not warm up to him. The Irishman had never liked high-ranking officers. To him they were always brass hats.

  The days passed slowly. The boys had a small radio and always tuned in the Algiers radio station for news of the Allied attack upon Sicily. The news of the fighting made them squirm, and for hours after listening to a military report of the advance of Patton and Montgomery they paced the floor. O’Malley was especially restless. He marked each day off on the calendar and planned his escape.

  On the twenty-seventh day the boys were seated on a shady balcony from which they could look down toward the city of Naples. Directly below the grounds of their villa were the headquarters and general assembly fields of the Germans. They seemed to be present in considerable strength. Stan sat with his feet on a railing. Allison was near the railing. O’Malley was sprawled out in an easy chair.

  “Sure, an’ it will be no trick at all to get away,” he said.

  “Before our parole is up the general will make other plans for us, you can bet on that,” Stan answered.

  “I’ll bet we’re locked up,” Allison added.

  “We could sneak out a bit ahead o’ time,” O’Malley suggested.

  “The general has treated us very fine, besides saving our lives. We stay until one minute after midnight of the thirtieth day,” Stan said firmly.

  “I’m goin’ crazy,” O’Malley growled, “sittin’ around here listenin’ to air fights. There won’t be a German plane left to tangle with by the time we get back into it.” He sat up and scowled down at the German camp. “Besides, these Italians can’t make decent pie.”

  The boys laughed and O’Malley joined in. Behind them a curtain parted and four officers stepped out on the balcony. The general was paying them a visit and he had with him three flying officers of the Italian air force.

  The Yanks got to their feet. The general smiled in friendly fashion and waved a hand toward the three fliers.

  “I have brought three of my boys, Tony Bolero, Arno Bolero and Lorenzo Bolero. They are all officers of our air corps.” He faced the Yanks. “Lieutenant Wilson, Lieutenant O’Malley, and Lieutenant Allison.”

  The Bolero trio bowed deeply. Stan stepped forward and held out a hand.

  “Glad to meet you, Lorenzo,” he said.

  The fliers shook hands while the general beamed happily upon them.

  “Sit down. I have much to say to you men,” he said.

  They found chairs and pulled them up beside a table. The general seated himself and puffed out his cheeks as he fished a thick envelope from his pocket.

  “What I am about to say is most unusual. I have a request to make of you Americans. I wish you to extend your parole.” He lifted a hand as O’Malley opened his mouth to say no. “I feel that you should do this after the manner in which you have been treated.” He smiled at Stan.

  “For how long, sir?” Stan asked.

  “I cannot say exactly, but not for very much longer. I am leaving my boys here and they will be with you during the time you stay here.” His smile faded and he suddenly looked tired and old. “I ask this for a personal reason. Perhaps I am selfish.”

  “You saved our lives, sir,” Allison said. “I’m giving my parole for a while longer.”

  “I’ll give mine, sir,” Stan promised.

  They looked at O’Malley. “An’ I’m gettin’ away if I can,” he declared.

  The general bowed. “You know, of course, that I must place you in custody of a guard?”

  “Sure,” O’Malley replied. “Sure, but I’m gettin’ itchy feet.”

  The general nodded. He handed the fat envelope to his eldest son, Lorenzo.

  “You will keep this for me. Above all it must not be given to the Germans.” He got to his feet. “Now I must be getting back to headquarters. I trust you have been comfortable, gentlemen?”

  “We have, thank you, sir,” Allison said.

  Gravely the general shook hands with the three Yanks and with each of his sons. At the doorway he paused and they all gave him a snappy salute. After he was gone the Bolero boys were silent. They stood at the balcony looking down on the shady road until his car disappeared inside the German camp. Lorenzo turned to Stan and there was a tight smile on his lips.

  “This is a strange war for the Italians,” he said.

  “It is,” Stan agreed.

  The brothers shrugged their shoulders and started to chat with the Yanks in smooth English. They had learned the language in Great Britain. O’Malley sat back and said nothing. Stan and Allison carried on the talk. The war was not mentioned again. Allison and the brothers talked about schooldays in England.

  At last Lorenzo got to his feet. The others joined him. They all bowed.

  “We leave you now but will see you at dinner tonight.”

  After they had gone, O’Malley burst out, “You sure did get tricked by that ol’ brass hat.”

  “I don’t think so,” Stan said.

  “I say, old man, you better change your mind. If you don’t, I’ll wager you a dinner we see action before you do.” Allison was smiling.

  “Sure, an’ you talk riddles,” O’Malley snorted.

  “There’s only one place the general can put you for safekeeping right now. He’ll have to turn you over to the Germans. This part of the country has been taken over by the Nazi gang.” Allison spoke slowly. “The general hates the Nazis. Figure it out for yourself.”

  “An’ suppose he pops up with a regiment o’ soldiers to take you to a camp about five minutes before our parole is up?” O’Malley asked.

  “He could do that anyway,” Stan answered. “We’ve waited a month. A few more days won’t kill us. I have a feeling Allison is right.”

  “The Italians have thrown Mussolini out, perhaps they will start throwing the Germans out,” Allison said.

  “They wouldn’t have a chance,” O’Malley answered.

  “I guess you’re right about that, but something’s up. I’m going to wait and see.” Stan walked to the balcony rail and seated himself.

  That night at dinner the Bolero brothers were quite gay. And for the next few days they were always around, but always friendly and polite. Stan wondered why they were not at the front. Italy certainly needed every pilot she had. He did not think that the officers had been detailed to watch them.

  The parole day came and a guard arrived in the morning. The three Yanks saw a squad of Italian soldiers headed by a young officer halt in the yard below. O’Malley sat on the rail, watching. The young officer came to the balcony alone.

  “Which one is Lieutenant O’Malley?” he asked.

  O’Malley grinned at him. “Sure, an’ that’s me. I’m glad you dropped in. Tell General Bolero that I am givin’ my parole, though it is against me better judgment.”

  The officer bowed. “I am pleased,” he said. “I will report this to the general.” He bowed again and turned on his heel.

  Stan looked at O’Malley. “I thought you’d get some sense into that shaggy head of
yours.”

  “We’ll rot right here,” O’Malley said with a scowl. “But the likes o’ you has need o’ someone to look out for you.”

  “Thanks,” Stan said. “You are very thoughtful.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  ESCAPE

  The three Yanks were sitting on their balcony restlessly watching the activity in the German camp below. They were beginning to wonder if General Bolero ever meant to release them from their promise. His sons still remained at the villa, but they never mentioned the war. Suddenly Lorenzo burst out on the balcony. He halted and lifted both hands excitedly.

  “Italy has surrendered!” he announced. “You are free men!”

  Before the Yanks could reply, Arno and Tony rushed in. They were very excited.

  “This is the hour we have waited for,” Tony shouted. “Now we will drive out the Black Shirt Fascisti and the Germans.” The younger brothers embraced each other and danced up and down. Lorenzo smilingly watched them. Slowly he turned to the three surprised Yanks. “My family—we have fought against the big-talking Mussolini. We belong to the society Free Italy.”

  “Great!” Allison exclaimed.

  O’Malley was already headed for the door.

  “Wait!” Lorenzo shouted after him. “I must tell you some things.”

  O’Malley halted and turned toward the door. “Sure, an’ all I want is to get back into this fight.”

  “I am sure you do,” Lorenzo said. “And I am going to help you.”

  “Good,” Stan said.

  Lorenzo took a fat package from his pocket. It was the package his father had given him. He held it out to Stan.

  “Here are the locations of all German bases in Italy, the positions of batteries, the supply routes used, and all the military maps you will need. This is very important information.”

  O’Malley was staring at the package. “Sure, an’ it’s of no use now with Italy out o’ the war. We’ll be headed for Germany.”

  Lorenzo shook his head. “I’m afraid it is not so easy as that. Germany has as complete control of Italy as she has of any conquered country. The Germans will be helped by our Black Shirts, who know they will be treated badly if they do not stay in power.” He spread his hands wide. “Every officer like my father will be hunted down. We will be hunted. Today we dress as civilians and go north to destroy Nazi rail lines and supply dumps.”

  Stan took the packet. “Have you any suggestions for our getting out of Italy?”

  Lorenzo smiled. “My brothers and I will have no use for our Nardi fighter planes. Perhaps after the war we might be repaid with an Airacobra.”

  “’Tis a foine set o’ brothers ye are,” O’Malley cried. “Lead me to those Nardi ships.”

  “They are in a woods north of the villa. On the hunting acres of the Bolero estate there is a runway the Germans have not found. I will lead you to your planes. But we had best hurry as the Germans are taking over everything.” He spread his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders. “You know how efficient the Germans are.”

  “You will go nowhere,” a harsh voice said.

  The boys whirled toward the wide doorway leading to the balcony. Four German soldiers with tommy-guns stood glaring at them. A youngster with an officer’s insignia on his shirt spoke.

  “We have heard what you said. You are spies and will be dealt with quickly.”

  Lorenzo was in front of Stan. He whispered, “Over the balcony rail. There is a large shrub to land on. Take the path leading from the kennels. Cross the ridge. There is no road to the field.”

  “You, stop talking!” the German officer shouted.

  Stan did not hesitate. He did a backward flip. As he went over the railing he saw flame flash from a machine gun. He caught a glimpse of Lorenzo sagging forward, his hands gripping his stomach.

  The next instant he had plunged into a large bush which broke his fall. He lay beside a rock wall in a ditch. Vaguely he knew where the kennels were. Tony had taken him back to see the dogs one evening after dark. From above he could hear the officer bellowing down to the men he had left below. He hoped the Germans had felt so sure of their quarry that they had not surrounded the house.

  Reaching a corner he discovered a guard there. The man was looking up, listening to his commander’s orders. Stan hit him hard in the back with a knee and slapped a viselike grip around his neck. The man sagged down without a murmur. Stan stripped off the fellows cartridge jacket and grabbed his tommy-gun. He was glad the Germans had equipped their hounds with rapid-fire guns.

  Leaping forward he reached the back of the house. There he halted. The squad cars were in the back yard, two of them. Four men stood at the back door listening to the shouting above. Stan saw the kennels and set himself to blast a path to freedom.

  Suddenly he heard a wild yell from above. It was O’Malley and Stan could tell the Irishman was seeing red. There was a fight in progress up on the balcony. Machine guns chattered savagely. Stan felt suddenly sick to his stomach. The boys were up there mixing it barehanded with four Germans armed with machine guns.

  The guards at the door whirled to leap into the house. Stan’s submachine gun burst into flame and he swept a pathway of death across the ranks of the Nazis. They went down in a writhing mass, one of them rolling off the steps and crawling away on his hands and knees, leaving a bloody path behind him.

  Stan leaped for the back door and plunged into the house. He went through the spacious music room and up the wide stairway leading to the balcony like a charging tank, his submachine gun at his hip, his eyes like cold steel.

  Leaping through the doorway he swept the room with his gun. O’Malley and Allison and Tony were crowded back against the wall. O’Malley was bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder. A broken chair lay on the floor and beside it lay a dead German. Lorenzo lay on the floor face up. He was dead, but there was a smile of triumph on his lips. Arno had sagged down into a chair. He, too, was bleeding from a head wound.

  The three Germans had their backs to the door. The officer was wild with fury. He was shouting wildly.

  “If I did not have orders to bring you in so that we can force you to tell who your underground helpers are, I would shoot you all and leave you here to rot!”

  “Put up your hands or you’ll stay here to rot!” Stan snapped.

  The Germans whirled about. As they turned, the two soldiers dropped their guns and elevated their hands. The officer came around with his machine gun firing. Stan opened up and cut him down. The two men began shouting:

  “Kamrad! Kamrad!”

  Stan backed them up against the wall. Before he had gotten them moved O’Malley and Allison had their tommy-guns. They stripped the ammunition from the soldiers.

  “Tie them up,” Stan snapped. He turned about and saw that Tony and Arno were kneeling beside their brother.

  “We should go now. We cannot help him, but I shall see that he is mentioned in my reports as a hero in the cause of democracy,” Stan said softly.

  The two brothers straightened and rose to their feet. They stood stiffly and saluted.

  “We will show you the flying field,” Arno said.

  “We better get moving. Both squad cars made off and they’ll bring back reinforcements. The drivers didn’t happen to be armed or else they thought the place was garrisoned.” Stan nodded toward Arno and O’Malley. “Plug those wounds as you go along.”

  “I will get first aid and medicine from the cabinet in my room. I’ll overtake you,” Tony said.

  They moved down the wide stairway, leaving the German soldiers where they would be rescued. Tony dashed off while the others, led by Arno, hurried out of the house and across the yard to the stables. Racing through the spacious barns they came to the kennels. By the time they had passed these Tony had caught up with them.

  Pushing through a hidden gate in a hedge they came to a bridle path over which tall trees draped their branches.

  “I say, a beautiful spot,” Allison murmured.

&n
bsp; “It has the smell of auld Ireland,” O’Malley said wistfully.

  “We are very fond of it,” Tony said.

  Arno was ahead, moving rapidly upward. They hurried along and caught up with him. From then on there was no talking; the trail wound upward steeply, covered by a canopy of trees. Reaching the top of the ridge they broke out into a forest. Arno led them to a spot where there was a narrow flight strip. Still they saw no planes.

  Crossing the strip they entered a grove of tall trees and there stood three, trim ships. O’Malley yelped with joy. Stan looked at the craft critically. They were Nardi FN 500’s, obsolete in speed and fire power, but trim and sturdy ships just the same. Arno smiled.

  “We built this secret field so that we could slip in at night without the black-shirted Fascisti knowing where we had gone. We met often to plan the overthrow of Mussolini and his murderers.”

  “You landed here at night?” Allison asked in amazement.

  “Certainly,” Arno answered modestly.

  “We could use you as a fighter pilot,” Stan answered. “When you get through blowing up bridges and trains, you’d better join us. We’ll vouch for you.”

  “We will do that. We like very much to fly,” Tony said eagerly.

  “You will find the guns on the ship are serviced. The engine is 1200 horsepower, you have two fixed guns firing through the prop and two guns fixed in the wings. You can get three hundred and fifty miles per hour out of those ships,” Arno spoke proudly.

  “Yet they are not as good as the Messerschmitts or the Focke-Wulf,” Tony added. “And I think you will have to fight your way home against the Germans.”

  “Sure, an’ we’ll show them a fight,” O’Malley said happily.

  “You have gas to reach Malta, but not much for fighting. It is best that you run fast for home,” Arno advised.

  “We’ll do just that,” Stan said, remembering the package inside his shirt.

  Tony and Arno helped them wheel the Nardis out on the flight strip. They were surprised to find another ship tucked away under the trees.

  “Father’s ship,” Arno said with a catch in his voice. “But he has not been able to come for it.”