“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:
