the field like a wrecked kite. Stan pulled up hard and as his P-51 lifted, he felt something hit her. It was as though he had slammed into a stone wall. She staggered, let down one wing, then nosed over. Stan felt the ground slap her and heard the ripping and tearing of metal as something exploded almost in his face. A blinding flash of light stabbed at his eyeballs and blinded him.
The Mustang rolled over and over, her sturdy fuselage refusing to crumple. Stan’s one thought was of fire. He pawed aside what was left of his hatch cover and heaved himself upward and out. Staggering free of the wreckage, he found himself enveloped in a choking pall of smoke. Off to his left, a heavy explosion shook the ground. Dirt and sticks and bits of metal peppered him and the smoke surged away before the concussion of the explosion. Stan staggered back and as he did so, four soldiers leaped at him out of the smoke.
One of the men lunged at Stan from the side and two from the rear. He felt a solid impact on the back of his head and felt himself slumping forward, then everything went black.
CHAPTER VI
PRISONER
Stan opened his eyes and found himself in a big room with stone walls and high windows. Sun was streaming in through two of the windows and gleamed upon piles of straw littering the floor. A dozen Yank airmen and several R.A.F. men sat on the straw. Stan lifted his hand to the back of his head and groaned. An R.A.F. man near him said:
“A bit of a tough rap? Can I get you some water? It’s all we’ve seen so far in the way of refreshments.”
“Thanks,” Stan said. “But where am I?”
“A Jerry prison. I take it you were one of the boys who bombed the fighter fields. I’m Captain Prentiss.” The Britisher smiled.
“I’m Stan Wilson. I’m not sure I bombed anything. Is there an Irishman here by the name of O’Malley?”
“Right-o. He was dragged in with you.” Prentiss got to his feet. “I’ll go tell him you’re awake.”
“Thanks.” Stan heaved himself to a sitting position and looked around. Several of the boys nodded to him but none of them got up. All of them were strangers to Stan, men from flights he had not worked with.
O’Malley came in from a narrow hallway and hurried across the room. When he saw that Stan was sitting up, a dark scowl on his face turned into a grin.
“Sure, an’ I’ve been yellin’ at them Krauts, tryin’ to get them to send a Doc in to fix you up. They jest laughed at me.”
“I don’t need a doctor. How did the raid go?”
“The boys say we blew ’em off the map. I talked with a couple of Lib boys just brought in. We cleared the path to Berlin.” O’Malley grinned eagerly. “I’m glad ye’re feelin’ foine now. We have to get out o’ this hole.”
Stan looked up at the high, barred windows. “Yes, we do,” he said, more to encourage O’Malley than because he had any hopes. They were deep in the heart of Germany and soon would be in a closely guarded prison camp.
“They’re takin’ us to another prison in a few minutes. The guard says we get to eat before we’re locked up again. We have to be questioned by the Gestapo.” O’Malley leered angrily.
“You mean German Intelligence,” Stan corrected.
“All the same. Himmler runs ’em both,” O’Malley answered.
They were interrupted by a shout from the hallway. A burly German officer stamped into the room and stood looking at the men.
“Get to your feet!” he yelled.
The men slowly rose and stared at the officer. He glared at them, his eyes moving over them slowly.
“You should be treated as swine, you bomb cities and kill non-combatants. Der Fuehrer does not like this,” he snarled.
“We are only following the example you set at Warsaw and Rotterdam,” a British major said as he stepped over and faced the German. “We are prisoners of war and you’ll treat us as such, my fine fellow.”
Stan moved forward quickly. The R.A.F. major stood with his feet planted well apart, facing the German. The German lashed out suddenly with a knotted fist. The major swayed a bit and ducked the blow. He started a right cross for the German’s jaw but Stan dived in and pinned his arms.
“Swine! Dog!” the German bellowed. “You will pay for this.”
“Take it easy. Knocking his block off won’t help you any,” Stan said as he released the major’s arms. “There ought to be better ways.”
“I’m sorry,” the major said stiffly.
The German glared around him. He puffed out his chest and struck a stiff pose.
“You are to be moved to other quarters. Anyone trying any sneaking business will be shot. Is dot clear?”
“It’s clear. Get on with the moving,” Stan said crisply.
“You better be after feedin’ us,” O’Malley broke in.
The officer blew a whistle and a squad of soldiers filed in. The men lined up and the officer began splitting the prisoners up into small groups. He sent six men away with the guards and whistled for another squad.
“They must think we’re tough,” Stan said and grinned.
Before Stan and O’Malley were sent out, a young lieutenant entered and spoke to the officer in charge. He faced the remaining men.
“Lieutenants Wilson and O’Malley are wanted at once for questioning.” He glared about him.
Stan and O’Malley stepped forward.
“Come with me,” the young lieutenant snapped.
“What? No squad with fixed bayonets?” Stan asked and grinned.
The lieutenant smiled. “Where we are going there will be no need for an armed guard.” He walked away with Stan and O’Malley beside him. O’Malley kept a sharp eye open for a chance to escape. Stan was afraid if they passed an open door O’Malley would bolt through it.
They entered a long hallway and were marched to its far end where they entered a small room. There was a table and a few chairs.
“You may as well sit down,” the lieutenant said.
“You almost talk United States,” Stan observed.
“I should. I spent ten years in Pittsburgh,” the lieutenant explained.
“How did you come to get over here in Germany?” Stan asked.
“During those years I was working for the greater Germany,” the officer answered stiffly. “Heil Hitler.” He did an about-face as precisely as though he had been on parade before Hitler and marched out of the room.
“Don’t tell them anything,” Stan said.
“Sure, an’ the Gestapo has my life history written down anyway,” O’Malley said. “I think we’re in Berlin and I’d be after likin’ it if I could get loose.”
“We’ll be watched very close at first. We’ll have to wait,” Stan warned.
Two officers, a major and a colonel, accompanied by the young lieutenant, entered. The ranking officers seated themselves at the table; the lieutenant stood before Stan and O’Malley.
“You are a part of the Eighth Air Force?” he asked.
“Yes,” Stan answered.
“Do you know how many fighters and bombers your force has?”
“No,” Stan answered.
“How many of the new type of fighters do you have? The sort you were flying when shot down.”
“I’ve heard some of the boys say a couple of thousand,” Stan answered. He was merely reporting a bit of mess rumor he had heard the day before.
The lieutenant scowled and spoke in German to his superiors. After that the questions came fast, but neither O’Malley nor Stan offered any further comment. They answered simply yes or no or refused to answer at all. Finally the senior officer got up in disgust and stamped out.
“You are fools,” the lieutenant snapped.
