A Yankee Flier in Italy Part 14

"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 s.p.a.cious barns they came to the kennels. By the time they had pa.s.sed 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.

"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 st.u.r.dy 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."

"He'll come," Allison said, but he was not so sure the general was alive. He knew the Germans would be ruthless in wiping out all anti-Fascist leaders in the territory they controlled.

The boys climbed up and got into the beautifully streamlined c.o.c.kpits.

They slipped into the Italian parachutes and got set. Arno and Tony acted as ground crew and the engines were soon turning over smoothly.

Stan checked his dials and made himself familiar with gun controls and equipment; he cracked the throttle and listened to the roaring surge of power. Then he throttled down and leaned out, waving an arm in a signal that he was leading off. O'Malley and Allison answered the signal. They knew it was their job to see that Stan got through with his reports and maps.

Stan kicked the throttle open and the Nardi roared to life, leaping forward with surprising speed. Stan hoiked her tail with an added blast of prop pressure and tested her. She lifted at once. Unburdened by the armor plate carried by a Lightning or an Airacobra for the protection of the pilot and constructed of much lighter materials, she bounced off the ground before half of the short runway had been covered.

Stan leveled off close to the tops of the trees. He wanted to make sure Allison and O'Malley got away, and so he did not want to stir up the swarm of German fighter planes on the big flying field just a few miles away.

O'Malley came up and then Allison. They dropped into formation beside Stan and he set his course by compa.s.s, straight for Sicily.

CHAPTER IX

HOMEWARD BOUND

Stan was not sure of the terrain he had to fly over. He wanted to avoid the German flying fields if possible, but knew there would be many dispersal areas and flight strips. Getting through would be largely a matter of luck.

The formation of Nardi FN's swooped over the ridge above Bolero Villa.

Stan was flying low and pushing the Nardi hard. He grinned as he glanced at the air-speed indicator. They were topping three hundred miles per hour.

Suddenly they swept away from the hilly country and were over the German air base. There was nothing to be done about it but keep on going. Stan cast a critical eye downward and laughed softly. He took in the details of the carefully hidden dispersal plots, the tree-shaded oil dumps and the shrub-covered barracks. The picture he was fixing in his mind might be useful later.

They had reached the center of the area when the surprised ack-ack gunners woke up. A half-dozen groves of trees suddenly erupted flame and the sky above the three streaking Nardi's was filled with smoke tracers and exploding steel.

The Yanks went on and were away from the field before the gunners got their alt.i.tude spotted. Stan drew a deep breath of relief. He was glad that he had followed his hunch to fly low. Then he noticed O'Malley, on his right, zoom upward, while Allison looped off to the left. An instant later he spotted the reason for this maneuver. He had been so interested in the ground below that he had forgotten the sky. A returning flight of twenty Messerschmitts had spotted the Italian planes.

The Me pilots evidently had received orders not to let any Italian planes escape to join the Allies. They were coming in low for a landing and that gave the Yanks a break. But there were twenty of them, and they were faster and more heavily armed than the Nardi ships.

Stan held his course steadily, while he tried to coax a few more revs out of his motor. He was doing three-forty and could get no more.

Glancing up he saw that by quick thinking O'Malley and Allison had gotten the edge on the Jerries. They were up above and getting set to come down to cover his retreat.

Grimly Stan gave his attention to his course. He was hedge-hopping over trees and power lines. Never in his life had he seen so many power lines. By staying down he made it tough for a diving enemy. But these Jerries were veteran fliers. They had learned a few things about rhubarb raiders and how to handle them from the many raids staged out of England upon the low countries. Three of them fanned out each way, right and left, and came zooming around in a circle like coyotes bent upon cutting off the retreat of a jack rabbit.

Stan watched them as they went into their circle and saw that even in making such a maneuver they could outfly his ship. He held his course and a tight smile formed on his lips. Everything depended upon his timing. If he handled the thing right and guessed right, he would dodge the cross fire of the six killers.

The Me's came in in pretty formation, three to a side, staggered so as to lay down a terrible and enclosing wall of death. Stan's hands were cold upon the controls, but they were steady. His eyes took in all the attackers in one moving picture. He was waiting for a tip that would give him the break he needed. He had given up hope that O'Malley or Allison would be able to break through and crack the deathtrap. Fourteen Me's were savagely attacking them, bent upon their destruction.

The Jerries gave Stan his break just before they went into the final act of the kill. They thought they were trapping an Italian pilot and they knew just how the Italian boys flew. One of the planes on the left lifted a little to clear the zoom of the Me under him. That was all Stan needed to know. The three Jerries on the left would go up, slamming lead across his path. Two of the Me's on the right would go down and one would come in straight. Stan kicked the Nardi over hard to the left, heading her for the tower of a high line that swung down from the hills.

The Me's went into their act, guns blazing away, punching holes into the air. The maneuver was a beauty. The only thing wrong with it was that the target had shifted course suddenly, leaving them in a wild tangle with a lot of stunting to be done before they could close in again.

But Stan's troubles were not over. His left wing raked through the top of a small tree less than ten feet high. The power line and the high steel tower were hurtling at him. He flattened out and held his breath.

There was no time to zoom over the heavy cables; he had to go under and hope for the best.

Stan did not see the cables or the tower go by; all he knew was that he was boring straight for a red-roofed building set on a knoll. He zoomed up and drew in a big lungful of air. Looking back, he saw that his hounds were still busy getting untangled. He spotted only five of them and guessed that one had come to grief in the circus stunting they had been forced to do.