A Yankee Flier in Italy Part 3

"That would be our luck," Allison answered. "Where are we, anyway?"

"We must be near Bengazi." Stan peered down at the coast line.

A few minutes later their fears were realized. The transport began circling for a landing. They sighted the ruins of a town and were soon over it. Ten minutes later they were standing on a sand dune along with the pilot and copilot. A group of higher-ranking officers, including a general, stood a little way from them.

"We'll not be here very long," the pilot said, jerking his head toward his other pa.s.sengers. "Not with the big boy along. He's on an urgent mission. We've already radioed for a pick-up plane."

"He's hurrying in the wrong direction," Allison said.

Stan walked away and down the slope a bit. One of the Navy's NATS amphibian freight planes was down at the dock. Stan had learned to respect the Navy Air Transport Service. Those boys flew freight and mail from the United States to every part of the world where the Yanks were fighting, and they flew it on schedule. This plane probably was headed back to Tunis or Bizerte.

He pa.s.sed the high officers at some little distance. The wind was blowing away from them and he caught the irritated voice of the general.

"With this delay I'll have to go back. Action against Italy starts at dawn tomorrow." The wind whipped away the general's words and Stan did not hear any more, but what he had heard made him halt.

Invasion. The boys were going in for the kill and he was heading for a rest in Alexandria. Turning, he walked up the hill. Allison was chatting with the pilot. Stan motioned to him and they strolled down the slope.

When they were out of hearing of the crew, Stan said:

"I just overheard something."

Allison gave him a quick look. "Been eavesdropping?"

"An ill wind brought me a word from that general. We're hitting it back to Bizerte."

"I say, old chap, you know I'm going where I can have two hot baths a day. I'll have a barber shave me and I'll have breakfast served in bed.

You run along back to Bizerte, but I'm going on to Alexandria."

"The attack on Italy is set for tomorrow morning. The general is going back and I'm going with him. O'Malley isn't going to hog this show."

Allison halted and stared at Stan. Suddenly his twisted smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "If you put it that way, I guess I'm going back to Bizerte, too."

"The general has radioed for a plane to take him back. This delay has upset his schedule and he won't go on. We'll go back with him. Let's collar the old boy."

"We are under orders to report to Alexandria," Allison reminded him.

"The general doesn't know what our orders are. We can worry about little things like that after we get back," Stan said impatiently.

They walked across the slope to where the general was standing. There were four officers with him, three colonels and a major.

"Could we have a word with you, sir?" Stan asked as he snapped a salute.

"Certainly," General Miller said.

"We have decided to return to Bizerte and wondered if you could say a word for us if a westbound plane stops here. This delay will upset our plans and we might as well go back."

The general looked at Stan sharply. "What made you change your plans, besides this accident?"

Stan grinned. He did not dare admit that he had overheard the general talking.

"The farther we get from the base of action, the more jittery we get,"

he replied.

"You fellows have to be ordered to take leave," General Miller said and smiled. "Do your orders allow you such freedom of action?"

"We feel that they do," Stan said.

"I'm sorry I can't take you. I'm afraid I'd be called to account for helping you disobey orders." The general's smile had spread into a grin.

"You will go on as you should."

"Thank you, sir," Stan said. They both saluted and walked away.

"Guess we're sunk," Allison said sourly. "O'Malley will certainly rub it in when he sees us again. He'll be right in the middle of the big fight."

Stan was looking at the NATS amphibian and smiling. "We might be able to thumb a ride with the Navy."

Allison looked down toward the sea. The Navy boys were getting the big freighter set to take off.

"Worth a try, let's go down there."

They hurried down to the beach. An ensign was handling the shifting of supplies from the flying boat to a truck. He greeted Stan and Allison in a friendly manner after glancing at their service stripes.

"You boys are a bit off your reservation, aren't you?" he asked.

"We sure are and we want to get back. How about a ride to Bizerte?"

"We're not hauling pa.s.sengers, but if you piled in n.o.body would throw you off. We're supposed to cooperate with the Army in every way we can."

The ensign laughed.

"Great stuff," Allison said. "I'm March Allison and he's Stan Wilson."

"I'm Bert Thomas," the ensign said. "If you have bags you better get them aboard. We're about to shove off."

"We're not taking any bags back," Stan said hurriedly. He did not want to risk having the general order them to go on into Alexandria. In fact, he did not want the general to know they were going out with the amphibian.

"O.K. Just get aboard and find a place to sit down."

Stan and Allison climbed aboard the freighter. The crew paid no attention to them but went on lashing cargo into place, cramming all sorts of odd repair parts into every corner.

Ensign Thomas came aboard and took his place beside his copilot. Stan and Allison sat on the only two vacant seats along the arching ribs of the ship. They were careful not to take the s.p.a.ce reserved for the crew.

The freighter slid out into the bay and soon she was slapping the step of the lazy waves. A few seconds later she lifted and was off, rising slowly, roaring along like a gorged pelican. She did not have a machine gun or a cannon aboard and she was going it alone. The two fighter pilots, used to a bank of Brownings in front of them, felt uneasy. If a Heinkel or an Me 110 showed up, the old girl would be a dead duck.

No enemy planes showed up, however, and the freighter bored along.

Ahead of them the sun was settling down into the sea, filling the air with golden haze and making the water glow like sapphire. Just at sunset the freighter swung insh.o.r.e and eased down over the harbor at Bizerte.

Two fighter planes from a carrier lying offsh.o.r.e zoomed around her as she came in. She hit the water and glided in to a mooring.

"Pa.s.sengers ash.o.r.e!" Bert Thomas called back.

As they piled out Stan and Allison saluted the skipper. "Thanks a million," Stan said.