CHAPTER V
PRISON SHIP
The three Yanks were rushed out upon the parade ground at the Italianbase. Two squads of shouting Italian soldiers escorted them. They burstupon a scene of confusion and excitement. Stan looked across the groundstoward the runways. Suddenly he burst out laughing and poked Allison inthe ribs.
"Look! His Nibs is deserting us!"
General Bolero was leading his staff toward a parked plane. For a bigfat man he was making fast time. His cape floated out behind him and hehad lost his jaunty cap. His officers were loaded down with brief cases,files, and bundles of papers. The general was a full ten paces ahead ofthem.
"I'd call that a rout," Allison shouted.
"I think our outfits must be closing in. We'll have to do somestalling," Stan shouted.
O'Malley was already stalling. Four men were pushing him along, and hewas beginning to show signs of temper. Stan tried to get close enoughto shout a warning to him. He did not want O'Malley to start a riot atthat moment.
The Italians were evacuating the base in every sort of machine they had.Cars roared across the field, men pedaled by on bicycles, truckslumbered past, and a whippet tank snorted as it rolled past dragging afield gun. Men on foot rushed in every direction.
Stan stumbled and went down, managing to trip two soldiers. Instantly adozen Italians were upon him, tugging at him, waving their rifles andshouting. O'Malley took this as a signal to go into action. He swunghard on the chin of an officer standing beside him. The surprisedofficer went down like a felled beef. With a yell O'Malley waded in,swinging at soldiers as they piled in on him. Many bloody noses andblack eyes developed in a hurry, but O'Malley was swarmed under by theweight of sheer numbers. He went down yelling like a Comanche Indian andswinging like Joe Louis.
Stan struggled to his feet and held up his hands. He realized theuselessness of fighting against such odds. The melee O'Malley had causedhad drawn almost a company of Italians to the spot. Allison had managedto stay on his feet, but he had suffered from rough handling along withStan and O'Malley. His uniform, which was wet and sagging, had been tornin a dozen places.
"Go quietly!" an Italian officer bellowed. He had just arrived on thescene. "Go quietly or you will be sorry!"
"We're going, call off your dogs!" Stan shouted.
The officer shouted orders in Italian and soon restored a semblance oforder. Allison called across to Stan.
"Have a look above, and you'll see what all the excitement is about."
Stan looked into the sky and caught his breath. The paratroopers werecoming. Low over the hilly country a fleet of transports and glidersswept in from the sea. They swept along in perfect formation like giantbirds seeking a tree to light upon. Above them fighter planes wove inand out, while on either side fighter-bombers roared along. It was abeautiful sight.
Suddenly the Yank air soldiers began to pile out. The sky blossomed withcolored parachutes until the blue was thickly dotted with them like afield crowded with spring flowers. They came floating down with machineguns and supply hassocks dangling from their chutes. On a slope abovethe field a glider nosed in. It slid to a halt and a jeep bounded out ofits fat, rounded snout. Another glider slid in and a tank rolled out ofit almost before it had slid to a halt. The slope above them was alreadyswarming with Yanks, and machine guns were rattling.
Stan looked around desperately. They were being rushed toward a bigtruck. He made one last attempt to slow down their retreat. Shaking offthe men who held him, he ducked his head and hit the line of soldierslike a blocking back clearing a path for a ball carrier. Two Italianswent down, one under a straight, stiff arm and the other from a solidbody-block. Then a soldier clipped Stan across the head with the butt ofhis rifle. Stan went down on his face and lay still.
O'Malley had started his fight again, but this time the Italians werenot wasting precious minutes. O'Malley got a rap such as the one thathad felled Stan. Allison went down under a pile of soldiers. Twominutes later the three Yanks, out cold, were dumped into the truck andit was rumbling away along a paved road.
A few minutes later Stan groaned and opened his eyes. The truck was sopacked with soldiers that he was forced to sit up, even though he hadbeen out limp and cold. His head throbbed and felt twice its normalsize. Turning it a little he could look out over the side of the truck.They were rolling along a winding road, climbing in low gear. Lookingback Stan saw the battlefield they had just left.
The Yank airborne troops had swarmed onto the airfield. Already two bigYank planes had landed and men were spilling out to take over the field.With a groan Stan looked up. Twisting his head caused pains to shoot upand down his neck. He saw that the paratroopers were still coming in. Afield of white chutes filled the air, while behind them dropped thevaricolored chutes carrying equipment and ammunition. Gliders werecasting off their toggle hooks and swooping earthward. Equipped withtommy-guns, folding rifles, mortars, folding bicycles, bazookas andlight artillery, the air soldiers swarmed down.
Suddenly excited shouts from the Italians in the truck made Stan look upagain. A fighter-bomber was roaring down toward the truck. Stan saw thatthere were three trucks in the group and that they were closely bunched,an ideal target for the diving Yank. Grimly he watched the hundred-poundegg slide free as the bomber lifted and zoomed upward. The deadlymissile seemed to hang in the air for a moment, though it grew biggerand bigger every second. It appeared to be aimed straight at the lasttruck in line, which was their transport. Stan looked about for Allisonand O'Malley.
His pals were standing against the side of the truck, wedged in bysoldiers. They both looked weak and shaken. O'Malley was almost withoutclothes. Then the bomb hit. It landed in a bank just behind the truck. Agreat upheaval of earth and rocks lifted into the air and showered overthe truck. One rear tire exploded with a bang and the truck began towobble and jolt as it swayed along.
Then they broke over the top of the ridge and went careening down asteep slope. Five minutes later they had reached cover in an avenue oftrees. But the Italians did not halt for repairs. They wanted to put asmany miles as possible between them and the Yank air army before theirgas ran out.
An hour later the truck limped into another airfield which had not beenattacked. It was tucked away in a circle of hills with wooded slopesreaching down to a little valley. Here they found they had overtakenGeneral Bolero. He was out on the field rushing about, shouting ordersand apparently getting ready to take off again. His staff was trailinghim about, with their bundles and brief cases and files.
Stan and his pals were rushed into a small barracks room. The juniorofficer who spoke English had charge of them, backed by a dozen guards.
"We will supply you with clothing," he said, casting his eye over theirragged uniforms.
The clothing turned out to be blue shirts and bright green dungareeoveralls. O'Malley glared at the officer. Stan grinned as he slippedinto his outfit.
"It would save you a lot of trouble if you just turned us loose," hesuggested.
"You will not escape. You will be sent to Italy." The officer matchedO'Malley's glare. "Sicily can never be taken. Our infallible leaderMussolini has said Sicily can never be taken." He waved his handsexcitedly. "Your forces will be driven into the sea."
"I'll bet you a bottle of your finest wine that half of the island isalready taken," Stan answered.
"I say, why don't you kick the Germans out and help us along?" Allisonasked. He felt he might touch a sore spot in mentioning the Germans.
The shot hit home. A flush spread over the face of the officer. "TheNazi dogs," he snapped. "We will deal with them after we have used themto help us."
"Sure, an' they'll treat you like they did the Poles," O'Malley said."An' it will serve you right well, you spalpeens."
"We'd like to stop over here and rest a bit," Stan cut in. "We realizeyou treated us roughly because we made you a lot of trouble. We'll giveyou our parole. There'll be no more rough stuff."
"You talkin' fer me?" O'M
alley growled.
"I am," Stan said and gave O'Malley a hard look. "We'll see that you'rea nice, well-behaved boy."
"Agreed," Allison said, catching Stan's idea that he was playing fortime. Even if they gave their parole it would not prevent their beingcaptured by the Yanks.
The officer smiled knowingly. "You would like to stay here. You thinkyour air troops will take over this field. No, we will not be sofoolish. You leave for Italy in one hour." He turned and marched out,after giving orders to the guards.
"That's that," Stan said. "But we still have a chance. He didn't acceptour parole."
"They ought to be usin' their men to fight an' not be after keepin' awhole company here as guards," O'Malley grumbled.
"After the show you put on, they need a company," Stan snapped. "If we'dbeen good boys, they might have left us with a couple of guards."
"Who started the fuss?" O'Malley demanded.
"I stumbled, but that was just to slow down the procession," Stananswered. "I'll admit it was a mistake."
"We'd better be doing some heavy thinking," Allison warned. "If we don'twe'll spend the rest of this campaign in a prison camp."
There was no time for thinking and very little chance to talk. The Yankswere hustled out to the runways and loaded into a shaky and batteredFiat 20, two-engine bomber. They were escorted by the two squads ofguards who stood around with rifles at ready until the plane starteddown the runway.
Stan was squeezed in between O'Malley and Allison. The space inside thebomber was very limited, for it was not intended as a passenger plane.Besides the pilot and copilot, two men armed with pistols sat in thecramped quarters. The Italians had very thoughtfully provided theirprisoners with parachutes. One of the guards spoke English and was notunwilling to talk. Stan singled him out at once.
"I have been in America," the guard said in a friendly fashion.
"What city?" Stan asked.
"New York. I stay one year."
"Didn't you like it?" Stan asked with a grin.
"Sure, it was much good. I come back for my brother and then there iswar. I must stay." The soldier shook his head sadly.
"After the war you'll be going back?" Stan asked.
"Sure. It is a fine place to live, New York. I make plenty money, gotfriends." The soldier smiled. "I will see you then."
Stan laughed. "You sure will." His eyes were on the back of the pilot'sneck. If O'Malley reached out he could touch the man flying the plane.Stan bent forward, at the same time signaling O'Malley with his knee inshort and long taps. O'Malley finally woke up and answered the MorseSOS. As Stan talked to the soldier he also telegraphed to O'Malley andlater to Allison.
What Stan suggested was that they get control of the two pistols. Thefriendly soldier was bending closer. Stan would offer to show him somepictures from America that he had in his wallet. He would get the manoff guard and when he had a chance would grab his pistol and push himover into the cramped back part of the ship. O'Malley and Allison wouldhave to get the other pistol.
"I think I have some pictures you may recognize," Stan said. He fishedout a wallet which the Italians had not taken from him. Opening it hepulled out several snapshots of planes he had piloted at one time oranother, but he held them so that the soldier had to bend forward. Theguard leaned over almost against Stan.
Like a flash Stan's hand shot out and he had the pistol. He lungedforward at the same instant, planting his head in the guard's chest. Thesoldier went over his stool and landed in a cramped position in thenarrow waist of the plane.
O'Malley had leaped the instant Stan's hand shot out. Allison did a goodimitation of an American tackle. The second guard lost his gun but putup a tussle. Stan wedged past the struggling men and jammed the pistolbarrel into the neck of the pilot.
"We'll take over now," he snapped.
The pilot cringed forward while the copilot turned about. Stan circledhis neck with an arm and cinched down tight. Before the copilot couldwiggle free, O'Malley was up forward with the other pistol. The copilotlifted his hands. His face was white and he seemed scared.
"Drag him back and tuck him away with the guards," Stan ordered.
O'Malley and Allison dragged the copilot back and crowded him into thenarrow rear compartment with the others. Allison stood guard over them,while O'Malley and Stan took over from the pilot. The pilot was notafraid of the Yanks. He did signals of distress with his wings and putthe ship into a dive before Stan laid him out with a rap over the head.Sliding into the seat Stan began to fight the old Fiat to get her out ofa spin.
She was going down, twisting and shuddering in every rivet and stay.O'Malley finally climbed up front and grabbed the free set of controls.They heaved her out of her spin just in time. Their wings fanned thetops of a grove of trees and they had to lay over to miss the spire of achurch.
"I can handle her now," Stan called across. "I'll go up a bit and thenyou get back there and have the Italians bail out. We won't need anyprisoners. If they kick about it, tell them we'll be setting this shipdown on a Malta air strip. That ought to make them bail out." Stangrinned at O'Malley.
"Sure, an' it ought to," O'Malley agreed. "No Fiat iver got to land onMalta under her own power. We'll be shot to kindlin' wood."
"Maybe we won't go to Malta, but that's where we're headed until theybail out," Stan laughed.
O'Malley went back and within a few minutes the Italian crew wasunloading. O'Malley had convinced them the plane was headed for Maltaand they wanted none of the reception they knew an Italian plane wouldget over that base.
Stan watched them sail down, one after another. As the last parachuteblossomed out, Allison and O'Malley crowded forward. Stan had swung duesouth, and was holding that course.
"Suppose you see what you can do with the radio," Stan said.
Allison laughed. "There isn't any radio and there isn't a gun aboardthis ship, except our two pistols."
"Fine," Stan said and opened the old Fiat up a bit more. "In that casewe better get in before dark."
"You better be after rememberin' that I'm commander o' this outfit,"O'Malley broke in.
"All right, Commander, the ship is yours." Stan eased over a bit. With agrin O'Malley squeezed into the pilot's seat.
"Now you can be after givin' the orders," he said. "Where in blazes arewe?"
"We're over Italy," Stan said. "I think the town we just flew over wasCosenza, up the coast from Reggio."
"Do you be after thinkin' that's water ahead?" O'Malley asked.
They looked ahead and saw a strip of water and a long beach. Stanfrowned. "Must be the Gulf of Taranto. I guess I'm a bit mixed up."
"I say, old man, we better swing around and head southwest," Allisonsaid.
"We could fly to Africa," O'Malley remarked.
"Not on our gas supply. The Italians must be short of gas. Theycertainly didn't fill this crate up." Allison's mocking grin appeared atthe corners of his mouth.
"How much? Don't be holdin' out secrets on us," O'Malley growled.
"It's only a wild guess, but I'd say about forty minutes."
O'Malley gave a startled yelp and spun the ship around to a south bywest course. "Sure, an' we're gettin' out o' here," he said.
Allison slipped into the copilot's seat while Stan sat on a foldingstool behind him. O'Malley gave all his attention to nursing speed outof the old ship. He got her air-speed indicator up to two hundred andfifty miles per hour, but the indicator needle was bent, so there was nosure way of knowing how fast they were going. They left the expanse ofwater behind and headed over a rugged country. Stan felt certain theywere flying down the toe of the Italian boot.
Everything was going fine when Stan spotted fighter planes above themand to the west. He did not say anything until the craft were nearenough to be identified.
"Nine Airacobras off your port wing at two o'clock, Commander," heshouted.
O'Malley craned his neck and squinted, then he began to grin. "Sure, an'there is," he said. "It's an escort we've
been needin'. Likely the boyswill know the way home."
"Certainly they will," Allison said. "And they'll know a Fiat BR 20,also. This crate looks like a bomber."
"We better duck and go downstairs for a bit of hedge-hopping," Stanadvised. The Airacobras had spotted the lone bomber and were peeling offlike hounds scenting a buck.
O'Malley did not need any suggestions as to what to do. He nosed theFiat over and sent her down the chute in a screaming dive thatthreatened to pull the wings off her. Stan glanced at his chute harnessto make sure everything was in order. He figured O'Malley would fold upthe Fiat like an old accordion when he started to pull her out of thedive.
The Airacobras rapidly overtook the bomber, even though she waspower-diving far beyond her limit of stability. Stan saw one of the boysflash in on their tail.
"Kite her!" he bellowed. "Stinger on your tail!"
O'Malley and Allison both hauled back and the Fiat wobbled and staggeredas she started to lift. Stan could hear her joints giving way, then shebounced. Lead whistled below them, while the Airacobra roared down thetrail of its own bullets.
"Close," Allison muttered.
Stan squinted up and back. Two more fighters were lining up. It seemedplain that they were surprised at the antics of the Fiat. They had neverseen one do stunts like that before. The two came raking in, blastingfrom longer range. Stan felt the lead rip through the Fiat's wings andbody. One bullet plunked through close to his head, ripping a big hole,another exploded back in the tail compartment and half of the peninsulacould be seen through the hole.
"Sure, an' they need shootin' practice!" O'Malley bellowed as he slippedoff on one wing, did a stall, and laid over for another dive. They werenow close to the treetops. Another Airacobra dived in and when it zoomedaway, they were minus one wing tip and their port engine was stuttering.But they were down among the treetops and O'Malley was hedge-hoppinglike a wild man. They missed an ancient castle set on a cliff. HowO'Malley managed it he himself did not know. One wing lifted and theturrets of the old castle slipped under. Down they went into a littlevalley, fanning the treetops. One motor was dead and the other was notputting out much power.
Suddenly they realized that they were being covered by flak fired from afield ahead of them. The barrage was fierce and concentrated. It sentthe Yank fighters kiting up to a safer level. The boys felt sure oftheir kill anyway. The Fiat had started to billow smoke out of the tailcompartment where an incendiary shell had lodged.
"I'd rather bail out than land in this thing!" Allison shouted.
O'Malley shook his head and grinned. "Not one chance, she won't lift afoot. Here goes for a belly landing!"
They skimmed over a row of trees and headed for an open field surroundedby woods. The Fiat gave up the ghost halfway across the field. She justsettled down and hit the earth in a cloud of smoke and dust. Twistingand turning she plowed her way toward the far tree line. Finally shewhirled around and piled up. The dust and smoke was so thick the threeYanks could see nothing. Pawing and struggling they fought their way outof the mass of wreckage. They heard men shouting all around them.Bursting out of the smoke and dust, they found themselves surrounded byfifty or more German soldiers.
For a moment the Germans were as surprised as the three Yanks. They hadexpected to rescue a crew of Italian fliers. The men before them weredressed in the garb of Italian civilians. An officer bellowed an orderand the Germans charged in.
There was no place to run, except out on the open field, and that wouldhave been suicide because a half dozen of the Germans were armed withtommy-guns. The Yanks just stood waiting for the Germans to reach them.The officer in command of the rescue group, a tall fellow with a saberscar on his cheek, halted before them and regarded them critically.Slowly a sarcastic smile formed on his lips. He spoke to them sharply inItalian.
Stan answered in English. "We are officers of the United States Army."
The officer looked blank but another officer who had come up broke in,speaking clipped but perfect English.
"American fliers dressed as Italian civilians." He raised his eyebrows."We can thank your fighters for shooting you down. Your spy system isvery dumb, indeed. Your fighter planes should have known better."
"We were Italian prisoners of war. Our uniforms were ruined. As a matterof courtesy the Italians furnished us what clothing they had." Stanspoke stiffly. "We demand the rights of prisoners of war."
"We will decide what rights you have, but I believe you will be shot asspies." The officer turned to his superior and spoke in rapid German.
Allison had said nothing at all. O'Malley just glared at his captors,his big hands balled into fists. Stan moved close to him.
"Keep your shirt on. We're in a tight spot," he said in a low voice.
"Quiet, you!" bellowed the officer. "Do not talk to each other."
The ranking officer shouted a command and three German soldiers withmachine guns closed in behind the boys.
"March!" the younger officer snapped.
They marched toward the woods. The officer moved stiffly ahead. The boysrealized that escape from two squads of Italians would have been mucheasier than escape from the three Germans. They seemed eager to usetheir deadly tommy-guns.
"I understand German, you know," Allison murmured as he bumped againstStan. Stan moved closer to his pal and Allison went on.
"The commander is very angry because they were forced to open up on ourfighters. Now the location of their guns is known. He is also eager tolearn something about the strength of our air forces attacking Sicilyand heading for Italy. He hinted we would be baited on by a promise ofbeing treated as prisoners of war if we talked."
"We won't talk," Stan muttered. "Anyway, we don't know anything."
Entering the woods they found themselves in a cleverly hidden camp. Theboys were lodged in a barracks room with barred windows. Two otherprisoners, both Italians, were in the room. A guard stood at the door,while several others paced up and down outside.
"Looks snug and tight," Stan said.
"Sure, an' we'll soon find out," O'Malley growled.
"We'll go into a huddle and cook up something," Stan said. "We're not inthe hands of Italians now, and I don't feel up to facing a firingsquad."
A Yankee Flier in Italy Page 5