A Yankee Flier in Italy (a yankee flier)

by Rutherford G. Montgomery Al Avery

  They found their quarters and all headed for the showers. O’Malley wanted to eat first but they talked him out of the idea.

  CHAPTER XII

  SALERNO

  Events moved rapidly for Stan during the next day or so. General Montgomery’s Eighth Army was driving up the toe of the Italian boot, while General Clarke’s Fifth Yank army was having a tough time holding its bridgehead at Salerno. Stan was tickled when O’Malley and Allison returned. Arno and Tony came with them.

  Colonel Benson called the boys to his headquarters. He was a very busy man. He was working twenty hours a day and lines of weariness furrowed his face. His fighters and bombers were at last masters of the air over Salerno, but they got no rest after their victory. The Germans were entrenched in specially prepared spots on high ground overlooking the beaches. Artillery positions had to be blasted, and the repeated tank attacks had to be checked or the Fifth’s landing force would be blasted into the sea.

  The boys entered the colonel’s office. He nodded toward chairs. When they were seated, he turned to Stan.

  “Have you any plans for the rescue of General Bolero? We need his knowledge of military positions behind the German lines.”

  Stan looked at Arno. “The plans are really Lieutenant Arno Bolero’s,” he began. “Arno and Tony are familiar with every foot of the country where their father is being held. He is a prisoner in a house once owned by Don Sachetti. The Sachetti family and the Bolero family were very close friends. Arno and Tony have spent many days at their home. If they can go with us, we will have a chance of success.”

  “They can go. Now what is your plan?” the colonel glanced at his wrist watch. He was to have a conference with high officers in five minutes.

  “We will take one De Havilland plane. Four of us will parachute into a field at night. Here, again, the boys will know just where to land to hit a field of grain the Germans are saving for harvesting. The plane will return to base and come after us the next night. If we do not set signal flares for landing, the plane will retire and keep watch until forced to fly home. It will return the next night and if we do not signal it then, it is not to try again.”

  Colonel Benson looked from one to the other of the boys. “I understand you men are accustomed to such dangerous jobs. To me it seems there is about one chance in a hundred of your even landing your parachute force.”

  “If there was an attack on the German field south of the place about the time we arrive, we could get in easily,” Stan suggested. “I have prepared a set of maps showing good targets. The Bolero house is a hotel for German officers.”

  “I’ll have operations chart a raid,” the colonel promised. “Now I have to go. Lieutenant Wilson will be in command. I have given orders to have him supplied with what he wants.” He stepped around the table and shook hands with the boys. “I’m leaving this show up to you fellows. Good luck to you.” He turned and hurried out of the room.

  “Sure, an’ that’s the first time the brass hats iver turned us loose,” O’Malley said with a big grin.

  “And it will likely be the last time,” Allison said with a chuckle.

  “We’d better be getting over to operations. Now, who’s flying the Mosquito?” Stan looked from Allison to O’Malley.

  O’Malley swallowed eagerly. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, but he turned to Allison. Allison grinned at him.

  “You fly the crate, old man. I’m one blighter who wants to get even for some of the slaps and kicks we got in that prison dog house.”

  “Sure, an’ I’ll be after flyin’ her,” O’Malley said. “But only because I’m thinkin’ ye’ll be needin’ the best pilot in this crew at the controls o’ that ship.”

  “You hate yourself, don’t you?” Stan teased. “You fly her, but just remember, if you get into a dogfight and don’t show up when we set off our flares, you’ll get the beating of your life when we walk in.” He grinned at O’Malley.

  “I’ll be right there,” O’Malley promised.

  All of the details had been worked out and gone over so many times by the boys that they did not need to check again. They drew the machine guns and grenades they needed along with flares and other equipment. The supply officer got blue parachutes for them from an operating unit.

  “Can’t be spotted at night,” he explained.

  Evening was closing in by the time they had everything set. The Mosquito was warmed up and ready. She was stripped down for carrier purposes and to enable her to handle an extra gasoline tank. The ground crews gave her a final once-over, waved to her crew, and backed off. Stan sat up front in the copilot’s seat to see that O’Malley was not teased into a fight. Allison and the Bolero brothers manned the machine guns.

  O’Malley was a bit skeptical about the powers of the De Havilland, in spite of what Stan had told him. He gunned her and gave her her head. When she snapped off the ground in a manner that would have done credit to a Lightning, he began to grin and mumble to himself.

  “Just don’t get any wild ideas,” Stan warned. They had sighted a flight of Focke-Wulf 190 fighters and O’Malley was eying the Germans with a dangerous gleam in his eye.

  “If they run in on us, ye can’t blame me,” he said sourly.

  The 190 fighters tried a run at the De Havilland, but she ran away from them before they could begin to cut her off.

  “She’s so fast she keeps out of trouble,” O’Malley said in disgust.

  “That’s just what she was built for. Every night her sisters keep Berlin awake with bombing attacks, and every night they fly materials and dispatches from England to Malta. This is something you’ve overlooked, Irisher.” Stan chided O’Malley.

  “I may be after lookin’ into her doings one o’ these days. Spendin’ ivery other evenin’ in London wouldn’t be so bad,” O’Malley decided.

  Heading north they eased across the backbone of the peninsula which the Germans had not taken the trouble to occupy in any numbers. They moved along while darkness settled. Arno and Tony kept a close check on landmarks. Finally Arno called up to Stan over the phone.

  “We can head west again. I have located the ridge and the mountain we will use as a marker.”

  O’Malley headed the Mosquito west, letting her ease down to low altitude. Arno called in directions.

  “We are coming to the divide. There we will follow the ridge north.”

  O’Malley followed instructions. As they swept up the ridge they saw below them a great fire, with several smaller fires breaking out near by.

  “Colonel Benson’s boys have hit the flying field,” Stan observed to O’Malley.

  “Sure, an’ I think they’re over the Bolero place right now.” O’Malley jerked his head to the right. At that moment Tony’s voice came in over the intercom.

  “The bombers are attacking the villa.” He tried not to show his feelings, but the boys knew how he felt. His home was being blasted.

  “The whole German staff for this area ought to be down there at this hour,” Stan answered. “It’s tough, but we have to do it.”

  “I know,” Tony agreed. “If the boys catch even half the staff there, I’ll be satisfied.”

  “Now head west again, very low,” Arno ordered.

  O’Malley swept lower over the darkening terrain. Stan began to wonder how Arno was going to spot any landmarks. Hopping out into the night would not be so nice. There were lakes and woods and rocky ridges all over the country.

  “Into the valley a point left,” Arno called. “Fly low and line up on two peaks with square tops which should be against the sky.”

  O’Malley and Stan peered ahead as the Mosquito dropped into a wide valley.

  “There’s yer peaks,” O’Malley said. Stan spotted the markers as his pal spoke. Two peaks with square tops loomed against the sky ahead.

  “Regular gunsights,” Stan said.

  “Get everything ready to jump,” Arno called.

  Stan slapped O’Malley on the shoulder. “Be seein’ you soon,”
he said as he slid back to help with the guns and other things they were taking along.

  He found the boys getting set. Tony was loaded and ready to jump. Arno was spotting his markers.

  “Go!” he called.

  Tony unloaded through the open hatch and disappeared into the blue blackness, followed closely by Allison. Arno nodded to Stan and Stan piled out. As he went down into the cool night he slid his hand to the rip cord. They were jumping from low altitude and there was no time for free falling. He pulled the cord and felt his chute open and snap him into suspension. A shadowy form above him and very close told him that Arno had wasted no time in following him out of the ship.

  Stan adjusted his pack and his tommy-gun for a landing. Peering down, he saw the field they were to land on. At first he thought Arno had missed and dropped them over a lake. He could dimly see what looked like rippling waves. Then his feet touched waving grain and he eased up on the cords to make his landing. A split second later he was down in a field of tall and ripening grain. Wadding his chute up he drew in a deep breath. The field reminded him of Kansas with its rich, ripe smells.

  A low whistle off to his right indicated one of the boys was asking for a location. Stan gave a bird call and listened. He got three answers and heard his pals working their way toward him. Twice more he gave the assembly signal. Then he noticed that the sky above and over toward the twin peaks was lighting up with streaks and points of light. Tracers were arcing up and over, in and out. Grimly Stan watched. Night fighters had tackled O’Malley. He watched the battle, following the action by the tracers and the bursts of cannonfire. Suddenly one of the planes broke into flame. Like a torch it twisted earthward.

  “Could have been a Messerschmitt,” Arno spoke close beside Stan.

  “It burned up like a plywood job,” Allison’s voice said. He spoke in his usual unruffled drawl.

  “O’Malley never would run from a fight,” Stan said grimly.

  “This time I think he ran,” Tony cut in.

  Allison laughed. “You just don’t know O’Malley, old man.”

  “No matter what happened to O’Malley we have to get going. Lead on, Arno,” Stan ordered. There was no use in going sour over what might be a tough battle. They had plenty of work to do.

  Arno led the way out of the wheat field. He located a thick woods and they entered it. A few minutes of walking through tangled bushes brought them out on a pathway.

  “This is the trail to the orchard,” Arno whispered to Tony.

  “There is another trail branching off, the one we used to follow when we went swimming in the little lake below the hill,” Tony said.

  “That one we must find,” Arno answered as he moved on.

  The boys had their packs swung high on their backs. Their tommy-guns were held ready. If the night fighters who had jumped O’Malley had spotted the parachutes they would have given an alarm. Arno seemed to be thinking about this. He moved carefully, pausing to listen every few yards.

  Tony was bringing up the rear. He called softly to Arno. “Here is the trail, you passed it.”

  They halted and went back. Arno checked the cross trail.

  “Yes, this is the trail,” he said.

  He headed off to the right and they followed. Coming to the top of a little hill they saw lights below, dim and shaded lights, but many of them.

  “That is the house,” Arno said.

  “How far is it?” Stan asked.

  “About a kilometer,” Arno answered.

  “Less than a mile to go. What’s in between?” Stan asked.

  “There is a settlement where the Sachetti farm workers used to live. I see lights down there.” Arno was bending forward, peering into the night.

  “And I hear cars and trucks,” Allison added. “I’ll bet the Germans have a repair depot or an assembly point down there.”

  “In that case the half mile between the settlement and the house will be filled with Germans,” Tony said.

  “One way to find out. Lead on,” Stan ordered.

  The little group moved slowly down the trail. After a couple of halts Arno paused and pulled the boys close to him.

  “I think it best to leave the trail. Just a little way ahead it opens into a roadway. There we should certainly run into outposts.”

  “We better go on until we locate them,” Stan said.

  “If you think that is the best way,” Arno agreed.

  “I’ll walk ahead with you,” Stan said.

  They moved along very slowly, stopping every few feet to listen. Finally they heard guttural voices in the darkness ahead. Halting, they listened. Allison moved forward a little to try to overhear what was said. Soon he came back.

  “This is the outpost,” he whispered. “Six men and two machine guns. They are about to change guards.” He chuckled. “And they do not expect us.”

  “Can we move around them?” Stan asked.

  “We could, but I think we should stay. An officer is coming out to inspect the guard. He’s coming from Villa Sachetti.” Stan could almost see Allison’s sardonic smile. “Nice spot for a surprise party, eh?”

  “Swell,” Stan answered. “We’ll take over the post. Allison can be the decoy to lure the officer in close. He speaks German.”

  “Good, very good,” Arno said eagerly. “Will we use the short knives on them?”

  “No shooting if we can help it. We’ll shove in close and have a look.” Stan began moving down the pathway with Allison at his side. The party kept very close together so as to be able to give signals to each other without speaking.

  After edging forward a short distance they were halted by a gruff laugh ahead. Getting down low they peered through the starlight and spotted the sentries. They were grouped close together, four seated, two standing. The two men standing up moved off, one to the left and one to the right. Stan got his crew into a close huddle.

  “Allison and I will do our commando stuff on the two guards walking post. I take the one on the right, Allison the other. You boys stay right here. We’ll be back soon.” Stan spoke in a low whisper.

  One of the seated Germans suddenly sprang to his feet. He stood looking into the night toward the party of raiders. Tony started to move forward. Stan pulled him back. The German walked up the pathway a few feet and halted, listening. The boys turned their faces away and remained perfectly still. After a minute or so the man went back and sat down. Stan gave Allison a signal and they moved off the pathway. They left their tommy-guns and carried only their pistols, knives, and short lengths of rope.

  Stan moved silently along in a direction that would cut across the beat walked by the sentry. Soon he spotted his man moving at a slow walk along what appeared to be a pathway. Stan moved in and halted beside a bush. There he remained without moving a muscle. The sentry had reached the end of his beat and was turning back. Stan ducked his head to make sure no light was reflected from his face. Tensing his muscles he waited.

  The sentry seemed to be enjoying the night. He sauntered along, his rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. The barrel missed Stan’s head by inches as the man brushed past the bushes where he stood. Straightening, Stan leaned far forward, his arm shot out and encircled the man’s neck. At the same time his knee came up through the bushes in a smashing blow. The expert application of Stan’s arm and the blow in the spine knocked the German limp at once. He did not struggle and he could not cry out. Stan dragged him back into the bushes, hurriedly gagged and bound him.

  Moving swiftly back to the pathway he came upon the boys. Allison was already back, kneeling with Tony and Arno.

  “Fast work,” Stan whispered softly.

  “He was a rotten soldier,” Allison answered. “He sat down and started removing one boot.”

  “We’ll close in fast but without noise. I have a hunch we’ll get a break. If two of the men should start out to check the men we disposed of, Allison and I will take them out. You boys take the other two. Make sure they don’t get a chance to yell.” />
  “They will not yell,” Arno promised grimly.

  The four raiders moved in on their hands and knees. They halted only a few yards from the four men. Here they waited. Finally one of the men got up and called. He listened, then challenged his sentries again. When there was no answer he caught up a rifle, snapped an order to one of the others, and headed off down the picket line.

  Instantly Allison slithered away into the night. One of the others got to his feet grumbling loudly. He caught his rifle up and held it at ready as he moved off. Stan was after him at once.

  Before Stan had overtaken the guard, having allowed him to get down the pathway a little distance, so as not to arouse the two left behind, he heard sounds of scuffling. Arno and Tony had not waited. They were in action.

  Stan leaped in upon the guard just as the fellow whirled around. He knocked up the man’s gun and closed with him. The German shouted once before Stan could get a strangle hold upon him, then he went down, struggling wildly. He was a burly fellow with powerful arms and thick legs. Stan was not sure that he could hold the headlock he had slid down into a strangle grip.

  They flopped and thrashed around until Stan finally worked behind the German and put on more pressure. After that the fellow wilted in short order. Stan was binding and gagging him when Arno came running to help him.

  “Did we act too quickly?” he asked in great excitement.

  “A bit fast,” Stan admitted, “but I have him now. He was a tough customer.” Stan rolled the sentry into a clump of bushes and faced Arno. “How did Tony make out?”

  “Fine, very fine. Tony hates all Germans.” Arno laughed quietly.

  They moved back to the guard station and found Allison and Tony there. One glance at the two sentries Arno and Tony had silenced told Stan they would not have to be bound or gagged. The boys had used their knives expertly.

  “Now about the reception committee?” Allison queried softly.

  “We need four helmets. I have one and there are two on the ground. Get one more,” Stan ordered.

  “I have it,” Allison answered. “On my head.”