Rutherford Montgomery - A Yankee Flier in Italy

“What I am about to say is most unusual. I have a request to make of you Americans. I wish you to extend your parole.” He lifted a hand as O’Malley opened his mouth to say no. “I feel that you should do this after the manner in which you have been treated.” He smiled at Stan.

“For how long, sir?” Stan asked.

“I cannot say exactly, but not for very much longer. I am leaving my boys here and they will be with you during the time you stay here.” His smile faded and he suddenly looked tired and old. “I ask this for a personal reason. Perhaps I am selfish.”

“You saved our lives, sir,” Allison said. “I’m giving my parole for a while longer.”

“I’ll give mine, sir,” Stan promised.

They looked at O’Malley. “An’ I’m gettin’ away if I can,” he declared.

The general bowed. “You know, of course, that I must place you in custody of a guard?”

“Sure,” O’Malley replied. “Sure, but I’m gettin’ itchy feet.”

The general nodded. He handed the fat envelope to his eldest son, Lorenzo.

“You will keep this for me. Above all it must not be given to the Germans.” He got to his feet. “Now I must be getting back to headquarters. I trust you have been comfortable, gentlemen?”

“We have, thank you, sir,” Allison said.

Gravely the general shook hands with the three Yanks and with each of his sons. At the doorway he paused and they all gave him a snappy salute. After he was gone the Bolero boys were silent. They stood at the balcony looking down on the shady road until his car disappeared inside the German camp. Lorenzo turned to Stan and there was a tight smile on his lips.

“This is a strange war for the Italians,” he said.

“It is,” Stan agreed.

The brothers shrugged their shoulders and started to chat with the Yanks in smooth English. They had learned the language in Great Britain. O’Malley sat back and said nothing. Stan and Allison carried on the talk. The war was not mentioned again. Allison and the brothers talked about schooldays in England.

At last Lorenzo got to his feet. The others joined him. They all bowed.

“We leave you now but will see you at dinner tonight.”

After they had gone, O’Malley burst out, “You sure did get tricked by that ol’ brass hat.”

“I don’t think so,” Stan said.

“I say, old man, you better change your mind. If you don’t, I’ll wager you a dinner we see action before you do.” Allison was smiling.

“Sure, an’ you talk riddles,” O’Malley snorted.

“There’s only one place the general can put you for safekeeping right now. He’ll have to turn you over to the Germans. This part of the country has been taken over by the Nazi gang.” Allison spoke slowly. “The general hates the Nazis. Figure it out for yourself.”

“An’ suppose he pops up with a regiment o’ soldiers to take you to a camp about five minutes before our parole is up?” O’Malley asked.

“He could do that anyway,” Stan answered. “We’ve waited a month. A few more days won’t kill us. I have a feeling Allison is right.”

“The Italians have thrown Mussolini out, perhaps they will start throwing the Germans out,” Allison said.

“They wouldn’t have a chance,” O’Malley answered.

“I guess you’re right about that, but something’s up. I’m going to wait and see.” Stan walked to the balcony rail and seated himself.

That night at dinner the Bolero brothers were quite gay. And for the next few days they were always around, but always friendly and polite. Stan wondered why they were not at the front. Italy certainly needed every pilot she had. He did not think that the officers had been detailed to watch them.

The parole day came and a guard arrived in the morning. The three Yanks saw a squad of Italian soldiers headed by a young officer halt in the yard below. O’Malley sat on the rail, watching. The young officer came to the balcony alone.

“Which one is Lieutenant O’Malley?” he asked.

O’Malley grinned at him. “Sure, an’ that’s me. I’m glad you dropped in. Tell General Bolero that I am givin’ my parole, though it is against me better judgment.”

The officer bowed. “I am pleased,” he said. “I will report this to the general.” He bowed again and turned on his heel.

Stan looked at O’Malley. “I thought you’d get some sense into that shaggy head of yours.”

“We’ll rot right here,” O’Malley said with a scowl. “But the likes o’ you has need o’ someone to look out for you.”

“Thanks,” Stan said. “You are very thoughtful.”

The three Yanks were sitting on their balcony restlessly watching the activity in the German camp below. They were beginning to wonder if General Bolero ever meant to release them from their promise. His sons still remained at the villa, but they never mentioned the war. Suddenly Lorenzo burst out on the balcony. He halted and lifted both hands excitedly.

“Italy has surrendered!” he announced. “You are free men!”

Before the Yanks could reply, Arno and Tony rushed in. They were very excited.

“This is the hour we have waited for,” Tony shouted. “Now we will drive out the Black Shirt Fascisti and the Germans.” The younger brothers embraced each other and danced up and down. Lorenzo smilingly watched them. Slowly he turned to the three surprised Yanks. “My family—we have fought against the big-talking Mussolini. We belong to the society Free Italy.”

“Great!” Allison exclaimed.

O’Malley was already headed for the door.

“Wait!” Lorenzo shouted after him. “I must tell you some things.”

O’Malley halted and turned toward the door. “Sure, an’ all I want is to get back into this fight.”

“I am sure you do,” Lorenzo said. “And I am going to help you.”

“Good,” Stan said.

Lorenzo took a fat package from his pocket. It was the package his father had given him. He held it out to Stan.

“Here are the locations of all German bases in Italy, the positions of batteries, the supply routes used, and all the military maps you will need. This is very important information.”

O’Malley was staring at the package. “Sure, an’ it’s of no use now with Italy out o’ the war. We’ll be headed for Germany.”

Lorenzo shook his head. “I’m afraid it is not so easy as that. Germany has as complete control of Italy as she has of any conquered country. The Germans will be helped by our Black Shirts, who know they will be treated badly if they do not stay in power.” He spread his hands wide. “Every officer like my father will be hunted down. We will be hunted. Today we dress as civilians and go north to destroy Nazi rail lines and supply dumps.”

Stan took the packet. “Have you any suggestions for our getting out of Italy?”

Lorenzo smiled. “My brothers and I will have no use for our Nardi fighter planes. Perhaps after the war we might be repaid with an Airacobra.”

“’Tis a foine set o’ brothers ye are,” O’Malley cried. “Lead me to those Nardi ships.”

“They are in a woods north of the villa. On the hunting acres of the Bolero estate there is a runway the Germans have not found. I will lead you to your planes. But we had best hurry as the Germans are taking over everything.” He spread his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders. “You know how efficient the Germans are.”

“You will go nowhere,” a harsh voice said.

The boys whirled toward the wide doorway leading to the balcony. Four German soldiers with tommy-guns stood glaring at them. A youngster with an officer’s insignia on his shirt spoke.

“We have heard what you said. You are spies and will be dealt with quickly.”