Rutherford Montgomery - A Yankee Flier in Italy

“No, we won’t leave him,” Stan agreed grimly.

Suddenly Allison climbed up. “They’ll be on us in a minute!” he shouted.

“Here comes the boy!” O’Malley bellowed.

Arno’s head appeared in the circle of light from the instrument panel. Allison gave him a hand, dragging him into the cockpit.

Before the trap could be closed Stan gave the Mosquito her head. She shot away like an arrow released from a bow as her brakes eased free. Straight at the stabbing tongues of rifle fire she roared. The firing ceased as the Germans leaped frantically out of the path of the charging bomber.

Stan held her straight for the red flare. Long before they reached it he hoiked her tail and bounced her off. She went up like a kite caught by a gale. O’Malley, sitting beside Stan, looked over and grinned.

“That was sweet!” he shouted.

“You haven’t seen anything yet!” Stan shouted back. He leaned toward O’Malley, “Have Allison get the radio set working.”

A few minutes later Allison had established long-range communications with the base at Messina and was reporting in. O’Malley went back to put in an order for three huckleberry pies and a steak. Arno took his place. Stan was letting the Mosquito cruise along. He leaned toward Arno.

“What about the general?”

“The Germans have him. He is a prisoner at Naples,” Arno said in a worried voice.

“We’ll take care of that. We’re taking Naples very soon,” Stan assured him.

“I’m afraid that may not help much. The Germans are in a fury over the action we have taken. They will take revenge not only upon Father, but upon the people of Naples and of every city they have occupied.” Arno looked straight ahead into the night.

“We’ll figure out something,” Stan said grimly.

O’Malley came forward and sat back of Stan. Stan called over his shoulder.

“I am to deliver you fellows to Colonel Benson.”

“Colonel Benson!” O’Malley yelped. “Sure an’ that means we’ll spend the rest o’ the war in the guardhouse!”

“That’s the safest place for you,” Stan retorted.

Allison called forward over the intercommunication phone that the colonel sent his regards and that he had personally ordered O’Malley’s pies and steak for him. O’Malley listened in. He began to grin.

“Sure, an’ mebby the old brass hat has some feelin’s after all.”

“Don’t build up any false hopes,” Stan warned.

“Did he send you after us?” O’Malley demanded.

“He did,” Stan said.

O’Malley leaned back and licked his lips. He closed his eyes so as to be better able to get a mental picture of the pies awaiting him.

Stan eased down a bit and called to Allison for a check on their location and course. Everything looked fine and fair, but Stan knew that it was at such times that trouble usually popped.

Messina was easily located as they came in at low altitude because the Yank and British batteries on the island were shelling the German-held port of Reggio across the two-mile strait. Flares were blossoming along the mainland, dropped by Yank fliers. Allison got in touch with their field and they came in. The air traffic was heavy and the field was a beehive of activity. No special attention was given the De Havilland except by the crew assigned to take her over. They came racing out to make her fast.

The master mechanic grinned at Stan as he jumped down. “Good work, sir,” he said eagerly. The Mosquito was his pet and he had worried about her all the time she was away. After finding out where she was going he had been sure she would never get back.

Stan smiled at him. “She’s home without a scratch, and she’s a great ship, sergeant,” he said.

The sergeant beamed happily. “She sure is, sir,” he agreed proudly. Then he added, just having remembered the important message he was to deliver to the bomber’s skipper, “Colonel Benson wishes to see your entire crew as soon as you land.” He snapped a salute and turned to his crew.

“Sure, an’ I’m starved. I’m hopin’ he won’t give us a two-hour lecture on how to invade Italy,” O’Malley grumbled.

They hurried to the colonel’s headquarters, where they found their commanding officer waiting for them. He beamed upon the dirty, unshaven group headed by Stan.

“I’ll only keep you a few minutes, gentlemen,” he said. “Be seated.”

Stan saluted smartly and spoke his piece. “I’d like you to meet General Bolero’s sons, Tony and Arno. They made it possible for us to deliver the papers from the general and later to escape.”

“What you have done is appreciated. I hope I may be able to be of service to you,” the colonel said.

“We wish to fight the Germans. We are both pilots,” Arno said.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Colonel Benson said.

He looked at Allison and O’Malley and a broad smile formed on his lips.

“I have heard of the luck of the Irish. Now I am willing to add the British to that list. What I wanted to say is that you are requested not to talk about your experiences at all until you have reported to headquarters in Malta. After that you will be returned to my command. No one is going to talk me out of three fliers like you men.” He looked at Tony and Arno. “Possibly I might be able to make it five.”

O’Malley seemed to feel this was a soft spot where he could safely make a request. He grinned at the colonel.

“We have a job to do, sor, one that won’t wait very long.”

The colonel’s smile faded and he eyed O’Malley sternly. “I’m listening,” he said warily.

“General Bolero has to be rescued from them Germans. They may decide to shoot him.”

The colonel looked suddenly very unhappy, “That is really a job I am not supposed to handle. After all, I am only a sector commander and not in charge of the war in the Mediterranean area.”

“It could be done aisy,” O’Malley said. “I’d like to have the job.”

The colonel regarded O’Malley grimly. “I don’t doubt but you would do it. However, there is some little risk. While you men are reporting to headquarters, Lieutenant Wilson and I will be giving the matter our consideration.” He got to his feet. “Wilson, you see that our friends are outfitted. Get cleaned up and have a big feed.” He nodded toward O’Malley. “I have set aside a supply of pie for you, Lieutenant.”

The party saluted and made off. O’Malley was not too happy. “If you sneak off alone to get the general, I’ll thrash the daylights out o’ you when I get back from seein’ the brass hats,” he growled.

“I won’t take on the whole German army alone,” Stan assured him. “I’ll see that you’re in on it.”

“You better,” O’Malley warned sourly.

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

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.