Rutherford Montgomery - A Yankee Flier in Italy

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.