Rutherford Montgomery - A Yankee Flier in Italy

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.