The next instant he had plunged into a large bush which broke his fall. He lay beside a rock wall in a ditch. Vaguely he knew where the kennels were. Tony had taken him back to see the dogs one evening after dark. From above he could hear the officer bellowing down to the men he had left below. He hoped the Germans had felt so sure of their quarry that they had not surrounded the house.
Reaching a corner he discovered a guard there. The man was looking up, listening to his commander’s orders. Stan hit him hard in the back with a knee and slapped a viselike grip around his neck. The man sagged down without a murmur. Stan stripped off the fellows cartridge jacket and grabbed his tommy-gun. He was glad the Germans had equipped their hounds with rapid-fire guns.
Leaping forward he reached the back of the house. There he halted. The squad cars were in the back yard, two of them. Four men stood at the back door listening to the shouting above. Stan saw the kennels and set himself to blast a path to freedom.
Suddenly he heard a wild yell from above. It was O’Malley and Stan could tell the Irishman was seeing red. There was a fight in progress up on the balcony. Machine guns chattered savagely. Stan felt suddenly sick to his stomach. The boys were up there mixing it barehanded with four Germans armed with machine guns.
The guards at the door whirled to leap into the house. Stan’s submachine gun burst into flame and he swept a pathway of death across the ranks of the Nazis. They went down in a writhing mass, one of them rolling off the steps and crawling away on his hands and knees, leaving a bloody path behind him.
Stan leaped for the back door and plunged into the house. He went through the spacious music room and up the wide stairway leading to the balcony like a charging tank, his submachine gun at his hip, his eyes like cold steel.
Leaping through the doorway he swept the room with his gun. O’Malley and Allison and Tony were crowded back against the wall. O’Malley was bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder. A broken chair lay on the floor and beside it lay a dead German. Lorenzo lay on the floor face up. He was dead, but there was a smile of triumph on his lips. Arno had sagged down into a chair. He, too, was bleeding from a head wound.
The three Germans had their backs to the door. The officer was wild with fury. He was shouting wildly.
“If I did not have orders to bring you in so that we can force you to tell who your underground helpers are, I would shoot you all and leave you here to rot!”
“Put up your hands or you’ll stay here to rot!” Stan snapped.
The Germans whirled about. As they turned, the two soldiers dropped their guns and elevated their hands. The officer came around with his machine gun firing. Stan opened up and cut him down. The two men began shouting:
“Kamrad! Kamrad!”
Stan backed them up against the wall. Before he had gotten them moved O’Malley and Allison had their tommy-guns. They stripped the ammunition from the soldiers.
“Tie them up,” Stan snapped. He turned about and saw that Tony and Arno were kneeling beside their brother.
“We should go now. We cannot help him, but I shall see that he is mentioned in my reports as a hero in the cause of democracy,” Stan said softly.
The two brothers straightened and rose to their feet. They stood stiffly and saluted.
“We will show you the flying field,” Arno said.
“We better get moving. Both squad cars made off and they’ll bring back reinforcements. The drivers didn’t happen to be armed or else they thought the place was garrisoned.” Stan nodded toward Arno and O’Malley. “Plug those wounds as you go along.”
“I will get first aid and medicine from the cabinet in my room. I’ll overtake you,” Tony said.
They moved down the wide stairway, leaving the German soldiers where they would be rescued. Tony dashed off while the others, led by Arno, hurried out of the house and across the yard to the stables. Racing through the spacious barns they came to the kennels. By the time they had passed these Tony had caught up with them.
Pushing through a hidden gate in a hedge they came to a bridle path over which tall trees draped their branches.
“I say, a beautiful spot,” Allison murmured.
“It has the smell of auld Ireland,” O’Malley said wistfully.
“We are very fond of it,” Tony said.
Arno was ahead, moving rapidly upward. They hurried along and caught up with him. From then on there was no talking; the trail wound upward steeply, covered by a canopy of trees. Reaching the top of the ridge they broke out into a forest. Arno led them to a spot where there was a narrow flight strip. Still they saw no planes.
Crossing the strip they entered a grove of tall trees and there stood three, trim ships. O’Malley yelped with joy. Stan looked at the craft critically. They were Nardi FN 500’s, obsolete in speed and fire power, but trim and sturdy ships just the same. Arno smiled.
“We built this secret field so that we could slip in at night without the black-shirted Fascisti knowing where we had gone. We met often to plan the overthrow of Mussolini and his murderers.”
“You landed here at night?” Allison asked in amazement.
“Certainly,” Arno answered modestly.
“We could use you as a fighter pilot,” Stan answered. “When you get through blowing up bridges and trains, you’d better join us. We’ll vouch for you.”
“We will do that. We like very much to fly,” Tony said eagerly.
“You will find the guns on the ship are serviced. The engine is 1200 horsepower, you have two fixed guns firing through the prop and two guns fixed in the wings. You can get three hundred and fifty miles per hour out of those ships,” Arno spoke proudly.
“Yet they are not as good as the Messerschmitts or the Focke-Wulf,” Tony added. “And I think you will have to fight your way home against the Germans.”
“Sure, an’ we’ll show them a fight,” O’Malley said happily.
“You have gas to reach Malta, but not much for fighting. It is best that you run fast for home,” Arno advised.
“We’ll do just that,” Stan said, remembering the package inside his shirt.
Tony and Arno helped them wheel the Nardis out on the flight strip. They were surprised to find another ship tucked away under the trees.
“Father’s ship,” Arno said with a catch in his voice. “But he has not been able to come for it.”
“He’ll come,” Allison said, but he was not so sure the general was alive. He knew the Germans would be ruthless in wiping out all anti-Fascist leaders in the territory they controlled.
The boys climbed up and got into the beautifully streamlined cockpits. They slipped into the Italian parachutes and got set. Arno and Tony acted as ground crew and the engines were soon turning over smoothly. Stan checked his dials and made himself familiar with gun controls and equipment; he cracked the throttle and listened to the roaring surge of power. Then he throttled down and leaned out, waving an arm in a signal that he was leading off. O’Malley and Allison answered the signal. They knew it was their job to see that Stan got through with his reports and maps.
Stan kicked the throttle open and the Nardi roared to life, leaping forward with surprising speed. Stan hoiked her tail with an added blast of prop pressure and tested her. She lifted at once. Unburdened by the armor plate carried by a Lightning or an Airacobra for the protection of the pilot and constructed of much lighter materials, she bounced off the ground before half of the short runway had been covered.
Stan leveled off close to the tops of the trees. He wanted to make sure Allison and O’Malley got away, and so he did not want to stir up the swarm of German fighter planes on the big flying field just a few miles away.
O’Malley came up and then Allison. They dropped into formation beside Stan and he set his course by compass, straight for Sicily.