A Yankee Flier in Italy Part 10

In a whisper he said:

"Be careful. I just got the idea those Italians may be planted in here to listen to what we say."

"Come on, you," the officer snapped.

Stan moved to the iron grating. Pulling a bunch of keys out of the side pocket of his tunic, the guard unlocked the door. Stan stepped out on a narrow walk which led to a row of doors. The officer marched stiffly at his side. At a glance Stan saw that the place was well guarded. Not less than a dozen men with rifles were spotted within sight of the guardhouse and of the buildings grouped around it.

"You will do well to answer all questions truthfully and in detail.

Colonel Kittle is a man of action." The officer gave decided emphasis to the last words.

Stan did not reply. They were entering a big room with wall cabinets and a desk. Chairs ringed the desk on which lay various trophies and gadgets such as might have decorated the room of any flight lieutenant. Stan spotted a piece out of a Hurricane fighter. There was an American Colt forty-five automatic and a Russian helmet.

Behind the desk sat the tall officer with the saber scar across his cheek. Stan sized him up as a Prussian military man of the old school.

Now that he had a good chance to look at the colonel he saw that the man was hollow-eyed, his skin was drawn tightly over his cheekbones, and his short, cropped hair was streaked with gray. Stan snapped a salute, not knowing exactly why he did it.

The colonel returned the salute and waved a bony hand toward a chair.

Stan seated himself. The officer went on regarding him intently. The junior officer seated himself beside Stan and waited. Finally the colonel spoke in German. The young officer frowned, then began translating.

"The colonel wishes to compliment you. The Americans have done very well in Africa."

"Thanks," Stan answered warily.

"He sees no reason why you should not be cla.s.sed as a prisoner of war."

The young officer's lip curled. He turned to the colonel and waited.

The colonel spoke for some little time. When he stopped talking the young lieutenant faced Stan.

"We wish to know the approximate number of fighter and bomber craft based upon Africa. It would be helpful if you could add information regarding additional troops moved in to a.s.sist in the action against Italy."

Stan smiled. "My compliments to the colonel. Tell him I am not at liberty to give such information."

The officer scowled. He translated and the colonel smiled back at Stan.

"That will be all," the young officer snapped. It was plain the young officer did not like the way his commander was handling matters.

Stan was marched back to his cell. The young officer hurried away. When he was out of hearing, Stan spoke in low tones to his pals. He now noticed that the Italians seemed interested and were trying to listen.

"The old boy with the scar is commander. He's a Prussian officer of the old school and does not think much of the n.a.z.i methods. He seems to have convinced himself that we are really officers and told the truth about our clothes."

"I'll get more dope," Allison said. "I can understand their talk."

A few minutes later the young officer returned and took Allison to the office. O'Malley and Stan sat waiting for his return. The Italians sat with their backs against the wall in silence. Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed and then Allison returned. The boys went into a huddle.

"The colonel is not in favor of using the third degree on us. He says he has reports on us from the Italians and knows we are prisoners of war.

He said all this in German. The young lieutenant seems to be in with the Gestapo. I gathered that they hate each other." Allison paused and grinned. "The old boy told him off plenty, but the kid is stubborn. He's going over the head of the colonel, so we may have trouble."

"Sure, an' I'll bet the colonel can get tough, just the same," O'Malley cut in.

"Yes, he's as hard as nails but he has the old rules well trained into him. He'll do whatever the big shots order. Guess who the big boy in Italy is."

"Couldn't make a stab," Stan said.

"Rommel himself. He's to keep us from breaching the continent. Remember how Herr Goebbels has been shouting that the Allies could never break into the European fortress? Well Rommel is going to see that we don't crack through." Allison laughed softly.

"Sure, an' we'll give 'em the same pastin' we gave him in Africa,"

O'Malley growled.

An hour pa.s.sed and O'Malley was not called in. Supper of bread and thin soup arrived and with it came the Gestapo officer. He seated himself on a stool outside the bars and talked while the boys ate. O'Malley looked at the food, then turned to the officer.

"'Tis not fit for a hog, this food."

"That's why you are getting it," the officer said and laughed loudly.

"We are ent.i.tled to decent rations," Stan said.

"What does it matter about the rations? I have just talked by radio to headquarters. Unless you give us the information we want, you will be shot. I have the order with me." He leered at the boys triumphantly.

"Pleasant sort of folks, you n.a.z.is," Allison drawled.

"I will attend to the execution myself, tomorrow morning. You will have tonight to think things over." He got to his feet and kicked aside the stool.

Stan finished his tin of soup and stood up. He walked to the barred door. The guard swung around and made a menacing motion with his rifle.

Stan grinned at him and stepped back. He was convinced the Gestapo officer had told the guards to shoot on the least provocation, he could read it in the man's eyes.

"Be careful," he said as he seated himself again. "The guards have been told to get rid of us if they can find any excuse."

"I'd as soon be shot by a guard as a firing squad," Allison said.

"We might get the fellow up near the bars and get his keys," Stan said.

"Good idea," O'Malley agreed. "But how?"

"We'll get over near the door and start to whisper with our backs to him. See if we can tease him up close," Stan suggested.

They moved over near the grating and began whispering. The guard stood watching them. He was a full ten feet from the door and did not move.

His expressionless, beefy face showed not a flicker of interest. Finally the boys gave it up.

"He has about as much curiosity as a turtle," Stan said sourly.

"Sure, an' they may put on a guard with a brain," O'Malley said hopefully.

They sat down and tried to think up another scheme. At midnight the guard was changed and they tried their trick on the new man. He was less interested than the first one. He turned his back on them and let them whisper. The boys gave it up and sat down to wait.

They dozed off after a time. O'Malley stretched out on the floor and went to sleep. Stan and Allison remained on the bench, leaning back against the wall. The clatter of trucks and shouting of soldiers wakened them. Daylight was breaking and the camp seemed to be getting set for some sort of action. Presently the young officer appeared. He glared at the three Yanks.

"Are you ready to talk?" he demanded.

"No," Stan answered. The others shook their heads.