CHAPTER SEVEN

NOT SO HAPPY LANDINGS

It was a short trip. Their base was not far behind the front lines below Maletta, and the field to which they had gone was only a few miles further south and—they guessed—some distance to the east.

“The Air Forces are sending up some bombers for a little diversion,” Scotti said to the men around him. “They’ll pull the German fighter strength and ack-ack fire to the railroad bridges northwest of the town. And they’ll fill the air with plenty of sound for the German sound detectors, so that they’re likely to miss the sound of our plane. We’ll fly low so that the plane can’t easily be seen above the hills beyond us.”

“Never landed at night before,” Dick Donnelly said, “except on flat desert land.”

“It’s tricky, all right,” Scotti said, “when there are hills and trees below. And there’s no moon to see by tonight. That’s good from one angle because we can’t be seen easily either. But you can’t tell where you’re coming down. Maybe some of us will spend the night caught in some treetops.”

Tony Avella shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all in the game,” he said. “We’ll make out all right.”

The others nodded without speaking, and there was silence in the plane. Five minutes passed this way before the co-pilot stepped back to say quietly, “This is it.”

The men stood up at once, and the fuselage door was thrown open. Tony Avella and Dick Donnelly heaved out the two parachutes carrying the radio equipment, and Tony followed immediately, as if he could not be parted from them for more than a few seconds.

“Go ahead, Dick,” Scotti said, and the sergeant leaped without a word. Then the lieutenant helped Slade and Vince Salamone throw out the four parachutes bearing the containers of dynamite and demolition equipment.

“Right after it, Slade,” Scotti said. “Each man finds his own stuff. Vince will find you and help you with it.”

Little Slade closed his eyes and his face was pale. It still seemed almost to kill him to make a parachute leap but he never said a word about it. He was hardly out the door when the huge bulk of Salamone went after him.

Now only Max Burckhardt and Scotti were left. Together they tossed out the three remaining supply parachutes.

“See you later, Max,” the lieutenant said. “Everybody will head east toward me, you know. But we may not get together until daylight.”

With a grin, Max jumped. Scotti turned and waved to the plane’s co-pilot, then stepped into space shouting “Geronimo!” It always seemed a little strange to him to call out his own first name when he jumped. But he didn’t smile about it tonight. Jumping in the darkness was no light-hearted task, and the week ahead of them was filled with responsibilities such as he had never shouldered before.

“Most of the others are down by now,” he said to himself. “Hope they’re not in trouble.”

He tried to look below, but there was nothing but blackness, just a little blacker than the sky around him. In the skies to the northwest he saw the bursts of antiaircraft fire from the German batteries, trying to find the American bombers that were coming over the railroad tracks. Searchlights stabbed the sky, cutting sharp white lines in the blackness, and Scotti was glad, despite his wish for a little light, that they were not searching for him.

Tony Avella was on the ground already. He, who seemed worried the least about landing on a wooded hillside at night, had no trouble at all. He came down in a little clearing, hit the ground with a hard jolt because he was not expecting it quite so soon, and rolled down the slope about ten feet. His ’chute had collapsed of its own accord and he slipped out of the harness quickly. Then he set about trying in the darkness to find his two containers of radio material.

Jumping in the Darkness Was No Lighthearted Task

“Probably can’t locate a thing at night,” he muttered to himself, “but think of the time I can save if I find even one of them. Dick was right behind me. Wonder if he made out okay.”

Dick Donnelly did not have the luck of Tony. At that moment he was hanging head down in a tree. One leg was over a heavy branch, and his ’chute shroud lines were caught far above. His face and hands were badly scratched by the branches as he had plunged into them, but he was not worried about such minor trifles. He was struggling to pull himself up to a sitting position on the branch. Every time he tried, his shroud lines seemed to tug him in the other direction. Finally, however, he succeeded in getting the other leg over the branch. Then he snaked his pocket knife from his trousers and reached back to cut the shroud lines which held him.

When he had cut through four of them, he felt the pull lessen and found he could pull himself up on the branch. For a few moments he sat there, waiting for his head to stop swimming as the blood receded from it. Finally, he cut the rest of his parachute lines and was free.

“Can’t leave that ’chute up there,” he said. “It might be spotted from below in the morning, and certainly a German plane would see it before long.”

Tug as he might, however, he could not get it free. Making up his mind that he’d have to free it by the first light of dawn, he felt for the tree trunk, found it, and began to let himself down. His eyes were more accustomed to the darkness now, and he could vaguely see the branches as he stepped down from one to the other. Then the ground loomed up about ten feet below, and he let himself drop. He rolled over once, then brought himself up to a sitting position.

“Now what?” he asked himself. “Just sit here, I guess. If I leave this tree I may get lost and not find it again to get that parachute.”

So he edged his way back a couple of feet until his back rested against the trunk of the tree in which he had fallen. He moved a rock beneath one leg, and then relaxed completely, his head back against the tree. Far off he heard the roaring thud of bombs dropped by American bombers, and he smiled.

“Wish I could locate Tony,” he said to himself. “We went out so close together he can’t be far away. Hm—that reminds me—Tony asked if sometime when we were out alone at night I wouldn’t singCeleste Aïdafor him. Well, I’d do it if he were here now. But it’s been so long since I’ve sung. Haven’t even thought much about singing.”

Hardly realizing what he was doing he began to hum aloud the slow, ascending first notes of the famous tenor aria from the Verdi opera. By the time he reached the third phrase, he was singing thewords, and it felt good. It still sounded all right. He kept on, letting his voice out more and more, pulling himself to his feet finally so that he could sing in full voice. Only when he had come to the end, did he realize that he had perhaps done a foolish thing, singing so loudly there in the hills behind the enemy lines.

Then he heard a soft clapping of hands and the word “Bravo!” He jumped and looked into the darkness from which the sound came. “Bravo, Ricardo Donnelli!” the voice said again, and Dick knew who it was as he made out the advancing figure.

“Tony!” he cried. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” the radioman said, as he came close. “But that’s nothing to what you would have done to any German soldier within half a mile!”

“I know—I didn’t realize,” Dick said. “I got to humming when I remembered you wanted me to sing it for you sometime when we were alone in the hills at night. And then, first thing I knew, I was really singing it.”

“I was kidding,” Tony said. “In the first place I’m quite sure there isn’t a German within half a mile. And if there were, he’d just think it was an Italian out singing in the night. You didn’t sound at all like the German idea of an American soldier. You sounded swell, incidentally. I could close my eyes and see the whole scene on the stage at the Met.”

“Well, we’re a long way from there,” Dick said. “And I’m a long way from doing any singing again.”

“Gee, I was just thinking,” Tony said. “In Maletta, they used to have a pretty fair little opera company. Maybe it’s not going now, though the Italians have kept up their opera performances under the worst conditions. That’s about the last thing they’ll give up. Wouldn’t this Maletta Opera group love to have you as a guest star for a performance or two!”

“Yes, and the Germans would applaud vigorously, too, I’ll bet,” Dick laughed. “How’d you make out in your landing, by the way?”

“Neat!” Tony replied. “Right in a clearing. I went crawling around looking for my radio but couldn’t find anything. Then I heard you singing and came this way.”

“I wound up head down in this tree here,” Dick said. “Had to cut myself out of my ’chute. Couldn’t get it out of the tree, though. I’ll have to do it when it first gets light. No use waving a signal flag like that at the Germans to let them know we’re here.”

“Well, we can’t do anything until it does get light,” Tony said. “So let’s sit down.”

They sat on the ground and leaned against the trunk of the tree. Then they talked for a while, as the sound of bombing and antiaircraft fire northwest of Maletta died out. Finally they both fell into a light sleep.

It was still dark when Dick woke up, but not as black as it had been when they landed the night before. Somewhere to the east, the first rays of the sun were climbing the hills, and a hazy grayness was the first notice of their advance. Dick realized that his neck was so stiff he could hardly turn it, and then he knew that one foot was asleep.

“Dick—awake?” It was Tony’s voice beside him.

“Sure—just woke up,” Dick replied. “But I don’t know if I can move. My neck feels as if it would snap in two if I tried to turn it.”

“Same here,” Tony said. “But I think it’s going to begin getting light before long. We might be able to get something done.”

“I know it,” Dick agreed. “The Germans might have planes going over pretty early and I don’t want them to spot any ’chutes.”

With an effort he got to his feet, wagging his head from side to side while he grimaced with the pain. Then he stamped his sleeping foot on the hard earth while it tingled to life. He turned and looked at Tony Avella, who was going through the same thing.

“Do I look as groggy as you do, Tony?” he laughed.

“If you look as groggy as I feel,” Tony answered, “you’re pretty bad. I can’t see without a fuzziness over everything.”

But in a few minutes they were awake. Together they scrambled up the big tree and got Dick’s parachute untangled from the branches. Wrapping it up in a bundle with the harness, Dick slung it over his shoulder.

“Don’t want to leave any evidence like this around,” he said, following Tony off through the trees to help him find his things.

Tony’s ’chute was only about fifty yards from the tree in which Dick had landed. They stowed the two parachutes together and then walked south searching for the two radio ’chutes. They found the first one almost at once. It was caught on an overhanging rock over a sheer drop of about thirty feet to a stone ledge below.

“Glad I didn’t land there,” Tony commented, as he crawled up the rock to the ’chute. There he tugged the shroud lines so that the container, which was hanging free in the air, swung over close to Dick, who caught it and cut it loose. Then Tony retrieved the colored ’chute and they continued the search for the other one.

It took them ten minutes to find it, and by that time dawn had really come. The birds in the trees were chirping and flitting about but no other sound came to them. When they had gathered everything together, they set out to find the others of their party.

“Must be about three-quarters of a mile,” Dick said. “No matter how fast they went out of the ship they’d be spread over that much territory. We can start whistling pretty soon.”

After a hundred steps through the trees, heading northward parallel with the ridge of the hill above them, they began alternately to give poor imitations of bird calls. But the birds themselves were singing so vigorously, as if they did not realize a war was going on, that the two Americans began to wonder if their calls would be heard. In a few minutes, however, they heard a call like their own.

“That’s no bird,” Tony said. “Only Vince Salamone could make a sound like that.”

They hurried down to the left, from which the whistle had come, lugging their heavy containers with them. They saw Vince Salamone and “Boom-Boom” Slade sitting on their equipment under a tree. Vince was working so hard at whistling that he could not hear the replies which Dick and Tony were giving him. And Slade was pursing up his lips repeatedly without a single sound coming out. The demolition expert could not whistle a note!

Dick called out when they were close, and the two men jumped to their feet. Happy to learn that neither one had been hurt in his landing, Dick checked over the equipment to be sure it was all there.

“Right—three containers and five ’chutes!” he said. “Let’s go.”

Dick led the way as they went forward to the north again. It was hard walking, for the hill was steeper, and ahead Dick could make out an outcropping of rock that rose straight up for about twenty-five feet. He began to whistle once more, looking for either Max Burckhardt or Jerry Scotti. After a few minutes he heard an answering whistle and stopped.

“Where’s that coming from?” Dick asked, puzzled. The whistle seemed to be ahead of them, but just where was not certain. So they walked forward more steps, whistled again, and heard a reply. Then they heard a voice.

“Dick! Dick! I’m up here!”

They all looked up. There, leaning over a rocky ledge far above them, was Max Burckhardt.

“Max! How did you get up there?” Dick called back, not too loudly.

“How do you think?” Max demanded angrily. “I landed here, of course!”

“On that little ledge?” Tony asked. “How big is it?”

“About eight feet square,” Max replied. “And there’s not a way to get off it. Sheer rock up above and straight drop below. Not a foothold anywhere. I feel silly as the devil perched up here with no way to get down.”

“You may feel silly,” Dick answered, “but you’re really lucky as the devil. You might have been knocked senseless against this cliff by your ’chute.”

“Don’t I know it!” Max called back.

“Where’s your ’chute?” Dick asked.

“Here!” Max replied. “I sort of sensed I was on the edge of something and I pulled it in fast. It was trying to pull me right off. Toss me up a good rope. There’s a rock up here I can fasten it on.”

Dick quickly opened one of the supply containers and found a good length of rope. It took half a dozen tries to get one end of it up to Max, but soon he had it looped over the rock. He tossed one end down again.

“With both ends down there,” he explained, “we can get it free from this jutting rock and take it along with us. Hold it taut for me and it won’t come loose.”

Max tossed his ’chute over to them, and then Dick and Vince Salamone bore down on the ends of the rope. Soon Max slid over the edge and came hand-over-hand down to the ground.

“Boy, am I glad to see you guys!” he exclaimed. “I was beginning to feel that I’d be up there for the duration.”

Gathering everything together again, they went in search of the other supply containers and within another ten minutes had found them intact.

“Now to find Jerry,” Dick said. “He can’t be far.”

“I know it,” Max said. “I’ve been wondering. I would have thought he might come back a bit looking for me, and I certainly think he would have looked around for the last supply ’chutes. He was jumping right after them.”

They stopped and whistled. There was no answer. Then they moved forward a short distance and whistled again. Still no reply came to them. Dick climbed up the hill a little farther and called out to the others. He had found the entrance to a cave. It was well sheltered and not very obvious, and inside it was like a large square room. But they found no Lieutenant Scotti inside, nor any sign that a human had been in the place for a long time.

“This will make a swell base,” Dick said, “as soon as we find Jerry. Let’s stow all our stuff here and fan out to look for him.”

Quickly they put their supplies and equipment well back in the dry cave and then started out in different directions from the cave entrance. It was Dick who first heard the groan, coming from behind a huge, jagged boulder. He raced around it quickly, whistling the signal frantically as he went.

There at the bottom of the boulder lay Lieutenant Scotti. His face was covered with blood, and his right leg was twisted under him in a way that told Dick immediately that it was broken.

TWO VISITORS TO TOWN

The others came running to the boulder in a moment. Dick had felt the Lieutenant’s pulse and found it still strong. The blood on his face was from two deep gashes in his skull, obviously from the jagged rock against which he had fallen.

Vince Salamone picked up the lieutenant in his arms and carried him gently up the hill to the cave. Tony and Max ran ahead to get out some of the blanket beds from the supply containers, and finally Scotti was resting inside the cave.

“Tony and Max,” Dick said, “see if you can find water. There ought to be some little stream or springs near by in hills like this.”

The two men snatched up canteens and went out quickly. Meanwhile, Dick looked over Scotti’s broken leg. Salamone looked on as if he wished he could do something. Slade, who had said almost nothing, came to Dick’s side.

“I happen to know a little bit about such things,” he said, almost timidly. “Let me have a look.”

Deftly he ripped away the lieutenant’s trouser leg and examined the break in the bone, just a little above the knee.

“Seems to be pretty clean,” he said. “We’ll have to get it set right away. Need some long straight pieces of wood.”

“I’ll get ’em,” Vince said, happy that there was something he could do to help. He pulled a hatchet from the supply container, made sure his knife was in his pocket, and went out of the cave.

In a moment Max and Tony both returned with water and Slade bathed Scotti’s face and his wounds. Opening a first-aid kit, he put a little sulfa powder in the deep wounds and then dressed them.

“He’s completely unconscious as a result of these,” he said to Dick. “Can’t tell if there’s any concussion of the brain or not, of course. If there is, it’s bad, and he may not come to. But if not he’ll come around. We mustn’t try to force him back to consciousness, though. Just make him comfortable and let him rest.”

Dick nodded in agreement and the little demolition expert, who now turned out to be also a first-aid expert, went quickly over the rest of Scotti’s body to see if there were any more wounds. He found nothing but some torn flesh on one hand, where he had probably tried to clutch at the rock when he landed on it. Slade quickly cleaned and dressed this wound, too, felt the lieutenant’s pulse, and stepped back.

“Can’t do anything else except set the leg,” he said.

Max and Tony had gone to help Vince find the straight pieces of wood needed for this task. In a few minutes they returned with straight sapling trunks about an inch and a half in diameter, but Slade said the wood was too pliable.

“That could never hold a broken leg in position,” he said. “It would bend with the leg. You’ve got to find old wood, hard and stiff.”

The three men went off into the woods again, and soon Dick could hear the sound of a hatchet chopping wood. He hoped that the sound did not carry to the town below, or to any German garrison which might be near by. The town was about two miles away, and the main German gun emplacements on the hills were a good way to the south of them, but still Dick did not rest easy until the sound was ended.

In ten minutes the three men returned with wood that Slade declared perfect. It was straight and true, with all tiny branches cleaned off smoothly, and there was no give in it at all. Slade set the others to tearing one of the parachutes into strips, and these strips he tied around the two long pieces of wood which were placed on either side of Scotti’s broken leg.

In twenty minutes the job was done.

“Best I can do, anyway,” Slade said. “Maybe it will set all right and maybe not. Nothing else to do, though. The main thing I’m worried about is the head injury.”

Slade Set Scotti’s Broken Leg

“Yes, I wish he weren’t unconscious,” Dick said. “It seems terrible, somehow, to see him here but not talk to him, hear him. And right now we need him badly. He’s the one with the brains in this outfit.”

“It’s too bad, all right,” Tony said, “but you’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders, too, Dick. We can carry on. And, anyway, maybe Scotti will come around in a little while and he can direct operations from here. He doesn’t have to move around. We can do everything that needs to be done.”

The others agreed, but Dick felt a little lost without Scotti’s help at this point. He set about getting the cave organized, the containers unpacked, the supplies in order. Tony Avella checked over all the radio material and found everything in order.

Slade stacked his dynamite at the rear of the cave, and Vince said, as he saw the great pile, “Are you just going to blow uponedam with that, Boom-Boom? It looks as if you had enough for two.”

“It takes a lot of dynamite to blow up a good dam,” Slade said. “From the pictures and plans I saw, this isn’t such a wonderful one. Structurally, it would never be acceptable in the United States. But, when possible, I always believe in bringing along just twice as much material as I think I’m going to need.”

“And who knows?” Tony laughed. “Maybe we can find something else we can blow up with whatever’s left over.”

“Not a bad idea,” Dick said. “Not a bad idea at all.”

They all sat down at the mouth of the cave and opened their cans of rations. Dick said he thought it was all right to light a small fire for a short while so they might have coffee. In five minutes there were five cups being held over a little blaze, and soon the coffee was made. The men all drank it with relish and sighs of relief, and then the fire was put out.

“Nobody’ll spot that little bit of smoke and get suspicious,” Max said.

“We just shouldn’t do it too often,” Dick said. “If they should notice it regularly, they’d come to investigate.”

Every half hour, at least, Dick went to Scotti’s side, felt his pulse, and looked eagerly for some signs of consciousness. But the lieutenant remained in the same state, breathing shallowly, but with a good pulse beat.

By four o’clock in the afternoon, Dick felt sure that whatever decisions were made that day would have to come from him. Vince and Max had taken short naps, but now they were awake and asking him what the plan of action was. He called them all around him to talk the matter over.

“We can’t do much of anything except at night, of course,” Dick said. “And we haven’t got much time to waste. First, we’ve got to get the radio set up, somehow, somewhere. Any ideas, Tony?”

“Not up here,” Tony said. “That’s about all I can say now, Dick. They’d spot us in no time with their detectors, and we’d have a company of Germans all over the side of this hill.”

“Where, then?” Dick asked.

“In the town itself,” Tony replied.

“That seems next to impossible, Tony,” Max said. “Why, they’ll find it in a minute in town—even if you should find some way to get all that paraphernalia in without being caught.”

“I know it sounds out of the question,” Tony agreed. “But there must be some place we can set it up without being located. Now, if my uncle’s still around—”

“How are you going to find that out?” Vince asked.

“Go to town and ask,” Tony replied. “Isn’t that right, Dick?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dick replied. “I don’t know about getting the radio into town, but we’ve got to go down there, some of us, and find out what’s what. That uncle of yours, Tony—we might as well assume he’snotthere. So many people have been evacuated. What did he do there, anyway?”

“That’s one reason I think he might still be there,” Tony said. “For quite a few years, he’s been caretaker at the Villa Rolta. Right on the edge oftown, the villa is—a big place about a thousand years old, backing up against the steep hill at the northern end of town. Belonged to the Rolta family ever since the twelfth century, though none of them have been around for quite a while. It’s been sort of a Museum for a long time now, and Uncle Tomaso has been caretaker. He’s an old duck and I don’t think he’d move. He’d stick there at the villa no matter what happened.”

“Well, maybe so,” Dick said. “It would be lucky if he were still around. We’ve got to find that out. And we’ve got to make contact with somebody else there if he isn’t around. That’s a ticklish job. The first man we talk to might be a friend of the Germans.”

“We’ll just listen first,” Tony said. “You can tell, after a little while, by the way people talk.”

“But what kind of listening can a bunch of American soldiers in uniform do?” Vince asked.

“That brings up another point,” Dick said. “You all remember what the General said about that. If we got out of uniform and were caught we’d be treated as spies. And you know that means getting shot—right away and without any questions asked.”

“Sure, but we can’t go in uniform,” Tony protested.

“I don’t think we can, either,” Dick said. “And I know Scotti didn’t think so. That’s why he got hold of six sets of clothing, clothing of ordinary Italian small-town people such as they’d be wearing in Maletta these days.”

“Do they fit?” demanded Vince Salamone, whose difficulty in finding clothes large enough was always bothering him.

Dick laughed. “Yes, Jerry did a good job on that,” he said. “Of course, it was pretty easy to pick up the right things fast in the towns we’ve recently taken over in southern Italy. He even found a couple of Italians as big as you, Vince.”

“Then we go in Italian clothes?” Tony asked.

“Only if you want to,” Dick replied. “I’m not going to ask anybody to do it who doesn’t agree perfectly with the idea. But I know that I’m going to leave my uniform here in the cave when I visit Maletta.”

“Same here,” Tony said. “I’ll be right at home. Nobody’ll ever notice me. And if they ask, I’m just little Antonio Avella, from the town of Carlini up north, come down looking for my poor old uncle.”

“What kind of Italian peasant do you think I’ll make?” Max asked. “I can’t speak the language.”

“You’re my deaf and dumb cousin!” Tony laughed, and the others joined in. “I always knew part of that was true, but now you’ll have to fill the description completely.”

“Okay,” Max laughed. “I’ll be deaf and dumb if it means I can help and at the same time keep from getting myself shot as a spy.”

“Maybe we can pick up a German uniform for you,” Dick said, “and then your German will come in mighty handy. Come to think of it, I’m going to keep on the lookout for a spare uniform.”

“Make me a high officer, if you get me a German uniform,” Max said. “I’d like to be more than a private for a while, especially if I’ve got to wear a Nazi uniform. It would be fun to get in a Colonel’s uniform and march up to a company of soldiers and order them to jump in the lake and drown themselves. They’d do it, too! They’re just that crazy about obeying orders if the orders are barked by a guy with enough gold braid on him.”

“But I don’t speak German or Italian, either one,” Slade said. “What about me?”

“Boom-Boom, you stay right here,” Dick said. “In the first place, you came along to blow up a dam. You can also be mighty useful by nursing our lieutenant back to life and health. Somebody’s got to keep on tap here, anyway, all the time. You’re elected.”

“All right,” Slade said. “But I must have a chance to look over that dam once or twice before I go to blow it up.”

“We’ll visit the dam, all right,” Dick said. “But that will come later. Now here’s the schedule, and for most of you guys it’s easy.”

They all looked at the young sergeant expectantly.

“If too many strange Italians from the north, including a deaf and dumb one, land in this town all of a sudden, some folks will be suspicious. So this first night Tony and I go down to the town to look for his uncle Tomaso or find out whatever we can. Depending on what we learn—we’ll lay our plans then.”

“And the rest of us just sit here?” Vince demanded.

“Yes, you just sit here,” Dick said. “Tony and I will leave as soon as it grows dark. If we don’t come back by two a.m. Vince and Max are to come looking for us. Clear?”

They all nodded in agreement. Then Dick went in for another look at Lieutenant Scotti, followed by Slade.

“Isn’t there really anything we can do, Boom-Boom?” he asked uneasily.

“Not a thing, sergeant,” Slade replied. “I’ll confess I’m worried about the lieutenant, but there’s nothing we can do. Anything we might try would prove more dangerous than doing nothing at all now.”

Dick shook his head and went back to get the Italian peasant clothes. He tossed the sets of clothing to each man according to his size, and then stripped off his uniform and put on the trousers and shirt which Scotti had bought from an Italian many miles to the south.

“If the guy that owned these knew how they were being used,” Tony said, as he got into his things, “I’ll bet he’d be mighty happy. When this is over I want to look him up and tell him that his clothes helped in the big defeat of the Germans at Maletta.”

They ate a meal from their ration cans then, and watched the sun sink over the ridge of hills to the west. By seven o’clock it was completely dark, and Dick Donnelly—once more using the name of Ricardo Donnelli—and Tony Avella started down the hill to visit the town of Maletta.

UNCLE TOMASO

The two men did not talk for some time as they walked slowly through the dark woods. As the trees began to thin out near the bottom of the hill, Dick thought more carefully about the details of their plan. As they approached the town more closely, it seemed almost impossible to carry such an undertaking through successfully. Here they were walking right into the heart of the enemy’s territory, into one of his most important bases.

“We haven’t got any identification papers,” he said casually to Tony.

“Neither have a great many Italian peasants,” Tony replied, “especially if they come from the farms. Either they haven’t been given such papers at all, haven’t been checked up on, or they forget to carry them. They’re like that, you know—not like the Germans at all, who must always have everything so well systematized. The Italian farmer knows that he is Guiseppi Amato, and all his friends know it. Why, he asks, should he bother to carry around a paper saying that’s who he is?”

Dick laughed lightly. “And he’s right, too,” he agreed. “Mussolini really couldn’t get very far with his system and rigid discipline and such, cataloguing everybody and everything.”

“Of course, the Germans are very contemptuous of the Italians,” Tony said, “which is a compliment to the Italians. They don’t realize that half of the Italians’ apparent carelessness is really a subtle form of opposition. They just forget their identification papers, that’s all. And they tell that to the German sentry or officer with the most innocent face, with a sort of helpless shrug of the shoulders. It exasperates the German, of course, but what can he do about it? If only an occasional Italian acted that way, the Germans could shoot him or throw him in a concentration camp as punishment and as an example to the others. But when half the people do it—well!”

“Then if we’re asked for papers, we’ve just forgotten them, or lost them some time ago,” Dick concluded.

“Or we don’t even seem to know what they’re talking about,” Tony said. “We’re dumb. We’re as stupid as the Germans think we are. In that, we’re safe.”

“But it’s a good idea to avoid any more contact with the Germans than we are forced into,” Dick said.

“I think so, too, Dick,” Tony said. “So I think we ought not to go into Maletta on the main road. They’re likely to have sentries posted on the mainroads into town, just to check on people coming and going. We can cross the main road, go through the fields, and cut around to one of the little side streets.”

“Good,” Dick agreed. “The land is leveling out below us a bit. Looks like a farm.”

“Yes, see the lights over there,” Tony pointed out. “Farmhouse on our right. If we keep straight ahead across the field now we ought to strike the main road. We can cross it, then circle around to the left toward town, under the shadow of the hill.”

“Will that bring us anywhere near the villa where your uncle was caretaker?” Dick asked.

“Yes, right there,” Tony replied. “You see that steep hill ahead? You can make out the dark outlines of it against the sky. It’s at the foot of that—the villa, backed right up against the hill, almost built into it.”

They were walking across the farmer’s field now, stepping between the rows of plants. Dick could not make out what they were, but he was careful to avoid stepping on them. Finally they came to a low stone wall marking the end of the field. Beyond it was a ditch and the road. They crouched low beside the fence and listened. Far off a dog barked and from somewhere else another answered him. To the left they could see the lights of Maletta, though there were not many, and no glow was cast in the sky as it would have been in normal times.

The Two Men Walked Toward the Villa

“Okay, let’s go across,” Dick said, vaulting over the wall.

Tony followed him, and they clambered up the side of the ditch onto the road. It was wide and paved, obviously the main road to the northeast.

“There’s another road like this going northwest,” Tony said. “Two valleys meet here at Maletta and join into one up which our forces are coming. They form the letter Y, with Maletta at the point where the three arms meet. I imagine most of the German troops and supplies come down to Maletta along the left upper arm of the Y, from the northwest, though some come along this road, which is the right branch of the Y.”

“The dam is up to the east a bit, isn’t it?” Dick said. “On the right arm of the Y.”

“That’s right,” Tony said. “This road skirts around the edge of the dam and lake, then dips down into the valley. It will be wiped out completely by the flood waters when the dam is blown up.”

They were across the road by this time, leaping over another wall into another field.

“Then the waters will pour down through Maletta and into the valley leading to the south, where our main attack seems to be,” Dick figured out.

“Yep, and a good flood it will be,” Tony said.

“But that leaves the main supply road into Maletta free,” Dick said. “The left arm of the Y, leading to the northwest.”

“Yes, it does,” Tony replied. “But we’ll catch plenty of German troops and supplies in Maletta itself, and below it, where they are going to meet our attack.”

“But they can escape up the northwest road,” Dick said. “We ought to be able to do something about that.”

“You want to make it a hundred per cent catastrophe, don’t you?” Tony asked with a laugh.

“I surely do,” Dick said. “And if we get time, we might take a little walk up that northwest road to look it over.”

“Tonight?” Tony asked.

“No, not tonight,” was the reply. “Before anything else is done we’ve got to get your radio set. We’re not far from that hill now, are we?”

“No, it’s just ahead,” Tony said. “We’ll head a bit to the left here.”

They changed their direction, crawled over another wall, skirted around another house where a barking dog was too curious about them. Then they found themselves on a narrow street with a few small houses on both sides. In one of them a lamp was burning, but the others were dark. It was silent on the street, but Dick and Tony heard the sound of trucks and cars from the center of town ahead of them.

They came to a corner where another street crossed the one they were on. Tony touched Dick’s arm, and they took a right turn. There were a few more houses, then they stopped. The road began to ascend a hill, and then it ended, becoming nothing but a wide path. Tony stopped Dick.

“See, there to the left,” he pointed out. “The villa.”

Dick looked and saw a huge dark mass. At the front of it there were many lights, and he could see cars standing before the door.

“It seems to be a busy place,” he said.

“Yes, it does,” Tony agreed. “The Germans must be using it for something.”

“Think we’d better try to get there?” Dick wondered.

“Around to the rear, yes,” Tony said. “There was a servants’ wing at the back on this side, almost cut into the hill. Come on, let’s go.”

They walked toward the villa along the steep slope of the hill, and Dick saw that they were approaching it from the rear on the east side. They would not be seen by anyone at the front of the building.

They walked slowly now. Dick saw the shape of the building more clearly as they came near it. It was a huge place, built a short way up the hill so that it overlooked the rest of the town spread out below it. He made out what looked like a tall tower rising from the center of it. And then he saw what Tony must have meant as the servants’ wing. It was built right up against the steep hill.

“You could almost come down the hill onto the roof of that wing,” he whispered to Tony.

“That’s exactly what youcando,” Tony said. “I’ve run and jumped onto it when I was over here visiting. I spent most of my time up in Carlini where most of my relatives lived, but I spent a month with Uncle Tomaso here in Maletta.”

“That’s surely lucky for us,” Dick said. “It would be tough without your knowledge of the town.”

“If Uncle Tomaso is still around,” Tony said, “he’d be in this servants’ wing. But of course, if the Germans have taken it over there may be soldiers quartered in there.”

“I see a light from the room at the end,” Dick said. “Maybe we can look in the window.”

Carefully they walked toward the lighted window at the end of the wing, trying not to dislodge the rocks beneath their feet. When they were ten feet away, they went down on all fours and crawled forward. They reached the rough stone wall and edged toward the window.

With one quick motion upward, Dick took one glance through the window, then ducked down again.

“What? What did you see?” Tony asked.

“No German soldiers,” Dick said. “Just one old man.”

Tony’s heart leaped at these words. “Just one old man in my Uncle Tomaso’s old room. That must be my uncle—it’s justgotto be!”

“Take a quick look, Tony,” Dick said. “Go ahead.”

He moved back a bit so that Tony could get near the window. He took a quick glance around to see that no one was approaching. Then he watched Tony’s face to see if he could tell by the expression who it was he saw.

Tony moved his head up and looked in the window. He started to bring it down again, but then left it there, looking steadily inside the room. Dick heard his breath come fast. The light from the room fell faintly on his face, and Dick, studying it closely, saw the mouth twitch, the eyes fill with tears. And then Tony spoke, almost in a whisper.

“Uncle Tomaso,” he breathed. “My own Uncle Tomaso!”

Then he crouched down beside Dick again. The sergeant said nothing, and Tony could not speak for a few seconds.

“Yes, Dick, it’s my uncle,” Tony said. “And—he looks so old, sitting there just staring at the floor. He looks sad and broken and old. I almost didn’t recognize him.”

“Nobody else in the room?” Dick asked.

“No, he’s alone,” Tony said. “I’ll try tapping on the window.”

Tony stood up, looked all around, then tapped lightly against the window pane. Dick stood behind him, looking in over Tony’s shoulder.

The old man hardly seemed to hear anything at first. He lifted his head slowly as if he might be dreaming. Then suddenly he jumped, startled, and Dick saw fear leap into his eyes. He stared at the door, and went to open it. Then Tony tapped more insistently. Obviously the old man could not be sure where the sound was coming from.

Finally he turned and stared at the window. Tony pressed his face close against the glass so that his uncle might see him, might recognize him. He hated to see that look of fear in Tomaso’s face, and he wanted to reassure him quickly.

But the old man looked more terrified than ever. For a few seconds he just stared at the window, not moving, and then as if impelled against his will, he moved toward the window. He moved his arms forward and opened it. Then he spoke, in a small voice, in Italian.

“What—what do you want?”

“Uncle Tomaso!” Tony whispered urgently. “It’s me—Tony! Tony Avella! Your nephew from America!”

The old man’s eyes widened with unbelief, but he leaned forward, thrusting his face close to Tony’s.

“It can’t be!” he muttered. “No, I’m dreaming! It can’t be! The Americans have not come yet!”

“But I’ve come, Uncle Tomaso,” Tony insisted. “I’ve come with my friends ahead of the rest of the Americans. Yes, I’m really Tony. Look! Look closely.”

The old man did look closely. He stretched one hand through the window and touched Tony’s face. Then he began to smile, and his eyes began to shine.

“Tony, my little Tony!” he cried.

“Quiet, Uncle,” Tony warned. “Don’t bring the Germans here!”

“The Germans!” And Tony’s uncle cursed. “The Germans! Soon they will taste some of their own medicine. Are the Americans really so close, Tony, that you could come to me here?”

“Yes, Uncle, and they will be here in another week,” Tony said. “But you can help us. Where can we talk?”

“I’ll come outside with you,” the old man said. “Yes, through the window. I can still crawl through the window.”

“Will the Germans come and look in your room?” Tony asked. “Are they likely to miss you?”

“No, they never look for the old man,” Tomaso said. “They never even think about the harmless old man, except when they want their rooms cleaned or their boots polished.”

Suddenly the old man laughed. “Harmless old man, they think! If they knew what I’ve done!”

He no longer seemed to be the broken and tired soul that he was before. He stuck one leg out the open window and climbed through with an agility that surprised Dick. Tony helped him to the ground, and then closed the window almost shut behind him. Then the uncle looked questioningly at Dick.

“Uncle, this is my friend, my commander,” Tony explained. “He is really Italian, too, but I call him Dick Donnelly. Uncle—I’ll tell you right away who he really is. Ricardo Donnelli!”

“You—you are really Ricardo Donnelli?” the old man exclaimed. “Here in our little town of Maletta?”

Dick smiled and nodded. “But I’m really just a soldier in the American Army now,” he said. “We should get away from the villa before we talk. Can we go back up the hill?”

“Yes, back up the hill,” the old man said, starting off at once. “It is steep but we can go up there and talk safely. Not far. We cannot be seen up here from the villa.”

Dick and Tony followed him up the slope to a little clump of trees.

“This used to be a pleasant place to sit on a sunny afternoon,” the old man said. “See—there is a long flat rock to sit upon. Now, I do not come here often, because all I can see are the hated Germans!”

Then he began to pour out a stream of questions to Tony—about his mother and father, how long he had been in the Army, when he had come to Italy, how far away the American troops were. Then suddenly he stopped.

“You said I could help the Americans,” he said. “Tell me what I can do. I shall do anything you ask. And there are many others here who will help. We have not been idle.”

“I imagine not,” Dick said. “In America we don’t hear much about the underground activities in Italy, but we know you have been fighting in every way possible.”

“Especially now that there is some hope,” Tomaso said. “For so long, for so many many years, we were held under the thumb of that bellowing jackass, Mussolini, with his cruel blackshirt terrorists. And the world did not seem to care. But now—now we know we will be free men again, and we fight once more.”

“What can you do, Uncle?” Tony asked.

“Oh, there are a few things an old man can do,” Tomaso smiled. “When that big Gestapo chief came here on inspection, it was I who got word to the others who he was. Perhaps you have not heard about the bomb that blew up his car as it drove away—killing him. No? Well, we did that.”

Tony and Dick looked at the old man in admiration. Then he went on.

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