CHAPTER X
LONE EAGLE
A week passed with Stan lounging around Mess Nine waiting to be assignedto a fighter squadron. During that time he divided his hours between theofficers at Intelligence and the board of strategy. He rubbed elbowswith generals, British and American and French. During those interviewshe got an idea of the great campaign which was being planned. It helpedto soften the ache inside him, because he had heard nothing fromO'Malley or Allison. It also helped to keep him from getting restless.He knew that a great reserve of air power was being assembled to throwan umbrella of planes over the coming thrust, which was aimed at theheart of Germany, through or across Italy.
The second week was well under way and everyone, except the generals,was beginning to complain and to cast a critical eye at the headquartersof General Dwight D. Eisenhower and General Harold R. L. G. Alexander.Stan knew enough of the plans from his meetings with the officers toknow that the blow was coming, and that it would be a swift, savagethrust.
One morning he received a call. It was delivered by an orderly. Stanopened the folded sheet and read an order from headquarters. "Report toColonel Benson at once for assignment." Stan stared at the order. Bensonhad located him and demanded his return. The friendly general who hadpromised to transfer Stan was now in North Africa. Folding the report,Stan began packing the few things he owned. Colonel Benson's command hadbeen moved up to a field close to Messina. That was some comfort. Itmeant action as soon as the main invasion broke.
But Stan was uneasy. There were many nasty jobs around a fightersquadron to which he could be assigned as punishment for his part in theferry mess. When Stan was given a low-powered observation plane to flyto Messina, his worst fears seemed about to be realized.
The plane was a Ryan ST-3, a plane used for basic training back home andfor odd jobs of scouting, ferrying first-aid supplies, and othernon-combat jobs. It was sleek and fast, as light planes go, but it wasfar from a fighter.
Stan sent the Ryan up and headed her north by a point or two east. TheRyan showed surprising speed for the size of her engine. Stan grinned ashe gunned her. He got to thinking that after the war he would like toown a ship like it.
Swinging in around Mount Etna's cone, he set down on the Italian fieldwhere Colonel Benson's boys were holding forth. A field officer took hispapers and waved him toward a row of drab buildings.
"The commander wants to see you at once." He spoke gruffly and showed nointerest at all in Stan.
Stan unloaded his gear in the briefing room and walked across to thecolonel's headquarters. The door was open and he looked into a roombarely large enough for a table and three chairs. Colonel Benson wasseated at the table. He looked up and when he saw Stan he frowned.
"Come in, Lieutenant Wilson," he called.
Stan stepped inside, saluted, and stood waiting.
"Sit down." The colonel motioned to a chair.
Stan seated himself and waited. The colonel regarded him for a moment,then started to speak.
"In all of the years I have been in service I have never read a reportlike the one handed to me. That report covers your activities as ferrypilot in my command." The colonel shifted some papers on his desk,selected one and began reading it silently.
"Yes, sir," Stan said, feeling some reply was called for.
"It is a continuous recital of violations of orders resulting in a greatdeal of trouble. In my opinion it deserves drastic action." His coldeyes stabbed into Stan.
"Yes, sir," Stan answered. He did not intend to argue, not at thatmoment.
"Take this report." A smile formed at the corners of the colonel'smouth. "The Navy gives us the numbers from three planes that saved awarship from being sunk off Sicily. In checking the numbers we discoverthe planes are ferry planes bound for Malta." He picked up anotherreport. "Here is a memorandum from General Eisenhower citing LieutenantWilson for the delivery of vital documents from inside Italy." Thesmile faded. "And there is a line mentioning Lieutenant's O'Malley andAllison for covering your escape." The colonel dropped the paper andleaned back.
"Yes, sir," was all Stan could say, but a warm glow was beginning tostir inside him.
"And that last line is the reason for my calling for your services,Lieutenant. I have received a message brought in by an Italian pilot whomanaged to fly his plane over here." He shoved a piece of soiled paperacross to Stan. "It is addressed to you."
Stan caught the paper eagerly and read the scrawled lines upon it.
"Shot down. Prisoners. Held in shed back of Bolero barns. Tony with us.One of the Bolero servants will try to smuggle this out." The note wassigned by Allison.
"They're alive!" Stan almost shouted.
"They are," the colonel said dryly.
"They'll be treated like spies and not prisoners of war. The Germanspulled that on us before," Stan said anxiously.
"You three seem marked down as irregulars," the colonel said. "I nowfind myself in the position of becoming a party to your wild schemes."He laughed outright. "I have not reported this to headquarters. I amafraid O'Malley and Allison should and would be marked down asexpendables and left to be shot by the Germans." He straightened andshoved the papers aside. "With a fast, light bomber, would you have achance to land over there?"
"I certainly would," Stan said eagerly. "The Bolero boys have a secretlanding strip where they hid their planes when they didn't wantMussolini's agents to trail them. That landing strip is just above theplace where the Germans are holding Allison and O'Malley."
"In that case I'll assign you a fast bomber and an objective. You willdrop your bomb load at another spot and make a try." His eyes weretwinkling. "And if you should bring back Mussolini, I think you mightget a medal."
They both laughed. Stan looked at his watch. "Dusk would be the time tohit there. I can make it tonight."
"As you like," the colonel said. "Report to me at once when you getback. What information you gather should clear over my desk." Hegrinned. "I am a bit of a politician, you see."
Stan saluted and made off while the colonel got busy on the telephonegetting a ship assigned to him.
When Stan reported to the briefing room he found the colonel there. Thebriefing officer and his second in command gave him his locations andhis bombing data, the weather and the wind drift. Everything was verymuch routine and like a hundred other sorties being made hourly overselected targets by from one to fifty planes. The colonel walked out tothe runway with Stan.
They shook hands like old pals. Stan smiled. The colonel was deadlyserious.
"Landing almost on a German flying field isn't going to be a softtouch," he said grimly. "Not even with your luck."
Stan turned to his ship and his smile broadened. Colonel Benson had goneto considerable trouble in selecting a bomber. The ship that stood withidling props was a De Havilland Mosquito. She was humpbacked like acodfish. Her forward gun opening and her nose greenhouse made her looklike a fish. They furnished eyes and mouth. She was a plywood job,light, but the fastest bomber in the world.
He waved a hand to the colonel and climbed up. None of the ground menseemed interested in his lack of crew or light bomb load. In the swelterand rush of round-the-clock operations the boys followed orders andrushed each job out, knowing that another ship had to be on the line assoon as one craft cleared a spot.
Stan leaned back against the shock pad and checked his dials. He crackedthe throttle a bit more and his powerful radials roared with surgingpower. The Mosquito shuddered and trembled against her chocks.
"Ready, Flight Fifty-four?"
"Ready," Stan called back.
"Lane Three, Flight Fifty-four." The voice from the control towersnapped off.
Stan eased up and signaled the men below. The chocks were jerked looseand Stan gunned the ship. She leaped forward with a snap that would havedone credit to any fighter craft. Darting down the runway she hoiked hertail and was off before she had covered a fourth of the alloted space.Upward she roared like a streak. The boys on t
he ground grinned. TheMosquito got off so fast she was out of sight before any spotter couldpick her up.
Easing around in a wide circle, Stan put her nose into the wind and lether have her head. He settled himself to the job ahead, his pulsesbeating in tune with the roar of the slip stream of air piling up androlling off the leading edges of his wings. A good ship, the DeHavilland. She was the craft used to make regular flights betweenEngland and Malta. Too fast for interception, the Mosquitoes streakedright across Hitler's Germany or across France, running supplies dailythrough enemy-guarded skies.
The coast of Italy showed clearly ahead. Slipping in over Reggio Stanpicked a rail line and checked with his eye. No need for a bombardierhere. He lined up on the track and then spotted a short string of cars.The train was standing still and smoke lifted from its locomotive. Stansuspected some other Yank had spotted it and laid a stick of bombs onthe track, blocking it.
Stan knew he should cut loose his bombs and be on his way. But the feelof the Mosquito made him eager to try her out. This was an ideal targetfor the fast-flying bomber. If he went down he would be sure to stir upGerman fighter planes. The temptation was great. Stan nosed over andsent the Mosquito roaring down the chute. He lined up on the freighttrain as he went.
The landscape wavered up at him. The train seemed to be twisting andturning like a snake trying to wiggle away, though he knew it was notmoving. The wind ahead of his diving wings piled up and banked likeinvisible snow, making the plane shudder and shake. Stan grinned. Onlythe Lockheed Lightning could fly a dive fast enough to bank up air likesnow; that was what he had always thought, but the diving Mosquito wasdoing it. Stan began to wonder if a ship made of plywood could take thestrain of a pull-out after such a dive.
He released his stick of bombs and the Mosquito bounced like a golf ballbefore the cutting edge of a driver. Up she went and Stan set himselfagainst the "high G's" he had to expect. First, as he started up, therewas a blurring of vision, then a graying, and then a momentary blackout.Instantly the graying appeared before his eyes again, then the blurring,and a moment later clear vision. Stan whistled softly.
"Some ship!" he muttered. "She makes anything I ever flew except theold Lightnings look slow."
Three Messerschmitts knifed down from a cloud, but the Mosquito was onher way under full throttle and leaving the toe of the Italian boot at aspace-devouring pace. The Me pilots saw what they had picked up and slidoff in disgust.
The Mosquito went up so fast that Stan could not see the results of hisattack upon the train. Heading east he caught sight of the bay ofTaranto, then turned north. Flying on the east rim of a mountain ridgehe bored along.
Checking the miles off as best he could, Stan turned west when hethought he was opposite Naples. He zoomed up higher and higher until hespotted the city on the coast, then he eased around and ducked back andup into a layer of clouds. Darkness had not settled, but he figured hecould slide in back of the ridge above the Bolero villa and spot thehidden landing strip.
Easing down he clipped along the tops of the trees. Three Focke-Wulf 190fighters spotted him and he made off, leaving them to wander above thehill country. Returning, he zoomed along the ridge. Back and forth heslid but failed to locate the strip. Again he was spotted and had to runfor it. The next time he came back he flew along the top of the ridge,which caused no less than a dozen Jerry fighters to take after him. Buthe spotted the hidden strip before he made off.
Dusk was beginning to settle when he came back. This time he had to landregardless of the fighter planes. He came in straight for the strip,flying so low he was below the trees in many spots. He was surprised tofind that there was a natural avenue which allowed him to slide in underfair cover. The Bolero boys had selected their secret field well. One Medarted over to have a look, but did not dive down. Stan set himself andcut his engines. He was coming in now, either for a landing or a crash.Topping a row of small trees he let the Mosquito settle toward thegrassy lane below.
The wheels of the ship tipped the grass, then settled down solidly. Stanapplied his brakes and eased into a smooth and even landing. As herolled in, he spotted the big trees with overhanging branches where theNardi fighters had been parked. Gunning the Mosquito a bit he slidunder cover just as three Me's roared past looking for him. They went onto the east, but came back to crisscross the ridge. Stan smiled. TheGerman pilots seemed puzzled over the way a bomber had vanished intothin air.
Swinging the Mosquito around under her own power he set her in positionfor a quick take-off, then began getting out his pack of rations and thelight machine gun he had brought with him. He was eager to work his waydown the bridle path before darkness settled completely.