"In that case I will waste no time. You will be shot within the hour."

He turned to the Italian prisoners and spoke in German to one of them.

His words were harsh and his att.i.tude showed he had no respect for the men.

One of the prisoners answered in German. His words were angry and he was defiant. Suddenly Allison stepped forward.

"I say, old man," he addressed the officer. "I've changed my mind. There is some information I could give the colonel."

"Come along then," the officer snapped. He shot a few words at the Italians as he motioned for the guard to open the door.

Stan grabbed Allison's arm. "You can't do it, fellow," he said.

Allison turned on him. "You may want to die and become a hero, but I'd rather be a live war prisoner. I say, get your hands off me."

Stan started to pull Allison back. With a quick movement Allison planted a fist on Stan's jaw. It was a hard right cross and set Stan back on his heels.

The officer laughed loudly. "Now you are acting quite as you should, you swine."

"Let me get a crack at him," O'Malley howled. "The traitor!"

He was blocked by the bayonet of the guard. Allison walked out of the cell. He paused and looked back. There was a mocking leer on his lips.

"Good-by, saps," he said.

Stan slumped down on the bench. O'Malley marched up and down fuming and ranting. Twenty minutes pa.s.sed and a soldier came to the cell. He escorted the Italians out of the room. Stan got to his feet and walked to the door. He was attracted by marching feet on the gravel outside.

Looking out he saw a squad of men with rifles. The squad leader halted them and faced them toward a wall. Their rifle b.u.t.ts. .h.i.t the gravel and they stood rigid, with their backs to the cell door. Stan noticed that mortar had been knocked from the surface of the wall. He could see many splattered places and many bullet holes in that wall. Turning around he looked at O'Malley, who had seated himself.

"The reception committee has arrived," he said calmly.

O'Malley got to his feet and walked to the door. In silence they stood looking out at their executioners. The squad leader was looking their way. He seemed eager to get at the business he had to perform.

Two officers appeared and halted before the squad leader. He saluted and the three talked briefly. The officers turned toward the guardhouse.

They spoke to the guard and he produced his keys. The door was opened and one of the officers spoke in broken English.

"Come now."

Stan and O'Malley walked out of the room. One of the officers produced two strips of cloth and held them out. Stan shook his head.

"No blindfold for me," he said evenly.

"Get them rags away," O'Malley growled. "I'll be lookin' ye in the eye, ye spalpeens."

Walking between the two officers, they marched out across the grounds toward the wall. Reaching it, they faced the men with rifles at rest.

"Get it over with," Stan snapped.

"Sure, an' I'll bet Allison will be sorry he isn't here," O'Malley said gloomily.

The officers moved back and took up positions beside the firing squad.

Suddenly a jangle of angry and excited voices broke loose from the direction of the colonel's quarters. A door burst open and a big fat man plunged out upon the parade ground.

"General Bolero!" Stan gasped.

It was General Bolero and he was red-faced with anger. Behind him came Colonel Kittle, the Gestapo officer, the two Italian prisoners, and Allison. The general charged across the grounds and halted before the two officers in charge of the firing squad. He jumped up and down and shouted, waving his arms wildly all the time. Colonel Kittle came up and halted. He snapped an order to the officers.

The Gestapo officer was shouting loudly, but he was no match for the general, who bellowed so loudly that the medals on his chest danced up and down.

The firing squad suddenly came to life. They shouldered their rifles, about-faced, and marched away. Stan and O'Malley walked over to the group.

The general ceased shouting and looked at the two Yank airmen. He puffed out his cheeks and said:

"A thousand apologies, gentlemen. I am ashamed. Italy is shamed. This could not be." He faced the colonel. "These are my prisoners, Colonel. I am taking them with me."

Colonel Kittle saluted and nodded. The Gestapo officer whirled and raced away.

"We will go quickly," the general said to the boys, "before the suckling pig receives more orders from his superiors." He bowed deeply to the colonel and faced about.

"I have given our promise to go with him," Allison said. "It was the only way to save your necks."

They marched away beside the general. Beyond the buildings they came to a big car with an army driver. General Bolero himself opened the door, and the boys seated themselves in the rear seat. The general climbed in the front seat with his driver. He sat very stiffly but every once in a while he sputtered like the fuse on a firecracker.

The car rolled up a shady road, past many guards, and on into a wide highway. Stan turned to Allison.

"How did you work it?" he asked.

"I heard one of those Italian prisoners say he demanded to see General Bolero. The officer told him Bolero was in Colonel Kittle's office. I thought there might be a slim chance if I could get to the general, so I pretended to be ready to turn traitor." Allison chuckled. "You should have seen the general," he lowered his voice, "when I told him we were to be shot as spies."

"He's a good egg, but for how long did you give our parole?" Stan asked.

He was worried because a military parole is something a soldier does not break.

"Thirty days," Allison replied. "It was the best deal I could make."

"Thirty days!" Stan repeated. "Italy will be captured by that time and we'll miss the show."

Allison grinned. "You know, I got the idea the general figured Italy would be out of the war by then."

"'Tis the first time I iver promised to stay in jail," O'Malley said sadly. "But after lookin' down the barrels o' them n.a.z.i rifles, I'm not kickin' on the bargain."

"Yes, we'd have missed all of the show if Allison hadn't outsmarted that Gestapo officer," Stan agreed.

CHAPTER VII

REST CURE

General Bolero took his prisoners to a villa a few miles from Naples.