Produced by Greg Weeks, Roger L. Holda, Josephine Paolucci
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net.
A YANKEE FLIER
IN ITALY
[Illustration: "WE'LL TAKE OVER NOW," STAN SNAPPED.
_A Yankee Flier in Italy_]
A YANKEE FLIER
IN ITALY
BY
AL AVERY
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
PAUL LAUNE
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1944, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.
_All Rights Reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
[Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_For_
AVON KIRKS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I FAREWELL PARTY 1
II SPECIAL TASK 13
III REUNION 23
IV BEACH-HEAD 38
V PRISON SHIP 52
VI FIRING SQUAD 75
VII REST CURE 90
VIII ESCAPE 98
IX HOMEWARD BOUND 110
X LONE EAGLE 127
XI RESCUE 140
XII SALERNO 162
XIII NIGHT RAID 184
XIV NIGHT FLIGHT 200
A YANKEE FLIER
IN ITALY
CHAPTER I
FAREWELL PARTY
The party was about to break up. It had not been very successful.
Lieutenant O'Malley had devoured only one blueberry pie. This meant he
was feeling far from par. He sat sprawled in a big chair that once had
belonged to a Moslem prince, his skinny legs elevated to the top of the
mess table.
"Sure, an' you fellows are skunks, beatin' it off to do a soft stretch
in Alexandria," he growled.
Lieutenant Stan Wilson, United States Army Air Corps, grinned at his
Irish pal.
"They need brains in Alexandria to tell them what to do." Stan sipped
his coffee and continued to grin.
March Allison leaned across the table. Allison was British, slight and
neatly dressed. There was always a mocking smile lurking at the corners
of his mouth.
"I say, old fellow, you should be crowing. You are now a flight
commander and I understand you are to rate nothing less than a major."
"'Tis not the stripes I want," O'Malley muttered. "Sure, an' I'm told
this Colonel Benson who is to be in command is a spalpeen of the worst
sort. Niver did I care fer brass hats an' now I am to be near one all
the time."
"I understand Colonel Benson holds to a strict diet, no coffee, tobacco,
or pie," Stan said gravely. "He expects his men to follow his example."
O'Malley snorted. "Sure, an' I'll be after eatin' pie right off the top
o' his desk."
"He is said to be the best-dressed officer in the Army." Allison had his
gaze fixed upon O'Malley's sloppy uniform. The shirt was open at the
neck to allow O'Malley's huge Adam's apple to roll up and down, free and
unencumbered. O'Malley's cap was wrinkled and sagging as it attempted to
cover his shock of wild hair.
"I'm a fightin' man," O'Malley said gravely. "As such I waste no time
on trifles." His big mouth was tightly clamped shut and a frown wrinkled
his homely face.
Stan and Allison broke out laughing. Colonel Benson would have to take
O'Malley as he was, that they well knew. They had fought side by side
with him in the Battle of Britain, in the Far East, and now in Africa.
O'Malley was known as the wildest pilot in the service and one of the
best.
"We better get going," Stan said as he rose to his feet. He held out a
hand to O'Malley. "Hold off the invasion of Sicily and Italy until we
get back, pal."
"I'll be startin' it tomorrow," O'Malley said sourly.
"Cheerio," Allison added as he shook hands with his pal.
O'Malley watched them walk out of the mess. He had to admit, as the door
closed after them, that his gloom was due entirely to parting with the
two men he had fought beside for so long. Such things as colonels who
were tough did not bother O'Malley. Having Stan and Allison walk out on
him was the thing that hurt. It was his own fault that he was not going
with them. He had refused to quit the front for a month or so of ease
and rest.
Gazing out through an open window, he watched a group of natives herd a
flock of donkeys down toward the main part of the city of Bizerte. He
certainly would kick himself if no invasion came off for a month.
Lowering his feet from the top of the table, he strolled out into the
sunshine. Colonel Benson was due to arrive that morning and he had
orders to be on hand, along with other flight commanders, to meet his
superior. O'Malley yawned. Meeting brass hats always bored him. He was
not sure that he was going to like being one of them. O'Malley
considered even a flight commander a brass hat.
Colonel Benson was late in arriving. He was exactly three hours late and
that made O'Malley exactly two hours late for his dinner. Dinner was a
very important item in O'Malley's day, and he was in a very dour mood
when an orderly called the boys in to meet the new commander.
The commander's room once had been a lounge and music room. It was part
of a huge old mansion located on an estate. An Italian political boss
had taken it over from a native prince. O'Malley crowded in behind the
first man entering the room. At once the man ahead of O'Malley clicked
his heels and snapped a smart salute. O'Malley looked the colonel over,
then dabbed at the front of his cap with a big hand.
Colonel Benson was a big, rawboned man, standing six feet two inches and
weighing two hundred and ten pounds. His red face looked as though it
had just been scrubbed with soap and water. It had a pink and white
smoothness under the sunburn which reddened it. The eyes of the colonel
took away the softness of his smooth face. They were green and hard as
agate. At the moment they were looking Lieutenant O'Malley over with a
decidedly unfavorable glint.
The other boys shoved in and lined up. There was no mistaking the
atmosphere in the room. It fairly vibrated with military correctness.
The colonel's uniform, his carefully parted hair, his smooth, freshly
scraped chin, all added to the feeling of tightness.
Most of the boys in the room were used to dirt and dust and bearded
faces. They recently had come through a dusty, dirty, and bloody
battle. During those months on the desert they had forgotten all about
military correctness. The colonel's expression plainly indicated that he
thought them a sloppy outfit. He remained standing as he talked, and the
men remained at attention.
"I have been sent here to teach you men some of the combat tricks
developed recently." His eyes roved over the men and stopped upon
O'Malley.
"I am not going to insist upon strict military observance, but there are
a few details I will insist upon." The colonel's voice was rising and
his face was getting a bit redder.
"You." He stabbed a finger toward O'Malley.
"Lieutenant O'Malley," O'Malley informed him.
"Lieutenant O'Malley, nothing can excuse the sloppiness of your attire.
In the future you will give more attention to your uniform."
"Yes, sor," O'Malley said and grinned.
The grin made Colonel Benson rise up on his heels. He came down with a
thud, but he said no more. His eyes moved from O'Malley.
"We will soon be invading Italy." The Colonel paused to let this sink
in. It was exactly what the boys had been expecting, and therefore they
showed no sudden interest.
"How about Sicily, sor?" O'Malley asked. He had been flying missions all
over the proposed routes and knew something would have to be done about
Sicily.
"That will be merely a step in taking Italy, Lieutenant," the colonel
explained. He looked about the room. There were plenty of chairs. "You
may be at ease, gentlemen. Seat yourselves and we will proceed with our
conference."
O'Malley grunted. Dinner hour was long past and here they were settling
down for a conference. He picked the chair nearest the door and slumped
down into it. The colonel seated himself and launched into a lengthy and
detailed talk upon tactics and plans. O'Malley listened for a time, then
stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable. His mind wandered
far from the droning voice of the colonel.
An hour passed and Colonel Benson was still outlining plans and driving
home things he felt were very important. O'Malley had not exactly been
asleep, but he had failed to hear more than just a small part of what
was said. Suddenly he roused himself. Colonel Benson had just made a
remark that brought him up sharply.
"Gentlemen, I will now outline the procedure we will follow in handling
the various flights assigned to my sector. This will not take longer
than one hour. Give me your close attention."
O'Malley looked about as though seeking a way to escape. He saw an
orderly standing at the door. Nodding to the corporal, he leaned forward
and whispered a command. The orderly disappeared.
Ten minutes later the corporal returned. He was carrying a tin plate
with half of a blueberry pie on it.
"Thank you, son," O'Malley said as he slid the pie into his lap. He
scooped out a quarter of the pie and opened his mouth. As he bit down
upon the pie he began to grin. He gave his attention to the colonel with
the first real show of interest he had given during the afternoon. The
quarter of pie disappeared quickly. O'Malley slid the remaining quarter
into his hand and opened his mouth.
"The close co-ordination between our fighter units and the low-level
bombers will be secured by a system of code signals." Colonel Benson's
voice snapped off suddenly. His green eyes were on O'Malley and sparks
flashed in their depths. The other boys turned and looked at O'Malley.
"You are hungry, Lieutenant O'Malley?" Colonel Benson asked coldly.
"Yes, sor. 'Tis three hours an' more past dinnertime," O'Malley answered
calmly as he shoved half of the pie into his mouth.
"Stop! Stop--swilling that pie!" the colonel roared.
O'Malley got rid of the pie in a simple manner. He shoved what was left
into his mouth and munched upon it.
For a full minute the colonel could not think of anything to say. But
his face got deeper red and his eyes blazed. Finally he rapped on his
desk and said:
"Gentlemen, I will not tolerate eating during a conference. Any sort of
eating. I will not tolerate eating pie while I am giving instructions.
Lieutenant O'Malley, you will retire. I will consider your case later."
O'Malley got to his feet. He handed the pie plate to the embarrassed
corporal. "Thank you, sor," he drawled as he made off.
The colonel snorted and went back to his lecture. O'Malley headed for
the mess hall. The half pie had whetted his appetite. Locating a
comfortable place near a window he ordered a big dinner, with a whole
blueberry pie for dessert. In a leisurely manner he began devouring his
meal.
He had spent most of an hour enjoying his dinner and was ready to eat
his pie, when the fliers began drifting in from the conference. Several
of them headed toward O'Malley's table. O'Malley was the most famous
pilot in their outfit. The stories about him amounted almost to legend.
The boys admired his disregard for military usage. All of them had been
working according to the colonel's carefully explained plans for months
and knew them better than the colonel did. They had been bored by the
long session but had not had the nerve to show their feelings.
But none of them reached O'Malley. Colonel Benson came in and strode
over to O'Malley's table.
Nodding to O'Malley, he said, "Mind if I join you?" His voice did not
sound so stiff outside his office.
"Sure, an' I'm glad to have you," O'Malley said, but there was a gleam
of suspicion in his eye.
Colonel Benson seated himself. He watched O'Malley attack the pie. His
interest amounted to fascination and he did not speak until O'Malley had
finished three fourths of the pie. He ordered coffee and leaned back.
"I have heard a great deal about you, Lieutenant," he began.
O'Malley did not think this remark called for an answer, so he went on
eating his pie.
"I know you are an excellent pilot, though I understand you are a bit
reckless." There was a gleam that might have been humor in the colonel's
eye.
O'Malley leaned back. He pushed the pie plate away from him and uttered
a contented sigh.
"However, I'm afraid you are not the type of man I want working beside
me. With your permission, I will find you another assignment." The
colonel watched O'Malley as he spoke.
"What sort o' work?" O'Malley asked.
"Flying a fighter plane, of course." Colonel Benson smiled.
"'Twill suit me foine," O'Malley said. "I'm not likin' the idea o' bein'
a brass hat."
"I don't think you would make a very good one," the colonel said. "There
will be no further mention of your pie-eating exhibition of this
afternoon. You will report to operations for your new assignment."
"Thank you, sor."
The colonel drank his coffee and arose. O'Malley got to his feet and
managed a snappy salute. The colonel moved off and the boys closed in to
find out what had happened.