A YANKEE FLIER

IN ITALY

"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