“I’m getting out very carefully,” Stan said. O’Malley said nothing at all, but he climbed out and joined Stan and Allison.

A group of Italian officers crowded around them. All were smiling and bowing as though welcoming the Yanks. O’Malley scowled at them, but Stan grinned back and Allison lifted a hand.

One of the Italian officers stepped forward. He spoke good English.

“You are prisoners of war, gentlemen. Come with us.” He waved a hand toward the dim outline of a building.

The three Yanks were willing to move in out of the rain. They were drenched to the skin. Before they had reached the place where they were to be questioned the rain had ceased falling, and the sun had burst through the clouds. O’Malley was completely disgusted.

“Sure, an’ I calls that a dirty trick. The weather is against us as well as iverything else.”

“Please be seated,” the Italian officer said as they entered a large room.

The three Yanks sat down and waited gloomily. Three high-ranking Italian officers entered. They spoke swiftly in their native tongue to the officer who had escorted the boys to the room. Their words were excited and they made many motions with their hands. O’Malley stared at them sourly. Finally the junior officer turned to the boys.

“General Bolero wishes to ask you some questions.”

The general smiled as he put the questions. “We wish to know how many planes and how many ships you are using. Also we wish to know at what places your forces plan to land.”

Stan spoke up. He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands wide.

“No one can answer those questions but our high command. We are only ferry pilots as you will see if you examine the flight orders of our leader.” He nodded toward O’Malley.