Like a flash Stan’s hand shot out and he had the pistol. He lunged forward at the same instant, planting his head in the guard’s chest. The soldier went over his stool and landed in a cramped position in the narrow waist of the plane.

O’Malley had leaped the instant Stan’s hand shot out. Allison did a good imitation of an American tackle. The second guard lost his gun but put up a tussle. Stan wedged past the struggling men and jammed the pistol barrel into the neck of the pilot.

“We’ll take over now,” he snapped.

The pilot cringed forward while the copilot turned about. Stan circled his neck with an arm and cinched down tight. Before the copilot could wiggle free, O’Malley was up forward with the other pistol. The copilot lifted his hands. His face was white and he seemed scared.

“Drag him back and tuck him away with the guards,” Stan ordered.

O’Malley and Allison dragged the copilot back and crowded him into the narrow rear compartment with the others. Allison stood guard over them, while O’Malley and Stan took over from the pilot. The pilot was not afraid of the Yanks. He did signals of distress with his wings and put the ship into a dive before Stan laid him out with a rap over the head. Sliding into the seat Stan began to fight the old Fiat to get her out of a spin.

She was going down, twisting and shuddering in every rivet and stay. O’Malley finally climbed up front and grabbed the free set of controls. They heaved her out of her spin just in time. Their wings fanned the tops of a grove of trees and they had to lay over to miss the spire of a church.

“I can handle her now,” Stan called across. “I’ll go up a bit and then you get back there and have the Italians bail out. We won’t need any prisoners. If they kick about it, tell them we’ll be setting this ship down on a Malta air strip. That ought to make them bail out.” Stan grinned at O’Malley.