REST CURE
General Bolero took his prisoners to a villa a few miles from Naples. Here they had comfortable quarters and good food. They saw little of the general, as he was busy attending to the fortification of the Salerno and Naples water fronts. When they did see him, he always spoke with little respect for his German allies. Stan and Allison liked the general, but O’Malley did not warm up to him. The Irishman had never liked high-ranking officers. To him they were always brass hats.
The days passed slowly. The boys had a small radio and always tuned in the Algiers radio station for news of the Allied attack upon Sicily. The news of the fighting made them squirm, and for hours after listening to a military report of the advance of Patton and Montgomery they paced the floor. O’Malley was especially restless. He marked each day off on the calendar and planned his escape.
On the twenty-seventh day the boys were seated on a shady balcony from which they could look down toward the city of Naples. Directly below the grounds of their villa were the headquarters and general assembly fields of the Germans. They seemed to be present in considerable strength. Stan sat with his feet on a railing. Allison was near the railing. O’Malley was sprawled out in an easy chair.
“Sure, an’ it will be no trick at all to get away,” he said.
“Before our parole is up the general will make other plans for us, you can bet on that,” Stan answered.
“I’ll bet we’re locked up,” Allison added.
“We could sneak out a bit ahead o’ time,” O’Malley suggested.
“The general has treated us very fine, besides saving our lives. We stay until one minute after midnight of the thirtieth day,” Stan said firmly.
“I’m goin’ crazy,” O’Malley growled, “sittin’ around here listenin’ to air fights. There won’t be a German plane left to tangle with by the time we get back into it.” He sat up and scowled down at the German camp. “Besides, these Italians can’t make decent pie.”
The boys laughed and O’Malley joined in. Behind them a curtain parted and four officers stepped out on the balcony. The general was paying them a visit and he had with him three flying officers of the Italian air force.
The Yanks got to their feet. The general smiled in friendly fashion and waved a hand toward the three fliers.
“I have brought three of my boys, Tony Bolero, Arno Bolero and Lorenzo Bolero. They are all officers of our air corps.” He faced the Yanks. “Lieutenant Wilson, Lieutenant O’Malley, and Lieutenant Allison.”
The Bolero trio bowed deeply. Stan stepped forward and held out a hand.
“Glad to meet you, Lorenzo,” he said.
The fliers shook hands while the general beamed happily upon them.
“Sit down. I have much to say to you men,” he said.
They found chairs and pulled them up beside a table. The general seated himself and puffed out his cheeks as he fished a thick envelope from his pocket.
“What I am about to say is most unusual. I have a request to make of you Americans. I wish you to extend your parole.” He lifted a hand as O’Malley opened his mouth to say no. “I feel that you should do this after the manner in which you have been treated.” He smiled at Stan.
“For how long, sir?” Stan asked.
“I cannot say exactly, but not for very much longer. I am leaving my boys here and they will be with you during the time you stay here.” His smile faded and he suddenly looked tired and old. “I ask this for a personal reason. Perhaps I am selfish.”
“You saved our lives, sir,” Allison said. “I’m giving my parole for a while longer.”
“I’ll give mine, sir,” Stan promised.
They looked at O’Malley. “An’ I’m gettin’ away if I can,” he declared.
The general bowed. “You know, of course, that I must place you in custody of a guard?”
“Sure,” O’Malley replied. “Sure, but I’m gettin’ itchy feet.”
The general nodded. He handed the fat envelope to his eldest son, Lorenzo.
“You will keep this for me. Above all it must not be given to the Germans.” He got to his feet. “Now I must be getting back to headquarters. I trust you have been comfortable, gentlemen?”
“We have, thank you, sir,” Allison said.
Gravely the general shook hands with the three Yanks and with each of his sons. At the doorway he paused and they all gave him a snappy salute. After he was gone the Bolero boys were silent. They stood at the balcony looking down on the shady road until his car disappeared inside the German camp. Lorenzo turned to Stan and there was a tight smile on his lips.
“This is a strange war for the Italians,” he said.
“It is,” Stan agreed.
The brothers shrugged their shoulders and started to chat with the Yanks in smooth English. They had learned the language in Great Britain. O’Malley sat back and said nothing. Stan and Allison carried on the talk. The war was not mentioned again. Allison and the brothers talked about schooldays in England.
At last Lorenzo got to his feet. The others joined him. They all bowed.
“We leave you now but will see you at dinner tonight.”
After they had gone, O’Malley burst out, “You sure did get tricked by that ol’ brass hat.”
“I don’t think so,” Stan said.
“I say, old man, you better change your mind. If you don’t, I’ll wager you a dinner we see action before you do.” Allison was smiling.
“Sure, an’ you talk riddles,” O’Malley snorted.
“There’s only one place the general can put you for safekeeping right now. He’ll have to turn you over to the Germans. This part of the country has been taken over by the Nazi gang.” Allison spoke slowly. “The general hates the Nazis. Figure it out for yourself.”
“An’ suppose he pops up with a regiment o’ soldiers to take you to a camp about five minutes before our parole is up?” O’Malley asked.
“He could do that anyway,” Stan answered. “We’ve waited a month. A few more days won’t kill us. I have a feeling Allison is right.”
“The Italians have thrown Mussolini out, perhaps they will start throwing the Germans out,” Allison said.
“They wouldn’t have a chance,” O’Malley answered.
“I guess you’re right about that, but something’s up. I’m going to wait and see.” Stan walked to the balcony rail and seated himself.
That night at dinner the Bolero brothers were quite gay. And for the next few days they were always around, but always friendly and polite. Stan wondered why they were not at the front. Italy certainly needed every pilot she had. He did not think that the officers had been detailed to watch them.
The parole day came and a guard arrived in the morning. The three Yanks saw a squad of Italian soldiers headed by a young officer halt in the yard below. O’Malley sat on the rail, watching. The young officer came to the balcony alone.
“Which one is Lieutenant O’Malley?” he asked.
O’Malley grinned at him. “Sure, an’ that’s me. I’m glad you dropped in. Tell General Bolero that I am givin’ my parole, though it is against me better judgment.”
The officer bowed. “I am pleased,” he said. “I will report this to the general.” He bowed again and turned on his heel.
Stan looked at O’Malley. “I thought you’d get some sense into that shaggy head of yours.”
“We’ll rot right here,” O’Malley said with a scowl. “But the likes o’ you has need o’ someone to look out for you.”
“Thanks,” Stan said. “You are very thoughtful.”