and black eyes developed in a hurry, but O'Malley was swarmed under by the weight of sheer numbers. He went down yelling like a Comanche Indian and swinging like Joe Louis.

Stan struggled to his feet and held up his hands. He realized the uselessness of fighting against such odds. The melee O'Malley had caused had drawn almost a company of Italians to the spot. Allison had managed to stay on his feet, but he had suffered from rough handling along with Stan and O'Malley. His uniform, which was wet and sagging, had been torn in a dozen places. "Go quietly!" an Italian officer bellowed. He had just arrived on the scene. "Go quietly or you will be sorry!" "We're going, call off your dogs!" Stan shouted.

The officer shouted orders in Italian and soon restored a semblance of order. Allison called across to Stan. "Have a look above, and you'll see what all the excitement is about." Stan looked into the sky and caught his breath. The paratroopers were coming. Low over the hilly country a fleet of transports and gliders swept in from the sea. They swept along in perfect formation like giant birds seeking a tree to light upon. Above them fighter planes wove in and out, while on either side fighter-bombers roared along. It was a beautiful sight.

Suddenly the Yank air soldiers began to pile out. The sky blossomed with colored parachutes until the blue was thickly dotted with them like a field crowded with spring flowers. They came floating down with machine guns and supply hassocks dangling from their chutes. On a slope above the field, a glider nosed in. It slid to a halt and a jeep bounded out of its fat, rounded snout. Another glider slid in and a tank rolled out of it almost before it had slid to a halt. The slope above them was already swarming with Yanks, and machine guns were rattling.

Stan looked around desperately. They were being rushed toward a big truck. He made one last attempt to slow down their retreat. Shaking off the men who held him, he ducked his head and hit the line of soldiers like a blocking back clearing a path for a ball carrier. Two Italians went down, one under a straight, stiff arm and the other from a solid body-block. Then a soldier clipped Stan across the head with the butt of his rifle. Stan went down on his face and lay still.

O'Malley had started his fight again, but this time the Italians were not wasting precious minutes. O'Malley got a rap such as the one that had felled Stan. Allison went down under a pile of soldiers. Two minutes later the three Yanks, out cold, were dumped into the 

 Prev. P 23/107 next