Dick and Vince followed him, helping him up the steep slope toward the road. He was heading for a culvert which passed under the road about fifty feet west of the little driveway to the dam wall. He did not even pause as he ducked low and started crawling through the culvert. Dick went up on the road, scurried across and got at the other end of the opening. He could barely see Slade’s flashlight as he made his way through the small tunnel.
After he was through, Vince came across and joined them, and then they made their way up the hill on the other side of the road, into the thick trees.
“Here,” Slade said, panting, “this will be the place. Vince, go get the detonator.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dick said. “I want to get my own stuff, too.”
While Slade sat down to rest, Dick and Vince went back across the road, into the tall grass where they had first put their heavy bundles. There were two detonators, a box of fuses, a length of wire, and one big box of dynamite. They picked them up and hurried back to join Slade. When they reached him again, they were all exhausted, but happy. There was still no sign of Max or his sentries, who were busy, apparently, chasing through the woods on the other side of the dam and lake.
They sat and waited, secure in the knowledge that now the dam would really be blown up. The charge was laid, the fuses set, the wire hooked up. At the proper moment Slade would just have to push down a plunger, and the dam would be ruined, flood waters would roar down into the valley below, engulfing the German forces and their mighty armored equipment.
Meanwhile, in the country around the town of Maletta, there were many strange sights. Since dark, Italian families had been starting out for short strolls, strolls that led down side streets and then up paths into the wooded hills. They took different streets, different roads, and they walked slowly, casually, whistling or humming songs as they walked. Some carried bundles, and some even took their babies out, when they should have been in their cribs asleep.
But only a few of the Germans seemed to notice. Most of them were too busy to see anything like Italians taking a stroll. An aide did mention to the Gestapo colonel that there seemed to be an unusual number of Italians out on the streets that evening, but the colonel was in no mood to listen. He had just discovered one of his newest uniforms to be missing and he was berating an orderly with its loss. Moreover, he had still not located that illegal radio, and his commanding officer had ordered him to appear before him the next day with a full explanation.
Far into the night the imperceptible exodus of Italians from the town went on, and nobody said a word. Tomorrow the Germans expected the big smashing attack from the Americans who were now only ten miles below Maletta.
Another wanderer on those hills was Dick Donnelly. He carried a coil of wire over his shoulder, a box of dynamite in one hand, and a detonator in the other. Vince had begged to be allowed to go with him, but Dick would not listen.