“The whole outfit’s goin’ nuts,” Tony said. “All anxious to get into the thick of it. It seems as if our gang is just about the blood-thirstiest in the Army. That’s why they all joined up with the parachute troops—thought they’d get first crack at the enemy if they dropped behind their lines.”
“We’ve got quite a cross-section in our own plane,” Dick said. “We’ve all got special reasons, the three of us here, for wanting to fight and fight hard. I suppose most of the rest of them have too. There’s Monteau, the Frenchman. He doesn’t say much, but from the look in his eye I’d hate to be a German meeting up with him. And there’s Steve Masjek. He’s a Czech, and you know what those boys think of the Germans. Barney Olson’s got relatives in Norway. And there’s a bunch of just plain Americans with no special ties to the old world who are pretty anxious to fight, and fight some more.”
“But when? When?” cried Max. “I thought I was itchin’ to get at those Nazis, but I guess we’ve got one gent in our outfit that’s more anxious than I am. Did you hear about Vince Salamone?”
“No, what about the home-run king?” Tony asked. “And say—that makes me think, we’ve got a fair representation of boys whose families came from Italy—the lieutenant, Scotti, and Salamone the baseball player, and myself—and now you, Maestro Donnelli.”
“Sure—the Army knows we’re going to invade Italy,” Dick said. “We’re going to come in handy. But what about Vince?”
“He got picked up trying to hitchhike to the front,” Max said. “Just flatly stated that he didn’t want to be a paratrooper any more ’cause he hadn’t had a real chance to fight yet and he had to have it. Other boys were fightin’ up front, he said, and he aimed to help ’em out instead of sittin’ around here waiting for an airplane ride.”
“What did they do with him?” Dick asked.
“Oh, the Major acted sore, of course,” Max said, “because he had to. But he really liked the guy’s spirit. And everybody likes Vince anyway, not just because he’s the best ball player in the world, but one of the nicest guys, too. He got three days in the guardhouse and no furlough for a month, that’s all.”
“Well, he won’t miss anything,” Tony said. “It’s no duller in the guardhouse than here, and there aren’t any furloughs these days, anyway.”
“He’s going to miss something,” a voice said from behind the group chatting in the shade of the tree. They all sat up and turned around to see Lieutenant Scotti. Quickly they jumped to their feet and saluted. Scotti saluted in return and then ambled up to them amiably.