The guards at the door whirled to leap into the house. Stan’s submachine gun burst into flame and he swept a pathway of death across the ranks of the Nazis. They went down in a writhing mass, one of them rolling off the steps and crawling away on his hands and knees, leaving a bloody path behind him.
Stan leaped for the back door and plunged into the house. He went through the spacious music room and up the wide stairway leading to the balcony like a charging tank, his submachine gun at his hip, his eyes like cold steel.
Leaping through the doorway he swept the room with his gun. O’Malley and Allison and Tony were crowded back against the wall. O’Malley was bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder. A broken chair lay on the floor and beside it lay a dead German. Lorenzo lay on the floor face up. He was dead, but there was a smile of triumph on his lips. Arno had sagged down into a chair. He, too, was bleeding from a head wound.
The three Germans had their backs to the door. The officer was wild with fury. He was shouting wildly.
“If I did not have orders to bring you in so that we can force you to tell who your underground helpers are, I would shoot you all and leave you here to rot!”
“Put up your hands or you’ll stay here to rot!” Stan snapped.
The Germans whirled about. As they turned, the two soldiers dropped their guns and elevated their hands. The officer came around with his machine gun firing. Stan opened up and cut him down. The two men began shouting:
“ Kamrad! Kamrad! ”
Stan backed them up against the wall. Before he had gotten them moved O’Malley and Allison had their tommy-guns. They stripped the ammunition from the soldiers.
“Tie them up,” Stan snapped. He turned about and saw that Tony and Arno were kneeling beside their brother.