“You have gas to reach Malta, but not much for fighting. It is best that you run fast for home,” Arno advised.
“We’ll do just that,” Stan said, remembering the package inside his shirt.
Tony and Arno helped them wheel the Nardis out on the flight strip. They were surprised to find another ship tucked away under the trees.
“Father’s ship,” Arno said with a catch in his voice. “But he has not been able to come for it.”
“He’ll come,” Allison said, but he was not so sure the general was alive. He knew the Germans would be ruthless in wiping out all anti-Fascist leaders in the territory they controlled.
The boys climbed up and got into the beautifully streamlined cockpits. They slipped into the Italian parachutes and got set. Arno and Tony acted as ground crew and the engines were soon turning over smoothly. Stan checked his dials and made himself familiar with gun controls and equipment; he cracked the throttle and listened to the roaring surge of power. Then he throttled down and leaned out, waving an arm in a signal that he was leading off. O’Malley and Allison answered the signal. They knew it was their job to see that Stan got through with his reports and maps.
Stan kicked the throttle open and the Nardi roared to life, leaping forward with surprising speed. Stan hoiked her tail with an added blast of prop pressure and tested her. She lifted at once. Unburdened by the armor plate carried by a Lightning or an Airacobra for the protection of the pilot and constructed of much lighter materials, she bounced off the ground before half of the short runway had been covered.
Stan leveled off close to the tops of the trees. He wanted to make sure Allison and O’Malley got away, and so he did not want to stir up the swarm of German fighter planes on the big flying field just a few miles away.
O’Malley came up and then Allison. They dropped into formation beside Stan and he set his course by compass, straight for Sicily.