CHAPTER XIV
NIGHT FLIGHT
The creaking hinges of the wine cellar door served as a warning signal to the hiding men behind the wine casks. Every time a German orderly was sent for wine they knew he was coming before he had even entered the short passageway leading into the main room. Usually the men were sent in pairs, sometimes three or four came. The men always had liberal samples of the wine before filling the decanters for the officers.
The cellar was damp and smelled of rotting wood and stale wine. The space behind the wine casks was limited and legs developed cramps as the night and the next day wore on. Belts had to be tightened over empty stomachs, but there was no complaining. Tony regained his strength and with it his belief that they would escape.
"We can't very well climb back out of that chute," Allison said for the tenth time. "We'll have to plan some other strategy. It's three p.m. right now and we still don't have any ideas. We have to be up at that wheat field by midnight."
"I'll slip out into the hallway and have a look," Stan offered.
"And get caught," Allison said sourly.
Further talk was halted. The hinges of the door creaked dismally. Four men entered and turned on the small light over the row of old wine barrels. They talked and had a few drinks before filling the pitchers they carried. There was much laughing and joking. When they had gone, Allison translated their conversation.
"We finally have some information," he said. "The Germans blame the Italian peasants for our disappearance. They are sure the peasants spirited us away and they are taking reprisals."
"That is like them," General Bolero said sadly.