Dick Donnelly of the Paratroops

by Marshall McClintock

  CHAPTER NINE

  UNCLE TOMASO

  The two men did not talk for some time as they walked slowly throughthe dark woods. As the trees began to thin out near the bottom of thehill, Dick thought more carefully about the details of their plan. Asthey approached the town more closely, it seemed almost impossible tocarry such an undertaking through successfully. Here they were walkingright into the heart of the enemy’s territory, into one of his mostimportant bases.

  “We haven’t got any identification papers,” he said casually to Tony.

  “Neither have a great many Italian peasants,” Tony replied, “especiallyif they come from the farms. Either they haven’t been given such papersat all, haven’t been checked up on, or they forget to carry them.They’re like that, you know—not like the Germans at all, who mustalways have everything so well systematized. The Italian farmer knowsthat he is Guiseppi Amato, and all his friends know it. Why, he asks,should he bother to carry around a paper saying that’s who he is?”

  Dick laughed lightly. “And he’s right, too,” he agreed. “Mussolinireally couldn’t get very far with his system and rigid discipline andsuch, cataloguing everybody and everything.”

  “Of course, the Germans are very contemptuous of the Italians,” Tonysaid, “which is a compliment to the Italians. They don’t realize thathalf of the Italians’ apparent carelessness is really a subtle form ofopposition. They just forget their identification papers, that’s all.And they tell that to the German sentry or officer with the mostinnocent face, with a sort of helpless shrug of the shoulders. Itexasperates the German, of course, but what can he do about it? If onlyan occasional Italian acted that way, the Germans could shoot him orthrow him in a concentration camp as punishment and as an example tothe others. But when half the people do it—well!”

  “Then if we’re asked for papers, we’ve just forgotten them, or lostthem some time ago,” Dick concluded.

  “Or we don’t even seem to know what they’re talking about,” Tony said.“We’re dumb. We’re as stupid as the Germans think we are. In that,we’re safe.”

  “But it’s a good idea to avoid any more contact with the Germans thanwe are forced into,” Dick said.

  “I think so, too, Dick,” Tony said. “So I think we ought not to go intoMaletta on the main road. They’re likely to have sentries posted on themain roads into town, just to check on people coming and going. We cancross the main road, go through the fields, and cut around to one ofthe little side streets.”

  “Good,” Dick agreed. “The land is leveling out below us a bit. Lookslike a farm.”

  “Yes, see the lights over there,” Tony pointed out. “Farmhouse on ourright. If we keep straight ahead across the field now we ought tostrike the main road. We can cross it, then circle around to the lefttoward town, under the shadow of the hill.”

  “Will that bring us anywhere near the villa where your uncle wascaretaker?” Dick asked.

  “Yes, right there,” Tony replied. “You see that steep hill ahead? Youcan make out the dark outlines of it against the sky. It’s at the footof that—the villa, backed right up against the hill, almost built intoit.”

  They were walking across the farmer’s field now, stepping between therows of plants. Dick could not make out what they were, but he wascareful to avoid stepping on them. Finally they came to a low stonewall marking the end of the field. Beyond it was a ditch and the road.They crouched low beside the fence and listened. Far off a dog barkedand from somewhere else another answered him. To the left they couldsee the lights of Maletta, though there were not many, and no glow wascast in the sky as it would have been in normal times.

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  _The Two Men Walked Toward the Villa_]

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  “Okay, let’s go across,” Dick said, vaulting over the wall.

  Tony followed him, and they clambered up the side of the ditch onto theroad. It was wide and paved, obviously the main road to the northeast.

  “There’s another road like this going northwest,” Tony said. “Twovalleys meet here at Maletta and join into one up which our forces arecoming. They form the letter Y, with Maletta at the point where thethree arms meet. I imagine most of the German troops and supplies comedown to Maletta along the left upper arm of the Y, from the northwest,though some come along this road, which is the right branch of the Y.”

  “The dam is up to the east a bit, isn’t it?” Dick said. “On the rightarm of the Y.”

  “That’s right,” Tony said. “This road skirts around the edge of the damand lake, then dips down into the valley. It will be wiped outcompletely by the flood waters when the dam is blown up.”

  They were across the road by this time, leaping over another wall intoanother field.

  “Then the waters will pour down through Maletta and into the valleyleading to the south, where our main attack seems to be,” Dick figuredout.

  “Yep, and a good flood it will be,” Tony said.

  “But that leaves the main supply road into Maletta free,” Dick said.“The left arm of the Y, leading to the northwest.”

  “Yes, it does,” Tony replied. “But we’ll catch plenty of German troopsand supplies in Maletta itself, and below it, where they are going tomeet our attack.”

  “But they can escape up the northwest road,” Dick said. “We ought to beable to do something about that.”

  “You want to make it a hundred per cent catastrophe, don’t you?” Tonyasked with a laugh.

  “I surely do,” Dick said. “And if we get time, we might take a littlewalk up that northwest road to look it over.”

  “Tonight?” Tony asked.

  “No, not tonight,” was the reply. “Before anything else is done we’vegot to get your radio set. We’re not far from that hill now, are we?”

  “No, it’s just ahead,” Tony said. “We’ll head a bit to the left here.”

  They changed their direction, crawled over another wall, skirted aroundanother house where a barking dog was too curious about them. Then theyfound themselves on a narrow street with a few small houses on bothsides. In one of them a lamp was burning, but the others were dark. Itwas silent on the street, but Dick and Tony heard the sound of trucksand cars from the center of town ahead of them.

  They came to a corner where another street crossed the one they wereon. Tony touched Dick’s arm, and they took a right turn. There were afew more houses, then they stopped. The road began to ascend a hill,and then it ended, becoming nothing but a wide path. Tony stopped Dick.

  “See, there to the left,” he pointed out. “The villa.”

  Dick looked and saw a huge dark mass. At the front of it there weremany lights, and he could see cars standing before the door.

  “It seems to be a busy place,” he said.

  “Yes, it does,” Tony agreed. “The Germans must be using it forsomething.”

  “Think we’d better try to get there?” Dick wondered.

  “Around to the rear, yes,” Tony said. “There was a servants’ wing atthe back on this side, almost cut into the hill. Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked toward the villa along the steep slope of the hill, andDick saw that they were approaching it from the rear on the east side.They would not be seen by anyone at the front of the building.

  They walked slowly now. Dick saw the shape of the building more clearlyas they came near it. It was a huge place, built a short way up thehill so that it overlooked the rest of the town spread out below it. Hemade out what looked like a tall tower rising from the center of it.And then he saw what Tony must have meant as the servants’ wing. It wasbuilt right up against the steep hill.

  “You could almost come down the hill onto the roof of that wing,” hewhispered to Tony.

  “That’s exactly what you _can_ do,” Tony said. “I’ve run and jumpedonto it wh
en I was over here visiting. I spent most of my time up inCarlini where most of my relatives lived, but I spent a month withUncle Tomaso here in Maletta.”

  “That’s surely lucky for us,” Dick said. “It would be tough withoutyour knowledge of the town.”

  “If Uncle Tomaso is still around,” Tony said, “he’d be in thisservants’ wing. But of course, if the Germans have taken it over theremay be soldiers quartered in there.”

  “I see a light from the room at the end,” Dick said. “Maybe we can lookin the window.”

  Carefully they walked toward the lighted window at the end of the wing,trying not to dislodge the rocks beneath their feet. When they were tenfeet away, they went down on all fours and crawled forward. Theyreached the rough stone wall and edged toward the window.

  With one quick motion upward, Dick took one glance through the window,then ducked down again.

  “What? What did you see?” Tony asked.

  “No German soldiers,” Dick said. “Just one old man.”

  Tony’s heart leaped at these words. “Just one old man in my UncleTomaso’s old room. That must be my uncle—it’s just _got_ to be!”

  “Take a quick look, Tony,” Dick said. “Go ahead.”

  He moved back a bit so that Tony could get near the window. He took aquick glance around to see that no one was approaching. Then he watchedTony’s face to see if he could tell by the expression who it was he saw.

  Tony moved his head up and looked in the window. He started to bring itdown again, but then left it there, looking steadily inside the room.Dick heard his breath come fast. The light from the room fell faintlyon his face, and Dick, studying it closely, saw the mouth twitch, theeyes fill with tears. And then Tony spoke, almost in a whisper.

  “Uncle Tomaso,” he breathed. “My own Uncle Tomaso!”

  Then he crouched down beside Dick again. The sergeant said nothing, andTony could not speak for a few seconds.

  “Yes, Dick, it’s my uncle,” Tony said. “And—he looks so old, sittingthere just staring at the floor. He looks sad and broken and old. Ialmost didn’t recognize him.”

  “Nobody else in the room?” Dick asked.

  “No, he’s alone,” Tony said. “I’ll try tapping on the window.”

  Tony stood up, looked all around, then tapped lightly against thewindow pane. Dick stood behind him, looking in over Tony’s shoulder.

  The old man hardly seemed to hear anything at first. He lifted his headslowly as if he might be dreaming. Then suddenly he jumped, startled,and Dick saw fear leap into his eyes. He stared at the door, and wentto open it. Then Tony tapped more insistently. Obviously the old mancould not be sure where the sound was coming from.

  Finally he turned and stared at the window. Tony pressed his face closeagainst the glass so that his uncle might see him, might recognize him.He hated to see that look of fear in Tomaso’s face, and he wanted toreassure him quickly.

  But the old man looked more terrified than ever. For a few seconds hejust stared at the window, not moving, and then as if impelled againsthis will, he moved toward the window. He moved his arms forward andopened it. Then he spoke, in a small voice, in Italian.

  “What—what do you want?”

  “Uncle Tomaso!” Tony whispered urgently. “It’s me—Tony! Tony Avella!Your nephew from America!”

  The old man’s eyes widened with unbelief, but he leaned forward,thrusting his face close to Tony’s.

  “It can’t be!” he muttered. “No, I’m dreaming! It can’t be! TheAmericans have not come yet!”

  “But I’ve come, Uncle Tomaso,” Tony insisted. “I’ve come with myfriends ahead of the rest of the Americans. Yes, I’m really Tony. Look!Look closely.”

  The old man did look closely. He stretched one hand through the windowand touched Tony’s face. Then he began to smile, and his eyes began toshine.

  “Tony, my little Tony!” he cried.

  “Quiet, Uncle,” Tony warned. “Don’t bring the Germans here!”

  “The Germans!” And Tony’s uncle cursed. “The Germans! Soon they willtaste some of their own medicine. Are the Americans really so close,Tony, that you could come to me here?”

  “Yes, Uncle, and they will be here in another week,” Tony said. “Butyou can help us. Where can we talk?”

  “I’ll come outside with you,” the old man said. “Yes, through thewindow. I can still crawl through the window.”

  “Will the Germans come and look in your room?” Tony asked. “Are theylikely to miss you?”

  “No, they never look for the old man,” Tomaso said. “They never eventhink about the harmless old man, except when they want their roomscleaned or their boots polished.”

  Suddenly the old man laughed. “Harmless old man, they think! If theyknew what I’ve done!”

  He no longer seemed to be the broken and tired soul that he was before.He stuck one leg out the open window and climbed through with anagility that surprised Dick. Tony helped him to the ground, and thenclosed the window almost shut behind him. Then the uncle lookedquestioningly at Dick.

  “Uncle, this is my friend, my commander,” Tony explained. “He is reallyItalian, too, but I call him Dick Donnelly. Uncle—I’ll tell you rightaway who he really is. Ricardo Donnelli!”

  “You—you are really Ricardo Donnelli?” the old man exclaimed. “Here inour little town of Maletta?”

  Dick smiled and nodded. “But I’m really just a soldier in the AmericanArmy now,” he said. “We should get away from the villa before we talk.Can we go back up the hill?”

  “Yes, back up the hill,” the old man said, starting off at once. “It issteep but we can go up there and talk safely. Not far. We cannot beseen up here from the villa.”

  Dick and Tony followed him up the slope to a little clump of trees.

  “This used to be a pleasant place to sit on a sunny afternoon,” the oldman said. “See—there is a long flat rock to sit upon. Now, I do notcome here often, because all I can see are the hated Germans!”

  Then he began to pour out a stream of questions to Tony—about hismother and father, how long he had been in the Army, when he had cometo Italy, how far away the American troops were. Then suddenly hestopped.

  “You said I could help the Americans,” he said. “Tell me what I can do.I shall do anything you ask. And there are many others here who willhelp. We have not been idle.”

  “I imagine not,” Dick said. “In America we don’t hear much about theunderground activities in Italy, but we know you have been fighting inevery way possible.”

  “Especially now that there is some hope,” Tomaso said. “For so long,for so many many years, we were held under the thumb of that bellowingjackass, Mussolini, with his cruel blackshirt terrorists. And the worlddid not seem to care. But now—now we know we will be free men again,and we fight once more.”

  “What can you do, Uncle?” Tony asked.

  “Oh, there are a few things an old man can do,” Tomaso smiled. “Whenthat big Gestapo chief came here on inspection, it was I who got wordto the others who he was. Perhaps you have not heard about the bombthat blew up his car as it drove away—killing him. No? Well, we didthat.”

  Tony and Dick looked at the old man in admiration. Then he went on.

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  _The Old Man Told of the Underground’s Activities_]

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  “The power plant at the dam has been damaged half a dozen times. Ofcourse, they could always fix it again, but it delayed them for severaldays, sometimes a week. And they’ve had to post a guard at the switchesin the railroad yards because of what we did there. Little things—alllittle things we did—but they have helped, I know.”

  “Now you can help us do big things,” Dick said, “you and your friendsin town. But there must be enemies, too—do you know them?”

  “Oh, yes, I know them,” the old man said grimly. “W
e have a list ofthem. Many have run away, to the north, afraid of the advancingAmericans and afraid of their own townspeople, too. But there are a fewleft. There is Garone the banker and Balardi who was Mayor underMussolini. He is still here. And they have a few sniveling underlings.But there are not many. Some there are who fear for their own necks.They will not actively fight the enemy, but they would never betray us,either.”

  “We’ll put ourselves in your good hands,” Dick said. “You can be ourguide and helper here in Maletta.”

  “Is the town still the same?” Tony asked.

  “No, of course not,” Tomaso replied sadly. “Many have fled. Many othershave been evacuated to the factories in the north. And all our youngmen—they were in the army, of course. Some are dead, others areprisoners of the Germans. We don’t hear much. But here in Maletta wetry to keep on laughing and smiling. Why, we still have the opera oncea week.”

  He glanced apologetically at Dick. “I know that Ricardo Donnelli wouldfind our opera company a poor one. Our costumes are shabby now, oursets falling to pieces. The good young voices are not here, but theperformances still give us great joy—almost the only joy we still havein our lives.”

  “Then it is a fine opera company,” Dick said. “If it gives the peoplepleasure, it is doing all that anything can do.”

  “Now tell me what I am to do,” Tomaso said, in businesslike fashion.

  “First, we must find a place for my radio,” Tony said. “Uncle, I am aradioman for America’s Army. We have, in the hills where we landed, acomplete broadcasting set. I must use it to send messages in code toour Army, messages telling about movements of German troops andsupplies through Maletta.”

  “That is not easy,” Tomaso said, with a puzzled frown on his face. “TheGermans do not like radios, even for receiving.”

  “They have a way, Uncle,” Tony explained, “of listening to a radio andtelling exactly where it is.”

  “I know, I know,” the old man said. “The underground had a secret,illegal station in Florence—there are many others, but I know aboutthis one. The Germans listened and found out exactly which block it washidden in. Then they just went through all the houses and found it.There is another in a truck that moves from place to place, and theycannot find it. But the Germans have no detectors here in Maletta. Iknow that.”

  “They don’t need to be right here,” Tony said. “They might be in othertowns, several miles away. They can pick up stations from a longdistance. We cannot move about with our station. We cannot use it fromthe hills, for then the Germans would find our hiding place. Is thereno place in the town itself where we can hide it? We need to use itonly for a few minutes once or twice each day. But the hiding placemust be absolutely safe—something the Germans just cannot locate.”

  The old man was thinking hard. He had offered to help. He could notfail to help in the very first thing they asked, no matter howdifficult a task it was. But the town of Maletta—it had been gone overwith a fine-tooth comb by the Germans many times. After each sabotagejob, they went through every house, into wine cellars, into attics.After the Gestapo officer was killed they even tapped walls looking forhidden rooms.

  He looked over the town as Dick and Tony waited for him to speak. Theold man knew this town in which he had lived all his life, knew it asno one else did. There below him was the sprawling villa. Over to theright the railroad station. The three great church steeples loomedagainst the night sky just like the old bell tower over the villa.

  Suddenly he gasped, and slapped his knee. Then he leaned back andlaughed, almost soundlessly, but still with great good feeling. Dickand Tony looked at him in amazement. Dick wondered if something hadcracked in the old man who had gone through so much. Maybe he was notcompletely dependable.

  “Uncle Tomaso!” Tony was saying urgently. “What is it? What is ityou’re laughing about?”

  “I’m laughing at what a good joke we shall play on the Germans!” theold man laughed. “I know where you can set up your radio!”