work from that were closer to
Italy than the African coast.

"At once, at once," the general said and he seemed suddenly nervous.

"We are in no hurry, old man," Allison said and grinned.

"Ah, but we are in a very great hurry," put in the junior officer.
"General Bolero is leaving at once. You will be flown out in, say,
twenty minutes. I am so sorry there will be no time for dry clothes." He
bowed and nodded to four soldiers armed with rifles who had appeared
through a side door. "You will go with the guards."

CHAPTER V

PRISON SHIP

The three Yanks were rushed out upon the parade ground at the Italian
base. Two squads of shouting Italian soldiers escorted them. They burst
upon a scene of confusion and excitement. Stan looked across the grounds
toward the runways. Suddenly he burst out laughing and poked Allison in
the ribs.

"Look! His Nibs is deserting us!"

General Bolero was leading his staff toward a parked plane. For a big
fat man he was making fast time. His cape floated out behind him and he
had lost his jaunty cap. His officers were loaded down with brief cases,
files, and bundles of papers. The general was a full ten paces ahead of
them.

"I'd call that a rout," Allison shouted.

"I think our outfits must be closing in. We'll have to do some
stalling," Stan shouted.

O'Malley was already stalling. Four men were pushing him along, and he
was beginning to show signs of temper. Stan tried to get close enough
to shout a warning to him. He did not want O'Malley to start a riot at
that moment.

The Italians were evacuating the base in every sort of machine they had.
Cars roared across the field, men pedaled by on bicycles, trucks
lumbered past, and a whippet tank snorted as it rolled past dragging a
field gun. Men on foot rushed in every direction.

Stan stumbled and went down, managing to trip two soldiers. Instantly a
dozen Italians were upon him, tugging at him, waving their rifles and
shouting. O'Malley took this as a signal to go into action. He swung
hard on the chin of an officer standing beside him. The surprised
officer went down like a felled beef. With a yell O'Malley waded in,
swinging at soldiers as they piled in on him. Many bloody noses and
black eyes developed in a hurry, but O'Malley was swarmed under by the
weight of sheer numbers. He went down yelling like a Comanche Indian and
swinging like Joe Louis.

Stan struggled to his feet and held up his hands. He realized the