hands balled into fists. Stan moved close to him.

"Keep your shirt on. We're in a tight spot," he said in a low voice.

"Quiet, you!" bellowed the officer. "Do not talk to each other."

The ranking officer shouted a command and three German soldiers with
machine guns closed in behind the boys.

"March!" the younger officer snapped.

They marched toward the woods. The officer moved stiffly ahead. The boys
realized that escape from two squads of Italians would have been much
easier than escape from the three Germans. They seemed eager to use
their deadly tommy-guns.

"I understand German, you know," Allison murmured as he bumped against
Stan. Stan moved closer to his pal and Allison went on.

"The commander is very angry because they were forced to open up on our
fighters. Now the location of their guns is known. He is also eager to
learn something about the strength of our air forces attacking Sicily
and heading for Italy. He hinted we would be baited on by a promise of
being treated as prisoners of war if we talked."

"We won't talk," Stan muttered. "Anyway, we don't know anything."

Entering the woods they found themselves in a cleverly hidden camp. The
boys were lodged in a barracks room with barred windows. Two other
prisoners, both Italians, were in the room. A guard stood at the door,
while several others paced up and down outside.

"Looks snug and tight," Stan said.

"Sure, an' we'll soon find out," O'Malley growled.

"We'll go into a huddle and cook up something," Stan said. "We're not in
the hands of Italians now, and I don't feel up to facing a firing
squad."

CHAPTER VI

FIRING SQUAD

The three Yanks seated themselves on a rough bench in their cell. The
two Italian prisoners looked them over without interest, then went back
to their own talk, which they were carrying on in whispers. Every once
in a while they shot glances at the boys as though fearing they were
trying to hear what was being said.

"Suspicious chaps, what?" Allison said, amused.

"Wonder what they were thrown in for?" Stan mused.

"Sure, an' it matters very little. What happens to Mrs. O'Malley's boy
is what's worryin' me," O'Malley broke in. "Ivery window is fastened as
tight as the purse o' a Scotsman an' the door is well guarded."

"They'll be coming after us very soon," Stan said. "They'll question us
one at a time."

"You'd best act as commander," O'Malley said. "I might plant a fist on
the nose o' one o'