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

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

“There’s another road like this going northwest,” Tony said. “Two valleys meet here at Maletta and join into one up which our forces are coming. They form the letter Y, with Maletta at the point where the three arms meet. I imagine most of the German troops and supplies come down 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 right arm of the Y.”

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

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

“Then the waters will pour down through Maletta and into the valley leading to the south, where our main attack seems to be,” Dick figured out.

“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 troops and supplies in Maletta itself, and below it, where they are going to meet our attack.”

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

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

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

“Tonight?” Tony asked.

“No, not tonight,” was the reply. “Before anything else is done we’ve got 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 around another house where a barking dog was too curious about them. Then they found themselves on a narrow street with a few small houses on both sides. In one of them a lamp was burning, but the others were dark. It was silent on the street, but Dick and Tony heard the sound of trucks and cars from the center of town ahead of them.

They came to a corner where another street crossed the one they were on. Tony touched Dick’s arm, and they took a right turn. There were a few 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 were many 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 for something.”

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

“Around to the rear, yes,” Tony said. “There was a servants’ wing at the 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, and Dick 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 clearly as they came near it. It was a huge place, built a short way up the hill so that it overlooked the rest of the town spread out below it. He made 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 was built right up against the steep hill.

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

“That’s exactly what you can do,” Tony said. “I’ve run and jumped onto it when I was over here visiting. I spent most of my time up in Carlini where most of my relatives lived, but I spent a month with Uncle Tomaso here in Maletta.”

“That’s surely lucky for us,” Dick said. “It would be tough without your knowledge of the town.”

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

“I see a light from the room at the end,” Dick said. “Maybe we can look in 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 ten feet away, they went down on all fours and crawled forward. They reached 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 Uncle Tomaso’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 a quick glance around to see that no one was approaching. Then he watched Tony’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 it down again, but then left it there, looking steadily inside the room. Dick heard his breath come fast. The light from the room fell faintly on his face, and Dick, studying it closely, saw the mouth twitch, the eyes 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, and Tony could not speak for a few seconds.

“Yes, Dick, it’s my uncle,” Tony said. “And—he looks so old, sitting there just staring at the floor. He looks sad and broken and old. I almost 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 the window pane. Dick stood behind him, looking in over Tony’s shoulder.

The old man hardly seemed to hear anything at first. He lifted his head slowly 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 went to open it. Then Tony tapped more insistently. Obviously the old man could not be sure where the sound was coming from.

Finally he turned and stared at the window. Tony pressed his face close against 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 to reassure him quickly.

But the old man looked more terrified than ever. For a few seconds he just stared at the window, not moving, and then as if impelled against his will, he moved toward the window. He moved his arms forward and opened 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! The Americans have not come yet!”

“But I’ve come, Uncle Tomaso,” Tony insisted. “I’ve come with my friends 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 window and touched Tony’s face. Then he began to smile, and his eyes began to shine.

“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 will taste 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. “But you can help us. Where can we talk?”

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

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

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

Suddenly the old man laughed. “Harmless old man, they think! If they knew 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 an agility that surprised Dick. Tony helped him to the ground, and then closed the window almost shut behind him. Then the uncle looked questioningly at Dick.

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

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

Dick smiled and nodded. “But I’m really just a soldier in the American Army 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 is steep but we can go up there and talk safely. Not far. We cannot be seen 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 old man said. “See—there is a long flat rock to sit upon. Now, I do not come here often, because all I can see are the hated Germans!”

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

“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 will help. We have not been idle.”

“I imagine not,” Dick said. “In America we don’t hear much about the underground activities in Italy, but we know you have been fighting in every 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 bellowing jackass, Mussolini, with his cruel blackshirt terrorists. And the world did 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. “When that big Gestapo chief came here on inspection, it was I who got word to the others who he was. Perhaps you have not heard about the bomb that blew up his car as it drove away—killing him. No? Well, we did that.”

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

The Old Man Told of the Underground’s Activities