Mussolini then turned to face his comrades and motioned for them to stand. ‘Time is now short dear friends and this is the end of our association together and the end of the fascist era in Italy. Go now before the Allies, or even worse the partisans capture you. Don’t waste any more time. Lieutenant Muller will detail an escort strong enough to deter any partisan attacks. I would put all of you in even more danger if we left together. Hopefully we will all make it to Switzerland.’
One by one, the Duce embraced his loyal supporters and thanked them for their friendship and service to the fascist state over the years. Some of them were visibly moved to tears as they left the room. Soon he was alone, still gazing out of the window, still in a reflective mood. How different things could have been, he thought, if I had not entered a pact with that maniac Hitler. If I had stayed out of the war like Franco did, how different it would all have been. With that thought still in his mind, he walked to his desk and pressed the intercom. A voice answered, ‘Yes Duce.’ He paused for a second before saying, ‘Get me Sergio Rossi immediately, and tell him to come straight up here.’ The answering voice said, ‘Sì, Duce,’ and hung up.
Sergio Rossi was eating his lunch in the small dining room used by the Palazzo staff when one of the Mussolini’s bodyguards found him. ‘Sergio, the Duce wants to see you straight away. He’s in his day office.’ Sergio thanked the bodyguard and immediately left the table. He had been one of Mussolini’s personal aides since his promotion from the ranks of the Blackshirts in 1937 and he was well used to being summoned at short notice. As he walked along the corridor to Mussolini’s office, he paused for a second at a window overlooking the courtyard. The Germans had finished loading the trucks and were lined up in three ranks being addressed by Lieutenant Muller. Sergio could see that they were ready to leave and he wondered what the Duce was planning to do. He gave an audible sigh and continued walking to the Duce’s office.
The last time he had been called here, he thought, it was to deliver flowers to Mussolini’s mistress, Clara Petacci. No job too small, he thought as he knocked on the office doors.
Mussolini was sitting at his desk as Sergio entered the room. He gave the fascist salute and approached his beloved leader. Mussolini stood to greet his aide and motioned for him to sit in a seat across from him. ‘Sergio, I have a very important mission for you to carry out.’ Sergio remained silent. ‘Over the years I have been corresponding with the English Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and I have kept the letters safe in my keeping for just such a time as this. The letters show that I was a moderating influence on Hitler in this damn war, and that Churchill recognised this fact. If it weren’t for me, Hitler would have invaded England in 1940 when Britain was on its knees. Instead, with my influence, he turned to the Soviet Union and invaded there instead. Churchill almost begged me to help stall the invasion of England.’
Sergio sat there, still in silence, but stunned at this revelation.
Mussolini continued, ‘Sergio, you are my most trusted aide and I now pass these letters onto you. If I should be captured by the Allies as I try to escape, then I want you to make contact with them and threaten publication of the letters if they try to shoot me. Make a deal with them. The letters for my life. I would rather live in a prison than to be shot like a dog. If, for some reason I should be killed as I try to escape, then I order you to keep these letters safe until Italy is stable and safe from Communism. Do you understand all of this, Sergio?’
Sergio stood up. ‘Duce, I understand; however, I wish to be at your side until the end, so I ask you to please send someone else for this mission.’
Mussolini smiled before answering. ‘Sergio, you are my most trusted aide, who else could I send? I have enemies all around me ready to stab me in the back.’ He took Sergio’s hand in his. ‘Listen to me now. You will do as I ask. Change into civilian clothes and take the letters away with you. Hide them safely until they are needed. Now go to Milan station and take a train home.’ Mussolini then opened a drawer in his desk and took out a folder, ‘I have had new identity papers prepared showing you have worked for the last ten years in the foreign ministry in Rome. So old friend remember your mission and remember me with fondness.’
Filled with emotion, Sergio walked around the desk to Mussolini and hugged him. ‘I take this liberty Duce because I have followed you from the beginning with complete loyalty and I will miss you as I would a brother.’
Mussolini took a few moments to recover his composure before saying. ‘Thank you Sergio. Time is short, so take the briefcase and leave now.’
Sergio stood to attention and gave the fascist salute to his Duce, took the briefcase and left the room without looking back.
Mussolini sat for a few more minutes on his own thinking about what might have been. He reached out for a bottle of grappa sitting on a nearby table and poured a large measure into a crystal glass on his desk. He drank it quickly and then made his way down to the courtyard below.
Kurt Muller, standing at the head of the convoy watched as Mussolini slowly approached him. He took note of the resigned expression on his face, almost as if he had accepted the fact that this was the end of his time. Muller decided to keep his conversation with him to the minimum. ‘Duce,’ he said. ‘In order to disguise your appearance in case we are stopped, I request you put on this Army greatcoat and helmet. I have ordered the men in the trucks not to mention to anyone that you are with us, and not to talk to you under any circumstance. Sit at the very end of the row nearest the cab and everything should be fine.’ Mussolini entered the truck, made his way to the rear and sat down. He pulled the collar of his coat up round his neck and lowered the German helmet down over his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
The convoy headed out of Milan towards Lake Como, which they hoped to reach before nightfall. Along the road near the village of Doongo, which was a few miles from Lake Como they came across a large tree lying in the roadway blocking their way. Muller, who was in the lead armoured car, stopped just short of the tree and immediately looked up at the surrounding hillside to see if there were partisans hiding there. What he saw there sent a chill through his heart. The top of the wooded slope that rose above them was filled with partisans with their weapons trained on them. He was about to give the order for his men to take up defensive positions when a partisan appeared at the roadblock and approached them with a white flag of truce.
When he was at Muller’s vehicle he introduced himself,’ I am Count Pierluigi Bellini Delle Stelle commander of the partisan forces in this area. I am under orders to ensure that all Italian citizens, military or civilian, are removed from all German convoys leaving this area.
Muller stepped down into the roadway and stood facing Bellini, ‘we are German soldiers returning home and we have no wish to fight with Italian partisans. Stand aside and let us through.’ Bellini laughed. ‘Have you Italians citizens on board the trucks Lieutenant? If you have none then you can proceed, but first we have orders to check every convoy or vehicle travelling on this road.’
Muller thought for a moment, ‘and if I refuse?’
‘Then I will order my men to open fire with mortars and machine guns. In fifteen minutes you will all be dead.’
Muller took a moment before answering, he thought, ‘if I fight, then I take the risk that Mussolini may be injured or, even worse killed. I cannot take the chance.’
Reluctantly Muller stood aside and let Bellini and his partisans begin their search of the vehicles. He signalled to his men not to resist and to sit where they were.
Bellini moved forward and ordered two men to search each truck whilst he concentrated on the armoured car.
After about ten minutes one of his section commanders, Bernardo Nicoletti came up to him, ‘Commander, may I speak to you.’ Bellini could see that he was excited about something, so he moved aside with him out of German earshot. ‘I think they have hidden Mussolini on the fifth truck in line, he’s dressed in a German army greatcoat and helmet. I thought
I better tell you in case there’s trouble getting him out.’
Bellini stared at the man as if he was mad. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’
Nicoletti nodded a few times, ‘I am really sure commander, and he’s sitting on the right side of the truck at the back beside the cab wearing Italian Generals trousers.
Bellini turned on his heels and called his second in command to him, a partisan called Franco. ‘Franco, Nico thinks we have Mussolini on the fifth truck down. He’s dressed in a German greatcoat and helmet. Don’t make a big show of this, as we don’t want a fight with the Germans unless it’s really necessary. Take six men and go with Nico to check this out. If it’s him, then arrest him and get him away from the Germans as quickly as you can.’
Franco went back to the hillside and selected six men, then returned to the convoy and went with Nico to the fifth truck. He dropped the tailgate of the truck and lifted himself up to the annoyance of the troops inside. They began muttering at him. Franco bellowed out ‘Silezio!’ and motioned for his men to cover the Germans with their weapons. He walked to the back of the truck and saw a figure in greatcoat and helmet slumped against the cab. What took his eye was the soldier was wearing Italian military red striped Generals trousers. If it wasn’t a serious moment he would have laughed at the sight. ‘Duce’ he called out to the figure. The soldier beside him made a motion as if drinking from a bottle, ‘my friend is drunk’, he said.
Franco called out again ‘Duce’, but this time came closer to him and removed his helmet. He could now see quite clearly that it was indeed Mussolini.
Franco took his rifle from him and said, ‘Benito Mussolini, I arrest you in the name of the Italian people, please come with me.’ Mussolini looked up for the first time and nodded. He stood up to face the partisan. ‘Do you have any other weapons,’ Franco asked. Mussolini reached inside his greatcoat and handed over an automatic handgun and said, ‘I’m glad this is all over.’
Outside the truck Franco searched Mussolini for other weapons, then when he was satisfied he was clean, he led him away without fuss to the other partisans up the hillside.
Bellini turned to Muller, who had been watching what had been happening to Mussolini, and said, ‘Lieutenant Muller, you were only doing your duty; you are free to leave now.’ He signalled to the men on the roadblock to move the tree aside. ‘Buona fortuna,’ he said as he saluted Muller, turned, and left to join the rest of his men. Muller thought, what do I tell Hitler about what just happened? He shook his head and signalled to the convoy to get moving.
Bellini and some other partisans drove Mussolini to the town of Dongo where they placed him in a room under heavy guard in the local town hall. Before long Clara Petacci, his mistress, who had been captured with her brother trying to escape to Spain with fake Spanish passports, joined Mussolini. Sometime later, his other loyal fascist ministers, including Pavolini, joined them in captivity. They had been taken prisoners at the same roadblock Mussolini had been captured at. Pavolini told him that Bellini had threatened to destroy them all if the Germans hadn’t surrendered them, and his escort had willingly given them up without an argument.
Mussolini wondered what their fate would be.
A few hours later the door to their room opened and Bellini entered. ‘I have new orders from the provisional authorities and I have to take you Signor Mussolini and Signora Petacci to a safe house where you will stay overnight.’
Mussolini noted that he was not addressed as Duce.
They were taken under armed guard to a car waiting outside and were then driven to a farmhouse in the country. The farmer and his wife, who were communists, showed them to a large attic bedroom, which though clean had little in the room but a double bed. Clara Petacci sat on the bed and wept as Mussolini stared out of the window through misty eyes. Presently the door opened and the farmer’s wife came in with a tray of bread and cheese, two small plates of pasta and a small carafe of red wine, which they devoured hungrily without saying a word to each other.
When it came time to go to bed, they slept with their clothes on next to each other. Mussolini felt that he should try to console his mistress with some words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say, nor had he the energy to say it. Clara Petacci sobbed throughout the night, much to Mussolini’s irritation.
There had been little sleep for both of them, when daylight suddenly burst through the thin curtains on the window. They could hear a lot of activity outside in the yard and when Mussolini looked out the window that overlooked the yard outside, he saw several cars parked there with about ten partisans round them having a heated discussion. From what he could make out, the argument was about who had jurisdiction over their prisoner. The newcomers were saying that they had orders to take Mussolini to Rome, whilst their captors were awaiting fresh orders from Milan. Eventually the newcomers left, saying that they would get the Rome provisional government to contact the Milan partisan authorities to get this sorted out. After they had gone, their captors huddled together in deep conversation for quite a while and frequently pointed up to Mussolini’s room. Mussolini had a bad feeling about it all. Before long there was a knock on the door and when opened, two partisans with automatic machine guns entered the room. ‘We have instructions to take you both with us now.’ ‘Where are we going,’ said Mussolini. The partisans did not answer.
They were pushed into a Citroen car sitting in the courtyard with three partisans inside. Two others stood on the running board and held on as the car left the farm. After a few minutes, the car came to a stop beside a large field bordered on three sides by a dry stonewall. Mussolini and Petacci were taken out and stood against the wall side by side. The lead partisan said, ‘we have orders on behalf of the Italian people to execute you both now.’ Mussolini said, ‘shoot me first but not in the face.’ Clara Petacci screamed and threw herself in front of her lover in a vain attempt to protect him. Mussolini gently moved her aside and kissed her lovingly on the cheek, ‘Cara mia, this is our fate,’ he said. ‘Let’s hold hands and meet the Gods.’
The partisan aimed his machine gun and shot them both in the chest. Mussolini and Petacci fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Not a sound greeted the end of Fascism, not even the small birds in the nearby trees made their usual tribute to the new day. The partisans stood in silence looking down at the dead body of the Duce: the leader, not knowing whether or not to cheer his demise, or to savour the moment as a historical footnote of a momentous day.
Eventually, they picked up the dead bodies and loaded them into a van before driving off to Milan.
Chapter 2
27th April 1945
Sergio Rossi stood looking at the military convoy coursing its way through the Milan streets. He felt no bitterness towards them. It was just a fact of life that they had won the war. When the Americans had eventually joined in with the other Allied Armies, the outcome for him had never been in doubt. From where he was standing, he could clearly see the American soldiers on the trucks chatting to each other with that easy air of familiarity born from the confidence of being victors. Sergio’s hatred was reserved for the Italian communist partisans who seemed to be everywhere now that the war was almost finished. He saw them as traitors and could not forgive them. He watched with dismay at a column of partisans marching down the street, in front of him, singing their songs of victory as they waved to the cheering people lining the streets.
During a gap in the traffic, he crossed over to the railway station. Sergio gazed at the tall building with a feeling of sadness. Before the war, this had been a magnificent building now the roof was barely supported by the girders he could see peeking through some of the shattered glass covering. Milan was still suffering from the effects of the Allied bombing raids. Parts of the city had been severely damaged over the last few weeks and it was with a sense of relief that the Milanese were now trying to return to normality. The Allied Armies were entering the city and the Wehrmacht was in full retreat and heading back to Germ
any. With the arrival of the British and American forces the Milanese knew that their war was over.
Squads of local men had been conscripted to aid with the clearing of the rubble and other bomb damage from the streets and some of them had been tasked to help clear the main railway station of debris. They were busy working in the main concourse as Sergio entered the building.
He was surprised to see partisan squads moving easily amongst the travellers as they searched for escaping high ranking fascists. He walked over to a bench in a far corner of the Station and sat down, quietly taking in the disturbing scenes unfolding all around him.
The main prize they were all looking for was Mussolini. No one knew where he was. All people knew was that yesterday he had left his Milan headquarters and tried to escape the country. Sergio smiled to himself, what stupidity these communists were showing if they really thought that Mussolini would be travelling by train to Switzerland. He was one of the most recognised people in the world and he would never put himself in such danger.
He was brought back into the present by some partisans checking the identity of a family sitting on an adjacent bench. The partisans compared their papers against a checklist of known people they were looking for. Apparently satisfied, they moved onto Sergio. ‘Papers please?’ said the leader of the group. Sergio tried to hide his fear as he searched for his papers and handed them over to the partisan. He silently prayed that his name, Sergio Rossi, would not be recognised by the group or was on their checklist. The partisan checked the identity papers against his list before asking Sergio ‘where are you heading for?’ Sergio said ‘I’m going to my home in Borgo a Mozzano.’ The partisan looked at him searchingly for a while before saying ‘why are you not in uniform or with the partisans?’ Sergio replied ‘I was injured in the bombing last month when I was staying with relatives in Milan and I have only recently been released from hospital.’ ‘What did you do before last month comrade?’ Without hesitating Sergio answered, ‘I worked in the Foreign Ministry in Rome for ten years, so I was excused military service.’ One of the other partisans said, quite sarcastically,’ so comrade you have also bled for Italy but are you a fascist?’ At this, Sergio stood up and said ‘comrades, my name Rossi means that I am as red as the armbands you all wear.’ At this, the partisans laughed before moving onto the next bench and repeated their questioning there.
Legacy of Sorrows Page 14
