by Derek Hansen
Cecilia still loved him and was prepared to accept that what had passed between them that night was an anomaly that would be forgotten the next time they met. But the next time was long coming, and three times in a row she’d had to put up with the lewd suggestiveness and leers of the man who called himself ‘the axe’. When she finally met up with him again he was more like the Guido of old, gentle and thoughtful and not distracted. When they made love she’d expected it to be a replay of the first time and was more than a little surprised when it wasn’t. She couldn’t help comparing him with the other man in her life and Guido did not stand up well to the comparison.
She’d been shown another kind of love that made her feel happy and want to radiate her happiness to all around her. There was nothing furtive or secretive about it. She loved the little attentions and the courtesies and the implications they brought that she was somebody worthwhile. She loved its openness and honesty and sex was not yet a part of it. She loved the way the Oberstleutnant paid attention to her mind, rather than just her obvious beauty. He’d introduced her to opera. When she’d told the Count how they’d sat and listened to Wagner he’d put his head back and laughed. ‘Imagine,’ he’d cackled, ‘a German introducing an Italian to opera! What has the world come to?’ He also awakened in her an appreciation of beautiful things, and constantly surprised her by pausing to admire a flower, a tree, a building or even something as mundane as an old doorway. This was not what she expected from a feared soldier of the Reich. He gave her gifts, often trivial but always thoughtful. He also inadvertently gave her information but she never allowed herself to consider for a second that she was betraying him. She forbade herself to think that way when she was with him. He was no longer the enemy but a charming and engaging companion. The information she gathered was incidental and belonged in another compartment of her life. Besides, she wasn’t betraying him but serving the just cause of the partisans. What was wrong with that?
She never asked him any questions that had any direct bearing on any activity he might be planning, so he never had any reason to suspect her when partisan activity intensified. He saw it instead as a reflection of the increases in partisan attacks taking place all over occupied northern Italy. He came to respect his adversaries for their uncanny selection of which convoys to hit, and for their sixth sense in melting away whenever a rastrellamento was planned. He’d tried assembling troops and then disbanding them so they’d never know whether a sweep was going to take place or not. He thought this tactic would keep them safely on the retreat up into the mountains and so allow his convoys to pass unmolested. Sometimes, when the information they’d gathered from informants seemed particularly reliable, he’d assemble his troops at short notice for a lightning thrust into the hills. Yet rarely did they catch the partisans by surprise and often, when it seemed that they had, they’d be lured into an ambush by a stronger force. Then by the time he’d brought his mortars to bear they’d be gone. Casualties were always reasonably light, though Friedrich regretted the loss of even one of his men so close to the end of the war.
He had his successes. Sometimes his forays into the hills slipped through the web of informers, and he’d kill a few partisans and take many more captive. By the time the fascists or the Gestapo had finished with them, many of the partisans wished they’d been killed on the mountainside. He accepted that the partisans had informers but never for a second suspected that Cecilia was one of them. Instead, he continued to court her as if they were young lovers, relishing the chase and her company, not at all anxious to move in for the kill a moment before it was due.
Throughout that summer and autumn, Cecilia kept up her double life, loving the Oberstleutnant by day in the way that they both found easy and comfortable, and loving Guido by night on the increasingly few occasions he risked the journey down the mountain. But as the Allies advanced northwards and the German defences along the Po Valley began to crack, the strain started to tell. The partisans grew bolder and their attacks more ferocious and prolonged. But still they slipped away before the mortars and machine-guns could pin them down. Friedrich called for more troops to help contain them but the High Command could ill afford to spare more troops from the front. Instead he found himself under pressure to order reprisals. But what village should he hit? The partisans kept away from all the villages and spread their activity widely to protect the people who lived in them. For their part, the villagers gave no obvious support to the partisans, complained endlessly about the grain and livestock that they’d stolen, and gave the Germans no cause to take action.
After a series of attacks on supply convoys, Friedrich’s pleas for assistance were heard. When the SS truck pulled into the barracks compound, and he went to greet the officer who led them, he instantly regretted ever having made the requests.
‘You!’
‘Yes indeed, Herr Oberstleutnant. Tell me, does Christiane’s uncle still pimp for you?’
Chapter Thirty-two
As winter closed in the partisans moved down from the heights, caught between the savagery of nature and the gathering storm below. Yet they could claim to have more control of the hills than ever as more and more soldiers deserted the fascists to swell their ranks. But the presence of the SS in force in Menaggio kept them on a nervous alert. They could no longer rely on messages coming through from Cecilia and their other sources, as few were prepared to brave the fog, the snow and the bitter cold. There was also the risk of leaving behind an incriminating trail in the snow. Nevertheless, Guido was desperate to know when and where the SS would make their move. He fed messages via couriers to Father Michele and on to the Signora with the same urgent plea. Cecilia must find out when the rastrellamento was planned and get the information to them.
The tension and urgency began to make its mark on Cecilia. She cut off the Signora every time she tried to remind her of the urgency, and had to endure her reproachful looks every time she returned from a meeting with the Oberstleutnant without the information. Cecilia had not actively sought specific information before and was reluctant to start now. Besides, the arrival of the SS had brought a change in Friedrich she found unsettling. He was still as thoughtful and courteous as ever, but she could see he had other matters on his mind. He apologised for his preoccupation and insisted the situation was only temporary.
Cecilia was soon to understand the nature of the Oberstleutnant’s distraction, in a way that brought home to her the reality of the risks she ran as a matter of course every day of her life. She heard Signora Fiorelli scream and rushed to the kitchen to see what the problem was. She imagined the cook had burned herself dropping a pan of boiling water or soup, or at least a mishap of that kind. Instead she ran into the barrel of a sub machine-gun and was pushed abruptly to the floor. She screamed, adding her voice to the chorus that grew around her. She looked up into the hard eyes of an SS soldier and the weapon pointed at her head. In panic she looked for Signora Mila. Wherever she looked there were SS soldiers and cowering staff. She saw Carla and Antonella, Roberto and Andre the chauffeur up against the end wall, hands raised. The soldier standing over her kicked her foot to get her attention. He pointed to the others.
‘Schnell!’
Cecilia jumped to her feet and ran over to them. Her mind was racing. Where was the Signora? What did they know? Surely they weren’t going to be taken out and shot. Where was the Count? And Friedrich? Surely Friedrich could help? Then the realisation hit her that if the SS were there because of her activities, there’d be no help coming from either Friedrich or the Count. Her heart pounded and she wanted to be sick. The walls she’d so painstakingly constructed between the different parts of her life began to crumble and seem foolishly artificial. She heard a scuffle in the corridor and looked up in time to see two soldiers dragging the Signora and Carmela into the kitchen. The Signora was irate and cursing the soldiers with every breath.
An SS officer appeared at the doorway, briefly silhouetted by the daylight outside. Cecilia looked up into the e
yes of the coldest, hardest man she had ever seen. He seemed to tower over everyone else and his sheer presence was overwhelming. Even the Signora ceased her raging.
‘Who is in charge here?’ he asked and an officer translated his question into Italian. Signora Mila shrugged off the hands holding her and stepped forward defiantly.
‘I am. I am the housekeeper. Who are you and what is the meaning of this?’
Sturmbannführer Dietrich Schmidt looked calmly at the indignant woman in front of him while he listened to the translation. He looked straight into her eyes as she glared back at him, his thin lips twisted into what might once have passed for a smile. He waited and waited until he’d waited her out and she lowered her eyes. Still he looked at her, unwavering and unthinking. To Cecilia’s horror the Signora seemed to crumple up in front of her. Just when she thought she’d fall, the Sturmbannführer spoke once more.
‘Where is the man Piero?’
Piero? Were they after Piero? Were they safe after all? Or was he an informer? Surely not, or he would have informed on them before. Cecilia felt her hopes rise and saw some stiffening return to the Signora’s back.
‘Piero is our handyman. He could be anywhere in the garden or sheds or in the cellars. Or in his room above the workshop.’
‘I ask you one last time. Where is the man Piero?’
The SS officer had not moved nor raised his voice, yet Cecilia felt an icy hand wrap around her heart. She’d never heard anything so laced with menace before in her life. The man was a killer, who’d obviously killed many times and would kill again without hesitation or remorse. The Signora hesitated, eyes wide with fear, her mouth dry, perfectly aware of the threat she faced. She obviously didn’t know where Piero was. She glanced over to the staff helplessly, pleadingly.
‘Signora …’ It was Roberto. ‘Excuse me, Signora, but I believe Piero is in his room. I heard him in there. He will still be there unless the noise of the soldiers has frightened him off.’
‘Scharführer!’
The SS sergeant leapt to obey his superior. He grabbed hold of Roberto and pushed him through the doorway into the yard. Four soldiers followed.
‘Why do you want him? He is an old man.’
The Sturmbannführer ignored her question and looked right through her. He waited patiently for his men to return with Piero and wasn’t made to wait long. The sergeant stepped back into the kitchen pushing Roberto in front of him.
‘Herr Sturmbannführer, the man Piero is under arrest.’
Dietrich looked calmly at the cowering staff and turned to leave.
‘One moment if you don’t mind!’ The Count stood in the doorway from the corridor, his face crimson with rage, Signor Calosci at his side. ‘What is going on here? Who the hell do you think you are? I will have you skinned alive for this.’
‘I think not. Our interrogators tell us a man called Piero is responsible for ferrying Jews over the mountains to Switzerland. There is a man here called Piero who meets the description we have. We are taking him in for questioning.’
‘You will do no such thing! That man is a loyal servant. I trust him completely. What gives you the right to burst into my home like this? Release him immediately or I will insist your superiors have you shot!’
‘My superiors will probably give me a medal. Now, if you don’t mind …’ Dietrich turned on his heel and walked out into the yard. His troops hesitated for a moment to see that nobody took any action to prevent him, then followed. The Count watched them go, too stunned to move.
‘Oh dear God …’ Carla sank to the floor sobbing. Cecilia exchanged a brief glance with the Signora, acknowledging the relief they both felt, then walked past her to the Count.
‘Count, you were magnificent. We must get in touch with the Oberstleutnant immediately. He will make sure Piero is released. We can’t let them get away with this. We must also tell Il Duce. He will be furious. He will make them pay for insulting you like this.’
The Count let Cecilia take his arm and lead him away, grateful to be given his next course of action. All his bluster had gone and he’d turned as white as a sheet. He shook from head to toe. ‘You are right, Cecilia. We can’t let them get away with this. Mussolini must be informed. This is an outrage! An outrage!’
Oberstleutnant Friedrich Eigenwill was waiting for Dietrich when he returned to the barracks.
‘Sturmbannführer! One moment of your time please!’
The SS officer walked casually across to where Friedrich was standing. ‘You wish to see me, Herr Commandant?’ He contrived to make ‘Herr Commandant’ sound like an insult and said it just loud enough to draw a snigger from the men closest to him.
‘In my office.’ Friedrich whirled around and marched into his office. He pushed the door open and left it that way for Dietrich. ‘Close the door.’ He waited until Dietrich had complied then turned on him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’ve just had the Count on the phone to me. I’m expecting a call from Marshal Graziani at any moment. How dare you insult the Count like this! How dare you go behind my back. Why didn’t you inform me of your suspicions and I would have had the man arrested myself? In fact the Count would have brought him to us if I’d asked him. What the hell game are you playing?’
‘Let me ask you something, Herr Oberstleutnant. How many Jews have you arrested since you have been commandant here? I’ll refresh your memory. Precisely eleven. Yet we know this area under your command is a major escape route for Jews. We know it is a major escape route for deserters. Again, you have caught precious few of them. May I remind you that you requested help to do your job as you are so obviously incapable of doing it yourself. Do you think I wanted to come to this fart-arsed little hole? No! This is not a game. This is war. My place is at the front line not holding the hands of gutless army officers …’
‘Sturmbannführer!’ Friedrich reacted in outrage but Dietrich had touched a nerve and made accusations he would find hard to defend. He knew what horrors lay ahead for any Jews that were captured and he had no stomach for hunting them down. He was a soldier and his war was against other soldiers, not defenceless women and children. Hunting Jews was one part of his duty he had not pursued with all vigour, justifying his inaction by convincing himself his limited resources were better applied against the partisans. Others would not be so easily convinced.
‘Hear me out, Oberstleutnant. I am not accustomed to repeating myself. It is my intention to clean up the shit in your nest as fast as possible and get back to the front. I will use whatever methods I deem necessary and you will not interfere. When I leave you can play soldiers as much as you like. While I am here, we play by my rules. If not I will have you shot. Don’t interrupt! I will have you shot. Not up against a wall but on the field of battle. Things can become very confused there as you know. In the meantime I will thank you not to make demands of me in front of my troops otherwise I will be forced to ignore them. Do I make myself clear, Herr Oberstleutnant?’
‘Have you finished? Good. Understand this. I am the senior officer here and I will give orders. If I choose to give you orders in front of your troops I will do so and you will obey them. Or I will have you arrested and shot. And it will be up against a wall, Herr Sturmbannführer, and I will make sure the spectacle is well publicised. Do I make myself clear?’
‘It appears Herr Oberstleutnant that you have difficulty hearing. Any attempt to arrest me will be met by gunfire from my men. Who would you back, yours or mine?’ Dietrich began to laugh. ‘You’re as full of shit as your pimp, the Generalleutnant.’
Friedrich gritted his teeth. If it came to a showdown he had no illusions over who would win. His force was no match for Dietrich’s elite SS troops. ‘Sturmbannführer, you are required to apologise to the Count and release his man immediately.’
‘No, I don’t think so. If you want the Count to receive an apology, you apologise. I imagine you’re good at that. As for his man, I’ve already handed him over to the Gestapo. They are anxious to
talk to him. If he cannot add to their knowledge in any way, he will be released. Anything else?’
Friedrich gripped the edge of his table in rage, his knuckles white. ‘I could have you arrested now.’
‘No. We have discussed that. That would be most unwise. One other thing. I am drawing up plans for an attack on the partisans. I have an idea how to lure them down to attack us. You and your men will be the lure.’
‘I already have a plan.’
‘Ah … not a very good one I’m afraid. Please organise a meeting tomorrow morning and bring your Blackshirt commanders.’ Dietrich looked at his watch. ‘If you hurry you will have time to see the Count before dark, to offer your apologies and screw his mistress. I won’t keep you.’ Dietrich’s lips twisted in a travesty of a smile as he turned and left the room.
Chapter Thirty-three
Cecilia learned about Dietrich’s plan over the dinner table at the Villa Carosio. The Count laid no blame at Friedrich’s feet for the humiliation he’d received, indeed he was grateful to Friedrich for finally rescuing Piero from the Gestapo. The old man had been frightfully beaten but was still in one piece. He’d told them nothing and had steadfastly maintained he was a servant of the Count and had nothing to tell. So the Count had no hesitation in extending an invitation to Friedrich.
Dietrich’s plan was bold and the fascists made no secret of their admiration for Friedrich and the part he was willing to play. They praised his bravery while secretly laughing at his stupidity for accepting the part. Cecilia sat and ate and talked and listened and mentally took notes. She felt no elation at finally learning what Guido so desperately needed to know. Rather, she felt concern for Friedrich over the risks he was taking. She was horrified. He’d be a sitting duck in any ambush, a free target for a machine-gunner or for petrol bombs. She felt like bursting into tears. It wasn’t just the actress in her responding, her concern was genuine. Perhaps she should have paused for a moment to consider what that meant.
