A Winter's Night

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  “But why did the first man try to stab him?”

  “Who, the traitor? Amedeo Arcioni, that was his name. He said he was forced to do it because the Nazis had captured his family. And Wolf forgave him. The fact is that the Wolf has defeated the Germans so many times that they now consider him their number one enemy. He even succeeded in running a train off the rails and seized all the goods it was carrying. The Nazis would give anything to see him dead. You’d be mistrustful yourself if you found yourself in his shoes, wouldn’t you?”

  “Is it true that there are ten thousand men in the Red Star Brigade?”

  Martino shrugged. “Are you kidding me? How could he support ten thousand people? There must be seven, eight hundred at the most, but that’s a good number, as much as such a miserable territory can handle. The fact is that his teams are so mobile that they manage to show up at the same time in far-flung places and act with such rapidity that it seems like there are many more of them. You’ve heard of what happened at Monte Sole, haven’t you?”

  “There was a big battle.”

  “You can say that again. The Germans had decided to pull out all the stops because they felt they were losing control of the situation and because a vast portion of mountain territory was already under the control of the Red Star. With the support of the Republican Army, the Germans organized a sweeping mop-up operation, pulling out all the big guns. Cannons, machine guns, the whole works. Their objective was to completely surround Monte Sole, the massif where the Wolf had set up the general headquarters of the Brigade . . . ”

  “Which means the Germans must have had informers.”

  “Obviously. The district that we control includes five or six towns as well as quite a few isolated farming settlements. It’s easy for them to infiltrate someone. A farmer with a hoe, a shepherd taking his flock to pasture . . . anyone can be a spy. We’ve found some of them and executed them but you know more are out there. So, you know what Wolf does? He keeps all his men up at the base until the very last minute; he waits until the sentries tell him that the Germans are more or less a kilometer away and then he divides his men into a lot of small groups and takes them down to the base of the mountain. He gets them into position, hidden behind vegetation or lying low in the middle of a field of wheat, with more men posted at every trail. The Germans start to make their way up, Wolf keeps his men at the ready with their fingers on the trigger, all twenty-year-old guys. There are even some English soldiers with them, guys who had gotten cut off from their own units.

  “When the sentries signal that the last German has entered the forest, Wolf unleashes hell. They’re surrounded, with no way out. We took out five hundred and fifty of them. The others survived by escaping through the woods . . . Since then we’ve had more volunteers than we can handle, up to thirty new ones a day.”

  “You were there too?” asked Montesi.

  “Why, wasn’t that obvious?”

  “It certainly was. Then you can help me get there.”

  “Only up to a point. You know, we have our own wrangles now and then, especially when it comes to how the airdropped supplies should be distributed. Insults tend to fly. It’s better I don’t show my face in that neck of the woods for a while. I’ll take you to a spot a couple of kilometers away from his headquarters and I’ll point out the way from there. Then you’re on your own. Are you sure you have to meet with him just now?”

  “Well, those are my orders. It’s not like he’s going to eat me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. If you do manage to see him, you’ll find that he has quite a boyish look to his face, but don’t let your guard down: he can turn into a beast from one minute to the next: because he had a bad night, because he didn’t sleep enough, because he didn’t get screwed, because . . . ”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Well then, what now? We’re finished here, aren’t we?”

  “We smoke a cigarette and then we go. My truck’s outside.” Martino pulled out a packet of Chesterfields and offered him one: “This is good stuff: brightleaf tobacco, from Virginia. There were about fifty cartons in the last drop.”

  When they got started it was after midnight. They followed the road that skirted the bottom of the valley for nearly an hour until they got to Pontecchio. They drove through Il Sasso and Fontana, Lama di Reno and Marzabotto. At about four in the morning, Martino stopped the truck at the start of a trail.

  “We’re in the territory of the Red Star Brigade. The Wolf’s den is up there. As soon as it starts to get light, take this trail until you come to a fork in the road. Go right and continue for another kilometer through a chestnut forest. When you see the beech-wood starting, it means you’re almost there.”

  “What do I do then?”

  “Nothing. They’ll find you. As soon as you hear a voice saying “Halt!”, raise your hands. They shoot first and then ask ‘friend or foe.’ Are you armed?”

  “No.”

  “Good. They can’t stand a man with a weapon unless it’s one of their own. You’re heading straight into the jaws of the wolf!” he grinned. “I think it’s now that I say good luck.” Martino gave him the rest of the Chesterfield packet.

  Montesi watched as Martino reversed and started on his way back down, until the truck disappeared around the first bend. He started walking up the path so he wouldn’t be standing on the road and stopped when he found a biggish boulder he could lean on. He lit a cigarette and waited until dawn. The side of the mountain he would be climbing was still dark, but the sky above had become an aquamarine blue. He could hear the soft hoot of a horned owl that stopped as soon as the wind turned.

  It took him about twenty minutes to reach the fork. He continued his ascent up a path which became increasingly steeper, surrounded on both sides by age-old chestnuts with gigantic moss-covered trunks. There wasn’t a living soul anywhere around; all he heard was the rustle of wings now and then. Through the tree branches he could see the white-streaked peak of Corno alle Scale appearing and disappearing as he walked.

  “One more step and you’re dead,” said a voice on his left, neither soft nor loud, a statement more than an order and all the more effective for being so. Montesi raised his hands.

  “I’m unarmed and I’m here on behalf of the National Liberation Committee. I have to see the Wolf.”

  “Wolf doesn’t feel like seeing anyone. Who are you?”

  “Bruno Montesi, the Blacksmith. I have a letter of credentials from the NLC.”

  “Take that trail on the left and walk forward without turning until I tell you to stop.”

  “Can I lower my hands?”

  “Yes. But don’t turn or make any funny moves, or . . . ”

  “ . . . I’m dead.”

  “You got it.”

  He walked uphill for another half an hour until he found himself in a clearing surrounded by beech trees. At one end was a dilapidated shack and a shed for drying chestnuts. There was a roadblock with two partisans armed with British Sten submachine guns. The voice behind him said: “He wants to see Wolf. He has a letter from the NLC.”

  “That you, Spino? Where the hell did you find this guy?”

  “Down at the beech-wood. So what the fuck do we do now? Tell Wolf he has a visitor, no?”

  One of the two roadblock soldiers went over to the shack and shortly came out again with another couple of men.

  “It’s your lucky day, fucker,” hissed Spino. “Wolf will see you. He’s the guy on the left.”

  Spino was standing next to him now. Lean, bundled up in a military jacket, he looked no older than eighteen, and the other soldiers looked very young as well. Their battle names, the jargon, the arrogance of a boy trying to seem older than he is by saying “fuck” every other word: it all made them seem like kids playing at war, but instead they were damned serious.

  “The one on his right is his brother Guido,” said Spino, whisper
ing now. “And the guy leaning against the door is Sugano, his right-hand man.”

  Wolf stepped right up to him. He looked just like Montesi had expected. A bristly beard, slightly wavy hair, black eyes that were much bigger than normal under a very wide brow, fleshy lips. His hooked nose reminded Montesi of a bird of prey. The combination was unsettling and gave him an expression of quiet ferocity. A medal hung at his neck, maybe Saint Anthony.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked.

  “I’m the Blacksmith. The NLC has appointed me the political commissar of your brigade.”

  “I’ve never seen you and I don’t like your looks. I don’t need any political commissar. The last one really broke my balls.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s important that the combatants understand the political justification for their fight.”

  “I decide what’s important for my brigade. Many of my men live around here. They’re fighting for their families and their homes, that seems like a good enough justification to me.”

  “But I have precise orders from the Liberation Committee to install myself here as your political commissar. I’m sure we’ll find a basis for agreement . . . ”

  He was still speaking when one of Wolf’s men dashed over and whispered something in his ear: “They’re signaling an SS unit coming up from Pian di Venola.”

  Wolf beckoned to Sugano: “Take him to the coal cellar.”

  “Wait, what’s happening?” asked Montesi in alarm. “What is this business about a coal cellar? Hey. Look, I have a letter here from the NLC. Read it!”

  But Sugano was already behind him and he was pushing him towards the trail with the barrel of his machine gun.

  Montesi didn’t know where to turn.

  They walked for about ten minutes in silence, and then he blurted out: “Listen, I’m a partisan. I was sent here by the NLC. Why are you treating me like this? What is this coal cellar? What are we going to do there?”

  “Die,” replied Sugano. “You, that is. Wolf has ordered me to shoot you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Bruno Montesi felt his blood turn to ice, but he kept walking. “This is crazy,” he said, “I’m a partisan just like you, we’re on the same side. Why would you want to kill me?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sugano. “I obey orders.”

  ‘Listen to me. The reason I came here is to convince Wolf to recognize the authority of the National Liberation Commit­tee. You have everything to gain . . . ’

  “Oh yeah? What do we stand to gain?”

  “First of all, the Allies negotiate directly with us and they only recognize the formations which are part of the Committee. You are useful to them right now, but if the situation changes they will not hesitate to dump you and abandon you to your fate. By joining us, the NLC, you’ll become part of a regular formation, recognized by the Geneva Convention; that is, with formal recognition of the credit and prestige that you’ve won through your victories. If you stay out, you’re nothing more than a band of armed men, no matter how much fear you inspire.”

  As he spoke, Montesi counted the steps and the minutes that separated him from his own summary execution, even if Sugano’s silence gave him at least the impression that he might be listening. He continued.

  “If you accept my proposal, the Allies will give you support through regular airdrops, in accordance with our commanders. They can actually supply you with exactly what you need . . . ”

  Sugano was still mute.

  “Think about it. In order to provide for your men, you are forced to confiscate your means of transport and above all your food supplies from the local population, and this makes you very unpopular. There’s a consistent portion of these people who are not behind you: we’ve had complaints, protests, claims of sacking . . . ”

  At this point, Montesi thought that Sugano would shoot him in the back. Nothing. So he stopped.

  “With our support, you will receive provisions regularly from the sky. When you need to confiscate something from a local family, you can give them a certificate that entitles them to be reimbursed. Now, don’t you think that if you kill me you’ll end up losing a lot of the prestige that you’ve gained on the battlefield of Monte Sole?”

  At that point, very slowly and with his hands raised high, Montesi turned around until the barrel of the tommy gun was pointing at his chest.

  “We’re here,” said Sugano.

  Montesi nodded. “Right. So what are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  Sugano lowered the gun. “No,” he said, “because you’re right.”

  Montesi took a long breath and sat down on a tree trunk until his heartbeat returned to normal.

  “What do we do now?” he asked. “What will Wolf say?”

  “I don’t know. But he’ll have to accept it. He’ll start yelling, he’ll probably point his pistol at me . . . who knows. It was going to happen sooner or later.”

  “So we go back?”

  “No, not now. We’ll wait, maybe he’ll calm down in the meantime,” replied Sugano.

  Montesi offered him one of the remaining Chesterfields and they sat and chatted. Montesi couldn’t believe that in just a few minutes’ time he had gone from the prospect of a summary execution to sharing a cigarette—and not the last smoke of a prisoner condemned to death!—in the company of his would-be hangman. They spoke at length, until Sugano thought that the time had come for them to go back. They did just that, walking side by side. When they arrived, the Wolf wasn’t there. He had gone with a squad of about twenty men to inspect a site.

  “That’s good,” said Sugano. “He’ll get it out of his system, and when he comes back maybe he’ll have changed his mind.”

  They entered the building they were using as their headquarters and Sugano called over Spino, the sentry, to hear what had happened in the meantime.

  “We captured a fascist and Wolf ordered his execution. We were waiting for you.”

  “Christ, this place is a slaughterhouse,” burst out Montesi.

  Sugano nudged him to shut up, then asked: “Where is this fascist?”

  Spino opened the door to a stable and the others followed him in. A ray of sunshine was lighting up the interior.

  “He’s only a kid!” said Montesi.

  “He’s a fascist,” shot back Spino.

  “You can’t shoot him,” continued Montesi, “he’s protected by the Geneva Convention. He can’t be a day over fifteen”

  “Sixteen,” corrected the boy.

  Montesi walked up to him. “Why did you enlist?” he asked.

  “To defend my country against the invaders, and traitors like you.”

  “Traitors? You’re not thinking clearly, buddy. There’s a lot to say about who the traitors are, and who the invaders are. Maybe we should talk.”

  “What for? Shoot me and get it over with!”

  “Shut up, you idiot, are you in such a hurry to die?” said Montesi. He gave Sugano a look; the other man shrugged and they walked out together.

  “Can’t you do anything?” asked Montesi.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve already disobeyed him by not killing you. Now we’re going to spare the boy too? I wouldn’t want to be around when he comes back.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” replied Montesi.

  “You’re crazy. But if you want to try, and you manage to survive the first ten minutes without him killing you, you’ve got a chance.”

  Sugano turned to Spino: “In the meantime, keep a close watch on the kid. If this one gets away, we’ll all end up in front of the firing squad.”

  Spino nodded and double-locked the door.

  “What happened to those five boys that just got here?” Sugano asked him.

  “Wolf sent them out with Guerrino, towards Montepastore and Monte Ombraro, to patrol the zo
ne between us and the guys from Montefiorino,” replied Spino.

  “When are they coming back?”

  “Don’t know. When they’re finished.”

  Spino turned to Montesi: “You know? One of the five new guys comes from the same place you do.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Fabrizio, I think,” he replied. “Light brown hair, hazel eyes, sturdy build, a coffee-colored birthmark on his neck.”

  “Christ! That’s Savino’s son!”

  “Who’s he?” asked Sugano.

  “The boy’s a friend of mine, but he knows nothing about me being here. Anyway, he doesn’t belong here. Can’t you warn him off? The kid has no experience whatsoever, he’s never fired a shot his whole life.”

  “Calm down,” said Sugano. “It’s all under control. It’s like being thrown into deep water: you sink or you learn to swim fast. A lot of other guys have been through here, what makes him so special?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that he’s a good friend and I don’t want him dead.”

  Wolf didn’t come back for three days. When they saw him, he was in a state of shock.

  “The Germans have burned it all down. Homes, farms; there’s nothing left standing at Monte Sole.”

  Montesi walked up to him: “Considering what happened, you should have expected them to take revenge.”

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” said Wolf, suddenly noticing the person he’d thought was a dead man, talking. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of him?”

  “He convinced Sugano that you’re wrong, and he also convinced him not to shoot that kid in there, in the stable,” Spino broke in.

  “I’m too tired to be pissed,” replied Wolf. “I have to sleep, I’m falling over. But I’m not going to listen to any crap from you,” he said, pointing to Montesi. “I’m in charge here. You’re worth shit, you understand that?”

  “You are in charge here, Wolf, but that boy doesn’t deserve to die. I’ve talked to him and convinced him that we are the patriots. He’s come over to our side and he’ll be a great fighter for freedom, mark my words.”