“What are we going to do?” Marco was noticeably getting nervous. “We could all die.”
“The Germans used an assortment of mines. It’s probably not a pot mine or a S-Mine, because it would have exploded already.” I reassured everybody. “Most likely it’s a Holzmine.”
“What does that mean?”
“Run! Fast!”
I ran across the field towards the truck, with Marco, Primo and Severino following in a sprint close behind, lugging their tool-bags.
Just as we made it halfway across the field there was a big explosion as the mine detonated, piercing the calm twilight of the evening with a reminder of a war that we were all trying so hard to forget.
Chapter Nineteen
With God as our Witness
Carmella was walking close to me as we made our way down the piazza, deep in conversation.
“That was a close call the other day. We could see the explosion all the way up here in the village.”
“I can’t believe we were so reckless. Marco had us all excited about that engine.”
“Marco has that effect on people.”
“What’s going on between the two of you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Come on. I want to show you something.”
Carmella took my hand and led me up the cobblestoned street towards the Cathedral of San Maria at the top of the village.
The Cathedral was built in the 12th century by the medieval Lord who ruled over the region and collected taxes from the villagers. Pope Saint Celestine V, who was born in the neighbouring village of Saint Angelo, encouraged the Lord to build the Cathedral to support the religious fervor that was sweeping across the region.
“Where are you taking me?” I hadn’t explored the old medieval cathedral since I arrived in Limosano. “Where are we going?”
Father D’Angello still held mass in the Cathedral, and was always trying to get me to come to one of his services. Every Sunday the ancient bell tower sent its song out across the hills, summoning people to prayer.
“There’s a secret spot I used to go as a kid to be alone and think.” Carmella pulled me eagerly up the steep cobblestones. “I want to show it to you.”
The view at the top of the village was breathtaking. The rolling hills and valleys of Molise reached out in all directions. Across the Biferno River to the south you could just make out the neighbouring village of Montagano.
Also visible was the shell of the kubblewagon and the small crater where I had triggered the land-mine a few days earlier.
Carmella guided me into the empty Cathedral. Father D’Angello left the doors unlocked just in case somebody wanted to come in to have a private conversation with God.
She took me over to a small cubbyhole in one of the corners of the church.
“You must’ve been a pretty small kid to fit in there,” I joked. “I can’t imagine you’d still fit in there.”
“I was a flexible child.”
“Very.”
“There’s something I want to tell you Peter.” Carmella whispered into my ear. “Something I wanted to tell you in private.”
“Sure. Anything. You can trust me.” The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, like I was going to be hit by lightening. “I can keep a secret.”
Carmella leaned in close and kissed me hard on the lips, running her hand up my leg.
At first I was surprised, and resisted. But after a few seconds I kissed her back hard, enjoying the feeling of her moist lips on mine.
This was something I had dreamt about for the last few months and now it was really happening.
After a few seconds I pulled away, reluctantly.
“I’m not sure I know what that means.” I took her hand in mine. “This is a surprise,” I stammered. “ A nice surprise. But what about Marco?”
“I broke off my engagement with him,” she squeezed my hand. “I don’t love him anymore.”
“What?”
“I can’t marry him if I don’t love him.”
“Love is complicated Carmella.”
“I have feelings for you Peter,” she confessed. “You make my heart dance. You make me feel alive. I haven’t felt this way since I first met Marco.”
“What is Marco going to say? He’s going to kill me if he finds out.”
“I don’t care,” she cried. “Tell me you feel the same way about me. That your heart skips a beat every time you see me.
“I have feelings for you but I’m not sure what they are,” I replied honestly. “Marco is my friend. We’ve been through a lot together and I know how much he loves you.”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m with you.”
“You’re beautiful, beyond beauty.” I stammered. “I just can’t. I mean I want to. But Marco is a good friend.”
Carmella didn’t let me finish my sentence. She kissed me again, harder this time, as if to emphasize the full weight of her feelings towards me.
The taste of her lips, her tongue, were intoxicating. The feeling of her body pressed up against mine made me lose all sense of time. All I could think of was how much I wanted to make love to her right there, with God as our witness.
Little did we realize God wasn’t our only witness that afternoon.
Father D’Angello sat quietly in the shadows of the Cathedral, as Carmella and I took off our clothes, eager to unleash our love for one another.
Chapter Twenty
Aldo
Baldazzi did a good job looking after Marco and I in Rome that winter. We spent a lot of time inside the safe house going over tactics and following the news on the American attempts to drive the German forces out of Cassino.
Aldo, Moro and Rizi spent most of their time collecting intelligence information from the partisans stationed all throughout Rome. The information helped Baldazzi ensure the safe flow of goods, and services in and out of the city.
That winter, everybody was watching the action on the Gustav Line. This was the tactical German defense line that crossed Italy from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic. The line started just south of Rome, running east through the Liri Valley along the mountain rivers, with the Garigliano, Gari and Rapido Rivers adding to the defense of the southern sector.
South of Rome, the Nazi forces patrolled Route 6, the Rome-Naples highway, which ran along the Liri valley, between the Abruzzi and Aurunci mountains. This was also the best route back to Campobasso, and also where some of the fiercest fighting was taking place.
In retrospect, I don’t think Marco and I would have survived an attempt to traverse those treacherous mountain roads on our motorcycles, even dressed as Nazi officers. If the German patrols didn’t kill us, we surely would’ve been pegged off by an American sniper.
For all intents and purposes Marco and I were trapped in Rome that winter, waiting for the American and British soldiers to breach the Gustave Line and liberate Rome, making the highway to Campobasso safe again for travel.
The impressive Monte Cassino sat watch over the entrance to the Liri valley. This high mountain peak provided an excellent defensive position for the German forces. All the intelligence reports coming in from the surrounding areas indicated that the Nazis had dug their positions into the mountain, and were occupying the ancient Benedictine monastery perched high on top of the mountain as their control center.
Just as Don Alexandro had mentioned, we learned that the Allied forces planned to breach the Gustave Line through an amphibious hook around the German flank. There were rumors that this was going to be an advanced force on its way to liberate France.
The reports the men brought in on the Allied attacks at Cassino were not very promising. The Germans obviously maintained the more strategic position, and easily defended their position. The ascent up the mountain was littered with mines, making it extremely difficult and dangerous for the Allied forces to gain any ground.
These grim attempts to establish highland positions at Ca
ssino dragged on well until mid-February. The only saving grace for the Allied forces was the landing of their rumored amphibious attack at the marshes of Anzio.
While taking the German forces completely by surprise, it resulted in the anticipated diversion of the Nazi forces from Cassino to defend the new breach in the Gustave Line at Anzio.
This beachhead assisted the Cassino front considerably. The resulting fighting at Anzio, however, quickly turned ugly. All the reports indicated that the German forces still maintained the upper hand, and that Allied casualties were mounting at an alarming rate.
The news was discouraging, and Baldazzi started to fret. Wondering whether the resistance should mount some kind of counter-attack within the city to distract the Germans.
“That’s crazy,” suggested Rizi. “They’ll crush us. We just don’t have the capacity to mount an effective strike on the Germans.”
“But if we can somehow breach the Gustav Line from the inside we could turn this war to our advantage,” insisted Baldazzi. “We need to do something. The news is not good.”
“Rizi is right,” I added. “The Germans will crush us. We can be more effective here organizing guerilla tactics. Supplying partisans with arms in other cities, like Milan, and supporting the Allied advances.”
“Maybe we should send some guerilla’s into the mountains,” urged Marco. “We could arm the monks and townspeople of Cassino. Give them some explosives to blow up the German positions.”
“That’s not going to do us any good.” Moro closed the door behind him and bolted it. “They’re not going to need the explosives.”
“What’s the latest news Moro?” Baldazzi put down the gun he was polishing. “Please tell me the Anzio force is inching closer to the city.”
“There’s good news and bad news,” replied Moro. “What do you want to hear first?”
Moro sat down. He looked exhausted. Lately he and Aldo had been running messages to relay stations throughout the city, and collecting intelligence reports.
“The good news,” said Marco. “I always like to start with optimism.”
“The good news is that the Allies are making ground at Cassino,” shared Moro. “I just received news that the Allies are bombing the monastery in advance of an attempt to storm the mountain. They’re dropping some pretty heavy stuff.”
“Are they crazy,” exclaimed Rizi. “Don’t they realize God is pissed-off enough already?”
“Reducing the monastery into rubble is just going to make taking the position more difficult,” I added. “When we were Ortona, some of the fiercest fighting was amongst the blown-up bits of buildings. Lots of good sniper positions and protection for shelling.”
“Word on the street is that the Allies are getting desperate,” explained Moro. “Bombing the monastery was a last resort. But considered essential to reduce the German positions and hopefully take out some of their artillery in the process.”
“If this is the good news, I shudder to think what the bad news is.” Baldazzi sat back in his chair. The stress was starting to show on his gaunt face. “Where’s Aldo?”
“That’s the bad news,” Moro gulped. “Aldo has been captured by a German patrol.”
“This is dire.” Baldazzi stood up and began to pace the room. “How long ago?”
“An hour at the most.”
“We’ve got to get out of here right away,” urged Rizi. “This place isn’t safe anymore. It’s only a matter of time before those Nazi pigs extract our location for Aldo.”
“Piano, piano. Not so fast.” Baldazzi motioned to Rizi to calm down. “We’ve got to maintain our heads here and not fly off the handle. That’s more dangerous. Aldo has the strength and stamina of youth. He’ll hold out for at least a couple of days, if they don’t kill him first.”
“Do we know where they’re keeping him,” asked Marco. “We could mount a jail-break- like in one of those American westerns.”
“Yea, a few outlaw paisanos against a well-armed Nazi military police outfit,” mocked Rizi. “I know who I’m betting on.”
“Marco and I managed to escape,” I reminded everybody. “We just need to time it right. It’s doable.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Baldazzi looked at Marco and I, a wide smile forming on his face. “Get those Schutzstaffel uniforms you arrived here in. We’re going to get Aldo.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Father D’Angello
Severino sent Marco to the store to buy some cigarettes. They were busy in the shop putting together the last few pieces of the tractor’s engine and transmission that they had salvaged from the German kubblewagon.
After the close call with the land mine, Severino was convinced that we had a guardian Angel looking out for us. He was so inspired to get the tractor finished as soon as possible so that they could get it out for spring planting, that he was working day and night trying to connect all the new parts, and sending Marco out for supplies.
“Ciao Marco,” Nicollito was busy in the shop stocking shelves. “How’s the tractor project coming along?”
“Really well. We scavenged a engine and some tires from a German Kubelwagen last week. I just have to tweak the engine a bit and I think we’re going to be ready for spring planting.”
“Impressive.”
“All in a day’s work. “
“I haven’t seen Carmella lately. If you still want me to order anything special for your wedding, I’ve got to know soon,” Nicolitto wiped his hands on his apron. “Supply chain isn’t what it used to be. But it’s definitely getting better now that the war is over.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding anytime soon,” grumbled Marco. “At least not mine.”
“Cold feet?”
“Something like that,” Marco replied. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure whatever,” Nicolitto smiled. “What can I get for you then?”
“A pack of cigarettes.”
The door to the store opened and Father D’Angello made his way up to the counter where Marco was talking to Nicolitto.
“Marco. What a nice surprise,” beamed Father D’Angello. “I haven’t seen you at mass lately.”
“Been busy.”
“He’s got a broken heart Father,” offered Nicolitto. “A man with a broken heart is like a body without a soul.”
“We should talk Marco. I can help,” assured Father D’Angello. “Sometimes God has answers to problems that you never thought could ever be solved.”
“I don’t need blessings Father,” Marco sneered. “I need Carmella back. It’s simple.”
“You need the truth my son,”answered the priest matter of factly. “God can offer that to you.”
“La Madonna isn’t going to help me this time. “
“You’ll get over it Marco.” Nicolitto handed Marco the pack of cigarettes. “There are lots of beautiful women out there.”
“Speak for yourself old man.” Marco handed the shop keeper a few coins and opened the door to leave. “Maybe I should go back to Rome. Or Tuscany. The tuscan women are almost as beautiful as the Abruzzi.”
“Come and see me Marco,” pressed Father D’Angello. “We need to talk.”
“Ok Father. Once I get this damn tractor done I’ll pop by.” Marco shut the door behind him and made his way back down the piazza to the shop where Severino was waiting for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
145 via Tasso
Baldazzi’s plan to save Aldo unfolded very quickly.
Moro learned that Aldo had been captured by a Nazi patrol, and brought to the Gestapo headquarters at 145 via Tasso. It was a nondescript building close to the train station.
It was also the center from where Herbert Kappler orchestrated his brutal occupation of Rome.
Baldazzi warned us about Kappler. He was the highest representative of Nazi Security Office in Rome, and answered directly to both the military governorship, under Luftwaffe Major General Kurt Mälzer, and the Su
preme SS and Policy Leader in Italy, Karl Wolf.
Kappler's main responsibilities were to ensure the suppression of our resistance groups. This entailed rounding up Baldazzi’s men as enemies of the state, and executing them as an example.
He was also responsible for enforcing the Nazi’s anti-Jewish measures. This entailed conducting Jewish ghetto raids, and arranging their deportations north to extermination camps.
At the time, Marco and I had no idea how lucky we were to have escaped from the Nazi detention in Milan. Later I learned, together with the rest of the world, that Kappler had deported over ten thousand Jews from Rome to the death camps at Auschwitz. Of this number, only a small handful survived the ovens.
Baldazzi’s plan was to send Marco and I into 145 via Tasso dressed in the uniforms of the two SS Officers we killed that day many weeks ago coming into Rome.
We were to sign Aldo out of detention under the pretense that Kappler had requested a personal interrogation. Once we had him, we were to make a beeline back to Trestevere.
Baldazzi was convinced that we could pull it off. I wasn’t.
I didn’t speak a word of German, and my Italian accent was as bad as my French. I was a prairie farmer from Saskatchewan and totally out of my league.
Secondly, Marco looked as much German as I looked Italian. And, although his Italian obviously was impeccable, his German was less to be desired.
“C’mon Pietro, where’s your sense of adventure. We’ll speak Italian to them. The Germans are very conscious of rank, so they won’t question us at all.” Marco was just as convinced as Baldazzi that we could rescue Aldo without a hitch. “And besides, you look a lot more Aryan than me, with your blonde hair and blue eyes. They’ll never suspect us. Just let me do the talking.”
So the plan was set in motion.
Baldazzi recruited quite a few Carabinieri to support the resistance since the Nazi occupation of the city. They knew Rome like the back of their hands, and were aware of all the back-streets and best ways to approach the Gestapo Headquarters at 145 via Tasso.
With their help, it didn’t take us long to navigate our way through the maze of alleys and narrow cobblestone streets.
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