“Ok, now you two are on your own.” Giuseppe was our Carabinieri guide. “This is as far as I go.”
We were on the outskirts of a small park.
“Just follow this road to Piazza Dante, and turn right onto Tasso. It’s not far,” Giuseppe reassured us. “You’ll know when you’re there. It’s pretty hard to miss the Nazi propaganda, and the screams of the prisoners. I’ll wait here for you.”
We followed his instructions, and made our way down to the quiet and serene Piazza Dante and turned right onto via Tasso. We seemed to blend in perfectly. The few people we met, avoided our gaze completely, and hurried along their way, hoping that we weren’t going to drag them into Gestapo headquarters for questioning.
Just as Giuseppe told us, 145 via Tasso was hard to miss. The red and black Nazi flags flying outside, contrasted sharply with the large yellow stucco building.
Baldazzi gave us papers, just in case. He altered the ID’s of the officers we killed with our pictures.
I was Second Lieutenant Johan Klier, and Marco was Captain Bruno Beger.
“Only use these in a dire circumstance,” he warned us. “Because you never know if they guy looking at the papers was a friend of these guys. And by this time, I’m sure they’ve found their dead comrades rotting naked by the side of the road.”
We had no problems getting inside the building. When the guards at the front entrance saw us, they immediately stood at attention, delivering crisp, well-practiced salutes.
Inside the building, there was an eerie silence that reeked of fear.
We followed the steps into the main reception area, where a young soldier sat behind a desk. His uniform neatly creased, and the pile of files on his desk stacked perfectly.
When he noticed us enter the room, he extended his arm in a casual salute.
“We’re here for the prisoner, Aldo Palumbo.” Marco wasted no time. “Kappler requested a personal interrogation at his quarters.”
“That’s odd.” The Soldier looked at us puzzled. “He didn’t mention anything to me when he left ten minutes ago.”
“That’s why we’re here,” replied Marco with just enough force to make the soldier remember he was the clerk and Marco was the officer. “We don’t want to keep the Captain waiting any longer than necessary. The longer you sit there looking at me, the more havoc the resistance causes. This prisoner has vital information and we need to get it.”
“Yes sir. I totally understand. I don’t want to make the Captain wait.” The soldier got up and grabbed a file. “Come with me. The prisoner has just been moved, on the Captain’s order, to solitary confinement.”
We followed the soldier deep into the belly of 145 via Tasso. It was a beautiful old building. The plaster walls were covered in brightly painted frescos, some rooms had expansive vaulted ceiling, and the checkered floors were polished to a perfect shine.
The beauty of the building, however, was juxtaposed by the muffled screams of terror that seemed to reverberate from the walls, and the menacing sound of our boots echoing down the hallways.
Our intelligence indicated that there were at least fifty Gestapo agents living in the building. These were the torturers. The barbarians. The sick and twisted minds that were trained to extract information from the most unwilling of prisoners.
Their interrogation methods included such things as repeated dunking in a bathtub filled with ice-cold water; high voltage electric shocks to the hands, feet, ears and genitalia; the use of a special Nazi designed vice to crush a man's testicles; hanging prisoners by the wrists to slowly dislocate their shoulders; brutal beatings with rubber nightsticks and cow-hide whips; and slowly burning the flesh with matches or a soldering iron.
Neither Marco nor I wanted to think of the damage the Gestapo agents might have already inflicted on Aldo. So we wasted no time getting him out of there.
After a few minutes, we stopped at what appeared to be a cell. The guard stationed in front of the door looked bored, but serious.
“We’re here to move the prisoner,” the soldier informed the guard. “Open the door.”
“On whose order,” asked the guard sternly. “I don’t just open cell doors.”
“Captain Kappler,” Marco shot back with force. ”He sent us to retrieve the prisoner for personal interrogation.”
“That’s odd, the Captain was just here only fifteen minutes ago,” replied the guard. “His orders to me were, at all cost, keep the prisoner secured in his cell.”
“Well I guess that settles it then.” The soldier tucked the file under his arm. “We don’t want to disobey a direct order.”
“You are disobeying a direct order,” asserted Marco. “We’re here to retrieve the prisoner for the Captain. Now open the door.”
The Guard paused, scrutinizing us closely.
“Let me see your papers,” he requested. “It’s my ass that’ll be whipped if anything goes wrong. I’m sure you understand.”
“Absolutely.” Marco dug into the pocket of his uniform and handed over the fake papers Baldazzi had forged. “You’re doing a good job soldier.”
I followed Marco’s lead and handed over my papers as well.
The guard studied them carefully. Looking closely at the pictures.
“Do I know you Captain?” He handed the papers back. “You’re name sounds so familiar. But I can’t quite place your face.”
“I’m new here,” replied Marco. “Brought in to help Kappler build up security. The resistance is getting stronger and with the enemy is knocking on the gates to Rome. We can’t take any chances.”
“Your friend here is pretty quiet.” The guard looked at me inquisitively. “Doesn’t speak much does he.”
“My Second Lieutenant is better at getting people to speak,” Marco joked. “He’s a man of few words.”
“I hope you won’t tell Captain Kappler about all this.” The guard produced a large set of keys and unlocked the door. “He’s got a pretty bad temper, and I like to stay on the good side of that.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” promised Marco. “All Kappler needs to know is that he’s got some good reliable men working for him.”
We followed the guard into Aldo’s cell. He looked beat up, but for the most part unscathed. At first he didn’t recognize us, and he spat at Marco.
“Nazi pig,” he taunted. “You’ll never get an ounce of information from me. You might as well just kill me.”
“Make sure he’s secured,” Marco ignored Aldo’s taunt. “These Italians are feisty.”
“Yes Captain.” The guard slapped a pair of handcuffs onto Aldo, and handed Marco the key. “This one has been especially difficult since he was brought in.”
At that moment I could it register in Aldo’s eyes. He relaxed completely, as I led him out of the cell and into the hall.
“We can take it from here.” Marco extended his arm in a salute. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
We followed the clerk back down the hall and out of the building with Aldo as our fake prisoner. All the time I tried my hardest not to smile.
Back on via Tasso, we bumped into a tall officer getting out of a car. He extended his arm in a salute. But was obviously puzzled.
“Where are you taking my prisoner,” he demanded. “I gave the guard strict orders that he wasn’t to be taken anywhere.”
I instantly recognized him from the pictures Moro had brought into the safe house one night. It was Kappler in the flesh.
Marco looked at me and than back to Aldo, and uttered one word.
“Run!”
Luckily for us Giuseppe was still waiting in the park. After a heart-stopping chase and an exchange of gunfire, we finally managed to shake Kappler and his men deep in the maze of the ancient city
Chapter Twenty-Three
Finito
“Here are your smokes,” Marco came back into the shop and threw the pack of cigarettes at Severino. “Bloody priest thinks he can s
ave my soul. I don’t think he realizes that it’s not my soul that’s broken.”
“Not the first time old Father D’Angello thinks he can save one of the Delgobo boys.” Severino took a fresh cigarette out and lit it. “Remember that time when Primo and I stole the communion wine?”
“Yea, pop almost killed you two,” Marco almost laughed. “Father D’Angello actually did save you that time.”
“What’s really wrong Marco?” I had noticed that Marco had been acting very solemn lately. Worried that maybe he had found out that Carmella and I were sleeping with each other. “You’ve been really quite lately. Not your normal self.”
“It’s nothing Pietro.” Marco avoided looking at me. “Just stressed out a bit about getting this tractor done for spring planting. We need to make some money.”
“C’mon. You can’t fool me. Confess.” I pressed. “I know something has been really bothering you lately. It’s written all over your face.:”
“Carmella broke off our engagement and she won’t talk to me,” Marco blurted. “There now you know.”
“That’s rough,” I shifted uncomfortably, the palms of my hands sweaty all of a sudden. “Why did she break it off? I thought you were playing it slow.”
“Ma! I’m too upset to even think about it,” Marco exclaimed. “Can we talk about something else?” Marco busied himself with the tractor, splicing wire’s together on the dashboard, trying to connect the starter.
“I totally understand.”
“She’ll come around fratello,” Severino took a long haul from his cigarette. “She’s just got the jitters is all. Women are moody - like the weather, first it’s sunny, than it rains, then it’s sunny again.”
“I even went to see La Stregha Vechia,” Marco confessed. “Can you believe it?”
“Who’s that?” I asked. Unaware that this witch would play an increasingly complex role in my life over the next few months.
“An old woman in San’Angelo. Everyone thinks she’s a witch, like she has these special powers.,” Marco explained. “She told me Carmella is in love with another man! Oh Ma! Que vita! I didn’t believe the witch at first. But now I see that she’s right. Why else would Carmella break off the engagement. She was so excited about it. When I find out who it is, I’m going to kill him.”
“Really?” I didn’t like where the conversation was going. I knew how much Marco loved Carmella, and how far he’d go in proving that to her. “How can you believe that stuff? It’s all superstition.”
“Varimente. amico,” Marco continued, “I put the evil eye on him. The witch told me that the evil eye would curse him so that Carmella wouldn’t love him anymore. She told me I’d be able to tell who it was by all the bad stuff that would start happening to him.”
“That’s a bit drastic isn’t it?” I never really got used to Italian superstitions. They seemed so archaic. But I learned to respect them, if not fully believe in them. “I mean bad stuff happens all the time. Look at us. We almost got killed by a land-mine a couple of weeks ago.”
“If you loved Carmella as much as I do, you’d understand my friend,” confided Marco. “It’s something deep inside of me - like I’ve given her a piece of my heart, my soul, my future. Have you never loved a woman like this before Pietro?”
“I guess I haven’t,” I lied. “It sounds brutal.”
“Maybe she’ll tell you who he is Pietro,” piped Severino between drags on his cigarette. “Carmella trusts you. She’ll tell you anything. You two seem to be spending a lot more time together lately.”
“Maybe she would,” I croaked. “But don’t count on it.”
“Ah it doesn’t matter.” Marco finished connecting the ignition switch on the tractor. “Finto! Done. Here we go, the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
“Lets see if this engine has any juice in it.”
The pistons let off a brief whirr and gurgle, and then the motor started purring loudly.
“Good old German engineering.”
“I knew we could do it.” Marco gave me a big hug. “We’re a good team you and I. Severino go get Primo. He’s going to be really excited!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Ardeatine Caves
We were buoyed by our close call with Kappler. Aldo couldn’t believe we’d been so cheeky to walk right into Gestapo headquarters like that and rescue him. Running into Kappler was just the icing on the cake. The perfect way to flaunt the strength of will and character of the resistance.
When we arrived back in Trestevere, I could tell that Baldazzi was relieved, even though he played it cool.
“Good work, I knew you guys could pull this off.” He patted Marco and I on the back. “I hope you killed at least one of those fascist pigs.”
Aldo relayed the whole story, including our daring escape from Kappler and his men through the back alleys of the city.
“Good thing for Giuseppe.” Aldo marked. “Otherwise Kappler would’ve caught us for sure.”
“I wonder if those Nazi rats found their way out of the maze.” Marco laughed. “It felt good to shake them up like that.”
“I don’t think I’d do it again.” The adrenalin from the day’s event was starting to wear off, and the realty of how dangerous Aldo’s escape had been was starting to sink in. “Not without a unit of men, and a lot of ammo, to back me up.”
Aldo reassured everybody that he hadn’t given the Gestapo agents any information.
“You arrived just in time,” he told us. “Kappler was returning to interrogate me himself. Let me tell you, I wasn’t looking forward to that. A lot of good men are dying in there by horrible means. I can still hear them screaming in pain.”
That spring we spent a lot of time canvasing the streets of Rome at night with Baldazzi’s men. We were helping to organize the resistance in anticipation of the Allied advance at Cassino and Anzio. This was dangerous work because if German patrols saw us talking to anyone they would’ve killed us on the spot.
Some of the men in the resistance, however, were starting to get impatient. They felt that not enough was being done to combat the Nazi force in the city.
“We need to organize a guerilla campaign in the city,” asserted Moro. “People are losing hope. We need to remind the Nazi’s who the real Romans are.”
“I agree with Moro,” added Rizi, “Collecting intelligence is important, but it’s not enough. We need to take back control of the city.”
“We’ve noticed a German police patrol routinely marching through central Rome on Via Rasella, every other day.” Aldo pointed to the spot on the map that was laid out on the table. “We could attack them with an improvised bomb. That would send a clear message to Kappler and his fascist comrades.”
“You raise some good points.” Baldazzi was thinking ahead, like he always did, trying to map out the potential ramifications of an attack like that. He was a good strategist, which meant that I never could beat him at chess on those long days when we were stuck inside the apartment. “But it could piss Kappler off to the point of making him do something rash.”
“What more could he do,” asked Marco. “He’s deporting more Jews every day. He routinely kills and tortures innocent civilians. He’s an animal. And these German police officers are fascist traitors anyways. They don’t deserve to be here in this beautiful city.”
The target was the Bozen Police Battalion. This was a group of German-speaking natives of the northern Italian province of Bolzano-Bozen. Many of these officers were veterans of the Italian Army and, instead of serving another tour in Russia, they opted to serve in the Nazi’s roman police force.
“I won’t have anything to do with it.” I thought the idea was crazy. Fighting defensively was one thing, but setting off bombs in the city sounded crazy. “There’s got to be a better way to send a message of hope to the people of Rome.”
“Who are you the Pope,” teased Aldo. “Nobody said you had to participate Canadese. You’ve
proved yourself already.”
“Ok, get some men together and let’s see if we can come up with a plan,” concluded Baldazzi. “Now, who wants to play chess?”
Rizi, Moro and Aldo didn’t waste any time. They put together a group of thirteen other men, including Marco. In a matter of a few weeks, and after a series of secret meetings, a plan was hatched.
An improvised explosive device was built consisting of a large quantity of TNT packed into a steel case. This was inserted into a bag containing an additional quantity of explosives and iron tubing.
This homemade bomb was then hidden in a garbage can that was pushed into position by Marco who was disguised as a street cleaner. Moro and Rizi acted as lookouts. Marco lit the fuse when he was given the signal that the police were forty seconds away from the bomb.
The bomb killed all twenty-eight of the police officers, and at least two Italian civilians. Luckily Marco escaped unscathed. The other three men weren’t so lucky.
In the chaos preceding the explosion, Aldo, Rizi and Moro were captured by German forces and detained for questioning.
Over the next few days, Kappler responded to the attack and decreed that Romans were all collectively responsible for the deaths of the twenty-eight police offices, and that his response would be a massive retaliation.
Ever true to his word, at the end of March Kappler rounded up over three hundred Italian hostages-including civilians, Italian prisoners of war, captured partisans and inmates from Roman prisons.
We later learned that Aldo was one of these hostages. Moro and Rizi were condemned to suffer an equally brutal fate, to burn in the ovens of Auschwitz.
Aldo was taken with the reset of the victims to one of the rural suburbs of the city. The SS officers lined them up inside the tunnels of the disused quarries of pozzolana, near the Via Ardeatina. And in groups of five they were executed. The massacre took almost a whole day.
Later at Kappler’s war trial in Rome, we heard that many of the victims were forced to kneel down on the dead bodies of the previous victims as the Ardeatine caves filled up with dead bodies.
Some of the victims' heads were blown off by their executioners. Many of the victims were only wounded and survived until the massive explosion intended to seal the caves killed them. One young man was discovered in his father’s arms in a corner of one of the caves. While others crawled into their own corners to die what must have been a slow painful death.
Tarantella: A Love Story Page 9
