The port had become operational only the day before, but most of the 3rd Division had been landed at Licata, twenty-five miles further south-east down the coast. Porto Empedocle would come into its own from now on, as Patton began his drive north and west.
The Italians had put up stiffer resistance than expected and it had taken three days to clear the coast to Agrigento and capture the port, but when Truscott’s men had reported that both were now in US hands, Patton had been delighted. Some six thousand Italians were now in the bag, along with more than fifty artillery pieces and at least a hundred vehicles, all of which the Italians could ill afford to lose. Most importantly, however, the port was only lightly damaged. Clearing mines in the waters around it was the biggest task.
Now they were ready to go. Patton had outlined his plan to Alexander, had been given approval, and had created a new corps, consisting of the 3rd Division, 2nd Armored and 82nd Airborne, specifically for the task. The 82nd would drive west, along the coast, the 2nd Armored would remain in reserve, while General Truscott’s 3rd Division would drive straight towards Palermo.
And Wiseman would be there to witness it. This, he knew, was the test of his negotiations with Don Calogero Vizzini. Don Calo had promised him that the Italians would melt away. He had assured him that his influence was strong enough. This, Wiseman knew, was the moment of truth.
As the column rumbled forward, Wiseman’s stomach knotted. If Vizzini had been bullshitting him, his ass would be on the line.
Around the same time, in Motta Sant’Anastasia, the German gunners were beginning their daily shelling of British positions. Every morning it was the same: the clatter of the men getting up, the smell of rations and ersatz coffee, then the low murmur of orders, and the dull voice of someone sending the latest co-ordinates over the field telephone. Moments later, a dull boom from one of the guns dug in nearby in the lava hills, then another, and another. Others, further along the lower slopes of Etna towards Misterbianco, would also fire, the pulses of each shot felt throughout the house. A slight shake. Glass would chink.
Francesca lay in bed, Cara alongside her, her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Another boom of a gun, the shell whistling out over the plain below. She wished they would all go away, that she could be left to grieve on her own. It was impossible to think that he was dead, gone, no more. Or perhaps he was still alive. Perhaps he had been taken prisoner after all. Perhaps another telegram would arrive telling them he was safe. Then these brief moments of hope would give way to despair once more. MISSING BELIEVED KILLED. That meant he almost certainly had been killed. There was no point in raising hopes to the contrary. If someone had seen him alive and well, they would have written ‘missing believed taken prisoner’. But they hadn’t.
The thought of never seeing him again was tearing her heart in two. Death was so final, so absolute. Nico, she knew, had not believed in God, and although she had always tried to, had gone to mass and confession every week, she could not, in her heart of hearts, believe that one day she would see her mother, father and brother again in Heaven.
Another boom. The room shook. Moments later, the distant crump of the explosion. She felt Cara hold her more tightly. And these Germans. She hated them, especially Leutnant Kranz. Always bowing respectfully, always asking after her health. He had brought her a bunch of flowers the day before. Eurgh! He repulsed her! ‘I think he wants to marry you, Mamma,’ Cara had told her. ‘Like Salvatore.’ Francesca didn’t think that, but she knew he wanted her, and that every time he looked at her he was undressing her with his eyes. It was horrible. She felt debased. He always seemed to be there, just when she least expected it, putting her on edge all the time. At least she could send Camprese home when he pestered her, but Kranz – my God, there was no escape. And although so far he had not so much as laid a finger on her, she had no idea whether he would always be so restrained. He was a German officer: he could do what he liked. If he decided to have her, she was defenceless.
At around six, she got up, dressed and went to the dining room, now doubling as a kitchen, to prepare some breakfast for Cara. Before the arrival of the Germans, she would have gone first to the yard to the chickens, but the men took all the eggs so there was now no point.
‘Good morning, Signora,’ said a voice behind her.
Francesca started, then turned to see Kranz in the doorway.
‘You have enough to eat?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Francesca replied. There was a baker in town. The loaves were rationed – everything was – but with a bit of care, they could be eked out easily enough. A small slice each for breakfast was enough to keep them going through the morning.
‘If you need anything, you have only to ask.’
A quickly flashed smile. ‘Thank you.’
He remained there a while longer, watching her.
‘Was there anything else?’ she asked at length.
‘It worries me, Signora, you being all alone here. A beautiful young lady like yourself.’
‘I’m not alone. I have my daughter.’
‘Even so, perhaps you might like to enjoy some company with someone your own age.’ He took a step closer. ‘I wonder, Signora, whether you might allow me to …’ He paused. ‘I wonder whether we might take a walk together. I have a very nice bottle of sekt. I had been saving it for my birthday, but—’
‘That is very kind of you, Leutnant, but not today. I have so much to do!’ Another quickly flashed smile.
Kranz nodded. ‘Of course. Another day perhaps.’ He bowed and left.
Francesca breathed a sigh of relief, then went to the dark wood dresser and rummaged through one of the drawers. She soon found what she was looking for: a small switchblade that folded in on itself, like a razor. She put it into the pocket of her skirt.
A little after 6 a.m., the battalion concentration area south of the Primosole Bridge. The Yorks Rangers had moved there the previous evening, having marched from Villasmundo earlier, and from Melilli the day before. Tanner had been much happier; as far as he was concerned, sleeping out in the open, with just his rain cape and a blanket for a bed, with the men around him, was preferable to that ornate villa in Melilli.
The battalion had stood-to at 0430, and just before six, orders had come in from Brigade for them to liaise with 13th Brigade in the Simeto river bridgehead area.
‘I’ll go myself,’ Tanner said, taking the paper orders from the signaller.
He left the farmhouse where the battalion had established headquarters, and went to A Company, who had taken positions in an olive grove not far from the farmhouse. He found Sykes and Shopland sitting on a half-collapsed dry-stone wall drinking tea.
‘Morning,’ he said. Then, to Shopland, ‘Mind if I borrow Sykes? I’ve got to head up to the bridgehead to liaise with 13th Brigade.’
‘We’re not going anywhere, are we?’
‘Not in the next hour or so, no,’ said Tanner.
‘That’s fine, sir,’ said Shopland.
Sykes finished his tea, shook out the dregs and winked at Tanner. ‘Won’t be long, then, sir.’
‘Thank Gavin for me, won’t you?’ said Tanner.
‘No M/T, then?’ asked Sykes.
‘No,’ said Tanner. ‘Kicks up too much dust. We’ll walk. It’s only a couple of miles.’
‘I miss our trucks, don’t you?’
‘Too right. Still, better to have sore feet and be alive, I suppose.’
‘What’s all this about, then?’ said Sykes, as they walked towards the road to the bridge. German guns were shelling the bridgehead, occasional shells hurtling across from the Etna foothills and exploding a mile or so up ahead.
‘It looks like the Green Howards are going to be placed temporarily under 13th Brigade command. I think there might be an attack going in shortly.’
‘And why do you need me?’
‘I don’t, really. A bit of company, Stan. I want to hear what’s going on.’
‘Missing us, are you?�
��
‘You think I’m happy spending my days with Croaker?’
‘I wonder whether he’s got his trousers and shirt back yet.’ He grinned.
‘You heard about that, did you?’
‘Heard about it? Me and Browner half inched them!’
‘He told me it was some Italian girl.’
‘Well, it was, strictly speaking, but we put her up to it.’
Tanner laughed. ‘How the hell did you manage that?’
‘We followed him the other night. Browner and me was negotiating with some Eyeties when we spotted him.’ He had been looking a bit ‘furtive’, Sykes told him. When they realized he was following a girl, they followed Creer in turn. ‘So this girl goes into this house, down a little side-street, and Creer goes in after her.’
‘You didn’t watch, did you, Stan?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. But we waited down below a little while, heard him giving her one, then it all went quiet and we wondered what was going on. To be honest, we weren’t quite sure what we were going to do, but we thought there might be an opportunity for a little sport. Anyway, after a while she came out onto the balcony, so we reckoned old Croaker must have nodded off.’
‘Tiring business. Then what?’
‘We whistled to her and beckoned her down.’
‘And she did?’
‘Too right. I reckon she thought her boat had come in. Now my Eyetie ain’t too clever, and Browner’s is even worse, but we got along with sign language all right. She was a smart girl. She understood. Five minutes later, there she was with Croaker’s shirt, trousers, boots, the lot. Wallet an’ all. We gave her the wallet, another note or two for good measure, and ran off with the rest.’
Tanner laughed. ‘And I caught him coming back in. He thinks it’s me that’s been telling everyone, but I’ve sworn blind it wasn’t.’
‘Nah, it was us. Told you two could play at that game. You won’t tell, will you?’
Tanner laughed again. ‘He tried to find the girl. Of course he couldn’t, though, and then we were on our way again.’ He chuckled again. ‘Brilliant, Stan. Good work. Everyone knows about it, that’s for sure.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet. I don’t know how you can bear to speak to him after what he did.’
‘I nearly did – the other night, when he came in wearing just his drawers.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘I suddenly snapped. I don’t know why then and not before. I suppose it was seeing him there, just wearing his underwear after a night whoring. He made some gibe and I grabbed him by the neck. I very nearly decked him.’
Sykes whistled. ‘What did he do?’
‘Threatened to court-martial me. He hasn’t done anything, though.’ He chuckled. ‘He was scared. Maybe he still is. He’s been keeping out of my way since then.’
‘Good.’
‘But it’s no way to run a battalion, is it?’
‘No, Jack, it isn’t. It certainly isn’t.’
Soon after, they reached the vineyards south of the river. Many of the vines had been wrecked and the stench had become suddenly overpowering: the sickly sweet smell of rapidly rotting flesh.
‘Oh, Christ, this is bloody awful,’ said Sykes. ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Tanner, spotting several horse carcasses at the side of the road. He took out a handkerchief, wetted it in water from his bottle, then wrapped it around his nose and mouth. Signs of battle lay strewn everywhere. A wrecked glider stood mangled amid the shattered vines a little way to their right. Lying by the side of the road were a number of blackened vehicles, including a Jeep, two trucks and a carrier.
Small arms suddenly rang out from up ahead and away to their left. Then came the sound of engines revving, followed by the report of tanks firing.
‘Jesus, this really is the hot spot,’ said Sykes, as they approached the Primosole Bridge. It had been hit by shells at least twice, and there were shell-holes on the riverbank, while bullet marks littered the metal-frame bridge.
They were quickly waved across.
‘I’d hurry if I were you, sirs,’ said the corporal from the 2nd Wiltshires.
They did so, Tanner glancing at the open sea just a few hundred yards down the river on their right. Another crumpled glider lay broken on the far bank. Once they were across, the sound of battle intensified. A couple of miles to the north-west, smoke was rising into the sky and the chatter of small arms still rang out. More shells whistled over, although none landed near them. They hurried on and found the 2nd Wiltshires holding positions directly to the north of the bridge. A subaltern pointed them in the direction of 13th Brigade Headquarters.
‘It’s just after the dog-leg in the river. An old building with half the roof caved in. You can’t miss it.’
They found it easily enough, although there was a flap going on. The chief of staff was yelling into a field telephone, while clerks and signallers were hurriedly taking down messages and tapping out orders on typewriters set up on makeshift trestle tables.
The brigadier hurried in, lean face, trim moustache.
‘I remember him,’ said Sykes. ‘Got a VC at Wadi Akarit. Campbell.’
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, chaps,’ said the brigadier, seeing Tanner and Sykes. More tank guns boomed to the north-east, then came the sound of mortar shells bursting.
‘Sir! Sir!’ Someone passed the brigadier a telephone.
‘What?’ said Campbell. ‘Damn! Then make sure they don’t lose the other. We need the other bridge kept intact … Yes … Not another inch.’ He handed back the phone. ‘Buggeration!’ he said. ‘Jerry’s got Lemon.’
‘What about Grapes?’ asked his chief of staff.
‘Still standing, thank God. I’ve told the Inniskillings they need to hold firm.’ He turned to his air liaison officer. ‘Some Jerry tanks are causing the problem,’ he said. ‘Can you get some air onto them?’
‘I’ll ask, sir.’
Brigadier Campbell now turned to Tanner and Sykes, who both saluted. ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming. I was only expecting a subaltern. Who are you two?’
‘Major Tanner, sir, second-in-command, Second Yorks Rangers.’
‘Splendid. I’m afraid we need your help here. Brigadier Rawstorne has loaned me your battalion and also the First Green Howards. We have to try and expand the bridgehead, not least because we’re going to need some heavy guns in here and we badly need the cover of the railway embankment, which is about three thousand yards to the north.’
‘How far does the bridgehead extend at the moment, sir?’ asked Tanner.
‘About two and a half thousand yards. It’s not enough. We need your two battalions as Brigade Reserve, so I want you up and in position here, along the Simeto, by thirteen hundred hours. Can you do that?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Excellent. We’ll have you chaps on the left, Green Howards on the right. Cross the Primosole Bridge, but then push through the Wiltshires and take up positions in front of Grapes Bridge.’ He showed them on the map, where the Simeto looped to the south, then forked. Grapes Bridge was just before the fork.
‘All right, sir,’ said Tanner.
‘And we’ll have an O Group here at eleven thirty. Tell Colonel Creer.’
Tanner and Sykes saluted again, then left.
It was Tanner, not Creer, who attended the Orders Group.
‘You go, Tanner. You’ve already been to Brigade HQ, so it makes more sense. In any case, we’re only in reserve. It doesn’t need me there, does it?’
‘Whatever you say, sir.’
There was quite a gathering at Brigade HQ. Tanner recognized Colonel Shaw from the Green Howards, and the air liaison officer he had seen earlier. The brigadier introduced everyone: Watson, his chief of staff, the officers commanding the Inniskillings, Wiltshires and Cameronians. Also there were the brigade medical and intelligence officers, as well as majors from the artillery and engineers.
‘And t
his is Major Tanner from the Second Yorks Rangers,’ said Campbell. ‘No Colonel Creer?’
‘No, sir. Colonel Creer is, er, indisposed.’
Campbell raised an eyebrow. ‘I see.’
The men glistened in the heat, and slapped themselves as flies and mosquitoes buzzed around them. Headquarters felt sheltered with endless groves and vineyards around them, but it was impossible to see more than forty yards ahead. Looming over them, as it had been since they’d first landed but now even closer, was the giant volcano, Etna.
‘I’m sure you’ve all seen the sitreps,’ said Campbell, ‘but let me bring you up to date briefly.’ He had a standard 1:25,000 map pinned to the wall, with coloured-pencil lines drawn over it. ‘The situation here is somewhat precarious. Taking Primosole Bridge, as you all know, took a hell of a lot longer than we expected. It was only two days ago that the Durhams finally secured a bridgehead to the north. But at least we’ve got it and at least it’s still in one piece – just. Jerry has been tenacious – we’re up against well-trained men from the Hermann Göring Division reinforced by paratroopers. In terms of positions, they now hold all the aces. They’ve got heavy guns dug in along the lower lava slopes of Etna.’ He pointed to the map. ‘Here, in a line from Misterbianco. This is Jerry’s main line of defence.’ He nodded to his chief of staff, who handed out a series of aerial photographs.
‘These were taken yesterday afternoon,’ Campbell continued. ‘You can see that north of here runs a railway line, roughly east–west from Catania. It’s on an embankment, and Jerry has his forward positions behind it. Mortars, Spandaus and so on.’ He paused, looking at the photograph, then the map. ‘Our corps is going to attack, and smash this enemy defensive line, but before that happens, we need our own heavy guns in here and, more to the point, we need them behind that railway embankment. So it’s our job to extend the bridgehead. Get ourselves the railway and those dikes. In any case, Jerry’s already too close for comfort. The Inniskillings had a bit of a scrap this morning. Jerry got lucky on Lemon Bridge too. Fortunately, we think it’ll be repaired soon enough, but the point is, we need to extend our bridgehead, and it’s going to be up to us to do it.’
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