SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

“Of course.” He gestured at his men. “We were about to ambush the collection patrol when you took matters into your own hands, eh? Very nicely done.” He pointed at the bleeding bodies.

“How? How did you know? To be here, right now?”

Corrado waved the question away. “We have sources. People who listen and report. We expected them. We did not expect you, however.”

Giovanni’s head spun a little and he stumbled sideways, almost losing his footing. Ragged bursts of gunfire and screams came from farther down the street and he whirled, apprehensive.

“It’s just my men taking care of the command car. Those dirty German bastards are never going home.” Corrado reached out and steadied Giovanni before he could collapse.

“I think you had better come with us. It won’t be safe here very soon. We survived the bombing, but the bastards will be out looking for revenge. Damned bad idea to be out on the street then.” He waved at one of his men. “Dario, come here. I want you to escort our hero home to pack his things.”

“No, no, it’s not necessary.”

“Oh, it is. If they find you, they will hang you with metal wire from a lamppost. It’s what they’re doing these days. Among other things. Come with us. We have a safe haven. It’s not a palace, but it’s a good home. And they don’t know where it is.”

“No, you don’t understand, I have a wife and a child. I have a family! I can’t go away with you. What happens to them?” Giovanni swayed and the partisan leader steadied him again.

“Clearly, you cannot just go home. Va bene, we take you there and you take your family with you. We have enough space. Most of us have lost our families, but there are a few.”

“Corrado,” said Dario, pointing at his watch. “It’s almost time for the lupi.”

“I know—”

The air raid siren ground to life again, its insistent wail gathering strength as the rumbling of invisible aircraft reached them.

“Arrivano ancora!” Corrado shouted. Second wave! His men knew what to do. And suddenly Corrado’s fist jabbed out and caught Giovanni’s jaw, snapping his head back and dropping him like a broken doll.

“You and you,” Corrado pointed at the strapping Dario and another man. “Take him between you. He’s coming to the sanctuary. He has no choice now.”

Giovanni moaned as hands grabbed him.

Maria.

He lost the light at the same moment the first string of bombs stitched their way toward the harbor, taking down a block of tenements and shops in a cluster of explosions, jetting gas fires, and a spreading cloud of dust and debris.

Giovanni welcomed the darkness.

2

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them. His vision was a blur of indistinct shapes – darkness broken only by flickering blobs of light. A church? He smelled candles. He tried to move his head and stopped when it seemed his jaw would break.

Somebody had hit him. There had been an air raid. There were guns and a shooting.

Santa Maria, he thought, I was doing the shooting.

Bit by bit the memory came nosing back and he started to put the pieces together. He realized he was shivering.

Where was he?

His moan brought one of the blobs suddenly closer. A cool touch on his forehead triggered memories and thoughts, but blinking brought forth only tears and pain.

“Sono io, Giovanni,” a calm but shaky voice spoke in his ear. “Sono io. Stai tranquillo.”

Maria! Thank God!

His hand gripped hers and brought it to his chest. He still couldn’t see very well, but the simple gesture slowed his heart from its onrushing pace and brought the tranquility she’d wished upon him. He started to rise but she pushed him back firmly.

“No, you might be hurt. And we have to stay silent.”

“What?”

“Shhhhhh.” Her hand caressed his face. “Trust me.”

He noticed movement behind her, more blurs making jagged little gestures. He smelled sweat and bodies. “What– Where are we? Where is–?”

Suddenly he was seized by the thought of what he hadn’t heard or yet felt. His son.

“Where is Franco?” he groaned, his voice rough.

“I don’t know,” she said, crying. “He was–”

Somebody stepped closer and whispered in a clipped voice, “Be silent or you’ll get us all killed!”

Giovanni felt Maria’s hand caress his face and softly cover his lips. He kissed her cool skin, but his mind reeled. His son wasn’t here, wherever here was. Maria was here, and these others, but not Franco.

His memory slotted into place and he remembered the firefight in the street. How he had ended up with a machine gun, and turned it on the hated German.

The bombing raid. The partisans.

Corrado Garzanti was the rogue’s name.

Corrado had hit him.

The bastard.

Giovanni’s legs trembled as he tried to stand. He reached for Maria.

Sounds – crashing, smashing sounds – from above and nearby reached them and his heart started to race again.