SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

Here and there Giovanni saw a bloody arm or leg protruding from piles of brick and cement rubble. Confused survivors stumbled over the broken remainders of their lives, searching for loved ones, or memories to salvage.

Dazed, Giovanni followed Turco and Manfredo as they led him in redundant zig-zags down the street.

Turco held up a hand and they stopped, crouching low behind the remains of a brick wall. The thin, bearded academic didn’t look like a seasoned partisan, but Corrado had called him one of the best.

Giovanni couldn’t see what had caused Turco to stop them so suddenly.

Then a match flared only a couple meters away on the other side of the broken wall, and Giovanni made out a reflection on a German coal-shuttle helmet and the glint of a long bayonet fitted to the muzzle of a Mauser rifle.

Posted to catch us, Giovanni thought, his throat seizing and his heart racing.

Turco pressed his index finger on his lips, then waved Manfredo closer. His hand told Giovanni to wait there, under cover.

The two partisans crawled silently along their side of the wall until they reached a demolished corner. Shattered bricks lay all about. Giovanni could barely see, but these men had lived as outlaws for so long he assumed they’d developed night vision. They were now positioned immediately behind the unsuspecting sentry, as far as he could tell.

Suddenly there was a rattle of equipment, clothes, and debris as Turco went in high and dragged the German backward, his hand clasped tightly over the unfortunate’s face to keep him from shouting.

Manfredo lunged in from the side with the silver-bladed knife, ruthlessly plunging its length into the German’s side a half-dozen times. While Turco pulled the dying soldier back over the wall, Manfredo finished the job by slitting his throat with one savage motion.

They laid the bleeding, dying soldier on a bed of shattered bricks and raided his pockets and belt pouches for ammunition and food. A few moments later, a spasm took him and he sighed his last. Manfredo spat on him.

Turco nodded at Giovanni and they were on their way.

Giovanni gritted his teeth.

The whole encounter had taken less than a minute.

They continued, carefully avoiding the flickering light of fires that marked where gas lines had erupted, and any movement by crossing from shadow to shadow, occasionally hearing screams of pain and fear from people trapped in the ruins of their buildings. Giovanni’s heart cried, but Turco motioned them on, indicating they had to ignore the victims or they would themselves be sacrificed.

“We stop, we die,” he whispered.

Soon they left the devastated section behind with only a glow from the fires to mark what they had seen. As they approached Giovanni’s neighborhood, he was grateful to see that his building still stood – a seven-storey stucco-sided tenement with solid marble floors and heavy clay tile roof. It looked unharmed and his heart swelled at the thought of finding Franco at home.

“Watch out!” Turco cried, and lunged past.

Giovanni saw the glint of silver.

And heard snarling behind him.

5

By the time Giovanni managed to whirl around, the wolf was on him.

But Turco had also lunged at the attacking beast and intercepted the muscular body in mid-air. They both crashed into Giovanni and the three went down in a tangle of arms, claws, and fangs.

Giovanni dropped the Beretta and tried to wrestle the wolf with his bare hands, while Turco attempted to bring his magical blade to bear and still avoid the slashing teeth and claws. The wolf was damnably quick, out-maneuvering both men and making the three a blur that the giant Manfredo could do nothing about.

Giovanni kept the jaws away from his throat by pushing the red-eyed head away. Turco struggled with the sheathed dagger. If the Jesuit had been right, then the wood scabbard was shielding the wolf from the silver blade. Giovanni tried to shift the balance of the three squirming bodies to give Turco a chance to draw the blade.

But the wolf seemed to predict each attempt. Giovanni could either avoid the snapping jaws or help Turco. And the wolf knew it. He could read the monster’s intelligence in its demon eyes, which were neither animal nor human.

Turco grunted when the wolf clawed his face, but his grunt turned to a tortured scream – his cheek had been torn open and his jaw dislocated. Still barely managing to deflect the beast’s fangs, Giovanni realized with horror that the monster’s swipe had ripped Turco’s left eye from its socket and it hung from its optic nerve leaving behind a black hole in which he swore he could glimpse hell itself.

“Shoot him!” he shouted at Manfredo, who was frozen in place with his pistol extended, trying to draw a bead on the monster without striking either human. “Damn you, shoot him!”

Turco opened his mouth and screamed incoherently as the wolf suddenly gained the advantage and its snapping jaws tore the partisan’s clothing to shreds and dug savagely into his belly.