Freefall

by Robert Radcliffe

  A pall of diesel fumes hung over the road, which was nose to tail with traffic, mostly unmoving. Troop carriers, half-tracks, low-loaders bearing tanks, towed artillery, lorries of supplies, an entire motorized division or more with staff cars and motorcycle outriders weaving in and out. Rising above the sound of engines were the exasperated shouts of German transport police, trying to keep everything moving.

  ‘Zey don’t go south,’ Tito whispered in English. ‘Zey go east and west.’

  ‘Yes. And why is that? What’s Kesselring doing?’

  ‘Don’t tell Smits and Billy!’ Tito grinned. ‘But I think Kesselring don’ care a damn about Monty. I think ’e paint line east–west across map, an’ reinforce like crazy to stop main invasion.’

  ‘Yes, but where’s the line?’

  Tito jerked his thumb. ‘Looks like here!’

  ‘And we’re the wrong side of it.’

  Just then a shot rang out, loud and near above the rumble of traffic, like a firecracker. Everyone ducked, except Guercio who was holding his carbine, barrel still smoking, in wide-eyed shock.

  ‘Horatio, I’m sorry, it just went off—’

  ‘Halt!’ Two figures in grey appeared at the roadside. ‘Wer ist da!’

  ‘GO!’

  The ruins saved them. With bullets whining overhead and smacking into the ancient masonry they sprinted away, bent double and madly zigzagging until the shots died away and the traffic noise receded. A little further and they were at the rendezvous with Nightjar’s party.

  ‘We heard shooting,’ he said.

  ‘Yes you did,’ Renzo gasped, collapsing to the ground. ‘Guercio will tell you all about it, before I put his other eye out.’

  *

  Their activities fell into a pattern. Daytimes were for eating, sleeping, staying out of sight and waiting for dusk. Night-time was for patrols. Within a few days, Tito’s suspicions were borne out and a sizeable defensive barrier – later known as the Volturno Line – was established all the way from Termoli on the Adriatic to the Volturno River north of Naples. Soon all the central routes south – roads, railways and valleys – were blocked by armoured units equipped with tanks, artillery and heavy machine guns, and covered from the air by roving bands of fighters. Finding ways to reconnoitre the line became progressively more difficult and the San Felices had to make increasingly tortuous detours to get through. Once behind it they found reserve units backing up the forward ones, often Italian, and usually careless about security. From these they were able to raid food, weapons and ammunition. Early skirmishes were hit-and-run affairs on small outposts with poor defences. One night they charged a supply dump and the Italian guard simply threw down their weapons and told them to help themselves.

  ‘Giving up?’ Salvatore asked.

  ‘Our officers have fled, our generals gone home, Mussolini’s finished and Badoglio has no interest in us. What else should we do?’

  In the second week the raids became more ambitious, less about stealing food and more about harassing the enemy. Using pencil fuses attached to explosives and petrol bombs, they blew up a fuel dump, an electricity sub-station and a carriage of supplies parked in a railway siding. Emboldened by their success some were keen to go even further.

  ‘We should be killing Germans!’ Toni protested repeatedly. ‘Not stealing tinned food and blowing up army stores, but lying in wait, ambushing and killing them!’

  ‘I agree. Show them we really mean business.’

  ‘That would get their attention all right.’

  ‘And bring down a storm of shit on our heads.’

  ‘Not just ours either. The Tedeschi have been destroying whole villages, remember.’

  ‘And executing civilians,’ Nightjar added. ‘You’ve heard the rumours from Napoli, Toni. Fifty massacred for every German killed.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says Colonel Schöll, the new bastard in charge. A tough nut, apparently.’

  Theo listened as the discussions ebbed and flowed. They were back in their hilltop hideout, a ridge of shallow caves overhung with trees and bushes. Cover was good, but he forbade cooking fires in the open, lookouts were posted at all times and care had to be taken of aircraft. The eleven were sitting in a circle in the dirt, feasting on stolen German sausage and Italian wine. Despite some language difficulties and the arguments, some of them heated, the cell was functioning well, he felt. Factions had developed, inevitably, with the Neapolitans and South Africans more aggressive, and more impulsive than Nightjar and Salvatore, who were the voices of sense and reason. Tito had the most military experience, while the three country boys tended to bend with the breeze. As leader, nominally, it usually fell to him to settle disputes.

  ‘Tonight we take the high route to the rail depot at Miranda. If we’re to take on Germans we need better weapons, like a Schmeisser or two and preferably a light mortar. We also need more tools, rifle ammunition, grenades and fresh batteries for my wireless. If all goes well and we get what’s needed, then we’ll see. Agreed?’

  It was the South Africans’ turn to stay behind on picket duty; the rest set out with the dusk. The night was moonless, clear and starlit as they followed goat tracks up the ridge to four thousand feet, where an icy wind cut through their flimsy clothing. Winter protection, Theo mused, would be on the shopping list before long. Cresting the ridge they paused to watch flashes illuminating the western horizon.

  ‘Lightning?’ Gennaro asked.

  ‘Or anti-aircraft fire.’

  ‘Artillery,’ Tito replied. ‘From ships.’

  ‘Let’s keep going. It’s freezing up here.’

  An hour later they reached the hilltop village of Miranda, crept through its darkened alleys, then paused to survey the rail depot below. Theo scanned the scene with his binoculars but could see little in the dim light.

  ‘Something looks different,’ he murmured.

  ‘It looks the same to me.’

  ‘More freight cars in the sidings maybe?’

  ‘All the more stuff for us!’

  ‘Hmm. Let’s everyone go carefully. And we rendezvous back here if separated.’

  They skittered down paths of loose rock until reaching the rail track where they split into groups. Theo had Toni and Gennaro with him; scampering over the tracks they approached the nearest trucks and set to work with bolt-cutters. The first few cars were empty, so they switched to another siding. Just as they were breaking into the nearest of these, they heard shouts, a single shot rang out and the whole scene was bathed in floodlight.

  ‘Guard hut!’ Toni pointed. ‘Over there, look!’

  ‘Merda! That’s what’s new!’

  ‘The lights too. Get under the car! Where are the others?’

  ‘Christ knows!’

  Half a dozen guards, some in shirtsleeves, came hurrying from the hut, fumbling with their rifle bolts. Guttural shouts echoed round the siding.

  ‘Shit, they’re Germans!’

  ‘They’re spreading out, look, heading for the depot.’

  ‘Nightjar’s there. And Renzo’s boys somewhere.’

  ‘I can see Renzo! Running under those trucks!’

  ‘We must cause a diversion. Grenades, one each, throw them as far as you can. Then try and shoot out the lights. Ready?’

  Crouching beneath the car, the three held their grenades, pulled the pins, ran out and threw. At the same moment a burst of gunfire came from the depot and an explosion from behind the guard hut. Chaos ensued with shadowy figures running in all directions and sporadic bursts of shooting and explosions. Two of the four floodlights were quickly shot out, and as Theo was kneeling to disable the third, he saw a body in grey lying on the ground, and figures scurrying for the village.

  It was all over in minutes. Scrambling up the path to the rendezvous he arrived to find everyone present except the two Italian boys, Lucien and Renzo. Guercio had been with them but had hidden inside a wagon when the shooting started. ‘I didn’t see them after that, Horatio! Whe
re are they?’

  Theo took out his binoculars. Down below the scene was of figures searching, shouts and the cries of someone injured. All but one of the floodlights was out, leaving the area largely darkened. He could make out a crouched figure beside what looked like a body, apart from that no movement and no sign of the two Italians.

  ‘Should we go back?’

  ‘No. They will have called for reinforcements.’ He checked his watch. ‘Get back to base, all of you, and prepare to break camp. I’ll give them another ten minutes. If they’re not back by then we must assume they’ve been taken. And that we’re no longer safe in the caves.’

  They didn’t come, and after ten minutes he saw a troop truck pull into the siding and soldiers jump out. So he hurried back to the ridge and set out for camp. On the way he noticed the earlier flashes had intensified. Back at camp the others were there, waiting anxiously, surrounded by stores and baggage. They sat in a circle, drinking wine, reliving the incident and discussing options. Theo said they should get some rest, and leave in an hour. Just as they were preparing to bed down, they heard boots on the path above, and rapidly drew their weapons. Heavy breathing and muttered Italian oaths were heard, then an owl hoot of recognition. A moment later a grinning Renzo appeared, closely followed by Lucien. Leading a German prisoner bound with a rope.

  ‘Look what we’ve got!’ he said.

  CHAPTER 13

  ‘You stupid bloody idiots! What the hell did you bring him here for?’

  ‘He followed us up to the village. So we lay in wait and jumped him. We thought you’d all be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased? You’ve just led the enemy to our door!’

  ‘Hardly. He was all alone, nobody saw, and anyway he’s just a kid, look.’

  The argument raged; the German looked nonplussed; Theo sat on a stump holding his head in his hands. This changed everything, he knew; the implications were enormous and he could imagine no solution. All but Renzo and Lucien saw the folly of their actions, that abducting a German soldier would only provoke ferocious retaliation: manhunts, interrogations, enemy troops flooding the area and the most ruthless of reprisals – whether he was safely found or not. Innocent villagers would be the victims; old men would be dragged off, women terrorized, cottages ransacked, belongings smashed and any younger men – deserters, fugitives or simply innocent bystanders – almost certainly shot on the spot. As for the San Felices, they were finished, he knew, at least in their present form. Maybe, once the hue and cry died down, maybe they might regroup and carry on, but for now they were done. All they could do was disband and scatter.

  Once they had dealt with the prisoner.

  He stole a look. Standing in the clearing in the half-light, with his wrists tied and an embarrassed smile on his face, his boots muddy and shirt untucked, he was indeed just a kid, perhaps eighteen, with a floppy fringe and pimply cheeks. Small too, by German army standards, his tunic too big for him, his trousers loose at the waist. Which could explain why he was only guarding a railway. A humble reservist most likely, a rear echelon useless mouth, like the boy on the bridge at Caen, marching up and down in the cold and trying to do the right thing by showing some pluck.

  ‘He’ll have to go,’ one of the South Africans was saying.

  ‘What, you mean be released?’ Lucien queried.

  ‘No, I mean go! As in gone.’

  ‘You’re not saying...’

  ‘Yes he is,’ Gennaro muttered. ‘Billy’s right. He must go. And then be disappeared. There’s no other alternative.’

  ‘Yes, but surely—’

  ‘He’s the enemy. And a risk to us all – thanks to you. It’s the only thing to do.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Isn’t it, Horatio?’

  Suddenly they were all looking at him.

  ‘You agree it’s the only thing to do?’

  He rose wearily to his feet. ‘It’ll be dawn soon. I must make the wireless rendezvous before it gets light. I’ll be back in a while.’

  He set up on a bluff overlooking the plain. Radio traffic was busier than he’d ever heard. Scanning the frequencies was like tuning a domestic wireless – signals at every turn: sudden bursts of Morse, high-pitched whistles, garbled voice transmissions in German, Italian and one which sounded American, an endlessly repeated Italian news broadcast, and even music, including a German jamming signal using Beethoven. Kneeling by the set with his code book and headphones, he struggled to make sense of it all, until finally filtering the noises into a single message to the world.

  ‘The main landings have happened,’ he told the others. ‘Last night, on the west coast at Salerno.’

  ‘My God, it’s really happened?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That must have been the lightning we saw!’

  ‘How big, Horatio?’

  ‘An army, the American 5th. With the British 8th coming up from the south.’

  ‘Salerno. So we’ll be in the thick of it!’

  ‘I expect so.’ Theo glanced at the German, who appeared not to understand. Lucien had given him a cigarette, which he was smoking inexpertly. ‘There’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘The Italian government is asking for an armistice with the Allies.’

  This news brought only stunned silence. He too could scarcely believe it. Mussolini imprisoned, Fascism dying, years of military rule ended, and in one stroke Italy had gone from deadly foe to new-found friend. Or harmless bystander. And what did it mean for South Tyrol? For Carla working away in London, and Josef in political prison in Rome. And for the whole Italian nation, cast into the unknown like a rock into a well.

  ‘I have to leave. I’ve to report to Salerno,’ Theo continued.

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you coming back?’ Guercio sounded fearful.

  ‘I can’t say. In any case we should split up, and leave here. You should be near your families at this time. We can stay in contact through Nightjar in Naples.’

  ‘What about him?’ Smits nodded at the prisoner.

  ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  They began packing up. He left them to it, walking along the ridge to the gorge’s edge, craving solitude. Dawn was coming, waves of morning mist drifting like a river along the valley below. Far to the west rose the rumble of heavy artillery. He took off his beret, turning it over in his hand and fingering its worn seams. Bruneval, Depienne, Sedjenane, Primosole, from interviewing von Stauffenberg to dinner with Clare at the Café de Paris, it had been his companion and talisman, his badge of honour and his good-luck charm, like the Maori Hei Tiki of the LRDG. It was part of who he was, and it had never let him down. Raising his gaze to the horizon, he tossed it out and watched it fall into the mists below.

  ‘What you doing?’ Tito approached.

  ‘Leaving.’

  ‘Horazio, my friend—’

  ‘I said I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘It mus’ be done. Billy, Smits, the boys from Naples, even Salvatore. They want it done. An’ zey won’t go until it is.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘No you don’t. They will string him up an’ do it with hate. They seen too many friends murdered by the Boche, too many family destroyed, an’ homes burned. They say is matter of honour. And vengeance.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An’ as their leader you—’

  ‘I said I understand!’

  *

  His name was Emil Köhler. From Dortmund.

  ‘Köhler means charcoal burner, you know, although I don’t know much about making charcoal. Do you?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid. My name’s Theo. Would you like another cigarette?’

  ‘Not really, it seems I’m not much of a smoker or a charcoal burner!’

  ‘Me neither. How long have you been in the army, Emil?’

  ‘Six months. This is my first posting after basic. I say, your German’s very good.’

  ‘Thank you. I
learned it as a child. How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen. My birthday’s in June. You?’

  ‘It’s odd that you ask.’ He managed a wry smile. ‘It’s my birthday today. My twenty-first, in fact.’

  ‘Well, that’s marvellous! Many congratulations, Theo. You should celebrate.’

  ‘We’ll see. What do you hope to do after the war?’

  ‘Accountancy. I was about to go to college but then got called up. So I enrolled in a correspondence course but, well, the studying’s difficult, in a barracks and so on.’

  ‘I can imagine. Here, let me untie your wrists.’

  A flash of panic. ‘Why, what’s happening?’

  ‘I just thought they must be sore.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they are a bit. Thanks, Theo.’

  The sun was coming up, glinting off his eyes, which were round and restless. Theo had led him away from the others, down a slope to a clearing of lichen-covered boulders. Sitting there side by side, before them lay the view of the plain, while behind the path wound down to the river.

  ‘What made you do it, Emil? Chase us up here all on your own.’

  Emil looked away, rubbing his wrists. ‘When the shooting started, I... I stayed back, in the hut. Because I was afraid. The others all just ran straight outside, but I froze. And found myself in there alone.’

  ‘It happens. Freezing.’

  ‘Yes, well, then I heard shouting, that someone had been hit, so I just grabbed the medical bag and ran out to see. It was Tomas, one of the other new lads. He’d been hit in the stomach. I asked him to show me and do you know what he said? Where were you, Köhler? It’s all he said. Where were you? And I felt so ashamed I wished it was me that got shot. Anyway, then the shooting stopped and a few minutes later I saw two of your lads running away up the path to the village. I don’t know what came over me. I mean, the fighting was over, I didn’t even have my rifle, but I just leaped up and ran after them.’

  Theo nodded. How detached he felt. How numb.