The Beginning Of The End | Pt. 2

Sicily | 1943

8:03A.M

Intimately familiar with the confusing layout of the streets, Ulrich and Nadine allowed the priest to lead them through the tight alleys of Canicatti. To help blend in, and keep any of the patrolling soldiers from bothering them, Ulrich and Nadine were both donning religious garb.

Ulrich was outfitted with a brown, priest’s robe, while Nadine was given a black, nun’s robe, with an extended white collar. The three of them together appeared as a walking holy trinity, and none dared to approach nor disrupt their sacred migration.

They also no longer had any need for a radio because they now had a clear line of sight on their prey. The priest’s spotters had done their jobs, and informed the trio that the boy snuck inside of a nearby textile shop, and that his sister and the third man were waiting around the block.

They approached with caution.

With the amount of bustling soldiers, and tense citizens, any brazen attack would certainly cause an unwanted amount of chaos. Nadine couldn’t risk chaos. Neither could Ulrich. Their mission was too important, and now that the fascists were enlisting themselves to assist them, they knew that the race for Mount Etna was truly on.

Regardless of what this priest may say about their allegiance to the Reich, they could not be trusted.

“We should take them now,” the priest said.

“No,” Nadine barked, slamming the man’s spine back against the cold stone wall, “We must be patient, and allow them to get further away from the town’s center.”

Ulrich dug the point of his elbow deep into the priest’s chest, “You are not in charge here, priest. You will not spoil our pursuit. If you do, I will dismember you piece by piece and scatter your remains in the Mediterranean.”

Being sandwiched between the two German hunter’s, and unarmed, the priest had no choice but to relinquish his authority.

Pretending to pray, they stood huddled against the wall, waiting for the siblings to make their next move.

It came fast.

Corrado popped back out from the shop’s rear door holding three woven satchels, then hustled around the quiet corner to the rest of his group. He handed out the sacks to his sister, and the unknown soldier, then led the trio north - sticking to the alleys and shadows.

Nadine fell into a diligent pursuit. Closely flanked by her two priestly bodyguards.

…

8:21A.M

Three, musically-choreographed wraps on the wooden door released the multiple iron locks, and opened the rusty hinges. A tall, slender man in a three piece, hunter green wool suit, save for the jacket, stood in the doorway. His hair was pitch black, yet shortly-cropped and combed over onto the left. Heavy bags hung from beneath both of his brown, blood-shot eyes, a golden pocket watch dangled from his midsection, and both cuffs of his white button-down were rolled up to the elbow. His hands, wrists, forearms, and hunter green pants were smeared with different shades of blood.

“Corrado?” The man asked.

“What’s going on, Giovi? What’s happened?” Corrado asked, keeping the conversation in English for Garret's sake.

Giovi was one of Corrado’s numerous teachers of English. They would practice speaking it together while Corrado repaired Giovi’s instruments, and Giovi broke a lot of them.

Consumed with raspy depression, Giovi spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

Stunned at his friend’s appearance, and careful not to say too much about their reasons for visiting, Corrado kept his request simple.

“We need your help,” Corrado said.

“I’m sorry,” Giovi replied, shaking his head as he closed the door, “I can’t.”

Corrado stuck his boot between the door, not allowing it to fully close.

“What Happened, Giovi?” Corrado asked again, “Whose blood is that?”

Giovi looked down in awe as if he did not realize that his arms, and pants were drenched in blood. His eyes widened, his balance wavered, and his breathing slowed as his mouth attempted to tell them the story of what happened the previous night.

“Late last night a brawl ensued between a few American soldiers and a group of Sicilians suspected of being radicalized fascists. My brother and I were walking home from midnight mass, and he decided that he was going to help defuse the fight…I don’t know how it happened…but he was stabbed twice through the stomach. I was able to get him home, and make him comfortable, but there was nothing I could do except wait with him. He…lost so much blood.”

“I’m sorry, Giovi. He was a good man,” Corrado said.

An abrupt, and heated commotion coming from a few blocks over startled Giovi, “Get inside. Hurry.”

Corrado stepped in first, followed closely by Rosalie and Garret. Giovi stuck his head out into the day, then peered left, right, and up towards the elevated windows of the neighboring buildings. He saw no curious eyes or wandering ears staring back at him, only shifting shadows hiding from the sunlight. He stepped back, closed the door, and locked it three times.

The one-bedroom apartment flowed into a modest, open-floor concept. The only interior walls were for the small bedroom which was nestled into the far corner of the room.

“Please keep your voices down. My wife is still asleep,” Giovi whispered.

The space was clean, and well-kept, save for the body of Giovi’s dead brother sprawled across the burgundy leather sofa with two matching pillows propping up his head and feet.

“Why have you come here? I am in no condition to host.”

“We need your help, Giovi. We’re traveling north, and we need supplies to help us survive the journey. With the invasion by the Americans and British, combined with the departing bombardments of the Germans, and the sabotaging Italian patrols, I didn’t know where else to go.

“Why are you heading north? The war is north,” Giovi said while squinting his eyes in suspicion towards Garret.

Corrado looked at Rosalie, who was looking back at him, shaking her eyes instead of her head - then turned back to answer Giovi’s question.

“To save our parents.”

“Clement and Aida? What’s happened to them.”

“They’ve been taken. But Rosie and I believe we know how to get them back. And that requires going north,” Corrado said.

Giovi digested the news, still keeping one eye on Garret.

Sensing the man’s delicate shift in trust, Rosalie finally stepped forward and took control of the situation.

“I am sorry for your brother, Giovi, I truly am. But we need your help, and we don’t have time to explain our situation. But if you do help us, and if we successfully accomplish what we are about to do, then you will be partially responsible for saving our parents, as well as Sicily.”

Crippled by the loss of his older brother, burdened by the duty to protect his wife, and finally broken by the news of his missing friends, he stepped away from his guests, then walked over to a crudely painted, green metal door.

A hissing pop rang in everyone’s ears as Giovi pulled it open.

“Please,” Giovi whispered, with an extended arm - inviting them down.

Returning for his second time, Corrado once again led the way. Before descending, he reached his right arm up, and yanked down on the dangling chain-switch. The stairs suddenly boomed to life under the hot bulbs of soft, yellow light.

At the bottom of the twelve wooden steps, Corrado found another dangling chain, and pulled it.

Giovi’s underground bunker erupted in a blaze of blinding light, then slowly settled into a gentle glow. The three of them stood in a line, and marveled at the hundreds of suspended cured meats, linked-sausages and fresh herbs. The right wall was lined with tables, crates, and barrels all consumed by numerous blends of packaged cheeses - with an emphasis on Pecorino - canned tomatoes, hundreds of pickled vegetables fermenting in glass jars, tins of ground coffee, cartons of fresh black tea, bags of white and brown rice, satchels of pasta, bushels of eggs, gallons of water, and bottles of red and white wine.

The right wall was also being overrun, except with non edible provisions. A slew of Beretta rifles, machine guns, and hand guns hung from bolted wall mounts, while a fleet of knives, daggers, hand grenades, rope bundles, flints, extra ammunition, and pick-axes slept on pull-out shelves beneath.

“How does he have all of this equipment,” Garret asked.

“Giovi fought in the first great war.” Corrado replied, “Since then, he’s been collecting, and upgrading his armory.”

“For what?” Garret asked.

“For this,” Giovi replied from the stairs, “Take whatever you need. There’s fuel in those black cabinets along the back wall.”

“We’re traveling on foot,” Corrado said, “It’s too risky to drive.”

“Then you better take a few maps with you,” Giovi said as he pulled open the bottom drawer of one of the ammo racks, “Here. This one is a topographic map of Sicily, and this one is a geological map. I don’t know what it is you’re looking for, but these will surely help you find the right way to get there.”

Corrado took them, and stuffed them into his satchel, “Thank you, Giovi.”

“Your folks are good people. And their kids are just as remarkable.”

Giovi turned, and mounted the stairs, preparing to ascend, “Take what you can carry. Behind that back rack with the lanterns is a secondary door. Behind it, there’s a staircase that leads to a back alley, “Bring them home.”

Giovi ascended the rest of the stairs, then closed the metal door behind him. The lights were still on, so the trio continued to gather supplies.

Choosing to divide and conquer, they each focused on a different area of the bunker.

Corrado was in charge of foraging meats, cheeses, and herbs and filling empty jars with water from the larger jugs, Rosalie focused on the eggs, coffee, tea, rice and wine, while Garret gathered weapons and ammo.

Corrado also found a trunk of male and female clothing.

With each of their satchels filled, and slung over their shoulders, and a Beretta pistol wedged between all three of their waistbands, they scurried their way up the hidden staircase, and back out into the morning haze.

…

8:50A.M

Nadine was huddled beneath a rickety awning protecting the florist’s freshly picked Lantanas, and yellow Plumerias from the morning sun. She kept her head down, and made sure to visibly fondle the cross that hung from her neck. The more of a show she put on, the less of a chance she had of being disturbed.

Ulrich was seated at a single-chair table outside of an adjacent coffee shop. The third man, their soldier-priest, was a block over, offering prayers to overwhelmed citizens of Canicatti.

Thirty minutes ago, from a covert position, they watched as an older, well-dressed man offered them sanctuary inside of his home. Their Italian counterpart informed them that this man was an ex-soldier for the Italian army, and that the odds of him arming the Tutino children was very high.

Their mission seemed to be increasing in difficulty with every passing second, but they had the residence surrounded. All they needed to do was wait for their opponent to make their next move.

Ulrich was about to order a second espresso when he saw Rosalie pop out from a dark alley. She drifted into the crowd of bustling church goers, and restless citizens, dissipating like smoke. He sprung up from his seat, knocking over the ceramic cup from its saucer, peering forward as Corrado disappeared into the crowd behind his sister. He then saw the third man, armed with the same bulging satchel the children had, do the same thing.

He craned his neck towards Nadine, who had already entered the crowd, eyes glued to her prey. He lost sight of their soldier-priest, which was for the better. The man would only serve to slow them down, and he couldn’t live with the embarrassment he knew he would receive back in Germany if it became known that he was helped by the Italians. The glory he seeked was not meant to be shared. He would kill the man as soon as his use ran its course, and word of any Italian intervention would die with him.

He put down one of the euro bills that came with the robe, and disappeared into the morning crowd. His fingers were tightly gripped around an Italian Beretta...