As promised, the story of my weekend continues…
The time machine has now transported me to Civitavecchia, Italy, and it remains 1944, in the midst of World War II. My name is Giovanni, and I am an Italian citizen. I am also a partisan, a member of the Italian resistance, and a spy. My group understands the Germans and their occupation are not good for Italy. We also know il Duce is not good for Italy. My sympathy lies with the Allies, and I help them any way I can.
Now I am waiting to board the train bound for Anzio, Italy, the Anzio Express, to meet with the rest of my resistance group, who are waiting for me there. It is a cool day, dark and cloudy, and the rain is falling, lightly but seemingly without end. There are a lot of German soldiers milling about on the railway platform, which makes me uncomfortable, and as luck would have it, it seems I have booked passage on what looks to also be a German troop train. It’s too late to change my plans now, I have to take the risk and ride the train.
It is time to board. The long line of people start climbing the steps into the cars and find their seats. I slip in among them, and although the train is filling fast, I find an empty seat where I can sit alone. I try to pick a car where no German soldiers are sitting. So far so good, and the train begins to slowly pull away. I take a look around me at the other passengers. Everyone seems to look pretty normal, and I relax a bit and lean back in my seat. A girl comes down the aisle, asking for and stamping the tickets.
Suddenly there is a German soldier at my seat. I try to look out the window and ignore him, but he demands to see my identification card. I take it out of my jacket pocket and hand it to him. My ID is a forgery, but it is in the new style with the blue cover, as opposed to the old white ones that are easy to counterfeit. I hope that it fools him, and I slowly look up at his face as he is looking it over. Then he barks, “Come with me”, and yanks me out of my seat by my jacket, and roughly pushes me ahead of him down the aisle. I see the faces of the other passengers look up to see what the commotion is, and then I am pushed into the next car, brought to another seat, and told to sit down. This car has many German troops in it, and apparently they are suspicious of me and want to keep an eye on me. My ID card, however, is returned to me. Maybe it has worked and fooled them after all.
My Italian identification card:
I take a look around at my new surroundings, troops are here and there, mixed with some normal civilians. Behind me is a mother with her young son of about nine years old. I lean back in my seat and check the bulge in my suit jacket inside pocket, in it is hiding a Walther P38 pistol. I am beginning to wonder if I should have brought it on the train at all, and not pitched it in the weeds. Ah well, it might still come in handy. I look out the window at the passing rural farm fields. The rain continues to fall, it has been a very rainy season, and there is much pooling of the water in the fields. A light fog is also setting in. The clacking of the train wheels and the faint conversations around me almost begins to lull me to sleep, but I cannot let that happen, still my eyelids start to droop.
Suddenly the train lurches, the brakes have been applied hard, and my eyes dart open wide awake, something is happening. The troops in the car all rise to their feet and begin looking out the far windows across the aisle from me. I stand up to have a look at what the spectacle is, there is nothing around here, no station to stop for, nothing but wet soggy fields. Then I see them, two figures in army uniforms hurrying across the field. My eyes widen, and I catch my breath. Americans! They have come this far? How did they get here? I squint and take a closer look, but it is hard to see in the rain and fog. They are airmen I think, pilots, shot down and parachuted to the ground, and they are probably lost.
The German commander is shouting orders, and a group of soldiers all detrain, loading their weapons. We are all watching from the windows. The airmen do not put up a fight, and I see their arms raised in surrender to the advancing Germans. They approach and hold their guns on them, and begin searching the Americans. They seemed to stand there for the longest time, such a somber scene with all the dark clouds, fog, and rain falling all around them.
Finally the two captured airmen are brought aboard the train, and we are off on our way again. Just as the train is leaving I catch a glimpse of something at the edge of the field. It is a soldier, lying on the ground, hiding in the weeds. I look harder, and there are more with him, all hiding, more Americans I think. I look around, and it does not appear as if anyone else has spotted them. All except the boy behind me, who has seen them also, and he tells his mother. But he is just a boy after all, and the mother does not seem to take him too seriously. The American prisoners are brought through our car down the aisle, and I stare at them with all the others, to not look would be suspicious of me. I try to make eye contact, but they are looking down and do not see me. The boy tries to get the passing German soldier’s attention, but he ignores him. If only the boy would keep quiet!
The prisoners are kept moving and are taken into the next car. Everything seems quiet again and the train continues down the track. The same German who had moved me to this seat starts walking down the aisle. As he passes the boy tugs on his sleeve to get his attention, and the soldier stops. The boy then tells him everything that he saw, that there was another soldier hiding in the weeds. I think to myself, the boy is a traitor, please keep quiet and do not tell. But really he is thinking he is doing the right thing, after all Italy is allied with Germany, or was, and many no longer know where their loyalties should lie.
I speak up and tell the German the boy is young, he does not know what he is talking about, and he is making up stories. I tell him I also saw what he saw, it was a scarecrow that had fallen down in the field, it is nothing and pay the boy no mind. The German responds to me by saying, “What are you, a funny man?”, and then punches me in the stomach. I slouch over in pain, and I’m afraid it is too late to diffuse the situation. I might have just made a big mistake, as now they are taking the boys words very seriously. The train once again is stopped, and we begin backing up.
Shortly we arrive at the same field where we picked up the airmen. Many German soldiers get off the train with their rifles and begin looking around. The boy points to where he had seen the soldiers, who seem to be gone. There is nothing but the sound of the rain drumming on the roof. Suddenly I hear the crack of gunfire. It’s the Americans! They have launched an attack, it’s an ambush! Some of the Germans outside are caught unaware and are cut down by the bullets. But they soon begin returning fire, and it is all gunshots and confusion, soldiers running this way and that. More Germans get off the train to join the fight. We are all watching from the windows, I suppose we should be getting down for cover in case of a stray bullet, but we are all in awe watching what is unfolding before us.
The Americans seem to be getting the upper hand. They are well concealed and can shoot the Germans as they get off the train. The fighting goes on for around fifteen minutes, and the Germans are losing many men. So far the Americans are not targeting the train itself, because of the civilians inside. The German commander does not want to fire from the windows, or the train itself could become a target. The Germans do not know how many Americans are out there hiding, the commander is unsure what to do, and finally decides to surrender. The Germans all throw down their guns and raise their arms.
I cannot believe this has happened! The Americans board the train, and have the German commander at gunpoint, and go through the cars, taking the guns they find. I wonder what they are going to do next, take the whole train? What about the civilians? Should I tell them who I am? Before I can decide what to do, it is over. The Americans take back their captured prisoners, leave the train, and are gone. I think that there were not as many of them as the Germans had thought. This is an embarrassment for the Germans, they should not have allowed such a small force to overcome them. They quickly regroup themselves, rearm, and get the train moving again, hoping to pretend none of this ever happened.
This whole time, the boy sitting behind me, the little tattletale, was in complete awe of the battle. Once we were safely away, that original German soldier came back to thank him for telling about what he had seen. Apparently this soldier never got off the train to help fight, and came through unscathed. But now the Germans were very suspicious of me. Why did I try to talk them out of turning around? Obviously I must have known something.
They came to me and demanded to see my identity papers again. I handed them the card, then they asked how did I know about the Americans? They began pawing at my jacket, trying to search my pockets. Surely they would find my pistol. What to do, what to do? Before I could decide, I had my right hand wrapped around the P38 pistol’s grip, and started to pull it out from my pocket. Will I shoot? It didn’t matter because I couldn’t get the gun out. The cocking lever on the back was caught in the corner of my jacket pocket. It was completely stuck. The more I pulled and struggled with it, the more caught it became. By now the German was shouting for help, and trying to get the gun away from me. The commander rushed in, in his long leather trench coat, and calmly unhooked the gun from my pocket, and held it in the air for all to see, “See? He is a spy!”
Two Germans roughly pulled me out of my seat and led me down the aisle to an area between two cars. There they gave me quite a beating with their rifle butts. Then, slouched over and staggering in pain, I was led back to my seat, where I was left with a guard. I looked at the boy, who seemed satisfied with this turn of events, and muttered to him, “That German is lucky my gun was stuck in my pocket!” My guard told me to shut up and punched me in the stomach. The rest of the trip I stayed hunched over and kept to myself, and we arrived in Anzio without further incident.
I was expecting to detrain and be further interrogated by the Germans. When we pulled into the station, to my amazement, my guard got up and left. No one seemed to be paying attention to me at the moment, so I slipped into the crowd, got off the train, and was free. I’m sure some heads will roll because I got away, but that was not my problem. I set out to find my comrades at the set meeting place.
Upon reuniting with my resistance group, they filled me in on the current situation. One of our female members has been able to obtain valuable information about the location of German positions, but unfortunately she has been captured. She will be traveling through the area on a trolley with two German guards. Our mission is to stop the trolley, overcome the guards, and get our girl off.
The rest of my group was able to obtain an automobile, and the plan was to park the car next to the tracks, raise the bonnet, and pretend we are broken down and working on the motor. Since my pistol was taken, my friends gave me an MP 40 Maschinenpistole stolen from the Germans. We all assumed our positions on a hidden curve of the tracks and waited for the trolley to arrive. I hid my gun behind my legs so the trolley driver would not see it.
After a while we could hear the trolley approaching. We tensed and got ready, looking down at the car and tinkering with it. Two of us had hidden their rifles in a pile of sticks and made like they were carrying it as firewood. The trolley slowed down, not sure what to make of this scene. One of our group raised his rifle, and fired a warning shot into the air. Then the rest of us all raised our guns menacingly. The trolley hit the brakes and screeched to a stop. One of our guys jumped into the trolley and held the German guards at gunpoint. They were so startled, and seeing all of us outside backing him up, they surrendered without a fight, and came out with their hands up. I grabbed the first one and led him away, then we got our girl out, and I urged her to “Go! Go!”, and she ran away, safe.
I was leading away the second guard off the trolley when I saw them. A row of German troops hiding in the weeds at the top of a nearby hill. Only then did I realize the error of my ways. How could I have been so foolish! Of course they let me go so easily from the train so they could follow me and find the core group. They opened fire on us as the shocked passengers on the trolley watched from the windows. We were hopelessly outnumbered so I began to run towards a nearby tree for cover, squeezing off a couple of rounds at the Germans as I ran. As I reached the tree I felt a burning sensation in my right shoulder blade. I had been hit. I had never been shot before and always wondered what it felt like, but what I can tell you now is that it burns, like someone is holding a fire to your skin. I scrambled behind the tree, crouched down, aimed the MP-40 and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The weapon had jammed. I fiddled with the bolt, desperately pulling it back, trying to get the gun to function, but it was hopeless. I was not having any luck with guns today.
Looking out I could see most of my group had also been hit, lying in different places, with a couple stragglers still shooting at the Germans. I started feeling weak and dizzy, and fell on my back, I couldn’t stay upright any longer. Breathing heavily, I stared up into the sky, and felt the tall grass up against the sides of my face. It became strangely quiet just then, the Germans had won the battle, and were starting to search the bodies. I looked again at the trolley, at the startled eyes of the passengers inside staring back at me. I hope they know that I did it for them, that I did it for Italy, for freedom, and against German oppression. I hope our girl got away, to deliver the information to the Allies, and I think I know that she did.
The trolley’s bell clanked twice, and then drove away down the track out of sight. I suddenly felt much better, and I got up from the ground. I was pleased to see the other members of my group also getting up, and brushing themselves off. Some of the Germans were even helping them up, giving them a hand, and we all exchanged grins as we did so. The Germans went back to hide in the weeds. We assumed our positions near the car once again, because we could hear another trolley coming down the track. Our girl is back in there and needs to be saved again. We would perform the trolley skit multiple times throughout the afternoon.
I said at the beginning of this story that every word is true, and it is, with a little imagination of course. We were volunteer reenactors putting on a show for the public at the train museum with some World War II historical significance. There were even some World War II veterans there that day watching. We were using blanks in the guns, so they sounded real enough, and my left ear is still ringing. We lost that small fight, but later in the weekend there was a feature battle where the Allies were victorious.
I know this is a long story, but I wrote it for fun, and for those of you with the patience to make it to the end (all 3 of you), thanks!
So this is what I did over the Memorial day weekend. I could of done all that…or went to a barbecue.
A photo of our little band of resistance fighters. Who is that guy on the far left that looks like Tom Joad? That is yours truly, Rey.
