August 13, 1941 South of Marsa al Brega, Libya
Fifty yards in front of the sergeant the point man froze. His eyes scanned rapidly back and forth even as his head was deathly still. His nose took in the cold night air, a mixture of the smell of the desert, the salt of the nearby sea and the detritus of mechanized warfare. A hint of tobacco and soap tickled his nostrils. He pushed the air emptily with his hand. The rest of the patrol silently went to the ground. The sergeant nodded. The scout began to advance slowly forward on his belly after taking off his pack and leaving his rifle behind.
Ninety three minutes later, the scout came back to the patrol. A flurry of whispers and then a map was roughly drawn in the ground. The edge of the Italian line was just where they expected it. The position was the standard dense company defensive position with a string of two and three man outposts. There was a single outpost on the far edge of the line that was not quite as mutually supported as it should be. Two men were in it. That would be the target.
The patrol crept forward until they were within 100 yards of their target and they put down their packs. Knives and bayonets were made ready. Rifles were loaded and grenades accessible but the goal was to be in and out silently. As they began their final approach onto the Italian listening post, the clouds cooperated and hid the moon for the last forty yards. Every man barely moved but steadily moved. There would be a four man snatch team and then a fire team to cover them if something went wrong.
The snatch team was in position, and then they rushed forward as the lone Italian sentry looked to his north instead of his south. One, two, three, four strides and the sentry was seized with a bag over his head, a strong hand over his mouth and a knife barely penetrating his skin along his ribs:
“Silenzio o morte! Silenzio!”
The man stuttered, “Si” and relaxed. The other man in the trench woke up startled and was never given the choice as a sharp knife cut across his neck and his life bled from him even before the snatch team left. The prisoner's hands were bound as the snatch team escaped to the first fold in the earth beyond the defensive line. The fire team followed a few minutes later. They started to march back to the rally point where the truck and the radio had been left. An hour later, the soldiers relaxed as the prisoner had been loaded onto the truck. As they drove back to their battalion headquarters, a battery of artillery fired a harassment mission over their heads towards the company position that they had just raided.
