Extract from A Song at the Sacrifice, ch.15, by Theo Barker
We had heard our planes fly over with increasing regularity since Mussolini’s removal, and we always cheered at the sight. The Italians, to begin with, tried to stop us, but soon it became clear that they felt just as keen as us for the farce to end. At morning roll-call on the 19th we turned out as usual to find the guards all gone. I say all: we found one, apparently drunk, occupying an easy chair in the Commandant’s office. ‘Tutti andati,’ he mumbled, unhelpfully: we could see that everyone had gone. We sobered him up a bit and he explained that there was an armistice. ‘Attendiamo gli americani. Oppure i tedeschi.’ We had no intention of waiting for either the Americans or the Germans, and headed out of the camp as soon as possible. As we did so, we saw dozens of aircraft flying in formation, away to the west, then hundreds of tiny specks falling: paratroopers.
Our party divided between those who wanted to head south as quickly as they could, to try to link up with 8th Army, and those who wanted to link up with the airborne troops, who must surely herald the arrival of larger forces. ‘We want to get to Gott,’ said one faction. ‘Birds in hand,’ said the other faction. My head was with the first, but my heart was with the second. Possibly a slight touch of rheumatism swayed my judgement; it had been very cold for several days, the prospect of a long hike didn’t appeal. So off I went with Harry, Con and Mac towards the airborne landing. ‘They’ll be dropping onto Ciampino,’ said Harry, ‘mark my words, our boys will come in by teatime. Fancy a ride out on a plane? First class?’
On the way we saw plenty of Italian soldiers wandering around seemingly without orders. We tried to ask them for news, but most of them were just singing or said ‘me ne vado’, so it was no use. Finally we stole some bicycles and followed the old Via Appia towards the airfield. When we got there, we heard shooting, and rather alarmingly, the rumble of tank engines. We doubted that these last could be friendly, and we were right. We took cover behind a low wall and assessed the situation.
A German tank approached slowly along a side road, stopping occasionally to shell the airfield. Grey-clad infantry exchanged fire with the defenders. ‘The rest of our lads had better turn up soon,’ said Con, but I think we all had a bad feeling. We had seen ourselves how paratroops fare against armour. We slunk off down a lane between some trees to find a better way in. As we did so, a party of paratroops, as grim-looking a bunch as you could ever wish to see, came up the lane the other way. We put our hands up, not knowing any better way to identify ourselves. ‘Qui va la?’ they asked.
‘Amis,’ we all replied hastily. ‘Anglais.’ Of course, Mac quickly added, ‘Well I’m not a -ing Anglais,’ but we all knew what he meant and didn’t mind.
The French officer introduced himself. ‘Lieutenant De Roche, at your service,’ he said in passable English. ‘Any more of you?’
‘About five hundred in a camp up the road,’ we said. An explosion nearby compelled us to take cover.
‘We are hunting that tank,’ de Roche explained, ‘but the enemy are everywhere. It’s a fiasco.’
He explained that they were just the first wave, there should have been more coming, but they’d just heard that the second wave had been cancelled - perhaps due to bad weather. ‘We were supposed to link up with the Italians and fight the Germans together. But there’s nothing to link up with. At the airfield we found a roomful of colonels with no troops, they’ve all gone home.’
The prospects looked decidedly sticky. We cheered up a little when we got our hands on some abandoned Italian weapons, and we followed de Roche’s platoon into a sharp little firefight which netted us a couple of German prisoners. ‘Lovely weather for the time of year,’ said one of them, a captain, in perfect English, somewhat sarcastically I assume.
‘Hard luck for you, though,’ I said.
‘I think we’ll be free soon enough,’ he replied, and lit a cigarette apparently without a care in the world.
...we heard the tank - or maybe it was a different tank - rumbling towards us. ‘Got anything?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ de Roche said, I saw he was holding a Gammon bomb, or something like it. ‘Stay down, and wish me luck.’ We began to pull back, but as we moved behind some houses we saw another bunch of Germans sweeping through the farmland to the rear; some of them set up a small cannon.
Almost at the same moment, I saw half a dozen Italians - soldiers and civilians together - enter a house and open fire on the Germans, they had some kind of machine gun. In moments there was firing from all sides, and I have to admit I got my head down, not that I could see anything to shoot at. Con landed next to me, bleeding from a leg wound, and I applied pressure and tied on a bandage. Harry and Mac joined us too. The firing died down for a while, the tank seemed to move off. The sun came out briefly.
I can’t recall exactly how soon after that we heard yet more vehicles approaching - cars and lorries by the sound. I risked a glance, and saw several vehicles come to a halt. Then a shell came out of nowhere and hit the lead vehicle, and in another instant there were people running everywhere, including a lot of civilians. Some of them didn’t make it to cover, several bodies lay in the road. One of the civilians, a driver, took refuge with us. He was gibbering.
‘Tedeschi dappertutto,’ he said. Apparently they had been trying to flee to the south, but had kept running into Germans and ended up taking this route - ‘e adesso piu’ maledetti tedeschi,’ he whimpered.
I agreed it was hard luck, but perhaps fortune had favoured us, if they distracted the Germans long enough for us to get away. De Roche and his men seemed to be giving as good as they got, so I wanted to take Con and head southwards, which we should have done all along. Then the Italian said something that stopped me in my tracks.
‘Non capisce? Hanno ucciso il Re!’