Chapter III: Seize the day
Part 1
Part 1
"O quando non vogliamo incrinare il meraviglioso equilibrio di una odiosità senza fine, di una felicità senza il peggio.
E' vero che non vogliamo pagare la colpa di non avere colpe e che preferiamo morire piuttosto che abbassare la faccia."
Claudio Lolli, 1976
E' vero che non vogliamo pagare la colpa di non avere colpe e che preferiamo morire piuttosto che abbassare la faccia."
Claudio Lolli, 1976
The unexpected appearance on TV screens of the signature tune of TG1, in simultaneous broadcast around the one PM of 21th February, had outright caught the attention of all the Italians (or at least of the ones that still were receiving power supply and having a working television set); the composed yet whiter than pale face of Paolo Frajese and the big card on his right, depicting a stylized drawing of a mushroom cloud overlayed on a map of Western Germany, even before the newscaster could have started speaking, had instantly chilled their blood in the vein; the news of the first use of a nuclear device in war since 1945 had simply blown up their hearts and minds. Strokes had occurred in elders or heart condition suffering persons, while suicides (including several homicide-suicide events among married, unmarried and sometimes formerly married couples, even if for some of them could have been more proper talking about jealousy or revenge) would have took away more than 1,200 lives in less than two hours. The rampage had then skyrocketed to a level beyond wildest nightmares, from "Beirut" straight to "Hell". In every major and minor road of the country, congested by anything motor-propelled to a virtual paralysis; in the metropolis as in of tiny villages, plunged into open panic by a now seemingly unavoidable fate; in local political residences, besieged by crowds no less menacing than atomic warheads: people madly punching, kicking, choking, cudgeling, knifing, shooting, running over other people, or frantically selling, buying, stealing, looting, burning things or just idling, praying, crying, screaming, puking, wetting or shitting themselves.
Too many factors beyond responsibility and possibilities of the corps and the agencies involved in civil defense had come between them and their goals: lack of time to coordinate multiple (often contradictory) demands, insufficient facilities, limited available stocks of food, water and specific medical supplies, rising difficulty in transportation and movements in the midst of a collective mayhem; nevertheless they lavished a honorable, genuine effort to at least "do something". In the previous days publications including instructions on how to deal with nuclear attacks had been distributed, together with radio and TV transmissions carrying the same message; a small number of shelters had been drawn out whenever public administration buildings had been found having cleared underground levels; camps for future refugees had been set up in the countryside wherever, according to military, chances of targeting would have been rated as "not likely"; an embryonic stage of dispersion in guarded storehouses for critical assets had been reached.
For those already sealed off, in a basement or in a garage, in a church or in the stock room of a shop, the human kaleidoscope of coping with a growing overwhelming stress had just began to be in full swing.
Alghero-Fertilia Airport - Fertilia (SS), Italy
02:07 PM CET, 02/21/84
02:07 PM CET, 02/21/84
<< Onorevoli colleghi, if the common will of the Presidente della Repubblica and the Presidente del Consiglio is to receive clarifications about GLADIO, I do not see what could be wrong with it: as I already said, SISMI should have a documentation able to give all the answers needed>> Andreotti said with a surreal calm to the other Ministri, before turning his gaze to the Gladiatori and quietly continuing <<Therefore I believe that you don't have anything to fear by going along with the Carabinieri of Generale Ducali to your barracks.>>
<< Wait a minute: Francesco is right: neither you, Giulio, nor you, Bettino, are in charge of the Ministero della Difesa>> Spadolini spoke up. << While I agree that we should delve in the question, including, also hum...possible authorizations passed through my office, I suggest to avoid rash measure susceptible to create situations detrimental for everyone>>
<< What's your game, Giovanni? Do not constrain me to dismiss you right now from the government.>> Craxi retorted, openly ignoring the ongoing murmuring between Andreotti and some other members of it.
<< If you do this I will withdraw the PRI from the cabinet>>
<< Ah, what a great loss! Who do you have to withdraw, apart from yourself? Visentini? Mammì? Why not Susanna Agnelli too, provided that you know where that old aunt is ended up.>>
<< Are you going to boot out anyone who don't agree with you and your gang? Do you want also to put up a dictatorship in the process? With you as Duce and the Presidente as the King? Maybe Repubblica was right about...>>
<< Onorevole Spadolini.>> broke in Pertini << I do not allow you to give rise to such horrible comparisons in front of me, I personally fought all of my life Fascism and Fascists, like these bloody thugs standing there with guns aimed at us>>
The Presidente della Repubblica got through the Corazzieri and said them to not follow him. He walked to the middle of the first line of Gladiatori, where a well-maintained middle age man, sporting grizzled mustache and holding a sub-machine gun, was primly staring at him.
<< You thought to be good enough to plot a new coup and executing it better than in 1964 or in 1970, isn't it?>>
The man didn't blink.
<< With all the due respect, Presidente, you are just talking nonsense. I am the Generale Galli, Direttore of the SISMI's 7a Divisione and GLADIO structure, of course. There are no Fascist among our men, let alone plotters; what we have done until today was exactly what we were assigned to: fighting with unconventional warfare techniques against the enemy in the occupied zones of the country, exfiltrations of civilian and military personnel of national interests isolated or captured behind enemy lines, gathering of intelligence about intentions of Warsaw Pact's armies. Yesterday I was compelled by Generale Calboni to suspend all the operations and relocate the whole organization here, allow me to say without any real operative justification: but I am an officer and I execute superior orders without discussing exactly as I require from my subordinates. What I am no more inclined to tolerate is having politicians doing their silly games while we are in a damned world war, shouting third-rate fabrications good for Paese Sera or Il Manifesto.>>
<< Generale Galli, don't delude yourself into thinking that I could be afraid by your Xª MAS-style bravado. I asked a wide ranging inquiry on this organization, if you and your men are not involved in any wrongdoing you do not have to fear an inquiry.>>
<< There's no need of an inquiry, Presidente. As Generale Calboni and the Ministro Andreotti just said, probably trying to be in your good graces, you simply have to ask the paperwork, signed by all the Presidenti del Consiglio and Ministri, including the Onorevoli behind you, during more than thirty years of the structure. For the last time, I still do not get the point of this farce and, for God, Ducali and Mendler, why on Earth you are you forcing me to choose between betray our oath preposterously surrendering to politics' wickedness or have again Italians shooting Italians as our father did in the last war?>>
The mentioned officers remained mute, looking as not knowing which way to turn; Andreotti positioned himself between Pertini and Galli, outwardly indifferent to the closeness to the barrel of the Direttore's MAB.
<< I think that all we need now is to calm us down and smooth our not irreconcilable divergences down; there is no need to add further upheaval to the situation we share here, after all. I am not trying to supersede the authority of anyone, but instead I am trying to suggest that we are saying more or less the same thing.>>
He addressed for a moment Craxi and Spadolini.
<< Onorevoli, you're both right: the cabinet has to work together under direction of Presidente del Consiglio but without renouncing to interdepartmental dialogue and avoiding precipitate decisions. >>
He patted Pertini and Galli's shoulders and kept an humble, affable tone.
<< Presidente, Generale: this is a very stressful time for everyone and in a surge of anger it's possible to go beyond our real intentions. Sandro, you have my guarantee that in the documents I am going to show you later, in a safer place as Onorevole Cossiga wisely suggested, you will find exhaustive answers about GLADIO, believe me; Generale, the Carabinieri that will escort us back to your and -from now on- our accommodation are not going to arrest you, quite the opposite: they will cooperate with your men as they ever made.>>
Smile appeared on his face as he finally addressed Cossiga.
<< And let me say it, Francesco: Presidente was right too, we are lucky to not being a military dictatorship; unlike our Generale Galli you don't look very good in uniform!>>
Some giggling happened, weapons were slowly downed; following a mostly non-verbal exchange, it was agreed to put off any further talks, even if some of the protagonists were far from satisfied by this truce. Politicians and military boarded their respective vehicles, headed for Torre Poglina: excited discussions or under breath murmurs continued in the backseats; in one of them a worldly-wise, ferocious DC's Segretario Regionale lectured, with an heavy trasteverino accent, a fresh-faced, clerical-looking staffer
<< See and learn, kid: Giulio has politically knocked out Pertini, Craxi, Spadolini and maybe even Cossiga with a masterstroke. In the eyes of those present they are no more "the most loved President", "the great modernizer", "the honest patriot" or "the painstaking notary": they have become an old crazy geezer, a boastful tyrant, a petty hack, a ridiculous army-loving plotter. I don't know what the fuck will happen now with all this stuff about bombs, missiles etcetera, but I know for sure that the power, the real power, is going to be in his hands soon. Damn, during wartime and without firing a bullet.>>
The following belly laugh and the sharky look of his teeth petrified the young man.
Brescia-Ghedi Airport, Ghedi (BS), Italy
02:07 PM CET, 02/21/84
02:07 PM CET, 02/21/84
Three rounds burst into the back of Ravelli's skull tossing hair and grey matter in the air while a gush spurted out his open mouth; the body fell forward, and despite making some quick steps towards the rear, Foster was grounded by the corpse of the Colonnello. Blood was running from the bullet holes and the lips onto the jacket of the Major. The ferrous smell was tang, the stain reached shirt collar.
No one cared to think about the origin of the shots: instinct pulled triggers before brain could hold fingers.
A disastrous gunfight started between Italian and American forces. The latter were retreating inside the command post building shooting back and trying to radio call for help while the sections assigned to protect the vault attempted to break their encirclement attacking from behind. Many VAM conscripts weren't familiar with firearms at all, Carabinieri took and inflicted an heavier toll: in the squelchy soil, lashed by rain, died more than twenty men.
The squadron commander got rid of Ravelli's body and got the entrance trudging on the concrete: he ran to his desk and ducked under it, reached the phone and was about to dial COMFIVEATAF's number when suddenly he had a second thought.
This is beyond folly, unless they had already...My God, if so there is no time to lose.
He could not trust headquarters in Italy, he needed to talk with no less than Bruxelles.
Continue...