“Marco, come,” his father said, motioning.
Marco followed his father and his father’s old buddy Arnaldo, another veteran. The three of them formed a group, and according to his father’s plan, the other partisans broke into small units and fanned out among the houses. They began knocking on doors, asking the residents to let them use the windows and rooftops.
“Open the door!” his father said, banging on a weathered door at the southernmost end of the block.
“No!” called a shaky voice from within. “We don’t want any trouble!”
“We defend you and your family! Open up! It’s your duty as an Italian!”
The door opened, and they were admitted by an old woman, nervous and haggard. Marco’s father persuaded her to let them use the house, told her to hide in the cellar, then led the way up to the rooftop, which was flat except for a small shed that contained the stair.
His father gestured. “Arnaldo, you take the south side with me. Marco, you take the north, but stand behind the shed. Use it for cover.”
“But, Papa, I thought I would be fighting alongside you.”
His father shot him a look. “Do as I say. Don’t fire until I give the order.”
Marco wanted to protest, but didn’t. “When do they arrive?”
“We’ll see. War is waiting. Go to your post.”
Marco hustled to the shed and took a position at the same time as his father did, on the other side of the building. The Nazis would be coming up Via Ostiense from the south, so his father and Arnaldo were closer to the action. His father was protecting him by putting him in the back. But when the shooting started, Marco knew he’d move forward. He hadn’t come this far to hide.
He looked down the sight of his rifle, taking aim down Via Ostiense. He visualized the Nazi troops and their Panzers invading his city. He could scarcely believe he was here. He had sat out the entire war, only to fight after the Armistice had been announced.
Better late than never, Marco thought.
* * *
—
The fighting began. The Italian Army and its civilian volunteers seized the upper hand from the beginning, firing on the Nazis as soon as they marched up Via Ostiense. The Italians waged a brave and bloody battle, and smoke and haze filled the air, the noise deafening. Shelling began, and soldiers fell on both sides, lying dead before the Castelletto and the Pyramid.
Marco kept shooting, without hesitation. He ran out of bullets and was resupplied by a runner, though he became frustrated at his position behind the shed. He couldn’t tell from his vantage point if his bullets had found their targets. At a break in the action, he raced forward and started shooting from the front of the rooftop, at his father’s side.
“Marco, get back!” his father shouted over the gunfire.
“I can take a better shot here!”
“Get back! Follow my orders!”
“You said I could fight! Why won’t you let me?”
“Back to your post!”
Marco hurried back to his shed and resumed shooting, resenting his father for treating him like a little boy. He would be more effective if he had a better vantage point, as he was an excellent shot. The battle wore on, but the tide began to turn in favor of the Nazis. The Wehrmacht was relentless, their Panzers lightning fast. The Nazis shot and killed wounded Italians who were lying on the street.
Marco began to fear the battle was lost, but he fought on. His father fired like a machine with Arnaldo at his side.
Suddenly two Nazis burst through the shed door and onto the roof, forward of Marco. They raised their rifles to shoot Marco’s father and Arnaldo, but Marco reacted instantly.
Crack crack! Marco shot both Nazis before they could fire. They spun horribly around, jerking with the impact of the bullets, then crumpled to the rooftop, bleeding from mortal wounds. Their ambush ended in a blink.
Marco lowered his gun, shaking with adrenaline.
“Marco, get up here!” his father shouted to him.
“Yes, sir!” Marco shouted back.
The fighting continued, and though the Italians fought bravely, they began to lose ground and run out of ammunition. Marco’s father received notice that the Italian Army was negotiating a surrender. His father gave the order to retreat, and Marco, his father, and Arnaldo raced from the rooftop in Testaccio and hurried home.
The Italian surrender was signed in the late afternoon, and the army was on its own. The government was in a state of collapse, and Italians hid in their homes. The defeat broke Marco’s heart, and his father’s.
The Nazis invaded the Eternal City, turning their fury on its citizens and looting stores.