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.
Rome was lost.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Elisabetta
September 1943
It was a warm, cloudy morning, and Elisabetta hurried to work. The Germans had invaded and occupied Rome, and last night, drunken Nazis had looted shops and vandalized property, celebrating their triumph. Romans had stayed inside in fear, hiding behind their shutters. German tanks and trucks drove the Lungotevere Sanzio, and random gunfire echoed in the distance.
She hurried past the bakery, where a few women had already begun to form a line. Most stores remained closed today, their windows boarded up to prevent further vandalism. Shattered glass and smashed flowerpots littered the street, and tables in outdoor seating areas had been broken. Her paradise of Trastevere was no longer.
Two Nazis stood at the other end of the street, so Elisabetta turned right to avoid them, taking the long way. They were everywhere, even though Rome had been declared an open city. Nazis were supposed to be confined to the German