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shock; however, in those days, the older men called it shell shock: a delayed reaction to a violent traumatic experience.
    Whatever normality was, I welcomed it. Although, when I look back on those times, I wonder how “normality” could be achieved for a now 14 year old orphan living in an armed camp high up in the Italian mountains, being trained to kill Germans.
    The heavy snow had also disrupted our food drops, as the Allied supply aircraft wouldn’t drop their loads in case the supplies were lost in the snowdrifts and never seen again. Consequently, we took to hunting the scarce game in the woods. I was surprised, at how easy it was for me to show my comrades my proficiency, thanks to my papà’s training. I hoped that when it came to hunting Germans I showed the same measure of skill.
    My first taste of action was just before Christmas on an operation we had set up just outside Bologna to ambush German military vehicles moving men and materials further north to set up new defensive positions. Our leader, Gianni Bellucci, who previously had been a Colonel in the Italian Army, was an excellent soldier and all the partisans under his command were highly disciplined. Gianni was well liked by his men and he in turn treated us all with respect. He put me to work with a group who were setting up a machine gun post hidden in nearby woodland, which had a clear view of the main road. My orders were to wait until the machine gun opened fire, and then I had to pick off any Germans trying to run or take cover in the undergrowth. I was given a heavy British-made Lee Enfield bolt-action rifle and, even though I was feeling very nervous over my first taste of action, I couldn’t wait to kill my first German.
    I didn’t have to wait very long before I heard the rumbling sound of heavy transport coming our way. I saw a convoy of about ten trucks, all in olive green with military insignia painted on the sides, moving at speed along the main road in an attempt to put off any snipers lying in wait for them. As they approached us, the first truck hit a buried landmine and was blown over onto its side, which effectively blocked the road ahead. There was another explosion almost immediately after this as our men threw hand-grenades at the last truck and successfully disabled that as well. With the two trucks on fire, and blocking the road at either end, the German soldiers on board had no alternative but to seek cover where they could. As they dismounted, our men opened fire with their machine guns, and most of the Germans were cut to pieces. Some of them ran into the undergrowth and managed to return fire with whatever light weapons they had. That was where I came in. With shaking hands I looked along my rifle sights and fired as fast as I could into the tedeschi to great effect.
    Eventually, after a short-pitched fight, the remaining Germans held up their hands and surrendered. There were about eight of them. They threw their weapons down on the ground and walked out into full view, with their hands on their heads. The problem was that, as we lived a frugal life in the mountains, we had no facilities for taking prisoners. Some of the partisans motioned with their weapons at them, and pushed them up against one of the remaining trucks under armed guard while Gianni had a discussion with some of the other leaders on what to do with them. There appeared to be no alternative to shooting them because we may have been recognised from our visits to Bologna and by letting them go free we could be putting our own families and friends in danger. We drew lots and three partisans were selected to execute them. When the soldiers realised that they were about to be shot, one of them fell to his knees and began to pray out loud. Another took out a photograph of his family and began to shout ‘ Kinder, Kinder! ’ This visibly disturbed the partisan firing squad. They looked round at Gianni as if wanting him to change his