Post by Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa on Dec 2, 2009 6:01:58 GMT
'Cepted.
Account E-Mail:
- [edited out]
Name:
- Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa
Nationality:
- Italian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
- Regio Esercito Italiano
Character History:
- Life was never particularly unkind to Silvan. He was born in 1912, the only child of Callisto and Emilia D'Alisa. His names came from Silvan D'Alisa and Marcussen Battista, a prominent general from his father's side and a politician from his mothers. Both parents were members of well established aristocratic families, his mother's side had very strong political ties and his father was a descendant of a long line of military men, and both could trace their lineage back to the Roman Republic. These ties would shelter Silvan for most of his early life.
The Great War only briefly touched Silvan's world. In the wake of the Austro-Hungarian invasion of Serbia, Colonel Callisto D'Alisa was among the nationalist who believed this was Italy's opportunity to seize control of Italian territories from the ailing empire to the east. The elder D'Alisa used his wife's connection to pull strings and was shipped off for to fight in the north, returning only a few months later after the failure of the Vienna offensives in 1915. The eventual victory by default was bittersweet at best for Silvan's father.
Silvan's family was mostly isolated from the unrest of the 20's and 30's. Silvan was sheltered from the radical ideologies of the day by his mother, who would remove him from any room in which politics were being discussed. She believed that a politically neutral stance was the best to have in turbulent times. Thus, Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa remained more or less apolitical throughout his early years, his mother even picked out similarly minded tutors for his education. Despite his mother's efforts, Silvan's father still managed to instill a deep sense of Italian nationalism in Silvan, preaching constantly of Italy's need to regain its position as a world power. Thus Silvan grew into a fierce patriot in the realm of foreign affairs, yet completely ambivalent to the domestic structure of Italy. Fascism, Communism, Republicanism - They were all the same to Silvan, things to be left to people of lesser stature than himself.
Being the patriot he was, Silvan attended the Royal Academy of Infantry and Cavalry in the hopes of leading Italy to its new empire. Here Silvan's apolitical nature truly paid off as he was not distracted by the rise of the Fascists and instead was able to devote himself completely to the art of war. Silvan's devotion earned him the praise of his instructors and the scorn of his peers. On more than one occasion the jealousy of his fellow cadets boiled over into violent physical conflicts. One instance even involved Silvan nearly killing another student... with a rolling pin after the other student produced a knife during a fight while on kitchen duty. The other student, who had instigated the fight, was left with a broken arm and collar bone, a severe concussion, and was expelled upon his discharge from the local hospital; Silvan, on the other hand, came out with a few scratches, a bruise, and a written warning.
At the age of 22, Silvan M. D'Alisa graduated at the top of his class and was commissioned into the Regio Esercito Italiano at the rank of Tenente. Naturally, Silvan was present during the conquest of Abyssinia in 1935. Here he proved himself in skirmish after skirmish against the ill prepared and equipped Abyssinians. His crowning achievement was the destruction of an entire company of Ethiopian Regulars. In 1936, Silvan was amongst the Italian volunteers who comprised the Corpo Truppe Volontarie and helped bring the Spanish Nationalists victory in their civil war. During the war, Silvan was made Acting Commanding Officer of his company following the death of the Capitano in an ambush. Silvan went on to lead his company well enough to gain the attention of his superiors and was granted the rank of full Capitano upon his return to Italy.
Capitano Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa found himself in North Africa almost immediately following Italy's declaration of war on France and Great Britain in 1939. His company laid the first Italian boots on Egyptian soil, the start of Italy's first earnest offensive of the war.
Military Rank:
- Capitano
Writing Sample:
Mixing it up a bit.
- Silvan knew it was a bad idea to begin with. Capitano Gelsi had insisted on moving though a narrow pass north-west of Madrid as part the overall goal of breaking through Republican forces, encircling the city and destroying them. To accomplish this the Capitano had opted to put the entire company in a convoy of covered trucks disguised as the enemy. The commanders of 1st, 2nd and 4th platoons along with the Capitano were situated in the second and third trucks. Silvan had thought it wiser to stay with his own platoon whom were loaded into trucks number 11 through 15, four out of a total of 19 trucks. Silvan was convinced that the Capitano was a complete fool to think they'd be able to slip by in a convoy like that. It wasn't the first time the man had made an overly bold move, he'd nearly wiped out two platoons in a suicidal attack on a fortified hill two months before.
Tenente D'Alisa had taken a seat at the very back of truck 12, from here he could see the occupants of his truck and the terrain outside without opening the back flap too much. The sun was rising over a group of mountains to the west, casting massive shadows across the valley below. The convoy was traveling along a relatively flat section of that same valley. There was a shallow ditch followed by an open plain that stretched for about a mile before entering a gentle slope up to the mountains on one side; on the other side, a ridge towered over the road and convoy. Silvan felt like he was close enough to touch the damned thing and it made his nervous. This area was firmly in Republican hands and it wouldn't take much effort to tear apart the convoy, just a few well placed machine guns or anti-tank rifles.
Silvan turned his attention to his fellow Italians riding with him. There was the squad Sergeante, two Corporale, and six others, all good men. The Sergeante, one Dante Iacobelli, had been with him in Ethiopia and had proven himself more than worthy of the rank; he'd even saved D'Alisa from an Abyssinian bayonet on one occasion. Everyone one of them had been drilled by Silvan himself. Naturally, Silvan considered his men the best in the company if not the entire regiment. Most were quietly chatting with one another, mostly words of encouragement with the occasional dirty joke.
“You look worried, Tenente” whispered Icobelli who was seated next to him. Silvan simply smiled back at the man for a moment. The Sergeante had learned Silvan's habits by now and could read his thoughts easily.
“No, Icobelli. I'm just thinking of a pretty little thing back in Seville,” lied Silvan. He knew Dante would see through the ruse but he needed to keep the men's spirits up. They'd be tested soon enough. As he suspected, Dante shot his knowing false smile back, and checked his weapon and nonchalantly suggesting that the other should as well. Silvan watched as each one systematically checked their rifles as best as they could in the dimply lit and cramped space. Satisfied with his men's preparations, Silvan again opened the back flap a bit and peered out into the early morning light. A nice fresh breeze fluttered in and Silvan heard a collective sigh of relief from behind him. A flash light lit up the ridge wall for an moment and Silvan's heart sank. An instant later the rolling growl of an explosion rippled through the truck.
Silvan and his men had no time to react as the sound of screeching brakes and crunching metal pierced the air. Their truck joined the chorus of chaos as the driver slammed on the brakes as well and swerved wildly to the side to avoid a stopped truck ahead. The flap flew open, allowing everyone to see truck 13's Spanish driver panic and accelerate. The massive truck shot forward right toward Silvan's truck. With no room to move Silvan could only watch in horror as truck 13 clipped their truck. The world became a blur as Silvan's truck 12 spun violently 90 degrees and rammed straight into the ditch and flipping over unto it's side. The occupants were flung forward toward the driver's cabin and landed on top of each other on what was the side of the truck a few seconds before.
The world went from a blur to simply black. All sound came to Silvan's ears as a muffled roar with barely audible pops here and there. He groped around trying to right himself but could only find other men. Breathing was hard and the air smelled of iron. It took a moment for Silvan to realize that someone was lying on top of him. The world came back into clarity and Silvan's first clear image was a face nearly on top of his own with a stream of blood dipping down across it. Grabbing the man by the collar, he was able to move the wounded man off of himself and into the now vacant rear portion of the truck. Groans of the injured followed him and he made his way out of the truck into the clean air of the outside. It was a disaster, half the trucks had either run into the ridge, the ditch, or each other. Silvan's own truck was lying on it's side tilted 45 degrees nose-first into the ditch. Three of the leading trucks were on fire including one of the command trucks.
“Goddamn it...” Silvan swore under his breath. Bullets began to zip by and kick up dirt all around him forcing Silvan behind the overturned truck. Once back behind cover he found a few of the more lightly wounded troops from inside who had made it out before him. They all looked a little rattled, but that was to be expected of someone fresh from a wreck like that. Another flash lit up the area followed by the distinct thump of an anti-tank rifle and roar of an explosion. Peeking around the truck, Silvan saw fresh plume of smoke wafting up from one of the supply trucks. Dante appeared carrying another wounded man out of the truck setting him down in the ditch. “Sergeante, how many of the men are still fit to fight?”
“Corporale Laccona's got a broken leg, two others have broken wrists, this one here...” Icobelli pointed to the man he'd just carried out, “is out cold but still breathing. I think he might have a concussion. Everyone else has only a few cuts and bruises.” Silvan took in the information for a moment and examined the convoy again. Aside from the truck he was riding in, his trucks had managed to avoid enemy fire and most of the troops had abandoned them for the seemingly safer ditch. The other platoons were in the process of doing the same as well. Silvan made his decision and turned back to Icobelli.
“Keep these men out of trouble. I'm going to make gather up the rest of the platoon and then try to make contact with the Capitano. I'll also see if I can find some radios... “ His voice trailed off as 2nd platoon's supply truck exploded sprinkling the convoy with shrapnel. “Fucking Spaniards...” with that Silvan moved off around the truck and back down into the ditch on the other side. A Spanish machine gun sitting on the ridge above turned it's focus on Silvan ripping up the soil along the edge of of the ditch. The next squad down, which was only a few metres, away returned fire on the ridge which drew the wrath of a few more machine guns onto the squad. One soldier had a pink stray erupt from his helmet and slumped silently against the ditch wall. The squad Sergeante checked the man, shook his head and made his way to Silvan as he approached.
“Tenente! What's going on? What are your orders?” the Sergeante's voice trembled a bit as he questioned his superior. Everyone had been taken off guard and shaken by the sudden attack, even the career soldiers.
“You know as much as I do, Sergeante...” Silvan took stock of the men behind the man, they all seemed fine save the one, “Go link your squad with Icobelli's around the truck in the ditch, then have one of your corporals rally the other two squads. Once I'm back, we're going crush these Spaniards.” The sergeants face perked up at the last bit, grinned, and went about his orders. Now, there was one last thing to do, contact Capitano Gelsi.
At the next group of men a familiar face,Tenete Pitasa of 2nd Platoon, called out to him, “D'Alisa! Thank God I'm not the only one!” Pitasa was unusually pale with a streak of blood flowing from his dark hairline and dripping off his chin. He seemed to guess Silvan's intention and grabbed him as he tried to get by. “It's no use, D'Alisa. They are all dead. All of them. Gelsi took an AT round to the chest and the rest were cut down by the damn machineguns.” The look on Pitasa's face was enough confirmation for Silvan.
“Radios? Have you seen any? I don't know where my supply truck went and I personally saw yours go up in flames.”
Pitasa laughed morbidly, “No, I haven't. They targeted the supply trucks first.” His face grew darker, ”They knew we were coming, Silvan.” A burst of machinegun fire punctuated the moment forcing both lieutenants down further into the ditch. Pitasa's voice quivered, “What are we going to do?”
Silvan wasn't in much better shape mentally. They were under fire, half the company officers were dead, and they had no way to reach battalion HQ for help. He was alone, as Pitasa clearly wasn't in a state to help command. Silvan had no choice, he had to do something or many valuable Italian lives were going to be lost. He got an idea... it wasn't much, but it was action and action is what was needed. “Gather up your platoon and put as much fire on the ridge as possible. If you can, see if you can rally what's left of 1st Platoon as well. I'm taking the 3rd up that ridge a little further down the road and will hit them from the rear.” Silvan got back to his feet. Pitasa did not. “What are you waiting for, Tenente?”
“I can't do it.”
For a moment, the words didn't register with Silvan. He was stunned, he couldn't believe he had just heard those words come from a fellow officer. Then, he did the only thing he could think of. Silvan reached down and ripped the officer insignia off Pitasa's uniform and handed them to a nearby sergeant. The sergeant was just as shocked as Pitasa. “What's your name, soldier?”
“B-Basso, sir” stammered the soldier.
“Tenente Basso, gather up your platoon and what you can of 1st Platoon. You and your men are going to suppress the the enemy to allow my men to attack. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.” The soldier saluted and did what he was told. As Silvan turned to go back to his own men, Pitasa gathered himself and stood in Silvan's way.
“You have no authority to do such a thing! I'll have...” Without a second thought, Silvan withdrew his sidearm and shot the man in the knee instantly dropping the man to the ground.
“And cowards have no authority either.” growled Silvan as he climbed over the writhing body.
Silvan was delighted to see that Icobelli had taken the initiative and rounded up two of the four squads from 4th Platoon. Silvan laid out his plan of action to his sergeant, who then relayed it in to everyone else. After a few minutes of preparation, Silvan produced a whistle from one of his various pockets. The shriek pierced the world and rifles all along the ditch from began firing on the ridge in one concentrated volley. The sheer volume of fire at that one moment forced the Spanish attackers down. The window was open and Silvan happily dived through it.
A quick call of “Avanti!” and a wall of men, the entirety of 3rd Platoon, jumped up from the trench and stormed forward toward the ridge. A few of the more aware Spaniards attempted to stop them, but only managed to drop a few men on the fringe closest to them. The rest of the platoon continued, charging straight up the ridge. As they crested the steep incline, Silvan was shocked by what he found. An entire network of trenches snaked along the crest and Silvan's force had come over just beside them, if they'd been even a single metre further up the road they'd have charged right up over and fallen into the trenches.
“Don't stop now! Show them what a true Italian can do!” Silvan called out. A roar erupted from those around him as the men jumped into the trenches and went about the work of soldiers. The lieutenant didn't stand idly by either, he himself was the third person into the trenchwork, loyal Icobelli right behind him.
Yelps, screams, roars, pops, cracks, and rattles engulfed the ridge as steel met flesh. The battle devolved into a brawl, the sounds of rifle-fire dying down as the number of hand-to-hand fights rose. Silvan was assaulted by one of the enemy combatants, running at Silvan, rifle in hand, with a dusty bayonet dangling menacingly from the end. Before Silvan could raise his own rifle, the man was upon him thrusting the blade toward his chest. The lieutenant barely managed to through himself out of the way, the bayonet caught him in the shoulder. Silvan couldn't help but yell as the bastard pulled the trigger with the blade still stuck in him, causing Silvan to drop his rifle. Through the agony, he managed to draw his revolver for the second time that day pressing the muzzle to his assailants abdomen and firing up into his ribcage. The attacker fell into a lifeless pile at Silvan's feet, and for the first time Silvan noticed the lack of uniforms on all the dead enemies around him.
These weren't regulars; they were merely guerrillas. That fact infuriated the Italian officer. These dogs deserved no mercy. He fired one more round into the dog just to make sure he was dead and looked around him. There was silence. The fighting had stopped. The Spaniards had thrown down their weapons in surrender as soon as they'd come face to face with real soldiers. Someone further down the trench system was waving the Italian flag signaling victory to the rest of the company down below.
“What are we going to do with the prisoners, Tenente?” Icobelli appeared at Silvan's side with a great grin behind a river of blood cascading down his face. It took a moment for Silvan to reach a decision. He calmly looked his sergeant in the eyes.
“What prisoners?”
Account E-Mail:
- [edited out]
Name:
- Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa
Nationality:
- Italian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
- Regio Esercito Italiano
Character History:
- Life was never particularly unkind to Silvan. He was born in 1912, the only child of Callisto and Emilia D'Alisa. His names came from Silvan D'Alisa and Marcussen Battista, a prominent general from his father's side and a politician from his mothers. Both parents were members of well established aristocratic families, his mother's side had very strong political ties and his father was a descendant of a long line of military men, and both could trace their lineage back to the Roman Republic. These ties would shelter Silvan for most of his early life.
The Great War only briefly touched Silvan's world. In the wake of the Austro-Hungarian invasion of Serbia, Colonel Callisto D'Alisa was among the nationalist who believed this was Italy's opportunity to seize control of Italian territories from the ailing empire to the east. The elder D'Alisa used his wife's connection to pull strings and was shipped off for to fight in the north, returning only a few months later after the failure of the Vienna offensives in 1915. The eventual victory by default was bittersweet at best for Silvan's father.
Silvan's family was mostly isolated from the unrest of the 20's and 30's. Silvan was sheltered from the radical ideologies of the day by his mother, who would remove him from any room in which politics were being discussed. She believed that a politically neutral stance was the best to have in turbulent times. Thus, Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa remained more or less apolitical throughout his early years, his mother even picked out similarly minded tutors for his education. Despite his mother's efforts, Silvan's father still managed to instill a deep sense of Italian nationalism in Silvan, preaching constantly of Italy's need to regain its position as a world power. Thus Silvan grew into a fierce patriot in the realm of foreign affairs, yet completely ambivalent to the domestic structure of Italy. Fascism, Communism, Republicanism - They were all the same to Silvan, things to be left to people of lesser stature than himself.
Being the patriot he was, Silvan attended the Royal Academy of Infantry and Cavalry in the hopes of leading Italy to its new empire. Here Silvan's apolitical nature truly paid off as he was not distracted by the rise of the Fascists and instead was able to devote himself completely to the art of war. Silvan's devotion earned him the praise of his instructors and the scorn of his peers. On more than one occasion the jealousy of his fellow cadets boiled over into violent physical conflicts. One instance even involved Silvan nearly killing another student... with a rolling pin after the other student produced a knife during a fight while on kitchen duty. The other student, who had instigated the fight, was left with a broken arm and collar bone, a severe concussion, and was expelled upon his discharge from the local hospital; Silvan, on the other hand, came out with a few scratches, a bruise, and a written warning.
At the age of 22, Silvan M. D'Alisa graduated at the top of his class and was commissioned into the Regio Esercito Italiano at the rank of Tenente. Naturally, Silvan was present during the conquest of Abyssinia in 1935. Here he proved himself in skirmish after skirmish against the ill prepared and equipped Abyssinians. His crowning achievement was the destruction of an entire company of Ethiopian Regulars. In 1936, Silvan was amongst the Italian volunteers who comprised the Corpo Truppe Volontarie and helped bring the Spanish Nationalists victory in their civil war. During the war, Silvan was made Acting Commanding Officer of his company following the death of the Capitano in an ambush. Silvan went on to lead his company well enough to gain the attention of his superiors and was granted the rank of full Capitano upon his return to Italy.
Capitano Silvan Marcussen D'Alisa found himself in North Africa almost immediately following Italy's declaration of war on France and Great Britain in 1939. His company laid the first Italian boots on Egyptian soil, the start of Italy's first earnest offensive of the war.
Military Rank:
- Capitano
Writing Sample:
Mixing it up a bit.
- Silvan knew it was a bad idea to begin with. Capitano Gelsi had insisted on moving though a narrow pass north-west of Madrid as part the overall goal of breaking through Republican forces, encircling the city and destroying them. To accomplish this the Capitano had opted to put the entire company in a convoy of covered trucks disguised as the enemy. The commanders of 1st, 2nd and 4th platoons along with the Capitano were situated in the second and third trucks. Silvan had thought it wiser to stay with his own platoon whom were loaded into trucks number 11 through 15, four out of a total of 19 trucks. Silvan was convinced that the Capitano was a complete fool to think they'd be able to slip by in a convoy like that. It wasn't the first time the man had made an overly bold move, he'd nearly wiped out two platoons in a suicidal attack on a fortified hill two months before.
Tenente D'Alisa had taken a seat at the very back of truck 12, from here he could see the occupants of his truck and the terrain outside without opening the back flap too much. The sun was rising over a group of mountains to the west, casting massive shadows across the valley below. The convoy was traveling along a relatively flat section of that same valley. There was a shallow ditch followed by an open plain that stretched for about a mile before entering a gentle slope up to the mountains on one side; on the other side, a ridge towered over the road and convoy. Silvan felt like he was close enough to touch the damned thing and it made his nervous. This area was firmly in Republican hands and it wouldn't take much effort to tear apart the convoy, just a few well placed machine guns or anti-tank rifles.
Silvan turned his attention to his fellow Italians riding with him. There was the squad Sergeante, two Corporale, and six others, all good men. The Sergeante, one Dante Iacobelli, had been with him in Ethiopia and had proven himself more than worthy of the rank; he'd even saved D'Alisa from an Abyssinian bayonet on one occasion. Everyone one of them had been drilled by Silvan himself. Naturally, Silvan considered his men the best in the company if not the entire regiment. Most were quietly chatting with one another, mostly words of encouragement with the occasional dirty joke.
“You look worried, Tenente” whispered Icobelli who was seated next to him. Silvan simply smiled back at the man for a moment. The Sergeante had learned Silvan's habits by now and could read his thoughts easily.
“No, Icobelli. I'm just thinking of a pretty little thing back in Seville,” lied Silvan. He knew Dante would see through the ruse but he needed to keep the men's spirits up. They'd be tested soon enough. As he suspected, Dante shot his knowing false smile back, and checked his weapon and nonchalantly suggesting that the other should as well. Silvan watched as each one systematically checked their rifles as best as they could in the dimply lit and cramped space. Satisfied with his men's preparations, Silvan again opened the back flap a bit and peered out into the early morning light. A nice fresh breeze fluttered in and Silvan heard a collective sigh of relief from behind him. A flash light lit up the ridge wall for an moment and Silvan's heart sank. An instant later the rolling growl of an explosion rippled through the truck.
Silvan and his men had no time to react as the sound of screeching brakes and crunching metal pierced the air. Their truck joined the chorus of chaos as the driver slammed on the brakes as well and swerved wildly to the side to avoid a stopped truck ahead. The flap flew open, allowing everyone to see truck 13's Spanish driver panic and accelerate. The massive truck shot forward right toward Silvan's truck. With no room to move Silvan could only watch in horror as truck 13 clipped their truck. The world became a blur as Silvan's truck 12 spun violently 90 degrees and rammed straight into the ditch and flipping over unto it's side. The occupants were flung forward toward the driver's cabin and landed on top of each other on what was the side of the truck a few seconds before.
The world went from a blur to simply black. All sound came to Silvan's ears as a muffled roar with barely audible pops here and there. He groped around trying to right himself but could only find other men. Breathing was hard and the air smelled of iron. It took a moment for Silvan to realize that someone was lying on top of him. The world came back into clarity and Silvan's first clear image was a face nearly on top of his own with a stream of blood dipping down across it. Grabbing the man by the collar, he was able to move the wounded man off of himself and into the now vacant rear portion of the truck. Groans of the injured followed him and he made his way out of the truck into the clean air of the outside. It was a disaster, half the trucks had either run into the ridge, the ditch, or each other. Silvan's own truck was lying on it's side tilted 45 degrees nose-first into the ditch. Three of the leading trucks were on fire including one of the command trucks.
“Goddamn it...” Silvan swore under his breath. Bullets began to zip by and kick up dirt all around him forcing Silvan behind the overturned truck. Once back behind cover he found a few of the more lightly wounded troops from inside who had made it out before him. They all looked a little rattled, but that was to be expected of someone fresh from a wreck like that. Another flash lit up the area followed by the distinct thump of an anti-tank rifle and roar of an explosion. Peeking around the truck, Silvan saw fresh plume of smoke wafting up from one of the supply trucks. Dante appeared carrying another wounded man out of the truck setting him down in the ditch. “Sergeante, how many of the men are still fit to fight?”
“Corporale Laccona's got a broken leg, two others have broken wrists, this one here...” Icobelli pointed to the man he'd just carried out, “is out cold but still breathing. I think he might have a concussion. Everyone else has only a few cuts and bruises.” Silvan took in the information for a moment and examined the convoy again. Aside from the truck he was riding in, his trucks had managed to avoid enemy fire and most of the troops had abandoned them for the seemingly safer ditch. The other platoons were in the process of doing the same as well. Silvan made his decision and turned back to Icobelli.
“Keep these men out of trouble. I'm going to make gather up the rest of the platoon and then try to make contact with the Capitano. I'll also see if I can find some radios... “ His voice trailed off as 2nd platoon's supply truck exploded sprinkling the convoy with shrapnel. “Fucking Spaniards...” with that Silvan moved off around the truck and back down into the ditch on the other side. A Spanish machine gun sitting on the ridge above turned it's focus on Silvan ripping up the soil along the edge of of the ditch. The next squad down, which was only a few metres, away returned fire on the ridge which drew the wrath of a few more machine guns onto the squad. One soldier had a pink stray erupt from his helmet and slumped silently against the ditch wall. The squad Sergeante checked the man, shook his head and made his way to Silvan as he approached.
“Tenente! What's going on? What are your orders?” the Sergeante's voice trembled a bit as he questioned his superior. Everyone had been taken off guard and shaken by the sudden attack, even the career soldiers.
“You know as much as I do, Sergeante...” Silvan took stock of the men behind the man, they all seemed fine save the one, “Go link your squad with Icobelli's around the truck in the ditch, then have one of your corporals rally the other two squads. Once I'm back, we're going crush these Spaniards.” The sergeants face perked up at the last bit, grinned, and went about his orders. Now, there was one last thing to do, contact Capitano Gelsi.
At the next group of men a familiar face,Tenete Pitasa of 2nd Platoon, called out to him, “D'Alisa! Thank God I'm not the only one!” Pitasa was unusually pale with a streak of blood flowing from his dark hairline and dripping off his chin. He seemed to guess Silvan's intention and grabbed him as he tried to get by. “It's no use, D'Alisa. They are all dead. All of them. Gelsi took an AT round to the chest and the rest were cut down by the damn machineguns.” The look on Pitasa's face was enough confirmation for Silvan.
“Radios? Have you seen any? I don't know where my supply truck went and I personally saw yours go up in flames.”
Pitasa laughed morbidly, “No, I haven't. They targeted the supply trucks first.” His face grew darker, ”They knew we were coming, Silvan.” A burst of machinegun fire punctuated the moment forcing both lieutenants down further into the ditch. Pitasa's voice quivered, “What are we going to do?”
Silvan wasn't in much better shape mentally. They were under fire, half the company officers were dead, and they had no way to reach battalion HQ for help. He was alone, as Pitasa clearly wasn't in a state to help command. Silvan had no choice, he had to do something or many valuable Italian lives were going to be lost. He got an idea... it wasn't much, but it was action and action is what was needed. “Gather up your platoon and put as much fire on the ridge as possible. If you can, see if you can rally what's left of 1st Platoon as well. I'm taking the 3rd up that ridge a little further down the road and will hit them from the rear.” Silvan got back to his feet. Pitasa did not. “What are you waiting for, Tenente?”
“I can't do it.”
For a moment, the words didn't register with Silvan. He was stunned, he couldn't believe he had just heard those words come from a fellow officer. Then, he did the only thing he could think of. Silvan reached down and ripped the officer insignia off Pitasa's uniform and handed them to a nearby sergeant. The sergeant was just as shocked as Pitasa. “What's your name, soldier?”
“B-Basso, sir” stammered the soldier.
“Tenente Basso, gather up your platoon and what you can of 1st Platoon. You and your men are going to suppress the the enemy to allow my men to attack. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.” The soldier saluted and did what he was told. As Silvan turned to go back to his own men, Pitasa gathered himself and stood in Silvan's way.
“You have no authority to do such a thing! I'll have...” Without a second thought, Silvan withdrew his sidearm and shot the man in the knee instantly dropping the man to the ground.
“And cowards have no authority either.” growled Silvan as he climbed over the writhing body.
***
Silvan was delighted to see that Icobelli had taken the initiative and rounded up two of the four squads from 4th Platoon. Silvan laid out his plan of action to his sergeant, who then relayed it in to everyone else. After a few minutes of preparation, Silvan produced a whistle from one of his various pockets. The shriek pierced the world and rifles all along the ditch from began firing on the ridge in one concentrated volley. The sheer volume of fire at that one moment forced the Spanish attackers down. The window was open and Silvan happily dived through it.
A quick call of “Avanti!” and a wall of men, the entirety of 3rd Platoon, jumped up from the trench and stormed forward toward the ridge. A few of the more aware Spaniards attempted to stop them, but only managed to drop a few men on the fringe closest to them. The rest of the platoon continued, charging straight up the ridge. As they crested the steep incline, Silvan was shocked by what he found. An entire network of trenches snaked along the crest and Silvan's force had come over just beside them, if they'd been even a single metre further up the road they'd have charged right up over and fallen into the trenches.
“Don't stop now! Show them what a true Italian can do!” Silvan called out. A roar erupted from those around him as the men jumped into the trenches and went about the work of soldiers. The lieutenant didn't stand idly by either, he himself was the third person into the trenchwork, loyal Icobelli right behind him.
Yelps, screams, roars, pops, cracks, and rattles engulfed the ridge as steel met flesh. The battle devolved into a brawl, the sounds of rifle-fire dying down as the number of hand-to-hand fights rose. Silvan was assaulted by one of the enemy combatants, running at Silvan, rifle in hand, with a dusty bayonet dangling menacingly from the end. Before Silvan could raise his own rifle, the man was upon him thrusting the blade toward his chest. The lieutenant barely managed to through himself out of the way, the bayonet caught him in the shoulder. Silvan couldn't help but yell as the bastard pulled the trigger with the blade still stuck in him, causing Silvan to drop his rifle. Through the agony, he managed to draw his revolver for the second time that day pressing the muzzle to his assailants abdomen and firing up into his ribcage. The attacker fell into a lifeless pile at Silvan's feet, and for the first time Silvan noticed the lack of uniforms on all the dead enemies around him.
These weren't regulars; they were merely guerrillas. That fact infuriated the Italian officer. These dogs deserved no mercy. He fired one more round into the dog just to make sure he was dead and looked around him. There was silence. The fighting had stopped. The Spaniards had thrown down their weapons in surrender as soon as they'd come face to face with real soldiers. Someone further down the trench system was waving the Italian flag signaling victory to the rest of the company down below.
“What are we going to do with the prisoners, Tenente?” Icobelli appeared at Silvan's side with a great grin behind a river of blood cascading down his face. It took a moment for Silvan to reach a decision. He calmly looked his sergeant in the eyes.
“What prisoners?”