Post by nazariobattista on May 28, 2008 19:40:34 GMT
Nazario breathed in the crips Italian air and smiled. He was home. Too long had he been cooped up in the harsh winters of Germany, forced to serve beneath the "purebred" overlords. He could hardly have wished for a better location to be positioned; he new Italia like the back of his hand.
But Nazario was worried. The Allies were delving deeper and deeper into Italy and rumours had reached the Lietaunan't ears of acts of extreme ruthlessness from the British towards the simple Italian peasants. Their houses burnt to the ground, their posessions stolen as supplies and their honour diminished.
Nazario had heard from an associate of a possible raid on the small village he had been stationed near. It was a tiny village, less than fifty inhabitants, but it was rich. It was run almost entirely by farmers and so the people had more than enough food to make them content. But the main attraction the Allies had to launch an attack was the tactical position it promised. It was less than a mile away from a powerful Italian base, and if the village were taken, they would most probably be forced to retreat.
And so Nazario had recommended that a small squad guard the city from any possible Allied threat. Nazario had himself volunteered, alongside a fraction of his fifteen-man platoon.
Nazario turned to his three companions. The only one amongst them with any experience whatsoever was Sergeant Thomas P. Angelo, and even he was relatively young and brash. Privates Damian Articulo and Marco Renien made up the rest of the numbers and while neither had engaged in a full-blown military encounter before, they more than made up their inexperience with unbridled enthusiasm.
The Italian gestured to his men to take cover behind a couple of houses in case of any hostile fire before ducking behind the spacious Town Hall. There was no guarantee of an attack on the village but Nazario felt in his gut. Someone was coming.
But Nazario was worried. The Allies were delving deeper and deeper into Italy and rumours had reached the Lietaunan't ears of acts of extreme ruthlessness from the British towards the simple Italian peasants. Their houses burnt to the ground, their posessions stolen as supplies and their honour diminished.
Nazario had heard from an associate of a possible raid on the small village he had been stationed near. It was a tiny village, less than fifty inhabitants, but it was rich. It was run almost entirely by farmers and so the people had more than enough food to make them content. But the main attraction the Allies had to launch an attack was the tactical position it promised. It was less than a mile away from a powerful Italian base, and if the village were taken, they would most probably be forced to retreat.
And so Nazario had recommended that a small squad guard the city from any possible Allied threat. Nazario had himself volunteered, alongside a fraction of his fifteen-man platoon.
Nazario turned to his three companions. The only one amongst them with any experience whatsoever was Sergeant Thomas P. Angelo, and even he was relatively young and brash. Privates Damian Articulo and Marco Renien made up the rest of the numbers and while neither had engaged in a full-blown military encounter before, they more than made up their inexperience with unbridled enthusiasm.
The Italian gestured to his men to take cover behind a couple of houses in case of any hostile fire before ducking behind the spacious Town Hall. There was no guarantee of an attack on the village but Nazario felt in his gut. Someone was coming.
