A Soldier on the Southern Front by Emilio Lussu

Author:Emilio Lussu [Lussu, Emilio]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8478-4279-7
Publisher: Rizzoli
Published: 2014-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

XVII

With the middle of August came talk of another operation. The battalions had been brought back up to strength. Some field and mountain artillery batteries had already taken up positions in the army corps sector. On the line we weren’t sleeping at night anymore. Patrols and gelignite tubes were on the move again. One day, an assault was announced for the next day, but it was postponed. So we were able to count on one more day of assured life. Anyone who hasn’t fought in a war, in the conditions that we were fighting in, can’t appreciate what that meant. In those conditions even a single hour of safety was a lot. To be able to say, at dawn, an hour before the assault, “I’m going to sleep another half hour, I can still sleep for a half hour, and then I’ll get up and I’ll smoke myself a cigarette, I’ll warm up with a cup of coffee, I’ll nurse it sip by sip, and then I’ll smoke myself another cigarette,” seemed like a pleasant plan for a whole lifetime.

The orders to get ready for a new battle coincided with the news that two regiments of the brigade had been granted the privilege of decorating their flags with the Gold Medal for Military Valor. This extraordinary honor, which distinguished us once again among all the infantry brigades, would have been appreciated by all of us if we had been at rest. The brigade commander wanted to celebrate the event in any case and summoned all the officers to report. In a short speech, he recalled the history of the brigade and ordered the company commanders to commemorate it in their units.

I was with the officers from my battalion. After the report, which took place at the brigade command, we went back to the line together. Behind us were the officers of the 1st Battalion, commanded by Captain Zavattari. He had been transferred from the 2nd Battalion to the 1st after the death of the major, and had assumed the command. My battalion was in the trench and the 1st was on the second line. To get back to the front line we had to pass by the 1st Battalion command.

We had gotten as far as the command when news came that General Leone was dead, struck in the chest by an exploding bullet. Why not call things by their real name? The news was greeted with jubilation, exaltation. Captain Zavattari invited us to stop in at his command and popped the corks of several bottles. Glass in hand, he made a toast.

“Fellow officers! Permission be granted to a representative of the Ministry of Public Instruction and to a veteran captain to raise a glass to the good fortune of our army. Imitating the beautiful traditions of those strong peoples who celebrate the death of a family member with banquets and dances, let us, unable to do better, drink to the memory of our general. No tears, oh gentlemen, but joy, opportunely restrained.

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