The 34th Degree

121

It was just after six in the morning, and Commandant Buzzini, having been rudely awakened by General von Berg’s call ordering him to have his plane ready at the airstrip, was sipping his usual espresso in his office when he heard the high-pitched engines of airplanes in the sky outside. He moved to the window and saw a wave of American B-24s thundering in from the sea, RAF insignias on their wings.

“Mother of God!” he cried, dropping the cup. “The Allied invasion. It has begun!”

He was reaching for his phone when Sergeant Racini came running in from the adjacent office. “Commandant, what is happening?”

“Can’t you see for yourself, Sergeant? We’re under attack!”

Racini went to the window, eyes wide when he turned. “What are your orders, Commandant?”

“Scramble whatever fighters we have before we lose our airstrip, and mobilize our ground and naval forces to prepare for an Allied amphibious assault,” Buzzini replied, waving his hands wildly. “Put me through to Rome and Berlin immediately. We must warn them that the Allies are invading!”