Part 6

The days which brought us nearer to our venture ran on. On May 15th, there was a full sitting at Camp Marcon with Colonel Smaniotto present, to the end that we might disclose to him all we had determined. Lieut. De Carli also took part in the meeting and he explained his plan for arriving at Tiezzo di Pordenone.

I collected in a manuscript everything which concerned my departure and the methods of communication and signaling. What yet remained to be determined was the means to be adopted for returning to our own territory, if such a return were possible. I proposed that we make use of two mediums, the aeroplane and motorboat.... About a month after our departure an Italian reconnoitring plane was to let fall a volley of three shots from the sky over Vittorio. Two days after we had observed this signal we were to be found in such a field as shall have been determined upon and upon which we shall have already alighted at two in the morning. The “Voisin” would fly very low over the field and if Captain Gelmetti observed certain lights gleaming in the small trenches which were near the field, he would make a landing and we would depart with him. If the weather were unfavorable, the attempt was to be repeated the subsequent night. But we could not rely on one method only for the return. It was better to have some alternate way available.

I proposed that the silent naval motorboat, aforementioned, cruise during the nights from June 20 to June 30 in front of the port of Caorle, about two miles east of it. It was to keep about two hundred yards from the coast, in order that, should it hear the song of a cuckoo (such was to be our signal) it might send a rowboat to fetch us. All this was to take place at two in the morning. It seemed to me that I had thought of everything; it seemed to me that I had studied all the details.

Our front had been divided into many sectors each of which had a special number, and the established phrase, “the wolf will not return towards such and such a number” signified that the enemy intended to attack that sector of the front. Colonel Smaniotto was well pleased with my plan and with my personal appearance which was really most encouraging. My beard had really assumed tremendous proportions and it bothered me considerably. That night the light of the moon was bright enough to permit us to experiment on landing without lights. Captain Gelmetti had placed himself at our disposal for the necessary trials. For experiments with the silencer the officer who invented the apparatus had come purposely from headquarters, together with some expert mechanics for whom we had sent in a request.

At about ten o’clock at night we ascended from the field at Marcon and after several landings with the help of searchlights the pilot attempted a landing without the use of any lights and his management was so skillful that we were not conscious of the moment in which we touched ground. I was truly astonished at the familiarity with which Bottecchia viewed aeroplanes. During the flight I watched him closely to see if he showed any signs of fear, or if he held onto the sides of the seat as most beginners do. He really conducted himself valiantly and no sudden move or action belied the faith I had placed in him. The officers who were present at the experiments told me that when the motor was turning slowly and the silencer was working the plane made only a slight noise which was scarcely audible even to those standing directly beneath.

I told another person about my plans, Lieut. Manfredi Lanza di Trabia, brother of Ignatius, one of my dearest friends who disappeared mysteriously during the retreat from Caporetto and from whom I have had no more news. However, considering all the circumstances, we still believed him to be alive, perhaps because we loved him too well to permit ourselves to believe that he has disappeared forever. To Manfredi also I promised to send a postcard with the conventional word, “arrivederci,” which would be the sign of my departure.

Several changes were made in the silencer because it became over-heated too rapidly. We hoped that it would now function properly. But the weather which had been clear up to date, changed and seemed determined to thwart our plans.

On May 26 there was a full moon. The nights favorable for attempting our project were to last only until the first of June. After that we should be compelled to relinquish our plan or to devise some other way. Days of cruel alternation passed, and we were continually standing with our faces turned upward to the sky in the hope of espying some bit of azure among the thick clouds which crowded overhead. This inclement weather made us nervous, uncertain, whereas we needed a great deal of calm to be in the proper mood for our attempt.

Colonel Smaniotto gave me 2000 Austrian crowns that I be not encumbered by too much coin. In case I needed more money I was to send a notice to them by means of a carrier pigeon. This idea of carrying Austrian crowns with me was not very agreeable because it would be a compromising fact and grave accusation against us were we to be captured. However, I decided to keep the suspicious roll always in my hand and at the first alarm to throw it away so as not to be surprised with it. I also had to sign a statement for the supreme command in which I declared that I was undertaking the feat absolutely of my own volition and that I was not compelled or coerced by any external pressure. I am truly proud of this document. My soldier also signed a similar document very willingly.

It really seemed as if all the clouds of the Veneto had made an appointment with one another to meet over our field. In vain we sought a sign which would let us hope for a happy solution. It was now the thirtieth of May, so there were but two more nights at our disposal. After that we should have to bid “adieu” to our plan fostered for so long. It was torture to think that our presence on the other side would be of extraordinary value just then, because from the answers to questions asked of Czech prisoners we knew that the Austrian offensive could not be delayed much longer. Therefore, our enforced pause was all the more dangerous, because beside necessitating a new scheme of preparations, it might also result in our arriving across the Piave too late.

Gelmetti’s mood was insupportable. Instead of trying to comfort one another we were continually irritating and provoking our companions. We were annoyed, spiteful one with the other, as though each one of us were the cause of our painful delay.

The barometer on the morning of May 31, had risen slightly, but still I did not see any sign of clearing; the rain continued to beat madly against the windows of our hangar. I contemplated with love and wrath the great metal skeleton of our apparatus, resting heavily on its wheels. The huge canvas of the hangar struggled violently with the bonds which fastened it to the ground. Suddenly a tiny ray of sunlight illumined the canvas hanging limp and damp. I leapt out onto the field. The direction of the wind had changed. The rain had miraculously stopped, and the storm clouds were fleeing towards the sea. In the background the bluish mountains with their snow-capped tops were outlined against the distant horizon.

It seemed as if there were fair weather on the other side of the Piave. We would soon know from the reports of such chasing planes as had left this morning. Meanwhile, there was not a moment to be lost. It was three in the afternoon and there was much to be done ere we left. Quickly I telephoned to headquarters and the voice of Colonel Smaniotto answered me. He was delighted at the unexpected turn of events.

“Sir, if you offer no opposition we have decided to leave to-night.”

“What opposition should I have? On the other hand, I am elated at this brief respite which has come so suddenly. One of our proverbs says there is no Saturday without a bit of sun, but to-day is Friday. I’ll see you shortly.”

Everything was going well. The only thing that annoyed me was that the day was Friday. We Italians are a bit superstitious and it did not seem expedient to start a project of this nature on a Friday. I confessed my doubts to Gelmetti and he braced me by scolding me. “How foolish you are! Don’t you really want to take advantage of this respite which may be the only one? For I am convinced that the weather is still unsettled and remains determined to be crazy. If we do not leave to-night, we can forsake our project forever.” I let myself be convinced, but a little unwillingly.

Gelmetti was radiant, and was dressing himself in his toilette for great occasions, for we aviators are habitually dirty and oil-stained while at camp, but the moment we have to leave for a flight or some special action, we become fastidious and dandified; we don our best outfits, for we must be clean and elegant when we face the enemy, when we face death.

I too, had to consider my toilette, because I did not think my coat with the yellow collar would be the most suitable for such an undertaking. I donned a soldier’s coat with the distinguishing mark of the observer on the sleeve, and I prepared my observer’s tally for I decided to take it with me, as is customary with all aviators.

Through the window I observed that the “Voisin” was out on the field and that they were filling her up with the supplies of gasoline and oil. One of the mechanics had jumped up onto a wing and with a large can was filling the feed above the wing. His demeanor was that of a tranquil trainer who knows his beast; he was singing snatches of a song popular among our soldiers:

“Oh rare, delightful sweetheart Beloved and sought by all, You are that dear strange creature, For whom by chance we fall.”

Another mechanic was testing the motor with his fingers on the gas control to see the response of the six powerful cylinders. To me, whose ear is well trained after many flights over the enemy, the motor appeared to function well, and this gave me great confidence. A lieutenant from the general staff who is a specialist in the use of the silencer, was explaining to Gelmetti how to set the silencer in action. After a brief discussion they decided that we were not to use this attachment on leaving our territory, but to ascend with open exhaust and use the silencer only when we had arrived in enemy territory where it would be necessary to make no noise. These precautions were necessary so as not to strain the motor.

How rapidly my life seemed to flee during those hours, those minutes which still separated me from the moment when I should find myself face to face with the reality against which I have prepared and which I have long desired.

I entreated Colonel Smaniotto to communicate to my family that I was well every time he received a pigeon with a message from me. He promised to do it, and I was contented because I did not like my people to remain for long without news of me. However, I had to notify my father that I should be far away for a long time. I had had a photograph of myself with my beard taken, and above it I wrote the date, May 23, to recall the other 23rd of May, the day on which Italy entered the war. Had I no other joy in the world, it would suffice me to know that Italy was not beneath the other great powers and that she too had taken sides with righteousness and liberty. In sending to my father a last message before my departure I wrote the following lines with great emotion, “May 31, 1918. Dear father,—I beg of you not to worry if you do not receive a message from me for a long time. I am leaving on a special mission, and I do not believe I shall be able to communicate with you directly, but you will receive news of my condition from headquarters. I ask this new sacrifice of you in the name of the suffering lands which are waiting for us. May we meet again. A kiss to you.... (P.S. I shall bring a greeting to mother from you.)” My mother is buried at Vittorio and from the closing words he would understand the destination of my mission. This was the only hint I gave my father of where I intended going.

Bottecchia and the De Carli brothers were eating. My soldier, who has a sturdy exterior, was storing as much food as he could in his inside, for he feared, with reason, that it would be difficult to find food on the other side. I, on the contrary, when I am about to undertake something important can swallow only a very small quantity and a sober repast is sufficient to appease my appetite. Night fell slowly over the field, and I lighted a lamp so I might see to write two postcards to my distant friends. On each one I wrote “arrivederci” and my name. They will understand. Every promise is an obligation, and Luisa and Manfredi were awaiting this signal from me to know that I had left.

The telephone bell rang unexpectedly. They wanted me at once at headquarters because his Highness the Duke of Aosta wished to see me before I left. In an open car we sped along the endless line of budding poplar trees whose silent shadows were traced on the white road. The trunks in front of us stood bold and upright against the red of the sunset. From the pools and ditches a light fog arose and escaped in a mist towards the sky where the first stars began to twinkle.

The villa of the Duke of Aosta stood in the center of Mogliano, and there were no marks which distinguished it from the surrounding villas, save that the flowers were more carefully cultivated. The Duke’s dogs playfully greeted the visitors. His Highness was expecting us in the broad ante-chamber. He clasped my hand, and we had a long affable talk together. His tall figure, which became slightly bent after Caporetto, has all the majesty of his race; expressing at the same time a certain paternal goodness. His face furrowed by nights of anxiety and watching, expresses the ability and habit of command; his clear, penetrating eyes are accustomed to look fate well in the face. The Duke wished to know in detail all we planned to do. He knew the broad outlines and Colonel Smaniotto and I explained a few details he did not know. He noticed that I had changed the collar of my uniform and I told him the reason which induced me to make the change and the displeasure I felt at not being able to bear upon the other side the colors of my regiment to which I am still devoted. Before we left, he again clasped my hand firmly and with a steady voice in which there was barely a shadow of emotion, said, “I thank you for what you are about to attempt. I am convinced of the usefulness of your enterprise, and I am certain you will help us greatly in those days when the enemy hurls against us all his desperate strength. I thank you as a Prince and as an Italian, and you know I am a good Italian.”

I know that his Royal Highness is a good Italian and I felt that in difficult moments, in moments when I should have to dare and risk all, the memory of that dear, austere face, would be a great help and comfort in the fulfillment of my duty.

I left the house of the Duke of Aosta, moved not by what I was about to undertake but by what he said to me. There was not much time to lose, yet I dearly wished to give a farewell greeting to Lieutenant Lanza di Camastra who is the uncle of my intimate friend Ignatius Lanza di Trabia. He is very intimate with his Royal Highness, knew of our plans, but since he wished to be present at my departure he begged me to send for him. In the little courtyard of the villa in which he lived I found several officers who offered me a small glass of cognac. I relished it, sipping it to the last delicious drop, certain that on the other side I should find nothing of the kind. I was very pleased to spend a few moments with Lieutenant di Camastra because I wished to speak to him of Ignatius who we hoped was still alive and interned in some distant German camp. The thought of this dear friend had often given me strength to overcome the innumerable difficulties which presented themselves before arriving at this point. With gratitude I listened to the words of di Camastra who assured me that Ignatius would be proud could he see me depart.

Before leaving my mother-country, since I was certain I should not be able to return, I wished to be at peace with my conscience, and accompanied by my dear friend we went towards the vicarage of Mogliano where there was a priest who could take my confession. After knocking repeatedly at the gate, an old priest, who wondered why unknown visitors should come to disturb him at so late an hour, thrust his head from behind the door. At last he opened the door and led me into a small, low room where there was a prayerstool.... For a moment I reviewed swiftly the events of my life, and alas, there were only a few actions for which I needed not to be repentant. God is good, I thought, and will heed my sincere prayer. So when the priest absolved me, I felt that to all the strength I had before there had been added the new strength which comes to those who feel they are pure.

VIII

Time, 1:30 A.M. On the field there are a lot of people going to and fro. Many friends have come to bid me goodby. Even though I have spoken to very few about the adventure, still many know of it. With Colonel Smaniotto there are on the field several officers of the staff, Colonel Novellis of the Aviation, the Honorable Miari of the kite-balloon division, and many other of my aviator friends who wish to be present at my departure. I have taken with me a map as a precaution, for the weather which seemed most favorable at first has gradually become foggy, and since even the upper atmosphere does not seem very clear, it may be difficult to get our bearings. However, I am certain that once I have arrived in enemy territory, or rather in my own home town, I shall not need any map. Our fur-lined leather coats and our helmets are ready and lie folded on the wing. The mechanics are busy about the motor, one gives a last look at the spark-plugs, another at the magneto, another at the gasoline feed, so that once departed we shall have no unpleasant surprises. Gelmetti is already at his place and is trying the levers. A groundman has turned the propeller and in the calm of the night nothing can be heard but the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the frogs which are telling of their loves from the ditches. There arises the deep and powerful roar of the motor and from the curved arches of the hangars the echo answers so that it seems as if several machines were in motion in the distance. The moon is rising, and as I see her again after so many days of rain, she seems smaller, and I wonder how my pilot will be able to make a landing on unknown ground with so little light.

De Carli who probably will soon attempt a similar feat stands near me. There is in the eyes of all such great anxiety, emotion so deep that I ask myself why I too, should not feel moved. Lieutenant Simoni asks me if I feel as calm as at other times when I am about to leave for a war flight, and I answer him that I am certain I should not feel so calm if I were seeing another leaving in my place. Many of the pilots of chasing machines of the 77th squadron are present and among them Lieutenant Marazzani, one of our aces who has brought with him his little fox terrier.

“Before starting on a flight,” he tells me, “I always touch the nose of Bobby, and, as you see, I have always returned. You do the same, and you’ll see it will bring you good luck.”

He does not have to beg me twice, and I pass my hand over the damp nose of Bobby who looks at me with his intelligent eyes as though to ask me what unusual thing is happening, for he is not accustomed to seeing planes leave at night. Everything is ready. I have the money in a small roll. Bottecchia has in his pocket a bar of chocolate, and I have brought with me my talisman which has been with me in every undertaking, an old crucifix of silver, a family heirloom which has been in many wars and many battles with my ancestors. We are in the plane and in place of the small observer’s seat they have fastened a small wooden board on which two of us must manage to sit. But the place is very narrow, and both Bottecchia and myself are not very comfortable. The inside of our “cabane” is lighted by blue lamps upon the dashboard and I hold in my hand a small lamp fastened to a long wire with which to watch the manometer which marks the oil pressure and the gasoline feed tube. The motor is hitting in all cylinders. Gelmetti advances and retards the accelerator and the machine pulses and vibrates, held back by the wedges under the wheels and the mechanics who are holding it by the shaking wings. The “Voisin” seems to have found again its youth and seems eager to start the flight. The indicator marks 1300 revolutions. Everything seems to be proceeding regularly.

“Are we ready?” I ask Gelmetti. We button up our overcoats and buckle our helmets under our chins. Many hands are extended towards us. Some of the men clamber up on the large springs of the wheels to embrace me, and although the wool of my helmet covers nearly all my face, still I feel something moist on my skin. They surely are not my tears!... Bobby, jubilant at the sound of the motor going at full speed, begins to bark, and his master throws a stone down the field for Bobby to chase so that he will not disturb us, and so that I may exchange in quiet a few more words with Colonel Smaniotto.

“Above all I urge you to specify the sector and the day of the offensive, and secondly the location of troops.”

Gelmetti slackens the motor, the mechanics remove the wedges from under the wheels and the plane is free and ready for the flight. We rise to our feet to give a final salute, and an indescribable emotion comes into the faces of all. The plane begins to move and our cry of “Viva L’Italia,” is drowned by the roar of the motor whose pulsations grow ever quicker and faster. The grass flits rapidly under the wheels. A slight jerk, a slight start, and we are in the air. What were living persons near us, what were houses, have become specks, have become infinitesimal statuettes against the dark background of the earth.

I see certain small red lamps on the tops of trees, I see the red lamp which marks the chimney of the furnace near the field. The great scaffolding from which the searchlights usually hurl upward the streams of their light, is lost in the night’s darkness. The little canal which passes near the hangars glitters distinctly and along the plain traversed by roads and streams of water, many tranquil lamps are glowing. Along the road which leads from the field to the highway of Mogliano the searchlights of the automobiles leaving the field follow us. We turn slowly, and—as is always the case when in a plane—we feel as if we were still. We are now traveling towards Mestre and beyond we see the mirror of the glittering lagoon which the moon silvers with a thousand tiny flames, and in the background where sky and sea mingle in a dark gray mist, we can imagine Venice arising from the water.