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  Breaking From the Enemy

  J. R. Sharp

  Breaking From the Enemy

  by J.R. Sharp

  © Copyright 2018 J.R. Sharp

  ISBN 978-1-63393-701-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other – except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters are both actual and fictitious. With the exception of verified historical events and persons, all incidents, descriptions, dialogue and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Review Copy: This is an advanced printing subject to corrections and revisions.

  Published by

  210 60th Street

  Virginia Beach, VA 23451

  800-435-4811

  www.koehlerbooks.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Gino Cartelli and all the Italian freedom fighters who risked their lives during the German occupation of Italy during World War II.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author Bio

  Author’s Note

  THE STORIES MY GRANDFATHER, Gino Cartelli, and great uncle, Chester Zucchet, shared with me about surviving World War II were fascinating. I don’t know if they were true, but the scars on their bodies were deep and wide. My grandfather’s wounds were brutal, covering most of his body. He walked with only a slight limp, but with pride only a war hero could display.

  Gino’s time as an Italian freedom fighter was especially fascinating. The older I grew, the more vivid his stories became. I was proud of his actions and those of so many other Italians who knew taking up arms with Germany was a mistake.

  I wrote this book based on their accounts of the war. It is also based on my extensive research into what the Nazis did to Italy and its citizens during the German occupation. Most of this book is fictional; however, most of the accounts of Gino’s location and timeframes are true. Due to the lack of verifiable facts, I had to intuit what happened. The family names are real, but all other names and characters are fictional.

  This is the first book in a trilogy about Gino and his time as an Italian freedom fighter. My debut book, Feeding the Enemy, tells the story of how my mother’s family, the Zucchets, survived the horrors of World War II. The family had to grow food for the Germans and Fascists, which in itself was horrible, but they were also traumatized by their enemies’ frequent visits to the farm.

  Breaking From the Enemy focuses on Gino after he leaves his wife in Treviso, Italy. The story highlights his journey from Italian Royal Army soldier to Italian freedom fighter, defying the Nazi soldiers who invaded Italy.

  Chapter 1

  DUST FROM THE TROOP transport caravan wafted into the truck carrying Private Gino Cartelli. He shared a wooden seat with other wounded soldiers, his head hanging from the physical exhaustion and mental fatigue of traveling in the cold, open military wagon. This military convoy was headed down Italy’s west coast for further service in the Italian Royal Army, which was going back to war with an ally he hated. The Nazi Germans were savages and Gino was certain they were headed toward more madness. He needed to find a way out of this war or else face certain death like so much of his family.

  In the last month, he learned his two brothers were killed by the same German army he was about to rejoin forces with. The love of his life, Catherina Zucchet, was on her way home to Cimpello, her own survival uncertain. She was the reason he was still alive after taking care of him at the military hospital in Treviso.

  He had been shot in the chest while working to expand electricity in Ethiopia and eventually lost one of his lungs from the injury. To make matters worse, while he was being evacuated back to Italy he contracted malaria, which almost put him underground at the tender age of twenty-seven.

  As Gino continued to look out the back of the transport, all he could see was swirling dust stirred by the truck convoy pushing through the countryside. His thoughts drifted back to the beginning of this madness, memories that now seemed like distant dreams of a better life.

  Gino and his best friend, Chester Zucchet, had enlisted in the Italian Royal Army in 1938. They were both from Cimpello, just outside the city of Pordenone. Italy was in a deep depression and fighting for Benito Mussolini’s ideology of Italian expansion as a way to pull the country from the doldrums. Neither Gino nor Chester wanted a life as a destitute farmer. The promise of fortunes and adventures to foreign lands lured them to wear Italy’s uniform. After a short training cycle, they were both sent to Ethiopia to fight for their nation’s expansion. That was two years earlier, and now Gino realized it was the biggest mistake of his life.

  Italy was on a path of destruction in 1940. Benito Mussolini made some questionable decisions, and for the first time even his troops questioned the dictator’s ability to lead their country. The Germans were sweeping through Europe and putting pressure on Italy to enter World War II, but Mussolini resisted because his army was already stretched too thin. He needed more troops to expand the Italian Empire, but his main problem wasn’t troops—it was tanks, airplanes, and equipment. Italy didn’t have the industrial might of Germany, and it was immediately apparent that the boot-shaped peninsula could easily be overrun by Hitler or other armies resisting Italy’s expansionist march. Mussolini needed Hitler’s war might, so he allowed the madman to pillage Italy.

  The Germans treated Italy more as a conquered nation than a partner. And, for four long years, the Italian people would be abused, murdered, and plundered. Most Italian companies were converted to wartime production, and any resources, such as food, were taken to supply German troops. Mussolini feared that if he could not keep up with his Axis allies’ demands, he would be left out of the spoils of the war that Germany had, so far, successfully waged through Northern Europe. Germany had sacked Denmark, Norway, Luxemburg, Poland and the Netherlands. Belgium and France would undoubtedly be next.

  With each stop, the convoy of trucks grew heavier with soldiers. Many were more beleaguered than Gino, some barely able to walk. As his countrymen boarded, Gino wondered about the next step in his military career. He hated the Nazis and the cold was unbearable. During the night, they seemed to waste hours looking for a place to stay and eat. With only one meal a day and little protection from the weather, Gino and his fellow soldiers weakened. Most of the soldiers were submissive and emaciated, but a few became openly rebellious. Gino could see that things were going to get interesting as they continued their journey south. Many of the soldiers talked about how Italy was on the wrong side of the great European war.

  As he looked out of the back of the truck, he could see the decimated countryside pass by. Most of it was barren and gray; they would travel for hours before seeing anybody or anything. It was nothing like his home of Cimpello.

  Gino often d
rifted to memories of his hospital stay and how wonderful it was to see Catherina every day. Gino knew whenever she was at the hospital because she always stopped to talk to the nurses before coming to his room. Her voice was so sweet he could pick it out in the largest of crowds. Even back in the days before the war, when they were in school and would meet at the dance hall in downtown Cimpello, he always heard her before seeing her.

  His thoughts drifted to how to support his new wife when he got back from the war. Farming wasn’t what he wanted to do. In fact, he disliked it even more than his father did. The army taught him all about electricity, and he could use those skills to find work when his army tour was completed. Gino wondered how his father was doing back on the family farm.

  ***

  Gino lost track of how long they had been traveling since they left Treviso, but his best guess was five days. They stayed at a soccer stadium for the night, and it wasn’t as bad as the previous night; they even had hot bread with pasta. As they were getting ready to leave the stadium, he hurried to the trucks for loading. Getting on the transport first was his priority, and Gino was lucky enough to get a seat in the front of the truck, which was warmer than the back. He started a conversation with the soldier he had dinner with the previous night. Joseph was from Venice, which was about an hour from Cimpello. This made for an instant connection. Both soldiers were concerned with what was next for their lives. Both of them wanted to get back home and decided to try for medical discharges.

  As the trucks left the stadium, Gino asked Joseph if he found out anything new about the war. Joseph blew warm air into his hands and moved his legs up and down to stay warm.

  “So far as I can tell from talking to the other soldiers, Italy is getting ready to invade the same countries as Germany.”

  Gino looked around and nodded. “Yes, that’s the same thing I’m hearing, and that’s why they’re gathering up all of the wounded soldiers to boost the army’s numbers. I also talked with a medic last night, and we’re supposed to be checked out again by another doctor to see if we’re fit for further service when we arrive in Naples.”

  Joseph’s wounds were not as serious as Gino’s, but he looked worse. He had been wounded in the leg and arm, but still had full use of both limbs. The medic said a soldier had to lose a limb or major organ to get discharged. Gino thought he met that criteria because he’d lost his lung, but the medic shrugged when Gino asked why he wasn’t rejected back in Treviso.

  ***

  When the trucks rolled into Naples, Gino knew it was about noon because his hunger pains had started. He never was a breakfast eater, but he ate lunch religiously. The truck was extremely quiet and he couldn’t see too much, but the smells of a city became apparent as they got closer to Naples. He noticed larger buildings, wider streets, more vehicles, and horses pulling trailers. The odors ranged from fresh bread to old trash. He was getting hungrier and more anxious as time went by, as did the other soldiers in the truck. The day wasn’t as cold as the preceding ones; in fact, they had opened the back of the truck to let air flow through, which felt great because most of the soldiers hadn’t had a decent shower in about a week.

  The truck slowed and headed into a courtyard. As the truck stopped, Gino could hear some senior enlisted men and medics yell at everyone to debark. The men were then led in front of the trucks and told to get into ranks. The courtyard was behind a white building, which Gino assumed was a hospital. In front of them was a high-ranking officer with one arm and a medical doctor. The medical doctor had a different uniform and he needed a haircut. Gino smiled. Doctors and nurses didn’t care about military protocol. Gino wouldn’t either if he were in their profession.

  “All wounded personnel reporting for further duty, sir,” a sergeant said.

  The senior officer returned the salute and inspected the men.

  Gino saw a row of nurses and other staff in ranks to the right. On his left, cooks worked around kettles, which meant they were going to have lunch. There was a moment of silence before orders were given to the different squads. He couldn’t hear what was going on and neither could Joseph, who was standing next to him.

  “What are we doing?” asked Joseph.

  “I have no idea, but let’s follow the crowd to the food. I’m hungry.”

  As the order was given to fall out, they followed personnel toward the food line. They were stopped by a mean-looking senior enlisted who told them they were going the wrong way and needed to be medically evaluated again. After being pointed to the right side of the courtyard, Gino and Joseph did what they were told. The line was long, but it moved fast. The nurses asked for the soldiers’ names and looked down at the table for paperwork.

  When it was Gino’s turn, an attractive nurse asked for his name and he replied, “Private Gino Cartelli.”

  She couldn’t stop looking at him for the longest time; she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to do but forgot the handsome soldier’s name.

  “What was your name again?” asked the nurse, her face red.

  He stepped in close and looked into the nurse’s brown eyes with his aqua-green ones and replied, “Private Gino Cartelli at your service.”

  The nurse smiled and looked for his name on the charts. After about five minutes and a discussion with the nurses on the other side of the table, the nurse came back. She asked him to step to the right and let the other soldiers go ahead of him. It soon became apparent that Gino and the other soldiers from his hospital were all being put to the right of the table. After about an hour, all the soldiers had been through the nurses’ line and were headed to get lunch except for Gino’s group. The beautiful nurse approached them. The older nurse accompanying her looked like she had seen every medical condition known to man.

  The older nurse said, “Gentlemen, we have a problem here. It looks like we don’t have any medical records on you soldiers, so we’re going to have to reevaluate you here at the hospital before we can determine your next assignment. Please, fill out these forms and get something to eat.”

  The nurse handed out forms, with Gino being last. He stepped up as she handed him his paperwork. Grabbing her hand softly, he moved in close to her left and softly said that he needed some help filling out the paperwork. These forms could be his ticket out of the army, but he needed to write down the correct information. Who better to provide the necessary information than a nurse?

  She met Gino’s eyes and replied, “No problem, Private Cartelli. Come over to the table, have a seat and fill out the medical forms.”

  Gino did as he was told until it came to patient information on what wounds he had sustained. She was sitting next to him when he stopped writing. Grabbing the forms from him, she moved closer so nobody could hear her talk. He moved closer to her as well, but she didn’t mind.

  “Now, let’s see where you’re having problems. Looks like you’re doing well except for what wounds you sustained. Private Cartelli, what wounds did you endure?” asked the nurse.

  “Well, since we’re talking about my wounds, you can at least give me your name.”

  “It’s Nurse Patty, Private Cartelli. What wounds brought you here to Naples? What are we going to write in these empty places?”

  Gino looked at the unfinished paperwork and switched his gaze to Patty, replying, “I was shot in the chest and had my left lung removed. In addition, I had malaria, which is still bothering me.”

  As Gino spoke, she recorded his answer. When she finished, she looked at Gino and remarked, “You have lost a major organ, plus had malaria. You should not be here, but I don’t make that decision. The doctors will have to take another look at you. After they read what I wrote down, you will have to spend some time here before they decide what to do with you. Remember, you cannot catch your breath, you get tired easily, and for god’s sake, look sick and not so handsome.”

  Chapter 2

  IN MAY 1940, THE Germans invaded Belgium. Their strategy was to defeat Belgium and continue their march toward France. The
first battle in Belgium, the Battle of Hannut, was the largest tank battle ever fought. The Germans were set to battle the French and the Allies at Hannut. The French hoped to delay the German advancement long enough to reinforce their army from other units. Fortunately for the Germans, this did not progress as planned.

  The ringing in Captain Herman Schmidt’s ears wasn’t going away, and he was having a hard time getting back up to the turret in his tank. His head pounded with such force that even his back ached. As he reached for his turret handles, the only thing he grabbed was the air he breathed. He shook his head, but his hearing was still blunted and his vision blurry. He still wasn’t clear where he was or what happened to his tank. Something dripped from his head, so he wiped what he thought was sweat but immediately noticed it was blood.

  That would explain why my head hurts so much, thought the captain. After getting to his knees, his vision came back, and the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t in the tank anymore. It was in front of him in a ball of flames. He looked around and noticed his German comrades rushing past him toward Hannut.

  How could this have happened? he thought. My tank was just under me and we destroyed five French tanks. He heard plane engines above and saw the markings of the Royal Air Force (RAF) under the wings. My tank must have been hit by a bomb, and I was thrown out of the tank, but where are the other tanks? He tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his back prevented him from standing. He crawled to the remains of a tree trunk and lifted himself to a sitting position. All he smelled was fire, diesel fuel, and the dirt covering his uniform. More troops went by him, but he was unable to rise from his current position, no matter how hard he tried. A couple of infantry men stopped to ask him if he needed anything, but he told them to continue to the battlefield.

  He closed his eyes for what seemed like only a minute, but when he opened them it was almost dusk. His beloved tank was a smoldering hunk of metal, and he heard an armored troop transport coming from the direction of the battlefield. He didn’t know if it was the French or his beloved comrades from Germany, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Reaching for his Luger, he pulled it out of its holster in preparation for whatever was about to happen. As the sound grew louder, he could tell it was German. He could also tell it was not coming toward him. The captain raised the Luger over his head and fired a couple shots to give his location.