February 21, 1945
And here we are at the anniversary of the FEB's assault on Monte Castello and its conquest .
So many deaths, so many episodes of heroism and also of pain.
Toward the end of January 1945 we had already returned to Gaggio M. from Granaglione and therefore could witness the last massacre for the taking of Ronchidos and Monte Castello.
My little house is opposite what was the line of fire. The roar of cannon fire - coming and going - ripped through the air.
In a small group of nearby houses, on their farmyards, Chevrolet and GMC trucks were unloading the bodies of killed PRACINHAS. In one of those houses , at the Grilla Houses, (in the house of my Scopi cousins) I saw a Brazilian soldier who, having returned from the line of fire, was in a deep depression, shaking and huddled on the ground, crying.
Two nurses (or maybe it was two doctors) intervened , gave him a shot, probably gave him some pills.
After a while, the serviceman calmed down. He was loaded into a Jeep and taken back to the firing line.
To other soldiers, the roar of the gunfire had split their eardrums. In fact, blood was pouring out of their ears.
In the courtyard of Case Panigali, which, for those coming from Silla, are located between the Gaggio crossroads and the center of the village, Brazilian trucks brought more bodies, which were then sprinkled with white powder (perhaps lime or DDT) and introduced in white canvas bags, with destination the cemetery in Pistoia, (but I think it was Candeglia).
In times before the Brazilians arrived, the village of Gaggio was totally occupied by the Germans.
We boys - while staying away from the soldiers - observed what they were doing. A soldier was cleaning the barrel of his own Mauser rifle (the famous TAC - PUM), and the chain with the brush at the end was cutting the skin of his right hand.
The soldier looked at us and with Teutonic superiority despite the pain , continued in pulling the chain.
Suddenly two Allied fighters appeared in the sky and at low altitude.
All the Germans stood still, motionless; the only ones who ran were us. But we ran to a four-barreled anti-aircraft machine gun and began to tamper with it.
I don't know what they were shouting and threatening at us, with we knew the German swear words.
The planes, after a few rounds over the center of town, left. At this point the military ran at us, and those who were caught got a beating.
I saw the military man, the one from before with the bleeding hand, rushing toward me. I began to flee at full speed, I could hear behind me the shod heels of my boots pounding on the asphalt, twice I felt the German hand scratch the back of my shirt.
My mouth was open and my tongue hanging out, my breath could no longer enter my mouth, I felt like I was choking.
Fortunately, the heels of the German boots stopped making noise.
I stopped , I was exhausted, turned around and saw to my delight the German standing motionless in the middle of the road , with his legs spread wide, dangling forward , trying to make threats to me, but even he had no breath coming out of his mouth.
To return home, I had to pass the house occupied by the German Kommando and guarded by so many soldiers.
I waited for the night and with a calm air , never looking toward the group of “tugnein” ( translated from Bolognese : “Germans”) I set out.
My parents asked me a lot of questions, but they didn't get any response from me.