“They weren’t Germans,” I said. “There can’t be any Germans over there.”
“Italians,” Piani said, using the word as an epithet, “Italiani!” Bonello said nothing. He was sitting beside Aymo, not looking at him. Piani picked up Aymo’s cap where it had rolled down the embankment and put it over his face. He took out his canteen.
“Do you want a drink?” Piani handed Bonello the canteen.
“No,” Bonello said. He turned to me. “That might have happened to us any time on the railway tracks.”
“No,” I said. “It was because we started across the field.”
Bonello shook his head. “Aymo’s dead,” he said. “Who’s dead next, Tenente? Where do we go now?”
“Those were Italians that shot,” I said. “They weren’t Germans.”
“I suppose if they were Germans they’d have killed all of us,” Bonello said.
“We are in more danger from Italians than Germans,” I said. “The rear guard are afraid of everything. The Germans know what they’re after.”
“You reason it out, Tenente,” Bonello said.
“Where do we go now?” Piani asked.
“We better lie up some place till it’s dark. If we could get south we’d be all right.”
“They’d have to shoot us all to prove they were right the first time,” Bonello said. “I’m not going to try them.”
“We’ll find a place to lie up as near to Udine as we can get and then go through when it’s dark.”
“Let’s go then,” Bonello said. We went down the north side of the embankment. I looked back. Aymo lay in the mud with
