The Fiat, and The Grenade

“He’s gone!” Garret screamed, as bullets continued to rain down upon them, “We need to move. Get inside the bed of the supply truck, now.”

“What about you?” Rosalie asked.

“I need to distract the shooters. Then we’re all getting the hell out of here. I need you both to protect one another, and yourselves at all cost while I’m gone.”

Garret handed Rosalie his sidearm, considering Corrado’s hands were tightly glued to his shotgun, then hustled to the driver’s seat of the Fiat truck. He found the keys dangling from the ignition, then used them to make sure the engine wasn’t dead. Hearing the diesel roar rumble through the straight exhaust pipes, Garret returned to his friends who were climbing into the covered bed.

“If I am not back in here in five minutes, take the truck and go. Your lives are both far more valuable than my own.”

“Why do you need to distract them?” Rosalie cried, softly, “We can escape now. Together.”

“He’s gone!” Garret screamed, as bullets continued to rain down upon them, “We need to move. Get inside the bed of the supply truck, now.”

“What about you?” Rosalie asked.

“I need to distract the shooters. Then we’re all getting the hell out of here. I need you both to protect one another, and yourselves at all cost while I’m gone.”

Garret handed Rosalie his sidearm, considering Corrado’s hands were tightly glued to his shotgun, then hustled to the driver’s seat of the truck. He found the keys dangling from the ignition, then used them to make sure the engine wasn’t dead. Hearing the diesel roar rumble through the straight exhaust pipes, Garret returned to his friends who were climbing into the covered bed.

“If I am not back in here in five minutes, take the truck and go. Your lives are both far more valuable than my own.”

“Why do you need to distract them?” Rosalie cried, softly, “We can escape now. Together.”

Garret smiled at the heartfelt sentiment, yet was unsure of Rosalie’s intentions with her choice of words. He knew he felt something towards her, something he was terrified to act on, but he refused to believe that someone like her could ever feel the same about someone like him.

“We’re getting out of here, Rosalie. Together. I promise.”

He looked at Corrado, and the two young men shared mutual nods of understanding. Garret then closed and latched the rear tarp of the truck’s long bed, checked his rifle, then began hunting.

Utilizing the moment of cease fire, which indicated to Garret that the enemy was actively advancing their position, he did the same. Pushing his way towards the front door of the house, he encountered the three civilians they had liberated only hours ago running out in fear. He tried to instruct them to flee the area, but the language barrier prevented any successful translation.

A gunshot echoed off the interior walls, and one of the men who Garret earlier freed from the tree out front erupted with blood, and crashed hard to the dirt. The other two civilians screamed, and bellowed at the grisly sight of their dead friend, or family member. Garret didn’t know or care about their relationship, the only thing he did care about was getting these two survivors out of harm's way as fast as possible. The quicker he did that, the sooner he could get back to the truck, and to Rosalie.

Knowing his English would fall on deaf ears, he fired his rifle into the ground, aimed the hot barrel towards their abdomens, pointed his right index finger towards the woods beyond the supply truck, and screamed out a single, universal word he hoped would resonate.

“Run!”

No translation was necessary. The man and woman sprinted towards the woods but were flagged down by a waving arm, and climbed into the rear bed of the supply truck. Garret was a little irritated at the change in plans, but he knew that their best chance of survival was to stay together. The more he tried to dislike Rosalie’s heart, the more he found himself admiring it.

With everyone out of sight, Garret took a defensive position behind a large tree stump, raised the barrel of his M1 at the main door, listened as muffled Italian and German voices barked at one another from inside of the home, and waited.

The first, armed shadow figure stepped out through the front door, and was instantly shot and killed by two well placed shots to the chest. Garret re-positioned himself to a neighboring stump, and prepared to follow up his shots with more if anyone else decided to reveal themselves.

After counting to sixty two times, and not seeing any of the other shooters exit the house, he knew his time to cause a distraction was now or never. He could not allow their attackers the opportunity to flank their position, or to radio for reinforcements. He rose from his stump and emptied the rest of his cartridge into the main door, and windows of the house, hoping to force the soldiers inside to take cover.

As soon as the last bullet was fired, and the cartridge popped out of the top of the rifle with a sharp ping, Garret tore away the grenade clipped to his upper chest, yanked out the safety pin, then tossed the Mk2 grenade through the front door.

The muffled voices coming from inside suddenly began screaming in panicked tones. Garret lowered himself behind the stump, and once again waited. A brief moment of intense anticipation enveloped him in ice, and was instantly melted away from the hot air, and debris that spewed out of every window and door.

The explosion sent shock waves through the Earth, and when Garret craned his neck around the stump, he watched the fiery roof collapse onto itself, sealing the soldiers inside forever. With thick, black smoke billowing from the stone foundation, he didn’t have enough time to confirm that the shooters were actually dead, so he sprinted towards the supply truck.

Before commandeering the vehicle, he peeled back the corner of the rear tarp, and checked on the rest of his party.

“Everyone alright back here?”

“What was that?” Rosalie asked.

“Our distraction,” Garret said, “Hold onto something. We’re getting out of here.”

Garret tied down the corner of the rear flap with a loop knot, then hopped into the driver’s seat. He revved the diesel engine, flooding it with gas, said a quick prayer for Father Burgio, then popped the clutch and sped off down the dirt road that led into a narrow clearing in the south section of surrounding woods.

The transition from dirt to roots, stones, sticks and mud was rough. The front end of the truck bounced, hissed and moaned as it barreled through all of the natural barriers. With no idea where he was going, yet knowing where they needed to go, he slid open the partition behind his head, and yelled through the opening in the bed’s tarp.

“I need someone up here to direct me through these woods.”

The heavy cab-over-engine truck continued to bounce, and jolt as the thick, rubber tires rumbled forward, making it hard for Rosalie to safely squeeze her body through the partition.

“You need to stop Garret. I can’t fit.”

Garret was reluctant to stop, knowing that his demonstration with the grenade surely caught the attention of nearby patrols. But he desperately needed help with the navigation. He had no choice.

“Get back, Rosalie, and hold on to something. This isn’t going to be a pleasant stop.”

Rosalie returned to the abyss of the dark bed, and wrapped her right forearm around a bolted down piece of cargo rope, and braced for the rough deceleration.

Warning the others, she spoke to everyone in Italian.

“Trattenere Qualcosa.”

Immediately, they all mimicked her actions and found something either bolted, or tied down to hold onto.

The deceleration came fast, and with aggression. Everyone in the rear bed was whipped from side-to-side. Bones smashed against the hard edges of the wood crates, and those who chose to wrap body parts around bolted down rope suffered harsh burns.

Finally coming to a full stop, Garret popped his head through the partition to check on his passengers.

“Sorry about that. Everyone okay back there?”

Moans, angry grunts, and a muffled curse, or at least what sounded like a curse from Corrado answered his question.

“This truck is a beast. We’re lucky we didn’t flip,” Garret said, trying to ease the tension by fishing for a little pity, “Unfortunately, we can’t waste anymore time. I need you up here, Rosalie. Now. We need to keep moving.”

Rosalie’s forearm was badly burned by the friction caused by the rope, but she made no effort to show it any attention. She instead checked on everyone else, and made sure no one had any pressing injuries.

Discovering nothing major, save for a similar burn on Corrado’s left arm, she peeled back the tarp, and climbed out of the truck.

“I don’t like this, Rosie,” Corrado said, speaking in Italian, “I know we agreed on trusting each other. But I don’t trust this plan. I don’t trust him. Not with the violin, or with you.”

Rosalie reached her hands upwards, and cupped her brother’s warm cheeks in her palms.

“Do you trust me?” She said, in a soft Italian whisper.

Corrado sighed, because he knew what she was really asking. With Rosalie, it was always more than just trust. It was faith. And that was something, regardless of how many times he read her diary, he would always have in her until the day that he died.

“I do.”

Rosalie smiled, and took her final step off of the lower ladder.

“Don’t worry, Corrado. I’ll keep the partition open.”