“Can"t keep this pace up,” Fred said. “Have to find a mule or a couple of donkeys.” He looked at the map. “There should be a couple of hill farms up ahead.”
Fred and the veteran Italian soldier went on ahead. Dante and the other soldier hid the loot and the packs in a thicket and stood guard in defensive positions.
Dante stood tense, mouth dry, belly shrunk to a tight knot, afraid that Fascist militia, maybe Black Brigade—or worse, the Germans—would find them.
“Be quick, Fred,” he muttered, worried about shitting his pants.
After ten minutes, they came back with an old but sturdy mule, a big fellow. They"d offered payment for the animal and left the peasant with his two donkeys.
“Report us to the Fascists and we"ll come back and kill you,” the Italian soldier had said.
The old man ha
