Chapter eightJuly 1945
Fiume
Ettore was in the back of a truck.
Four guards had come suddenly to their overcrowded, cramped cell, which for the past couple of weeks had housed twelve men in all. Their hands were bound in front of them and a cloth tied across their eyes. Their filthy, bearded faces held the same expression of grim apprehension. Once bound and blindfolded, they were led single file out the stone enclosure and down a narrow hall. As they tripped down the steps onto a gravelly road, they inhaled their first breath of fresh air in months. In this new light, it was easy to see they were malnourished and scrawny. Many had tied knots in their trousers to keep them from falling down. Like unruly cattle they were prodded with the butts of rifles and pushed up into a truck. As the
