Street Boys (29 page)

They moved in a straight line along the edges of the street, crouching low, using the rays of the sun behind them as cover. Connors led the way. Antonio, with Aldo in his arms, was close behind. Maldini took up the rear, his eyes focused on Pietro and Giovanni.

They were less than a quarter of a mile from the castle entrance.

Connors skidded to a stop, guns at his side, when he saw the tank slam out of the front of a burning building. Seven others soon followed, each with a dozen soldiers in its wake, their rifles and machine guns aimed at the two men and four boys. The tanks spread out and blocked off the road to the castle entrance, the soldiers crowding in alongside each one. Connors turned and looked behind him, where a dozen other tanks and more than sixty soldiers were closing in. He took a deep breath and stared over at Maldini. “If you can think of something clever to get us out of this,” he said, “now would be the time to tell me.”

“As a matter of fact,” Maldini said, squeezing Pietro closer to him. “I do have an idea.”

“Share it with me.”

“We’re going to surrender,” Maldini said. “And then let them have everything they want. Including the castle.”

Connors walked over to Maldini, his eyes to the ground, shaking his head. “That’s an insane idea,” he said. “Even if it works.”

“The insane ones always have a better chance,” Maldini said, moving with Pietro toward the waiting Nazi tanks and soldiers.

27

VIA TADDEO DA SESSA

Carlo Petroni walked down the center of the street, making his way toward the Palazzo Reale and a meeting with the colonel. He knew he was short on time. The street boys had dismissed him and taken the tank he had stolen from the Nazis. Von Klaus, who neither liked nor trusted him, had grown impatient and wanted results from the money he invested. Carlo realized his initial plan of playing one side against the other was no longer valid, which left him little choice but to side with the Nazis, gather his small band and do battle against the street boys. It was what he planned to tell Von Klaus at their meeting, attempt to convince the dubious Nazi that he would be a useful ally in the fight to quell the children’s uprising. His one other possibility was to run, make his way north and ply his criminal trade on the fresh streets of Rome or Milan until the war was at an end. But it was not in Petroni’s nature to flee, regardless of how dangerous or untenable the situation in which he found himself. Carlo also knew enough to understand that whatever the outcome of the battle for Naples, it wouldn’t last beyond another day or two. And he was confident he could survive for that short a time, even against a vindictive Nazi. Carlo Petroni was a good thief, but he excelled at surviving.

He was about to turn a corner when he saw the little boy running toward him, a large dog by his side. “Don’t go down that street,” the boy shouted, his voice barely heard above the loud barks of the dog.

Carlo ignored the boy and continued walking, turning down a side street that would bring him out closer to Nazi headquarters. The boy’s footsteps grew louder as did his shouting. “Stay out of there,” he yelled. “It’s too dangerous.”

Carlo was halfway down the street when he turned and faced the little boy and the dog. “What do you want?” he asked.

“You can’t go down there,” the boy said. “Come back this way. I’ll show you a safer way to go.”

“Who are you to tell me where to go?” Carlo asked.

“My name is Fabrizio,” the boy said.

“Your name means nothing to me,” Carlo said. “And your words mean even less. Now go play with your dog and leave me alone.”

“The street is mined,” Fabrizio told him. “You have to come back this way.”

“Did one of the others send you here?” Carlo asked. “To tell me some lie and get me to come back with you?”

“No one sent me,” Fabrizio said. “And I never lie.”

“You live in Naples long enough, you’ll learn that the truth is not your friend,” Carlo said with a dismissive wave.

Carlo turned and continued his walk down the dank street. Fabrizio and the mastiff watched him go, the boy stepping back from the shadows.

Fabrizio and the mastiff were halfway up a short incline leading toward the tunnels when the explosion rocked the street behind them. They ran back and stood against a brick wall, staring through the waves of smoke at the ruined body of Carlo Petroni.

28

MASCHIO ANGIOINO

The large window spaces on all sides of the castle were filled with street boys, their rifles and guns hanging over the side. The tank was down in the center of the vast square, a short distance away from the locked front door. The rooftops were a sea of heads and rifles, each poised and aimed at the tanks below. Nunzia now stood next to Vincenzo and Franco, Angela by her side. She looked down at Connors and her father and the four boys huddled around them, tanks and soldiers on either side. “They have no choice. If they’re to make it, they must give up their weapons.”

“The Nazis aren’t interested in prisoners,” Vincenzo said. “Only in casualties.”

“We can’t just stand here and do nothing,” Nunzia said. “We have to get them out of there.”

Vincenzo turned away from the street. “I don’t know how,” he said. “If we start shooting, the Nazis will fire on them first before they turn to deal with us. If we don’t start shooting, they might also be killed. And they’re too boxed in to make a run for the grass, especially with the wounded boy.”

“They might be willing to let the others go free,” Franco said, “in return for the American. He’s probably worth more to them than any of the others.”

“I hope that’s not true,” Vincenzo said. “That would make Maldini and the boys useless to them, which means they’ll be killed first.”

“The American has to betray us,” Angela said. “It’s the smartest move he’s got and the only one.”

“He would never betray us.” Nunzia’s voice rose in anger. “He’d die before he would do anything like that.”

“I know he wouldn’t,” Angela said, straining her neck in an effort to get a closer look. “That’s why I hope Maldini thinks of it first.”

Vincenzo whirled around and stared down at the younger girl. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Down there, they’re surrounded by Nazis with no hope for escape,” Angela explained. “But if they surrender and offer to lead them to us, then the Nazis would be in our circle. That’s how we would do it in Forcella. But since I’m not the general, I’ll shut up and leave the thinking to you.”

Vincenzo looked from Angela to the array of tanks and soldiers lining the street below, Connors, Maldini and the four boys standing in the middle of it all, their arms raised, their guns tossed to the ground. “Pull the boys away from the windows,” he said after several quiet moments. “Put them on the other side of the castle, facing the inside, laying low and unseen. Move the tank away from the entrance, at least for now.”

“It’s going to take more than that to get it done,” Franco said. “We haven’t gone up against that many tanks and soldiers since this started.”

“I know it will,” Vincenzo agreed. “While Nunzia gets the boys in position, we’ll line the area around the front of the castle with mines, on both sides of the wall. And find Gennaro. Tell him to hide over by the drawbridge, down by the moat. Once the tanks are in and through, have him burn apart the chains that hold the bridge down.”

“Why do that?” Angela asked.

“Once they’re in, I want them to stay in. If they give us too much of a fight, the boys and everyone else can leave by the windows and down the walls. The soldiers can follow us, but the tanks have only two ways in or out. We take those away, they’re stuck here.”

“What about the bronze door?” Franco asked. “It’s strong but the tanks can smash their way right through it.”

“It will take them some effort,” Vincenzo said. “Even more if we barricade it with our own tank.”

“What about the tanks and soldiers outside the castle?” Angela wanted to know. “They won’t all come into the courtyard.”

“We’ll split our forces,” Vincenzo said. “Front and back, we fight them from both sides of the castle.”

Nunzia put her hand on Vincenzo’s arm. “You think the Nazis will fall for it?”

“That all depends,” Vincenzo said, picking up his rifle, “on how good a traitor your father can be.”

Maldini, his hands high above his head, looked at the young German officer and turned away from Connors. “I can give you the castle,” he said. “All I want is for the boys to be safe and the wounded boy to be cared for.”

“And what of the American?” the officer asked. “Do you wish for his safety as well?”

“The American can look out for himself,” Maldini said, in a dismissive manner.

The tanks and soldiers were spread out on both ends of the road, hot wheels smoking, turrets fully loaded, men staring with impassive expressions. The officer, his hands folded behind his back, glanced down at the wounded street boy, now resting on the ground, his head leaning against Antonio’s leg. “How many are in the castle?” he asked Maldini. His Italian was choppy but clear. “And where?”

“About a hundred boys,” Maldini told him without hesitating. “All armed and ready to fight. But with the American out of the way I can get them to put down their weapons and surrender. They’ll listen to what I have to say. And more important than any of my words, they’ll see your tanks and soldiers inside the castle walls. They’ve grown tired of the battle and their spirit is already weak. With my help, you can take them with few if any shots fired.”

Connors glared over at Maldini and shook his head in anger. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he shouted. “They’ll take the castle and then kill every kid in there. I knew you were a drunk, Maldini. I didn’t know you were a coward and a fool.”

Maldini motioned back and forth between Connors and the officer. “You two still have your war to fight,” he told them. “Ours is at its end. Let us walk away from it alive.”

The officer stared at Maldini and weighed his options, glancing across his shoulder at the wide expanse of the medieval structure. He believed in the skills of his men and the strength of his force; he could take the castle from the outside. But the Italians would be armed and ready for a struggle. Both men and tanks would be lost. They had the advantage of height, able to shoot down on his troops from the brick safety of their enclosure, while he held the upper hand in firepower and military expertise. It would, he realized, be easier and less costly to take control of the castle from within, enabling his men to surround the Italians and bring the fight to them on more advantageous terrain. That left open the question of trust. He didn’t fully believe the older man’s instant conversion from street fighter to war-weary savior, but he’d seen enough battles on this front to appreciate the Italian penchant for switching sides when the road before them grew difficult. It would be within the old man’s nature to cast aside the American. Their alliance was tenuous under the best of circumstances. But the Italian hatred for the Nazis and all that had been done to their people and country was beyond borders and the officer needed to weigh such feelings in his final decision.

“Kill the American,” he said to one of his soldiers. “Then have the old man and the boys lead us into the castle. We’ll do what needs to be done once we’re inside.”

Maldini stepped in between Connors and the soldier, looking over at the officer and shaking his head. “Understand, I don’t care whether the American lives or dies,” Maldini said. “In fact, if you wish, I’ll kill him myself. But we need to let him live for a few minutes longer. Until we’re inside the walls of the castle.”

“Just out of curiosity,” the officer said, “tell me why.”

“He still has many who follow him hidden behind those stone windows. If we kill him here, on the road, in full view, they’ll attack us. They won’t care whether you hold prisoners or not. But if you let him walk in with us and he happens to die during a moment of battle, then he will be a casualty of war instead of a martyr.”

The officer stepped up to Maldini and stared down at him, their faces inches apart. “I warn you, old man,” the officer snarled. “If any of this is a ruse, it’ll be your head my bullets will be aimed toward.”

“I’d have it no other way,” Maldini said.

Vincenzo stared down at Connors, Maldini and the four boys leading the convoy of tanks and soldiers toward the front gates of the castle. “Let them in,” he told Franco. “As many as can fit inside the walls. And make sure Gennaro stays low and out of sight.”

“What about the boys?” Nunzia asked. “And Connors and Papa? How do we keep them safe once the shooting starts?”

“I’ll be down there with them,” Vincenzo said. “Somebody needs to greet our guests, why not me?”

“You’ll just be another target,” Angela said. “They won’t let you walk in there with any guns in your hand.”

“I won’t need a gun in my hands,” Vincenzo said, turning to leave.

Angela and Franco followed him out, but stopped at one of the darkened landings to look down at the street. It was filled with soldiers and tanks heading toward the castle. Connors and Maldini were each followed by a Nazi holding a machine gun. Angela heard the locks to the large, bronze front door click and then saw it swing open, flooding the darkened entrance with sunlight. “This could be a big mistake,” she said to Franco. “Once they’re in, they can kill as many of ours as we can of theirs.”

“How much time before they come through the doors?” Franco asked, stepping away from the window, the approaching Nazi brigade masking half his body in shadows.

“Ten minutes, maybe more if they move the tanks in before the troops.”

“That should be more than enough for what we need to do,” Franco said.

“Which is what?” she asked.

“Mine those doors. It won’t be enough to keep all the soldiers out, but it should at least slow their first wave.”

“We don’t have enough mines left to block off every door. But we can have some of the boys soak down the ones we can’t mine and put somebody with a kerosene bottle close enough to each to set it off.”

Franco looked over at her. “There was some grumbling among the boys when you joined the group,” he said. “It never was anything personal. You’re a girl and it was hard for some of them to get over that. They thought it wasn’t your place to be fighting next to an army of boys.”

“Were you one of them?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you feel about it now?”

“The same way I felt about it after that first day I watched you lay down some of the mines,” he said. “You were the only one of us not to break into a sweat. You’ve saved a lot of lives being with us and I’m glad that you are.”

Angela picked up her machine gun and began to walk toward a door in the rear of the corridor. “You should be,” she said. She walked past Franco and out toward an unlit staircase.

Vincenzo stepped into the courtyard through a side door, watching the influx of tanks and soldiers crowd the scenic square. He had a long row of grenades and thin bomb cylinders strapped around his waist, the wires jutting out from each connected to a small device with a red button he held in his right hand. He walked with a quiet purpose toward the young Nazi officer who stood facing Connors and Maldini, and he gave a knowing nod to both men as he approached. The officer caught the look in their eyes, turned his head and saw Vincenzo give him a wave, ignoring the three Nazi rifles aimed in his direction. The officer studied the wired mechanism around the boy’s waist and raised a hand slightly to hold his men at bay. “It won’t work,” he told Vincenzo, watching as the boy positioned himself next to a tank, his hand at his side, finger pressed on the red button linked to the wires. “I don’t think those bombs are for real and, even if they were, I don’t believe you have the courage it takes to set them off. It’s one thing to kill soldiers hidden behind a wall. It’s quite another to willingly take your own life along with that of mine and my men.”

“That’s not something you’ll know until I let go of this button,” Vincenzo said, his voice maintaining a calm, reasonable tone, the flutter in one of his eyes the only sign of internal distress. “It’d be a waste of many lives if you were wrong.”

The officer reached an arm out for Maldini and dragged the older man closer to him. “Do you know this boy?” he asked.

“I first met him several days ago,” Maldini said, looking from the Nazi to Vincenzo. “I wanted to keep the boys who remained in Naples safe and I was told to turn to him for help.”

“Why him?” the officer asked.

“They pointed him out as their leader. He was the one most eager to kill the Nazis when they came into the city.”

“How eager?”

“Eager enough to die doing it,” Maldini said.

The officer pushed Maldini aside and glared at Connors. “What about you?” he asked in English. “Do you know this boy as well?”

Connors shrugged. “Dirty shirt, torn pants, dark hair, dark eyes,” he said. “You spend enough time around here and they all start to blend into one another. Everywhere you turn it feels as if you’re looking at the same kid.”

The square was now filled with twenty tanks, with another fifteen lining the outer perimeter of the castle. One hundred soldiers were inside the square, guns at their sides, their eyes focused on the large open windows above them. Except for the four prisoners in the middle of the square and Vincenzo standing in front of the tank, none of the other street boys were visible.

The square was silent.

“Do you think the boy speaks the truth?” the officer, sweat now lining the dark collar of his uniform, asked Maldini. “About the bombs strapped to his body?”

“I don’t know,” Maldini said, shaking his head and eyeing the Nazi carefully, trying to weigh his resolve. “And I’m relieved not to have the burden of such a decision placed on my shoulders.”

The officer stepped away from Connors and Maldini and approached Vincenzo. The boy had been watching the positioning of the tanks and the deployment of the troops, one squad assigned to each of the interior buildings, the contingent of soldiers outside the castle walls placed on the edges of the grass, fifty meters beyond the front entrance. The plan in place did not take into account such a large number of tanks and soldiers beyond the walls, which now meant the fleeing boys would be making their drop down the side of the castle under the glare of Nazi rifles. He glanced over at Connors, catching his eye, and saw the same look of concern across his face. Vincenzo had read enough military history to know even the greatest plan always contains one essential flaw. Overcoming that unexpected error is what often separated a great victory from a monstrous blunder. Vincenzo had left himself only a matter of minutes with which to come up with that solution.