The fighting near Agrigento in the recollection of Alfredo
Ferri, from Treviglio (Lombardy), then a 22-year-old Bersaglieri second lieutenant:
"On a bad day, towards the end of June, brief posters –
almost like mourning posters – appeared on the walls of every city and small
town, informing the population that it was thought that the landing of
Anglo-American troops was near. In addition to the ritual demands for calm and instructions
on how to behave, they informed that the bells would no longer be rung. The resuming
of their sound would give the news of landing.
"The days that followed were consumed, for families, in
the most worried discussions about what to do and what to put away, and in the
exchange of news and opinions with family and friends. The tension was becoming
more acute, every noise could be the one of the bells. On the night of 8 July,
we heard the sound of bells coming from the country before the arrival of the
messenger. It was about twenty-two hours and we were preparing to sleep. I
cried, "the bells, the bells."
"In the dark it was all excited screams, commands,
everything was removed in the shortest possible time, tents, command, kitchens,
and loaded on carts. The laborious movements of men's shadows loomed against
the few lights. After the Bersaglieri were loaded on the trucks, the tarpaulin
covers were tied, and the officers climbed in the cabins, the column quickly rushed
to the coast. The road seemed entirely made of curves, down to Burgio, then to
Ribera till the junction of Montallegro, in complete darkness, to reach after
about eighty kilometers the suburbs of Agrigento. For our company the destination
was the "Post 93, Point 90, near the mouth of the river Naro, at km 193 of
SS [Strada Statale, trunk road] Agrigentina n. 115". The order was
"resistance to the bitter end to prevent the access of enemy armored
vehicles in Agrigento".
"The American fleet was now in sight of the Sicilian
coast, and American planes continuously passed high above us. The landing started
with the launch of thousands of paratroopers in the inland areas of the island.
Our post was about ten kilometers away, located on a hill above the road that ran
along the sea. Two curves limited the visibility. The hill had already been
partially prepared for defense, with the excavation of some trenches and foxholes.
"In the late afternoon the first blacks dots of the
approaching fleet appeared in the sea, and above our heads we began to hear the
hissing sound of the first bombs that were thrown far behind us. Slowly, the
black dots became more and more dense and large while the shelling from the sea
increased in intensity. With sunset the traces of bullets became more clear, in
different colors. The sky exploded into a frightening whirlwind of fires and
explosions. We were not able to identify the targets of these shots, but it was
certainly the city and the port of Agrigento. Not us, for the moment.
"From the first row of big ships, smaller boats began
to come off, and from these other smaller ones, almost filling the sea area in
front of us. A part of the US 7th Army was landing on the beach in front of us.
We spent the long hours of dusk and night with the most mixed feelings in the
heart, without a word, attracted to the rumbles, the hissing of the bullets and
the "spectacle" of colors that enveloped us.
With the onset of the night everything it stopped almost
suddenly, and the darkness hid from our eyes the landing operations which
certainly had ended on the beach. Waiting for dawn, tired from work and from the
emotions, the Bersaglieri had fallen asleep curled up in the trenches. We four
officers tried to rest a little on the sheaves of straw left on center of the
hill.
"The rosy dawn was still forming in the sky when we
were woken by the first bullet hits on our positions. With a quick run we
reached our trenches, hidden by reeds and straw laid on them. One of us,
however, remained on the field, shot in the knee by a large machine gun tracer
bullet. We could not do anything for him, as the battle had broken out. He was rescued
later by the stretcher-bearers of a health section, who had been placed under
cover, behind us, to service other units that operated in the area.
"While running, I fell in my trench, where the
Bersaglieri manning the anti-tank gun were anxious. The first tanks had
appeared in one of the curves of the road to Agrigento. The cannon ready and
put into position, I fired on the first tank. Perhaps, more than my aim, it was
luck that directed the blow to the tracks, blocking the tank on the road, prompting
the others that followed to quickly withdraw behind the curve. This was my
baptism of fire.
"The American infantry, which had remained hidden on
the beach, started to attack our stronghold. The attack lasted till the
evening, then ceased. We began to move tentatively, without a response from the
Americans. I sent a few Bersaglieri down to the road. One tank crewman was
still in the tank. He was our first, and only, prisoner, whom whe accompanied to
the rear. But what most made us rejoiced were the supplies of food found in the
tank, cigarettes, chocolate, biscuits, jam, taste unknown to us. It was the
first contact with the living habits of Americans and their wealth.
"Much less pleasure gave us the discovery that the
gunners of the post below us had fled. They were in a place too exposed and
they could not do anything else. One was still hidden in the ditch of the road.
He would not hear about getting into our trenches, and he disappeared during
the night.
"We spent almost the entire night awake. The fear of a
sudden attack after the unexpected cessation of fire, forced us to maintain a
high state of alarm. The Bersaglieri watched in turns, some slept as best as they
could in the trenches, others out on wheat stubble, wrapped in capes, and so did
us officers. I ventured to take a brief tour of the positions. Everything still
seemed quiet.
"The next morning it was not the "rosy dawn" to
welcome us on this earth, but the furious fire of machine guns. Thus started a
new day of battle, on our part to prevent the transit on the road and thwart American
attempts to attack our stronghold. The afternoon hours slowly passed, in the
fiery pit of the trenches, almost eternal for us who expected the cool of the
night and the cessation of the shots.
"We had run out of water reserves, and the we started
to feel the thirst. With the onset of darkness, the shooting stopped. It was
agreed between us and the Americans almost a form of tacit understanding. In
the dark we began to move with less prudence, without meeting any hostile
action. We too felt their movements, and even the ping of spades with which
they adjusted their defenses. But we did not shoot.
"It was possible to send down a small patrol in the
farm below us to look for water. The well was still in use. They came back with
a few small bottles of water and even with a few eggs that the hens, not
frightened by the gunfire at all, smoothly continued to lay. The night passed
with less tension, and a little more rest.
"On the third day, the music changed. The American
soldiers had changed the direction of attack, moving it on our left, where we
thought there were major deposits of sulfur slabs. On our maps there were not,
however, indications of the existence of sulfur mines. Behind, in sheltered
position, they placed some batteries of mortars. From there began, in the
morning, the first shots. We would have preferred the blunt firing of machine
guns than the mortar fire, which came devious, without notice. We could hear
them whistling above our heads, and, when we were lucky, bursting behind us.
They were shooting a long shot and one short, to adjust fire.
"The shots were falling closer and closer, but,
fortunately, never hit right in the trenches. The land around the stronghold
was now full of holes and bumps. We began to suffer the first wounded, hit by
shrapnel while attempting to crawl to ammunition depots. There was still,
although risky, a modest assistance to the wounded, who were transported to the
rear.
"The day passed without the enemy being able to advance
towards our positions. The cannon continued to be of much use in the support of
the fire of machine guns and rifles. We could see with binoculars the Americans,
through the narrow corridors of the blocks of sulfur slabs, move running from
one block to another in an attempt to approach us.
"I pointed the 47/32 gun in one of these corridors,
waiting and counting the times of their movements. I fired almost by instinct,
hitting right in a small patrol. I still see the scene, albeit distant and
confused, the movements of wounded soldiers. It took me a moment of absurd joy,
followed by the shout of victory of the two Bersaglieri who were helping me.
Then I went on to ask me why I was happy.
"The tension and fatigue began to be felt. As food we
had hard biscuits, some old loaves and some tins of hard and fibrous meat. For
the water, we could still count on night supplies from the well of the farm.
"We began to count our dead. In my trench, fallen over
the pile of earth around, one of our sergeants, De Luca, from Apulia, had been
shot in the middle of the forehead, a small hole, with instant death I think.
Not even a cry, the eyes staring towards the sky. He had in his pocket a
fifteen days’ leave to return home to bid farewell to his young wife, whom he
had just married.
"Another soldier was shot in the abdomen by a hail of
bullets. He lay on the edge of the trench, with his belly open. His
lamentations, pain, his vain pleas for help continued for many hours without us
having a chance to assist him.
"The nervous tension of the Bersaglieri, who were now
collapsing, gave us officers serious concerns. One of my Bersaglieri, who seemed
the more strong and robust, suffered in an afternoon from a nervous breakdown,
drooling and screaming his desire to end all that. The other comrades,
terrified, looked at me waiting for my help. I made an unconscious act,
spontaneous and dangerous. I took him by the shirt, slamming him against the
trench wall, giving him two strong slaps, without a word. He remained silent,
staring at me, and after a few moments he came to himself, but did not say any
words.
"The battle went on for a couple of days, without the
Americans being able to move forward. The stronghold, under constant
bombardment with mortars, was reduced to a mass of holes. In the ammunition
depots, hit several times, the cases continued to burn, increasing the danger of
any movement. Even the anti-tank gun was hit. It remained overturned in its
pitch out of my trench, now useless, as was most of our weapons, with no more
ammunition. We felt that the end was near. We prepared small deposits of hand
grenades on the edges of the trenches, for the last defense.
"For six days we had been eating little biscuits soaked
in water, but even these were ending, and we could not go down to the well of
the farm anymore. The Americans, too, had slowed the pace of their attacks.
Most likely they waited for our surrender and they did not want more deaths.
"On the morning of the seventh day the shots were
further decreased, and early in the afternoon they almost came to an end. I was
lying out of the trench, on the pitch of the cannon, sheltered by a pile of
earth. With binoculars I tried to locate the American positions from whence
there came no sound, nor did we notice any movement.
I was so absorbed that at the first moment, I did not notice
that some shadows, cast by the setting sun behind my back, were appearing in
front of me. I quickly jumped in the trench. Above, menacing, a patrol of
American soldiers, with machine guns, demanded our surrender. They had broken
through a point in our stronghold, and they took us from behind. In the double
trench, which had the shape of an L, the Bersaglieri had taken refuge in the branch
when they were more sheltered. To be able to hit us, the Americans would have
to move to the other side, but they feared our reaction. Their demands to come
out were followed by repeated shots in the trench. Now there was nothing that
could be done. It was up to me, waving a white handkerchief in my hand, going
out first. They saw unarmed and did not shoot.
"After an initial feeling of fear, I was overtaken by a
sudden sense of calm. In the eyes of the Bersaglieri, almost in disbelief, I
read the passage from the feelings of fear to those of resignation and then
almost of joy.
"For us it was over. All around, in the middle of the
holes of the bombs, were our dead. They did not leave us the time to collect
them, nor to grieve.
"Others came out of the trenches and joined the small
group of those who remained of my squad. They took us to a distant grove, and
divided the officers from the others. A quick identification with the dog tags
we carried around our neck, then they replaced them with a tag, a canvas
cardboard, hanging on the neck with a cord: "Date of capture july, 16,
1943 – place of capture, Agrigento, Naro River, Q95 – Alfredo Ferri – 2nd Ltn –
Unity making capture 7th CT" and my serial number : 81-1-49495." On the
back of the tag it was written, in distorted Italian, "Se previene i
prigionieri di guerra di non mutilare, distruggere e perdere questa etichetta"
(prisoners of war are forbidden from maiming, destroying or losing this label).
"The US government can feel comfortable. I still
carefully keep it among my souvenirs. From that time I had become a "PW,
prisoner of war".
(From the book by
Alfredo Ferri, "Diari di vita e di cooperazione. 1921-2005",
published by Ecra, Edizioni del Credito cooperativo, 2009.)
