Guido Pagliarino - The Rage Of The Reviled

On September 8, Italy announced the armistice officially, made personally by Badoglio on the radio at 1900 hours and 37 minutes. Thanks to the reinforcements which had arrived rapidly, Germany had remained undisputed master from the Alps to the city of Naples, while the province of Salerno had become a combat zone for the Anglo-American landing on September 9.

The anger of the Neapolitans, already hot because of the war they had already been through, had become scorcing. They had had to endure too much in the three years and more after the regime’s traitorous and improvident entry into the conflict on June 10, 1940, behind Nazi Germany. Naples had been systematically bombed by the British and then also by the Americans, with as many as one hundred and five raids until the armistice, all of which had hit the mark turning buildings to rubble and leaving large numbers of people dead, injured and mutilated, and hordes of homeless families. Not a single district had been spared, also because the political and military leaders had been unable to prepare adequate anti-air defenses, which had been entrusted almost entirely, in an improvised way, to the warships at anchor in the port.

And then, the hunger! That grim and voiceless hunger that takes your legs from under you; and since the illusion of peace of July 25 has faded, more bombs hail down on the city, bringing absolute famine and diseases with more deaths from the lack of medicines. From September 9, Naples had suffered material damage from the Germans, including serious damage to the port, and had been subjected to roundups and executions not only of Italian soldiers on the loose but also civilians.

Even the fascists, albeit in a subordinate position, had taken possession of the city a couple of weeks after September 8, risen again from the political tombs to become the newly born Stato Nazionale Repubblicano 10– soon to become the Italian Social Republic – formed on the 23rd of that month by Hitler himself, headed by an unwilling but resigned Mussolini who on the 12th had been freed by German paratroopers from house arrest in his refuge-hotel of Campo Imperatore on the Gran Sasso, where the King had relegated him.

The traditional Teutonic harshness of wartime had become, if possible, even more barbaric, incited by isolated attacks from citizens with the support of sailors from the moored ships of the Regia Marina 11. It was a very early, sporadic and spontaneous resistance, not yet connected to the adversaries of Nazi fascism. The rebellion had started in Via Santa Brigida where, on the morning of the 9th, about thirty residents had attacked a Wehrmacht squad after one of those soldiers had shot at an unarmed twelve-year-old shop boy with his ordinance rifle, a Mauser Kar 98k, as if he was at the shooting range in an amusement park, while the boy was at the door of the shop getting some sun.

The person who had kick-started that group of humiliated Neapolitans was the young Deputy Commissioner that we have already met in passing, Dr. Vittorio D'Aiazzo, who was passing nearby on foot when the German soldier had aimed and fired at the boy. Very indignant, the young Public Security officer had shot from around a corner without taking aim into the Teutonic bunch with his ordinance Beretta M34, emptying the magazine and killing two soldiers. He had then vanished down a side alley, not so much for fear of the enemy but afraid of trouble, or worse, from his superiors.

As he disappeared, those of the thirty exacerbated civilians present who had knives in their pockets, which was almost all of them, had pulled them out. The crowd, which had now become white hot with anger at the sight of the enemy corpses and the image d'o sbenturàto guaglio' 12who had been hit in the femoral artery and was dying fast, had thrown itself on the rest of the German squadron, screaming like savages. The soldier who had fired was the first to be slaughtered, emasculated by three outraged men, and a soldier had been punched on the nose by an assailant without a blade. Then someone behind him had attacked him with a large knife wounding him horizontally on the buttocks. Almost all the assailants had suffered bruising and lacerations to the arms and face, and one, worse, had lost his nose.

No German had managed to fire a single shot at the feral horde and, with the sergeant in the lead, the squad had fled quickly abandoning its arrogance on the cobblestones. The rifles and hand grenades of the slain and the rifles left on the ground by the most seriously wounded had been collected and hidden in the houses. Very soon they would serve to free the city. The three corpses had been taken to the slums and were dissected there. The shreds of flesh had been wrapped in rags and buried in various places in the area. It would be whispered later, true or false? that some nice piece of buttock though had ended up in undernourished bellies roasted. The street had been washed very energetically by the women of the fearless rebels, and never again would it be so clean.

At the same time in another area of Naples, completely independently, a group of improvised militants had attacked a handful of German sabateurs trying to occupy the headquarters of the telephone company, and had scared them off. The German platoon had avenged itself further on, capturing and shooting two carabinieri on patrol duty. Not long after, an entire German company of stormtroopers had arrived in front of the telephone building and had quickly overcome the insurgents who were guarding it.

Yet, contrary to the intentions of the Nazis, the anger of the humiliated Neapolitans had grown even stronger and the following day, at the foot of the hill of Pizzofalcone between Piazza del Plebiscito and the gardens below, there had been a real battle, ignited by some sailors with their '91 muskets and hand grenades, and stoked by numerous civilians armed with MP80 machine guns and model 24 grenades, stolen from the occupiers the previous day, and improvised Molotov cocktails. The rebels had prevented the passage of an entire column of German trucks and jeeps. Six people had died, three Italian sailors who had fought in the front line and as many German soldiers, with many wounded on both sides.

Heavy measures and serious reprisals by the Germans followed, ordered by the new commander of the city Colonel Walter Scholl who, on the 12th, had officially assumed absolute power. One of his proclamations had dictated that weapons were to be turned in, except for public security forces, a 9.00 pm curfew and a state of siege for the entire city, while not only had the soldiers and civilians taken prisoner been shot, but also several citizens deliberately rounded up.

After the 12th the Germans had gone completely wild, looting, destroying and burning. The university was the first to be set on fire, after shooting a defenseless Italian sailor in front of it, forcing the citizens present not only to assist at the execution, but to applaud it. Up until September 25, even though the city had no longer acted openly against the occupiers after the first few days, the German patrols had apprehended anyone not a policeman, who had been caught in the street in Italian uniform or, if in civilian dress, simply seemed suspicious.

Naples had kept quiet but was sizzling and preparing for the insurgence. In particular, soldiers who had deserted had been picked up one by one by members of the anti-nazifascist parties and hidden and trained in guerrilla warfare, many inside the underground rooms of the Sannazaro high school, the main headquarters of the newborn Neapolitan resistance.

On September 25, the same day on which Italy had been subjected to two very serious bombings on Bologna and Florence by the Americans, an ordinance had been issued in Naples which stipulated that all citizens of working age were obliged to perform tasks of hard labor for the Germans. It was the fuse for the insurgency that would take place a few days later, in perfect antithesis to the intimidating intentions of the Germans. The posters of the decree had already been affixed to the walls in the early morning of Sunday 26, the day before the one that would see the first flashes of the rebellion.