the Pioneers’ now isolated redoubt, but the 4th Fallschirmjäger Regiment, who had remained in Cassino town throughout the battle, had received theirs. Getting away safely, however, was no easy task. The town was tucked into the side of the Monte Cassino massif, but the area directly to the south was already in British hands. The only escape route was to climb back up the mountain and then down the other side. Hans-Jürgen Kumberg had been preparing himself for the move all day, with his comrades gathering together every bit of equipment they could – even empty ammunition cases. Then at around 10 p. m., they began climbing up Monastery Hill along a narrow path. Hans found it an extremely tense experience. It was pitch dark, they were heavily laden, but they had to try and walk as quietly as possible. Even so, as they neared the top of the mountain, they began to hear Poles call out in German, ‘Come this way, come here!’ Like all other units in the 1st Fallschirmjäger Division, their numbers had diminished massively, but they now lost a further third of their number as men, confused on that dark mountain, fell for the ruse. Hans, however, stuck closely to the man in front and to the path that eventually began to lead them back down the mountain again. ‘Amazingly, not a single shot was fired,’ he says. ‘Perhaps both sides were worried about hitting their own men.’ Those that remained struggled all night, weighed down by their loads. ‘We were under orders to take everything with us,’ adds Hans, ‘but gradually you could hear men dropping things to the ground. You just couldn’t handle it any more.’
Hans finally reached the town of Pontecorvo, some seven miles behind Cassino, the following morning. He was utterly exhausted after his night trek up and over the mountain but relieved to have made it safely. Meanwhile, dramatic events were about to take place on Monte Cassino itself. At around ten that morning a battered white flag was hoisted above the monastery. A dozen men from Wladek Rubnikowicz’s regiment, the 12th Lancers, cautiously picked their way through the minefield and approached the ruins. They found only a handful of German paratroopers left, who all surrendered without firing a shot. The Poles, unable to find a Polish flag, attached a 12th Lancers pennant to a branch and stuck that into the rubble instead. It was 10.20 a.m. and the Battle of Monte Cassino was finally over.
It was a triumph for the Poles but came at a bitter cost. ‘Of course we were thrilled to have taken Monte Cassino,’ says Wladek. ‘When we captured it we all felt as though we had shown everyone what we were capable of. But a lot of people died.’
So they did. Polish casualties were 3,779 – and most of those were men who had, like Wladek, already endured the loss of their homes and their country, had been imprisoned, beaten and starved, and who had then travelled thousands of miles in order to continue the fight for their freedom.
* ‘Jabo’ was an abbreviation of Jagdbomber – literally, ‘fighter-bomber’.
Despite the cool efficiency with which Germany had occupied much of Italy and the way it had disarmed the Italian armed forces, these actions had begun to cause something of an own goal. By May 1944, German forces in Italy were faced with a major partisan – or ‘bandit’ as they liked to call them – problem. Still comparatively few in number in the big scheme of things, these guerrillas were nonetheless already becoming a serious thorn in Kesselring’s side and greatly loathed by the German soldiers, who felt it was one thing to fight against a uniformed enemy at the front, but quite another to be shot at from behind by men and women who looked like civilians. Unsurprisingly, this threat did much to fuel the already prevailing attitude of most Germans towards Italians – which was one of contempt for their perceived collective cowardice, treachery, and poor fighting qualities. Italy had let them down and so deserved everything that came its way.
It was a vicious circle because it was largely due to severe German measures that a number of young Italians were now actively engaged in guerrilla warfare. ‘Everything in occupied Italy must be exploited by us for our war effort,’ wrote Ambassador Rahn – and that meant bleeding the country dry. Nearly all Italian gold reserves had been handed over. The Repubblica Sociale Italiana was denied the right to an economic and trade policy of its own. The north’s factories were turned over to Albert Speer, the Armaments Minister. As the Allies advanced, any industry at the front line was shut down, the equipment packed off to Germany and then the factory or plant blown to bits. Food was also siphoned off to Germany, even though there was not enough to go round in Italy. The Italians were also expected to pay for German war-related costs, an expense which proved impossible. Even so, by May 1944, the RSI was handing over a staggering 10 billion lire a month – roughly £2,500,000 in today’s money. ‘I am perfectly conscious of the sentiment of violent aversion nourished by the German soldiers against the Italians,’ Rahn continued, ‘including those Italians who for one reason or another continue to fight at our side.’ Yet, he warned officers of the German Propaganda Section, ‘This negative attitude damages our war effort. It is an emotional impulse which must be better hidden.’63
It was a bit late for that. Germany’s disdain for those countries it occupied was all too evident to their inhabitants. Of course, very few Italians knew the details of these measures, but their effects were keenly felt. Moreover, for a nation that had briefly thought the war was over the previous autumn, it did not help seeing German troops all over the place, their continuing presence preventing the peace that the majority so strived for; or reading repeated notices warning that infringement of the new laws was punishable by death.
Moreover, Germany was not only bleeding dry Italy’s wealth and resources, but also its manpower. The Third Reich had become expert at plundering occupied territories for labour, and no one was better at foreign labour recruitment than Fritz Sauckel, the General Plenipotentiary for Labour Mobilisation. By May 1944, there were more than 7.5 million foreign workers in Germany. As soon as Italy surrendered, Sauckel packed off his subordinate, Hermann Kretzschmann, to organise labour recruitment, whether it be voluntary, coerced or compulsory. Most workers were sent to Germany, but a large number were also used by the Organisation Todt, founded by Albert Speer’s predecessor as Armaments Minister, Fritz Todt, as a labour force that was used for the construction of military defences. It had been the Organisation Todt, full of forced Italian labourers, which had made most of the German defences around Cassino and which was now also reinforcing the next major line of defence north of Rome, the Pisa–Rimini Line.
A number of men were recruited by regular round-ups not dissimilar to the press gangs used by the British Royal Navy of old. Others were creamed off from Mussolini’s conscription drives, much to the Duce’s chagrin. Initial conscription had not been too bad: 50,000 men had responded to their call-up papers by the beginning of 1944. But thereafter numbers fell dramatically. Those who had not reported for duty were given several amnesties: a date in March was declared by which they had to report and then a further date in May. Those who still did not present themselves were threatened with execution and reprisals against their families. The only alternative for many was to go into hiding, within the city or in the mountains, where a large number joined the growing bands of partisans.
This was precisely what happened to Carlo Venturi, an eighteen-year-old from the tiny village of Fondazza, south-west of Bologna. By May 1944, as one of those born in 1925, Carlo had received his call-up papers. His family, contadini, had never had much interest in politics. ‘They were neither anti-nor pro-Fascist,’ says Carlo. ‘My father didn’t want to get involved.’ Since the armistice, however, Carlo had instinctively felt opposed to the German occupation and the new Fascist government. A factory worker in nearby Casalecchio di Reno, Carlo had, along with a number of other young men, raided a barracks immediately after the surrender and had stolen some arms. They viewed the Germans as the aggressors, and after
