“What opposition should I have? On the other hand, I am elated at this brief respite which has come so suddenly. One of our proverbs says there is no Saturday without a bit of sun, but to-day is Friday. I’ll see you shortly.”
Everything was going well. The only thing that annoyed me was that the day was Friday. We Italians are a bit superstitious and it did not seem expedient to start a project of this nature on a Friday. I confessed my doubts to Gelmetti and he braced me by scolding me. “How foolish you are! Don’t you really want to take advantage of this respite which may be the only one? For I am convinced that the weather is still unsettled and remains determined to be crazy. If we do not leave to-night, we can forsake our project forever.” I let myself be convinced, but a little unwillingly.
Gelmetti was radiant, and was dressing himself in his toilette for great occasions, for we aviators are habitually dirty and oil-stained while at camp, but the moment we have to leave for a flight or some special action, we become fastidious and dandified; we don our best outfits, for we must be clean and elegant when we face the enemy, when we face death.
I too, had to consider my toilette, because I did not think my coat with the yellow collar would be the most suitable for such an undertaking. I donned a soldier’s coat with the distinguishing mark of the observer on the sleeve, and I prepared my observer’s tally for I decided to take it with me, as is customary with all aviators.
Through the window I observed that the “Voisin” was out on the field and that they were filling her up with the supplies of gasoline and oil. One of the mechanics had jumped up onto a wing and with a large can was filling the feed above the wing. His demeanor was that of a tranquil trainer who knows his beast; he was singing snatches of a song popular among our soldiers:
“Oh rare, delightful sweetheart Beloved and sought by all, You are that dear strange creature, For whom by chance we fall.”
Another mechanic was testing the motor with his fingers on the gas control to see the response of the six powerful cylinders. To me, whose ear is well trained after many flights over the enemy, the motor appeared to function well, and this gave me great confidence. A lieutenant from the general staff who is a specialist in the use of the silencer, was explaining to Gelmetti how to set the silencer in action. After a brief discussion they decided that we were not to use this attachment on leaving our territory, but to ascend with open exhaust and use the silencer only when we had arrived in enemy territory where it would be necessary to make no noise. These precautions were necessary so as not to strain the motor.
How rapidly my life seemed to flee during those hours, those minutes which still separated me from the moment when I should find myself face to face with the reality against which I have prepared and which I have long desired.
I entreated Colonel Smaniotto to communicate to my family that I was well every time he received a pigeon with a message from me. He promised to do it, and I was contented because I did not like my people to remain for long without news of me. However, I had to notify my father that I should be far away for a long time. I had had a photograph of myself with my beard taken, and above it I wrote the date, May 23, to recall the other 23rd of May, the day on which Italy entered the war. Had I no other joy in the world, it would suffice me to know that Italy was not beneath the other great powers and that she too had taken sides with righteousness and liberty. In sending to my father a last message before my departure I wrote the following lines with great emotion, “May 31, 1918. Dear father,—I beg of you not to worry if you do not receive a message from me for a long time. I am leaving on a special mission, and I do not believe I shall be able to communicate with you directly, but you will receive news of my condition from headquarters. I ask this new sacrifice of you in the name of the suffering lands which are waiting for us. May we meet again. A kiss to you.... (P.S. I shall bring a greeting to mother from you.)” My mother is buried at Vittorio and from the closing words he would understand the destination of my mission. This was the only hint I gave my father of where I intended going.
Bottecchia and the De Carli brothers were eating. My soldier, who has a sturdy exterior, was storing as much food as he could in his inside, for he feared, with reason, that it would be difficult to find food on the other side. I, on the contrary, when I am about to undertake something important can swallow only a very small quantity and a sober repast is sufficient to appease my appetite. Night fell slowly over the field, and I lighted a lamp so I might see to write two postcards to my distant friends. On each one I wrote “arrivederci” and my name. They will understand. Every promise is an obligation, and Luisa and Manfredi were awaiting this signal from me to know that I had left.