Six months on the Italian front

by Julius M. Price

Arsiero is situated in the valley of Astico; behind it is the semi-circle of mountains which form the boundary of the tableland of the Altopiano, so close as to dominate it completely, foremost amongst these mountains being M. Cenzio and M. Cimone, standing up like colossal barriers above the valley.

From the point of view of an artist it would be difficult to conceive a more delightful panorama than one had before one’s eyes: it was a glorious picture waiting to be painted in peace time, but you felt that there was nothing attractive about it from the military point of view. If an enemy were in possession of all these superb heights, then the positions in the valley below would be very undesirable, to say the least of it; and without any knowledge of military matters you realised that the valley and all that it contained—towns, villages, vineyards and what not—was completely at the mercy of the men who manned the guns up above, and also that under cover of these guns immense masses of troops could be safely brought down the side of the mountains on to the plains, and established there pending further movements.

Following up your thoughts as an amateur strategist, you could not fail to come to the conclusion that the valley was as good as lost if such a contingency came to pass, unless the defenders could achieve what looked like a sheer impossibility, and drive the invaders from their positions on the plain and back again up the mountain side.

The idea of such a possibility was too fantastic to waste a thought on it. Yet this is actually what happened during that fateful week when Italy was on the brink of disaster.

On the road leading to the town there were signs everywhere of the Austrians, and of the desperate fighting that had taken place here only a few days previously. I had thought that there might be a certain amount of panicky exaggeration in the reports of the extent of the Austrian advance towards the place, but there were incontestable proofs in the shape of trenches, barbed wire and so forth pushed forward well in front of Arsiero.

Every yard of the enemy’s advance had been methodically consolidated, but nothing had stopped the rush of the Italians—their blood was up for vengeance—they were fighting on Italian soil and on their way here had passed through the devastated villages and ruined countryside, and had heard tales of outrage and infamy.

It was a case of God help the Austrians if they caught up with them, for along the whole Front there had been considerable evidence of the enemy’s barbaric methods; in one place, for instance, near Magnaboschi, hundreds of naked corpses of Italian soldiers were found in the mire.

With the knowledge of what they might expect if the Italians got to grips with them, the Austrians, once they got on the run, never stopped till they were safely back in their old positions, and here they were putting up a stubborn fight when I was in Arsiero.

They were not beaten by any means, although driven from Italian soil. That General Cadorna was evidently aware that any relaxation of pressure would have brought them on again was substantiated by the number of troops he was keeping in this sector.

Arsiero had suffered considerably, and although not entirely in ruins, as has been stated, was more damaged by fire and shell than any place in Italy I had yet seen.