It took me some time to realize the situation, then, as if awakened by a blast of icy air, I remembered, it is not any day is the day of a mission maybe not dangerous, but that captures all the charm of the "first time". are taken quickly: before my fellow withdraw the weapons, I must have prepared my armored . Sleeping in the tent with me all the conductors of the first platoon and, as always, we slightly early alarm. But now, damn, it's already 03:15.
few minutes after parking my vehicle next to the armory tent, followed by the other three in the platoon; down the rear ramp. I open the side doors and the turret. E 'come Massimiliano meanwhile, already is trying the radio and doing a test connection to the radio-control room.
in silence while helping to mount the tower on Trimpack, come to my mind the early days when I met him, fresh recruits newly arrived to the "Susa" from Recruit Training Course in Cuneo. It is no longer closed and demolished, no longer the eternal dispute: much has changed. I, too, for that matter, have changed over the past three months in Mozambique are leaving their mark. Contact with the poverty, the reduction of comfort, the show sometimes close death can not leave indifferent even the most skeptical adventurers.
But there is no time now to think. At 3:40 we lined up before the means and the lieutenant broke the silence of the mountains at night to read a message from our commander. I'd forgotten: it is June 16. Almost at the same time, in 1915 began an action that far - the conquest of the Black Mountain - for which the Third Regiment Alpini earned the Gold Medal of Valor. Too long ago - I thought a few months ago - to touch other strings of the heart that were not those of admiration.
Now, scanning the faces of these kids, pride and emotion evident: we are children of a tradition that we would never deny.
know the details of the mission today we jump on the media. Tests of the radio link. Lights, motors, motion. I have just time to see the sentry at the gun,
on my right, before turning on the sheep track that leads to one of the few paved streets of this battered country.
The fog, which sometimes swampy depressions in the road crosses, is compact: the headlights hit a blank wall that quietly makes its way to me. Few kilometers of the camp and we were Logistics Battalion.
The team broadcasts Portuguese contingent is waiting for us: their two trucks are part of our four armored cars and retrace our steps to the west, towards the Zimbabwe. I see again the powerful photocells of our camp that scan the darkness, but we continue.
Hours 5:15: Here it is, finally, the intersection from which branches off another road: Take a Tete to the north. It 's the first time that a platoon of our contingent out of the "Beira Corridor
," that strip of land that the United Nations have entrusted to our inspection, and, as we know, outside the corridor is almost uninhabited savannah totally in the hands of the guerrillas,
battered, abandoned. From now on, the sides of the paved surface irregularly, the earth is burning: the mines are a danger well known: in a few minutes we are in Vanduzi, where he died a month ago the commander of the Uruguayan contingent, jumped up with his jeep an antitank mine. Almost by surprise
begins to dawn; I look forward to the rays of the sun to warm the faces of contracts by the intense cold. But attention is suddenly caught in the wild and rugged beauty of these lands silent: not a house, not a sign of a man outside of the road. And the light is refracted on the sudden rosy hills of rock, isolated plateau. I wonder what they're thinking that the rifle behind me, spying on this beauty over the barrel of their FAL.
But not last long. Sighted rio Pongue and immediately after the bridge , blasted repeatedly by guerrillas, according to the strategy of boycott of all structures of the communist government: whole island is so torn regions to control Maputo. Now concrete structures hold only half of the long bridge, the remaining section relies on wood trusses. The weight of heavy vehicles? Through the half at a time, are the first and I trust my guardian angel. It is not the first time in recent months, gambling that are forced on the decks.
Across the war shows his claws in a long line of silent remains of the recent violence. Almost accidentally I focus on milestones. And 'the road No. 102. Two brick houses bear the unmistakable signs of gunshot in surprising quantities. Then again, the nature, the tall grass by the roadside and sparse trees of the savannah.
We are now halfway costs are binding to our attention when the masses of rusty what had once been a military convoy: the reverse slope, disemboweled by shrapnel, the twisted metal are now subjugated by the silence of radio headphones and also its soft muffled buzz the roar of the engines. Here is a new milestone: the 47 km.
advanced slowly. One of our vehicles before us a couple of kilometers, which act as scouts. The radio contacts are limited to the indispensable and almost always on the platoon frequency. Only rarely mention our position to the Command.
The lieutenant asked me to slow down further: in the trees on the left, he saw the carcass of a Russian armored Mozambican army included: riddled by shots, BRDM1 bears the signs of a furious battle as desperate.
It 's the 101 km. The goal is not far away: a Katandica the Portuguese leave the protection of a platoon of the quota of Botswana, which has been entrusted to the top of the " Tete Corridor 'where we are. The battalion Portuguese broadcasts, in fact, is deploying teams and platoons in all the camps ONUMOZ . Maxine tries to establish radio contact with the advanced units of quota in Botswana today, in code, "HDO": "Delta Hotel Oscar, this is Albatros two three two, silence lifted, we are arrivig, out." Contact successful. Exult. But now the tension mounts.
Katandica Here: four houses and a few huts, a long lawn is approximately a regular airport abandoned by government troops after the establishment of the RENAMO guerrillas.
star formation in armored cars with machine guns pointing in MG. The fusiliers jump on the media and constitute a security cordon, with the hunting rifle. At the center of the media with Portuguese radio shelter.
starts to get people curious. Do not appear to attackers. The rest do not expect a few minutes here they are, the people of the Kalahari desert, smiling but loads of weapons and ammunition in surprising quantities. Some of them are security close to our riflemen: other exchange orders, information and fraternize with us.
That expression - United Nations - and the flag flying on the antennae of our armored cars, are now reality in this patch of dirt under one symbol that welcomes people of distant countries working for peace. Recently, in camp, they did the flag hoisting and the banner is raised to wave forces. I am proud, as it seems to me, all my friends on the helmet, however, is set with a black pen ...
But even now there is no time to meditate. We leave as soon as possible.
Returning to camp the sun is already up and shows us the charm violent of this wasteland and suffering that is making its way into our hearts.
Story sent to us from the author Marco Dalla Torre (registered to the site) and appeared on the book by the Ass. Nat. Alpini " pen Najone (Murcia Editore, Milan 2008), tales of alpine military service. [in the photo From the Tower and its two military radio in Botswana]
