Then one morning he awoke to the sound of booted footsteps coming down the hall. By the time his eyes were fully open, they’d arrived at the door: six Austrian soldiers in blue-gray uniforms. After a brief pause, they entered the room and coolly surveyed the rows of beds in the early morning light. From where he lay, he could see four of his classmates, all of them emerging from sleep and wearing express
ions of alarm. He tried to think of a reason for the Austrian soldiers’ presence—a prank of some kind or a misunderstanding about the nature of the school. But no, he could tell already that the soldiers had come to take them away.
The soldiers were speaking German, so Carlo couldn’t understand. He tried instead to guess their meaning by watching how the other boys behaved. Everyone was grabbing their clothes, clumsily putting a leg into a pair of trousers, searching for their shoes. Then an idea came to him. Still without his shirt on, he went to the small box where he kept his valuables. From it, he removed the documents showing him to be an American citizen and thrust them toward the nearest soldier. The man read the papers, ripped them in half and tossed them on the floor.
Suddenly, one of their teachers, Brother Leonardo, appeared, his eyes bright with panic. “You can’t do this,” he shouted. “They are students and not even Austrian. They want no part of your war.”
The soldiers ignored him and shoved the boys—eleven including Carlo—toward the stairs. But Brother Leonardo wasn’t ready to give up. He rushed at one of the soldiers and grabbed him by the arm. The soldiers glanced at each other as if to determine how to manage this inconvenience. Suddenly, one of them drew his pistol and struck Brother Leonardo on the side of the head. He moaned and fell to his knees, blood streaming down his face. The boys looked on in horror; their scholarly, soft-spoken teacher appeared to be badly hurt. Yet Brother Leonardo got to his feet again and stumbled toward the man who’d hit him. As he lurched forward, another soldier leveled his rifle and shot him dead. It happened so quickly. The sound was deafening. Everyone stopped moving and held their breaths. Carlo’s mouth went dry and a stab of pain passed through his head. He shut his eyes briefly; when he opened them, nothing had changed.
At last one boy spoke. “You didn’t have to do that.” The soldier holding the gun replied in words of German even Carlo could understand: “Yes, I think I did.” Never had Carlo been so terrified. He feared the boy’s remark would be considered impertinent and that it would lead to further violence. But the soldier with the pistol said, “Let us proceed. We have a long way to go.”
Outside, four more bewildered students huddled together. A woman who worked in the school’s kitchen stood beside them and protested, asking the soldiers to explain on whose authority they were acting.
“An order of general mobilization has been issued,” one of the soldiers told her. “It’s all quite legal and no further explanation is required.”
Minutes later all fifteen boys were loaded into the back of an open lorry idling on a nearby street. They were still settling onto the rough plank seats when the lorry pulled away.