The cards were on the table and the pilots ended abruptly the game. They were just allowing time to pass without mentioning Novelli. They watched Titus in a way that made him to feel as one of the bears in the Colisseum
-Are you going to remain with us forever? -Colleoni asked.
-There is no "forever" at all in this bussines -replied another pilot.
-I've been told that I'm going to be your link with the High Command.
-Lovely! -huttered a Sicilian voice.
-Damned High Command... tehre ios no way to know what they are up to... so many secrets -Cenutti whispered, with a kind of reflexive mod.- Today you have to take some pics from a road there, to bomb a bridge yonder, to protect a cautive globe, to send a silent man behind the enemy lines...
-It is not up to us to know the Legatus' reasons... -replied Titus. He kept watching the clock three or four times every minute, but mindnight was still quite far away.
Twenty minutes for midnight. The castle of Malinbois was some 60 kms away. "Red" Novelli's fighter could fly at 12 mph, but the pilot needed to navigate using the starts, flying over the clouds to see them. He may need to pass several times over the area to find his target. That he was not still back it does not mean he could not been back later on...
Waiting, waiting for Novelli...
Suddenly it was past midnight. Time had accelerated itself.
-I think it's him - Baracca stated.
The pilots raced to the windows to listen the murmur of the engine. Nothing but the distant roaming of the frontiline could be heard. Then, later... something... yes, there you have it! it's a noise, it's like a screaming... like a ....
Baracca get out of the building, followed by the rest of the squadron. The light covered the ground from the open door and all the eyes searched the sky for any clue. There have been no single doubt about Novelli's return, so nobody showed any kind of relief but Titus, who sighed when he heard the distant noise of the engine.
-Do you think he would see the airflied? -he asked
-Of course -replied Barcacca-. Novelli as a wonderful eyesight. However, a flare would help, too, indeed.
A purple flare beamed suddenly on the sky, filling the night with a violet color. The fighter turned towards the light, which began to fade. Another flare was fired and then...
-What's that? - Titus asked.
Over the fighter one could see a winged form, half hidden in the purple cloud. However, only an engine could be heard. Then the winged form went down after the fighter, no like a machine, but like a vulture. Novelli opened fire with his machine gun and the silouette throw itself over the fighter and took it above. Both forms vanished in a cloud. Two more flares were fired, but nothing could be seen.
The face of maggiore Baracca, under that violet light, was dreadful.
The voice of the engine could be still heard for some seconds and suddenly it become mute. The cloud then seemed to be ripen by an invisble claw and a dark form fell from it. Novelli's fighter entered into a deep dive. Two of his wings were ripped off by the force of the dive and then the machine crashed against the ground, breaking itself as a fragile toy.
The pilots and the land crew raced to the plane and, suddenly remembering the fuel depot, stopped themselves dead quite. Just Titus moved to the plane, where the machine gun, still leaving a trace of smoke, remained intact in the wreck. Titus moved around the remains of the fighter and there he found the camera. It was a broken collection of pieces.
-Where's Red? -asked Baracca.
Nobody was inside the plane. Nobody had seen him to fall.
-Look.
The purple light had vanishd and the winged form was still visible, moving in the sky as if following the wishes of the air. It looked as some kind of bat-shaped kit. Then, it vanished.
The field was covered by the last drop of snow. The temperatures were quite low for that time of the year, but nobody seemed to care very much. The soldiers of the firing squad formed as if a general was going to review them. Boys with older faces. Julia wondered if those poor youngsters wouldn't rather have some Roman general or politican facing their guns instead of that unlucky leggionaire. Julia had volunteered herself, quite recently, to join the Medical Corps as a nurse, and there she was, with a young doctor, to take care of those bodies that the Military Justice would give them that cold morning.
The guns were raised. The primipulus leading the squad raised his gladius while the prisoner remained alone, facing them. Eight rifles aimed at him and then the gladius fell. The bullets pierced his breast and the prisoner, hanging from the ropes, looked as a broken toy.
-That is it -the doctor said-. What a bloody mess.
