On the docks, steam came out from great iron hulls as crates stamped with the tricolor flag were loaded one after another into the bellies of troopships.
On the pier, Colonel Sarti watched as the final convoy prepared to depart.
Six thousand men.
Eight hundred tons of munitions.
Fuel drums stacked three high.
Motorcycles lashed to the decks.
Anti-aircraft guns covered in canvas.
"Get the last horses loaded," he barked. "Cavalry mounts ride beneath, officers above."
A young ensign adjusted his clipboard. "Sir, the Duce has yet to issue the operational order."
Sarti didn't look at him. "He will. He loves drama too much not to."
As the final trucks rolled up the ramp, a trumpet blared.
The soldiers cheered.
Blackshirts chanted songs from their barracks drills.
Crates of helmets and spare boots disappeared.
And then the ships pulled away, slowly, smoke curling up into a sky that hadn't yet decided whether it belonged to peace or war.
