My name is Floretti Agostino. I was born on August 21, 1920. I joined the army on February 15, 1940. I was sent to Cividale del Fiouli, which is a small city 20km outside of Udine, to the east. That was where I put on the uniform for the first time, as a soldier.
On February 25, I was sent to Albania. I left from Bari by ship and disembarked in Durres, we were sent to Puke, which is a small mountain village. We began weapons training, mountain training to become familiar with the terrain. On October 28, 1940, we went to war with Greece.
We arrested a Greek soldier at the border, he was the only survivor of a group. I was charged with escorting the POW. Eight of us at his back with rifles. I got the feeling he was trying to escape, so I threw a grenade at his shoulder. It still had the pin in it, I was trying to scare him, but the terrain was rocky and the pin got knocked out and it went off. I don't want to tell everything, because it's quite harsh, an ugly image I still remember. We no longer had a prisoner.
A few days after that incident, it started snowing. When we reached a river, it wasn't possible to cross it, so we had to build a bridge. Before that, there were some fights, but nothing substantial until we reached the mountains and the Greeks returned with stronger attacks, and encircled us. We had to withdraw then. On the way back to Albania, we suffered. We were angry and thirsty, freezing. Fortunately there were relatively few deaths on our end. After we crossed back over the border, we received food and shelter and our situation improved. We started to dig trenches, but the Greek counterattack was very strong so we had to withdraw again and again. We quickly became dispirited. January 8, 1941, I was wounded in the leg by a mortar shell. It went through my leg, just missing any bone or major blood vessels.
When I heard more shooting, I moved in the opposite direction, trying to escape. I found an hole where there were two soldiers relaying data to direct fire on the Greeks. They told me the route to reach a Red Cross truck nearby. I was lucky when I reached the road because a truck was passing right at that moment and I was picked up. But just before we reached the field hospital, two English planes bombed the area and shot at the tent. Two Italian doctors died, as well as four people in the tent. We left the area immediately and drove two more hours to a bigger hospital. After fourteen days in the hospital, a German transport plane arrived with reinforcements and loaded up the wounded and flew us back to Italy. I was put up in another hospital, in the south, and it was nice to sleep in a real bed with sheets. And food - they gave me a sandwich with Mortadella, which was really fantastic. After thirty-five days, I was sent home for two weeks leave, to recuperate. And after that, I returned to my battalion and we were sent to Yugoslavia.
We reformed the Julia Division, to commit to Russia. But after Greece, the division had been nearly destroyed. We had to started over.
I was sent to Tricesimo where we were being reorganized. I became a driver for the Cividale Battalion. In August 1942, we loaded trucks and equipment onto trains, and when everything was ready, we departed for Izium, Ukraine. From there we traveled to the Don River. I was in charge of driving the truck which was loaded with the hospital supplies for another battalion, the Gemona Battalion. I was lucky there, because I didn't have to march - this journey was about 280km, so those marching took ten days to reach the destination.
We reached Saprina, where there was a command center, and unloaded the hospital supplies. We were immediately attacked by two Russian fighter planes, but a German Messerschmitt plane counterattacked and destroyed them.
I was stationed in a small area, 10km from the river. I was surprised to see how the other alpine soldiers created their refuges. To escape from the winter cold, they'd dig big holes in the ground and sleep there. It was more comfortable that way.
In the following months, until the real beginning of the Russian winter, it was okay. We mostly spent time digging the holes we stayed in. The bunkers. We had the principal bunker where we ate, slept, cooked and washed. And there were windows so we could see the river. Machine guns set up in case the Russians came. Had everything continued as it was, without confrontations, we were sure we could survive there for five years, easily. We were confident there.
On December 4, 1942, we got the order to move west, because the Russians had broken through the defensive line and destroyed three allied divisions. They were strong. They had over a thousand tanks, and half as many heavy artillery guns. They had waited for the rivers to freeze over so that they could cross with tanks.
The Julia Division was tasked with repairing the front line, to stop any advances. But the tanks were already 300km within the German-Italian controlled area. We were mountain troops, and the Germans had moved us to the river. We were unprepared, untrained for that terrain. We had no tanks, just trucks and riflemen. Our equipment was leftover from the First World War. They were unstoppable. Our artillery just bounced off. We could sometimes disable their capability to move, but never their capability to shoot. The division was almost immediately destroyed once the fighting started.
Eventually we received the order to withdraw, but we had to march because we had no real transport. The German troops were motorized, and they withdrew first, leaving us to act as a buffer, protecting them.
From the day they ordered us to leave the bunkers until the end of the withdraw, we walked 870km. We only slept in the open air, despite the freezing temperatures. We were only able to eat what we could find around us. Everyone was thinking, "I hope god will send me a bullet, because I can't stand this anymore." Those who could not walk anymore, we laid them on the field, and when the Russian tanks arrived, they were crushed. These were terrible days. Soldiers were going crazy. People died continuously. The road back was littered with frozen bodies. I never talk about the events I lived, because it's still strange to me that it happened, it's something incredible.
When I heard the war was ending, it was on the radio. I was in the local police at the time, for the last two years of the war, that's what I did. The street was full of people happy about the end of the war.
In 1945, the Germans left Italy. It's a miracle I am still alive.
