12.04.2016 - They hunt, it’s their job.
Certainly they scrutinize us, apparently indifferent to our war. It is a matter that does not seem to affect them. But when the Italians shoot at the Fort above us, they are not seen. The air vibrates, shakes and explosions rumbling in the stomach.
Certainly for them these sounds are unbearable, incomprehensible noises.
Days ago they flu by low, over the rocks. I was with Hans at observatory No. 17. I smoked a cigarette, after a lot of fog and humidity I was enjoying a little of warm sunshine. He instead controlled the valley with binoculars, kept an eye on the “Katzelmacher”, the Italians, nestled among the old houses on the Square, to see that someone of those hotheads do not come to mind to try the impossible. It would not be the first time.
I see him reach out and take swiftly his long barrel Mannlicher, immediately in shooting position. Italians? I ask, pulling up quickly. No, no, he says, eagles.
What are you doing! I say to him shoving away the gun, don’t shoot the eagles! He knows that you shouldn’t shoot the eagles. It’s bad luck, they say it brings bad luck, no one shoots eagles. He was silent, didn’t respond and lowered the viewfinder.
They passed by, majestic as ever.
To cheer him up I handed him a cigarette. Before the war, in Schwaz... he told me, he went to hunt eagles. It impresses the girls to return with an eagle killed, hanging from the backpack.
I didn’t like it, but haven’t told him, I pretended not to hear and continued to follow the flight. They descended fast over Serrada then made a wide turn and started to climb up higher and higher, in large and regular circles. Arriving at altitude they pointed decisively towards the Pasubio. Then I lost sight of them.
That’s when two Caproni surfaced. They arrived from behind the Zugna, filling the valley with their deep rumble. We watched them with our binoculars.
We’re not afraid. They don’t descend above us, nor do the shoot at us. They stay up high, take pictures, control us. We are rather the ones trying to shoot them down.
I clearly saw the cannon puffs of Finonchio, shooting into action, and right afterward I heard the shots from the small cannon of Serrada. Several shots, in succession. Useless, they never hit them.
The projectiles exploded around, low, too low. I watched them approach.
Those I would shoot down willingly. I aimed my rifle, took aim and... with my mouth I did pum! pum! Hans started laughing. And he gave me a slap, made my hat fly beyond the trench... the eagle hunter!
