Prelude

 

It could not have been a more perfect autumn day to be outdoors. The sun, although not at its most powerful, was doing its best to delay the onset of the snow season and many were taking advantage of the extended summer to browse through the high street shops of the pedestrian precinct.

“Mama, mama,” came the bullish request for attention from a small girl as she tugged her young mother’s dress towards the toys staring from out of the shop window and onto the main street.

The mother, more interested in eying up the latest winter fashions, reluctantly surrendered and followed her infant towards the magnetic draw of colourful bears and dolls that filled the shop window.

It was idyllic. Elderly couples linked arms as they leisurely wandered down the paved road, merely filling in some spare midweek hours. Young mothers were everywhere, making the most of the final throws of warm weather with their young children while the men were away at work. School kids - who probably should have been at school - were hanging around anywhere a bench could be found, while tourists mingled with the locals but, like in any city in the world, they still looked like tourists and stuck out amidst the crowd.

But something on the wind sent a shiver down the young mother’s spine and she reacted by rubbing the back of her neck and looking uneasily over her shoulder at the busy street. While her daughter’s attention was firmly fixed on the shop window, she sensed something was not right.

In the distance - no, not that far away - she could hear what sounded like a hundred raised voices. Other bystanders looked at one another in bewilderment as the rumble grew louder. The bell on the nearby cathedral struck out the first of 12 chimes to signal midday had arrived, but it was barely noticed as the mother became increasingly uncomfortable and took a step closer to within touching distance of her daughter.

The shouts intensified. They seemed to have increased in number and were definitely getting nearer. People around her were concerned and turned their collective gaze to the top of the street. Nothing could be seen, which only heightened the tension further.

The mother grabbed her young child’s arm, more to comfort herself than her offspring who was still more interested in the toys rather than the mysterious roars cascading from out of view and down the street.

Some people seemed frozen to the spot, staring up the street, inquisitively waiting. Others feared the worst and started to move in unison in one direction, looking over their shoulders in fear as they shuffled along.

The bell struck two, then three and in a split second the young mother’s life was about to change forever.

A huge smash, which sounded like a large windowpane being obliterated into a thousand pieces, was heard and the noises descended on the street as a terrifying sight burst into view. All around her, shuffling walks turned into sprints for freedom as young and old fled a tidal wave of horror that filled the street from one side to the next. Only it wasn’t water that was about to engulf them, but hundreds of rampaging men with fists and feet flaying in all directions and at anything that stood in their way. The terrified mother picked up her child with all her strength and headed in the opposite direction. The child was hysterical, her mother screaming as the tsunami crushed everything in its path. She dared not look over her shoulder. She saw what had happened to the other stragglers who were now getting battered where they fell, no matter what their age or sex.

But the weight of her offspring was slowing her down as she struggled to keep up with the fleeing hordes. Before she had the chance to duck into a shop, she felt a blow to the back of her head and fell to the floor, still grasping her terrified child whom she shielded as first one, then two kicks connected to the back of her ribcage. She held on to her child for dear life, screaming with terror as she saw hundreds of pairs of legs run past her.

She closed her eyes and pulled her child tightly to her body as all around her windows were smashed and innocent people were thrown to the ground and beaten. Hundreds of, or maybe a thousand, grown men rampaged in one direction and demolished anything in their track. Who and what could have started such a ferocious rage?

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the tidal wave of terror disappeared out of view. Breathless and bruised, the mother rolled onto her back with her child still cradled in her arms, thankfully unhurt apart from a few scratches on her hands and knees from the initial tumble to the ground in her mother’s arms. The mother gasped for breath. Her ribs were damaged, several probably broken. Blood seeped onto the paved road. It leaked from the wound opened up by the initial blow to the head. It would need stitches for sure.

The street lay silent, stunned as the wounded gingerly got to their feet. The mother remained motionless, still reluctant to let go of her precious child. The bells struck 11, and finally 12. A war had just swept through this sleepy Alpine city. Like any war, it didn’t distinguish between men, women or children; the young or the old. Anyone in its way paid the penalty and many had.

And there were still eight hours left ’til kick off.