P.A.G. – Punitive action
Giovanni Saluzzi, art name, had taken the train at Porta Genova station in Milan to reach Vigevano, sleepy town of Lomellina, Lombardia, Berlüscaland.
It was the VI year of Blue Age; small groups were organized to try a clandestine resistance to the regime, taking advantage of the growing discontent of the lower layer of the population, the Low People, according to the official definition. Naturally, the resistance took place on two levels: political and military.
On the first level, they tried to contact elements that wouldn’t report immediately to the Blue Guard, the political police of the regime. The aim was to make the growing awareness in the exploited population, as well by despondency of multiple debts and regime propaganda, which fully used the might of the press and television totally under control.
The regime did not hesitate to overthrow the population hours of television pornography, which included subliminal images everywhere, between one screen and another, or within them. Abroad they had even discovered images of the Anointed face, from twenty to twenty-five years earlier, between cunt lips.
From small layer of convinced members were trained individuals who, for temperament and physical qualities, could be the armed wing of the resistance. Of course it was too early to think about actions of guerrilla in the mountains, by number of forces, weapons, social support in the population. The model had quite the P.A.G. of Old
Resistance to fascism in previous century.
The work on both levels was often frustrated by trust errors in someone ready to sell them at regime, by successes of the Blue Guard, by inevitable wear of members, with the opening of painful empty row.
Like patient ants, they started again to mend the tatters of plot. To reduce the effects, the Fronte di Liberazione Italiana Popolare2 – shortened in F.L.I.P., or even jokingly FLIPPER – they had given since constitution a closed cell structure, with a clear separation between political and military arm, meeting only at the top of the Front, that largely resided outside the berlüscaland, in secrecy.
The F.L.I.P. at story time was still a weak flame in the darkness of the regime, poor in resources against a dictatorship rich in finance, more private than public, more based on brainwashing than the repression, which was not lacking. Weak flame, which continued to keep alive the hope for a better future using courage and sacrifices of its members.
Saluzzi, for example, was the name on documents virtually indistinguishable from genuine ones, provided by pieces of support, included in the personal archives of the system, at the cost of hardship and risks of volunteers, whose he did not know even the pseudonym.
Unknown under this name to a few personal contacts, which had in his cell, he was known by them as Beretta, for his favorite weapon. Saluzzi was an expert pagist who preferred the isolated action, for which had special skills, so that was reserved for these actions.
Determined by military top, with the consent of the political, an action for the characteristics of Lonely Wolf, his official codename, it was set off a chain of double-blind impersonal signals, in which the rings did not know who and where was the final recipient, quite fast even with those precautions. On receipt of the available documentation, Saluzzi put himself in motion.
After the success, at least until then, Lonely Wolf undressed himself the clothes of Giovanni Saluzzi and resumed name and life of a normal subject of the system, ready for a new call.
Saluzzi, even before the regime had known Vigevano, even if he hadn’t personal contacts there, reason for the acceptance of the mission, which would have been doomed if he was a face known locally, while his knowledge of places and streets was a chance.
The train had stopped in all stations, Milan St. Christopher, Corsico, Trezzano, Gaggiano where, already late, had made an extended stopover to coincide on a single track line. The wagon was dirty, cold, worse still he remembered, even if the ticket was roughly tripled. Beyond the propaganda of Magnificent and Progressive Fate of Blue Age, the reality was that the berlüscaland was falling to pieces under the plundering of its ruling class. The Iranian participation in the war had given the final blow.
Striving hard between locked level-crossings, curves at reduced speed, because the tracks didn’t root out, scrapping train came to Abbiategrasso. Through the doors, opened to the displacement of the few passengers at that time and direction of travel, it entered a disgusting smell of burnt materials. Saluzzi looked out the window and saw the guard throw a bucketful of water on an overheated locked brake. With a hammer he began to beat on the log until it gave up taking on the wheel. Lonely Wolf closed the window and sat down, looking at the billboard dominating the station, with the large face of Anointed smiling, 52 teeth, twenty to thirty years earlier at minimum, with the inscription FOR A BETTER FUTURE. Someone had added hand to big block, WHY THE PRESENT IS SHIT. He smiled, imagining the political arm in action and a clear lack of mentors, which had not yet removed the poster badly altered.
At last, the train was able to enter the station of Vigevano, more for superhuman efforts of driver and guard that real technical opportunities of materials.
Saluzzi went down and began to walk along Cairoli Street. He recalled shops and pub overlooking on the first section, perpendicular to the station, including Corsico library and Blockbuster. After pushover of rampant prices without necessity, taking advantage of the euro, with the impoverishment of majority, had come times of lean.
“Rather than lean they are skin and bones.” – Saluzzi thought, seeing closed – “The few filthy riches cannot drink fifty coffee, see ten DVD, buy five or six books and a whole wardrobe every day. They should not have even the time to do more; at most they would be in the Square, to be noticed by other fucks like them, certainly not here.”
He turned in Old Fortress Street, residential only, where it was the great door for access to the military part of the Sforza’s Castle. Now reduced to a pile of rubble, with the slided bridge over the moat, it badly hurted his heart. Besides the villa with a garden, Saluzzi saw a wall of Old Ditch slided in tainted water too. The roof of the covered market a little after was broken.
When arrived in St. Ambrose Square, that before Blue Age had been turned into fee parking, always full, he noticed that the very few parked vehicles were big sedans or luxury sports, or huge SUVs from incongruous cromature and metallic paint. Nothing strange with gasoline to 8.37 € / l, for speculation and objective absence from world markets of Iranian oil.
He went by Rome Street to bring in Cesare Battisti Street. Not much time was missing to hour reported in received documentation. He entered the Bread and Coffee shop. His documents registered him to High People: better still, in the kingdom of television virtuality, so his clothes marked him. With a bit of money in his pocket, painstakingly put together by F.L.I.P., ordered a coffee to spend time.
While drinking, he saw two gorillas leaving the service courtyard of the City Hall. They looked around, then gave the go-head. The Podestà exited, followed by a blonde, young, tall and beautiful woman, officially his personal secretary.
The Podestà – confined in Vigevano, away from Anointed court of dwarfs and female dancers, flunked by a colleague, he also flunked after – by indisputable successes for the regime there achieved with infamy stokes, he had climbed the slope, having again two bodygards, sign of great distinction, and extension of powers on a vast district. It was the day that usually he went to lunch at Borgo Antico3 restaurant with lover-secretary, a notorious big swine, prompter of many useless cruelties, especially psychological, as a female point of view could come, if the noble word could had fitting her.
The restaurant, overlooked on a lane from halfway Ducal Square to St. Dionigi church, had not known crisis, meeting of the High People of Vigevano and well known by refined cuisine.
Lonely Wolf let pull out the group, paid the bill and left quietly. He excluded, of course, an attack on the street or in restaurant, because of difficulties leaving the scene quickly on foot, given the alarm. He followed them at a distance just to make sure they entered the restaurant, then returned on his steps.
He entered the noble courtyard of City Hall in Vittorio Emanuele II Street, greeted by an usher in uniform, a Low People, who had guessed on Saluzzi’s caste by clothes. Wolf replied affably with a head bow, as a noble of best past centuries more than an arrogant enriched of his time. Move calculated at desk.
He got the staircase to the upper floor. He knew where to go and the time was favorable: out the cat, especially for a long time, the mice dance. Without meeting anyone who stopped, he came to the little flat that Podestà had obtained and furnished in the building, when it wanted to retain. The lock of the door easily ceded to his arrgumentations, then, entered, shutted it again. After a quick inspection of the premises, without touching anything, he hid in a closet, ready to a long wait practicing relaxation and meditation yoga techniques.
After lunch, offered by Borgo Antico, of course, the Podestà usually went up to flat to couple with the lover and take a nap, while gorillas were keeping the door whose lock remained open to allow a quick rush to any order. It had been noticed and reported by the local unit of F.L.I.P.
After two hours of waiting, as Saluzzi saw fragmentarily though the door lightly opened, a key was turned in gear, a gorilla came to a brief glance, then entered Podestà and his blonde. The bodyguard came out, without locking the door. The Podestà entered again to vision for a couple of fingers of whiskey. Saluzzi had watering. He felt the two going to the bedroom, guessing from heels on the parquet.
Saluzzi awaited for a reasonable time, then slowly opened the door. He took with his hands with gloves the Beretta cal. 9 mm and mounted the silencer, took away the safe and armed the striker: he always held a
cartridge in the barrel. With silent steps he reached the door of the room, breathed in deeply, breathed out and entered.
The woman, from below and with her face turned in his direction, saw him without having time to shout. He hit her between the eyes. The face of Podestà was hit by splashes of blood and brains. The lover face was last show, not nice seeing, of Podestà. Saluzzi struck him in the nape, sending his brains to mix with those of woman.
Lonely Wolf approached the bed for the sake: there was no need. He laid the gun on the bedside table, taken from pocket a small digital camera, made some photos for propaganda, put it back and took again the gun. He returned to the living room and poured a whiskey, not happening often, to put it mildly, to enjoy an authentic Scotch.
Got whim, he returned to the room, took from wardrobe a suite of Podestà, removed his clothes and wore. It was a bit big, but it would have disconnected from any records of surveillance cameras. He put a transparent rubber mask that altered his features heavily.
He found a leather bag in which put away his clothes, then gave a look to the apartment. He had some cases, which ended in the bag. It would have been political arm to make good use.
Wolf placed in front of the exit door, which opened inward. He set apart the bag, threaded a leather strap to ring of the gun handle and hung it from the neck. Wolf calculated spaces and times and began in front of the door. It also granted a minute of autogenic training. When he felt ready, opened the door, taking the time to look up, and shot to the head of two bodygards. Left the weapon, he made two steps forward to grasp the bodies and drag them inside.
With one glance he noticed that there was nobody in the hallway. He dropped corpses, shot finishing a man that still breathed. He disarmed the gun, put the safe, took away the strap and removed the silencer, finally put the weapon in the holster. Taking the bag, came out. Still none. He closed the door with the key, then calmly reached the staircase. Moving down with naturalness and calm, he crossed the courtyard, received arrogantly usher greetings without answer, and went out on the street.
Lonely Wolf turned right and reached De Roveti alley, where he took advantage of the narrow space, almost always desert for strench of dogs and men urine, and shits of dubious provenance. He removed the rubber mask putting it in the bag. With calm traveled Decembrio Street and then the former XXVI April, the day of previous Liberation of Vigevano, renamed XXIX September, Anointed birthday.
Saluzzi reached Mazzini Avenue and then the train station. After a quarter of an hour waiting, the train to Milan arrived. He went up. After departure, he went into a toilet with the bag, put again his clothes throwing those of Podestà through WC, after having done stripes with a sharpest blade. He took place in a different car.
After Abbiategrasso, the guard passed. Wolf made sure that its destination was noticed from ticket, Milan Porta Genova. Instead, he got down quickly in Trezzano, hiding behind the bridge, not to be noticed by the guard to restart of the train.
1 P.A.G. in title is for Partizan Action Groups
2not translated for next play on words
3Ancient Village
