The docks at Naples were full of activity before sunrise.
Troop columns moved in silence, their boots making noise against the wooden floor.
The Alpine divisions, fresh from training camps in Trentino, carried rucksacks nearly their size, ice axes strapped to their sides.
Their mountain-gray uniforms looked strange in the heat of southern Italy as if someone had painted snowmen into the sun.
Colonel Ricci walked the rows of men boarding the SS Sardegna, barking names from a clipboard.
"Keep them tight. No press."
Lieutenant Sirotti nodded. "They've cordoned off the pier. Ciano's orders."
The soldiers said little.
Most were conscripts.
Some were veterans of Libya.
All were told the same story.
"This is not a war. It is a necessary operation."
A young private coughed under his pack's weight.
Another muttered, "Ethiopia has no Alps. Why are we even going?"
Ricci overheard and snapped, "Because when Rome commands, you climb whatever mountain she tells you."
