Leon stood, hands on hips, gazing up. Movement atop the campanile—two soldiers and a glint of light on glass. Yes, the tower held an enemy observation post. And oh, it was exquisitely beautiful.
A trio of Nazi soldiers strolled by, cat-calling to passing signorinas. Leon restrained the impulse to pull the cap lower over his eyes, a gesture that might have drawn attention.
He turned, retracing his steps back to his unit. His duty was clear—to call-in an artillery strike. But the tower was history. It embodied Pisa.
“Nope,” Leon reported. “Nothing there.”