August 4, 1935.
The sun in the northwestern highlands of Ethiopia felt harsher than usual that morning.
There was no shade in the Walqait region only red dust, scattered thornbrush.
But from a ridge above the Mareb River, a light of binocular lenses broke the horizon.
Lieutenant Marco De Luca dropped to his belly, pressing into the scrub.
Behind him, four Italian soldiers crouched with him.
"You're sure this is the line?" De Luca asked without turning.
Sergeant Cortese, older, sunburnt, pointed to a half-buried cairn of stones.
"Last marker reported by the scouts. Ethiopian patrols were spotted southeast two nights ago. But they didn't engage."
"Orders were to observe, not provoke," De Luca said, wiping his brow.
"We're not provoking, sir. We're just walking with maps."
De Luca smirked. "Maps and rifles."
He lowered his binoculars.
Across the valley, smoke curled lazily from a few distant huts.
"Small settlement. No military post."
"Civilians?"
"Possibly. Herdsmen."
