A pale moon hung embedded in the black, screen-like night sky. Its bright light spilled over the earth, draping the dark world in a veil of silver gauze.
"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh..."
"The wind's picking up!"
The assault team had good luck; they had encountered such fine weather on the very first day.
Grigi was no military novice. Planning a night raid naturally required considering many factors, and the weather was among the most important.
The Venice region had a typical Mediterranean climate. In summer, it was controlled by the subtropical high-pressure belt. Since the Mediterranean's water was cooler than the land, high pressure formed there, strengthening the influence of the subtropical high-pressure belt.
In winter, the Mediterranean's water was relatively warmer, forming low pressure that drew in the westerlies and greatly strengthened their influence.
Naturally, Colonel Grigi knew none of these professional explanations. But having been stationed in the Venice region for years, he knew that Trento was dry, rainy only rarely, and windy during this season.
A dark moon and howling wind made for a night of killing; tonight fulfilled every condition. The darkness and the wind would conveniently conceal the assault team's movements.
"Move out!" Grigi immediately ordered.
At a single command, the death squad silently departed the camp. Anyone paying attention would have noticed how softly they walked.
A closer look would reveal that every member of the death squad wore black, their cuffs tied tight with cords, even their boots wrapped in cloth.
Anyone with a bit of military knowledge would know this was a professional night raid.
"What, worried?" Ham asked in a low voice.
"Aren't you? Tonight's battle is a wager on our futures. If we succeed, the road to general will be smooth sailing. If we fail, we'll retire early and go home!"