to measure a hundred metres. Just. as I got there and turned,_'a bullet kicked up earth in frontof me——someone was getting the feel of his rifle all right. ,*

\Vhen we reached Morata a squadron of enemy bombers appeared overhead. It gave you a funny feeling. Hearingjthat stuttering drone, waiting for the bombs to drop. Suddenly. we saw three planes co-me out of the sky. ‘They were ours. hey dived. \Ve heard the rattle of machinergun fire. The f<l)_rIna« tion of the fascist squadlron broke. Suddenly ‘like nothirig we ‘had ever seen in the movies, two of the bombers burst into flames and they came down to earth. Here were two planes that weren’t going to strafe and bomb women and children in the cities any more.

Air Bombardmenf

On February 26th, the second group arrived. That group got a taste of war before they got to the front. In Albacete while waiting for transport to the front one of the boys described that night of bombing and terror. ‘Canadian and American boys formed themselves into rescue squads and went into the streets to dig bodies out of the debris that were once homes. I/ re’ member lifting my pick with a sensation that I might hitsome’ thing soft, something human. It was unreal. A week ago all of us had been in another world. Now we were working on the ruins left by the bombs of Krupp and Thyssen. I did strike something soft. I wanted to vomit. Feverishly I began to dig with my hands. I couldn’t stand it. A little boy——-a ‘little boy without his head. .

John Lenthier, the actor from Boston, had dug out an entire family. He raised his fist and I saw him standing in the light of the moon, the sweat was pouring down his face, “Why do you the homes of innocent people?” It was our first taste of war, of fascist war. It had a bitter taste.

Somehow the boys were older after that bombardment. _ 3 ..._