Agony of Human Progress

SO MANY of our best buddies have been killed. You get to

really know people here. We can talk to each other, admit our weaknesses, our fears, and know that we understand each other. The word comrade here seems to ‘have a fuller, deeper meaning. I don’t know, but-' that awful aching pain you have after seeing one of your ‘buddies go is something that seems to change you. Perhaps I am not explaining it very clearly. But when we could say then that “It’s worth it, no matter what the cost, this offensive is worth it,” you knew that the fascists could never win. Never, because there was more than rifles,

planes and bullets fighting them. There was something there,

that nothing, no power o-n earth could defeat or destroy.

The fascists began to drop incendiary bombs. The whole countryside was aflame. They were bringing civilization to Spain. We looked over the fields and we knew that the bones

of our comrades, the bodies of the Spanish people were fertilizk

in'g those fields and somehow it became sym-bolic. They were fertilizing the fields of the future.

We spoke quietly about our comrades. I remember ‘one

lad, I forget his name, saying, “This is the agony of human

progress, I guess. iThis is the agony of our generation. It is the price we must pay in the transition to a higher social order; to a better world.” He expressed what we felt, and sometimes what we were ashamed to say because we felt that we could not express it.

I remember counting the number of duds. To us the pro’ portion of duds that fell and did not explode was another mes’ sage, a message from the German and Italian munition work» ers. We’ appreciated that message.

The offensive was over. ‘Our boys were moved into a re’ serve position further behind the front. I We were reviving. Our old humor was coming back. We were given a pack»

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