company was behind a small hill observing the position 
of the fascist lines and that of our own.

My company was to break through the fascist lines, 
destroy the machine-gun and anti-tank gun nests, fire 
along the fascist trenches and thus enable the Republi-
can army to advance. 

Two other companies moved up, one on each flank. 
Clouds of dust rose as our tanks advanced at a high 
speed. The heat inside the tank was terrific. The sound 
of machine-gun, bullets hitting the tank resembled hail 
on a tin roof. 

I was observing the territory ahead, trying to locate 
the machine-gun nest. The driver slowed down, shout-
ing "There is a deep ravine in front of us." "Can the 
tank make it ?" I asked, "if so, go ahead." The tank 
climbed the hill and over the top, crossing the fascist 
trenches. An incendiary bomb set fire to our tank, 
but it was able to advance some thirty-five yards into 
the rear of the fascist lines. 

The motor stopped. Smoke and flames came into 
the turret where my assistant and I sat. The driver 
attempted to re-start the motor, but in vain. Some 
fascists stood up in the trenches watching the burning 
tank. The first shell I fired landed right in their trench. 
I continued firing at their trenches. 

Meanwhile, the fire spread into the tank, and the 
danger of explosion both of our gasoline and ammuni-
tion was becoming great. To stay inside meant certain 
death; to jump out into the open behind the fascist 
lines in broad daylight was almost as dangerous. 
"While there is life, there is hope!" Some other tank 
might perhaps come to our aid. 

The driver and my assistant jumped out. That was 
the last I saw of either of them. I kept on firing. 
When my gun jammed, I switched over to the machine-
gun. The heat was becoming unbearable. Revolver 
in hand, I jumped out.

7