that we get off the road and start crawling on the dirt. This we did. 
We had crawled quite a bit and all the while it seemed they were firing 
right at us. Why not? A white stretcher in the black of night! One 
stretcher bearer refused to go further, whereon the comrade who spoke 
English drew a gun and threatened to shoot him. I guess he didn’t like 
the idea of himself lying out in the field wounded, so he came. After 
what seemed hours we finally came to Scott. We then grabbed Scott, 
none too gently. We couldn’t help it, put him on the stretcher or 
put the stretcher under him, I don’t remember. He was groaning slight- 
ly; he couldn’t groan any harder if he wanted to, he was so weak. We 
then called for some volunteers to help us. Paul Burns, Shappiro and 
one other helped along. What a target. But, luckily no bul1’s eyes. 
Now, the question of how to get back to the First Aid station—if we 
were to crawl along the dirt, mud, etc., or go along the road. We decid- 
ed to go by way of the road even though it was more dangerous. Four 
men then grabbed the handles, lying flat on their backs, counting three, 
then up and backwards, then digging your feet in the dirt push your 
way back to position. Poor Scott, what a target! It’s a good thing he 
didn’t know what was going on. After what seemed ages, 150 yards all 
told, we finally reached close to the road. We pushed up to the em- 
bankment. I immediately hopped off the embankment, grabbed the 
two handles of the stretcher and gave a hard pull just as the Fascists 
opened up terrific fire right on us. Everyone was wounded except my- 
self. Paul Burns, Shappiro, the First Aid men, everyone got close to
the embankment, Scott also was placed close to the embankment. Being 
the only one who was not wounded, the First Aid man who spoke Engl- 
ish told me to go back and bring help, this I started to do right away. 
What a hell of a situation! You go after one wounded comrade and 
now look at the mess! 
I started crawling on the side of the road. About three minutes later 
a terrific barrage of fire opened up, from left, right, the back and front 
of me. Not moving, lying flat on my face I was hoping the fire would 
subside a little so as I could move on, but it seemed to get heavier. Artil- 
lery and tanks started to bang away. The bullets were spattering close. 
I decided to push on, knowing that if I stood in the same spot, sooner or 
later I’d get it. Pushing myself with my feet and using my hands, not 
daring to raise my body I moved forward slowly. I got a cramp in my 
left leg, also started to vomit. Resting a few minutes then continuing 
onward, I finally came in sight of the dead comrade. Crawling up to
him I fixed his body so as to give me as much protection as possible.
Soaked with his blood which continued running, I don't know how long 

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