Keep on telling yourself why you are here, and what it means, what it will mean, and keep on crawling. The firing becomes heavier. Ahead of us you can see the ground completely covered with spurts of dust.They are concentrating their fire on the left and right flank and straight ahead. From all directions.

Even Hue Olives Bleed

We run for ‘cover. Charles Connelly, Commander of the Irish Company, is crouched behind an olive tree. He has picked a bunch «of olives from the ground and is squeezing them. I hear him say quietly, -[between a lull of machineigun fire “Even the olives are bleeding.” A bullet got him square in the temple a few minutes later. He is buried there now underneath the olives.

Can’t remember everything that happened. One bullet hits my helmet and knocks me dizzy‘; another slashes the sleeve of :my coat. My head rinrgs. I put my hand over the spot and look at my hand. It is covered with warm, red blood. I am finished, I say. No regrets. I don’t want to die. I don’t think of it.

I remember waking in our trench. Someone had" pulled me

in. I don”t know who. Maybe he has gone out there again and I'll never see him. I

I Our losses were heavy on this day. Many of our ‘best com’ rades were killed. But the initiative has passed into our hands. The threat to take the MadridrValencia road is still a pipe dream in Franco’s hat. I

Sialemafe

There is a lull on the front. Stalemate. Boring, tiresome, stalemate. The bombers have paid us a few visits. Rochester, the Negro comrade from New York, seeing the first bombs re»

leased, says with a smile——“They are dropping leaflets.” After‘

the world has stopped feeling like an earthquake and the atmos»

‘phere has cleared a little, he could be seen scratching his head

»10-.— L