When I had a little time later on I sat
down and wrote the following description of experiencing an air
attack.
The roar of enemy fighter-bombers; beads of
sweat oozing from my skin; my stomach rolling as I can taste
that last K-ration; the ack-ack of anti-aircraft searching for
the enemy planes; sound of the motors as they come closer; a
cry from an excited soldier to hit the dirt; the hiss of machine
guns as a plane strafes our bivouac area; clouds of yellow dust
created by the flying shrapnel; black puffs of smoke floating
away into the sky; the call for medics as two men are wounded;
a hurried prayer begging the Almighty to protect me; a whistling
bomb dropping to the ground; a loud blast as the missile explodes;
a yell of hysterics as a German plane gets a direct hit and tumbles
to the ground; a sigh of relief as a squadron of P-51's chase
the enemy aircraft away. These few minutes of strafing always
seemed like hours.
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