Rickie's War: North Africa

Letter and Diary Log #2

14 March 1944

Dear Pris,

Hi there. This is probably the fifth time I wrote in four weeks. I just wanted to say I miss you so badly, even with such wonderful friends and around arguably the most beautiful country in the world. Italy is beautiful, although this grueling war – like any other war – had put it on its edges. Apparently there are a lot of trees here, and hills, and both have the same amount of holes shared. I am going into a town tomorrow, set at the foothills of Italy’s backbone of the Apennines mountain range.

You may heard of this place from the news, but I swear, no matter what the news tells you, this place looks beautiful. Good roads are scarce, however, and we are getting a hard time getting around the place. Wish me luck and pray for me, as in times of terror and horror, you will be the only one guiding me through this.

Rickie, who loves you more than anything he has ever known.

P.S. I’m going to have a lot of hiking. Cheers!

 

Diary Log #2

On the night of the 14th, we moved out under the cover of darkness. We marched from the camp across the Rapido River and onto the other side. Cassino town was just a mile away from our position; the town’s perimeters visible in the distant. The famed monastery sat on one of the highest hills, and even though the abbey was in ruins, we could still imagine how it was like before it was bombed out. Nonetheless, we were hoping that the destruction of the town and the abbey would decrease German resistance. But our hopes were cut short just one kilometer out of the town perimeters. In a place that was termed the ‘Mad Mile’ by the lads there, we were continuously pounded by German artillery. The thing we knew as the Nebelwerfer was the worst, however. The Nebelwerfer, often called ‘screaming mimis’ by Allied troops was a six-barrel mortar firing shells that could obliterate a man on direct impact. Although admittedly they weren’t that accurate, the screaming mimi released this screeching sound every time it was fired and an explosion that could swallow a whole man when it landed. It sunk my heart every time I heard that, as shells exploded on the front, back, and sides of us while we walked up to our positions not far from the town of Cassino itself.

We slept in holes dug for every two man. I was lucky I wasn’t on guard duty the last night, because that five hours of sleep would be invaluable once we got into the town. I woke up to the sound of harrowing artillery rounds hurled over our heads. I was glad that they came from our side, and that also meant we were supposed to move shortly after the barrage ended. It was a textbook tactic for infantry to move in after artillery barrages to clear out what the artillery had not. The Germans were among the best soldiers on the face of the earth as far as I’m concerned, and I’m not sure an hour of shelling would be enough to even loosen their morale. They seem to have this tight screw slammed into their heads that said, ‘never retreat’. I heard the japs were like that as well, but the Germans were different; they were smart and they weren’t suicidal. The men who guarded these parts of the Appenines weren’t regular soldiers anyway, they were paratroopers. German paratroopers were known to be tough as nails, relentless, and have a reputation to not lose a single offensive battle to date. Defensively, they were equally good. Proof was that they have held this hill for three months and held off two major Allied offensives. Are the Brighton and Hove volunteers good enough to take them on? We would see that today.