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It was our first tour of duty on the winter front stretching about 11 miles southwestwards from Ortona on the coast to Orsogna, and I was already beginning to show signs of being the irrepressible looter or liberator of marketable goods. My first search for souvenirs, as I liked to call my 'finds', however, was not successful. In fact I was lucky I didn't get myself killed or at least seriously injured. I was prowling through the area around the house we took over from the GGHGs, on the lookout for something of value, be it civilian goods or enemy weapons and equipment. I spotted this closed-off opening at the back of the house directly above a lean-to, and knew it had to be the entrance to the attic. I climbed up on the lean-to and quickly pried the panel off covering the opening. Inside I waited a minute or two for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I began my hunt, stepping very carefully from joist to joist, a good foot farther apart than the usual standard, my eyes peering into the darkness searching for something of value. As I reached the front of the house, my foot missed a joist and came down hard between. The next thing I knew, I went crashing through and landed flat on my back on a table amidst cascading debris of plaster and wood. Around the table were four guys frøm my platoon hard at it playing euchre. They fell over backwards in fright and surprise as I thundered down. And so, there I was, lying spread-eagled on my back, groaning from pain—thought I was dying, or at least thinking my back or a few ribs were broken. I expected the boys to rush to my assistance and perhaps offer me a little sympathy. Not on your life! Instead, they just stood there cursing me roundly for having scared the bejeezuz out of them and worst of all, for breaking up their game . I guess I must have been in tip-top condition because I didn't even end up with a bruise. But my search for loot ended for the day— only for a day. My insatiable need for scouring of the battlefields for whatever goodies I might come up with overcame any thoughts of getting hurt or even blowing myself up on a mine or a booby-trap. And there were many such scourings I had gone on, throughout the campaign. That I managed to come through all the battles, along with these extra-curricular activities alive and kicking has to be a miracle. What else?

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