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beside the door, poised to spring on Mosley the instant the door opened.
    The train screeched to a sudden stop and Mike’s feet flew out from under him.
    The sound from the sky—he knew it now—Stukas!
    Little black specks circled overhead and began to take form as they dropped lower.
    Mike leaped from the platform and rolled down the siding. Behind him men poured from the train, from the platform, through the windows...
    The motors in the sky were suddenly still. A second passed—two—three...
    The scream—the hideous scream as the bombs fell to earth. Mike covered his head.... The ground rumbled and split under the impact of the bombardment.
    The first volley fell wide of the train. Everyone was up and running madly over the field toward a grove of olive trees. They fell and clawed at the earth as the Stukas came in for a second pass.
    Over his shoulder Mike saw the third car disintegrate. The line of cars went into a snake dance. The engine skittered off the track and rolled down the rail bed, snorting and hissing.
    Mike tumbled in at the edge of the olive grove. Soldiers poured in all about him and fell flat and lay motionless.
    The Stukas turned from the destroyed train and began to blast the soldiers in the field who were scurrying like frightened ants. The planes cut them down like blades of grass then roared in on the olive grove at tree-top level. Their wings spit little gusts of fire and the trees whined and ricocheted bullets. A soldier shrieked, then lay very still.
    “Here they come again!”
    “Bloody bastards!”
    They swept in so low that Mike could make out the face of one of the pilots. A soldier near him kneeled and fired his rifle defiantly. He shook his fist and screamed an oath. An officer ran to the soldier and jerked the rifle from his hand.
    “You damned fool! Do you want them to know where we are?” the officer yelled.
    “God dammit! They know where we are! What kind of a war is this...?”
    The argument ended as a hail of bullets ripped the earth around them.
    On and on, wave after wave worked over the grove without mercy or respite. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes... Streaking tracers, thundering motors
    Then, their bombs gone, their machine guns empty, the Stukas ended their sport and flew off.
    It was deathly silent in the grove. The men were too stunned to budge. Mike sat up and dropped his head on his knees. “Holy Mother of God,” he whispered as the last motor faded from hearing.
    After a while a slow movement started. Soldiers walked in dazed circles and spoke in shaky whispers. In another five minutes the grove was a bedlam of men running and shouting.
    Someone tapped Mike on his shoulder.
    A young Australian captain stood over him. “You there, get over there.” He pointed to a unit of men forming outside the grove.
    Mike wobbled to his feet. “Colonel Potter—where is he?”
    “The Colonel’s been hit,” the captain said.
    “I want to speak to the next in command.” He dug into his pockets for the credential. It was missing. Mike looked about. Some soldiers were staring at him. The whole place was in utter confusion. It would be useless...
    “Sorry, sir,” Mike said to the captain and he joined the group of men at the edge of the grove.
    Other officers were forming groups of a hundred men, regardless of former units. The Aussie captain stood before Mike’s group.
    “All right, lads, pay attention,” the captain said. “With those Stukas about, we’ve got to stay in small units. No more train rides...”
    Feeble laughter.
    “We strike out by foot and stay together.”
    “Captain, sir, where are we going?”
    “That’s a top secret,” the captain lied. He wished he knew.
    “If the Stukas come again, sir, may we fire back?”
    It was a ridiculous question. There were but twelve Enfields in the group of a hundred men. Many more ridiculous questions were asked about water and rations. The captain seemed short on answers.
    They moved out over the