(See Cover)
In the year 1943 came a certainty: the partisans of life had grown stronger than the mechanized conspiracy of death. The Allies had started to break the Axis.
The Man of the Year did not live to take the bow. He died in Tunis, on Tarawa, at Salerno, on the blood-soaked fields around Kiev, Changsha, Kharkov. He lost his face, his limbs and his mind before flamethrowers, in the cockpits of blazing planes, in the insane shadows of the jungle. He had badly wanted to live. When he died, the world had...
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