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As we started down Wozenski's hill, our artillery had gone to work on the German hills. Shelling these hills was like shaking lice out of old clothes. Each pounding seemed to bring one or two Germans out to surrender. Now another prisoner walked across the lines. One of our men spoke to the prisoner in German and the prisoner answered. He said he had been two days without food or water.
The blind man said: "Is that a kraut? The next German I see walking, by God, he won't be walking any more after that." It was not then certain that he would ever see a German walking, or any man.
The wounded sergeant said to the man who could speak German: "Say, will you ask the German for a souvenir? Tell him I promised an old lady." The German did not understand, but finally he gave the sergeant a five-mark piece.
The climb grew very steep and we were all quiet. Wounds began to hurt and shock began to set in seriously. The sergeant moaned: "Doc, can't you keep my leg straight?"
No one had spoken for a long time when the blinded soldier said to me, very softly: "Eyes are very delicate things."
We turned the wounded men over to a doctor, and I rejoined the battalion commander, Lieut. Colonel John H. Mathews. He said he was going to Wozenski's hill to launch an attack.
The Punch. The attack on all the hills went well. The enemy was human. On the second evening, just before dark, our men launched the final attack. All units moved—even the tanks, which punched along the road in the face of well-placed anti-tank guns. The attacks by the tanks and by three infantry combat teams were beautifully timed. The enemy was bewildered, shattered by deadly accurate artillery and demoralized by dwindling supplies, which our air attacks far behind his lines had diminished. The enemy pulled out, and our men walked into Nicosia.