We have ways of making you talk presents One Man's Window, an illustrated account of ten

weeks of war, multiple April 13th to June 21st, 1942 by Dennis Barna.

Chapter 14 Total War I have three things to hang on to in this

nightmare island, my wife, although I have no letter, my art, although I'm too

tired to paint, and my job as a fighter pilot, even if I am considered a failure.

Today, Saturday, May 16th is my official day to lead the squadron, but here I am at four

o'clock in the afternoon, clad in pajamas, lying on the sofa in the bar with the CEO's

Renco wrapped about me. I am feeling wretchedly ill with the mortar

dog again. I thought the earlier about that hit me a week ago, had been thrown off successfully,

but this morning, when I tried to get up I was shivering again. The CEO forbade me to fly.

All morning, I lay sunbathing on the flat roof outside, discovering that the hot sun

on my body got rid of the dreadful fits of icy fever. I watched the sun like glisten

on the beads of salt sweat that rose on my bronze skin. I also glimped the sky for

J-88s. Messius Mets and Spitfires were racing too and fro across the blue, in and out of

the clouds that started to build up. The whole sky is now obscured by heavy clouds, so

that the wind blowing in through the open French windows is refreshingly cool. The pain

in my stomach is at the moment nothing worse than a dull ache, although from time to time,

it clenches my intestines. I am feeling dizzy with a splitting pain inside my head. It seems

to splash like acid inside my skull.

A refreshing wind blows my hair over my hot forehead as I gaze at the white washed walls

that surround me. I am glad the sun has gone in for the dazzling light on them made my

eyes ache. High on the wall above the bar opposite is the squadron crest. The flaming

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