At Catania we found everything SNAFU.  The British Eighth Army were camped all over the place.  Having found the field practically one continuous crater and all the buildings mere shells from bombings.  They had decided nobody in his senses would try to use the place for an airfield.  They just didn't know our experience and ability with a pick and shovel.  After considerable urging, we nudged them over enough to give elbow room for our personnel and our planes. We were going to miss the orchards and vineyards but figured this loss was offset by a nearby sandy beach.

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Jerry welcomed us with a raid just as we sat down to supper.  Nobody spilled his coffee.  But the guns on the line and all around the area in spots we didn't know about opened up and the group hit the ditch as one man.  Supper was "meat and vegetable stew" again anyhow.  Little damage was done although some of the folks up at Group Headquarters were chased around a shelter by fragments.  We had frequent Jerry visits but on only one was there any real excitement --the afternoon the ack-ack got one Jerry, the Spitties another and one of our barrage balloons was sent down in flames, all in the space of a few minutes.

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Through September and into October, the missions to Italy were mostly milk runs and we had stand downs for days on end.  The frequent trips to nearby towns began to pall, heavy rain and frequent showers dampened our spirits.  Everybody was bored and restless, the only bright spot being the receipt of orders for the first boys to go home.

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Again came orders to move and the "A" party left taking most of the tents and equipment with them.  For three days the rest huddled into the little shelter we could find because as soon as the tents were gone, the heavens opened up and unloosed a veritable flood.