December 1943: Gaining momentum, the Allies push forward to try and re-capture Rome before moving on to Northern Italy. However, the Germans have now prepared the Gustav Line just to the south, a series of well defended strong-points with the town of Monte Cassino in the centre. Plans to attack this town are under way. Mean while the soldiers wait...

Ken was looking out over the Italian countryside. A cold biting wind blew down from the mountains and the Mediterranean winter was threatening to settle with a vengeance. The dark clouds coming over the horizon warned of rain and snow and seemed to hang over the men like some ominous sign of the future. Ken wrapped his heavy coat round his shoulders as he hurried to the mess hall. Before he got there though, some men ran past him, chattering excitedly. Ken looked after them and began to follow them.
When he reached the others, he saw they were looking at a line of German prisoners, watched over by a puffed up sergeant-major (or whatever rank he was). He said something that Ken just missed, but it concerned 'pockets'. Then he saw the men move to the prisoners and go through their pockets. Ken went to move away, disgusted inside and turned round just as a gloved hand landed on his shoulder. It was the officer.

"Come on, lad. You get to have your go too. Hurry up!"

Ken didn't like the idea of going through people's pockets,but there was no way out of it. He had been given an order of sorts and anyway everyone almost 'had' to do it. Ken went back towards to the prisoners and came across one in particular. He was a young lad, barely as old as Ken, and looked at Ken with a mixture of fear and sadness from under his grey helmet. Ken looked round, then reluctantly put his hands in the German's pockets. He withdrew a battered wallet with a picture inside of a woman. Ken took the picture out and looked at it for a moment, then showed to the prisoner the photo. He nodded,

"Mutter" Mother.

Ken looked at the prisoner, then placed the photo back in the man's pocket before leaving with the wallet. He started to walk away before he noticed another soldier move to the German prisoner. His hands dived expertly in the pocket and removed something. The photo Ken had taken out. The soldier then took out a lighter from his own pocket, lit it and slowly burnt the photo in front of the prisoner. The prisoner didn't move a muscle through all this, but Ken was close enough to see that the prisoner was close to tears.
He had little desire to look at his new-found 'prize' and felt somehow guilty of what he had seen. He began to wonder; who's the real danger, the Nazis or the Allies? It was hard to tell.

The winter grew colder with each passing day and the soldiers became more restless. Despite the promise of moving out, time seemed to drag on to a crawl. The rumours that the Division was to see action next month sent a wave of anticipation and their spirits refused to be dampened,even when the blizzards came whistling down and blew over the men. Ken wasn't too concerned except on patrol when he and his crew climbed into the tank and attempted to move off in calmer weather. Sometimes it was almost pitch dark and the threat of ambush constantly came to the men's minds. Ken was still driving when he thought he felt the tank nudge at something. He looked round, but couldn't see anything in the darkness and so kept going.
The next morning, the captain roused Ken's tank crew and marched them all to a brick wall they had apparently passed on their patrol. For 'damaging a civilian structure', they were to be punished and were to report to camp in their own time. When he had gone, the other men inched forward to see their 'extensive damage'. The only sign of ruin was a single brick missing which may have come out long before their tank had moved to it. But rules were rules, the captain had to be obeyed and nothing could be done.

As they had walked back to camp, Ken noticed a three man patrol move past them. They were smiling and joking with one another as they approached a nearby village, bombed out and abandoned. As Ken followed their progress, the man in the middle suddenly stiffened and fell down, leaving the other two men looking around bewildered. They raised their rifles and waited for another shot, but none came. Finally they downed their weapons and made to carry their comrade back to camp, to be buried in the Division's graveyard.

Ken's main thought as he got back was 'that could have been me. It should have been me. One day, it will be me.' He feared the same would happen to him, especially when he went on a similar patrol a few days later. Fortunately nothing came of it, but there was still this sense of dread, of waiting. Ken and his mates had all agreed that they would not survive the war in Italy, considering the defences the Germans had set up.
Meanwhile people had their spirits raised with news that the Allies were moving quickly through Italy, that Rome would be liberated soon and that the soldiers were having a 'jolly good lark about'. The British people smiled and held their heads high, blissfully ignorant of what was truly happening.

Ken would later relate that 'we moved only when the Germans permitted us to to'. It was never more true than what was to come.

Just got some reviews. Sounds positive and glad to see it's interesting to some. Please review on this, I tried to make this story as truthful and as real as possible and it is in Granddad's memory.
Thanks.