18
In Italy the lieutenant was in quite a state. The crew of his Flying Fortress had spent a sleepless night in the skies above southern Europe, before finally snatching some sleep and then setting off for all the various wine cellars and dive bars that Foggia offered. Italian wine was so cheap that the Americans felt awkward at being so rich in such a poor country. Later, having emboldened themselves with drink, the Americans roamed the narrow, medieval cobblestone streets, now deserted in the midday heat as if a plague had swept through.
The heat wore the Americans down, too. They walked around and among the old houses in search of entertainment. The stones, heated by the sun, seemed to glow red-hot, while in the enticing darkness behind the closed shutters, local life went on unknown
