 With all its faults, Quentin Reynolds, the curtain rises, strikes me as completely fascinating. His new book covers incidents that happened in Trinidad, Cairo, Palestine, Russia, North Africa and Sicily. In Sicily, Reynolds, who in five former books has beaten the drums for the RAF, the British Army and the Red Army, discovered the American Army. It was the first time he had seen American soldiers in combat. A late George M. Cohen never waved the flag with more fervor than does Reynolds when he talks of our troops. Reynolds in fact seems to have discovered in the war zone a great and gorgeous America he never knew existed before. Quentin Reynolds' last book was called Dress Rehearsal. The curtain rises as the story of the beginning of the real show for the American Army. It's a logical title. Frankly, I like the book a lot. I ought to. I wrote it. Thus, with a good-humored grin in his words, does Quentin Reynolds introduce his latest bestseller, The Curtain Rises, some portions of which are brought to you tonight on Words at War, the timely, much-talked-about series presented each week by the national broadcasting company in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime. The script tonight is by Gerald Holland and the part of Quentin Reynolds is played by Roland Winters. Mr. Reynolds. Yeah? I'll call for you, sir. Oh. Oh, thanks. I'll be back in a minute. All right. Beautiful girls from that place. You can take it in this booth, Mr. Reynolds. Thanks. Hello? Quent? Yeah. This is Blackman. Oh, hello, Captain. Good news for you. Yeah? You're off tonight in a lovely C-54. I'm sending a car for you. You've had your yellow fever shots? Yellow fever, smallpox, cholera, typhoid, paratyphoid, antithetanus, type A and type B. Is that enough, or should I take an aspirin? See you later, Quent. No more than 55 pounds of baggage, remember? Okay, Captain. See you later. I'd better get the check. Was that call it? Yeah. That was it. Quent, tomorrow? Tonight. May I have the check, please? Oh, yes, sir. It's not much notice. Best they can do. Well, anyway, you're packed. Yeah. I won't be gone long this time, three months at the most. You said that last time. I know. But this time. Hey, Aguido. Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. Let's get out of here. We'd been at Miami a week, a good week to remember. We danced and sipped beautiful drinks and asked the piano player to play our favorite tune. It was hard to believe that week that there was a war going on, and I'd think, I really don't have to go again. I've been over there three times. What can I accomplish by going again? I'll be back in three months. I'll be sooner. That's what I said, but I knew I was lying in my teeth, and she knew it, too. Made believe that she didn't, and suddenly I thought of the thousands of Americans who were saying goodbye right now as I was, and it was a lot tougher on them, because if I got fed up or sick, I could always say I wanted to come home, and I could come home. I was a war correspondent, a well-paid war correspondent, off to write stories in Iran and Russia and North Africa. I wasn't Sergeant York. I had the best job in the world. Yeah, I always thought so until this night. Sorry, Novus, just pass this point. Okay, three months this time, probably less than that. I know. All right, Mr. Reynolds, better get aboard. Goodbye. Good luck, Mr. Reynolds. Goodbye, Mrs. Reynolds. The lights of Miami twinkle below us. Then slowly faded, and we were free of the land. Will you come along? Come along to Russia, my first real objective. And against the roar of the plane motors, I try to remember that I have the best job in the world. Try to fight off the ache of homesickness. Try to forget that wonderful week at Miami Beach. Then, then Russia. No time to be homesick as I looked on the raw realities of the Russian war. Here, Mr. Reynolds, here is the city that was called Vyazma. This, this pile of rubble? Yes, 60,000 persons lived here once. There were 716 left when we recaptured Vyazma from the Germans. It's horrible. Yes. I've seen coventry in Plymouth, but nothing as bad as this. Yes. Will you walk around? Be careful of your footing. The smell of destruction hung heavily in the still air. There's nothing to compare with the sickening smell of a city that's been destroyed. The unwholesome smell of the killer lingers after he's gone. Vyazma was not killed because it was a military center. The Germans had gone far beyond accepted military practices. They had systematically murdered this city of Vyazma. There was a deathly silence. Old men and old women sat apathetically in the ruins of their homes. Talk to them of you wish, Mr. Reynolds. Hear their story. There are no secrets here in Vyazma. The bridge. There were centuries guarding the bridge. Men would come out of the woods starving and beg the centuries for food. The centuries would tell them to chop wood and then they would give them food. Then the centuries would say for the men to cross the bridge and then they would shoot them on the bridge. Fifty bodies I myself saw in the river below. By the railroad station where the Great Wooden Crosses when our soldiers came back they were looking for mines buried in the ground. They saw a soft earth there and they dug in the ground. They found the bodies of six hundred men and women and children. Many had been hanged or shot. Many had merely died of starvation. Is this true? Will you swear this is true? They looked at me a moment and shrugged their shoulders. Why should they be inventing such tales? It mattered nothing to them whether I believed their stories or not. But I did believe them. Vyazma was a city of sixty thousand inhabitants. At the time of its death only seven hundred and sixteen citizens were left. Let the world remember Vyazma. I went many places in Russia and talked to all kinds of people. I never met a Russian I didn't like. They're all in the war, men, women and children. What are they fighting for? They're fighting for what they had gained when war came. They want to go back and pick up where they left off. They're not fighting for any grand scheme of a better world. After years of bitter struggle the world was beginning to look pretty good to them before war came. I left Russia with high faith in her destiny. Rumors had reached us that a big operation was due in the Mediterranean. I thought it was high time I did some traveling with the American army. I headed for Algiers. What do you call this drink? We call that a blockbuster. Yeah, what's in it? Everything but horse liniment. Are you sure about that horse liniment? Yeah, it's hard to get in Algiers. Oh, now what are you doing? I'm fixing you up a ration card. Ration card? What for? Drinks. One ration card to a customer. Entitles you to 14 drinks a month. A month? A month. Oh, say, uh, won't you have something for yourself? No thanks. What name will I put down on the card? Quentin Reynolds. Quentin Reynolds. Hey, here you are. Thanks. Shake up another blockbuster and go ahead, have something for yourself. Well, uh, you'd have to come off your ration card. Oh, that's all right. I ought to warn you, you'll be sorry. Forget it. Okay. Might be nicer, you Mr. Reynolds. Here's looking at you. Good luck. Well, see you again. So long, Mr. Reynolds. Good afternoon. Oh, hello, Mr. Reynolds. My name is Dokes. I'd like a ration card, please. Hey, wait a minute. You were in here and got a card just a minute ago. It's spelled D-O-A-K-E-S. Joseph Dokes. Blockbuster, please, and take something for yourself. Listen, I can't do that. I, I, I'm... Oh, well, okay. I don't mind if I do, Mr. Dokes. Hey, Quinn. Oh, yeah? Well, I've got to Sicily. Sure. Come on in. Got a TT boat leaving in half an hour. Okay, I'll be right along. Going to Sicily, huh? Yeah. The radio says it's a pushover for our boys. Well, here's how, Mr. Reynolds. Uh, Mr. Dokes. Good luck. This, uh, liquor rationing, uh, it's tough, huh? It's, uh, it's war, pal. Might be tough. See you, old man. Man, when I would give for a bottle of beer, nice and cold with little bits of ice hanging on the bottle. You keep your head down, buddy. You'll never get your fingers around another bottle of beer. I'd settle for a Coke, a nice cold bottle of Coke, or six bottles of Coke and a bucket of ice. Well, maybe just a bucket of ice. Cut it out, will ya? Man, I've never been so hot in all my life. I've sat in bleaches at the St. Louis ballpark all during a double header in August. It gets pretty hot, but it's air conditioned compared to Hill 335. Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, duck! Oh, that was close. You know, Steve? Steve? Steve! Here on the map, Hill 335, natives call it San Rosso Hill. It's two miles ahead, and two companies of the 45th are up there trying to retake it. Retake it, Colonel? Yes, they had it once today and had to withdraw. Oh. Of course, over in North Africa, they're probably saying we're having no trouble at all. Probably saying the same thing in Palermo. New York, too, for all I know. I don't know about New York, Colonel, but you're right about Palermo and North Africa. I've just come from there. 335 is just one hill, and we've got to take that before sundown. We've got to before we can take San Stefano and move on into Smith's and Messina. It's going to be a fight every inch of the way. It won't be a picnic. No. No, it won't be a picnic. And I wish everybody who thinks Sicily is a picnic right on that ridge, now with my boys. You seem much like a picnic there. Look, sir. They're running up a white plan. Where? Where do you see it, Sergeant? On the hill, sir. Straight ahead, see it? Yeah. Our artillery must have been giving them a lot of punishment. All right, Sergeant. We're moving up. Yes, sir. Come on. Come on. Come on. Yes? Yes. What? Oh, they did, huh? Well, why did they fall for a sucker play like that? Didn't they learn anything in Tunisia? Didn't they? Dirty rats. Something wrong? Oh, just a little incident of war. The Nazis ran up a white flag up there on the hill. Our men thought they were surrendering. They starved up the hill. The Germans opened with machine guns when they got on top of them. Oh, that's pretty rotten. Our men should have known better. They've seen the Nazi tricks in Tunis. They even used their own dead-for-booby traps and lobed our men when they tried to bury them. Yeah, but a flag of cruce is something. It's nothing. Did we lose many men on that one? Not many. Just 16. Just 16 American kids who weren't brought up to be professional murderers. Just 16 of the best kids and the finest soldiers I've ever seen. That's all. Well, the next 16 will be tougher to take. They learn fast. Well, well, I'd better go. I got to work on a story. Okay, Reynolds, but here's a little advance information for you. We'll take that hill by sundown. I guarantee that. Tell them about it. And just say it was a pushover. Five Jap warships with possible damage to a sixth. In Sicily, our troops continue to press forward almost without opposition. Today, American artillery blasted the Nazis from two ridges in the hills before San Stefano. And our infantry encountered no difficulty in advancing. It's obvious that American superiority is telling. Some experts are saying that Sicily is in the nature of a pushover for our side. The chances are you'll hear and read more expert opinions like that in the days that lie ahead, that it was a cinch. Well, when they do, I wish you'd think of that obscure hill 335 in the northeastern part of the Sicilian island and think of a white flag held up treacherously by the Germans. Am I insinuating that our guys are dopes, poor fighters? I am not, Chum. I came away from that one sector, but the impression that our army was as good as they come. I checked this notion with a brilliant British correspondent. You're right, Quent. They are good fighters, ruthless fighters when they have to be. And in an odd way, the best disciplined soldiers I ever saw. How do you mean that? They storm a town and have a difficult time with casualties. Then they walk in. But instead of getting tough for the inhabitants and with prisoners, what do they do? They share that chocolate and cigarettes, even with the prisoners, and they just beat us slaughter them when they think of their own casualties. Those boys of yours are great fighters. But above all, they are great men. Well, if you think I'm blindly, hopelessly impressed by and devoted to these kids of ours, if you think I'm prejudiced and completely lopsided on the subject of our American troops, you're absolutely right. In Sicily, we saw an American army come of age. Our kids who'd gone into Sicily gaily in the spirit of adventure now knew what they were fighting for. The white flag and the booby trap, the booby trap dead and taught them that the Germans were as bad as people at home thought the Japs were. And for soldiers, Chum, such knowledge is good to have. Mighty good. Messina fell and the Sicilian campaign was over. We headed back to Algiers. There was nothing to do at the moment, but it was worth that fricking holiday. Hello there. Back again, eh? Back again. Gonna be here long? Oh, I don't know. There seems to be a lull in the joint. Yeah. Well, what can I do for you? A blockbuster and a ration card. Well, uh, all right now, Mr. Reynolds, but remember only one card to a person for a month. Sure, sure. Say, uh, take something for yourself, huh? No, no, no. I couldn't. Oh, go ahead. Well, okay, Mr. Reynolds, but really, you gotta... The name is Abernathy. George Abernathy. I say. I say, old man. The wake up. The wake up. Huh, huh, huh? Oh, go away, will you? Oh, but really, I can't. The wake up. Oh, who the devil are you anyway? I'm the British Vice Council here. I've just arrived. They've given me this room. Sorry, old man. Who gave you this room? Why, the clock, of course. You mean they're putting me out? They can't do that to me. I'm an American war correspondent. They can't run the war without us. Oh, oh, sorry, old man. But I say, look here, it'll be quite all right with me if you want to stay another day, just until you find another room. Oh, well, very decent of you. Thanks, I'll take you up on that. I say, Bartendolle, Jeff, would you make out a ration card for my friend here? He's new, you know. No, he's got a card. That's Quentin Reynolds. No, no, no, no, no. His name's Gougatier. Isn't that right, old man? Uh, Jeffrey Gougatier. Of course, of course. Now, fix him a ration card like a good fellow. Sure, it's all right, Quint. Oh, of course, the consul and I are pals. All right, sir, you ought to do this, Quint. Well, hello there. Oh, hello there, Reynolds, old man. Consul, I want you to meet some friends of mine. John Steinbeck, America's greatest writer. I do. Clark Lee, international news service. John Nickabocker, Jack Belden, Lieutenant Fairbanks, and John Lardin. Oh, I see, but look here, Reynolds. Boys haven't been able to find a room consul. I told them you'd be delighted to have them stay here. No, but I say that's quite out of the question. I knew you wouldn't mind, Consul. Steinbeck has his own card. Just put your stuff down anyplace, fellas. I call this darn decent of a consul. Yeah, who says that we can't get along with the British? Sure, sit down, Consul, on the floor there. But I say, look here, chaps, this is supposed to be my room. You're going to be around long, John? Oh, not long, Quint. Just a matter of weeks. The consul was gained. After a while, he fell into the spirit of the thing. He even became accustomed to sleeping through our long, nocturnal sessions. Of course, occasionally, we had additional guests, and the consul didn't appear too enthusiastic when we awakened him at 4 a.m. to meet Bob Hope or some other visiting celebrity. These British. No sense of humor. Suddenly, the holiday was over. Our ship stood off the coast of Italy. It was D-Day and H-H hour was fast approaching. For months, more than 150,000 men had been training for this moment. They'd be getting nervous now, and they'd be worrying a bit, too. All soldiers worry, especially before their first combat. All men worry before H-H hour. Their chief worry is that they may be weak at a decisive moment. They're all so afraid of being afraid, forgetting that fear is as universal as hunger, and no one can escape it. I've never met a brave man and never expect to meet one. General Mark Clark told us of his plan. How do you like it? Oh, good Lord, sir. It's daring. Sure, it's daring. We're spitting right into the lion's mouth. We know it. We've considered several alternate plans, and this seems to be the only answer. Sir, do you expect any tactical or strategic surprise? Certainly not strategic surprise. German intelligence is pretty good. They know we want and need a port in Italy. Naples is the obvious port to go after. We could go after it from the beaches north of Naples, or go into Salerno as we're doing. I'm sure the Germans figure us to land at Salerno. We may get hurt, but you can't play with fire without the risk of burning your fingers. Suddenly from the north where the British divisions were landing came flashes of fierce light. And enemy coastal guns were in action. Long golden fingers of flame reached out from our three cruisers, and within 10 minutes the coastal batteries were silent again. The Navy had done its job. The British divisions continued their landing operations. Remember, oh, most compassionate Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection or sought thy intercession was left unaided. It was a service on deck at 4.30 in the afternoon. I think everyone there, and they were of all faiths, meant that prayer. Prayer is like a life belt we forget about until there's danger of drowning. Then we cling to it desperately. When danger threatens, prayers which you've forgotten come to mind. If you bombs drop close, if you shells scream overhead and quite instinctively, you find yourself praying and meaning it. Even complete unbelievers pray in tough spots. Even the most rabid Antichrist cannot fool himself when death is sending messages to his particular front. D-Day was beautiful. The air was soft and the skies were clear except when the raiders came and the sky was pockmarked with ugly black bursts where shells from our anti-aircraft guns exploded. While the guns shattered, a radio broadcast came over the ship's loudspeaker system bringing news of the very action in which we were then engaged. On the whole, the operation in the Bay of Solano is going according to... There is some opposition, but our men have landed and beachheads have been established. Our air cover is keeping the Luftwaffe away. In fact, it may be said that the landings are being accomplished with a minimum of difficulty. So it's all a picnic, huh? Bologna. Yes, you know the story now. But maybe you don't quite realize how little like a picnic it all was. Sicily, taking just that one ridge of San Rosso. The landing at Bloody Solano, the bitter fight for yards of ground a day with every inch claiming tolls of American lives. The lives of American kids, the finest kids, the finest soldiers I've ever seen. Well, if you'll pardon one reporter for saying it, it's high time you began to do a little realizing. And here's the reason I say that. As I write this, I've been home about a month, home from my fourth journey to the wars. I'm resting and sipping beautiful drinks and dancing and asking the piano player to play our favorite tune. But I'm completely bewildered. I read columns of criticism of our war effort. It's been disheartening because when you first come home, you're so filled with pride that the great job America has done and is doing that you feel like waving a flag. You get so impatient with a snide petty criticism leveled at our leaders that you dive into the sport pages for relief. You've returned with the idea that we're at war with Germany and Japan. Well, after reading and listening to the talk, you might be pardoned for thinking we're at war with Great Britain or Russia. Or maybe the president of the United States. I know of no one in America except the parents and wives and children of the dead who has as yet been called upon to make any real sacrifice. The war hasn't touched most of us yet, not as it has the people of Russia and Britain. Another thing, it's a shock to anyone returning from the front to hear people speak of the German army with contempt. Our people for some strange reason fear and hate the Japs but dismiss the Germans casually. It's merely a matter of mopping up now, they tell you. Well, our combat generals think the German army is still tough. They don't think we can lose this war but they don't yet know exactly how we'll win it. Neither do I. Once we really take Italy and have bases in northern Italy, the real job of invading Germany will come. The fighting of the past months has been the prelude. Now with our armies poised for the invasion on the west, the real show is about to start. The actors have learned their lines. The dress rehearsal has been held. The orchestra of war has played the overture. The play is about to begin. The curtain rises. You've just heard another program in the series Words at War. Tonight, portions of Quentin Reynolds' current bestseller, The Curtain Rises. The radio adaptation was by Gerald Holland. Quentin Reynolds was played by Roland Winters. The cast included Abbey Lewis, Floyd Buckley, James Bowles, Ralph Sedan, Joseph Boland, Stotz Cotsworth, Norman Lloyd, and Arthur Elmer. The music was arranged and played by William Meader and the production was under the direction of Anton M. Leder. Be sure to listen next week when Words at War presents an adaptation of another great war book. Words at War is brought to you by the National Broadcasting Company Independent Stations, affiliated with the NBC Network, and is presented in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime. Jack Costello speaking, this is the National Broadcasting Company.