We then took what seemed to be an endless trip to the other hospital. I was in bad pain as the truck rocked over the bumpy roads. I arrived at the hospital and what a relief I had when I saw the lodge-like buildings surrounded by lawns and flowers. The grounds were in the midst of a woods. I was rolled in and before I went into the operating room, I bade goodbye to the soldier who first carried me who now had tried to make me comfortable on that truck. I received a shot of morphine and Dr. Petrescu cleaned my wound still further and replaced two stitches which the military had sown in. I was surprised and pleased when one of the men present spoke to me in good English -- he was Yoppey Koppes, a medical student. I was placed in a room with two other Americans: Ed Lyman, from Breeze Point, Vienna, Virginia, and John Williams, from Dwight or Pontiac, Illinois. Both were fighter pilots and came down about two weeks before not due to enemy action. I also met Lt. John Palm, a pilot from El Paso, Texas, downed on the low level attack of August 30, 1943 and Lt. John Mariolos, a navigator from Lowell, Mass. He was shot down April 5th, just got out the nose wheel door before the plane blew up.