دانلود کتاب اقامت در جهنم – سفری از اردوگاه بوت تا اردوگاه اسرا

In 1991 I was an intelligence analyst at the Special Operations Command, MacDill AFB, during Operation Desert Storm. My uncle, Billy Condon, and his wife Hazel lived only an hour away, and after the collapse of the Iraqi army, I spent a weekend at their home. I knew Bill had been in the 82nd Airborne in WWII, but he had never spoken of it. After supper and coffee, I persuaded Bill to tell me more about his wartime experience. Hazel surprised me when she quickly excused herself and retrieved Bill’s POW journal, a slim, delicate, and tattered little composition book. As I slowly read the terse daily entries I posed questions to add context. Hearing Bill’s account was fascinating, and I urged him to write his memoirs. He protested, claiming to be a poor writer, so I proposed that we collaborate on the project. I never imagined it would begin a thirty-year odyssey. In the years to come, we met frequently and gradually filled out the details of his WWII years. As the internet evolved, my research uncovered new information that Bill had long since forgotten and some that he had not known. Weaving these details into Bill’s memoir took patience to create a complete, accurate, and cohesive narrative. I am proud to have authored this, but it’s Bill’s story. By the late 1990s, his health began to deteriorate, but he read and approved the manuscript’s first draft before passing away in 2004. To develop a complete account of Bill’s WWII experience, I extensively researched the sites featured in his journal and post-war notes, the history of Operation Market-Garden, and the ill-fated flight of his glider, number “13”. As I studied other POW accounts, I discovered numerous incidents that confirmed the accuracy of Bill’s narrative. Internet research led me to Dutch historians and the son of a German veteran who participated in Bill’s capture. It seemed as though each new contact led to another. I hope I have done justice to Bill’s story. Any errors, historical or otherwise that may have crept into the narrative are mine alone.