he remembered screaming in anger as german machine guns turned the rapido river to white froth , the way his arms ached as he drove the sinking rubber raft across to the north bank where the brush was already full of the black helmets and cammo ponchos of ss division das reich , the shells called by the spotters at monte cassino splashing down everywhere , half his squad dead or wounded , bodies sprawled on the bottom of his boat in a mixture of river spray and their own blood ... .