The whole situation was terrifying. The Army always is full of rumors. We heard that the Germans had broken through our lines with a major force, and that our line across the Ardennes had collapsed. We had no air cover because of the weather. The l0lst Airborne Division was surrounded in Bastogne. The American Army had tremendous casualties, and we did not know how many had been captured. We had moved across France so rapidly that we thought the war was all but over. We began to think otherwise in the Saar. None of us expected anything like this. We were upset at having to leave Metz and our plans for a pleasant Christmas. We hurriedly repacked our vehicles. Fortunately, I had accumulated a good supply of warm clothes, and I needed them all. My truck had no doors, so that we were exposed to the air. I put on two suits of long underwear, two pairs of socks, wool pants and shirt, a field jacket, an overcoat, two pairs of gloves, and a fur hat covered by my helmet. Still, I was none too warm.

We took off in the dark, driving north into Luxembourg amid sounds of small arms and artillery fire. Around midnight, we got to a small, seemingly deserted town, Boulaide. I spotted one faint light and led my unit toward it. As we drove through the town, we saw a number of German flags. Apparently, the Germans had taken this town during their offensive, but our division had driven them out just before we got there. I heard that some of our men waded through a freezing cold river to get at the Germans. The small light I had seen was in the home of a farmer who was there waiting for us. He had hidden out in his cellar. He had a roaring fire going and had slaughtered a pig. He had brought out a huge sausage. He had large loaves of fresh-baked bread. We did not know how he had been able to provide all of this, but we were grateful, to say the least. We hastened to set up a station, sampling the delicious food as we worked.

We hardly had set up when combat soldiers began coming in. A few were wounded, and all had various degrees of frostbite. Having been in the Ski Troops, I knew how serious frostbite is. The severe cases I put in a warm room, wearing the most dry clothes available and leaving their frostbitten parts exposed, while I kept their bodies warm. I planned to evacuate them. The more mild cases I warmed up and fed. Those, I expected could go back to duty with proper clothing, if I could get it. Finally, after three hours or so, ready to collapse, I arranged shifts to care for whoever came in and found a place to drop my bedroll. Some Christmas Day!

At dawn, I was up. The farmer had been up most of the night. He had cut the coat-of-arms from the center of a Luxembourg coin which he presented to me. He knew we were going to move out; so he gave me this huge sausage which had a very strong odor of garlic. Obviously, I was grateful to this man, and I regretted not getting his name and address. I still have the cutout coin. Just before we pulled out, a full colonel came by to check on wounded. He went around to encourage them. However, when he saw the men that I had planned to evacuate, he asked, “What’s wrong with these men?” I answered, “They have severe frostbite, sir.” “Warm them up and send them back to duty. I need every man I can get.” “I’m sorry, sir. If these men go back to duty, there is a good chance they will loose a hand or a foot.” “I’m ordering you to send these men back to duty.” “I’m sorry, sir, I cant do that.” “I’ll recommend that you face court-martial.” . “Very well, sir.” He left. Later on, these men received Purple Hearts, when at higher echelons it was realized how dangerous severe frostbite was.

We pulled out early the next morning, having arranged for the evacuation of the wounded by leaving one of our ambulances to shuttle and later to catch up. There were sounds of fire fighting all around us. We weren’t sure where the front was, but obviously our division had somehow made progress that morning, and we got word to set up a station in Nagen, a town in Belgium. On the way there, we drove through the beautiful city of Luxembourg with its deep valley going through the middle of the town. The bridges over it were intact. By late morning we were in Nagen, which had been badly battered. There was the rattle of small arms fire and the horrible sound of German burp guns, their rapid-fire submachine guns. We also heard the crunch of landing shells and the clatter of tank treads. We were never sure whether they were the Germans’ or ours. On Christmas morning, the sky suddenly cleared. We began to see our planes with long trails behind them. There were bombers going for the rear and fighter bombers diving. It was a wonderful sight, and we all cheered. This was the first good news in days.

We set up an aid station. Incongruously, superimposed on this clean, peaceful, friendly country was a dirty unpleasant war. The smooth valleys were marred by stacks of ammunition boxes, gun emplacements, shot-up trucks, tanks, and everywhere, miles of communication wire. The wire was strung from trees, from poles, and on the ground. The roads had been torn up by the heavy vehicles of both armies. Here and there, a tree had been violently knocked down. There was a never ending roar of guns polluting the otherwise pristine air. We noticed that the people of this town had taken in citizens of nearby towns that had been devastated in the furious battle as the Germans drove ahead toward Bastogne and, they hoped, to the sea to cut the Allied Armies in half

We had chosen this town because it had sustained relatively little damage and consequently could provide a good site for care of the wounded. Unfortunately, while scouting for a site, one of my fellow medical officers was wounded and evacuated. That left me to deal with the wounded of a regiment of over five thousand. I never worked so hard, even in Normandy.

My main job was to get the seriously wounded in good enough shape to be transported to the rear in ambulances, which meant stopping hemorrhage and often giving plasma. They were brought to my station, a restaurant, by jeeps fitted with litter racks and by ambulances coming from the smaller units. The wounded were all cold, and their wounds were horrible. We saw many of the worst wounded, for many with minor wounds had returned to duty. We were short of men, and the need to break the circle around Bastogne was urgent.

The people of the town were friendly. They had disliked the Germans in the past and hated them even more now. They brought us food and firewood and helped to get us water, so urgently needed in cleaning the wounded. The stove I had brought with me was very useful when added to the one in the restaurant. I had learned always to take a fairly large wood stove tied to the fender of my truck, along with pipe, which we ran from the stove around the room and then outside. This provided warmth, which was so needed.

We had to remove most of the clothing from the wounded in order to care for their wounds. A pile of torn clothes, bandages, sponges, and other debris was a constant problem. But we managed. We soon had a large rubbish heap outside. We hated to open the door; because we would loose heat. We put on adequate bandages. We started plasma often. Many of the wounded were in shock, and frequently I found it necessary to start I.V.s in the femoral vein. I still seemed to be the only one in our unit who could manage that, for this reason, I had the aid men do a lot of the other chores. When wounded were brought in, it was important to evaluate each man and assess the urgency of his condition.

Fortunately, I had been able to load up on supplies in Metz on Christmas Eve. My favorite bit of equipment was the elastic bandage, which in Normandy I had found to be so versatile. We used untold numbers of syrettes of morphine. Fortunately, I had saved a large supply of cigarettes, which were gratefully received by the wounded. We made gallons of hot coffee using the stoves in the restaurant. We were able to get some reasonably decent food, but for us, there was little time to eat. In many ways, it was worse than Normandy. Although we had a better setup for our station, winter made the field conditions worse. It was extremely difficult to evacuate wounded men through the snow even with chains on jeeps and ambulances. There also was the problem of men literally freezing before the aid men could get to them with first aid and evacuation. I taught the aid men to make sleds which had a low profile and moved through the snow easily.

The worst thing about our situation was that we did not understand exactly what was going on. We were frightened and disheartened. We had thought the war was about over, and now we seemed to be fighting for survival. Morale was low. On our first evening, I broke out one of the bottles of Scotch that I had brought from England.. I divided this among my exhausted aid men. I think it helped.

Beginning in Normandy, to keep my sanity, I made a big effort to act as much as possible as though I were in a much better environment. I continued to shave daily. The standard issue Army helmet had a liner that was easily removed, leaving the helmet like a big basin. I warmed water over my little German stove, and with that was able to shave. I also was in the habit of setting up some sort of table on which to eat, even when I was in a foxhole. When possible, I supplemented our simple Gl fare with some wine or Calvados. I tried to wear clean, dry clothes. I brushed my teeth. Whenever possible, I had water heated to a boiling point in a large can and had the men dip their mess equipment into it to avoid gastrointestinal problems by killing viruses and bacteria. In these ways, I tried to set an example for my men, who were often discouraged and inclined to neglect themselves.

One of the most amazing facts of this terrible battle was that our troops could keep fighting on. I dont know how they were able to dig foxholes in this cold ground or how they were able to use their firearms in the miserable weather. They often used abandoned German foxholes, and they sometimes broke the frozen ground with hand grenades. Most of the men were inadequately clothed. They had been issued a type of rubber boot with leather tops. These were good for mud and wet, but not good for real cold. Feet sweated in them, and then when the soldiers stopped to fight, their feet tended to freeze. Our quartermasters had a lot to learn. They had not anticipated the needs of a winter war.

We leapfrogged toward Bastogne. As we got closer, the fighting grew more bitter. The German Tiger tanks were tough to stop. We now faced elite German troops. We even picked up some of their wounded, who actually were better dressed against the cold than our men. They wore helmets lined with fur. Their clothing was of heavier wool than that of our men. They often wore a sort of white jump-suit over their clothes for camouflage. That extra layer added warmth. They often had wool sweaters under their field jackets. They all carried extra heavy wool socks, and many had gloves with provision for freeing the trigger finger. Many of these men had been on the eastern front in Russia.

When we got close to Bastogne, an infantry major came by and said that the troops surrounded in Bastogne were low in medical supplies and in medical officers. Did I think I could help? He said that they planned to force their way into the city, putting some infantry on the outside of tanks, and perhaps we could load a tank or two with medical supplies, a couple of aid men, and an officer, if available. Well, I figured, what the hell-l’ll try it.

They brought a tank to our station, and we loaded supplies onto it. I took two volunteers with me: Volkman, who was a tech sergeant and quite gentle, and Bradford who was a tough veteran and a leader. I put on my full winter gear: two pairs of long underwear, a wool uniform, two pairs of wool socks with leather boots, a field jacket, my overcoat, and my fur hat with ear flaps, covered by my helmet. We moved out.

It was obvious that the tankers were trying to protect me and my men. They put their other tanks in a position to protect us, one on either side of the supply tank onto which we climbed and got as low as possible, using the gear fastened to it as cover. The tankers carried their bedrolls, extra treads, and extra clothing on the outside of their vehicles, while extra ammunition and fuel were protected by armor whenever possible. Much to our surprise, the commander had found a route to Bastogne that was concealed, and we encountered little fire. What there was had a tremendous response from our group which consisted of four tanks, a tank destroyer, and, of all things, a command jeep containing the scouts who had found the route.

I heard a story when we made a brief stop near an infantry company. In this “white jungle” close-quarter fighting in the winter-bound fir forests, soldiers on both sides sometimes had sluggish reactions. T/Sergeant McLaughin of Black Rock, Arkansas, an E Company platoon sergeant, set off at dark to contact G company. He encountered some soldiers digging into the frozen ground. “G Company?” he asked. Just as he spoke he realized these were Germans. “Nix” one of the German soldiers replied as he continued chipping at the ground. McLaughlin pivoted slowly, and trudged off through the snow. He was well back to his company before the Nazis opened up in his direction.

Within a few hours, we were in Bastogne passing cheering troops of the 101st Airborne. We had travelled eighty-five miles in a bit less two days against stiff opposition. Though we had some wounded, we did not have a man killed from Metz to Bastogne. That was remarkable considering the conditions, and it was noted in the news. It was the kind of mobility that our division was known for. During that time, we went through parts of three countries: France, Belgium, and Luxembourg. We had crossed rivers where the bridges had been destroyed, and we dealt with the horrible conditions. We had reason to be proud of the 35th, but we were too busy doing our jobs and staying alive to reflect on our accomplishments.

We set up in the main railroad station. We took over the command jeep to transport wounded and to bring supplies to the various aid stations. Almost immediately wounded poured in. These were the less badly hurt who had been willing to defer care to the more seriously wounded. The wounded had first been attended in battalion aid stations, from which they were transported to our station, which was enclosed, warm, and better equipped. Because of the difficult transport through snow, evacuation of the more severely wounded to our station had priority. There was real danger of those men freezing to death. The less seriously wounded were helped back to the station afterward, unless they were able to get there on their own. The jeep driver worked overtime bringing supplies, transferring wounded, and being a messenger.

By nightfall we were exhausted, but we knew Bastogne had held. The Germans had been stopped. We didn’t know how soon our troops could recover enough to begin to move toward Germany again, and I think we would just as soon have stopped to wait for spring. The next morning, it was obvious that other troops were getting into Bastogne. Their shoulder patches were different from our Wagon Wheels. But fighting was far from over. A medical officer came in. He was fresh, had a clean uniform, and told me he had been bored in a field hospital and he would like to see some action, he had had a good medical education at Cornell, and we had a lot to talk about since I had spent some time at Cornell not much more than a year before. He had been assigned to a battalion aid station of an infantry battalion just outside of town. I thought he was out of his mind to leave that safe place for this. He was brought into the station that evening with the top of his skull blown away. We treated him with care, and he was the first person I evacuated immediately to the rear along a newly opened route. I never knew if he lived. The poor guy did not know how to survive in a combat area. The situation with this man was not unusual for replacements. All of them were inadequately trained. They were assigned to various duties, but there was not enough time to teach them how to stay alive. Few replacements lasted more than a few days.

Our lines having held, our generals, particularly Patton, thought this was an ideal time to destroy the German Army. So, instead of resting and reorganizing, he decided that we would attack. All of us in Bastogne were terribly angry. We and the troops around us were exhausted. The cold and deep snow were terrible. The soldiers we faced were elite Germans who, though defeated in their attempt to cut our armies in half, still knew how to fight and to take advantage of the terrain. They were defending Germany now, and their supply lines were shorter and better than ours. It was difficult to believe that we were entering a battle that for us was worse than Normandy or Bastogne. General Patton wanted to surround the Germans, cutting off their supplies, but Eisenhower the supreme commander, wanted to advance on a broad front. At least that was my understanding. Each had his reasons, but I had learned to respect Patton, even though he was highly demanding of his troops. In retrospect, I think Patton was right.