THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE: ONE SMALL CORNER
John W. Fague, Co. B, 21st Armored Infantry Battalion,
11th Armored Division, U.S. 3rd Army

The beginning of our part in the Battle of the Bulge was the 29th of December 1944 near the town of Neufchateau, Belgium [France]. Our column of tanks and half-tracks as Combat Command B had been rolling north all day where to and what for I had no idea. The day was cold and windy. There was a layer of snow blanketing the ground; here and there it had drifted. We met many supply trucks on the road headed for the rear, their mission accomplished. I was particularly aware of the ambulances that we met, red lights flashing, passing to the rear. They were evacuating the wounded and this meant there must be fighting ahead. Finally we passed artillery with their muzzles pointed skyward. The guns would cough and spit and belch their flames and then relax. First we passed the big boys, the Long Toms, 240 mm and 155 mm howitzers, and then closer to the front the standard Army 105 mm pieces which backed up the line. From this I realized that our time had come, the moment of truth had arrived.

Late in the afternoon my company pulled off the road to the left. It was on a hill, which made an ideal place to bivouac. The first thing I noticed was the wreckage of an airplane and two lifeless forms on the snow that resembled bodies. The sight of dead bodies was something new to a nineteen-year-old boy from Shippensburg, Pennsylvania. I was anxious and curious to have a closer look at them. When I inspected the first body in the snow, I knew I should not have looked. It was the body of a German fighter pilot. His face was frozen and gray in color. It had a horrible far away stare. He had been lying there 36 hours or more and was frozen stiff. His fingers were gray and rigid. His legs were broken and doubled up under him. G.I.’s had already looted the corpse. Someone had taken his fleece-lined air corps boots and he lay in his stocking feet. The pockets of his uniform had been pulled out and the contents removed. I noticed the stump of a finger. It had been cut off to get the ring he wore.

That was enough. I had seen more than I wanted to. I walked away with a hollow sickening feeling in my stomach. It was chow time but I didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. This was my first encounter with death. It left a vivid impression on my young mind. All during that sleepless night I could see the face of that flyer before me. In the days that followed I rubbed elbows with death many times. I saw my friends die and the strangeness of the phenomenon of death became blurred.

As had become instinctive with us, the company set up an all around defense and prepared to bed down for the night. We set up our machine gun outposts and dug slit trenches in the event of an air or artillery attack. Other elements before us had dug foxholes and gun positions on this slope so that we had few holes to dig.

Fortunately there was a straw stack in our area around which we made our beds. I pulled some straw off the stack and laid my bedroll on it. I got some more straw to put over me. The night was bright with a moon illuminating the snow. While I took my turn as outpost guard, a German reconnaissance plane swooped low over our position. The second time it came down some of our units arched machine gun tracer bullets in the direction of the sound but with no effect. During the night our artillery kept up its harassing fire on the enemy positions. They were firing on the enemy rear and shell bursts would illuminate the sky. The firing was spasmodic during the night but the tempo increased toward morning.

Early in the morning my platoon leader, Lt. Roy C. Stringfellow, came back from a meeting with the company commander, Capt. Elmore K. Fabrick, and brought information of the attack we were to make the next day. I was lying awake in my bedroll and heard him give the details of the attack to the platoon sergeants and the squad sergeants. One instruction of the lieutenant I could not forget, “There will be enemy artillery fire and plenty of it. The Germans always advance their fire, so keep the men moving.”

At 4:30 a.m. I rolled up my bedroll and took off for the kitchen truck. After eating a hurried breakfast I came back to my half-track and got things ready to move out in the attack. Our company was to follow Baker Company of the 22nd Tank Battalion. The tanks were to pass our area at 6 a.m. For some unknown reason the tanks passed too early. Capt. Fabrick signaled for our platoon to take off down the road after the tanks. We hastily threw our equipment on the half-track and took off down the road. There had been some delay after the last tank had passed and so our platoon lost contact with the tank column. At the first intersection Lt. Stringfellow asked the battalion commander, Col. James R. Hoffman, who was standing there, the direction the tanks had taken. The colonel directed us down the wrong road.

Our half-track was now in the lead heading an independent attack. I noticed a few tanks peeking out from behind some buildings as we went by. And these I soon learned were our advance outposts. The next thing I knew we were out in no man’s land [land between opposing forces] and all hell was breaking loose. The Krauts [nickname for Germans] were preparing to make an attack of their own and their artillery was preparing the way. When the lieutenant realized we were on the wrong road, he brought our little column to a halt. There we sat on the road while he was attempting to establish contact by radio with the rest of our column. It was just beginning to get light, that gray sort of dawn. The German shells were exploding only a short distance away, and I could hear the shrapnel whining through the air. A farmhouse was smoldering in ruins beside our vehicle. It gave me a very terrifying feeling to sit there in that vehicle and hear those shells land. I knew that at any moment one might hit our vehicle or burst in the trees overhead. This was my first experience with the thought that I might die or be horribly wounded. Even though I was scared I tried to make a few jokes out of it but the boys were in no mood for my humor. We all sat huddled together in the half-track trying to make ourselves as small as possible and trying to keep our heads down below the quarter-inch armor plate that formed the sides of the track.

In the meantime Lt. Stringfellow had gone back on foot to the last crossroads and discovered that we should have turned left there. He came back to our vehicle andgot our^column turned around and started back. Once we moved back I felt better.long as we were moving or doing something I had no time to be afraid, but when we stopped I felt helpless. The lines through which were passing were held by another division. They were very worried and concerned when they saw our vehicles withdrawing, and some of them mounted their vehicles and started to withdraw. I saw a line of infantrymen bearing the insignia of the red keystone withdrawing across the railroad tracks. I later learned that they were my own Pennsylvania 28th Division which had been gallantly trying to hold their line against the German onslaught. They had been holding on, I learned, ever since the attack began. Groups of these infantrymen were straggling down the road beside our vehicle. They looked tired and weary, as if they didn’t care any more. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders and a dark growth of beard was on their faces.

The sight of these withdrawing men filled me with fear. I expected to see German infantry coming across those tracks. The fighting was coming closer and I wanted to be prepared. I put a cartridge in the chamber of my rifle, and kneeling on the seat I was ready to fire on any Germans that came over the rise formed by the railroad tracks.

When we reached the crossroads again, the situation was in general confusion. Vehicles were trying to go all ways at once. Several officers were trying to direct traffic and restore order from chaos. The tension was increased by the sound of shells crashing in the trees on each side of the road. We drove up a hill and found our tanks deployed in battle formation at the crest’of the ridge. My vehicle stopped at the top of the hill and then moved on about 20 yards. I heard an explosion behind us and saw that a mortar shell had hit the second squad vehicle behind us when it pulled into our old position. The vehicle was disabled and three men wounded. These were our first casualties so far as I knew at the time. They carried the wounded to a pit that the Germans had evacuated just before we came over the hill. I later learned that several shells had hit the crossroads after we got through. One shell had made a direct hit on the third platoon half-track, killing three and wounding several others.

My position in the platoon was that of runner for Lt. Stringfellow. I followed him around like a dog following its master. When we stopped at the crest of the hill, he dispersed the vehicles and men. The object of this was to keep one shell from injuring more than one or two men. It was here I received my first lesson in German camouflage. In a corner of a haystack the Germans had neatly concealed a machine gun. They had dug out a corner of the stack and placed strands of straw in the fence. You could walk right up to the gun and not notice it. I was so intent on following the lieutenant that I didn’t notice it as we walked by. He pointed it out to me. The Germans who had occupied this position had left only a few minutes before. They had left the machine gun, ammunition, rifles, and personal equipment lying around. I remember that we were all “booby trap” conscious from the lectures we had received on the subject. Leonard Dricks got a long strand of fence wire and hooked it on the gun. He backed off ten yards and jerked. Much to my surprise it wasn’t “booby trapped” in spite of all the lectures to the contrary.

We waited on the hill for a short time until the arrival of Capt. Fabrick. He had taken the other part of the company, which was not with us and gone down into the little town of Jodenville. He came back all smiles telling about the nice little fight they had down there in the town.

Very soon the battalion commander arrived and there was a conference among the officers. It was decided that we would attack cross-country. Our objective was a wooded area on a distant hill. The tanks led the attack. I remember seeing the light tanks scooting across the snow, bucking and tugging and kicking up clouds of snow. The tanks were attacking in a skirmish line and our infantry half-tracks followed in dispersed formation at a distance of 100 yards. I remember as we dashed down the hill seeing several of our General Sherman tanks burning in the plain below. Our tanks were no match for the German low silhouette Tiger tanks with their “88” cannons. The tanks that were leading were already on the crest of the slope facing the woods that concealed the enemy guns. The engagement was on. Our tanks were blasting away and receiving fire. We pulled up beside our tanks and dismounted. We formed a skirmish line of infantry across the hill. It was easy to see that our tanks were taking a beating. All along the line tanks were beginning to burn. The German anti-tank guns and “88” pieces were well dug in and camouflaged. We had failed to register preliminary artillery fire on the enemy position. Our artillery only now was beginning to land a few shells in the woods. As we lay in the snow, Lt. Stringfellow gave the command to fix bayonets. I think every man in the platoon had a little of the hysterical feeling of fear which will grip a new soldier. The enemy must be close or why the order to fix bayonets? I expected to see a wave of German infantry come charging over the slight rise in front of us. All the time a few shells were coming in on us. A piece of shrapnel hit the half-track. Our tanks were firing and being fired at. At the time, the privates were ignorant of the plan of attack. We did not know what we were to do. I had only the faintest idea that the enemy fire was coming from the woods ahead. I saw some of our shells land in those woods, which were about 500 yards in front. I blame our officers for not acquainting us with the situation.

I later learned we were to assault the woods with the tanks in support. The lieutenant must have decided that we were too far from our objective to make a direct foot assault, so he gave the order to mount up. This order didn’t take any coaxing. We all piled into the vehicles. With all the equipment in the track it didn’t seem as if there was enough room. Several of the boys in their haste sprawled across the knees of us who were sitting. We were gripped with a fear that at any time one of those German anti-tank shells, which were knocking out the tanks, would hit our vehicle.

It now became apparent that some of our tanks were pulling back, trying to take shelter behind the crest of the hill and screen themselves from the murderous fire. Our lieutenant yelled to the tank major in the tank next to our track and asked him why the tanks were withdrawing. The major didn’t seem to know. Lt. Stringfellow gave another order to dismount and withdraw. Then began a mad scramble down into the draw from which we had just come. The drivers brought up the vehicles as soon as they could turn them around. We attempted to form a temporary defense line along a fencerow, but when the vehicles came by we mounted up and returned to the town of Jodenville from where we had just come.

At Jodenville the tracks were dispersed in a field behind the town and the men found what cover they could. This was the end of our action for the first day. Except for gaining the town of Jodenville, the attack was a failure from my limited knowledge at the time. The failure was due to inexperienced officers and green troops. After our experience in Belgium we could have done a better job. And we did in the months that followed.

After our withdrawal from the hill, the lieutenant and I went into the town to contact the other officers and learn what the score was. The Krauts started to pour mortar and artillery shells on the town and our vehicles. We ducked into a basement and let the music play outside. As soon as the artillery had let up a little the lieutenant sent me to where the vehicles were parked to bring the men into town where they could get protection in the buildings. When I got out to the boys I found them huddled behind hedges and sprawled in ditches. They looked scared to death and thought I was crazy walking around in the open. Several of the boys had been wounded in the field and a couple killed. Two boys lost control of their nerves and broke down from “battle fatigue.” One was from my squad.

That night was the first of many miserable nights to come. My company had a sector of the town to defend. We dug foxholes and set up machine guns on the outside perimeter. The ground was frozen and resisted our efforts to dig in. My squad finally succeeded in scratching several holes, and we set up our 50-caliber guns from the track. There wasn’t much sleeping that night. Each man did about four hours of outpost duty in the foxholes and then tried to sleep. The entire platoon was jammed into one little house. We slept on the floor and every time someone came in the door I was stepped on. I remember that while I was on the outpost Joe Moran came past me walking down the road leading out of town. I told him he was going toward the enemy lines. He must have been drunk. The next day he wasn’t around when the attack began. We later found the fighting Irishman hiding in an attic.

The next day December 31st, we were to continue our attack. The outposts were called in and we mounted our half-tracks ready to take off. I remember I had great difficulty in deciding whether to wear my heavy wool overcoat or my lighter field jacket. I took it off and put it on several times. The coat was very heavy and clumsy for walking or running, but it was good protection when I lay down in the snow. I finally decided to wear the coat and later that night I was very glad that I had.

There was some delay in making the attack that morning. For one thing our artillery was shelling the enemy position. I went up to visit with a few of the tankers while we were waiting. Several of them were gathered around behind their tanks melting snow for water and trying to make coffee. They told me they had lost 14 tanks the day before and had quite a few boys wounded. The company commander was killed and another boy. Several of the tanks were firing now. They had spotted some activity on the hill in front of us and were trying their accuracy.

At twelve o’clock noon the battalion commander gave the signal to begin the attack. We mounted up and took off with the tanks leading. We raced down the same valley through which we had withdrawn the day before. This time all our machine guns were blazing. It was a comforting sound to hear those guns chatter. Lt. Stringfellow had trouble with the 50-caliber gun mounted on our track. It would fire a few rounds and then jam. Our spearhead of tanks and half-tracks chased down the valley toward the next town until several vehicles bogged down and we came under enemy mortar fire. Here we dismounted from the vehicles and took cover in a ditch by the road. Howard Anderson’s vehicle was hit by a shell and became disabled, but fortunately all the men had taken cover in the ditch before it was hit. The company formed in a skirmish line along the road taking cover behind the bank. As usual I had no idea what we were attacking or where the enemy was supposed to be. I heard machine gun fire coming over our head from the rear but it turned out to be from our own tanks.

It was here that Willie J. Maynard got a lucky shot with his bazooka. He fired at an attic window of a house near the road. It was a beautiful hit, and a Kraut came flying out the other window in the attic. He didn’t get far when he was cut down by four 50-caliber machine guns from an anti-aircraft battery. The plan was for us to attack the hill in front of us. The battalion moved out from the road in basic training fashion, leaps and bounds and rushes, everything according to the book. We charged across the open ground and up the hill until we were ordered to stop. And now the officers decided that we were attacking the wrong hill! The Krauts were not up there. Somebody had made a miscalculation. I was told later that the tank commander yelled to battalion commander, Lt. Col. Hoffman, and asked him if he felt qualified to lead his men. His reply was, “I guess not.”

Later I understood that Col. Hoffman accidentally let the tank hatch drop on his shoulder and he had to be evacuated. That took care of that problem. Col. Hoffman was succeeded by Major Tansey, a dashing West Point officer. I remember him walking around with his 45-caliber pistol strapped to his waist, screaming orders in his high-pitched voice, walking where the fighting was the thickest.

Since we had blundered in attacking the wrong hill, Major Tansey and Capt. Fabrick led our company along a railroad track around the hill. We walked down the railroad tracks in a column of two for several hundred yards and then cut crosscountry up over the hill. I noticed several knocked out American tanks on the hill but nothing more. Although I didn’t know it then, we were heading toward the town of Chenogne, Belgium, which I presume was our original objective. This town was to witness the bloodiest fighting of our campaign in Belgium.

Our company came across the hill in scattered formation, the first platoon leading the way. I remember wading through snowdrifts and crawling under several barbed wire fences. As I came over the top of that open hill I little suspected the trap into which we were to be caught. Several times shells burst in the pine trees 150 yards to my left and some shrapnel hit the snow around me. I couldn’t figure out then if that was close support from our artillery or enemy fire. I guess it was the Jerries [nickname for Germans] because they had spotted every move we made.

Suddenly I had an experience of horror. Again I got that sudden sickening in my stomach. There in front of me were two-man foxholes. I could make out the forms of American boys, G.I.’s slumped over in a sitting position, dead. The snow had drifted over their bodies so I could hardly distinguish their features. I then realized there was something wrong with this place. Some one yelled that the 9th Armored Division had been driven out of here a few days before.

As we walked along, Capt. Fabrick yelled for someone to fire a few rounds into a haystack in front of us. Some one fired a few rounds and this turned out to be very fortunate. The Jerries figured we had spotted them and they opened up with their machine gun. The sound of that gun I will never forget. The German machine gun has a much faster rate of fire than our gun and so they are easily distinguished. The sound of that gun echoed across the snow and everything in me seemed to stop. There were six of us in the first rank as we passed over the crest of the hill. We could see the town of Chenogne 300 yards in front of us. All of us instinctively dove for cover in the snow. I looked for a hole to crawl into but there was none.

The first burst of gunfire had killed two men and wounded three, leaving me the lucky one. As I raised my head to look around, I saw boys to the left kicking and writhing in the snow. I knew they were hit and I wanted to get to them but I couldn’t. I knew approximately who they were although I could not see their faces. Sgt. Carl E. Petersen from Oregon and William Kidney from Toledo, Ohio were dead. Bill Bassert and Charles Hocker from Philadelphia were badly wounded. Johnny Kale, who was lying near me, began to whine in pain. He yelled to me he was hit. I crawled on my stomach through the snow to him. I found a bullet had hit him in the calf of the leg but it wasn’t bleeding badly. It looked like a clean wound. I took the Carlisle bandage from his belt and bandaged his wound. I gave him his sulfa tablets to prevent infection, but the water to take the pills with was frozen in his canteen. I told him to eat snow with the pills. Remembering my basic training, I took the clips of rifle ammunition from his belt and told him to crawl to the rear. As soon as Kale was gone my attention was again drawn to that Jerry machine gun. It was still spitting out death across the snow. I knew I had to get into a hole somewhere or that gun would get me. I spotted a hole 20 yards down the hill and made a run for it. It was filled with snow but I flopped in.

My protection was just a shallow slit trench. Every time I heard that machine gun rip off a burst I tried to draw my buttocks more into the hole or pull in a leg. At this time I experienced the loneliest and most desolate feeling I had ever gone through. I looked back and could see none of the rest of the platoon behind me. The few boys on my right had either been killed or were lying face down and very still. On my left and in front there was nothing but Krauts. A few yards to my right lay a dead German. He must have been killed the day before, as he was frozen stiff.

The idea came into my head that maybe the company would withdraw and leave me there. I thought to myself, “Well Fague, it looks like the end is very near.” My morale was at the lowest it had ever reached. I had a weapon in my hand and I was determined to use it whatever happened. I saw some activity in the house ahead, Krauts running around. I opened up with my rifle. I fired one shot and my rifle jammed. While I had been giving Kale first aid I dragged my rifle through the snow and got snow and dirt in the receiver. I had trouble drawing back the bolt but I could still operate my rifle one round at a time. I doubt if I hit anything but it made me feel good to be shooting and doing something.

My isolated little battlefield soon came to life. I heard machine gun fire coming from my rear and it was a wonderful sound. I saw those beautiful red tracer bullets from our guns arch across the snow into the Jerry position in front of me. I heard our tanks coming from the rear and I knew I was no longer alone. What a wonderful feeling the sight of our tanks gave me. I felt like jumping up and charging the enemy position alone. I was so excited I was no longer afraid. Behind me I heard voices yelling and commands. I saw buddies from my platoon moving over the bodies of those who had just been killed. They were moving in leaps and bounds from bushes to snowdrifts. When they came abreast of me I went along with them. I rushed to an abandoned German tank 75 yards in front of me and took cover behind it.

At the tank I was soon joined by Frank H. Holquist. He brought his machine gun and set up for business. The next arrivals were Robert A. Fordyce, a Perm State freshman from Erie, Pennsylvania, and Paul L. Gentile. They were carrying ammunition for the machine gun. The sergeants soon joined us. Holquist now gave us a tune on his machine gun. He was keeping the Krauts busy who were dug in around the house 50 yards in front of us. I decided this was the time to take my rifle apart and get the snow out of it. When the company had built up enough strength, we rushed the Germans around the house. When we reached the house a German came out, hands in the air. Roy E. Stout from Missouri shot him. Two more Krauts came out of another dugout and Sgt. Frank Hartzel from Philadelphia shot them with his 45 pistol. They were following our orders to take no prisoners. My company had overrun the German positions on the outskirts of the village and we began to push on through. There was general confusion of shouting and grenade throwing. Our tanks were cruising and crashing around. I had trouble keeping from being run down by tanks or getting in the muzzle blast of their 75 mm guns.

We didn’t get far into Chenogne. It was five o’clock in the evening and it was decided to form a defense line for the night running through the outskirts of the village. My company B was dug in on a line on the right side of the road leading into the town and C Company was dug in on the left. Now we had time to count noses and see who was present, time to check up on our ammunition and our rations.

My best buddy, Wilfred L. McCarty from McCool Junction, Nebraska was missing out of my squad. No one seemed to know what had happened to him. Later I learned he had been hit in the shoulder by a mortar shell fragment. James O. Cust, New York City, and I were going to dig our foxhole together. There was snow on the ground and it was frozen six inches deep. We had only little entrenching tools to dig with and the frozen ground resisted our efforts but we hacked feverishly at the crust. We had been told to expect a counter attack soon after taking a position. Cust and I had dug a hole deep enough to sit down in when the Germans began the counter attack. It began with a heavy artillery barrage. We had only 45 minutes to dig the hole but it saved our lives. Robert Fordyce who had been the second man to join me at the tank in the afternoon was killed in his hole behind us. His hole wasn’t deep enough to protect him properly.

While the barrage was going on Cust and I sat in our hole looking at each other. We were two frightened, cold, exhausted boys. Every time a shell hit, we closed our eyes and flinched. Shells crashed around our hole and threw dirt on us. How long would this shelling last I wondered. Would the next shell hit us? What would come after the shelling? The shelling was followed by machine gun fire from the Krauts. I was expecting an infantry attack but our tanks and artillery came to our rescue. Our artillery laid shells in front of our position and our tanks on the hill behind us used their machine guns. This discouraged the enemy from any attack on us.

Now it was near midnight, New Years 1945.1 was in a foxhole, cold, shivering, miserable and wondering if I would live to see the New Year in. I was going to try. I had my rifle lying on a pile of dirt in front of me along with three hand grenades just for good measure. I thought Cust and I were set for the night but soon the squad sergeant informed us that our holes were too far out of the defense perimeter. We were to fall back and dig new holes. Cursing and swearing, we started to dig a new hole. All the time we were digging the new hole we were subject to a possible artillery barrage. Again we had to hack and chew at the frozen ground with our toy tools. I was so cold and exhausted I sat down on the snow and dug between my legs.

December 31, 1944

The houses along the road to my left were burning brilliantly. This gave an eerie touch to the black night. The flames flickered and flashed, illuminating the scene and lighting our little world. I had my gaze focused on a burning house down the road when I saw two figures silhouetted by the light of the fire. They were walking toward the darkness. At first I thought they were G.I.’s but then changed my mind. I opened up on them with my rifle. I heard some moaning and yelling and then “Komerad! Komerad!” Out of the darkness two men trudged toward me, their arms raised in surrender. They were my first prisoners. I turned the two prisoners over to Joseph A. Minnaugh (Harrisburg, Pa.) who could speak German. Later I learned these two men had been taken behind a haystack and shot. The order had been, “Take no prisoners in this drive.”

The fire in the burning buildings looked inviting to me as I shivered in my foxhole. I decided to walk over to the fire and warm up a little. The intense heat from the fire felt good to me and I was beginning to enjoy my little bonfire when I happened to glance at a charred object near my feet. At first I assumed it was a burnt log but on closer inspection I realized it was the charred body of a German. I began to think about the possibility of some Krauts surprising me, as I stood there illuminated by the fire. This idea along with my charred companion caused me to decide to go back to my cold foxhole.

Word was passed around that our half-tracks were on the hill behind us and that we could go one at a time and get food and our coats. Cust stayed in our hole and I went up the hill to the track. For some reason I was very thirsty. While rummaging through the track I found a can of condensed milk, which I thought I would like to drink. I pierced the can with my trench knife and guzzled the milk. It was a bitter dose but I drank it. The C-rations were frozen solid in the can but somehow I managed to pry the stew loose with my trench knife. I was hungry.

About midnight orders came down that we were to evacuate our position in the town and pull back up the hill. I heard rumors that the reason we were pulling back was that the Germans were bringing reinforcements and tanks into the town for an attack. I believed the rumor at the time but now I know the officers had something else in mind. My platoon assembled around that same haystack on the hill where the shooting had started the afternoon before. We were to form a new defense line on the ridge. For the third time that night Cust and I were to scratch out a hole in the frozen ground. Some of the fellows found foxholes dug by the 9th Armored Division before they withdrew. But we had to dig our own holes. Cust was so exhausted he couldn’t dig. He lay down in the snow and told me he didn’t care if he died or not. I felt the same way but I began to pick at the ground, pretending to have a little enthusiasm for the work. When I had gotten some dirt dug I coaxed Jim into shoveling it away. That got him interested in the project.

January 1, 1945

The next day was New Year’s Day 1945. It was a holiday back in the States. Mom would be fixing up a big dinner. I thought of this as I trudged over to our half-track in the dim light of dawn. I was going for another can of C-rations. As it got light that New Year’s morning I was amazed at the collection of vehicles on the slope behind our position. There were half-tracks and tanks, tank destroyers, jeeps and ambulances. Another attack was going to be made on the little town of Chenogne. The tank crews were warming up their tanks in preparation for the big push.

Several hours of the morning wore on as preparations were made for the attack. An artillery preparation was in progress. The tanks were lining up across the hill at the starting line. Our infantry battalion was likewise deployed in a skirmish line behind the tanks. The second and third platoons of our company were on the line and my platoon was immediately behind them. We had suffered the most casualties the day before and so were placed in support. I was to be a busy boy that morning. James Cust had suggested that he and I stick together for the attack and sort of look after each other. This seemed like a good idea. Lt. Stringfellow had also told me to stick by him as he was feeling almost exhausted. He gave me his “walkie talkie” to carry and listen on.

The attack began and the Krauts were ready. As soon as our boys started over the crest of the hill into town, the German machine guns sprang to life. Mortars opened up on our tanks. More artillery was called for. Our tanks and assault guns were moved up on the crest to try to knock out those machine guns. Lt. Dupont of the second platoon was walking around on the crest of the hill trying to locate the enemy machine gun when he was hit in the shoulder by the gun he was looking for. He crawled back from the crest and lay in the snow. Lt. Stringfellow yelled for him not to move. He called for a medical jeep and the Lieutenant and I went up to help load Dupont on the vehicle.

The medics were very busy that morning. All across the line were cries of “Medic! Medic! Bring a stretcher.” The Germans were extremely accurate with their mortar fire. It seemed as if they could drop their shells right in the turret of our tanks. Several wounded tankers were lying in a shell hole waiting for medical aid. The lieutenant sent me in search of a jeep to evacuate them. I couldn’t find a medical jeep so I commandeered a company vehicle. We loaded the wounded on it and it took off for the battalion aid station in the rear. Fortunately the driver knew the way back to Jodenville where the aid station was located. It was a rough ride over the snow and frozen ground but speed was essential. We dumped our load of wounded and headed back to the front.

At first the attack went badly. The enemy had us pinned down on the ridge. Gradually our superior firepower helped us break through. We started down the hill into town. My platoon was supposed to trail in the rear but in the confusion we were mixed in with the rest of the company. We fought in a mass and a “mess.” I particularly remember T/Sgt. Glen R. Warfield walking down the main street firing a light machine gun from his hip. He looked like the hero in a Hollywood war thriller. The belt of ammunition was slug across his shoulder and he was spraying hell out of everything in sight.

The action was going better until machine gun fire erupted from an unidentified location. It sounded like one of our own guns but it was knocking out boys all along the road. It looked as though the fire was coming from a big stone house 30 yards in front of us but we could see no signs of movement or enemy activity. I was crouching in a ditch by the side of the road when a bullet creased my left thumb and smashed the upper hand guard of my rifle. The impact of the bullet knocked the gun out of my hand and spun me around. I lay in the ditch wondering what had happened. My next impulse was to retrieve my rifle. I crawled around to where I could reach it and pulled it to me by the sling. I got out of there in a hurry.

Across the road from me Robert J. Beach of Los Angeles had been hit in both legs from that same burst of fire. I ran across the road to him but several other guys were giving him aid. They told me to stand guard on the corner as we didn’t know where the fire was coming from. When I had time I examined my thumb and rifle. The bullet had cut through the side of my thumb but it was not bleeding seriously. The wooden hand guard on the rifle was smashed and the bullet had hit the barrel and then glanced off. Fortunately it was still in working order.

As I was standing there on guard I noticed an American artillery gun move by me. The tractor bore the olive drab color and the white star of our army. The Germans had captured it in their lightening breakthrough and were using it to tow their artillery. The source of the enemy fire holding up our advance was finally located in a big stone house in front of us. Tank fire was brought on the house from less than 30 yards away and gaping holes were punctured in the walls.

The platoon sergeant then ordered several of us to go forward with grenades and grenade the house. Jim Cust and I went forward and crouched by the house wall. Jim made the first attempt to heave a grenade into a first floor window. In his haste Jim missed the window and the grenade fell to the ground by the house. Jim threw himself on the ground by the building and it exploded within 10 feet of him. The burst of the grenade fragments went upward and miraculously Jim’s life was spared for a few minutes longer. This was the last time I saw Jim alive.

Since Jim had failed I pulled the pin on my grenade and ran forward. I aimed at an upper story window and like Jim in my haste I missed the window. I jumped into an open doorway to avoid the shrapnel. I pulled the pin on a second grenade and tried again. Again I failed and jumped into the doorway for protection. I was green to combat or I would never have tried to grenade an upper floor. As I later learned I should have dropped the grenade in a basement window from where the Germans were firing. They knew from experience that a cellar offered the best protection against our tanks and bombs.

T/Sgt. Kenneth Ferguson called me back from the building in order to give the tanks another opportunity to shell the house. We were lying behind a hedge at the side of the house when I saw the boys on my left running back from the house. My buddy Jim Cust was one of those who never got a chance to withdraw. He raised himself by his arms and then fell back down. A bullet had gotten him in the forehead. Lt. Wilber F. Jones who was standing in the ditch by the road got a bullet in his chest from the same burst of fire and died almost instantly.

In the confusion and excitement of the action I didn’t know that Jim Cust had been killed. I didn’t even realize this deadly machine gun fire was coming from the basement window of the house by which we were lying. A little later I asked the sergeant where Cust was. He said the Krauts got him and that he was lying over by the hedge. I could not believe that anything like that had happened to Jim. I rushed over to the body lying by the hedge. There was Jim, but the boy lying in the snow had little resemblance to the Jim that I knew so well. His face had that horrible look of violent death. His eyes had that glassy stare as though he was seeing something very far away. His teeth were protruding from his face like those of a Chinaman, something that was never characteristic of Jim. The Jim I knew so well had gone from me and so I turned my back on the lifeless boy lying in the snow.

By now the house was blazing fiercely. A tanker down the street yelled that somebody was trying to escape from the basement. All of us stood with our guns ready. We were angry and anxious to kill, to avenge the death of so many of our boys whom these creatures had wounded and killed. The occupants of the basement were being driven out by the smoke. The first thing to appear from the basement door was a German Red Cross flag. They were begging for mercy but there was no mercy in our hearts. We yelled for the Krauts to come out. The first soldier to come out through the smoke was a German medic. He staggered a few steps and a score of rifles cracked. He dropped in the snow, crawled a few feet and dropped again. He lay still.

Frightening cries were coming from the basement. The people were being suffocated by the smoke from the inside and meeting death from our guns on the outside. Another Kraut groped his way through the door, took a few steps and met a hail of bullets. Several more Germans rushed through the door and dropped in the snow outside. A ring of bodies was forming around the doorway.

Soon we realized that there were civilians imprisoned in the basement. We could hear women screaming. We held our fire while women and children rushed from the smoking basement. They had been held prisoner by the Germans to keep them from giving away their position. These unfortunate people rushed around like crazed animals. They also embraced each other and kissed. They were so happy to be free from that burning hell and happy to know that we were not going to kill them as we had the Germans. I remember one young girl about 16 years old had an ugly gash over her kneecap. We coaxed her to lie down on the road while a medic bandaged her leg. The civilians still did not trust us, they were terrified by the excitement and the shells landing nearby. The women soon grabbed their children in their arms and started to run for the woods. We tried to restrain them, as the woods were not safe from our artillery. They would not heed our warnings.

Since this strong point of resistance had been cleared, we proceeded on down the main street of the town. I kept a sharp lookout at all the windows for any signs of activity. From a white stone house on a hill to the left of the road a man appeared with a white flag. I yelled and waved for him to come forward. He came down to the road followed by a dozen others. They lined up on the road while several of our boys searched them for weapons and loot. These were German supermen who had been charged with the task of holding open General Von Rundstedt’s corridor to Antwerp. Many of them were young arrogant boys of 16 and 17, Hitler’s youth. Several of them wore U.S. army clothing which they had taken from our boys whom they had captured or killed. Boys from the 9th Armored Division I presumed.

By now we had cleared the town. Most of the buildings had either been destroyed or were burning from our tank and artillery fire. There were still some Germans hiding in the town and woods. This was evident from the sniper fire that opened up now and then. The main action was over and we were sitting along the road trying to recover from the exhaustion of our morning action. Some of the boys had some prisoners lined up. I knew they were going to shoot them and I hated that business. I hid behind one of the tanks so that the sergeant would not see me and ask me to help with the slaughter. Fortunately one of our fellows decided not to shoot them in the open where Germans hiding in the woods would witness this atrocity. They marched the prisoners back up the hill to murder them with the rest of the prisoners we had taken that morning.

Our tanks were now moving up the road to take a defensive position outside of town. Our mission in the town had been completed; we had cleared the town of the enemy. The next move was for my company to form and reorganize. The boys gathered beside the road to eat any rations they carried and to talk over the morning’s business. Our ranks were looking thin. Many of our buddies lay back on the hill outside of town. I was just beginning to feel comfortable and at ease when a few German shells whistled in and hit along the road. A few of our boys were walking along the road and they got hit. The cry for “Medics” was back again. After a rest of an hour we received orders to go back through the town and join our vehicles on the other side of town. We formed into a semblance of a column and trudged back.

As we were going up the hill out of town I saw that some of our boys were lining up German prisoners in the fields on both sides of the road. There must have been 25 or 30 German boys in each group. Machine guns were being set up. These boys were to be machine gunned and murdered. We were committing the same crimes we were accusing the Japs and Germans of doing. The terrible significance of what was going on did not occur to me at the time. After the killing and confusion of that morning the idea of killing some more Krauts didn’t particularly bother me. I didn’t want any part in the killing. My chief worry was that Germans hiding in the woods would see this massacre and we would receive similar treatment if we were captured. I turned my back on the scene and walked on up the hill.

Back at the half-track we dug out some frozen C-rations and tried to thaw them out on the exhaust pipe of the track. The water in the water can was also partly frozen but I managed to drain a little out to drink.In the meantime I tried to reorganize my equipment. I took my rifle apart and cleaned and oiled it the best I could. I got some more ammunition and grenades to replace what I had used. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon. As tired and exhausted as we were the order came to continue the attack. We were going to push on. Our objective was the Bastogne-Neufchateau highway. The signal was given to mount up and prepare to move out. Four men from my squad were missing. Going back down the road into town I looked into the field where the German boys had been shot. Dark lifeless forms lay in the snow. Leaving the town our vehicles left the road and were traveling cross country through the snow. We pushed on as far as we could in our vehicles and then dismounted and proceeded on foot.

Our line of advance was in a clearing between two patches of pinewoods. We were formed in columns of five, continually on the alert for signs of enemy activity. It was now nearly five o’clock and darkness was rapidly closing in. I had no idea where we were going or what was going to happen. It was merely a case of following the man ahead and hoping that somebody knew what the score was. From time to time we would lie in the snow when artillery shells landed nearby. No one was hit. We continued to plod through the snow that evening until it was considered inadvisable to go further. Orders were received to dig in. My platoon was assigned its sector of defense. It was dark now and our location was confusing. We were on a bare slope with woods or trees 20 yards to our front. I was digging a hole with two other boys. One was Nelson S. Rehnquist and the other was called “Snuffy.” Snuffy was hard of hearing and not too reliable.

We got our entrenching tools and began to dig as rapidly as possible. We scraped the snow away and broke through the crust of frozen ground. The digging was easy, too easy. When we had dug a foot and a half we were in mud, which soon gave way to water. This was most discouraging. We had gone less than two feet and were in water. The night was getting cold, and I knew we could not last long standing in a hole filled with water.

We decided to start another hole nearby on a little higher ground. This time we were going to dig a wider hole and not go very deep. By working in shifts we soon got a hole that was almost three feet deep. This would have to do. We dared not go deeper. Two of us had worked while one listened. We did not want to be surprised. When the hole was finished we took a chance on going down to the edge of the woods and cutting pine boughs. These would help to protect us from the dampness of the frozen ground. We notified the boys on our right and left that we were going into the woods.

While we were digging, an eerie sound came from the woods. It sounded like a man calling for help. It was long drawn out and a frightening sound. No one had the courage to go into the woods and investigate. It may have been a trick of the Germans or a wounded German. Since there were three of us we decided that each of us would pull an hour of guard duty and then wake the next man. Sleep, however, was out of the question. I was too cold, scared, and miserable to sleep. I would doze off for a few minutes and then wake up with a start. I strained my eyes and ears to pierce the darkness surrounding our position. My feet gave me the most unbearable discomfort. I had gotten my shoes wet tramping through the snow the day before and now they were freezing.

January 2, 1945

Sometime during the night our half-tracks were brought up to us. The boys would take turns leaving their holes and going back to the vehicles to get warm. The drivers left the motors running to generate a little heat. A short time before dawn several mortar rounds landed nearby. The boys standing hit the snow. Miraculously no one was hurt. The Germans must have heard the sound of our motors or seen the light from our little Coleman stoves. This scare was enough. Orders were given to take the vehicles back to the rear. In the haste of their departure, I left my gloves on the side of the track. I had been warming my hands over the exhaust pipe. This was a critical matter, left in the freezing weather without gloves. I rushed around to secure another pair but met with no success. I finally received an old pair with holes from the first sergeant. They were better than nothing.

Shortly after dawn we received the surprising news that we were going to withdraw. The rumor was that we did not have enough strength to hold our position. I believed it but I hated to give up the ground we worked so hard to secure. We gathered up the surplus ammunition and equipment strewn around our holes and made a dump of it where it would be convenient for our vehicles to pick up. The boys were chattering and excited about the sudden turn of events. And then in a typical army “snafu mode” came another order that we were going to hold our position. We returned in a sullen mood to our holes.

Somehow in the exchange of equipment I secured an extra machine gun. There wasn’t any tripod for it but I took it to my hole and set it up. The gun was frozen but I did my best to get it in working condition. I was having trouble keeping myself awake when action began to happen. Rounds of white phosphorus smoke shells fell in the woods 200 yards to our left front. My tired eyes imagined figures slinking through the smoke and I fired my rifle at them. I imagined that the smoke was to cover a surprise attack by the Germans. My nerves were getting the best of me. It was all my imagination except for the smoke shells. We could hear the sound of tank motors over the ridge in front of us. I saw several vehicles moving up through the trees. My harried nerves now imagined a tank attack and our tanks were not here to support us.

I was much relieved to learn that these tanks were from another unit attacking on our right flank. The action died down and I relaxed and tried to sleep a little. We were sweating it out waiting for orders to attack or retire. The morning wore on and then the afternoon. About four o’clock orders were received to proceed to the village of Mande, about 1000 yards from our present position. This would give us control of the main road between Bastogne and Mande I learned later. We abandoned our foxholes and assembled on the ridge with our supporting tanks. There were no signs of enemy activity. It was too quiet.

Paul L. Gentile and I were warming our bodies behind a tank when a mortar shell landed. We hit the snow. Paul yelled that he had been hit. I crawled over to assist him and discovered when I rolled him over that blood was spurting from a gaping wound in his chest. I tried to stop it with my gloved fist but I could see this wasn’t enough. I found a medical jeep in a shell crater nearby and persuaded the medics to come for Paul. We laid him on the hood and I crawled on top of Paul to keep him from rolling off. With the jeep careening and bouncing over the frozen ground, it was all I could do to hold on. From the gray color of Paul’s face, I knew it was all over for Paul. But I couldn’t give up.

After depositing Paul’s lifeless form at the battalion aid station, I started walking back to where I had left the company. In my excitement over Paul, I had lost my rifle. I tried to borrow a weapon from the vehicle drivers I passed on my way back but they had none to spare. When I arrived at the spot where we loaded Paul on the jeep I found my rifle. I had laid it against the jeep. When the jeep driver turned around, my rifle was smashed. Fortunately I found a carbine lying in the snow—it probably belonged to Paul.

Darkness had descended by now and the company, what was left of it, was working their way into the village of Mande. Many of the buildings were burning and I could see advancing men outlined against the orange flames. I found my platoon and fell into line as they advanced in single file toward the village. We slopped through a stream, soaking our feet. This would increase the incidence of frozen feet on the cold night, which followed. A house-to-house search was made but no Germans were found. Our shelling had probably driven them off. Since my platoon was to have no guard duty, we located a house for the night. This was our first shelter in four days. The half-tracks were brought up and we unpacked our gear.

Lt. Stringfellow called for his bedroll, which I carried down to the basement for him. I remained on the ground floor. Coleman stoves were lit and we proceeded to warm our C-rations. Just when I had settled down on the floor for a little rest, the Germans started shelling the town. The walls of the room shook and swayed. I expected any minute for a direct hit on the house. A picture of Christ and his Disciples at the Last Supper danced on the wall. Suddenly outside I heard the cry, “Counter Attack.” A chill went up my back. I feared being surrounded and trapped in the house. I grabbed my carbine and dashed outside. There was utter confusion outside. Black human forms were running here and there. A cold driving snow chilled the air.

I found our tanks in a skirmish line on the edge of town and decided this would be the best place to make a stand. Shells were dropping on the village. I knelt in the snow by a tank and peered into the blackness for signs of any attacking infantry. Our artillery and tanks had opened up and it was a real “Fourth of July.” I was cold and scared as usual, but no Germans appeared. There was just suspense. A tanker yelled from the turret that he needed a bow gunner. Their gunner had been wounded that day. Although I had never been in a tank I figured it would be better than freezing in the snow.

It was an intricate task to lower myself with overcoat, canteen, entrenching tools, cartridge belt, and carbine down into the bow hole in the dark, but I squeezed in. The inside of a tank was a strange new world to me. I found the 30-caliber machine gun and the observation slot. All I could see was the flash of bursting shells laid down by our artillery. There was hardly room for my feet with all the ammo boxes. By now my wet feet were freezing. I tried to stomp them but that didn’t stop the cold. I sat in the dark, shivering and waiting. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion, which rocked the tank. The tank commander yelled, “We’re hit!” The crew scrambled to abandon the tank before it caught fire.

This was a new experience for me. I slowly squeezed out through the porthole, canteen, overcoat, carbine, and all. Fortunately only the back end of the tank was scorched with the gear being blown away. The tankers reported the damage to their commanding officer. He instructed them to pull the tank off the line if it could be moved. Since the shelling and excitement had died down and no enemy had appeared, I returned to the house. Back in the house the remains of the platoon were either lying on the floor or stirring up soup and cocoa on the Coleman burners. I stepped over the shrouded forms on the floor and lay down, but not to sleep. The fear of another attack and the occasional shelling prevented anything but a little “dozing” for rest.

January 3, 1945

The next morning was gray with half rain and half snow falling. Oxen were wandering helplessly in the barnyard, some with deep gashes in their sides. One horse had its small intestines protruding from its flank. Many were dead from the shelling the previous night. This was a pathetic sight. First Sgt. John A. Blackburn sent word around that we were to be relieved. I couldn’t believe this was true. I imagined in war you kept going until there was none left. The company was less than half strength. At this point we were too exhausted and frost- bitten to carry out any effective attack.

The platoon assembled and plodded back to the waiting half-tracks. Before our departure I noticed men with the insignia of the 17th Airborne Division had arrived. They were lounging about, waiting. I wondered if they had been in combat before and knew what might lie ahead for them. In my track there were only two other men beside myself, and there should have been eight. The gear was a hopeless confusion on the floor. We just flopped in, too tired and miserable to care, but feeling happy to be leaving. The tension had gone for the moment. It was raining and sleeting on us as the canvas top had been removed when we entered the combat area. I sank into a deep sleep; it was my first real sleep in five days.

I didn’t remember a thing until we arrived in Au-Chene, Belgium that evening. This was to be our rest area. We bedded down in a haymow for the night. Two very kind Belgium girls brought us coffee. It was hot and tasted good. As I snuggled in my bedroll, the war seemed a long way off. I would worry about it on the morrow. We remained at Au-Chene, Belgium for nine days for a maintenance, and what a break it was for us. We had an opportunity to get some good hot food and some much needed rest. We were issued new clothes and equipment.

It was interesting to note that present for duty at this time were 159 enlisted men and 4 officers. When the attack began on December 29th there were 244 enlisted men and 6 officers. Due to this loss of men the second platoon was eliminated and these men were assigned to the first and third platoons. On January 12th we received orders to prepare to march. We moved out that evening and spent most of the night on the road. It was early morning when we reached the town of Villerous, Belgium. The weather was freezing cold. We suffered from cold feet and hands. Men stomped up and down the road in an attempt to keep warm. We built fires and huddled around them. The snow had reached a depth of two feet or more. The combination of deep snow and our clumsy rubber boots made walking very difficult and tiring.

That day January 13th, Company B was attached to Task Force Blackjack. We moved through the now famous town of Bastogne and dug in northeast of town. On the morning of January 14th, when we were preparing to attack, there were now three officers and 142 enlisted men present for duty with the company. Our mission was to give supporting fire to Task Force Shamrock, but we ended up attacking the town of Cobru. By vehicle we moved to woods overlooking the town. After an artillery and tank barrage, we attacked in mounted formation. The town was well fortified by the Krauts. They had dug in positions around the town and were using the houses for defense also. Our display of firepower and tanks was too much for their weakened morale, however, and many of them surrendered when we got within close fighting range.

Clearing this town was difficult as every house had to be searched from attic to basement. The terrified and wounded civilians added to the confusion of our task. Our casualties in men killed were high for we were receiving mortar and tank fire from the next hill. Sniper fire forced us to move with great caution. Two men were killed learning this lesson. By nightfall we had succeeded in occupying most of the town. We outposted the town and settled down to sweat it out. During the night there were repeated rumors of movement by enemy vehicles.

January 15, 1945

On the following day we rejoined the battalion and became part of Task Force Shamrock. Moving through deep snow on foot we attacked cross-country, supported by tanks and tank destroyers. Our first objective was the woods east of Noville and south of the St. Vith highway. We received little resistance from the woods after reaching this position. We then moved to our second objective, which was the woods north of the St. Vith road. When we reached this objective we were under heavy fire. Armor piercing German 88s skipped across the frozen ground. That night we formed our defenses and dug in as usual. The half-tracks were brought up after dark to supply us with C-ration cans and blankets.

January 16, 1945

In the morning we were again on the attack. B Company rode on tanks of the 41st Tank Battalion. Jockeying the tanks over the frozen hills of Belgium was a new experience for us. The machines plunged and bucked through the snowdrifts, necessitating a firm grip in order to stay on. When the tanks stopped, their cannons began firing. The muzzle blast was terrific, rocking and shaking the whole tank. The dark green tanks silhouetted against the white snow on that hilltop made an excellent target for the enemy. The thought of my tank taking a direct hit was scary.

Our attack carried us across the Bastogne-Houffalize highway. By passing the town of Vicourt on the west, we reached our final objective, which was the wooded area on the high ground south of Houffalize. We attacked these woods in a skirmish line, every rifle and carbine blazing. Our firepower was too much for the Germans. They either fled or surrendered. One anti-aircraft gun almost foiled our attack. The Germans tried to depress the barrel to use it as direct fire against us. Fortunately this failed. Their tracers arched neatly over our heads and our attack was a success.

We cleared the woods of Germans and held fast. The enemy was fleeing across the field in the direction of Houffalize. One gun mount was making a desperate attempt to escape. A lone German was trying to hitch a ride on the back of it but he was easy prey for our rifles and fell dead in the snow. When a machine gun opened up on the fleeing mount, it exploded as if it were hit by a 155mm shell. The three Krauts who were the crew of the gun were flung into the air and the vehicle burst into flames. We formed a defensive position around the woods and prepared for the night. Our vehicles brought us food and blankets and much needed ammunition.

That evening Capt. Elmore Fabrick took a patrol out to check on some farm buildings that were in front of us. When they returned they had 50 German prisoners with them who had taken refuge in the buildings. Clearing these woods had been the final action in the severing of the “bulge” into Belgium. That evening units of the 41st Cavalry Squadron made contact with the First Army driving down from the north.

January 17, 1945

We were awakened in the morning by a barrage from a German rocket battery. This cost us several men. That afternoon we were relieved by elements of the 17th Airborne Division and retired by mounted march to the town of Champs, Belgium. Present for duty were 123 enlisted men and our company commander, Capt. Elmore Fabrick. The success of our company’s action during those trying days in Belgium can be largely attributed to Capt. Fabrick. His fearlessness and high spirits kept us going in the face of enemy fire and demoralizing conditions. In this last action Company B resembled a platoon in size with Capt. Fabrick as its leader.

The company arrived at Champs, Belgium in an exhausted condition on January 17th. Our barracks were barns and battered houses; just any place to sleep and find refuge from the cold was all we wanted. It seemed like heaven to us; we could rest our minds as well as our bodies. We remained there from January 17th until January 20th. It was only a short time but it gave us a chance to clean our guns and reorganize our equipment. It was an opportunity to write home to our loved ones. It was hard to write and say that all was well and for the folks not to worry, but you did it and then turned to your other duties. Eighty new men were assigned to the company as replacements.

On the 20th of January we again took to the road, moving to a wooded area southwest of Foy where Task Force Rocket was being formed. We were lucky to find some German dugouts to sleep in that night. The next day we moved to an assembly area near Noville, Belgium. This was the area we had cleared of the enemy the week before. The boys managed to find some wood so that we could spend the day huddled around a fire. We stayed there that night and then the next day moved to the town of Bourcy. Our mission at this time was to support the 17th Airborne Division, which was in pursuit of enemy withdrawing toward the German border. Unsuccessful attempts were made by our cavalry to contact the enemy.

Bourcy was just like so many other towns in Belgium, which had served as a battleground for the American and German forces. Few houses were left untouched; none had window glass in them. Cows and pigs were running in the streets in addition to the carcasses of dead livestock. The few war-weary civilians who still clung to their homes lived in the cellars or anywhere they could find shelter. As usual we were housed in barns or any place that would give us a little shelter from the winter weather. We placed canvas over the windows to keep out the cold and also serve as blackout curtains. Before we could bed down on the floor, we had to shovel the debris off the floor. Our company kitchen was housed in an old school building. We remained in Bourcy for two days, January 22nd to the 24th. At last we were issued shoepacks and heavy wool stockings. Better late than never, but it would have been so much better if we could have received them a month earlier. This would have saved some frozen feet and the need for amputations.

On January 24th we moved to Massul, Belgium. This town had not been hit by the Germans so we were able to find better living quarters. Most of the squads found houses in which to live. The people were very friendly to us, which helped to make our stay more enjoyable. A cherished memory of my stay at Massul was the opportunity to take a shower. We went by truck to Neufchateau, Belgium where the Quartermaster Corps had set up portable showers. This was my first opportunity to shower since leaving England two months before. While at Massul we received 60 more replacements. This brought our company strength to 245 enlisted men and 5 officers. We were now ready to carry the war onto German soil.