Most of us hadn't been able to eat the K-Ration breakfast and there was little time now, everyone was assigned positions on a side of the town to defend. All afternoon we dug positions in the frozen earth. Everyone was exhausted, but we had to prepare for the inevitable German attack. A few of the fellows looted some food from the empty houses but most of us ate K-Rations for our Christmas dinner. I took several fellows to the barn across the street where we could hear cows who apparently hadn't been fed for several days. My early days on a dairy farm made me very sympathetic to their plight. We gave water and hay to the starving cows. Then I found a large pail and milked several cows, thinking fresh milk would be a real treat! Most of the men refused the milk because it hadn't been pasturized! Such is the march of civilization. Late in the afternoon the Germans started moving up to the edge of the woods on the hillsides near the town. Our arty lay down a heavy barrage to protect us, but very unfortunately several rounds fell short and landed in the middle of Charlie Company's position. 3 fellows were killed by our own arty. Seems you can't trust anyone these days and death seems so ironic at times. As evening closed in, the Germans brought up a tank and started firing right into the town. One round came down an alley, passed right in front of the Bat CP, past a little house we were using as a switchboard room, and hit a tree just past the corner of the house. I was standing in the doorway of the chicken coop. The concussion knocked me clear across the room. Then all Hell broke loose! Somehow, the Germans had managed to slip a rather strong patrol into the town armed with burp guns. They dispersed and got upstairs by climbing up drain pipes in different houses. As the German's attack hit, this patrol fired indiscriminatly at the downstairs of the neighboring houses. Every GI knew the sound of the burp guns so we had GIs in one house firing at their neighbors in the next house. The German patrol ruse and strategy almost worked, utter confusion reigned for awhile. It was just a free-for-all in the town. And then a shell from the tank set fire to a house on the edge of town. The flames lit up Baker Companies position and the snow covered field in front of them. This side of town had been quiet up until now. The light exposed at least a half of a company of Germans dressed in white snowsuits halfway across the field. This was the major German assault effort. It apparently was their coup de main. Baker Company opened up with everything they had. The Germans were totally exposed. Our MG's raked their lines with deadly effectiveness. A few Germans managed to get back through the fence alive and into the woods beyond. The rest were scattered all over the field. The next morning some were even frozen where they had tried to crawl over the fence and into the woods. It was not a pleasant sight. The attack was broken and by 0300 the battle was over and the town was still ours. We had wiped out the patrol that had gotten into the town, exfept for about 10 Germans who were captured over the protest of many GI's. Now all we had to do was care for the wounded and count our dead. That was my Christmas, 1944.

Editors Note: This article first appeared in Militaria International 2000 and appears here with Larry Gourlie's permission.

After much falling and profanity, we reached a plateu with some farms. There were a few barns to house some of the men but most of the men pulled hay from the round hay stacks in the fields and bedded down in the snow along a fence, under some trees or near a house. Most of us had just gotten our little armful of hay and had curled up hoping to get a few hours sleep, even in a snow bank, when orders were passed down, "1st Battalion, move out!" A lot of the fellows could barely stand up but there was surprisingly little or no vocal protest. Soon, a long column of weary men was moving down that icy road again, onto the highway and into the darkness. Our mission was to capture, if the Germans had moved in, a small village about 15 miles distant. No one knew whether the enemy was there or not. By 1000 on Christmas morning we were a quarter mile away. A recon unit which was driven into the town and upon returning had reported no sign of any enemy troops in the town. We passed our last dug in troops. Some of them yelled the typical GI phrase, "You'll be sorry!" At the outskirts of town an American mine field lay acfross the road. The night before 3 engineers had attempted to clear these mines for vehicles to pass. Apparently one of the fellows dropped a mine and all 3 were killed. The whole Bat had to pass by this awful scene to enter the town. It was late afternoon before the bodies were removed. I hope these boy's mothers never learn how their sons spent their Christmas Eve 1944. The day was crisp with a few inches of snow on the ground. Truly it was a White Christmas! But as we filed past the gruesome scene, Christmas seemed further away then home.