We were lined up in a field and told to drop our big packs and change into combat shoes.

"Combat shoes? Hell, the snow was up to my armpits." So I made as if I was taking off my shoepacs, which I didn't. If I was going to die, I'd have dry feet anyway.

Under skies so gray there are no shadows, the infantry plods forward to new positions and another cold miserable night. Photo by Chester Garstki

It was dark by the time we lined up again on the road and took off through town. No lights or sounds except the crunch of footsteps on the snow. Everything had a dark gray whiteness about it. Men leaning against buildings could have been Germans; you just couldn't tell.

We left town and took the left road of the fork, past a cliff on our right, the dark mountains with woods coming right down to the road's edge. On the left was a valley of fields with a stream winding through and a railroad on the far left. A few buildings lined the left side of the road.

By now there was no talk from the men at all, only sounds of equipment banging or a curse as someone slipped. You sort of get numb; pull yourself inside your body. You walk, barely conscious of what is going on around you. You are deep in thought-that last night at home or with your best girl. It helps you survive the cold, hunger and walking.

Past two stone houses on the left is an open field ringed by woods on our right.

"Oh, God!" Everything happened!!

It happened as if in slow motion. Flashes of light, to the right and right front. Screams of men! The rapid sound of burp and machine guns! The slow firing of our rifles!

You fall, jump, crumble into the ditch, tying to get as far down in it as you can. The whip cracking of shots going overhead both from the Germans and our own men on the left of the road.

"We've had it, walked right into a frigging ambush!"

"Sergeant! Get the men firing!"

"Shoot, men, shoot!"

The tracers were flying every which way. The men were firing as best as they could. Lt Cannon was trying to call someone on his walkie-talkie when it was shot right out of his hand.

"Hey! You on the other side of the road! Stop firing! I'm coming over!" Lt. Cannon takes off and crosses the road, tracers flying all around him. He calls back for us to get out and join him. Some men run across the road.

Sgt. Duffy says, "Martin, take the BAR; he's been hit. Give him your rifle."

So I take the BAR and the wounded man takes off. After I fire at full automatic, I look around for ammo. The man had taken off with the magazines.

"Get out of here fast!"

I started to crawl flattening out, trying to get lower into the ground every time the burp guns cut loose. Every time I moved, I drew fire. I cut off my ammunition bag and gas mask. (Later I was very sorry, some Jerry had a good time on the whiskey and rum I had stashed there.)

As I crawled down the ditch there were men lying still. You shake them-no answer. But one asked for help. I tried to help by putting on a bandage.

"God, I hurt; can't move my legs. Please don't leave me."

"Take it easy, buddy, the Medic is right behind me."

"If I could only move."

"Hey, you in the ditch, get the hell over here. Keep away from the house on the left, it's zoned in."

I felt guilty leaving the wounded man in the snow on the darkest of all the dark nights of my life. I took off my overcoat and laid it on him.

"The Medic will be here soon, buddy. He'll know how to move you. I'll try to get help."

You take a deep breath and run as fast as you can, scared that you will fall or not make it. It's good, you are behind the stone house, leaning against the wall. Breath comes fast. You gulp in as much air as you can, trying not to make noise. Two men are also leaning against the wall.

"How many left in the ditch?"

"Sgt. Duffy, the Medic and one wounded."

"Where did the rest go? Not many came over here."

(Later after the war RALPH MOREY wrote and told me he and the others of our platoon and company went into the woods by the field and were captured.)

As we talked someone shot from behind us. We ducked behind some stone steps.

"Who the hell's shooting?" No one answered.

"I'm Lt. Cannon, dammit. Who's there?" "Wait a minute, Lieutenant; it's us, just got out of the ditch."

"We got to get the wounded out of here."

I kicked in the cellar door where two old Frenchmen stood shaking, scared to death. The wounded men were brought in and given first aid as best we could with patches and sulfa drugs from our belt kits.

A company runner poked his head in the doorway. "Come on, you guys, let's get the hell out of here."

"Capt. Long can't get artillery support. They'll be all over us soon."

The men started out keeping behind the building. Down the valley, everyone stopped. The stream cut right in front of them.

"Somebody has to cross it."

"No, it just winds around."

"Find out and let's get out of here."

More from fright and in a hurry to get away, I went in up to my chest; it got shallower as I got to the other side.

"Hey, it bends back."

"Good God, I'm all wet for nothing!"

The rest of the men were taking off at a fast clip down the field to a barn and a house, and a built up road that crossed the fields to the railroad. The company jeep was there with a load of guns and ammunition. The driver, Lew, gave me a 45 M-3 (grease gun) and some boxes of ammo. I took those and three magazines and went into the cellar of the house.

A bunch of French civilians were in there. A stove was going full blast. I took off my wet clothes and started to dry them by the stove. I wore summer underwear, long johns, summer pants, OD shirt and pants, GI sweater, combat pants, combat jacket, gloves, wool cap, helmet, four pairs of sox, (one pair to dry by body heat each day) and my good ol' shoepacs.

Everything was going fine. I was putting on my clothes as they dried. A couple more men came in to get warm. Lew, the jeep driver, came in and said, "The old man wants everyone out, be quiet, something is up."

Putting on most of my clothes, I joined the rest of the men outside between the two buildings. There, walking down the railroad, was a column of men. Soon they turned towards us coming across the fields on the raised roads.

"They couldn't be Germans. It was too much of a stupid thing to do."

"Be very quiet men. The Captain will give the order to fire."

"God, how I hope it's the goddam Jerries."

"Shut up."

"We'll die tonight, Sarge, and I'll see you in hell."

"Shut up."

"God, I hope they're none of ours."

"The Captain will call out when they're close."

"Halt! Who the hell are you?"

The column stopped. Orders were shouted in German. All hell broke loose. The Germans were cut down as they ran.

"Hold your fire! Stop it!" No one wanted to stop firing. Just pay 'em back for what they did to us.

"Stop firing!"

But the men stopped only when they ran out of ammo. What a mess! The Germans lay all over, dark forms in the snow. Again everything was quiet. Our men were occupied with their own thoughts of the first ambush of us, and the second of them.