I Company boarded the U. S. S. Westpoint docked in Boston harbor on or about December 10, 1944 along with other units of the 70th Infantry Division. Each man 70th Infantry Division comprising Task Force Herren carried a barracks bag containing extra clothing and personal belongings. Weapons and other hardware had been packed previously and stowed in the cargo area. The West Point was a modern luxury liner converted to a troopship and severe crowding left little space to move about. Living quarters consisted of small rooms lined with bunks spaced five high with barely enough distance between to climb into. Seasickness was common, beginning almost as soon as the ship cleared the harbor. The throbbing of the engines and the roll of the vessel quickly brought a feeling of nausea to almost everyone. The sea was reasonably calm Considering we were in the Atlantic in midwinter. Movement about ship was restricted to groups permitted on deck and to mess by units on a rotation basis. Many of the men were too ill to get up and preferred to lie in the bunks; for many it was impossible to eat.

After two or three days rumor spread that our destination was Europe - the Mediterranean area. The weather cleared beautifully, and going on deck was a real treat especially after being confined to the lower areas for long periods. We passed through the Strait of Gibralter (recognised by the familiar Prudential emblem) still speculating as to our destination. At the end of five or six days since leaving Boston we dropped anchor in Marseille. Each man had been given the opportunity to shower (in salt water) once during the voyage. Even though the salt left a sticky residue on the body, we were cleaner then than we would be for the next eight weeks or so. For me the next bath was two months later on a 3 day furlough in Paris. But meanwhile in Marseille we disembarked via LCI and LCT. A few of the men were assigned the odious task of carrying the officer's barracks bags ard personal gear from the ship, but we'll pick up this point later on In the narration. After the usual line up and roll call we boarded GI 6x6 trucks and journeyed through Marseille to the windswept hills northward near the village of Aix. There on a barren hillside we were assigned temporary quarters in tents, pitched in a grassless, treeless wasteland. A chilly rain mixed with large snow flakes fell intermittently.

Off duty hours - usually after evening chow until about 1900 hours - we were free to explore the nearby village and farm houses, those of us who were not on guard duty. The French language was a mystery to most of us, but we managed occasionally to barter a few cigarettes for a canteen of watered down red wine in spite of the language barrier. We were too busy for the most part and perhaps too naive to consider what lay ahead of us. Up to this point the general attitude was that we were on a difficult, obnoxious but tolerable field exercise and that the "real thing" was somewhere off in the distance in terms of time and place. Reality was brought sharply in to focus when we heard Axis Sally extend her greetings and welcome to the boys of the 70th Division on the German Radio broadcast. She promised and even warmer welcome and reception from the seasoned, invincible German Army within the near future. What of all the secrecy, censorship, the warnings that, "loose lips sink ships? Sally knew we had arrived, but we were cocky and not to be intimidated by a sexy voice; besides the Glenn Miller records she played on the air took the sting out of her otherwise sarcastic chatter.

Our stay at Aix came to an abrupt end. We were marched to a railroad siding, there to board a train of 40 and 8 World I vintage box cars. This was our "home" for the next several days. We travelled northward through Mulhouse roughly going parallel to the Rhine River toward Strasbourg. (I don't remember much of the actual route nor the cities along the way.) The trip was uncomfortable to say the least. Frequent stops and starts jolted us from what rest we were able to obtain. Long delays on sidings with little freedom of movement except to get out of the cars occasionally to stretch, while other trains sped by carrying tanks, trucks, weapons and now and then hospital cars. Still there was an atmosphere of optimism and horseplay. At one such stop a picture was taken showing Pvt. Montani riding a baggage cart pushed by Sgt. Miller. The next stop was Brumath, our destination reached on Christmas Eve 1944.

That night it was difficult to remember that it was Christmas Eve. There were no Christmas trees, bright lights and tinsel; no carols were sung; no gifts were exchanged. Now and then a "Merry Christmas" was heard but there was little enthusiasm. The past few weeks of anxiety and fatigue and ever worsening cold weather had taken their toll. Only in our own hearts and to ourselves could we express all the longings for things of the past: home and loved ones, remembranes of other Christmas Eves, the celebration of the birth of Jesus; and to Him we prayed as we settled down that night. Harry and I and several others spread our blankets in a large domed structure, which was a brick kiln, there in the village of Gries. It was dry and offered shelter from the wind and for the first time in weeks we slept through until morning without interruption.

Night time guard duty gave everyone a case of the jitters. Moving shadows created by clouds passing before the moon, the wind moaning through the trees and an occasional snap of falling branches conjured visions of enemy patrols in the area. An occasional trigger happy G.I. firing at the sound of a rabbit scampering through the brush or at the crackle of an imagined footstep brought sharply into focus the realization that this was no longer a night training problem at Camp Adair; this was the German border, and we were using live ammo.