It begins by the four of us being overwhelmed by a platoon of Germans at the outpost about 5 a.m. on January 4, 1945. We were held among them while they set up their equipment on the top of the hill overlooking the famous tunnel near the edge of town. We witnessed the destruction and killing of a truck of soldiers coming through the tunnel.

About 9:30 we and quite a few other POWs were herded onto a field and lined up to be searched for valuables. I escaped being searched when the German was called over by another Kraut who was searching the GI next to me. When my guard returned, he found my pockets turned inside out and proceeded to the next GI. From the field I was enlisted to help the wounded at a house near the road overlooking the cemetery.

It the afternoon an American tank came up the road and put a shell into the room we were in. I scurried over to the far corner where Paul Sheaffer, I/276 lay. Another shell lit the room in an orange cloud of dust bringing down the ceiling on top of Paul's and my heads. With that I tried moving Paul to the cellar, but he was badly wounded, so I covered him with the big shutter from the window and escaped to the cellar. Once in the cellar, another of the shells created a 20-inch hole just above the head of a wounded German soldier lying on a cot. (It never occurred to me to report the cut on my own head from the debris of the ceiling. Three days of being a prisoner and I never gave it another thought.)

Later that night the Germans had intended to move us behind their lines, but instead moved us to the church.

It was quite a scene at the church, where I estimated probably a hundred or more GIs were packed like sardines at the front of the church under the choir. As the shells from our artillery and mortars fell on the church, a mad dash was made for the pews under the choir where at times we lay three deep until the shelling stopped. I can't understand the shelling of the steeple, for I don't recall seeing any Germans in the church. At one time I looked out the front door and noticed some Germans covering the front door with a machine gun about 30-40 yards away.

At one time, looking across the aisle I noticed Major Naetzle cowering under and between the pews like the rest of us. I was tempted to ask him where his gas mask was, for I remember he was always harping on the importance of that item in battle.

The sanctuary near the altar became the toilet facilities during our stay. Nobody went to the altar to pray, only to relieve themselves. Did I feel close to my God while in church? Only when the shells were exploding nearby.

Our ordeal ended the morning of the 7th, I believe, when GIs entered the church and told us we were free. We were led back to our lines over the same road that I first entered Wingen-sur-Moder. Seeing a stream on our way back, we made a run down to the water we hadn't had for three days and were cautioned to use Halazone tablets, which we did, but who waited thirty minutes for them to dissolve?