The Germans started their last, and perhaps their greatest
counter-offensive of WW II, on December 16, 1944.  At that time,
I was part of a combat engineer battalion.  Our battalion's last
mission had been a bridge across the Moselle River and since 
we weren't making any new crossings, and since we had cleared 
the area of the usual surprises that Germans had the bad habit
of leaving behind, we were enjoying a little bit of reserve 
status.

    Because of this new German counter-offensive, replacements
were taken from all reserve units, such as the one I was in at 
the time, and placed into divisions that were hurriedly being 
brought to full strength in order to meet this new German onslaught.  

    On December 18, 1944, I became an infantryman in the 26th 
Infantry Division and forty-eight hours later, I was in the 
Ardennes fighting for my life in what later became known as, 
"The Battle of the Bulge."

    Reflecting back, all I can say is that the wages were far 
below union scale, the work was tough, and working conditions 
were both hazardous and unbearable.

    My transition from a combat engineer to an infantryman had 
been so fast that either for lack of time or oversight, I wasn't 
dressed for the occasion.  Instead of a warm woolen overcoat, 
I had a torn mackinaw.  I had combat boots but no overshoes.  
And the snow would melt through the cracked leather of my boots 
and half freeze my toes off.  Fortunately, we knew abut "trench 
feet" and in order to prevent it from happening to me, I would 
change socks at every opportunity and stuff the wet pair I had 
taken off under my armpits to dry.  It wasn't sanitary or 
comfortable but it worked.  As for the 10-20 below zero weather, 
we each carried a shelter-half and a G.I. blanket.  By buddying up 
in a foxhole, we used a shelter-half and blanket for ground cover 
and the remaining shelter-half and blanket to cover our shivering 
bodies.

    On Christmas Eve we had captured a small town and had set up 
defenses on the high ground facing the Germans.  We had dug 
foxholes, lined the bottom with pine branches, and settled in 
for the night.  To our left, Co. E and Co. F were clearing out 
a pocket of Germans and we could hear the sounds of gunfire in 
the distance.   Overhead, one of our Tactical Fighter groups was 
making air strikes, and the enemy was countering with anti-aircraft
fire.   I could hear the flurry of small arms on the left while 
watching the yellowish ack-ack bursts over German positions, 
mixed with the drone of diving planes followed by the rumble of 
distant explosions.  Outside of the obvious signs of war, the 
remaining landscape was covered with snow amplified to ethereal 
beauty by moonlight.  The temperature was sub-zero and the 
unaffected part of the sky was clear with millions of twinkling 
stars.  It was a perfect setting for Christmas Eve, but for the war.

    At the first light of dawn, I saw one of our light bombers 
trailing smoke and, almost immediately, men parachuting from 
the stricken plane.  It should be noted that American Airmen 
weren't in very high regard with the Germans during that time 
and depending on which side of the line some of these unfortunate 
men landed, could determine whether they lived or died.  
Unfortunately, I can only account for one of these airmen 
since he landed in a small clump of trees midway between the 
Germans and the ridge we were occupying.   Suddenly, as though 
someone had given a pre-arranged signal, everyone was out of 
their foxholes, sliding, tumbling, and racing across "no man's 
land" to reach our comrade-in-arms before the Germans did.  
Except for some minor bruises and scratches from tree branches, 
he was alright.  And when he saw that it was the U.S. Infantry 
who had come out to greet him, he started laughing and crying, 
both at the same time.

    When we got back to our foxholes, I came to realize how 
foolishly we had exposed ourselves.  Had the enemy seized the 
opportunity and had they taken advantage of our weakness, we 
would have paid dearly.  However, if you were to ask me why 
they let us get away with it, I would have to believe that 
it was the spirit of Christmas that motivated them.

    Sixty-one years have gone by and I still vividly remember 
that on December 25, 1944, in the middle of man's greatest 
obscenity, War! -- I saw the spirit of Christmas prevail.

    I would like to wish all who read this, along with their 
families, a very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year.


                    Joseph Vosbikian