I was huddled in my foxhole in the Buchholz Forest the night before the Battle of the Bulge started. Of course I had no idea that one of the most brutal battles of World War II was about to begin. Rather, I assumed that for me and my comrades in the 393rd Infantry Regiment, 99th ‘Battle Baby’ Infantry Division, December 16, 1944, would be like all the rest. Endless combat preparations punctuated by patrols and attacks had been our daily routine since we had relieved the 9th Infantry Division along the Siegfried Line in November. Little did my platoon or I realize that the dawn of a new day would find us directly in the path of the Sixth Panzer Army as it drove toward its objective of Antwerp, Belgium.

The 99th was a relatively green unit as far as combat goes, but we were well trained. Most of us had been with the division from its early days at Camp Van Dorn, Miss., through advanced instruction at Camp Maxey, Texas. By the time we shipped out of Boston Harbor in September 1944, most of the division’s citizen soldiers had nearly two full years of training. And with the influx of men from the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP) to replace some of our own men who had earlier been shipped out as replacements for the 85th and 88th Infantry divisions, we also had a solid contingent of bright young minds to complement our soldierly skills.

I was a 22-year-old technical sergeant with 3rd Platoon, L Company, 3rd Battalion of the 393rd. Becoming a platoon sergeant wasn’t something I anticipated when I was drafted in 1942. I was a country boy and had always been backward in school, even though I was involved in athletics. Leadership didn’t seem like my gift, but the Army saw something in me and I advanced through the ranks rapidly.

The 99th arrived in the British Isles in October 1944. Then on November 2, we boarded LSTs (landing ships, tank) for the trip across the Channel to Le Havre. It took three days for the whole division to unload, but given the need for reinforcements, some of our units set out as soon as they landed. By the end of the first week of November the entire division had reassembled near Aubel, Belgium. It was here we saw our first buzz bomb go overhead and began to realize we were in a war.

Our next stop was three miles east of the villages of Krinkelt and Rocherath, where my regiment relieved the 39th Infantry, a regiment of the 9th Division. We were now directly opposite the Siegfried Line.

Three GIs from the 99th ‘Battle Baby’ Infantry Division move toward their fighting positions just outside of Krinkelt, Belgium, unaware that within three days they will be fighting for their lives against the tanks and Panzergrenadiers of the Sixth Panzer Army. (National Archives)

When my lieutenant jumped down from our vehicle, he broke his ankle and was carted off, and I never saw him again. With the manpower shortage all along the front at that time, no officer was reassigned to take his place. Suddenly, I found myself completely in charge of my platoon as we prepared to enter combat for the first time!

As soon as the relief was complete, we busied ourselves adding our own touches to the foxholes the 39th had left behind. The weather was noticeably colder and snowier at the front, and we wanted to make our positions as ready as possible for whatever lay ahead.

While we settled in, the other regiments in the division made similar preparations. The 395th Infantry was to the north of us, taking over for the 102nd Cavalry Group, the 85th Reconnaissance Group and elements of the 39th Infantry. The 394th Infantry moved to our south toward Wirtzfeld and relieved the 60th Infantry Regiment. By November 14, the 99th Division had responsibility for a front 22 miles long– five times what we should have had. Other divisions on either side of us were spread just as thin.

Our new sector was comparatively quiet, but being green to combat, it was hardly relaxing for us. There was always sporadic rifle and artillery fire, and we took casualties almost daily. Our most exciting times occurred on the reconnaissance and combat patrols we ran between the International Highway, a north-south road near the Belgian-German border, and the first belt of the Siegfried Line. Some platoon leaders had trouble getting men to volunteer for these patrols, but I never did. I had a good group who trusted me, which made my job much easier.

On December 13, as part of a V Corps plan to capture the Roer River dams, the 2nd Infantry Division and the 395th Regimental Combat Team, which included the 1st and 2nd battalions, 395th Infantry, plus 2nd Battalion, 393rd, launched an attack north of us toward Arenberg, Germany. The 3rd Battalion, 393rd, supported this assault by sweeping through Rath Hill while the 1st Battalion, 393rd, and the 394th Infantry Regiment staged demonstration attacks of their own farther to the south.

Fortunately, our part of the mission went better than expected. By day’s end, we had cleared Rath Hill and were digging foxholes to its west along the International Highway. Our defensive position consisted of Companies L, I and K in a line that ran from north to south. Company I nestled itself in to the north of an unpaved road that ran west from Hollerath, Germany, and intersected the International Highway at a point we soon began to call ‘Purple Heart Corner.’ Company K was located south of this road.

For the next two days, we made the customary improvements to our positions and listened to the battle for the pillboxes that raged to our north. A few of our more optimistic members, bolstered by the good news we’d been getting in Stars & Stripes, predicted Germany was finished and that the war was as good as over. As we hunkered down in our holes on the night of December 15, the rest of us hoped this was true.

Troops from the 99th (above) and nearby 2nd divisions man their fighting positions and wait for the next enemy push. So determined was the GIs’ defense of Elsenborn that it threw off the Germans’ timetable and forced them to launch a series of all-out attacks. At one point, the Americans called in artillery fire on themselves to stop enemy tanks that were only 60 yards away from Walter’s foxhole. (National Archives)

Those hopes were soon dashed. At 0530 our quiet was interrupted by German artillery that began hammering positions around and behind us. For a few minutes we didn’t think much about the incoming rounds. We had already become familiar with the Germans’ habit of repeating their barrage patterns with clocklike precision. At the same time each day, the pillbox periscopes would come up, the Germans would survey our positions, and then, all along our line, they would launch a few shells our way. After that, we wouldn’t hear from them until the next day. We’d taken to calling this our ‘daily allowance’ and figured they were finally breaking with tradition and getting things done a little early that morning.

As the tempo of the shelling picked up, it quickly became apparent that there was something different about this morning’s greeting. To begin with, we’d never experienced anything like it in terms of intensity. Second, it went on without letup for two hours. My platoon wasn’t being hit, but units around us were catching it good. We couldn’t figure out what the Germans were shooting at and concluded that they were trying to knock out our artillery.

When the barrage lifted, the 3rd Platoon stayed low and on the alert. The main bombardment seemed to be over, but we still heard significant rifle and shellfire around us, even though we had not yet seen any German soldiers. We were confused and knew only that our quiet sector was no longer quiet.

I could feel the growing weight of my responsibilities as platoon leader and hoped that my company commander, Captain Paul Fogelman, would radio to tell me what was going on. His call finally came, but it wasn’t what I expected. ‘Bob,’ he said,’some Germans have infiltrated our kitchen. Take your platoon and clean them out.’

I assembled my men, and we started back for our company kitchen area, located roughly three city blocks behind us, carrying only the weapons and ammunition we needed for the job. Everything else we left in our foxholes. After all, we’d be coming back to our positions. Why carry stuff we couldn’t use?

Not yet halfway to our objective, we began running into Germans– a lot of them. Instead of simply hiking back to our kitchen, we ended up having to fight our way in. When we got there, I radioed Captain Fogelman about our situation. ‘Something’s wrong, sir,’ I said. ‘There’s more Germans back here than there are in front of us!’

We began clearing the kitchen area, and as we moved in, the Germans moved out. It seemed they were more interested in continuing west than in fighting us. Before long, we had the area secure except for one building that I wasn’t sure about. I asked one of my men to toss a grenade at it, but he couldn’t hit it. Several others also tried, but they had no better luck. Since I’d played a lot of ball, I decided to lead by example. Rising to my feet (we were all on the ground by this time), I ducked behind a tree, pulled the pin on a grenade, released its handle and heaved it toward the building.

The grenade exploded as it was going over the roof. The noise inside must have been deafening. No one came out, so we decided the place was deserted. At the same time about 30 feet away, a white flag rose out of the foxhole used by our kitchen crew. Its current occupants turned out to be three German soldiers with a machine gun. Why they didn’t shoot when I stood up, I’ll never know.

We took those Germans prisoner, then took what cover we could in the area and waited for orders. By now the firing was coming from all directions. Being on your feet, even crouched, would have been suicide. In the woods all around us, we could hear the shouts of German troops as they headed west. They seemed unconcerned about the noise they were making.

While we waited, Private Snow crawled up beside me. He was a quiet kid, a good soldier but obviously frightened. ‘Sergeant, can I stay near you?’ he asked. ‘You seem kind of lucky.’

‘Help yourself,’ I answered. Snow moved in so close that we were actually up against each other as we lay side by side. After about 10 minutes, I asked Snow something. He didn’t respond, so I glanced over at him. A bullet had caught him between the eyes and he was gone. I had not even felt him twitch.

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