About this time, the drivers took off for Wales to get their vehicles. In a few days they returned with half tracks and wild stories of Cardiff. With the arrival of the vehicles a regular drill schedule began which included road marches, calisthenics, weapons review, and maintenance.

Andover and Salisbury were the larger towns near us. We received a nightly quota of passes to them. Finally forty eight hour passes to London began and everyone seemed eager to visit the city, probably to see all the world famous sights there. Picadilly seemed to be a common point of interest. Each country and even each locality has expressions pertinent- to itself. The English, unlike us, use the terms 'top' and 'bottom' in describing a street. In addition, after giving a bit of road guidance to a G.I. they inevitably finish with: 'You can't miss it' - - 'The Hell You Can't!'.

Christmas was upon us like a thunderbolt and most of the fellows were spending their first Christmas out of the States. The Chaplains as usual were on the job and boosted our morale with fine religious services. Christmas Day found the customary benevolent spirit ever present at camp as we treated several English orphans to our delicious dinner of turkey with all the trimmings.

During this period a rumor of a movement began to circulate with increasing fury. Finally the rumors were confirmed when drivers and car commanders moved out with vehicles on the 31st of December and headed toward France. The main body was alerted and the outfit began the familiar task of final police ups and packing. In the wee hours of morn on January 2, the company minus the advanced party was taken to Tidworth by truck and then to Southampton in those, Oh! so private English coaches.

The train ride was a short one and Southampton soon was in view. However, we detrained a few miles from the docks and had to march in columns of two's, dressed right and covered up - - with equipment. It was one of those forced marches. I don't know who did a better job, the medics or Chaplain, but we needed help from someone. In time, we all arrived at the dock and there struggled up the gangway to our transport, the 'Sobieski'. To the amazement of all, this ship was a first class vessel and evidence was still present proving the 'Sobieski' had been a Polish Luxury Liner.

Danger was imminent while crossing the channel, and many U-boats were still operating in those waters. Orders for the night were to sleep fully clothed in case of emergency, but many had lost their, shirts during the evening. The meals were edible on this trip, but poor De Meuse still was returning more than he could take. The skipper was cautious and we remained in port over night. During the next afternoon we began the crossing, arriving in the historic port of Le Harve the next night. It was an uneventful trip.

The steady drone of the ship's motors finally ceased as we dropped anchor in Le Harve harbor. G.I.'s mobbed the railing, this time for sightseeing. We looked over a tangled mass of steel, twisted grotesquely into junk piles which once formed rigid geometrical structures. A devastated area of row after row of warehouses and buildings, burned and crumbled, stretched as far as the eye could see. Twelve story buildings were now unroofed walls; their snarled girders like fleshless bones silhouetted in silent tribute to allied air power.

Not until dark did we disembark from the 'Sobieski', into the L. C. T. that had moved along side. As we tumbled down the ship's ladder onto the L. C. T., officers and Non-coms tried to keep company formations, but the result was reminiscent of Macy's on Saturday night. The last minute check and preparations for casting off were completed. The Diesel engines began to hum their chorus of cylinders, 'The landing was under way'. After a few minutes we hit the beach with a thud that would have sent us on our faces if we had the space. Immediately the front end of the barge fell apart or unhinged itself and eager 'Forty-Niners' rushed to stake claims on foreign soil. We didn't receive the hot reception some of our buddies met at Utah and Omaha beaches, but we all knew that they had made this landing possible.

After an hour of milling about and staring at as much of the ruins as we could see at ten 0'clock, we were shoe horned into two and a half ton trucks. The convoy moved out and we were on our way to Totes, an assembly area for Company 'A'. Three hours later we arrived at our destination after a freezing journey during which some were still taking sea sick pills, while others wondered what effects would result from eating fuel tablets.

Having dismounted, we assembled at the chateau, 'Sleep' thought we hopefully, but it seems our G-2 had the battalion on alert for enemy paratroops. Why anyone would want to go parachuting on a cold night like that was beyond us. We did have a bit of excitement that night, however, when an early rising French farmer approached P.F.C. Lemke with a friendly, 'Parlez-vous Francais?' As we have it, 'No compree Lemke', of the ask questions later school, put a sudden halt to the conversation with a couple of quick shots, at which the farmer took off in all directions. Later when the mistake was discovered, alibis were exchanged, and we slept peacefully for the next few nights.

Souvenir conscious Yanks spent the morning probing through the house and its surroundings and in the afternoon policed up the grounds of the new estate. Exchanges with the French were strictly on the tobacco standard. Three fags bought a bottle of cider; cognac, or what passed for cognac, was considerably higher.

In a few, days the drivers joined us with the company vehicles. Then some time was spent in storage and packing. When all this was completed we were ready for the road again.

Our march order was given with instructions to cross the Item Peter at 0415. This was one of those very cold rides during which old man winter had his fling. The trip was not without event, ask pilot Pete Houk with Sgt. Trotta's tumbling squad. At an inconspicuous iced patch on the road, Pete took a spill. No one was hurt, however, and the efficient maintenance and service units had things well in hand.

Things began getting dull in the first platoon so the pulse rate of the second squad, was increased by a bit of overhead fire from Sgt. Beard's heavy 'thirty.

Our armored column, a huge chain of steel, seemed to move in snake like links of vehicles revolving on cities and villages as sprockets. The rumor man as usual had his fling, most popular was Rheims. As accurate as rumors are, we found ourselves in a bivouac area two miles from Baconnes, approximately twenty-six miles from Rheims. Here we had hot chow with Sgt. Vogel operating a cuisine in two feet of snow. We tried out the new, bed rolls that night. Most of the boys laid out their sacks and put up tents -- some didn't bother. We spent three days in bivouac and prepared to move out at 0230 hours on the fourth day. There was a last minute rush of issuing ammunition and policing the area. The blackout ceased to exist as every squad had a fire for burning refuse. It seems someone had a private party with no privates invited. Under the guidance of Lieutenant Amos the company proceeded to Louvigny.

This trip was practically without note save for a halt when we saw a hospital train going to a rear area. The wounded leaning from open windows were yelling, 'Give ,'Em Hell, Fellows'. We passed through Verdun and many more cities remembered by doughboys in the last war. All of us will remember the French villages too, the little garcons and fils, who gave us the snowball pasting as we rode by and their bigger sisters who waved and tossed kisses at us. And last, but not least, the thoughtful ones who gave us snorts of brandy and cognac to warm us on that very cold trip. Cigarettes were still two to one, you and the little fellow who asked for the butt.

This last movement placed us in the Third Army Sector. Division Headquarters was at Pont-A-Mousson, and we literally had a 'hole' town to ourselves – 'Louvigny'. This was one of the unfortunate places that fell in the path of Patton's Army. On the approaches of the town dead cattle frozen in positions of morbidness were proof of German land mine effectiveness. Also a few Kraut cadavers lay in the gutters as grim reminders of war.