When the outfit skipped out on us at Baccones, France, in the woods at 0300 Friday, 12th January 1945 it just left us and Mr. Whipple's Section stranded in the wooded area. Iggy (Pfc Ignatius Nelson Amplo), our driver, hadn't returned with our truck. At 0200 we gave up hope, so Mr. Theis (our personnel officer); Joe, (T/Sgt. Joseph R. Ferrara); Charlie, (Tec 4 Charles Hudina); Randy, (Cpl. Don Randall); Ned, (Tec 5 Thomas H. Wilkinson), and your reporter (Cpl. Larry Lichtenthal), sprawled out in our CP Tent and hit the hay fully clothed. The stove in the CP was going full blast and it was warm as we slept. Outside the snow was falling and the icy winds were whipping around the tent.

At 0800 we awoke, and we were fortunate enough to get ourselves a truck. We loaded up and waited for Iggy to return. We dug out some 'C' rations for breakfast. Finding no water in our canteens, we corralled some snow, melted it, added Halazone Tablets, and made some hot cocoa. The breakfast was a fair success. At 1000 Iggy arrived and was slightly amazed to find the whole Battalion gone. Mr. Whipple was to lead the way, and we waited for his section to get ready. (Dodging a few bullets that they playfully fired our way!) We moved out at 1300 with the back flap up so that we could view the scenery. The air became so intensely icy that we dropped the flap, and as we rode on the weather dropped far below the zero point, and the back of the truck turned into a refrigerator.

The wind started whipping up outside, and the snow was coming down. The roads were caked with ice, and the travelling was very slow at times. Every second it seemed to get colder. Our feet froze. Randy climbed beneath all the duffle bags to try and keep warm. Joe, Charlie, Ned, and your reporter were frozen to one spot, and couldn't move as the coldness become worse and worse. We rode on and on for hours and hours, never a break along the road. Darkness crept over us as we continued on the way.

We were numb all over and all sense of feeling was gone.

About 2330 the truck slowed down and the voice of M/Sgt. Charlie Hollins could be heard. That was like hearing the war was over because it meant we had reached our destination. As we climbed out of the truck with no feeling what-so-ever, we were told that we were in a deserted village, perhaps heavily booby-trapped and to be careful of what we touched. We were shown to a room. With as much energy as we had left we unloaded our CP stove and brought it into the house. Gathering up wood, and finding some coal we started a fire. Fifteen minutes later we had a roaring fire. The heat felt good. It was almost unbelievable, for only a half hour before it looked like we'd never make it. Our feet were frozen solid. We swept out the room, rolled out our bed rolls near the stove and went to sleep. The name of the town, we learned the following morning, was Louvigny, France, a bombed-out and deserted French village.

We left the company at Louvigny, France, on 15th January, 1945, picking up Blue (Cpl. Everett Bluestein of Headquarters Company); Hilke, (Sgt. Bernard Hilke of A Co.); Fiorella, (Joe Fiorella, of C Co.), and Sully (Cpl. Eugene j. Sullivan, of B Co.), and 'retreated' to the Administrative Center at Thiacourt, France. It was here that we met up with a few characters, most notable of all, 'The Eye'. Sully gave him that name because of the way the old man would zero in on you for a cigarette. The French people were very friendly towards us and our short stay in Thiacourt was a pleasant one.

Crashing through Belgium, Luxembourg, and Holland we take up an adventure we had in Germany. At 1600 17th April, 1945, we loaded up our 2-1/2 ton open-top truck. We were in the town of Beckum, Germany. The sun was shining brightly and the warmth of its rays made a guy feel good all over. The breeze was like wine as we hooked Old Glory up and mounted the vehicle for the take-off. We were a one truck convoy. Riding the rear along with your reporter were Joe Ferrara, Blue, Charlie, Hilke, Jake, Sully, Joe Fiorella, Ned, and one of the boys from 'B' Co. being returned to his unit. Riding the front were the driver, assistant driver and Mr. Theis. We pulled away at 1615, and at 1630 we were flying along the famed Super-highway - a two lane affair both 'uptown' and 'downtown' - The Road to Berlin (without Crosby or Hope).

We cut along at a clip of 50 to 65 miles per hour, and the country side we viewed made us wonder why Germany ever wanted war. The farms and fields were gloriously beautiful and colorful. Planting was in progress, and the grass was a rich deep green. Trees were in full bloom, colorful beds of flowers could be seen, and the farm houses themselves were quaint, neatly situated, and extremely good-looking. The picturesque surrounding countryside, mountains in the distance blending with a cloudless pale blue sky, and the sun's brilliant rays falling in the valleys was a picture of contentment and peace. And then we blew a tire. We pulled up behind another convoy and the two drivers, colored boys, got to work on the flat. The convoy in front of us pulled away. We sprawled out on the green grass while the drivers worked. It was a beautiful day.

It was a little after 1800 when we got started again. Clouds were beginning to appear in the distant sky. A slight wind was whipping up. We travelled along the Superhighway and hen we cut through Hanover - claimed to be the 7th largest city in the world I We can guarantee that it is now the number one rubble pile in the world. Here and there a wall remained standing. Every house and home was a pile of bricks heaped like a camel in a prone position. Liberated peoples waved at us and saluted the flying colors. Refugees were moving slowly up the streets to the main highway. Convoys were roaring both ways. The sky became darker, and the breeze took on a little speed and. a tinge of coldness. We travelled on, and night began to fall. The sky was turning black in the distance, and the wind became loud and strong.

As we travelled on, soon the heavens were dark all about us. Flashes of lightning appeared in the sky, and the first few drops of rain came down. We put on our overcoats or raincoats. We hit a dead end street and total blackness covered the sky. The lightning became brilliant and blinding, and then the rains came in all their glory. In sheets it poured down on us. We were silent as the first sound of thunder broke through from above. It was like muted artillery in the distance at first, and then it cracked down on us like all hell itself. The rain was really raining. It began to soak through our overcoats and raincoats. We turned around and headed back for the nearest town. We rode along for about a half hour. The lightning, rain and thunder continued.

It was like a Cecil B. DeMille thriller - like 'All Quiet on the Western Front' (without the quiet).

We stopped off in a town and got information from a passing G.I. car. They led us through to where we could stay for the night. We rode along following them for about 20 minutes. The rain was thick, and it was soaking through our O.D. uniforms. Everyone was silent as the wind lashed the rain around us. We pulled into someplace. We dismounted from the vehicle. All around us it was black. We pulled off our soaked bedrolls and with the aid of one searchlight we headed for an empty building.

When we got inside there was just one man sleeping on a table. We spoke to him. He was a liberated New Zealander. The floor was covered with white powder; we learned it was delousing powder. So we ended up in a delousing chamber! C'est la guerre - or any port in a storm. We swept the floor clean, and rolled out our bedrolls. After hanging up our wet clothes we climbed into the sack and went to sleep. We slept while the thunder, lightning, and rain continued its attack on mother earth. It was a little before midnight. We hadn't eaten since 1200 noon. We fell asleep immediately. The next thing we heard was Joe Ferrara speaking to this New Zealander. It was 0700 18th April, 1945. The rain had ceased, but the air was chilled and the sky still gray with anger. We climbed out of our sacks and took note of our surroundings.

We were in a German PW Camp just liberated by Americans. Liberated only three days ago. Liberated Americans, British, Canadians, French, Poles, etc. We strolled outside our billet just as a truck pulled in loaded with 'K' rations for the liberated soldiers. We wandered towards our truck. And then the shouts came from the windows. 'What outfit you from buddy?' 'You fellows came over just after we did'. 'Got captured in Belgium'. 'Been a prisoner for 26 months. They took me in Africa', and then the liberated American soldiers came out to speak with us as we gathered around our truck.

The former prisoners of Germany, our boys, were thin and sickly looking. A staff sergeant spoke to us. He had been captured in Belgium. (It was in the Bulge; he didn't know that it was called the 'Bulge'). He was very thin, his cheek bones sunken in. They had marched him from Belgium to the Eastern Front, and then they had marched him back to the Western Front. Since his capture in December he had lived on one piece of bread and water every day. Yes, that was the ration for one day. He told us how the Germans would make all the soldiers walk from one front to another. And they were prodded along by gun butts in the face and other parts of the body. How they let loose big German dogs on anyone who tried to escape, and how his buddy had been chewed to death by these dogs. He told us how the Germans stripped him of all his belongings when he was taken prisoner. They took his watch, rings, and money. He said the paratroopers took the worst licking. The Germans stripped them bare of clothing in the cold winter months and left them to freeze to death.

We spoke to a private who had been captured in Africa, and was a prisoner for 26 months. He couldn't believe that he was free. He hadn't heard of all our new weapons, and hadn't heard from home. Until last October he had been receiving Red Cross packages of food which had kept him alive, and since October the Germans had been stealing the packages. There were more stories; more grotesque. But what makes this seem all in vain is an article in American newspapers, to quote the headline: German PW's STRIKE because they didn't get their cigarette ration one week.

There was an airfield attached to this Camp, and C-47's were flying in and out all day taking these liberated Americans to France, and then home to the United States. Most of these American prisoners wanted to go home and serve in the Army at German

PW Camps. Yes, they'd know what to do. The sky was still cloudy. We were given some 'K' rations and we ate breakfast. Then we started out again after saying 'so long' to our buddies, wishing them luck and vice-versa. It was a sad thing to see, but a happy one too. You will never see happier men. The Armored Division that liberated them was almost crushed by their over-enthusiasm of receiving them.

It was cold as we traveled along through more towns - some shot to pieces, others having surrendered without a fight. About 1100 we pulled into Immendorf at the Hermann Goering Factory. We unloaded and ate a hot lunch. What will happen to us in the future is unpredictable, but you can be sure we won't forget this little adventure and the stories and sight of those liberated American PW's.