The woods were lit up with tree bursts from German shells when Jack started looking for other American

troops. He finally ran into the First Battalion and was directed to the battalion commander. A patrol was

organized immediately and sent to the house under Jack’s leadership.

            During the night, it had been fairly quiet at the farmhouse. We were all nervous, expecting a

German patrol to pop through the door any minute! The medic, of course, had the most to lose since he

was healthy. He kept voicing his doubts as to Jack’s ability to return with help. I kept reassuring him

that Jack would get us out.

            At 5:00 a.m., just before dawn of the 20th, the patrol arrived. I recall passing out several times as

they carried me up the stairs. However, within a short time, I had no sense of direction at all, lying on my

back, but I felt very secure with the knowledge that we were safe at last.

            Shells continued to drop some distance from us, but after my previous close associations, these

seemed harmless. My attention, however, was directed toward one particular shell that landed about

150 yards from us. I became even more alert when one landed 150 yards on the other side of us. I

remember thinking, “Oh hell, here we go again!” The next shell was a direct hit.

            Fortunately for me, it exploded upon contact in the branches overhead. When the flash of light

went off in my face, the shrapnel mushroomed all around me. The litter bearers dropped me and ran for

cover. I discovered later that the man at the head of my stretcher had his leg broken by a shell fragment.

I later discovered that I was completely deaf above 250 cycles.

            Realizing that I had come through this one without a scratch, I started to call for Jack. In a few

minutes, he appeared, running through the woods. After reassuring me, he disappeared to return with help

from the nearest foxhole. By 7:00 in the morning, we were in the battalion aid station. Twenty-four hours

had passed since our ill-fated attack began.

            I had no clothes except a wool knit cap, a pair of boots and the collar and right sleeve of my shirt. 

All the rest had been cut away by the medic while dressing my wounds. I did have my life, a million

memories and the best friend a man could ask for. They kept asking me why I was so happy when I was

so full of holes.