My Longest Day

By Al Bryant, B Company 513 PIR

On the night of January 3, 1945, Company B of the 513th moved into a wooded area about 12 miles west of Bastogne. This was our first encounter with dead soldiers -- both German and American -- laying frozen in the snow. The dead soldiers didn't look real. In fact, one of our troopers was heard saying, "they are sure making this maneuver look real with all these wax dummies laying around."

It was dark when we reached our bivouac area, and we were ordered to dig in. Because the ground was frozen and full of roots, I remember it took a long time for the two of us to dig a fox hole big enough for the both of us to fit into. Unbeknownst to us, the Germans had left behind a five- or six-man bunker just eight feet away from where we dug in.

On the morning of January 4, 1945, just as the sun was rising, the Germans started an artillery barrage on our position. We were not safe in our foxhole because the artillery shells were exploding in the tree tops and shrapnel rained down all around us. There was enough morning light to see the opening to a bunker that the Germans had built when they held this ground, and about 10 other troopers saw it at the same time. All of us dove into the protective walls of the bunker. One trooper said, "light a match," another trooper said, "don't." Why?", one trooper questioned, and another responded, "because I think I am sitting on a dead German."

When the artillery shelling stopped, we moved out over a large open field that had no cover. Suddenly, the German artillery shelling started again. The ground was blanketed with snow and every time a shell hit and exploded, it left a big black ring in the snow about 50 feet in diameter. I wondered at the time if the black ring represented a killing zone. When it happened again I was glad to see that one trooper got up and moved out of the black zone on his own. It was at this moment that I experienced the sound of my first bullet passing directly over my head. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground and landed on top of my gas mask, with the gas mask positioned under my pelvic area. When I saw how much the mask elevated my buttocks,  all I could think of was how I was going to get my ass shot off. After that thought, I didn't think twice about discarding my gas mask.

We finally made it to the road that was just north of a small village. The road had high banks on both sides and that is where we were told to dig in, the German tanks were shelling the tree tops that border the village raining shrapnel down. I remember thinking, "I am sure glad I'm not in the village."

Meanwhile, our anti-tank weapons were useless against the German armor. Indeed, when our bazookas fired a rocket and hit a German tank, the rocket might knock off a little metal from the tank, but no real harm would result. I recollect that one trooper dug in with a bazooka about 40 feet in front of us. He fired his bazooka at a German tank. The tank fired back and our trooper was directly hit by the tank's shell. Part of that brave trooper landed near me.

We had four Sherman tanks supporting us. Two were knocked out almost immediately by the German tanks. Inside one of our disabled tanks, a crewmember was screaming for help, in plain view of the enemy. Our medic a captain – climbed atop the disabled Sherman and pulled him out -- both of his feet had been blown off.