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He was shivering with cold. December in the Ardennes isn't a place to be without the right clothing, but he didn't have a choice. He had jumped into France in June with his unit, the 2nd Ranger Battalion and had fought since. They were now in the Ardennes forest. They had been bivouacked in a grove of trees when the Germans hit them. It was in the early morning hours of the 19th of December and most of the company had been asleep.

The attack had come as a surprise. A battalion-sized unit of Germans had crept up on his company, taken out the sentries and killed many of his company before they even got out of their tents. He had been lucky. His tent was tucked into some bushes on the side opposite from where the fighting began. He made it out of his tent with his boots, rifle and rucksack and coat, but had to leave his sleeping bag behind.

He ran into the trees and hid in a small hollow as he put on his boots. He stashed his rucksack, then headed back to the company area to join the fight that was going on. By the time he made it to the edge of the camp the German Infantry had either killed or captured the majority of his unit.

He didn't want to surrender, so he decided to slip away and try to find another unit. Unfortunately, he had left his map and compass in his now flattened tent. From memory he dredged up a picture of his map and realized the closest Allied units were west of his position. He decided ...

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