The snow continues to fall, and the cold knifes through his clothing, seeping into his very core. He checks his M1 rifle once again, and raises his eyes to scan the snowy forest. He knows the Germans are out there; his Sergeant passed the word yesterday that his unit is now surrounded. It's only a matter of time before they attack.
     Its been a long hard road to get to where he is, starting in early June on the French coast on a beach code-named Omaha. He thinks of all the buddies he had that are now just a mound of earth with a simple wooden cross above them, and wonders if he will join them today. General McAuliffe has given the Germans the word that we will not surrender, succintly summed up in one word, "Nuts", and he feels pride at the determination which everyone has shown in the face of certain death, now imminent.
     He can hear something ahead, just a whisper of noise, and then the scream of artillery as the Germans open up. The rounds detonate in the treetops, sending deadly splinters in every direction. Machine guns open up on either side of him and the artillery batteries behind him begin to fire, sending a deadly steel rain back at the enemy. Now he's beginning to hear ominous clanking noises, which means the Panzers are on the move with thier deadly 88's firing into the trees. He spots movement in the mist ahead, and white-clad figures emerge with thier rifles clocking slowly back and forth. He waits, watching them draw closer, finger on the trigger, willing them on; closer and closer, til in another few steps they will see the ragged line of foxholes.
     His finger tightens on the trigger and he lets out his breath in an agonizingly slow exhale and the rifle jumps to life in his hands. The ghostly figures begin to fall as fire erupts from the foxholes on his left and right. He fires and fires, reloading automatically, until his bullets are gone and the barrel is scorching. He ducks down, grabs the bayonet and fixes it to the end of the smoking gun, which has now become a spear, jumps out of his hole and runs screaming headlong at the greatcoat-clad men still standing after his gun is silent. As he rushes forward, a tree branch tears at him, and a silver glint of metal falls to the ground....

     The man opens his fist to reveal the dog-tag he picked up on his stroll in the Ardennes forest while he was waiting for the rest of his fellow tourists to finish thier lunch. He glances back through the trees to the small roadside cafe' with the monument erected in tribute to the bravery of the American soldiers, who, against all odds, overcame the Germans, in the Battle Of The Bulge.