New Year’s Eve, 1944, provided Phil and his men another unique memory. Just like Christmas Eve, before midnight, all shooting stopped. Then, precisely at 0000 hours, the American artillery began a fireworks show by sending illuminated rockets into the air.[1]

The rockets’ shimmering light allowed Phil to watch the frontline GIs get out of their foxholes, dance, and shoot their weapons into the air. Before the Memphis native could scream at the men to get down, the Germans began firing off their own set of illuminated rockets and flares, as well as shooting their weapons into the air. The entire valley lit up. 

The joy was contagious, lasting about five minutes, before slowing and then stopping. Then both sides quietly disappeared into their respective foxholes and shelters.

Phil felt his eyes mist. Christmas and New Year’s Eve in 1944 were beautiful experiences for him. For a few peaceful moments, frontline men on both sides had shared happiness, humanity, and hope.

When an icy dawn arrived on January 1, 1945, the shooting and killing would resume in earnest.

But a new hope dawned for Phil—a belief that his prayers would be answered that this was the last winter of the war he would experience, and soon he’d go home.[2]

~~~~~

[1] Larimore, At First Light, 178.

[2] Ibid, 178-179.

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