I was stunned to see the color photos of the First Army. My father was trained in Florida, then plunked into the Ardennes in January to haul casualties up the mountainside. His lack of winter whites made him an olive green target. He spoke of the brutal cold and the hip deep snow, but mostly of the men in the litters he was proud to bear.
Once they headed east, to eventually cross the Remagen Bridge on March 7, he told me they slept where they dropped from exhaustion, then moved on when the cold awoke them. He carried these memories literally until his dying day, particularly his respect for his buddies who never made it.
Potlatch, thank you for the ping. These photos are a gift.
When I came across this thread you were the first person I thought of. I knew you would be so interested, knowing your Dad’s war background.
It’s no wonder they were called ‘the greatest generation’.