One shot and the sight of Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere lying in the snow, each missing a leg, would never haunt me Again. One shot and those damn feet would never be cold again.
In the flames' flickering light, I looked down at my boots, wrapped in burlap bags and purposely dipped in water so they'd freeze and keep my feet warmer. Now, a handful of us E Company guys were numb from war, death, and bitter cold and snow. It was January 1945, seven months since me and the guys in the 101st Airborne's 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment had jumped into that dark sky over Normandy. One shot and this frozen hell of Belgium's Ardennes Forest would be over for me.
That's all it would take, I figured, as I warmed my hands around the campfire with a few other shivering soldiers.
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