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Hartwell and I climb the steps toward the steeple to look for the tank. Random thoughts are racing through my mind.

"Where is the rest or 'A' company? Where are the German soldiers? When did I last sleep? What am I doing, using a church as a military observation post? Isn't this against the Geneva Convention on sanctity of places of worship in a war zone?" Apparently the commander of the 88 wasn't concerned about such niceties. The next round hit the church. We split, racing for cover beneath the overpass. The shelling stopped.

During all this confusion I noticed a bridge that crossed the Lippe Canal with a row of houses on the other side. I also thought I had seen some British soldiers. If true, then there was help close by if needed. Dream on, lieutenant. I crossed the bridge, met the "Brits' and said "We play need your help. We have been cut off from our company. Will you be able to help us if necessary?" To which the non-com replied, "Sorry, old chap, it's 'tea time, you know!" and so it was - for the Brits. We had been fighting for an hour (?) two hours (?) and now it was "tea time".

I returned to my men at the underpass. Leaving this area of safety, we walked up the incline of the street where we were on the far side of the tracks. Three smaller roads intersected the main street in a sort of circle. Walking toward the center of the circle area we saw what appeared to be a large pile of horse flesh. The animals had been caught in the open when the barrage started. Two or three steps closer and we knew different - horses don't wear helmets or carry rifles.

We are on the far side of the railroad tracks facing south, back toward the direction from which we had first come to this point. In the distance, perhaps a half mile, we observe a burning tank. The smoke from the fire is drifting across the tree lined road and forms a perfect background to silhouette soldiers moving across the road and away from the tracks. We head toward the smoke.

Hartwell and five men are on the left with me and three men on the right side of the road. Neatly painted homes with red tile roofs and wide front yards are on either side. We move forward, tree to tree, yard to neighbor's yard. I am somewhat in advance of Hartwell's group when I look back toward him. Across the street, between Hartwell and me, there is a group of about 12 German soldiers in full battle gear. They are in the backyard of a house milling around as though preparing to leave. If Hartwell's group continues the way they are going they might walk right past the Germans or worse, be wiped out!

They haven't seen me nor is Hartwell aware of them. With hand signals I stop him, point out the house and the number of men - not a word is spoken. Again with hand signals, Hartwell sends part of his group between two houses to be in direct line with the Germans who are two or three houses ahead. Still undetected, Hartwell and his men move slowly forward.

The fight doesn't last 30 seconds so complete was the surprise. One German soldier, however, had no intention of being taken prisoner. With rifle in hand, full pack on his back, he took off across an open field. He was so laden down with equipment it appeared as though he was running in place. I fired a couple of rounds over his head to see if he would stop. He kept on running. It was just as well.