The northeast corner of Bastogne is bordered by the Jacques Forest. Over the past ten days, the fiercest fighting has taken place here.
The combat here felt almost primitive—just gunfire exchanged at close range, with only the occasional shell landing.
By the tenth day, both the Germans and the task force were running dangerously low on ammunition.
At nightfall, the snowstorm stopped. Taking advantage of the snow's reflection, Wang Xiong, lying in a foxhole, cautiously poked his head out to observe any movement in the forest. Although the thick snow slowed the German advance, the Germans, dressed in white camouflage, were often hard to spot as they moved across the snow.
Over the past few days, they had repelled German attacks in this forest time and again.
There were no shelters, only foxholes.
No stoves for warmth—just snowflakes, carried by the wind, drifting into their foxholes.
"Here, Scholar, warm your feet."
