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Forwarded Message:
Kristin's grandfather, Max Long was in my Platoon and my squad through Trois Ponts and somewhere in a forest before St. Vith. An artillery shell hit in the trees above a group of us. I was knocked out but soon woke up with Max beside me with a large gash down his shoulder and back. I never saw nor heard from him again. The shell burst also wounded Lt. Quigley and some others.
I have written to Kristin and received replies. Today I chatted with her and her father on the Internet. We are a bit excited about the contact. Max, was a fine young man and a good machine gunner. We had several experiences together, one which came back to me very vividly when I saw the notes from Kirstin. I want to tell it because it involved some good moments during bad times. We were moved up reasonably close to the front in mid Jan. '45 and a truck load of sleeping gear was dumped off for our company and others. Max and I dug in and went to sleep. Soon we were awaken and told to move even closer to the front and that we could take our "beds" if able to do so. Max, being a machine gunner could not carry both so I insisted that he take his "bed" and I would carry the gun. He objected but I took the gun. After stumbling through the snow for two hours or so we were told to dig in again. Max starting digging as I got the squad in position. What followed is one of the "warmest" things that happened to me during combat. As I stood there wondering how I was going to sleep the company radio man came up to me and said, "I saw what you did back there and I brought you this." He handed me a small sleeping bag which was the warmest thing I had ever seen. Max and I fashioned a bed in the snow and he took off his boots. We slept in great comfort until day light came and we were told to move out. Max, could not get his boots on. They were frozen. We somehow got them warm enough for him to get on. We moved on but the memory of that young man bringing me that sleeping bag will never move on from my memory.
Gene Brissey