This is part two of a story from North Dakota World War II veteran Robert Feland, including days he spent behind enemy lines in Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge, 61 years ago this week. Picking up where we left off yesterday, Bob and seven other American soldiers were having a breakfast of bread and wine compliments of their host, a Belgian who sheltered them for the night while German troops passed by just beyond the wall. It happened to be Bob’s 24th birthday.

After breakfast, they snuck out and headed up into the hills. To get back to their lines, they listened carefully to the sound of gunfire. They knew they could find the Americans by the sound of their machine guns. German guns buzzed! The American machine guns went off with a methodical “chuk chuk chuk.”

The days were short this time of year and it got dark before they could reach friendly lines. Cold, wet and hungry, they just kept walking. Then, from out of the darkness they were startled by a shout, “Who goes there!” Someone from Bob’s little group let out a string of cuss words that would have made an old army cook blush! We’re cold and hungry and have been walking for two days!

Come forward and be recognized, the challenger said. The weary soldiers walked up to a machine gun emplacement and one of the guys manning it said, “We were ready to shoot but when we heard all that cussing…no German would be able to cuss like that!”

Bob’s Battalion was in a state of disarray with soldiers coming in from all over. They were issued all new clothing and gear. Although nothing would replace his personal effects, Bob felt lucky not to have been captured or killed.

The Battle of the Bulge was finally over — officially — on January 28, 1945, with 81,000 American casualties. The Germans lost around 100,000 men. Soon the 540th Combat Engineer Battalion was re-equiped, reorganized and on the move again, repairing bridges and roads and pushing the Germans back into Germany.

Bob was in Munich when the war ended. His unit boarded B-24 bombers outfitted as transports and flew down across Spain and Gibraltar to Casablanca. From there Bob boarded a twin engine C-47 for the flight across the ocean.

Enroute, a fire started in the right engine. Bob thought, here I am, I’ve just survived three years of some of the bloodiest fighting in the Second World War without so much as a scratch, and when I’m finally coming home I’ll be lost in the ocean. He thought of some of the close calls he’d lived through — the tug on his sleeve that was actually a bullet passing through his uniform; the mortar round that landed with a thud in his foxhole — failing to explode; and those two days on the wrong side of the front.

The plane limped into Bermuda on one engine, and after some repairs took off for Miami, but the right engine caught fire again. The war-seasoned pilots just pushed the throttles on full and finally landed the burning aircraft safely in Miami. It was the last time Bob ever set foot on an airplane!

Bob Feland — cowboy, Army medic, ferrier, and brand inspector — now lives in Flasher, North Dakota. Happy birthday, Bob!

Source: http://www.scottnelsonart.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=20&Itemid=5

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