From the pages of WWII we could pull hundreds of incredible Christmas stories. Stories of how the desire for peace won over the hatred of the enemy. Stories of homesick soldiers finding ways to celebrate Christmas in spite of their circumstances and surroundings.

But then there are stories of endless sacrifice in the most dire situations. Stories that, though tragic, remind us that even in dark situations there are those who give selflessly and willingly. That’s the story I bring you today.

In 1944, only months after we invaded Normandy, Allied forces were steadily pushing their way through Europe. By December, they had made it all the way to Belgium.

It was during this time that the Battle of the Bulge began. For those who aren’t familiar with the battle, let me paint you a picture.

With the Allied advance through Europe, the war rapidly grew close to an end. Germany was on its last leg. Hitler knew that if his regime was to remain standing, he would have to make a last ditch effort to push back the American lines.

He rallied supplies and forces under the concealment of darkness and snow that muffled the sound of heavy equipment being moved. The attack began in the wee hours of morning, December 16, 1944.

200,000 German troops attacked the American lines in a place known as the Ardennes Forest. It was a weak spot in the lines. You see, it was densely populated with trees and shrubs. Lack of roads through the area made it an unlikely place for an attack.

Four American divisions held the 75 mile area. Of those divisions, half were inexperienced in battle and the other half were worn to the breaking point from having seen so much battle.

This combination made an excellent opportunity for the Germans to be successful in their attack. By the end of the 16th, the German army had advanced some sixty miles behind Allied lines. For the first several days after the initial attack, the battle went poorly for the Allies. Hitler’s army was fighting with fierce brutality, many times choosing to shoot Allied soldiers trying to surrender instead of take them prisoner.

One German officer said in a letter to his wife,

“Always advancing and smashing everything. The snow must turn red with American blood. Victory was never as close as it is now.”

In the middle of the hottest fighting was a town named Bastogne. Through it ran the crossroads that were absolutely necessary for advancement of troops and supplies in Belgium. Whoever wished to win the battle had to hold Bastogne.

As it happened, American soldiers found themselves as the occupants of the town, tasked with holding it at all costs. On December 21st, the German army closed in on Bastogne.

The town, and soldiers therein, were in a dire straight. Cut off from reinforcements and surrounded by an overwhelming enemy force, the odds didn’t look good. The fighting was fierce. American soldiers inside the village were outnumbered.

However, the Germans weren’t the only enemy that our soldiers faced during that Christmas siege. Winter’s icy grip slammed into the Belgian terrain with a vengeance. It was the coldest winter ever recorded in that area of the world.

Temperatures dropped far below zero during the day and even more so at night. Snow and icy wind made frostbite unavoidable.

The olive-drab coloring of the American uniforms made the men stick out against the snow like a sore thumb. German snipers were easily able to locate them. Because of this, the American troops went to the homes of the civilians still in the village to ask for anything white they might have. Bedsheets, table cloths, and curtains became make-shift camouflage for the American soldiers in Bastogne.

Supplies ran desperately low. Wounded soldiers endured operations and amputations without adequate anesthesia. Others died slow, agonizing deaths due to the lack of medical personnel to help them. Hunger gnawed at the soldiers, reminding them of their circumstances. Some soldiers ended up being shot by enemy snipers while foraging for food.

The soldiers trapped within the city began to realize that they wouldn’t ever make it home to see another Christmas with their families. The road to Bastogne was a one way ticket.

Prior to the town being surrounded, many Belgian civilians chose to evacuate. But others chose to remain and help the Americans in any way they could.

Among these was a woman named Renee LeMaire. Though she was a native of Bastogne by birth, at the time she lived in a town some distance away and was only home visiting her parents when the battle erupted.

As the town began to empty of civilians, Renee and her family made the decision that they would stay. She was a trained nurse and would be of help to the wounded.

With each day that passed under siege, the American casualty rating grew higher. An old storefront building was converted into a hospital to treat the wounded. Renee LeMaire volunteered her services as a nurse. For two days, she and one other nurse, by the name of Augusta Chiwy, worked relentlessly alongside the American medical team to help the wounded soldiers. They worked straight through those two days without any sleep or nourishment.

On Christmas Eve morning, around 8:30, the German Luftwaffe conducted an airstrike on the hospital. The bombing was brutal. Renee refused to leave the building as the bombs began to fall. Instead, she pulled wounded soldiers out of the flames that engulfed the building.

She managed to drag several soldiers to safety, then ran back in for another soldier. A bomb hit the building and brought it down on top of all those inside. Renee was killed instantly, alongside thirty of the men she was trying to save.

Capt. Jack Prior, the American doctor Renee worked under, described the bombing this way:

“We hit the floor as a terrible explosion next door rocked our building. I ran outside to discover that the three-story apartment serving as my hospital was a flaming pile of debris about six feet high. The night was brighter than day from the magnesium flares the German bomber pilot had dropped. My men and I raced to the top of the debris and began flinging burning timber aside looking for the wounded, some of whom were shrieking for help. At this juncture the German bomber, seeing the action, dropped down to strafe us with his machine guns. We slid under some vehicles and he repeated this maneuver several times before leaving the area. Our team headquarters about a block away also received a direct hit and was soon in flames. A large number of men soon joined us and we located a cellar window (they were marked by white arrows on most European buildings). Some men volunteered to be lowered into the smoking cellar on a rope and two or three injured were pulled out before the entire building fell into the cellar.“

When the bombing ended, American soldiers found the severed body of Renee LeMaire in the ruins. Gently, they wrapped her in the white silk of a parachute she had been saving to make into a wedding dress after the war, and carried her back to her parents.

Her selflessness and sacrifice were well known to the men trapped in Bastogne. When she was killed, it profoundly impacted them.

The wounded soldiers who survived the bombing, remembered the selfless spirit with which she worked to bring relief to them in those dark hours and days inside Bastogne. They affectionately named her, The Angel of Bastogne.

Renee was buried in the cemetery inside Bastogne, and after the war a plaque was permanently placed at the sight where she was killed. It commemorates the sacrifice of Renee and the thirty men who died with her.

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Did you know of the horrific fighting that took place 79 years ago today? My heart is humbled every time I study the extreme sacrifices made not only by our own soldiers, but by the heroic French and Belgian civilians as well.

Today we celebrate Christmas Eve. Most of us will be with family or friends. But 79 years ago, thousands of Americans thought they would never see home again, much less enjoy a Christmas with their families. For many of them it would turn out to be true.

Their sacrifices are what enabled us to celebrate today in peace.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

A. M. Watson

Hebrews 13:8