Donald P. Shaub I had many experiences in the military service beginning with the large call up of the Reserves which included most of the male students at Weber College in April 1943. After the big send-off at Union Station, we all went to Fort Douglas in Salt Lake City and were sent in many directions to start our varied war service. The one special event in my Army service (and the most important in my life) began in England on Christmas Eve 1944. December 24, 1944, started out as a good day because we had no duty; but it turned out to be the most memorable day of my life. Since we had the day off, I thought it would be a good time to do my laundry. I headed for the wash house. I got the tubs full of hot water and soap and put in all my washable clothes. Almost immediately, the whistles blew and orders were shouted for all personnel to pack up and be ready to move out in two hours (noon). All I could do was wring out my wet clothes and stuff them in my duffel bag along with my other clothes and equipment. We lined up in formation, had roll call and waited. After about two hours, they decided we could go into the mess hall and eat some of the turkey and pies that were being prepared for Christmas. Not a sit down meal, but only a snack because we had to get back in formation to wait for the trucks to move us to the ships at Southampton. A typical Army snafu, hurry up and wait. Sometime in late afternoon, the trucks arrived, and we were transported to Southampton and loaded onto ships amid great confusion. The reason for the hurried departure was that the Germans, who were being badly beaten by the Allies, were making a huge counter attack, known as the Battle of the Bulge. It was a bold move and had caught the Allied Command by surprise. Our forces were driven back and needed reinforcements. The 66th Division was highly trained and combat ready, and we were urgently needed to help stop the Germans at the Battle of the Bulge. The Division was loaded onto three ships, and the 264th Regiment was on the Belgian ship Leopoldville. The destination was Cherbourg, France, a short distance across the English Channel. Our platoon was located about three decks down in mid ship. About 6:15 p.m. the ship was hit by two German torpedoes from a submarine operating off Lorient, St. Nazaire, France. There was no panic, only general confusion. Our platoon was finally directed topside and told to wait for further orders. All sorts of rumors were being heard about what had happened - from no big damage to huge loss of life. In the meantime, we just stood on deck and awaited orders. Search lights from nearby ships appeared, orders were given over the loud speakers (which were of no help). Then we heard that the life boats had been lowered and the ship's crew, with their luggage, had deserted. The captain and several officers remained on board, but for some unexplained reason (never to be known) no distress signal was sent to Cherbourg requesting help. We could see the lights of the harbor in the distance. It was less than ten miles away. About 7:00 p.m. the British destroyer, HMS Brilliant, appeared on the scene; and after many attempts, managed to get their lines, fore and aft attached to the Leopoldville. This was difficult because there was no ship's crew to help, and it had to be done by soldiers who had no experience. In the cold raging North Sea, the destroyer was tied up alongside. About this time, we were told to move down one deck. A rope mat which formed squares about 18 inches on center was tossed over the side of the Leopoldville in the area where the destroyer was surging up and down into our ship. Also some long attached ropes were tossed over the side. The destroyer, using loud speakers, was telling us to jump onto their ship. Some soldiers said, 'No way, I'll wait for the Leopoldville to be towed to shore.' Other men climbed down the rope ladder (mat), grabbed the ropes, and jumped onto the destroyer. For some reason, I decided to do the same. I climbed down the rope ladder got hold of a rope and watched other men jump. If you can visualize the situation, the destroyer would surge up on a wave, hit the big ship, and then fall away. I stood there, clinging to the rope, watching. Some soldiers waited until the destroyer got all the way up and hit the big ship, and then they would swing out to the destroyer. However, by the time they were out and let go, the destroyer was pulled away by the surging waves, and they would fall into the sea and be crushed by the boat when it next rose up to the ship-As I stood there on the rope ladder, holding the individual rope, I luckily decided that the time to swing out was when the destroyer was starting to surge up on the wave. I pushed myself off the side of the Leopoldville as the destroyer was starting to come up. I swung out into the cold black night as far as I could and let go of the rope. I dropped about eight feet and landed right in the middle of the deck of that lovely British destroyer. I was taken below, given a blanket and a hot cup ot tea, and was very grateful to be alive. The time was about 7:30 p.m. Soon after, the destroyer had to withdraw their lines and move away because their hull was damaged, and they were taking on water. I went up on deck and waved to my buddies who still stood on the decks of the Leopoldville. At 7:45, the ship gave a mighty surge 116 and sank to the bottom of the English Channelonly ten miles from shore where there were two U.S. Navy tugs that could have towed it ashore. If only the distress signal had been given earlier by the captain. Later the distress signal was given and received by the shore personnel, but they did not want to disturb the general and top Navy commander because they were at their big Christmas party. Eight hundred men of the 264th Infantry Regiment, 66th Infantry Division lost their lives on that Christmas Eve. It was the largest troop ship loss of life in the European War. Among the eight hundred was my good friend, Glen Poulter from Ogden. He entered the Army the same day with all the other Weber students, and we had been together through basic training, ASTP at the University of Missouri and training in the 264th Infantry Division. Two hundred men were killed by the torpedoes and six hundred went down with the ship, many of whom froze to death in the cold waters of the North Sea. Many others were rescued from the water, but no one survived who was in the water more than 30 minutes. Two-thousand two-hundred fifty men with their military equipment boarded Leopoldville at Southampton. The U. S. government to this day has never officially recognized the sinking of the Leopoldville. We were a forlorn and bewildered group of men who huddled at the docks of Cherbourg on Christmas morning. It was not clearly known at that time the real extent of the loss of men. The local military personnel stationed at Cherbourg shared their Christmas dinner and necessary clothing and personal items with us. It took several days to partially organize and be issued clothing and equipment. Everyone on the Leopoldville who had survived had no possessions except what they were wearing. It didn't matter that I had packed wet clothing in England, because everything I owned, including my M-1 rifle, was at the bottom of the channel. There was talk about prosecuting the crew that had deserted the ship with the only lifeboats, but nothing was ever done. Even the Army and Navy's official inquiry was whitewashed and never publicly released. Dean Thomas Sigman Dean was born in Edgar, Nebraska, on November 24, l921, and enlisted in the Army at Fort Crook, Nebraska, on May 21, 1942. He was in Company L, 145th Regiment of the 37th Infantry Division. Dean fought in several battles and campaigns, including Luzon, Bougainville, the Solomon Islands, and New Guinea. He was wounded in action on February 19, 1945, in the Battle of Manila. His right elbow was shattered, and he was sent to Bushnell Army Hospital in Brigham City, Utah. He received an Honorable Disability Discharge at Bushnell on June 6, 1946. As a Disabled American Veteran, he held the 'Combat Infantry-Man Badge.' He served seven months and fifteen days of Foreign Service. Other honors received include: Three Bronze Campaign Stars, American Theater Ribbon, Asiatic Pacific Theater Ribbon, Purple Heart, and Philippines Liberation Ribbon with one Bronze Star. Submitted by Phoebe Sigmam, wife Richard E. Skeen As I recall memories of being a World War II draftee, I consider my experiences in the war as difficult years, but feel fortunate to have served and to have returned to civilian life without being wounded or killed. Of the experiences that I remember was one which I consider a miracle. When I reached Leyte, Philippine Islands, I took a typing test and was classified as a clerk typist. When I reached the Island of Cebu, I was sent up to the front lines in the mountains. I had been assigned to Company K in the 182nd Regiment of the Americal Division and expected to be at a desk in an office. On the front lines, we only had K rations. The fighting had slowed down and hot chow was brought up. K Company was on the back side of a hill. I was standing in the mess line when the Japanese started laying in mortar shells. A mortar shell landed about two and a half feet in front of me. I didn't receive even a small particle of the shell, while two soldiers standing behind me were wounded. On another occasion, our platoon had cut off Japanese soldiers; and at night the Japanese soldiers tried to come though our lines to get back to their troops. When morning came, we found dead Japanese soldiers within 10 feet of our fox holes. One of the most difficult assignments on the front lines was to remove our dead soldiers from the front lines to a point where the bodies could be placed on trucks. Bodies on the front lines were bloated to twice their size in just two days. Two Philippine carriers were provided to handle the stretchers. Under sniper fire, the carriers would drop the bodies and run. It took a threat with my rifle to get them back to the stretchers. Japanese dead were covered up with heavy equipment. This didn't bother me at that time; but after spending time in Japan, I think of the families of those Japanese soldiers that died in the war. Each day on the front lines was an 117