From Citizen Soldiers by Stephen E. Ambrose

At the front, Lt. Charles Stockell, a forward artillery observer for the 2nd Division, had two unforgettable experiences on Christmas Day. He was at Elsenborn Ridge. Late on Christmas Eve, he was at a company hq in a cellar. At about 2345 hours, the firing died down. "At the stroke of midnight, without an order or a request, dark figures emerged from the cellars. In the frosty gloom voices were raised in the old familiar Christmas carols. The heavy snowflakes fell softly, covering the weapons and signs of war. The infantry, in their frontline positions, could hear voices 200 yards away in the dark joining them, in German, in the words to 'Silent Night.' It was a time when all men could join in the holy and sacred memories of the story of the Christ Child, and renew a fervent prayer for peace, goodwill toward men!"

Within an hour the shooting started. By daylight, it was going full-blast. The company's position was easily spotted from the air because of panels on the ground at the crossroads, and the sky had cleared. Nevertheless two P-47s came in on strafing runs. No one was hurt. But one pilot turned and made a second run, this time dropping his 100-pound bomb on the mess tent, where 100 men were eating. There were many casualties.

Stockell felt there was no excuse, especially for the second run. Those were his men lying dead and wounded under the bits of canvas. He was infuriated to the point that "I put 75 rounds from a truck-mounted 50 ca. MG through his motor. He went up in flames. He rolled his plane and parachuted. We jumped in a jeep and were fully intent on beating him to death. He came down, fortunately for him, next to the division MPs. We were told he was cashiered. "

For that pilot, as for so many others on the Western Front in 1944, it was a Christmas best forgotten.

Elsewhere, From Citizen Soldiers by Stephen E. Ambrose

There was no general cease-fire anywhere on Christmas Day. Apparently it never occurred to anyone to even suggest it. But the urge to go to church was widely felt. Lieutenant Otts attended services conducted by an American chaplain in a village church. The windows were blown out and "the church was pretty well torn up, but the service was very impressive. The dirty, unshaven men were standing among the ruins of a once beautiful church with the sun pouring in through the holes in the ceiling."

Pvt. George McAvoy of the 9th Armored Division was in Fratin, Belgium, on Christmas Eve. He attended a midnight mass at the village church, along with every man in his company not on duty and most of the town's inhabitants. As the church was jammed, the GIs took seats in the rear. They were in combat dress and armed, which caused considerable embarrassment. Rifles leaned against the pews would slip on the hardwood and crash to the floor. The men put their helmets under the pews in front of them; when people knelt they kicked the helmets and sent them spinning along the floor.

"It was the noisiest service I ever attended," McAvoy wrote. "But the sense of comfort, well-being and safety was amazing."

Throughout the service, McAvoy noted the boys up in the choir stall were giggling. It turned out that one of the squads had gone into the church shortly after dark, thrown their bedrolls down around the altar, and gone to sleep. When the priest arrived he let them sleep. What set the boys to giggling was the sight of one of the GIs suddenly waking up, hearing the organ and seeing the priest, and crying out "I've bought it!"