The battle of the Bulge was a frozen hell. Private Leo Barnes of the 101st Airborne had been wandering for hours, his feet numb, his hands bleeding. He had lost his squad in the chaos of the German assault. The snow was deep, the forest endless.
Then he saw lights—faint, yellow, flickering through the trees. He stumbled toward them, nearly collapsing at the door of a wooden building.
A sign read: Hôpital de la Paix. Hospital of Peace.
He pushed inside. The warmth hit him like a wave. Candles floated in mid-air, and the walls were lined with beds. But there were no patients. Only ghos