Bastogne (normal pop. 4,500) suddenly became important. If the left prong of the German offensive were to be slowed in its thrust toward the Meuse it would have to be done there, where the Liège-Arlon highway meets six other roads.
To Bastogne, soon after the German offensive began, hurried parts of two U.S. armored divisions—the 9th and 10th of Lieut. General George S. Patton's Third Army. In speeding trucks came almost the full strength of the 101st Airborne Division, the "Screaming Eagle" paratroops and glidermen whose toughness and contempt fot danger are legendary. Back upon Bastogne fell straggling groups from U.S. outfits that had been chewed up.
The U.S. command had given one order: hold Bastogne at all costs. The Americans (some 10,000) worked like devils to make some sort of defense. On a perimeter about two miles out of the town they set up a line of foxholes, manned by the 101st's paratroopers. Stationed nearby were groups of tanks and tank destroyers. Just outside the town was a last-gasp inner defense circle, manned largely by the stragglers. Slight (5 ft. 8 in., 135 lb.), salty Brigadier General Anthony Clement McAuliffe, the 101st's acting commander charged with holding Bastogne, called them his "Team Snafu." Inside the town was a reserve force of tanks and tank destroyers, to dash out against a major enemy attack. "Tony" McAuliffe called this force his "Fire Brigade."
Bad Breaks. On Tuesday, Dec. 19, the Germans rolled up from the east and collided with the American tanks, which had gone out to meet them at neighboring villages. A shuddering, small-scale battle developed and the Americans lost many a tank. But the Germans halted momentarily. Then the main weight of the enemy veered around the milling fight, probed at other entrances to Bastogne. Wherever the Germans poked there were Americans. The Germans kept on wheeling around the town, by the next day had it surrounded, a little island fortress in a swirling sea of gunfire. Headquarters, hoping for a weather break for air attack, radioed Bastogne for its positions. Replied Bastogne: "We're the hole in the doughnut."
On the first night one of the worst things that could befall an island of besieged happened to Bastogne: the Germans captured its complete surgical unit. Bastogne's wounded would have to get along without amputations, without fracture splints, without skilled care at all.
Through Wednesday and Thursday Bastogne battled almost continuously on its perimeter, suffered tortures in the overcrowded town. Shells poured in from all sides. Some 3,000 civilians huddled in cellars with the wounded. Food was running low—the Germans had also captured a quartermaster unit. Ammunition was dwindling—an ordnance unit had been taken too. Gasoline was down to tricklets —the Fire Brigade, to save fuel, did not keep engines running, clanked off to hot spots on cold motors.