The child.

It was warm that week before Christmas in 1944. The American soldiers had just occupied Tentelingen, a small farming town in the Saar. The front was quiet, and the GIs were maintaining only light contact patrols with the enemy.

It was good to wake up in the morning and not hear the mortars. The soldiers began to settle in, knowing the offensive could resume at any time, and they would have to load their gear back on the tanks and half-tracks and move out.

It was Sidlo who had the idea of the Christmas tree. There was some argument that the outfit wouldn't be there for Christmas, that planning something like that was bad luck.

There weren't very many civilians remaining in town. The men were gone. Just some women and few children. They were frightened of the Americans. There wasn't much food, and from their standpoint, practically no hope.

Sidlo ended the argument by slipping out to the edge of town with an ax from his jeep. He came back a few minutes later with a small, perfectly proportioned spruce. The others began to come up with ideas of how it could be decorated. There wasn't much to work with. Somebody suggested cutting a star from an empty C-ration can. The men began to scrounge for tin foil, empty brass casings from rifle shells, bits and pieces of anything that glittered.

At first, no one was really sure what they would do with the tree. One of the soldiers - it was probably Sidlo - said the tree could be put out where the children could see it. And then the others began to chip in packets of gum and Life Savers from their PX rations.

Even though the men weren't supposed to talk to German civilians, they thought it would be nice if maybe the children could take the little presents from the tree on Christmas.

Nothing was said to the children, but they seemed to know almost immediately. They watched from a distance as the soldiers decorated the tree. One child, a blonde girl of about 6, was always there. She was very pale and drawn. No one ever saw her smile. There was something wistful about her eyes.

As Christmas drew closer, the men began to sing what they could remember of Christmas carols. There was talk of forming some kind of choir and getting the chaplain to say Mass.

The men, who by now were beginning to shave and try to wash their uniforms, put out of their minds that it could all end at any time. It wasn't a good idea to settle in too much. They should have remembered that.

It must have been two days before Christmas when the word came down. It was just before dawn. "March order!" the first sergeant barked. "We're heading north. The Germans have attacked some place called Bastogne."

The men rolled up their blankets, and softly cursing the darkness, began to buckle on their belts and drape ammunition bandoliers around their necks. The engines whined to a shriek as they were cranked, and there was blue flame splatting from the fish-tail exhausts of the big tanks. The ground shuddered under all the power.

Sidlo ran back into the barn where he had been sleeping. He was carrying the tree when he came out. He seemed confused about what he should do with it. There would be no Christmas morning for the men at Tentelingen. No Christmas carols. Sidlo knew he couldn't take the tree. He stood there for a moment, and then he carefully placed it in the street.

As the armored column churned out of the town to the bitter cold and snow of the north, the men looked back. In the dim, half-light of morning, they could see the face of the little girl. She looked at the tree. Then at the men.

She was crying.