THE MORTAR MAN OF BURNON

The freezing rain had turned the Belgian countryside into a gray wasteland of mud and ice when Combat Command B of the 4th Armored Division pushed north toward Bastogne on the morning of December 22, 1944. The roads were narrow, cratered by shellfire, and the bridges along the route had been blown by retreating Germans or demolished by their engineers to slow the American advance. Every crossing was a fight.

Technical Sergeant Roscoe V. Albertson moved with the ground element of CCB as they approached Burnon, a small village just north of Fauvillers in the Ardennes. The 22nd Armored Field Artillery Battalion had set up behind them, firing 105mm missions in support, their radio call sign "Oasis" crackling over the net. Ahead, Major Albin Irzyk's force was pushing toward Chaumont, but first they had to force the crossing at Burnon — and the Germans had other plans.

As the column reached the outskirts of the village, a German MG-42 opened up from a concealed position. The distinctive ripping sound — twelve hundred rounds per minute, so fast individual shots blended into a continuous tear — pinned down the lead element instantly. Men dove for whatever cover the frozen ground offered. The machine gun had clear fields of fire across the approach, and every attempt to advance was met with another burst.

"We got a machine gun up ahead pinning us down, Albertson! Take it out!"

Albertson didn't hesitate. While others pressed themselves into the mud, he began setting up his M1 81mm mortar. This was not a job you could do from behind cover. The mortar had to be properly baseplate'd, the bipod adjusted, the elevation and traverse set. All of this took time — time spent standing upright, exposed, within range of an MG-42 that could cut a man in half.

He dropped a round down the tube. The hollow chuk of the round leaving the barrel was followed by a brief whistle and then the crump of detonation. He adjusted, loaded again. The second round was closer. Then the third.

The German position erupted. Dirt, timber, and metal flew skyward as Albertson's mortar found its mark with devastating precision. The MG-42 went silent.

What happened next was almost harder to believe than the shot itself. From the smoking ruins of the machine gun nest and the trenches around it, German soldiers began to emerge — hands raised, some bleeding, all of them finished with fighting for the day. One by one, then in groups, they came forward. Albertson stood there with his mortar, watching sixteen enemy soldiers walk toward him and surrender.

Sixteen men. One mortar. One sergeant who didn't flinch when the rounds were coming his way.

The crossing at Burnon was forced. CCB pushed on toward Chaumont and beyond, part of the desperate drive to relieve the surrounded 101st Airborne at Bastogne. For his actions that day, Technical Sergeant Roscoe V. Albertson was awarded the Silver Star — one of the military's highest decorations for valor in combat.

Today, Albertson's name appears in no online database, no Wikipedia article, no veterans' memorial website. His story survived only in the published battle narratives of the 4th Armored Division and the accounts of those who fought alongside him. Until now.