On the first night of the battle, we survivors in what had been our 12-man rifle squad took cover in a forest overlooking a snowbound valley. After several hours ducking - and freezing in Army clothing meant for temperate climates - we began hearing "screaming meemies" (rocket mortar shells) and their lethal "marching fire" as they crossed the valley toward us. While we knew exactly what was coming, we were helpless in the face of what seemed our imminent and inevitable destruction.