In January 1973, the Reader’s Digest carried an article written by a man named Fritz Vincken. It was the incredible true story of the most memorable Christmas Eve of his life.

In 1944 Fritz lived in the Huertgen Forest, on the border between Belgium and Germany, during the ravages of World War II. He was then a boy of 12, living with his mother in his father’s tiny hunting cabin. They’d been forced to relocate to these simple lodgings after the bombing of their hometown, Aachen.

Fritz’ father, Hubert, had been called away to serve in the civil-defense fire guard in the nearby town of Monschau, some four miles from their cabin. Then, on December 16, a fierce conflict later known as "The Battle of the Bulge" erupted on the border.

On Christmas Eve, Fritz and his mother Elizabeth were alone in their cabin. The fighting had been raging around them for over a week, and the chilling sounds of war echoed on all sides.

"We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby."

Then came an unexpected sound - a knock at the door! Fritz, hoping it was his father, promptly got up to answer it. But his mother prudently held him back. Knowing that her husband would’ve simply come in, she cautiously went to the door herself.

Fritz vividly recalled that event for the rest of his life. What follows is taken from his account:

-------------

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snow-clad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive.

"Kommt rein," Mother said, finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

They understood her words by her tone, but none of them knew German. Elizabeth tried French and one of the soldiers knew that language enough to communicate.

The wounded man was promptly laid on Fritz’s bed. He was terribly pale, "his face as white as the snow outside." Elizabeth began to look after him, and had Fritz help warm up the others, who were numb from cold.

Fritz and his mother soon learned a little more about their unexpected guests.

They’d lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. …Without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Elizabeth sent her son to source from what food they had. Fritz soon returned with six potatoes and a rooster. They’d fattened the rooster in the hopes of enjoying a meal with Fritz’s father on New Year’s, when it was clear he couldn’t come for Christmas.

Fritz and one of the soldiers helped with the cooking. The other soldier took care of their wounded friend.

He had a bullet through his upper leg and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bed-sheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht – Germans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot!

Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Froehliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"

"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness, born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."

The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half open door.

"But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I’d ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who’s inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could they in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life, and his two friends, lost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "This Christmas night, let us forget about killing."

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered, and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile, and hurry up before the others eat the dinner!

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their weapons on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas.

As the Germans laid down their weapons, Elizabeth quickly spoke French to the American soldier. He then spoke in English, beckoning the other Americans. They immediately handed over their weapons to Elizabeth.

The German soldiers entered the small cabin. The air was extremely tense as the young men from opposing sides gathered in the tiny space.

Elizabeth managed to keep a smile as she arranged the soldiers on the scant furniture, seating Germans and Americans beside each other.

Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. …Now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick" she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

Fritz hurried to the storage room. As he rummaged through it, he heard a moan from the wounded soldier. The boy finished gathering the food and returned to his mother - quite surprised at what he saw.

When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American’s wound.

"Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him.

"No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago."

This German spoke in English to the Americans. He explained that, thanks to the cold, the wound hadn’t become infected. Then he turned to Elizabeth.

"He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together.

Indeed, they were very young, even beside a boy of 12. Two of the German soldiers were only 16 years old. Their corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all.

The Germans did have a few slight provisions to add to the dinner. The corporal pulled out a bottle of red wine from his food bag. Another soldier had a loaf of rye bread, which Elizabeth cut in small pieces to be served with the dinner. She reserved half of the wine to be used later "for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during the moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

The next morning, the wounded man awoke early, and Elizabeth fed him some broth and "an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal’s wine and some sugar."

Oatmeal was served as breakfast. Then the soldiers prepared to leave. Elizabeth found her best table cloth, which they attached to two poles, forming a stretcher for the wounded lad.

The soldiers had arrived in the first place because they’d gotten lost. Before setting out again, the Americans pulled out a map, trying to find a safe route. The German corporal even gave advice as to where they could find their fellow American forces.

The medical student translated the corporal’s directions into English. Then one of the Americans had him ask the corporal "Why don’t we head for Monschau?" But the corporal strongly objected because the Germans had retaken that town.

Then, to further ensure safe passage for the Americans, one of the Germans generously gave them his compass.

Seeing that all the soldiers were ready to be on their way, Elizabeth returned their weapons.

"Be careful, boys," she said, "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts.

Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:21, "…they departed into their own country another way."

-------------

Many years later, Fritz moved to the United States. Shortly after, urged by his new American friends, he related this story to the Reader’s Digest. With its many incredible details, there were those who found it difficult to believe. Still, the story was retold. It later aired on television in March of 1995, during an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.

The following October, Unsolved Mysteries was contacted by a man named Eldridge Ward. He introduced himself as a volunteer chaplain at the Northampton Manor Nursing Home, located in Frederick, Maryland. To their surprise, Ward went on to explain that he’d heard this same story before from one of the residents of the nursing home. This good fellow, Ralph Henry Blank, had told the story from his own perspective… as one of the American soldiers! He loved sharing these soul-stirring memories with his friends and family.

When Unsolved Mysteries heard about this, they did research on Ralph Blank. They learned that he had served as a sergeant with the 121st Infantry, 8th Division, of the U.S. Army in Belgium. So he would have been in the area at the time. But one unique detail proved that he had undoubtedly been in the Vinckens' cabin that night…

After all those years, Ralph still had the compass given him by the German soldier!

When Fritz learned of this exciting development, he phoned Ralph immediately. Ralph still remembered the young boy Fritz from the cabin. The men eagerly arranged to meet each other, and on January 19, 1996, the reunion took place. It was more than 50 years since they had first met that memorable Christmas Eve…

Even after all those years, Ralph still recognized Fritz as the young boy from that tiny cabin. It was a deeply touching meeting for both men.

"Your mother saved my life." Ralph told him.

This reunion, decades after the fact, was the moving climax to the story which began that Christmas Eve of 1944. It was no longer an "unsolved mystery", and it proved once and for all that Fritz Vincken’s account was entirely true.

Having been so compelled to share his mother’s courageous and beautiful example of goodwill towards others, Fritz had the happiness of knowing that now it would never be forgotten - inspiring others for generations to come.