AT 11:30 on Friday morning, a delegation of four Germans carrying a white flag appeared in a grove of spruce trees dusted with new snow southwest of Bastogne. “We are parliamentaires,” an English-speaking captain told an American officer, then presented a note composed on a captured American typewriter, with each umlaut inserted by hand, and addressed an den amerikanischen Kommandeur der eingeschlossen Stadt Bastogne, “to the American commander of the surrounded city of Bastogne.” An appended translation explained:
The fortune of war is changing.… There is only one possibility to save the encircled U.S.A. troops from total annihilation: In order to think it over, a term of two hours will be granted beginning with the presentation of this note. If this proposal should be rejected, one German artillery corps and six heavy AA battalions are ready to annihilate.… All the serious civilian losses caused by this artillery fire would not correspond with the well-known American humanity.
The note had been authorized by Lieutenant General Heinrich von Lüttwitz, commander of XLVII Panzer Corps.
At 12:25 P.M., the ultimatum reached McAuliffe in his smoke-stained command post, which reeked of cordite from a bombing raid the previous night. Encircled or not, the 101st remained almost at full strength; only five battalions among the four regiments had so far seen intense combat. Six hundred stragglers, mostly from the 28th Infantry Division, had been fed a hot meal and mustered into Team Snafu, a quick-reaction battalion. The Bastogne arsenal included forty Shermans; armor officers mimeographed useful tips on tank tactics for their infantry brethren. Six artillery battalions were arranged in circular gun pits to allow each battery to shoot at every compass point, although McAuliffe, a field artilleryman for a quarter century, had advised his cannoneers not to fire “until you see the whites of their eyes.” Vehicles were slathered with whitewash for camouflage, and Belgian linen closets provided sheets for snow capes. The men now received only two meals a day, but cooks had whipped up excellent pancakes from doughnut flour discovered in a Red Cross pantry.
Perhaps inspired by the legendary epithet uttered by a French general when asked to surrender at Waterloo—“Merde!”—McAuliffe offered a one-word answer to the ultimatum: “Nuts.” A paratrooper officer then handed it to the “parliamentaires,” whereupon a baffled German officer asked, “Is the reply negative or affirmative?”
Map legend is here.
Brigadier General Anthony McAuliffe, commander of the 101st Airborne Division
“The reply is decidedly not affirmative,” the American said. “If you don’t understand what ‘nuts’ means, in plain English, it is the same as ‘go to hell.’ … We will kill every goddamn German that tries to break into this city.”
“We will kill many Americans. This is war,” the German officer replied.
Only after the event did an irate Manteuffel learn of Lüttwitz’s gamble. “This is crazy,” he told the corps commander. “Now we must find the artillery and bomber force to make good your threat and level the town.”
