August Footnote 1: "tree bursts"

" . . . tree bursts more than doubled the effectiveness of shellfire, particularly among attacking infantrymen, whose only protection against the lethal fragments from above was the clothing on their backs. Set with instantaneous fuses, the shells burst on the slightest contact, spraying down metal death." Charles B. MacDonald, The Battle of the Huertgen Forest, p. 74

August Footnote 2: "Bocage"

"'Pleasantly shaded woodland,' says Larousse for 'bocage.' The woodland stands between small thickly banked hedgerows, enclosing fields first won from the wastes by Celtic farmers who tilled the land before the coming of the Romans, and separated by narrow and winding lanes. Through over a thousand years of growth the roots of hedgerows have bound the banks into barriers which will rebuff even bulldozers, while winter rains and the hooves of Norman cattle have worn the surface of the roadways deep beneath the level of the surrounding fields. The countryside is thus perfectly suited to anti-tank defense. Tank crews which will brave it must expect a bazooka shot from every field boundary or risk ambush in lanes so constricted that they cannot traverse their turret. And if, in the hope of faster progress, they cling to the larger roads, they will be brought every few hundred yards to strong , stone-built villages in which every house forms an infantry fortress, every barn a hiding place for an anti-tank gun. Bocage, for all the soldiers of the Liberation armies, swiftly lost its pleasant sylvan undertones. Bocage came to mean the sudden, unheralded burst of machine-pistol fire at close quarters, the crash and flame of a panzerfaust strike on the hull of a blind and pinioned tank." John Keegan, Six Armies in Normandy, p. 152-3

August Footnote 3: "more friendly"

"Every G.I. became a conquering hero.  A Yank who wished to have a parade all his own would turn off on some side road to drive through a village off the main highways. With all the smiles and sitting in his jeep like King Tutt himself, he slowly toured the town, honking his horn, kissing the girls who swarmed over his car, and catching the huge bouquets of flowers which everyone threw.  As each day went by everyone entered into the spirit of celebration.  The French from the country lined the highways waving flags.  Men in the convoys passing by threw chocolate, Life Savers, cigarettes, and candy to their cheering admirers. In turn the French got to throwing so many apples at us that we had enough to throw at each other. It was not uncommon to see the men standing up in their trucks having a furious apple battle from truck to truck as they were speeding down the road." Jack Colbaugh, The Bloody Patch, p. 35-6