It was the final, freezing hours before Christmas day, 1944 - in the last bitter winter of the war. High on a mountain ledge in Belgium, a handful of American GIs, trapped by ice and fear, were alone. They were surrounded by the final horror of the crumbling Nazi nightmare - The Battle of the Bulge. Behind them was the greatest scientific prize of the war - the wreckage of the first jet plane. In front of them were Germany's most skilled and lethal commandoes. On that peak, American and German were alone. Man to man. Face to face. With their guns they would fight the last battle of blood and bullets. With their hearts they would fight the final struggle between the honor of truth and the glory of lies.