How Carrejo and Four Others Died

Friday, September 20

I woke up very early, washed, and went to the office, feeling good but somewhat weak after yesterday’s migraine. The barrage was heavy at Le Prete Forest yesterday. Our command post is located on its edge. If this is such a peaceful sector, then why do the cords and other regalia on the soldiers’ uniforms burn the way they do? What we do know is that we are providing critical help in the great Saint-Mihiel campaign to secure the territory the Germans grabbed from France four years ago. And we did it in just a few days of fighting. Everything was done so quickly the enemy never discovered our covert preparations. We can truthfully say that we gave them a taste of their own medicine.

The days followed their normal course. The nervous excitement normally felt in the front trenches ended as we advanced against the tenacious enemy. The capture of the German machine gun was already old news. It was necessary to find new adventures. Oh, but how life in the line of fire offers opportunities for a thousand adventures! Death is at every turn. We are so used to it we no longer fear it.

Company M’s trench zigzagged by the side of a small hill. The area had a lush vineyard loaded with delicious fruit. We dug the trenches without giving much thought to the fact that the land had been used for nurturing wheat, vineyards, and gardens.

I should note that we ate well in the front trenches after an advance. The food was good and included a variety of items. For breakfast, they gave us good hot coffee with canned milk, oatmeal, bacon, butter, syrup, and hard American biscuits. For lunch (at four in the afternoon), we had beans cooked in bacon, corn, salmon, beefsteak, hash, plums, and the unforgettable cornwillie (corned beef hash made of bull or dog meat). Everything was delicious and served in generous amounts, but our friends and brothers in misery, Moisés Carrejo from Laredo, Canuto Farías from Beeville, Cayetano González from Tuleta, Max Hinojosa from Falfurrias, and Andrés Rosales from El Paso, were not satisfied and looked for the opportunity to also eat the “forbidden grapes.” We had strict orders not to eat any fruit or vegetable on the battlefields, but all it took was for one of the boys to say, “Last one to climb and get grapes is a . . . !” The five men jumped like panthers out of the trenches and practically landed under the barrels of the German cannon. My Mexican brothers had been eating together for a few days all the while talking about their adventures and revisiting pleasant memories from their distant homes. The actions of these fearless men put their fellow soldiers in danger when the German fired his artillery at them. The whole world trembled when someone mentioned the German artillery and its engineers. The Mexicans were the only ones who dared to mock those despicable Boches. The evidence was there. Our brave soldiers!

They repeated their regular grape-picking excursion at four. The Germans were more successful with their fire this time. They had been so embarrassed at not being able to demonstrate the technical knowledge they acquired in military school. A huge bomb landed in the very trenches where the boys were eating. After the horrible explosion and in the middle of a thick cloud of dark and stinking smoke, we found a disgusting mass covered under dirt, three Mexican Americans and two German Americans. That is how Carrejo and his inseparable companions fell. Max and Andrés survived to tell the story. Their names, like those of all humble soldiers, are destined to be quickly forgotten in the dark shadows of oblivion. They died demonstrating unrestrained valor for the lofty principles of our cause. They deserve the eternal gratitude of our people!

Saturday, September 21

I typed quite a bit today because a prisoner we captured last night gave us much valuable information. I had to make several copies of the report so the people responsible for examining this kind of information can decide on its merits.

The duel between the heavy-caliber cannon lasted all night. We did not suffer many deaths on our front.

Sunday, September 22

The German cannon shelled our positions heavily all night until dawn. Our compatriots who remained in the states—exempt from duty or in military service but without the chance of ever coming here—will miss the greatest adventure of our time. They will not have crouched or curled up by the sides of the trenches, in water-soaked foxholes, and, worst of all, they will not have faced the continuous explosion of shells inching closer to their positions. Even drunks cannot sleep in these conditions. Some soldiers insist that they sleep well, but they give themselves away before the day is over when they give an account of what transpired during the night. We really wish a night like ours for fellow citizens who sleep in soft beds until the morning, just one, so that they can appreciate the difficult, bad, horrible, and dangerous moments faced by the many soldiers who will not return to claim credit or tally dues. If they had seen the appearance of the soldiers in their trenches at daybreak and if they had understood the look, then we could heal the world and make it a true paradise for democracy.

We have not heard anything about our losses in the last battle. Sometimes it is better not to know and to feign ignorance. The French have been moving more trucks and 75 millimeter guns to the front. Several of the cannon of the US Marines have passed by and others have been deployed near our position.

I have been so concerned that I had not realized this was Sunday.

According to our way of thinking, the French should be given credit for their courage. The poor private only has one uniform, a blanket, rifle, and bayonet, and is poorly fed. I have seen their daily rations. They consist of raw potatoes, a liter of white wine, and a piece of bread, the famous “pain de guerre.” Those of us who are familiar with it know that it is not appetizing, especially when we are at war and facing an enemy. The bread is made with wheat bran. If it has flour, it usually contains very little and is of very poor quality. Many people insist it is mostly made of sawdust from a soft and fragrant tree growing in the mountains. Like any fresh bread, it smells good when it is hot out of the oven, but once it gets cold and hard, it feels like wood. We have seen hundreds or thousands of soldiers that look like they are whittling wood when slicing or cutting pieces of bread with a pocketknife. Even under these conditions, however, the French soldier is the first one to attack the enemy trenches while singing the “Marseillaise.” The thousands of white crosses with a tricolor at their center speak of the many who have fallen before the powerful salvos from the vicious and violent Germans.

I have moved into an old house and Gómez and Barrera have joined me. I enter into some serious conversations with some Frenchmen who are also staying with us and have come to feel comfortable exchanging views in their language. All of them have been serving for more than two years and are tired of the war, but they are willing to fight until they throw the Germans out of France. They tell me their people are very grateful for our help in the war. They believe that final victory will come within days.

Our first cold front hit us today, reminding us that we are not at home and that winter approaches. Winter will make our lives a thousand times worse. We have heard rumors that General John J. Pershing, the commander in chief of the American forces, will know how to make use of our sterling troops and favorable weather to lead the supreme offensive that will squash the Germans.

Monday, September 23

Two prisoners we took today provided the necessary information for our artillerymen to wipe out a good number of the enemy’s positions.

Could yesterday’s occurrence have been superstition or a premonition? When my buddies announced it was suppertime, I was typing and focusing on my office work. Gómez said, “let’s go to supper,” and I sensed a loss of nerve and it felt stranger than fear itself, but I was able to control my emotions. The soldiers began to get their utensils. I did not want to say anything about what had come over me. No one may have noticed what was happening and I had no reason to worry, as I was more than thirty feet below ground and well protected. Also, we were not fighting but on a break. I felt something strange and unexplainable. I told my good friend Gómez, “please get my supper; I want to finish this job.” He did not think twice, picked up my lunch container, jumped out of the foxhole and quickly returned with my food. I ate and continued working, without thinking or feeling anything again. This occurred yesterday at four. Today, supper was announced at the same time and we went to eat as usual. Everyone got in line and offered his lunch box to show that he was ready to be served. We all followed the routine. While in line, we heard the braying mule sound of a heavy-caliber shell flying through the air. There is little time to find shelter when you hear the sound. We barely had time to fall to the ground and fill up a small nearby ditch with our bodies. All this took place in a fraction of a second. We fell hard to the ground and felt a tremor run through our faces. The heavy shell landed at the end of the line, where we had formed the line for supper. It shook the ground and took our breath away. The enormous shell tore into the ground. One can well imagine our anxious moments as we waited for the explosion that was to follow and tell us if we were to live or die. We held our breath during those terrible seconds. Soon enough, someone said, “This one failed Fritz.” We returned to the land of the living, got up, and set about examining the monster of death that had landed in lifeless form next to our supper line. It measured around four feet in length and eleven or twelve inches in diameter. We had scarcely shaken off the cold sweat that comes at times like these, when someone blurted, “If it had exploded, neither kitchen nor cooks would have survived!” What about us? It was obvious that we would have been the first ones to be flung to faraway places. We could have landed back on Mother Earth as useless matter or as an incapacitated lot destined to join the home guard and civilian life.

As expected, the soldiers continued talking and offering opinions about the incident. When my turn came, I described my experience from the previous day and asked my buddies to be candid with their thoughts. I asked them if they thought that what I had felt was real and not a dream and whether it was related or not to what just occurred. That was my challenge to them. Some said nothing and became somewhat pensive. Others believed what I said and corroborated my story with their own. We also had cynics, as one would expect in such a big army with men of so many races who think differently.

I had another interesting experience today. Someone stole my underwear, which I had washed yesterday. This is the first time this has happened. Our soldiers are so well provisioned they never have to resort to stealing clothes. This problem may be due to soldiers throwing their clothes away to avoid carrying a heavy load during the marches. Some even discard their food rations and then complain about not having enough to eat. This is really unfair to our government. Each man is fully equipped with two complete uniforms of wool, three changes of underwear (two of light material and three heavy, sometimes all three are the heavy kind), four pairs of socks, wool shirts (many of us have three), and an extra pair of heavy shoes. Why steal?

Tuesday, September 24

We had another serious artillery duel last night. Three airplanes flew over us and directed machine gun fire on our positions. Some were flying at a low altitude and dropping propaganda materials. Our artillery responded with heavy fire but could not bring down any of them. The printed materials were written in English and announced that the war was about to end, that Germany was stronger than ever. Their posturing made us laugh instead of striking us with fear.

I received letters from home and felt very happy.

One of the big guns that are to be used against heavy fortifications passed by on its way to the front around ten this morning. Twelve large, strong horses and twenty muscular soldiers pulled it over roads mangled by the shells that are constantly exploding over them. We witnessed their difficult lives. The men and horses were exhausted from the difficult march. They had just entered Le Prete Forest, about four hundred yards from our position, when we heard a tremendous explosion that shook the entire area. A shell had landed on all the unfortunate men and animals as they positioned the monstrous cannon to do damage on “our fellow man.” The lesson is this: “Do to your neighbor what he wishes for you and if you can do a little more, the better.” A messenger brought us the news. We went to see the “glorious” scene as soon as we could. This is the way we should describe these kinds of situations. If others deserve crowns and flowers, these soldiers should receive the palms of glory with roots and all. It is necessary to praise them with something immediately. Otherwise, oblivion will consume them. Neither horse nor soldier survived, and the steel monster became useless! A more horrible sight cannot be imagined. The torn, darkened, foul-smelling, and newly exposed human flesh of so many men in the full bloom of life was mixed with the equally fresh horse remains that smelled of burned blood and gunpowder! Oh, war, we are still alive to witness with our very eyes what you have been, are, and will continue to be until the end of time!

Wednesday, September 25

Much aerial activity occurred today. One of our responsibilities is to use big telescopes to identify the types of airplanes flying over us. We have little difficulty seeing the marks underneath their wings.

The news that we are to prepare for a move to a new front hit us like a bomb. This means another offensive. More blood will be spilled. We left everything in place as if we were to return. The order stated, “You might return.”

We left our command post at six in the afternoon, sixty men from the R.I.O, some zappers, messengers, and the signal corps, the ones who look after the phones. The maps and other orders were given to some sergeants who were to take us to our new command post. They were not to share the orders with the lowly privates. This was not the worst of it. The problem was that the sergeants lost their way because they did not understand the geographic marks on the maps. When we were about to reach our destination—at eight—we lost our way while walking on very narrow roads in the middle of a dense forest. The soldiers and the other sergeants who were with our platoon had nothing to say, we simply continued to move forward.

Barrera, the unforgettable soldier from San Diego, was the only one on horseback. He had other horses in tow. The horses were for some officers who were to ride them back. His packhorse carried a sack of barley and gas masks for all the horses. We must remember that even the poor animals share in the miseries of this war. It was interesting to see the troops walking with no definite idea or plan, very tired, surrounded by thick fog, and facing the entrenched Germans nearby. We were soaked with sweat; we walked as quietly as possible. No one talked even though we were not told to be quiet. We only heard the tired and uneven marching sound of men and animals.

We moved like this until eleven. We would walk forward, read the map to find our way back, and end up in the same spot. We knew we were lost. It was then that we began to hear the impolite chatter from the angry, tired, and frustrated soldiers. Their words were not kind, although they did not bear ill will. Their language was simply the most natural expression by desperate soldiers sensing imminent danger. The Germans began directing a terrible barrage at us that immediately triggered a response from our artillery. The duel would not have been unusual, except that it reminded us of our position in the middle of “no man’s land.” The shells crisscrossed over our heads and emptied their dreaded shrapnel on us. They accomplished what they set out to do. The shelling made our march more difficult and even made it tougher to find our way back through the thick forest. The shells were so numerous and they exploded so often that they practically lighted up the bare trees. We would have preferred to march under the cover of darkness. When it became obvious that we could not find our way out of the forest, we were ordered to seek shelter in a foxhole. The incessant bombing lasted for a good while. We could hear the shells howling as they flew over us, in much the same way that souls must scream in eternal hell. It is no exaggeration to say that the different caliber fire was so intense that many shells met in midair and exploded, raining shrapnel over us. The destruction of the forest was dreadful. No one spoke. Everyone was quiet as we took in everything. It was like a dream that could not be believed. Once in a great while someone would say something but we would not respond. That was not the time for conversation. The heavy hand of destiny had made us unwilling spectators. We were all eyes and ears, observing and hearing everything. I had the nagging feeling that I thought was shared by everyone, that it was a shame to lose our lives under such tragic circumstances.

The situation may be serious, but we are not about to stop recording experiences we will remember after the storm has passed. The events will lose their sense of urgency and even seem amusing once we recall them calmly and far removed from this place. Sergeant Baton insisted that we continue to move forward. Other sergeants disagreed. We had neither voice nor vote and had to obey. Danger was all around us and it made no difference if we moved or not. We have one life to lose and feel that it has been dangling for some time from our saddle straps. We would occasionally move from one foxhole to another. Each could accommodate four men in the act of firing. We were following Sergeant Baton. We recognize his bravery and decisiveness, and he has treated us better than other superiors. It is best to be with people we trust during the fighting and when the end arrives. The rest of the soldiers had settled so well into their foxholes that the earth seemed to have swallowed them. One of the sergeants made an effort to get his men together and move forward, but no one responded.

While moving between the foxholes, Gómez, Barrera, and I became so busy with the instruments we were carrying that I forgot my rifle, and I did not miss it until a good while later. This shows that we were still lacking in the art of war and, like Juan A. Mateos’s warriors, we had a long way before we made “the rifle and our saddle a part of us.”1 I returned for my rifle, leaving everything behind, including my buddies. I found many foxholes with rifles. The devil’s ground was strewn with weapons, but I wanted mine. I could not see or recognize anything in the darkness, except for the flashes of the exploding shells. The trees were falling and this made the search more difficult. Finally, I found it. I relaxed and returned with no problems. I was not worried about anything because I had done well in finding my rifle. Later, I wondered why I had not taken another rifle since they were all the same, had the same owner, and served an identical purpose. I did not think about those things.

When I found my friends, they made me the butt of their jokes. They said I had been a good soldier and that my rifle had come first before my life.

Sergeant Baton finally decided to go out in search of our command post, which had been our objective all along. Fewer than a dozen men joined him. Barrera would not leave his two horses. If the march was difficult for the foot soldiers, it was harder for Barrera and his horses. The flashes of light from exploding shells showed Barrera struggling with the animals, which also seemed to be losing their nerve. He had to find a way to move with his horses, with death always looming over him. He could not abandon them. They had become a part of him. The foul smell of so many gases and spent shells made the place unbearable and nauseating. It felt like Dante’s inferno.

Some of our soldiers were spouting an infernal language with free abandon. They cursed when it would have been best to reach out to God in prayer. Man is capable of everything!

We had an important and dangerous experience while all of this was going on. Shining objects appeared by the branches that had fallen from the broken and stripped trees and near the many craters left by the exploding shells. The dew had turned into rain, soaking everything, while the flashes of light from the explosions revealed a row of helmets. We first thought they were French and knew they were not ours. When we checked out the area, we heard someone shout “Stop” as we neared the helmets. We could not tell if the command was for us or the soldiers we had discovered, but quickly realized it was directed at what turned out to be a patrol of six Germans who were scouting no man’s land, and that an American colonel had shouted the command. He was also lost in the confusion and was looking for his post. One of our messengers was with him. They saved us from falling into the clutches of the Germans they took prisoner. The head of the German patrol was a high-ranking officer. We did not know his rank, but discovered that he knew enough English to be understood. He told us the patrol was bent on taking us prisoners, but they had not noticed that someone had come up behind them while they were waiting to ambush us. We made them prisoners but that had resulted from the fact that they were lost and wandering through no man’s land. The Germans were taken to the concentration camp and we continued on our way.

The capture of a German colonel and his squad by an American colonel lost in no man’s land and accompanied only by a messenger sounds more like a movie than the real thing. We must not forget, however, that everything that took place in that wretched land will never be completely understood. The things that occurred are impossible to faithfully reproduce in a movie. During the rainy nights and the terrible attacks and counterattacks, it was not uncommon to find good-sized platoons of wandering, shocked, disconcerted, desperate, and lost soldiers who welcomed being captured. This is how the remarkable case of Luis C. Gutiérrez of Losoya, Texas, occurred.

We quickened our pace and reached the first position in the front that we had previously occupied. The animals had to stay behind because it was impossible to march with them. Barrera stayed with them. Gómez and I regretted the parting of ways but it could not be helped. We came to a fortification that had served as a German command post a few days earlier. Little can be said about these structures but that the Germans thought them impenetrable and that they would only occupy them until the end of the war. They had them for four years, equipped with all the modern conveniences, and the assurance that the French would never take them. The structures included trenches with well-arranged halls and paved floors, cement walls, and a roof that offered good protection. Many had protective iron sheets, steel rails taken as spoils from the French, cement, and a lot of dirt. They were well supplied with furniture stolen from French homes and had all that was needed to live comfortably in the trenches, including electric lights, musical instruments like pianos, etc., and much beer. They may not have had much food, but they had plenty to drink. They were making good use of the area they had taken. Germans have always believed they owned everything taken by force. This is why they have even cut timber and, on many occasions, sent it home. They would do this with other things of value like machinery for their factories, trains, etc. We later came across one of those fortifications and made it our command post. The place had a good roof although it was open in the direction of the enemy. We are sleeping in one of the French trenches with an exit facing away from our troops. We had just retired and were feeling the warmth of our bed when we heard a voice: “Up and over the top!” Many of the soldiers who did not usually discard their backpacks and slept by simply leaning against them were better prepared to answer the call than the rest of us who were already in bed. We have different ways of thinking. If we slept, we were in a better condition to continue. If we did not sleep, they would get the best of us. Our bodies are weak when we do not sleep or rest. This is obvious, but we are told, forward! And forward we go!