A Horrible Night in “No Man’s Land”
Thursday, September 26
We were on the move in the early morning. Gas shells fell on all the wooded areas, and the odor seeping out of the crater-marked ground was horrible and asphyxiating. The destruction of the great trees was also shocking. The powerful explosives from the heavy artillery uprooted them. The moon appeared at the first light of day while the sky was still full of stars and the dew over the plants in the woods and valleys brought the temperature down. This is what we saw of the countryside as we crossed it on our way to our destination.
We arrived at the actual command post at six in the morning after a search of twelve hours in the brambles, where death was suspended over us. I had not really done all I could for the soldiers because the order had been a secret and I could not reveal any of it. I knew the plan of action given to our sergeants because I had worked on it all day. I had marked many of the positions that appeared on the small rough sketch. Our adventure actually took me on an unexpected, unwanted, and unforgettable visit to the feared no man’s land. Fortunately, we made the journey and we were now ready for whatever was to follow. How many of our soldiers have fallen during this fight and are not able to say this?
The lack of sleep, along with gas, left me with a serious headache, but I was fortunate to get my hands on a small solid alcohol stove. It was very useful, and I demonstrated this by quickly making myself a cup of coffee. My buddies teased me when I got it, but were later amazed at its usefulness. Making coffee in such difficult circumstances requires an explanation so no one may think I am exaggerating. Other soldiers could have done the same, and if they did not, it may have been entirely their fault. The reader may remember that I included the “condiment can” among my food utensils. The can has compartments. Since I have not had food to carry, I fill one half with sugar and the other with coffee. Who can doubt me when I say I have often avoided the headaches caused by the lack of coffee in the morning? On occasions when the morning finds us on our feet, I am glad to be able to chew on a spoonful of coffee with a bit of sugar. I also carry salt and pepper in the container, and during the hard, trying moments when I have nothing else but a can of tomatoes, everyone should know that I do not stay hungry for long. Many soldiers have been less prepared and have suffered the long moments of “growling stomachs.”
Other soldiers used the “magical stove” on that morning. They can attest to its worth. Oh good God, so much misery, and we do not understand why! The hot coffee with our reliable “hardtack” biscuits hit the spot and revived exhausted, hungry, and drowsy soldiers. This is not the first time I have avoided going without in such difficult circumstances. I have also sought out my readings, conversations and, especially, recollections from my past.
The command post was at the foot of a hill that overlooked an entire beautiful valley with a meandering creek of crystalline water. Our post faced memorable hill 121, where so many German cannon were located.
Our command post was a true fortification, constructed with attention to detail by someone who understood how well it could defy death. It was one of the famous “pillboxes.” The thick walls were made of Roman cement and its roof of heavy zinc plates, a layer of weighty steel rails, and a complete cover of dirt. These are the kinds of posts that typically include small cannon and machine guns. The fort oversaw most of the terrain that we had crossed without the benefit of cover. A large number of trenches stretched along the side of the hill. Many of our men fell during the night and are continuing to fall in these trenches. We had a hard time hearing the moans of injured soldiers. They were cold, hungry, thirsty, in pain, and weak from the loss of blood and untreated injuries. They asked for water and medical attention, but we could do nothing. What will our fate be if injured in battle! Under these circumstances, we would rather die. This weighed heavily on us. We were very sad and disheartened, but had to meet our military responsibilities. Like last night, the bombardment continues today. The German engineers knew the location of our post, they understood its importance, and their cannon fired with great accuracy. The shells exploded over us and we could hear the bullets and shrapnel whistle and buzz through the air. The shells had obvious bad intentions, and they rained shrapnel over the trees that surrounded us. As foot soldiers we preferred the open air and sat outside our foxholes to hear and see, to witness all these things. I had nothing else to do but to put my observations in writing, and here they are.
Many of our machine guns were placed alongside the hill. They would occasionally discharge heavy volleys while the infantry fired in quick succession. The Germans answered with heavy cannon fire that filled the air with deadly shrapnel.
Enemy artillery fire surprised and surrounded Company M of the 3rd Infantry Battalion at the same time that our men were firing on a German emplacement. The company was nearly wiped out. The few soldiers who survived will always remember this. Other companies replaced them until we were able to secure the post. The horrible trail of dead and wounded soldiers was visible along the side of the hill. Our men died as real heroes because they were not just carrying out an order, they were also sacrificing themselves as they provided cover to thousands and thousands of men. This is war. And what about those who die? They remain unknown.
We held our positions until after the noon hour when we were ordered to return to our old command post close to Monteville. We retreated with our rifles at the ready. The enemy did not stop shelling us as we made our way without taking time to defend ourselves. We moved through some well-covered trenches. Sometimes we had to take to the open field where we made good targets for the German cannon. Their artillery fired on us knowing that we could not respond effectively. Soldiers were walking everywhere without any form of organization. We were not falling apart, much less defeated, but everyone was doing as they pleased.
We had a difficult time moving through a good number of places because the Germans had marked them well. It was extremely dangerous.
Some of our wounded and gassed soldiers found refuge in an enormous crater left by an enemy bomb. They were trying to avoid the dangerous shells. A short while later, another group of soldiers slipped in with them. At that very moment, the bloodthirsty Fritz fired another bomb that landed on what looked like a trap set by hunters. The bomb disintegrated all of them. This was one of the most horrendous sights we saw with our own eyes and felt with our souls. The Germans must have been celebrating it as one of their biggest victories. To pay back is like returning a favor.
Gómez, Barrera, and I continued to move at short intervals. I asked them if it was possible to avoid a shell by the sound it made. The question gave them an opportunity to claim expert knowledge on the subject. They agreed that the sound could be the warning to escape. Gómez and Barrera have seen more explosions than most soldiers. (This is because they have been crossing the dangerous battlefields as couriers since we reached the front. The cold, rain, and danger matter little to them. Also, they cannot expect replacements because the other messengers usually hide in their foxholes and do not respond when called.) I thought the shells were somewhat considerate in announcing their arrival. They advised me that “when you hear the whizzing, immediately fall to the ground, into some ditch on either side of the road to avoid the shrapnel and shell fragments.” I took their counsel in good faith. Soon after that, I heard the piercing braying sound of a big one tearing above our heads. No sooner had my friends warned, “Here comes one,” than I quickly threw myself on the ground with a loud thud. I landed in a small ditch by the side of the road. They laughed uncontrollably at the joke they had played on me. The shell was exploding two miles away at the very moment I took cover. I caught on too late but promised I would make them pay. I can say this because I have the advantage of being older.
By the afternoon, I finally understood that by the time we hear the strident bellowing of one of those infernal monsters, the danger has passed. We were held up temporarily in Villers-en-Frey because the little town was being heavily bombarded with deadly accuracy. One of the hardest hit areas was the road we were on. While on the road, I had the opportunity to closely observe the effects of the enemy’s barrage. I saw explosions everywhere. A black trail of smoke first rises from the ground, followed by a heavy shaking of everything around us and, almost at the same time, lightning and the deafening explosions that shred the shells into shrapnel and tear into the bowels of the earth. Afterward, we could hear the fragments and the shrapnel, garbage, and great clumps of ground or dust flying through the air. The explosions followed one after another. The shells fell everywhere. This explains why the soldiers killed by the explosions do not even hear the thunderous sound.
Our friend, Sergeant Kruger, miraculously survived an incident he will never forget. He was walking ahead of us when we suddenly saw the flash of lightning and a deadly plume of smoke nearby. We were shaken instantly. There was no time for anyone to fall to the ground. Sergeant Kruger tottered a bit, righted himself, and continued marching. We had heard a dull sound and quickly began examining soldiers close to us to see if someone had been hit by the shrapnel. We went up to the sergeant and asked, “Are you okay Sergeant?” He answered, “I don’t feel an injury although I felt something hit me.” We continued walking, and a short time later he took off his backpack to satisfy his curiosity. We began to look at the backpack and discovered a hole about two inches long and one inch wide. The clothes showed signs of the trajectory of the metal. We found a shell fragment in the pocket of the backpack and in a can of the famous corned beef. The piece of metal is now his best souvenir because it came close to his body and almost caused his death. We could not believe it. We have often come close to being killed. This time, we must credit a can of meat for saving the life of an American sergeant.
The lack of sleep, the march, and the gases made us lightheaded by the time we reached our post. I had a bad headache and could not find anyone to receive my report. I did not feel like eating supper and quickly moved into my nest. I went out like a light.
Friday, September 27
The rest helped me recover. I woke up very early and went to my post to do the first translation of the day. The report was brief but interesting. No reason was given for yesterday’s sacrifice. These experiences will be muted in history.
I wrote some letters home.
I received a letter from a young woman in Cotulla who was my student many years ago. A letter from her was what I least expected. She must be an attractive woman by now. She shared some colorful stories about the town and the friends I left behind. Her letter brought back memories from a seemingly distant past.
I made a new friend today. He is one of the aides to a French lieutenant who serves as a liaison with our colonel and speaks Spanish fluently. The soldier was born and raised in Argentina and has properties there. He tells me that when the war began he brought his family to France so he could serve his country. He complains about how the war is dragging on, but is determined to fight until he dies or we win. We understand each other so well and engage in long conversations over a number of topics. This helps us momentarily forget the smell of spent powder and the gases of war. His name is Macelin Andreus and he is with the 6th Company of the 162nd Infantry Regiment.
Roy Martin, another friend, has come from the front lines to give me a souvenir he found in a trench where he sleeps. It is a lovely French book of poems on fishing and agriculture. He thought the book was important because it contains an infinite number of beautiful illustrations. The book’s subject matter is obviously of little importance to a frontline soldier. I nevertheless appreciate the present because it expresses Martin’s kindness and his regard for me. I will take care of it and send it home along with other souvenirs I have collected. I regret that I might have to leave many things behind, including the book from Martin, especially if we continue moving so quickly to other fronts.
Gómez, Barrera, and I have found a good way to keep busy during the long nights. I should note that our latitude gives us shorter days than in Texas. This means we have longer nights to think and to think some more. They enjoy the short stories, anecdotes, tales, and jokes I tell them. Since this is my strong point, I am able to entertain them until we are ready to go to sleep. We fix our beds—or rat’s nests—early in the morning in the big dilapidated house by the hill. For four years, the house has taken in many soldiers of different social and racial backgrounds on their way to the front. How many soldiers who have slept here must now be enjoying their eternal rest! Paraffin candles provide lighting. They may be weak but they are better than the San Antonio lights on Houston Street. Other soldiers and the three Frenchmen are also quartered in this shack. The others play cards or dice and write. We spend hours longing for other times and places with our stories. Rainy nights make us happy because they help us forget the horrors of this cursed war.
Saturday, September 28
Something interesting occurred in our sector today. A German soldier of Polish descent deserted with the idea of surrendering to our army. He kept waving a white handkerchief so that we would take him prisoner. Our soldiers, however, were on to the cunning and crafty Germans who were known for being deceitful. This time, the deserter did not receive the benefit of the doubt. The soldiers of the 3rd Battalion were the first to fire, until he fell. He barely had enough time to show his good intentions when he was taken prisoner. He said he had decided to come to our side because he was tired of a war that was being fought for Prussian tyranny. The prisoner sounded credible when he asked for a map to show us where most of the enemy’s artillery was located. Our doctors cared for him as much as they could, but it was all in vain. He had several wounds in his lungs and died shortly thereafter. The information he gave was very useful in our subsequent operations.
We felt good after a second day of rest and only have yesterday’s bitter memories to replay in our minds.
Sunday, September 29
I was awakened very early and ordered to make carbon copies of the information the Polish German deserter provided yesterday. The report notes that the wretched soldier did not only want to escape, but also that he would have been glad to join us in our cause. He was an artillery sergeant with the 33rd Regiment.
I was very happy to receive your last letter. I have been well and have been receiving frequent letters from all of you. Know that as long as we are in this crusade, we do not belong to one another. We are the children of our nation until we achieve victory or die. Let us thank God for his kindness toward us. Share everything in your letters. I am not in need of anything except the sight of all of you and since this is not possible, I want nothing now. I have not bought anything with the little they pay me here. If this continues, I will become rich. Keep the clippings of some of my letters that appear in La Prensa.
I close, yours always,
LUZ
Marce:
I am very happy to reply to your letter. Everything is well with me.
Do not leave our home. You are needed there as much as in the war. I always think of the baby “chicks” I left behind and I never lose hope of seeing them again.
I sent Eugenio and some other persons an account of something I witnessed here not long ago. We have really dealt a blow to the pride of the German Kaiser during the last few days. If we continue like this, he will have to twist his arrogant moustache and finally sue for peace.
As always,
Your brother who loves all of you,
LUZ
Monday, September 30
Our ground fire shot up a German plane. This was the only major distraction of the day, the kind of death-defying incident that helps us pass the time. This reminds me of the Romans during those cruel days when their great circus was in its heyday, when it offered the best entertainment for carefree audiences. They amused themselves with bloody fights between men, beasts, and even men and beasts. They were a bloodthirsty people who were oblivious to the suffering of others. It may not be long before we can say the same about us, that is, if we are made to continue with this spectacle.
The day was more than boring, cold, and cloudy. Dark clouds passed over us. The sky may be so taken aback by our cruel, savage behavior that it places a heavy black shroud between us and the divine blue firmament.
Tuesday, October 1
I found out that the French soldiers left yesterday. They were ordered to their units. This means that the big offensive, maybe the final one, is not far off. Wishing a positive outcome from our next encounter is useless. We have seen enough to know what we are saying.
We were so pleased to have received official word that Bulgaria has abandoned the ranks of the enemy. They are like King David when he cast his harp because he could no longer carry the load. We heard that Bulgaria had to surrender unconditionally because they felt alone and could not get the help they expected from Germany and Austria. The pieces are falling! Oh, barbarous nation with so many human forms of beasts, you are heartless and capable of the most horrendous and bloody crimes! God’s justice finally triumphs over you!
This is very important for our cause and is the best kind of victory we could have secured. It will bring us great benefits. What may these be? We cannot know at this time.
Thursday, October 2
I received letters from home and felt boundless joy. Several other friends also wrote. My good friend, Mr. Knox, sent some clippings from La Prensa, including a letter I had sent the paper. He encourages me to continue writing so that Mexicans know how we are representing them here. I will do it with pleasure. I also received a copy of El Latino-Americano from my old and dear friend, Mr. Amado Gutiérrez.
I did a lot of French translations today.
I received some returned letters that did not reach their destination because of incomplete addresses. We also have to thank our government for this, for the good way it handles our correspondence, for which we pay nothing.
I went to Monteville in the afternoon. After the one-mile trip, I examined the place closely and revisited the horrible night of September 11. I stopped at several places to look at the battlefield and replayed all the important scenes that were fresh on my mind.
The dull thunder of cannon fire can be heard a short distance away. I took a few minutes to observe our artillerymen and to listen to the roar of the cannon as they deliver their explosives on enemy positions. I then watched some French soldiers handling a 75-millimeter cannon. They were directing their fire toward the north.
I went to our general quarters while at Monteville, picked up some information, and talked with some of my old buddies. Later, I walked through the village to take stock of the damage that the artillery had carried out over the years. The rain started to come down hard, giving me a different sense of the town’s old and wrecked buildings. I visited buildings that had served as schools, one for the boys and another for the girls. Our soldiers now use them as barracks. I also dropped in on the church. It was abandoned and as sad as the surrounding graves. So many memories came to me as I contemplated the silence. The place is quiet but rich in history! These are the same sights we have witnessed in the histories of the world.
I bought some sweets and continued with my run through the little town, which I will remember for as long as I live.
Before reaching the post, I saw soldiers positioning another one of our big guns. Some Frenchmen were also preparing to pound on the Germans with a fearsome howitzer. These are the kind of cannon that deliver a 5-foot tall, 161/2-inch diameter shell weighing 2,100 pounds. They can wear down the nerves. The monsters will roar tonight and watch over us as they silence the enemy’s cannon. I was tired but content after my depressing visit to Monteville.
Thursday, October 3
Early today, I translated the French wireless with the news that peace is approaching. Several French officers who were visiting our colonel read my translation. The colonel asked them, “Is this job done well?” They looked at it and responded, “Magnifique, Magnifique,” which was immensely satisfying to me. I never would have thought it was a good translation but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. Their generous response will make my translations go smoother. In other words, I will be more confident and work with greater ease.
Friday, October 4
We dedicated our morning to preparing for what seemed to be a quick departure from this place. The feeling is that we had been in this peaceful sector long enough and that we have to relieve our brothers who are truly in “an active sector and front.”
About two in the afternoon, a small French tank passed close by our position on the road to the front. This gave me the opportunity to examine closely the powerful war machine that will make a major contribution to our final triumph. It looked exactly like a slow tortoise—it has an impenetrable scaly shell of burnished steel with four people inside representing its brain. They are armed to the teeth like pirates and carry the best and most modern rifles and machine guns, hand bombs, telescopes, and plenty of food and war supplies.
I had an interesting and pleasant dream last night. Chalk it up to frayed nerves (as some believe) or a premonition of what is to come (as others believe), but I saw my father. He came to me when I was sleeping and, without saying anything, gave me a good-bye kiss on the forehead. When I awoke, I continued enjoying the pleasant sensation that had been brought on by a troubled nervous system. Although I knew this had been a dream, I could see that I needed something. I needed my father’s blessing and that was all I required as we prepared for another dangerous trip, an uncertain but necessary one for the sake of my family and nation.
Saturday, October 5
We were issued uniforms and other winter clothes today. This means we will be ready for the great offensives and battles of winter.
One of the patrols that normally go out into “no man’s land” lost two soldiers last night when they came across a German scouting patrol in the field of death. This is what happened: one of our lieutenants was ordered to reconnoiter a trench in the area. We knew that German soldiers fired at us from the trench every morning but remained inactive the rest of the day. The officer formed a patrol that included members of my raza, Francisco Hernández and Agapito Salinas. The night was dark when the odyssey began. Their assignment was to inspect the trench. The order was a death sentence but it was also typical of the commands we carried out on the front. Their route posed serious problems because of the extensive barbed wire and numerous craters along the way. They had to follow this path and cross a stream that was not deep enough to drown in but that posed a formidable challenge. The sappers had blazed the only trail possible up to the little creek and placed a tree across it as a bridge. The entire patrol crossed. The men walked at intervals and each had a white handkerchief on his back so that they could recognize each other. As the soldiers walked like cats, quietly up a hill and near the trench, they failed to hear four Germans coming their way with a powerful machine gun and enough fire power to make some noise, perhaps all night long. When they were almost on top of the enemy, one of our men yelled, “Germans.” Our soldiers immediately opened up with their automatic rifles. Afterward, someone yelled, “Let’s go.” No one wants to admit it now, but someone called out the retreat. One eyewitness said they ran like deer. No one tried to cross the difficult bridge because it could only take one person at a time. They all jumped in the water and forded the stream. Upon their return, they appeared disorderly and were carrying on about how they had discovered the Germans and how they had sent them on their way. The officer reacted as expected, “Of course we knew the Germans were there. We sent you to gather more information, what can you tell us about the trench?” They responded, “We didn’t make it to the place. That’s the problem.” The officer ordered them to “Get back immediately before the Germans take the trench and prevent you from reaching it, and see what you can find inside.” The unlucky but brave men built up the necessary courage to return. They went back the same way they came, without saying a word. The rest of us watched nervously. This time they were successful and secured the needed information. They confirmed that the running skirmish had resulted in the killing of four Germans who were carrying the heavy machine gun they now paraded like a trophy. The result is what counts and this was a good one.
I bathed in the morning and washed my clothes because of the lice that are beginning to infest us. They abound in the trenches that have housed so many men without the time to clean themselves. It is impossible to escape this plague because we are forced to occupy places frequented by soldiers infested with lice. The French and German soldiers are covered with these pests because they have been in the field of battle for so long and do not have the necessary clothes and soap. I checked my underclothes today and found two fat, crystalline, and black-striped lice. I immediately went to the kitchen, asked for soap, and boiled all my clothes, including the ones in my backpack and what I was wearing. I also moved to another sleeping area.
Our German prisoners have given up killing the lice. We often see them lying down or sitting in the sun, shirtless, and even without their undershirts. I guess they are not meant to kill, kill, and kill lice but prefer to reflect on when they killed, killed, and killed human beings. These scenes are cause for pity, anger, and disgust, but they are unavoidable and we may have to witness even worse behavior.
Another Frenchman, a young soldier, came to serve as an orderly for a French officer who is assigned to our commander. He makes many things out of the copper and bronze shells, including cigarette lighters with flint stones and gasoline. The smokers find the gadgets useful. The decorative designs he places on these little boxes are truly artistic. He makes some in the shape of closed books, others as open books, and still others carry elegant patterns of saints. He does all this by hand. I have lengthy conversations with him in French. He praises me when I show progress in his native tongue. I only see kindness in him that I may not be worthy of receiving.
I had barely exited my nest when I realized that a good number of my fellow soldiers were impatiently waiting to question me about the news or rumor that was spreading like wildfire, that the prideful Germans were asking for a truce or armistice. The general feeling is that peace will be difficult to reach unless serious initiatives are taken. Moreover, the allies insist on the liberation of Poland and the Balkan countries, which the Germans have not been willing to accept. We do not know how they feel about it now.
I continue facing racial conflicts. I will not give up, I will not submit as long as I can wield the sword.
Monday, October 7
It rained quite a bit last night. I read carefully the peace proposals our president offered the enemy and the German chancellor. I see nothing that bodes well for the peace that we want without a serious and bloody encounter between us and the Kaiser’s soldiers. We all know that German soldiers are dispirited and lack military morale, but their pride is still too great to accept defeat.
The German bombardment was very intense the rest of the day.
The sun finally came out at sundown, favoring us with a wonderful vista of natural beauty.
It rarely happens, but we were very happy in the office today. I cannot explain it.
I was ordered to go to Monteville and secure some office supplies since we had run out. I brought some of my books for my reading pleasure. I traveled by myself and had the time to savor everything I saw.
I found my loyal friend Gómez at General Headquarters and spoke with him for a good while. On my way back, I enjoyed how the fall and its cold rains were turning the nearby forest into a beautiful sight. It is taking on a thousand hues. The trees are beginning to shed the leaves that protected them from the burning rays of the summer sun and are preparing for the slower pace of winter. I was overjoyed with the splendid panorama of autumn before me. My position in the field has allowed me to see enemy shells explode in the middle of these forests, scattering into the air thousands of leaves of every color and uprooting and destroying many trees. The beautiful yellow and red leaves fly through the air like a frightened mass of butterflies, confused by the dirt, shells, and the metal fragments with their buzzing sound of death. Even the poor and defenseless trees that adorn Mother Nature suffer man’s barbarity! This is civilization in the twentieth century and these are our scientific advancements, man’s most arrogant source of pride!
Frost covered the ground last night and the sky was overcast like when a snow storm is about to come. I typed a lot today. We have witnessed a great deal of aerial activity, ours and the enemy’s. The enemy shoots our planes and we shoot theirs. We have spent the day watching men serve as targets. This is a spectacle for soldiers who have so much time on their hands. We will enter the arena soon enough so that others can enjoy themselves, ridicule us, or derive some other earthly pleasure at our expense. It seems that the purpose of all this aerial activity is to secure reliable information on military positions and the other elements of war by both sides.
We received orders to pack our things and prepare to leave. What is our destination? We are not sure and can only expect that it will be some front where our mettle will be tested. Much is made of our division, not the least of which is that our soldiers long to show what they can do. Our limited experience tells us that the only way to force the surrender of a weakened enemy is to hit him hard and we will do that.
We are more than confident of our advantage in the quantity of war material and food supplies. Also, who can doubt our abilities next to any other men? The sooner we start moving, the better it will be for our suffering humankind.
We should ask some questions. What reward should we expect as we prepare to sacrifice? What awaits us when the supreme hour arrives? What will be best, to fall in the field of battle or survive the war? The soldiers who die will have made payment in full. The rest of us will return home to pay the debt incurred during the great slaughter.
Our replacements seem very capable. They have come to learn as much as they can so they can take our place after we are gone. We should note that all of them outrank us. I once again see the obvious injustice. I am a plain foot soldier, and I have served in a position that a private first class was unable to carry out and that, according to current military law, only commissioned officers are entitled to fill. If I am not able to serve in that position, why assign me the responsibilities that belong to someone else? And if I am capable of doing the job, why not promote me in rank, not for self-serving reasons, but for the sake of fairness?
A German plane outmaneuvered our artillery. The pilot demonstrated impressive abilities and undeniable valor or a disregard for his own life, all in service to his nation. He was a brave German! The moment will come when we too will demonstrate our loyalty and show that the German is not better than we are.
We have just informed our replacements about our obligations and all that we have done while on the front. We let them do the work today. The captain who is to replace me prepared his report and translated the wireless message. A work mate of mine, an Anglo-Saxon, behaved terribly. He tried to make me look bad before our replacements, but my work spoke for itself and he got a well-deserved reprimand.
It was cold during the first hours of the morning when we received orders to move out. A group of more than twenty-five planes flew by on the way to the front. I felt moved as I gave Mousson one last look. I have used the telescope on so many occasions to view the beautiful statue of the heroine Joan of Arc at the town’s high point, as well as the unforgettable Bois de le Prete, the Moselle River, and the chapel of Jezainville. We bid our most tender farewell, perhaps forever.
Our march to Jezainville began around six in the afternoon. We carried all our belongings; they were heavy loads. We set out in closed column formation while our replacements marched into the area in the same manner. We found out that the 7th Division was replacing us. The walk to Jezainville was strenuous since we were still trying to catch up with the 1st Battalion. By the time we reached our destination, the 1st Battalion had left. We had to continue the chase. We spent a few minutes with some of our buddies from the 345th Machine Gun Regiment. We were all muddy and exhausted the evening we arrived at the village named Villers-en-Haye, on the other side of Griescourt. The place was packed with soldiers, and all of them were strangers. It all seemed like a dream in the midst of that great assembly of people we did not know.
We could not find a house so we had to sleep in the open, under a dark and cold sky.