Five Days and Nights in a Foxhole in Romagne

Saturday, October 26

I awoke feeling much better but not completely well. I am not hungry and fear I have to inform the doctors of my condition and that they will send me to some hospital. I feel very weak but would regret missing this battle, which is supposed to be terrible.

I received orders to accompany Sergeant Schwarz in search of a command post for our colonel. I prepared my backpack, bid my friends farewell, and set out to look for the sergeant. I hope to see my buddies soon unless a shell comes between us. I am going where many shells are dropping. No doubt about that.

I was concerned about our assignment because we were expected to complete it alone and on foot, but things turned out differently. We were assigned a Ford truck because Lieutenant Williams was accompanying us. The short ride gave us the opportunity to witness the usual littered equipment belonging to soldiers who had fought and possibly died. We also saw other fresh battlefield signs of fights to the death. Cannon, rifles, and machine gun ammunition, as well as blankets, clothing, and entire backpacks belonging to the enemy and our soldiers were scattered all over the place. They had also discarded hats and shoes. Despite everything, we were pleased to see that our soldiers had forced the enemy out of their invincible trenches. At what price? We do not know and this matters little since we have achieved an honorable victory. We also saw unburied German corpses before arriving at our destination. Many of them were decomposing. When someone pointed out a dead German soldier on the road, our officer replied, “I couldn’t care less if there were ten thousand of them in the same condition.” We said nothing. Men reason in so many different ways.

A heavy artillery bombardment began when we reached Romagne. All we could see was roofing material flying all over and solid rock walls collapsing. The slamming sound of the explosions was like a sack of metal dropping from high above. This was followed by the whistling sound of metal shards flying out of the black smoke. We said nothing as we found cover in the gutted buildings and waited for the final moment. I do not know if we feel fear, rage, or simply desperation as we witness the destruction by a seemingly invincible enemy. The bullets did not all miss their mark. Many found their targets among us, as we huddled together.

Many of our artillery emplacements and machine gun squadrons were outside the village, but they were silent as ordered. Some soldiers drank wine from their canteens to drown their sorrow and fear. This means that death is very close, although we are still not in actual combat. Real combat, as someone has accurately noted, is like hell on earth.

Our officer accompanied us until we reached a little village. The sergeant and I were told to move on. We waited for a pause in the bombing and then went our way. We finally reached the train station, the place we are to hold for our colonel. It has a solid foundation that can clearly help to fortify our position. The interior walls are massive and well-built with metal and cement. It currently houses a Red Cross hospital that we need to relocate before we use the structure. There was nothing to keep us from sleeping there. As soon as nightfall arrived, we began to witness the agony of war. The wounded started to arrive, and since the operating room was next door, we heard screams that were loud enough to keep a drunk awake. Whether we wanted to or not, we had to witness everything as our bed was at the entrance of the hospital.

Sunday, October 27

We woke up alive and well, and for this I thanked the heavens. We may have made it through the night, but we did not sleep well. The sergeant and I had to share a bed due to the lack of space. Even in the middle of such calamity, we cannot keep from being selfish and self-absorbed. While preparing our bed, the sergeant said, “This is the first time I will be sleeping with a stranger.” I quickly responded, “Misfortune has forced me to lie down with many Germans.” The sergeant is of German descent. We looked for something to eat at eight o’clock and got a clearer sense of last night’s bombardment. A soldier who had sought refuge with us but could not find room decided to make his bed outside, by the hospital’s entrance. A shell took his life. His body did not move one inch. The strong smell of gas was everywhere. All of this was enough to ruin our appetite. The bombing left dead, wounded, and gassed soldiers in its wake.

We ate breakfast in a kitchen with another detachment that did not have to feed us. Artillery fire continued throughout the day, especially during our meals. The poor cooks make the best targets for the Germans because the smoke from their stoves gives them away, regardless of their location. The other poor souls who take food to the soldiers in the trenches are hounded by artillery fire until they are killed, gassed, or drop the food. The Germans enjoy seeing our soldiers running and trying to escape the shells. Juan Salinas of Edinburg has managed to escape injury for days because God is great. They open fire on him every time he delivers food. He has dropped a lot of it to save his skin. Today, he drenched himself with coffee as he was approaching one of the trenches. He told me about his baths of “cornwilly” and beans. The poor fellow has no other defense than that of a humble little mouse. This is war, and that is the price you have to pay.

Monday, October 28

We received unwelcomed news today, but since our opinion matters little, we have to take everything as it comes. A colonel from the 89th Division took over the place we were holding for our colonel. When the sergeant informed him that Colonel Price had selected the place, he responded, “I can select it too.” The conversation ended and we went looking for “another little mesquite,” like that rooster in the song.

I selected a place under some great heaps of lumber the Germans had brought from France after their invasion. The shelling had not damaged the wet lumber much. When the sergeant realized what I wanted to do, he boasted, “It’s not necessary to go so far, death can find you anywhere.”

We took shelter at the railroad station. Its roof is poorly constructed with wood that can only protect us against the rain and cold weather. It has several holes and does not offer good cover. We miraculously escaped a German barrage this afternoon while gathering straw for our mattresses. We are a short distance from the front where the Germans can easily spot us. Several shells landed on the railroad tracks. The explosion destroyed the heavy steel tracks and showered us with shrapnel.

A heavy bombardment began in the early evening. It seemed to intensify as the night progressed. Some large gas projectiles hit our area and then a heavy caliber shell exploded, shook the entire ground, and spread the gases all over the place. In the thick of things, the sergeant told me, “We should look for a more secure place.” I let him know that I too could posture by saying, “It’s not necessary, death can find you anywhere.” We had a difficult time all night and had to wear our gas masks until daybreak.

Tuesday, October 29

Last night was the worst I have experienced. We survived because God is great and merciful. It was late when we went for breakfast. As I noted previously, we had a hard time getting food from the kitchen because we do not belong to its detachment and the lieutenant did not leave orders for us to be fed. They had food available for us only because men are dying all the time.

We had just crossed over a small stream and joined a serving line about thirty yards away when a grenade blew up the makeshift bridge. A second grenade wounded two buddies waiting in line. They were taken to the hospital immediately. The rest of us lost our appetite, but we must eat to live, and later die, if that is our lot.

I could not eat there, but filled my lunch box and took it to my trench. After my nerves calmed down and my stomach improved, I ate and quickly forgot the moving scene. I may become a victim in similar circumstances to come.

Wednesday, October 30

The morning was very cold after a night of heavy frost. We ate breakfast late and almost froze waiting in line for two hours. Everything was covered with frost and a light wind burned our feet and ears. It was so cold last night we did not even think of taking off our shoes. The cannon fire was continuous but the gases were not too bad. They are worse when it is cold and dry. The rain cleans the air.

(Whoever reads this book will tire of the monotony in our lives and, honestly, this is more taxing for the soldiers than the very action that could cause their deaths. Reader, do not forget this and listen to us patiently until this book is concluded.)

We finally buried a German soldier who had been dead since we arrived fifteen days ago. Poor soul, he asks nothing so we pay him no heed. He was already decomposing. We simply do not have the time to do right by the dead. We cast aside all concerns or ethical considerations as we try to save our skin. In the beginning, fresh blood caused us nausea, a dead body horrified us and, if we came across a corpse, we avoid it. Blood no longer smells and we walk over the dead when we need to cover more ground. Humanitarian obligations go out the window when we face the enemy in combat, and many of the living are half-dead.

The soldiers have been setting up a good many artillery emplacements today, including 77-millimeter guns and other heavy cannon. A ten-inch caliber was positioned by one of the kitchens. Its first salvo shook the entire area. These are the sounds that unsettle steady nerves. Several French artillery positions to our left have been heavily battered, and this has left many dead and wounded. The wounded are brought to this hospital while the dead are buried on the spot. How lovely, now the entire area is a cemetery!

I have been observing everything up close because I have nothing to do and being anywhere else is just as dangerous. The grenades that have been killing and wounding the French soldiers are exploding so close to me their fragments and shrapnel are whizzing past my head. I wish I had a good telescope to study the area and understand everything that is happening on their side and our own since I have nothing else to do but await my fate.

Many enemy planes have been flying close to us today. They have been under heavy fire from our machine guns and our special antiaircraft cannon. None of the Germans have been brought down. One of the planes flew low and dropped a large amount of propaganda material in English. They say the war is coming to an end because Germany is stronger than ever and the Allies will suffer a complete defeat if they continue to depend on a nation whose troops have no military discipline whatsoever. They refer to the United States as a transplanted version of European civilization that lacks a historical beginning of its own. Instead of discouraging us, they have strengthened our resolve. This is not the first time they have tried to scare us with their bluster. We are here to find out for ourselves, we want to see the entire German might.

Since very early this morning and until very late this evening, columns of well-armed and fully-equipped soldiers have been marching to the front. They are taking their place on the first line that begins here. We can see the German fortifications. I have never been this close to the barbaric Huns, the descendants of Alaric and Attila. They deny the relation, but it applies and it is useless to keep rejecting it. The generations to come will know them by these names.

A good number of machines of war have been passing by, including French tanks. Every small hill is fortified with artillery, and large stores of munitions of all types and calibers are everywhere. I feel sorry for the poor fellows who cart munitions and bread during the night. They get as close as possible and hurl the bread onto canvases and sometimes the grass. Some of them are Mexicans. They tell me of their forays into “no man’s land” or whatever places they manage to reach. They suffer many hardships with Uncle Sam’s two-wheeled, mule-drawn carts. Everything tells us the assault is going to be one of the most terrible. Many tears will be shed in America, but may God make them the last. Let there be a secure, sound, and lasting peace.

My brief, unexpected encounter with the front has been very useful. I could not have seen what I have witnessed under other circumstances. I can do as I please because I have no one to order me around at this time. We were sent here to take possession of the place under the station. Another officer took it and we are left without anything to do but wait for Colonel Price and our regiment. Many of my buddies have passed by and asked what I am doing. They laugh when I tell them I do not know and that I have been without anything to do for a few days. I have made good use of my many moments of inactivity in the middle of this terribly dangerous situation.

The villages of Romagne and Bantheville are full of soldiers. You cannot stick a pin anywhere without touching a soldier. The movement of men as well as trucks, cars, tanks, and beasts of burden is evident on all the roads, paths, and the general area. I am especially struck by the limited movement among the Germans. They only seem to be occupied with figuring out where we settle down to bother us at night. We are like an army of pygmies moving closer into the clutches of the waiting monster. The men look like ants moving their war machines closer and closer. It is nine and we have barely heard an exploding enemy shell. Our cannon have only fired test shots. The sides of the hills look like they are covered with spotted cats. This is what the cannon look like with their camouflaged disguises of dyed sacks, branches, and other creations used to fool the other side. Bombs appear to have fallen throughout during the previous nights. Only our place has escaped. Who knows what will happen tonight!

Thursday, October 31

The shells fell on us hard after nine last night; this did not bother us and we slept soundly. We have the same view as before, except that we are seeing greater destruction and more material scattered about. Many wounded and gassed soldiers have arrived, more artillery pieces have been set up, and additional troops have been assigned to the woods, our first line of fire. Many machine guns, trench mortars, and kitchen detachments are also taking their place at this line. Who says our cooks do not know the front? The order finally arrived, as we knew it would. At sunrise we are to storm Hindenburg’s trenches. This has caused such a sensation! It is chilling to think about what will occur tomorrow, during the attack and afterward. These are the moments when men have faltered and opted for suicide or completely lost their senses. This will test the mettle of the descendants of Xicotencatl and Cuauhtémoc.1

We were told by one o’clock that we would march to the first line of fire and set up our command post. Unbelievable, we are so close to the Hindenburg line! Who would have thought our ground troops, the “tin” soldiers, could do this to the demigods of war? I walked by myself to the place we were to spend the evening. I moved slowly, observing everything around me. If this had not been the field of death, I would have said everything was beautiful and interesting. The forests, like our newly formed ant hill of men, are resting and preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Some of the soldiers were simply leaning on their backpacks while others were lying on them, but all of them were in their foxholes, taking shelter from the machine gun fire. It was as if they were waiting to be told to hug the ground. Some of them talked while others said nothing and looked sleepy. I was talking with some of them when a grenade landed in a foxhole with two of my buddies. Nothing was left of them. Pieces—ribs and shoes with feet and all—went flying and landed in some nearby trees. The stench of human blood and spent powder was dizzying.

I had a conversation with Simón González while in his foxhole. I advised him to carry himself well and to be brave in combat. He answered, “Don’t worry, Sáenz, González will always conduct himself like a man while fighting the Germans.”

Poor fellow, he had been the victim of the cruelest injustice! The death of his poor and blind elderly father was mostly due to the decision by the Martindale draft board to take the only two sons who could support him during the last days of his life. I remember what that grief-stricken and tearful father told me the last time I saw him: “The Anglos on the board told me that my sons will provide me more money as soldiers than as civilians and that if they die the government will give me even more. But I tell them I do not want the money, I need to be cared for and who better than my sons to do it? I just want one, the youngest, my Simón. He has been helping me these last few years and can do it until I die. The money I will receive from them will bring me more problems. What can I do as a blind man and without understanding much of this? They do not want to understand me. Money can make many things possible, but it cannot match a child’s affection.” The old man knew what he was talking about. We had just arrived in France and he had not yet received his first payment from his sons when he succumbed to hunger, loneliness, and the unbearable pain of losing his sons. I said goodbye to González and my other buddies and returned to my foxhole.

I will probably never again see what I witnessed today. Soon after my arrival, I was ordered to look for my buddies, the scouts. They had stayed behind with much of the equipment. I went by myself again and, because of this, I selected the way that suited me the best. I was looking all around and approaching the point where I was to take another road. All this took place in the forest across from Bantheville. I saw some Red Cross trucks with a doctor and Red Cross assistants at the intersection picking up the wounded who had fallen in the area. Some of the wounded soldiers were lying on the ground while others seemed dead and had just been brought in on stretchers. At that moment a bomb landed and took the dead, the wounded, and the living. It was a horrific but typical war scene. Our nerves hardly get excited any more. I approached to offer help but they did not need it. The survivors had no scratches. The others were in no condition to receive help.

I met up with my friends close to the station at Romagne. Sergeant Kelleher, Massenburg, Gersbach, and Schulze were carrying a heavy load and I arrived in time to help. After they lit up their cigarettes and the sergeant his eternal pipe, we began our march, keeping some distance between each other. The Germans saw us right away and began firing at us. I was marching ahead as the guide and carrying a heavy telescope and other boxes. We approached our position and were about to take the small road that led away from Bantheville when Colonel Price appeared with a French officer in a blue uniform. The officer was very tall and known for his courage as a “daredevil,” or a soldier who does not fear the devil himself. They took the same road and walked in the same direction as us. I had no choice but to follow Colonel Price who was walking purposefully and rapidly with the “daredevil” behind him. I kept up with them in spite of my heavy load.

The Germans had no problems recognizing the colonel. They did not need the “daredevil” to give him away. The two silver eagles proudly displayed on his shoulders were sufficient. The gigantic Frenchman was also visible, and he was not making an effort to keep a distance from the colonel, who was in a big hurry and I believe was sporting the usual cigarette in his mouth. The Germans opened heavy fire with their “juiz-bangs.” We heard the shells exploding on both sides of the road. The shelling lasted a few minutes, but it seemed like years. All we heard was the deadly screeching sound of the projectiles going “j-u-i-z-z-z-b-a-n-g,” “j-u-i-z-z-z-b-a-n-g”! We moved quickly, ducking every now and then as we heard the whizzing sounds of the grenades as they passed by and exploded nearby on the ground. Our colonel did not bat an eye and just kept moving faster. Without thinking, I also moved faster and my companions did the same. A sheer sense of duty was moving me forward. No one ordered me to stop and I did not know if I was going to end up in the German foxholes. I simply kept moving. Finally, one of my buddies behind me yelled out what I was waiting to hear, “stop.” I did not wait to be told twice and immediately found cover from the shrapnel. My friends would later tell me, “Why didn’t you stop, were you not afraid?” I told them, “You will be expected to report, two men were in charge. Speaking for myself, who in the world would care to note anything about me, including that I was afraid?”

We learned of the terrible barrage that was being planned for Hindenburg’s impregnable trenches once we arrived at our position. We no longer felt the names or types of German trenches mattered because our soldiers have demolished them everywhere they have attacked. It is our turn to attack the rest of the trenches, which are occupied by the cream of the German army. Our soldiers will jump “over the top” and we have no choice but to overrun the Germans if they continue fighting. Gómez, Barrera, and I were told that we would be moving tomorrow at ten. I took the opportunity to explore the destruction in the woods where everything had been turned into rubble. I also saw the mire that forced the Germans to abandon their ordnance. They did not take everything. Much of it could not be moved owing to the rough terrain and our “hot” advance. They left much of their ammunition behind, not because they have a lot to spare but because they were more interested in coming out alive. The many things they left in the foxholes meant they fled in a hurry or they died underneath the mounds that are now their graves.

I grew tired and joined my friends to prepare my bedding for the night. A constant rain began to fall on the battlefield. The clouds swelled quickly and the ground turned dark. Readers will remember this—especially if they were witnesses—that the dense fog turned into a light rain that managed to get everything wet. Nor can they forget the platoons of soldiers in good spirits and smoking wherever they could. They were talking, huddled in foxholes, or lying on their backpacks, but drenched from the rain. Stepping on that eternal mud was as familiar as the dull sound of the exploding grenades over the wet and sticky ground.

I found some foxholes in good shape and far from our command post, but we decided not to use them. Gómez showed me one a short distance away, but it was very wet. It also did not make sense to dig into the difficult clay soil for one night of sleep. Barrera, who was as tired as I, was sick of the sticky mud and we were not in any mood for the pick and shovel work. Gómez did not feel this way. As soon as he finished his assignment, he started digging with much enthusiasm. He embarrassed us, a rare reaction for a soldier. I had the idea of building a strong barricade and went to a nearby rifle and machine gun ammunition dump to collect as many boxes as possible. The boxes had been emptied when the ammunition was handed out for the attack. The boxes are of thick wood and have a sheet metal box inside. They are bigger than the ones used for packaging our rationed tomatoes. I filled the boxes with dirt and placed them around the foxhole, stacked two rows high. I then piled some long poles on top with several strips of canvas to protect us from the rain.

We took special care to prepare our beds, perhaps for the last time. The powerful mortars have started to rain on us. This is the only effective weapon when the enemy gets very close. The last thing we did—at my suggestion—was to secure a place to sleep by digging a hole underneath a small tree, which had been shattered into pieces. We built the hole to shelter our heads and then emptied the backpacks and prepared our beds as if we were to remain in place for the rest of the war. I even took my shoes off, as if we were one hundred miles from danger. My excuse is that there are moments when living may not be worth much. Bloody conflicts between single-minded men are horrible, and this is certainly the place to win medals.

We went to bed early. The artillery fire was becoming more intense and our side began to suffer losses. Things worsened as the night wore on. It is impossible to believe that man, the weak insect he is, can bear such terrible trials! Last night we witnessed horrible scenes that can break the hardiest spirit. Despite it all, we survived! Oh great God! The following tells it all. In the middle of a series of powerful explosions that tore through the skies in quick succession, an incendiary shell landed near us, blew off our sergeant’s feet, and instantly set fire to some Bengal signaling flares. The red flaring light did nothing but increase the Dantean horror. All we could see were fear-possessed eyes and faces. The explosion left a man floundering on the ground, and several wounded soldiers were crying out nearby, but no one could make sense of the infernal red fire. Without thinking, Sergeant Bater shoveled wet dirt on the fire and put it out immediately. The Germans would have finished with us if they had continued firing. Our injured sergeant endured a very crude surgery before he was taken to the hospital. We have to thank Sergeant Darnell for rescuing him. He did it with courage and a strength borne out of a hardscrabble civilian life. We could have used painkillers or chloroform and the other accoutrements of modern medicine. The man of iron took it all, supporting himself on the shoulders of two of his friends while smoking a cigarette. The legs were amputated; his feet had already been blown away by the explosion. He did not complain nor did his face show signs of pain. A bolt of pain reached his brain and then he smiled. This is how the sapper sergeant fell. We hope he lives so that he can continue as a living example of courage.

Our barrage started before eleven and relieved our nerves, which were already worn out due to the lack of sleep. It was not easy to fall asleep or remain calm after four or five hours of lying down knowing that bodies were being blown away and that we were facing the same possible fate. I can still hear the loud whistling sound of the infernal shells that climbed two hundred yards into the sky and came down as if looking for a human being to obliterate. Thousands of explosives were raining down on our position. As soon as our barrage began, the enemy grew silent, and we began to breathe more easily.

We saw many clear signs of God’s mercy last night. This should be enough to make the ignorant and small-minded humans mend their ways. We will see what happens, if we can survive this.