Hipólito Jasso Receives a Shrapnel Wound

We are in the well-known Argonne forest by the also renowned Meuse River. Today has been a terrible day for the entire world. The formidable offensive has begun along the 150-mile front. How many millions of souls have been lost? I have never seen so many dead in a battlefield nor do I want to see this ever again.

Hipólito Jasso, a humble Mexican man, is worth noting among the many wounded I have seen (in the thousands). Nobody wanted Jasso in their dugouts, trenches, or the line of fire. He loved seeing the exploding grenades and flying shrapnel. With every deadly explosion, Jasso would stick half his body out of his foxhole or trench to see where the shells had landed and how many soldiers had fallen.

We marched into the open this morning to take the village of Andevanne and came under a curtain of machine gun fire coming from trees in the nearby forest. Our advance was slow because of fallen trees and the trenches we had to jump. While facing a hail of deadly bullets, we heard the terrifying explosion of a big shell that landed between Jasso and his buddy, Juan (his last name escapes me).

When the black smoke cleared, we saw Juan get up. Hipólito was on the ground trying to get to his feet. A large sharp fragment had torn through his gas mask; it also went through his raincoat, thick jacket, and shirt, all new and made of wool. His chest—the thorax area—was torn open from side to side, but, miraculously, his lungs and heart were intact, although they came close to slipping out every time Jasso spoke and took a breath. He would say, “It’s nothing. It’s nothing” and would brace his chest with his hands to breathe and walk. The healthy young man did not seem to be affected by the wound and the loss of blood. He did not want to leave his company and his friends Juan and Amado Aguilar. (So many others get a scratch and ask to be sent to the hospital, while others—this is no exaggeration—have shot themselves in their hands or feet to avoid participating in the offensive!) It was not easy convincing Jasso to go to a field hospital. A very crude operation was performed on him. He was sent to another hospital, but he quickly slipped away to search for his buddies. When the captain realized he could not convince Jasso to return to the hospital, he let him remain, on the condition that he stop fighting and visit a hospital now and then.

The crude operation left Jasso in poor condition. This may spell his end because he will be breathing gases in the battlefield. May the nation and its people appreciate and remember the courage of this private from the 360th Infantry!

Sunday, November 3

The sun had barely risen when we set out for La Ferme de Sainte-Marie. We marched over unburied bodies and stopped often for fear of walking into an ambush. I told my buddies on one of these stops what I had heard at the French command post. I also urged them to maintain close relations after the war. They agreed and said they support my idea of establishing an organization of soldiers who survive the Great War.

We reached an old field house at Sainte-Marie that had once served as a German hospital. The house had four big rooms, including three in the basement. The large collection of barbed wire suggested that it served as an important German military post. We found a large pot with horse meat soup being prepared for the sick and wounded Germans. Several horses had died in the courtyard and we could tell that the Germans had selected the good cuts. The bones were beginning to show—a sure sign they had really been going after the meat. Some of the wounded had died in the rooms, either from wounds or at the hands of doctors who did not want them to become our prisoners. Some of the dead had just recently died, while others had passed some time ago. Many of them were outside and by the house, along with old and new graves and even some still uncovered ones. The house is surrounded by a beautiful garden with foxholes in every corner for sharpshooters or sentries to guard the strategically important place. Some of the foxholes had piles of casings, suggesting that whoever occupied them had been busy. The last of these sharpshooters remained in his hole. He fired his gun until he ran out of bullets and our soldiers overran his position. He had been well protected in a foxhole that looked like a grave. It had a thick sheet of metal as covering. When he fired his last round, the German jumped out of his foxhole, removed the bolt that served as a hammer for his special type of rifle, threw it far away, and stuck his rifle in the ground. The very brave soldier was walking toward the hospital when he was overtaken by one of our men. He fell, never to cause us harm again. We found the bolt in the grass. I really wish I could have sent it to America as a keepsake because we should honor courage. I did not take it because even my own is getting heavier.

Gómez took his position as a sentry under a tree at the front, the north side of the house. Barrera and I checked out the area and some houses made of tarpaper with the idea of setting up our sleeping quarters. Other soldiers had taken over the shacks by the time we arrived. We had just stepped out of the building when we saw a black cloud of smoke that seemed to be coming out of the ground. We had not heard anything but felt the shock in the air as well as the shrapnel that rained on us. We thought it had been a land mine. Gómez appeared before we had calmed down. We had been worrying about him. The shell had exploded almost exactly where we had seen Gómez set up as a sentry. He told us he had been called away and replaced by Cruttinger, from Iowa. Cruttinger was wounded and eventually died.

As soon as the danger had passed, we saw soldiers carrying Cruttinger to the house. We ran up to him at the same time that we saw some of the officers running out of the house seeking a safer place. They were going toward the nearby forest.

The doctor examined Cruttinger and gave the order for him to be taken to the closest infirmary. When they left with the wounded soldier, we asked the doctor if there was any hope for him. The doctor doubted he would make it. Several bullets had torn his intestines into pieces. The doctor was right. Shortly afterward, the soldiers returned to inform us that he had died en route. The soldier was from Iowa, serial number 2657741, assigned to General Headquarters. Our hope is that our kind and noble companion rest in eternal peace. He always shared tender memories of his beautiful fiancée and caring mother.

We are the only ones left standing to fight until who knows when.1 Since no water was available, we decided to go down to a beautiful valley by the side of a mountain and to a small creek where we discovered a good number of German bodies. One of our buddies told us he had seen the explosion that killed them. We came up to their sleeping quarters and concluded that they were attached to a signal or intelligence unit because they had two small telephones, several rolls of copper wire, and tools. We were tempted to look into their backpacks since they were new and well packed. They were carrying everything they needed for battle, including packages they had recently received from home. It did not take long for someone to tear open the packages with rolls, candy, and other sweets, including lumps of sugar and fruit. We did not immediately start eating and were satisfied with just examining everything closely. I took a fresh and small aromatic soap, some writing paper, and envelopes. I saw someone throw away some postcards and letters that belonged to one of the soldiers. I found them very interesting and kept some for future use. The Germans also had photos of the brutality on the battlefields. These are the first pictures I have taken from the Germans. One of them had photos of himself as a civilian, before and after he married. He also had captured his image wearing the uniform he had on when our shrapnel tore him to pieces. The dead numbered five, and, by all counts, they appear to have just finished high school. Their uniforms were new, they were young and handsome. Their packages from home told us they came from privileged families, in other words, they had been born with silk diapers and silver spoons. Their bodies and uniforms look so different from the typical German soldier we have been seeing since September.

That is as far as we had gotten when some of our artillery friends arrived. They are old foxes toughened by what they have seen at the front. They wanted to know who was claiming the food and sweets and other things that were scattered on the ground. We told them they belonged to anyone who wanted them. We watched them devour everything with a delight that awakened a hunger we had suppressed. We quickly dispensed with the idea that the Germans might have sought to poison the Sammies and proceeded to finish off everything. The artillerymen continued the pillaging, removing the watches and money from the pockets of the Germans. We drew the line there and left them to claim the spoils.

We went down to the little valley where we found a stream and filled our canteens with water. The water may not have been very clean, but it was clear and fresh. We were glad to find that our mess hall was in the area and food was being prepared. The stream runs north through the middle of two tall hills that are covered by beautiful trees. One of our monstrous cannon was emplaced in one of those ravines. While we were getting our water it fired a test shot with a horrific thunderous sound. We felt a strong jolt at forty yards and were left momentarily deaf. Someone said, “The dog must be something if it even bites its masters.” I added, “What misfortune it must bring on the target that it hits.”

When I returned from Sainte-Marie, my lieutenant directed me to look for my buddies. Where could they be? We had not seen each other since the last day of October when I brought them from Romagne. I took my time, like that famous messenger who delivered a message to García during the Cuban war.2 I thought they were close to the front, and that is the direction I took. Bois de Montigny was completely destroyed and covered with dead bodies. With great difficulty, I reached an area where I believed they were, close to the machine gun fire. The cold German bullets were falling like hail. I thought I had heard their mumbled conversations. The palisades and the craters kept me from walking, I could only crawl. I was very quiet because I was alone and without anything to carry. When I sensed the danger, I went in the opposite direction. I walked and walked and cannot remember when I changed directions, but I ended up in the same place as before. I once again heard the muffled foreign speech and realized I was in imminent danger. This is when I headed south and made sure I did not lose my way again. Once I had moved a good distance away from the Germans, I set about to explore the most horrible battlefield of the war. The Germans had abandoned so much war matériel. I was struck by the large number of small rail tracks and railcars for transporting the large shells to the cannon emplacements, the high caliber mortars, and the many machine gun nests. I saw many trees with three and even four platforms for the machine guns. These are the famous machine gun nests that will be the object of conversations in the future. I stopped exploring. I would have gladly continued even with the danger, but it was getting late and I had not found my friends. I finally made contact with our troops at Bois de Tailly near Barricourt. Everyone was lying low, seeking as much cover as possible under the fallen trees and the few trees that were still standing. The men belonged to other battalions, and although I knew many of them, none could tell me the whereabouts of my buddies. I went looking for the major since I knew that foot soldiers are typically uninformed. I quickly found him. Luckily, we knew each other. He received me so well I decided to speak candidly. He directed me to his scouts who then helped me get a better sense of the location of my friends. The scouts had not seen them since yesterday but they gave me some good information and gave me hope that I would find them. At this point, I met up with a friend who practically read my mind when he asked, “Are you looking for your friends, the scouts? I saw them close to the kitchens around suppertime. They may be in that area.” I made a charge for the mess halls. A beeline was not possible, but the danger was not so bad around here. Finding the eating area was easy. Who cannot possibly locate the mess halls? A good number of soldiers were still returning from washing their utensils. I ate at the first mess hall using plates a soldier loaned me. I reached the second mess hall as the sun was going down and found Massenburg, as he was going for “seconds,” the sly one that he is. Once I found this bird, I had an easy time locating the nest. As soon as they finished eating, we set out on our march. I was told to carry the heavy telescope and serve as a guide. Sergeant Kelleher stopped me after walking a few minutes and asked me, “Which way are you going?” I answered, “I’m going the same way I came, on the route I know.” They all said, “That is where the Germans are.” I then told them what had happened to me, and they believed me. They took out their maps and corroborated what I told them. We went in the opposite direction, to a closer destination. We reached Sainte-Marie later that evening only to find out that our lieutenant had fallen ill and had been taken to a hospital. We were sad to hear the news because he is a fellow traveler in this ordeal, but we also thank God for freeing us from an officer who has done wrong by us, or at least by me. I know others think as I do.