In the Flash Ranging Service / Observations of an American Soldier During His Service With the A.E.F. in France

by Edward Alva Trueblood

The Germans were well protected and it took clever work to outwit them. Their machine gun nests were always cleverly concealed. Many of them were concealed in trees, and it was a common sight to see our infantrymen advance unseen by the machine gunners, and then with their rifles, shoot them out of the trees. I had seen machine gun nests in trees before, but never so many as this time. Not only were they numerous, but they were so well provided with ammunition that they could fire thousands of rounds of shells, if necessary. I have seen long belts of cartridges hanging to limbs of trees, all ready for use on the part of the gunners. I have also seen many of these belts attached together so as to provide an almost endless chain of cartridges for the gun. Under one tree where there had been a nest, I saw empty cartridge shells eight inches deep, which was some shooting for a short fight such as this was. That machine gun had certainly done all that could be expected of it.

We gained our objectives at 4 o'clock of the afternoon of the day the drive started. We were then in the best possible position, so far as ground is concerned, as it was possible for us to occupy. We had taken the commanding ground from Fritz, and we began digging in so as to be ready for a counter attack. All during that night we dug our trenches, making them deep and as safe as possible. Between 3 and 5 o'clock the next morning, the expected attack came. We experienced a heavy shelling from the German artillery. Of course, our light artillery that had been hastily brought up was not slow in returning the fire. Our barrage was very accurate and eventually the Huns were silenced.

It was at this time that I was called upon to witness the greatest horror of war—that of seeing some of my dearest friends fall from the enemy's fire before my very eyes. I was working in a post with three other men. We had been constantly together since the drive began and our hardships that we had undergone resulted in a bond of friendship that held us together like brothers. All three of these men were killed during this barrage. Two of them were instantly killed and the third lived but a short time after being hit, dying about 6 o'clock in the morning.

When you consider that we were working in a post that was not more than twelve feet in diameter, you may well imagine my feelings as I saw these boys fall. I fully expected that my turn would come at any minute, but I kept at work so as to keep my mind off the gruesome surroundings.

The next twenty-four hours were about the worst that I experienced throughout the war. My post was right out in front, and I was the only man left in it. Our communication lines had been badly cut up by German shells, and I was unable to make a report of the disaster that our post had suffered to headquarters. I could not leave the post, because I could not leave the instruments. They were too valuable to be left there with no one guarding them, and it would not do to leave any chance of their falling into the hands of the enemy. So I remained at the post all day. About 7 o'clock in the evening, men from headquarters fixed the communicating lines and I made my report of the loss of three men. Help was immediately dispatched to me, but, because we were heavily shelled again that night by the Huns, it was impossible for aid to reach me. It was not until 4 o'clock the next morning that a detachment reached the post and I was relieved.

A detachment was also sent from headquarters for the purpose of removing the bodies of my three dead companions. They were taken back of the lines to a beautiful spot in the woods, and there they were buried. Because of the fondness of the men of our detachment for these and for the further reason that fighting had slackened up some, we were able to give these men a little better burial than is accorded most soldiers who fall on the field of battle. In most cases a grave is dug, the body wrapped in a blanket and deposited without a casket and without ceremony. But for these boys, some of the men in our detachment made boxes to serve as coffins out of material that we had captured from an engineering dump. One big grave was dug and the bodies were laid in it side by side. One of the boys said a prayer and the graves of these brave lads, way out there in the woods in France, were covered over. This is one of the incidents of the war that will never leave my mind, as two of the boys were among my dearest friends.

I realize that my escape from death while at that post was by a narrow margin. It seemed to be the beginning of a number of miraculous escapes, such as many soldiers experience. Mine came in such rapid succession that I began to have a feeling that Fritz would get me yet. About 11 o'clock at night on the 30th of September I was aroused from my bed in a dugout to repair the communication lines, it being part of the duty of our detachment to keep the lines in working order when not observing. It wasn't very pleasant, of course, to get out of bed in the middle of the night, but this was the luckiest call that I had ever had. I had not been out more than five minutes when Fritz scored a direct hit with a big shell upon that billet, destroying everything it in. If I had not been called out, I would have been killed. Fortunately for our post, all the other members were on duty at the time, so we all escaped. But while I escaped with my life, the shell destroyed all of my personal belongings. This resulted in my discomfiture for many days, as I will relate. I had previously captured a pair of German officer's boots, which I would put on when called out at night, rather than my regulation army shoes and leggins. On this night I slipped on these boots, and my army shoes were torn to shreds. Therefore, I was compelled to wear the German boots, and they were the most uncomfortable things that I had ever had on my feet. Though they were my size, I could not get used to them, and they burned and blistered my heels so that I could hardly walk. As we were way out in front, it was not easy to get new shoes from headquarters. My foot troubles became so serious that my officer granted me a day off duty for the purpose of trying to find a pair of shoes that would fit me. I spent the entire time in a fruitless search. I found several pairs of shoes that belonged to boys who had been killed, but they would not fit me, so finally I had to give it up. I wore those Boche boots sixteen days, and I had to keep going all the time with sore and blistered feet. I suffered more from those German boots than from anything else in the war.

On October 4th I had another interesting experience and narrow escape, which was as close as any that I ever want to experience. I was one of a detail that was sent after water. We had to go from our dugouts a distance of about two kilometers. On our way there we were walking in a gully. Fritz had probably used that gully for the same purpose himself when he held that ground, and he probably knew that we would be using it too. At any rate, he had the range to a nicety. On our way he first dropped a number of gas shells around us. We hastily put on our masks and escaped injury. But the gas shells were followed by a few high explosives. A flying fragment severed the air tube of my gas mask. This meant immediate death, unless there was quick action. I had the presence of mind to take hold of the tube, so as to prevent any gas from entering my lungs, and then I ran to high ground. The reason I sought high ground is because the chlorine gas is heavy and settles in low places and is not likely to be as thick if high ground can be reached. I was accompanied by one of the buddies, who saw my plight and ran to assist me. By a stroke of luck that seems almost unbelievable, we ran across a salvage dump on the ridge to which we ran, and there we found a good gas mask, which I hurriedly slipped on, and used until a new one was issued to me. As if to add insult to injury, while I was having trouble with the mask, I was struck on the shoulder by a piece of shrapnel. The fragment, however, had about spent its force, and while I was knocked down by the force of the blow and suffered from a bruised shoulder for several days, the skin was not broken and my injury did not reach the dignity of a wound.

We proceeded on and got our water, and on our way back we were shelled again when we were in approximately the same place. This time one of the men received a small scratch from a piece of flying shell. It just broke the skin between the knee and the thigh, but was so small that it did not cause any inconvenience. Shortly after this, another bit of shrapnel hit my helmet and knocked it off my head. I gave the boys cause for a hearty laugh as I scrambled on all fours after my "tin derby," and no doubt I cut an amusing figure. Fritz seemed to be picking on me all day, but I was glad that I got off so lightly after being exposed to so much danger.

There is no room for sentiment in the army. Birthdays usually don't mean much. It just happened, however, that I had a day off of post on October 6th, and, that being my birthday, the occasion was made doubly pleasant. But the thing that made the day a perfect one for me was the fact that when I reached headquarters I found fourteen letters from home. I have already told how happy I felt when I received eight letters—well, fourteen made me feel just twice that happy. They were from relatives and friends and no gift could have made my birthday more pleasant.