David Arrizu
Company B
143rd Infantry Regiment

On the afternoon of November 20, 1944, I was ordered to take out a patrol and check out a bridge and road intersection for mines and enemy activity. For the past two days our battalion commander, David M. Frazior, had been running us "ragged" up and down the hills, night and day, checking for any isolated German units in the area west of Anould and Fraize in the Vosages Mountains of the Alsace Region of France.

We were all dog tired, in a bad mood, and a patrol mission was the last straw. To this day I do not know why I decided to borrow Ben Palmer's Thompson Submachine gun. I knew how to handle the weapon and was familiar with its capabilities. Maybe I was just tired and thought that the "Tommy Gun" would be easier to carry around than my M-1 rifle. I checked the gun and everything was working OK. I selected two magazines of ammo for the gun that had been taped together, plus one extra magazine tucked into my belt.

For the patrol I picked two men from my squad, trying to select those that were next up for patrol duty. Needless to say we were all tired, and certainly hoped to go out and get the job done and get back as soon as possible. By this time of the year the weather had turned cold and snow or drizzle could come down at any time. We hoped to get back from the patrol before the weather turned bad and certainly before it got dark, and settle down for the night and get some rest. Also, since the distance to the objective was less than 800 yards and downhill we did not expect to be gone too long. We were dressed warmly enough—long johns, wool field uniform and field jackets.

We started downhill, went through our outposts, and using a small draw with low shrubs for cover worked our way toward the bridge and road intersection. Halfway to the objective we stopped to observe for any enemy activity, and saw no movement or sign of the enemy.

To our right front was a small village of perhaps 20-30 houses. There was a very unusual appearance in the way all of the houses in the village had the roofs blown off, and the walls were still standing. There were two exceptions to this—the church and the house next to it were intact. I made a mental note of this and we worked our way closer to the bridge. I halted the patrol a short distance from the bridge, told the men to cover me and went forward to see if it was mined or rigged up with explosives. The bridge appeared to be OK and I returned to where the two riflemen were waiting.

The appearance of the houses in the village and the fact that only the church and the house next to it were intact aroused my curiosity. We found a good position to observe the village and began exchanging ideas as to the appearance of the village. After more discussion I proposed we go into the village, or at least close enough for a better look. The two riflemen agreed to the idea and we began to work our way along a man-made canal that ran parallel to the main street in the village. We worked our way to approximately the center of the houses on the opposite side of the canal. We took cover behind a control gate that went across the canal. This control gate was made of thick wooden planks bolted together, and could be raised or lowered to control the flow of water in the canal.

We saw no enemy activity and at this point curiosity got the best of my better judgement. I knew the bridge was OK, the road intersection could be checked on the way back to our lines and so far no enemy had been encountered. But those two intact buildings in the village kept nagging at me. Why only two buildings intact out of the whole village? Then I told the two riflemen, "We are going closer to the village and have a better look." They just shrugged their shoulders and nodded in agreement.

We slung our weapons over our shoulders and worked our way to the top of the control gate one at a time. There was a thick metal bar about waist high above the gate that was anchored at both ends. We held on to it and walking sideways on top of the gate, crossed the canal. Having crossed first, I took cover at the rear of a house close to where we had crossed the canal. After the men had crossed the canal they joined me at the rear of the house. At this point we began to talk about what we were going to do next. We decided we were going into the village and check out the two buildings that were intact. I would lead the way, and the men would follow when signaled to do so. I told the men that if we ran into any Germans we would immediately return to our lines using the most direct route.

We started out with me in the lead, by going around the left side of the house we had been using for cover. The two riflemen followed me one at a time and joined me every time I stopped. I then moved forward along the side of the house until I came to a small alley and stopped. Again, the two riflemen followed one at a time and joined me. I peeked around the corner of the house to see if there was any activity in the alley and seeing none rushed across to the other side. The two riflemen rushed across the alley one at a time and joined me. Ahead, about half a block away we could see what appeared to be the main street of the village running parallel to the alley we had just crossed. We worked our way slowly forward and stopped a few feet from the large street.

At this time we were between two houses with just a narrow space of six feet between them. I whispered to the men that I was going to rush across the large street. The distance across appeared to be about fifty feet. I told them that once I was safely across I would signal for them to follow. They nodded indicating they understood.

Then I made a mistake! Instead of peering around to see if there was any movement in the street I was about to cross, I got up and made a mad dash forward to cross the street. I was going full speed and as I came onto the street I saw a squad of Germans coming toward me from the right, and walking on the left side of the street about 75 feet away. They had their rifles slung on their shoulders and some of them were carrying large canvas bags.

I came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street, leveled the Thompson submachine gun at them and yelled "Hands Up". The Germans were completely surprised, stopped, and just looked at me. Again, I yelled "Hands Up," and motioned with the submachine gun. I saw some of them begin to unsling their rifles slowly, and others dropped the canvas bags they were carrying.

I kept my eyes fixed on the leader in front. As he slowly began to unsling his rifle I noticed that the muzzle began to swing in my direction. Whatever this movement was, intentional or accidental, I will never know. I pulled the trigger—AND THE THOMPSON DID NOT FIRE! I pulled the trigger again, hard, and again, nothing! I then noticed that I was wearing gloves. The top of one finger of the glove was caught between the trigger and the rear of the trigger housing and the trigger was not being pulled far enough for the submachine gun to fire. I was desperate and gave the trigger a hard jerk, and this time the Thomson fired a burst of 8-10 rounds. All of this happened so fast that everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I saw the leader drop his weapon, grab his right side and go down. At the same time the rest of the Germans hit the dirt. I wheeled to the right and took off in the direction we had come from and yelled at the riflemen—"Let's Go", and go we did!

When we got to the canal, into the water we went holding our weapons over our heads. The water was very cold, but fortunately only waist deep. Once on the other side we took off on the double directly toward our lines. The going was uphill but not very steep. By this time the outposts had heard the shots I had fired and were on the lookout for us. As we passed the outposts I yelled at them to be on the lookout for any enemy that might be following us. But apparently the Germans had hightailed it back to their unit since they had been surprised to see American infantrymen in the village.

I was scared, fuming mad, cussing and disgusted with myself. I shoved the Thompson submachine gun into Ben Palmer's hands and told him that never again would I ever use one of those damned things. I do not even recall if I personally gave a report on what had happened during the patrol, or if someone relayed the information for me. Later on one of the riflemen (I believe it was Angelo Purrucci) who was on the patrol, said to me "Hey Zu, I had never seen a whiter-looking Mexican as you when you turned and saw the Jerries." I knew he was joking about it, but he was 100 percent right. I swore I would never, ever, wear a glove on my trigger hand when on a patrol again!

FOOT NOTE: Prior to my "memory" trip to France in June of 1988 LTC Richard B. Blackwell sent me a letter "jogging my memory" about the above patrol incident. I tried to find the exact location, and thought it might have happened in the town of Fraize. However, when I was in Fraize the area did. not look familiar. In retrospect it may have happened in the village of Clefcy in the valley just west of Fraize.