About the fourth day, the sergeant asked for volunteers to run automobiles. About 3/4 of the company stepped out. They were given shovels, picks, grub hoes and boxes, and we were all told to fall in and marched over to a lot and were told we were to move the hill over to a ravine. Of course, those who did not volunteer were watching the others carrying the dirt in the boxes and laughing at them. After about so much laughing, the sergeant switched men and the second bunch got the razzing.

Before the week was out we all had our uniforms, and after swapping with one another, we finally had a fairly decent fit. As usual, the Army had two sizes, too large and too small.
The next Sunday, some of the boys had visitors, and as they could not leave the barracks, they visited us all. After two weeks, we were taken out of quarantine, and could go around the camp some, and see what it looked like.

The third week, everyone wanted a pass to go home, but orders were that only so many could have passes. They finally put blanks and passes in a hat, and let each one draw. If you drew a blank, you could not have a pass, but if you drew a pass you could go home. I drew a blank, but one of my best friends, Frank Martin, drew a pass, and was all set to go home when he received a telegram from his sister that she and her best friend were to visit them Sunday. Of course, his pass would be no good to him, so between he and I and the sergeant, the pass was given to me.
I went home, and was glad to do so. Had quite a big talk with father about the Army. He was quite interested, and seemed to understand as he was in the German Army in his younger days. Also, spent some time with the neighbors who lived next door, and they were quite interested. (The neighbors had a daughter about whom you will read more later.)

When I arrived back at camp, I looked up the former helper, and found he was a sergeant in the Depot Brigade, and was going home every two weeks. He was glad to see me, but he would like to be moved somewhere for a change.

After the third week, different fellows were called out and were assigned to different permanent outfits. We all agreed that so long as we were in camp, we would meet in the evening on the steps of the Knights of Columbus, and keep in touch with each other. Some of us were picked out, and told we were going to be non-coms, but we would have intensified training. We had to decide whether we wanted to or not, but were told we would have to put in a lot of time. We drilled and marched and studied at night, and spent two weeks with the rifle drilling, and then we were all transferred to some other company.

I was transferred to 302nd Machine Gun Battalion, Company B. Most of the fellows were transferred in groups, but I was alone going up to the Machine Gun outfit. Of course, they do not tell you where they are taking you, but you can guess where by the direction you are going. The Sergeant started up to the Base Hospital with me, and I thought the doctors found something wrong, and were taking me up to the hospital for an examination. I could not think of what it could be.

Just before we arrived at the location of the hospital, he stopped and went into a building with a sign over the door. It read, 302nd Mach. Gun Batt. Headquarters. I believed they had made a mistake as I knew nothing about machine guns. He came out and said, “come on”, and we went to another building with a sign over the door reading 302nd Mach. Gun Batt., Co-B.

He left me, and went into the building, and very soon came out and said, “come in”. He introduced me to another Sergeant, and he said, “You belong to this outfit now. Go upstairs and find yourself a bunk, and make yourself at home.” My thoughts were, “Imagine, him telling me to make myself at home in a Machine Gun outfit.” I went upstairs, and found a bunk and started to think what a draw I had, out of the 69 men I have to be picked out for a Machine Gun outfit. Just my luck. Wait until I go back to the K of C steps, and they find I am in a Machine Gun outfit.

After putting my things and my bunk in shape, I sat down on the bunk and felt pretty blue. A fellow in the next bunk asked, “How do you like the machine guns?” I said, I did not know as I had just come in there. Well, you know what they call them? I said, “No”. Well, he said, “They call them the suicide outfit.” I did not answer him, but, to myself, I said, “Well I would have to draw something like that.” He said, “You know how long the life of the average machine gunner is at the front?” I said, “No.” He said, “Six seconds.”

Again, I said that it was just my luck to draw this outfit, to myself. Finally, he said, “You know why they are called the suicide outfit?” I said, “No” again. Well, it is because a machine gunner is never supposed to retreat. The whole army can retreat, but never a machine gunner. he is supposed to die at his gun. Well, by that time, I was pretty well heated up, and said, “Well, here is one machine gunner that is going to retreat before he dies at his gun, so there will be no question about it I am telling you now.” Of course, he lay back in his bunk and laughed. Later, I pulled the same gag on recruits coming in, and they all would say just what I said.