7th Infantry Regiment Private Kazys Petrikas's Memoirs from the Battle of Širvintos

In 1920, I served in the 7th Infantry Regiment, under the command of the commandant. After the loss of Vilnius, and later Širvintai, our military leadership did not give up, but prepared to repel the Poles and deal them a proper blow. When the Poles captured Širvintai, we retreated and stood in some village, I don't remember the name, it was quiet, the battles had temporarily subsided. In November, probably on the 16th, our military leadership held wise consultations, everyone was running around excitedly, sending messengers, talking on the phone, etc. It was clear that preparations were being made for an extraordinary march. At night, the army was organized and grouped, units quietly marched in various directions before dawn, when morning dawned, everything was quiet, like in a grave. Not a single shot was heard anywhere. Nature was mysteriously silent, as if approving the determination of our warriors.

And suddenly, as if at noon, a battle broke out like the most terrible hell, only noise, rumbling, howling in all kinds of voices, it lasted for several hours. We listen and wait for news, we don't know anything and are restless.

Suddenly, we look up at the road from Širvintai, clouds of dust have risen and we see that something is flying towards us quickly, but we can't see who it is, maybe Polish horsemen, but no. As we get closer, we hear a joyful "valio" (hopefully). I already understand that it is our victory. From the dust, a captain sitting on a Polish mortar emerged. Gaižutis, all red and blue, out of breath, holding his cap high in his hand and shouting "valio", rushed to the headquarters to report the good news. We immediately receive the signal to march to Širvintai. When we went, we saw a truly barbaric sight, the doors of the shops were broken, the windows were smashed, the streets were full of small goods, broken dishes, broken furniture, etc. Because the Polish soldiers took what was good and destroyed what was not. The villagers weep with folded hands. Because they were forced to work, dig trenches, bury killed soldiers. And whoever didn't want to listen, they beat them and cut their beards. They were very happy when we returned.