1944 May 2: Four Weeks at Sea

Once at sea, sealed orders were opened. Before long everyone had contrived to find out that the eventual destination was Italy. Although no one would say so in so many words, it was also fairly conclusive that the ships would dock at Naples, since the Liberties were not making the Anzio run with the troops at that time. Inevitably, many of the men and many of the officers were seasick, even though the weather was nearly perfect during the entire crossing. One company commander, Captain Ralph J. Graham, was stretched out on his bunk talking to one of his lieutenants between periods of wondering whether he was going to live or die when a terrific explosion shook the ship followed by a series of smaller shocks and the rattle of 20mm-gunfire. The lieutenant rushed on deck and discovered that the ship had only dropped out of the convoy for gunnery practice. When he came back, however, he reported to captain that the explosion had been a torpedo hit and that the ship’s guns were even then fighting off an enemy sub. The captain rolled over with his face to the wall and muttered, “Good, I hope they sink the damn tub.”

After a few days nearly everyone had gotten used to the motion of the ship and the officers went to work organizing what little exercise was possible in the cramped quarters. Calisthenics before breakfast, boxing bouts now and then were about all that could be done. Almost all the deck space aft of the superstructure on most of the ships was taken up by trucks and bulldozers on their way to war. Consequently, the men spent long lazy days on deck, some bathing, leaning over the rail staring at nothing, or occasionally watching a school of porpoises chase each other through the ranks of the ships. There were work details, but not nearly enough to keep everyone busy.

Perhaps some of the men thought about it; most of them certainly did not, but from now on they were essentially men without a country, men on the move. War does that to a man. It takes him everywhere and it takes him nowhere. Perhaps it stops him for a while in the city or a town or a quiet country village washed over by the tide of battle. He makes a few friends, sees some famous places as a casual tourist, and moves on again. There’s no place he can call home, although there are many places he might like to stay. He no longer has a will of his own; you’ve been caught up in the machine; he goes where it takes him; he does its bidding, even though he knows it may cost him his life. If he believes that he is fighting for a great cause, that makes it easier. But whether he fights for his beliefs or because he’s been taken thousands of miles to an alien battleground and must kill or be killed there, he is part of the machine, win, lose, or draw.

Finally the convoy passed through the Straits of Gibraltar and the men became tourists with a lot of time on their hands. As they were carried past the rocky cliffs of the North African coast they saw some of the places that had made headlines in 1943: Tunis, Bizerte, Oran, Algiers. Very shortly now they would be living those headlines instead of reading them.

For some reason unknown at the time, the ships carrying the bulk of the 2nd Battalion dropped out of the convoy and steamed into Oran. This incident furnished rumor material for two days, the most prevalent one being that the Combat Team was going to be split into separate battalions and used as task forces. The explanation was that the ships had merely stopped at Oran to discharge cargo. The 2nd Battalion would very shortly be loaded on another ship and sent on to Naples. Meanwhile the rest of the convoy steamed on, stopping for a day in the harbor at Palermo, Sicily. Here the men got their first glimpse of the fruits of war: sunken ships, and the wrecked buildings along the waterfront. Without any further breaks, the ships made for Naples.