Jack Morgan, Captain, U.S. Army, wondered just what the hell was so important that the naval officer commanding the LST had summoned him. He also wondered just what the hell he was doing on an LST heading for France in the first place. He was an Army Air Force officer, even though he’d washed out as a bomber pilot, and American air bases were in England, not France. He’d assumed he’d be used by the air force in some capacity, but sent to France? Never. Even more important, why?
He had no idea what naval protocol was as he approached the bridge and, in the words of Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind, he frankly didn’t give a damn. The LST was supposed to take him from Dover to the beaches of Normandy where he would depart and find a military unit that wanted a washed-up bomber pilot. This was a complete shock. When he’d been first posted to England, he’d logically thought that he would be assigned as a staff officer at an air base. Now he had no idea what was going to happen to him.
The LST was more than three hundred feet long, and close to five hundred men were jammed in her along with tons of supplies for what was supposed to be a cruise of not more than a few hours from Dover to Normandy. Under those circumstances, the soldiers’ discomfort meant nothing to those in charge. The LST was supposed to land the men after their short journey and that was it.
The LST’s skipper was a short, plump, and very serious lieutenant commander named Stephens who was far from happy. “Captain Morgan, I’m certain you don’t understand the navy’s rules so I’ll forgive you your transgressions.”
“Thank you, sir,” Morgan said with only a hint of sarcasm. Both men were standing and Morgan, at just under five-eleven, was several inches taller and much more slender at one hundred and sixty pounds. He also had a full head of short brown hair; Stephens was balding.
“In the future, when you come to the bridge you will ask permission before entering.”
“I was under the impression you called for me, sir.”
The naval officer was one rank higher than Morgan, which did not impress him. However, Jack did understand enough about the navy to know that the pompous little prick was considered God on his ship. He also decided that he would likely never again be on the damned bridge, so screw Stephens.
Stephens nodded solemnly. “I called for you because you are the senior officer among the mob the army stuffed in here. Therefore, you are the one who will maintain discipline among the passengers and get them organized and out of the way of the more than a hundred men who will be running this ship. I will not tolerate fights, drunkenness, or gambling. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Jack said.
“Then get it done,” Stephens said. Jack saluted and departed.
He had an hour before the LST was scheduled to depart. The first thing he did was to find any other officers and senior enlisted men. These he had organize the rest of the men into groups of a dozen or so. Some of the officers and NCO’s were reluctant, even wondering why the hell the boys couldn’t have a good time their last few hours before landing in hostile France, and Jack really didn’t have a good answer. Rank, however, ultimately prevailed, and they did what Stephens ordered.
By the time he accomplished this and was satisfied that the mass of men in the hold of the LST were under at least a semblance of control, darkness had fallen and they were actually pulling away from Dover.
Stephens approached him on the upper deck by the railing. He had descended from Olympus to deal with mere mortals, Morgan thought.
“Good job organizing the men, Captain. I know I was short with you, but we were running out of time and I needed things under control. The English Channel is not one hundred percent safe from the krauts. I’ve made a number of trips like this and I haven’t lost a man yet and I don’t want to start now.”
“Understood, sir.” Perhaps the little man wasn’t such a jerk after all.
“You know what LST stands for, Captain?”
“No sir.”
“Large Slow Target,” Stephens said with a hint of a smile. “It actually stood for Landing Ship Tank, its original purpose, and it’s evolved into a very useful all purpose vessel, but it does make a hell of an inviting target.”
He explained that the thirty-eight-hundred-ton LST had a top speed of a mere twelve knots, and Morgan doubted she was doing anywhere near that. Other ships, including more LST’s were making the trip and were visible as shadows in the night.
“Usually we carry supplies to the beaches. This is my third trip with unorganized replacement troops, Captain, and the first two were miserable experiences. The soldiers are going into war and they bitterly resent the fact that my sailors will head back to England and safety, hot meals, and maybe even girlfriends once they’ve dropped them off. This resulted in fights and vandalism. Two of my sailors were stabbed during the last trip and I am now trying to head that off by having you enforce discipline. A number of soldiers got into fights when they decided they’d been cheated at cards, and a larger number got drunk on booze they managed to smuggle in, and a lot of them got sick all over the place. Are you getting the picture?”
“I guess this isn’t the Queen Mary,” Morgan said with a smile of his own.
“Not even close. I have to put up with a normal degree of mess and the fact that half of the soldiers will be puking over the rail in a little while is considered normal, but the other stuff will cease.”
To emphasize his point, a young soldier ran past them to the railing and heaved his guts over the side. Stephens actually laughed. “Another satisfied customer.”
Morgan made his rounds and saw that all was reasonably well, or at least under a semblance of control. The drunks were quiet and the card players were working seriously at losing their money, but so far without fighting. He walked to the railing and looked over at the Channel and the other ships, which were little more than silhouettes in the night. He saw something in the water. What the hell? A line of white was racing through the water and towards the ship.
“Torpedo!” he screamed and threw himself onto the deck in an attempt to protect against the explosion. The torpedo struck and the LST shook violently from the impact. Jack was drenched with water and debris. Men screamed and were thrown about. Already prone, Morgan was spared much of it. Still, his head smashed against something and his shoulder was painfully wrenched.
He managed to get to his feet. Soldiers and sailors were already pulling wounded from below. Morgan grabbed a sailor who was about to protest until he saw Jack’s captain’s bars.
“What’s going on down there?”
“Lotsa men trapped, sir, and water’s coming in like a bandit. You could drive a truck through the hole.”
Morgan fought his way down against a tide of men coming up. Water was filling the hold. Several bodies floated face down, mangled and clearly dead, but the dead weren’t his concern. The trapped and wounded were. He grabbed some men and had them start passing wounded up top. Most of the men complied, although a few were too scared to do anything but scream. These were useless so he let them scramble up the ladder and out of the way.
Morgan found a pair of men trapped under debris. They were unconscious and hadn’t been noticed in the darkness and confusion. Their heads were almost under water.
“Give me a hand,” he yelled. A couple of men started pulling while Morgan held the unconscious men’s heads above the rapidly rising water. One man was quickly freed and carried away. Smoke was coming from somewhere. He wondered if there was ammunition on board and whether it would explode.
The answer came seconds later and just when the second man had been freed. Small arms ammo began to pop off and fires began around him. Morgan suddenly realized he was alone. Everyone else had fled the fire and the rising water.
“Damn it to hell,” he said to the unconscious man. He draped the soldier over his good shoulder and began to climb slowly and painfully up to the deck while bullets whizzed and clanged around him. Several struck him, but with not enough force to do much damage. Finally, hands grabbed him and relieved him of his burden. He fell to his knees on the deck. He recognized a very young sailor as of the men who’d run away. “Sorry, I panicked, sir,” the young man said sheepishly.
Jack nodded and patted the kid on the shoulder. Being scared is one thing. Getting control and coming back forgave a lot. He knew a helluva lot about that.
Captain Stephens helped him to a chair. “You’re wounded.”
“I am?”
