USS WOOLSEY  DD-437  

1942-1943

By Lt. Marshall Thompson

The French were taken by surprise, and also were in a low state of moral because of the surrender of France to the Germans in the summer of 1940 and the installation of the unpopular "Vichy" government.  Resistance was light, fortunately, as many mistakes were made by the assault waves.

On the Woolsey we were at Battle Stations from about four in the morning until almost noon.  Our troops landed at Fedala, a few miles north of Casablanca.  We called and called our army unit by radio, but never received a reply, never had a request for fire support.  It was along time on a steel seat, waiting for my first chance to demonstrate how good we were.

It was well planned, and courageously carried out, but the troops had never seen combat, the Navy crews of the landing craft were hastily and poorly trained.  Like all great enterprises, its execution was filled with errors and mistakes.

In some ways it was a comedy of errors.  The beaches were poor and rocky.  Some of the landing craft lost their way.  Only about half of the landing craft ferrying troops were able to get off the beach and back to the transports.  Many of the army units did not call for Naval gunfire support  because they had no experience with high velocity gunfire and did not trust the Navy.

Finally, General Patton was getting ready to go ashore from the command ship, the USS Augusta, to take charge of his forces on the beach.  His landing craft was at the davits on the ship.  At that moment the Augusta began firing on a gun battery ashore.  The blast from the first salvo of six guns blew apart the landing craft.  The General was three hours late in landing.

By noon the Captain had us in Condition of Readiness Two meaning half the battery to be manned and ready.  I dragged myself down to the Wardroom for my first meal of the day.  There was a general letdown feeling that we had done little of importance and, as far as the Navy was concerned, the invasion was over.

By one of those strange occasions where the past intrudes into the present, the flagship for this joint Army/Navy operation was the USS Augusta, which I had left in Vallejo when I was ordered to Commission the Woolsey.

Without the change of duty, I would have been down in the engine room of the Augusta for this invasion.  As always, fate had intervened in my favor.

Several French warships sortied to challenge us.  The cruiser came out first, followed by two destroyers.  As they turned west upon leaving the harbor they were taken under fire by several ships, probably including battleships and cruisers.  They were sunk before they could fire more than a few shots.  The Woolsey, several miles north of Fedala, neither saw nor heard this brief battle.  The French battleship Jean Bart was in port.  Although only partially completed, no one knew if she could fire her big guns.  So, our battleships guns fired and put her out of commission.

I felt a keen sense of disappointment that the Woolsey had not been involved in some sort of shooting.  All this training and we were observers.

We were assigned to provide ASW protection to the cargo ships and transports as they continued unloading follow-up troops, supplies and equipment.  Dull work.  Monotonous duty.  For days we search the area from Fedala to Casablanca, along with a few other destroyers.  Our lives centered on the everlasting "pings" of the sonar equipment in the chart house.

Suddenly, on November 16th, all of us on the bridge heard the unmistakable metallic echo.  "Sonar contact", announced the operator.  The Captain was called from his sea cabin, the ship went to battle stations, and the tracking began.  The water was only a hundred fifty feet deep, which is dangerous for a submarine which likes deep water to help escape from the sonar.

The contact was evaluated as submarine and Captain took the conn for his first ever attack on a submarine.  At once he had the ship slow to ten knots from our normal operating speed of fifteen.  I ordered the depth charges set to explode at 100 feet depth.  Hank Weir suggested that we resume normal speed so we could be more distant when the explosions occurred.  This was standard procedure, even in deep water.  He was overruled as the Captain wanted to get the position of the sub as exactly as possible.

We estimated the sub was at low speed about three knots, so it was not hard to overtake it.  As we passed just ahead of the sub we dropped the charges.  From the stern racks four cans, each filled with 600 pounds of TNT, rolled in measured succession.  The eight K-guns hurled their 300 pound charges to the left and right of the ship.

The ocean erupted when the 4,800 pounds of TNT exploded.  A double shock wave hit the ship, one from the explosion the other reflected from the ocean floor.  Twelve waterspouts shot into the air a short distance behind the stern, which rose in the air and shook before settling down.  The depth charge crews were knocked off their feet, telephones flew out of their racks.  It felt like the ship had been torpedoed.  Fortunately, the hull remained intact and we had no leakage.

A large quantity of diesel oil came to the surface, but no debris that could be identified as submarine.  Contact was regained and two more attacks were made with four depth charges each.  After the high command reviewed the captain's written report, they decided it was a "probable" submarine success.  In other words, close but no cigar.

(In 1947, Navy divers found the remains of the submarine U-173, and I received a "Letter of Commendation", with the authorization to wear the "V" on my ribbon.)

The very next day after the attack on the submarine, we headed back to Norfolk, arriving there on the thirteenth.

We were low on fuel (a chronic condition due to our continuous time underway).  By the time our opportunity came to go alongside the oil tanker, night had fallen and the ship was in the usual darkened condition.  At that time a destroyer was only about twenty feet from the large ship while taking on fuel.  A heavy towline from the oiler helped us keep position while steaming at 15 knots, but it required almost exquisite skill in ship handling.  All went well until we were almost through.

Suddenly the towline parted.  The flailing length of heavy manila rope knocked Ed Diedrick, a young seaman, over the side.  Captain Austin gave the order to cease fueling, the pumps were shut down, the heavy fuel line returned to the tanker.  That takes time.  Almost ten minutes had passed before the Woolsey could reverse course.  At 15 knots, our sailor was two miles astern, lost in the night.  It seemed like a hopeless cause, but we in the Navy take extreme measure to recover a man in trouble.

Hank Weir was navigating and I was the officer of the deck, in charge of the bridge.  The main deck was filled with sailors and every pair of binoculars was in use on the bridge.  Hank called out, "Almost there.  Slow down."  I dropped speed to five knots.  A hundred pairs of eyes searched the black water for the faint light which was attached to every life jacket.  My heart was sinking.  Suddenly someone at the bow shouted, "There he is!"

Ed Diedrick survived the war but I never heard of him again until about 1985.  I had a call from Burt Blodgett, a quartermaster from the Woolsey, who said "Remember Ed Diedrick, the kid who fell overboard off Casablanca?"  I replied I remembered him well.  "He just died and I am going to his funeral.  Would you care to come along?"

We both attended the service and I could not help thinking how fortunate he had been that night in 1942 which let him enjoy life for forty years.

On November 30th, we arrived in Norfolk, and after a brief stay, went on to New York.  Janet had bought a little cocker spaniel to keep her company, had a part time job at a department store, and was an air-raid warden.  Her job was to patrol her area in Greenwich Village, checking that all windows were covered so no lights would show to any German planes that might fly overhead.  It was surreal to be in a city so far from the war and find all these precautions.  I suppose it was in tune with the efforts to build support for the war.  People were turning in their aluminum pots to aid the war effort, then going out to buy replacements.  Some groups even proposed cutting down the cherry trees around the tidal pool in Washington to hamper the Japanese war effort.

But it was wonderful to be home.   Each morning I took the subway near our home for the trip to the Brooklyn Navy Yard where the Woolsey was undergoing repairs and improvements.

All good things end.  On January 14 we sailed as escort for Convoy USG-4 heading for Casablanca with supplies and additional troops.  Uneventful trip and we departed with GUS-4 February 2nd for N.Y. arriving on February 13, 1943, a year and a day since Evelyn and I married.

This was a routine we could live with.  Four weeks for a round trip to Casablanca, three weeks back in port.  Occasionally a coastal convoy to protect.  No stress at sea, no involvement with enemy planes or ships.  We both knew it would change, but it was easy to delude ourselves.

March first; off to Casablanca with USG-6: back to New York with GUS-6, arriving in April.  We really liked this routine.

The night of May 13th, I was due back on board the Woolsey by midnight for an early departure with UGF the next morning.  We stayed up until eleven, then we kissed good-bye.  For all our bravado, we both were aware that the war was real and each parting might very well be our last.  It intensified life but kept the demon of fear always in some hidden recess of the mind.

On May 14, the Woolsey left with a large convoy for Casablanca, remaining there from June first to fifteenth as the cargo was slowly unloaded.  As usual, we were low on fuel when the convoy headed back for the U.S.  The weather was stormy as we refueled from a tanker in the convoy.

The ship was light due to the low level of fuel, riding high and rolling more than usual.  In spite of all of Hank's skill, in the midst of the fueling we rolled into the hull of the large ship.  Hank and I were both on the port wing.  As the Woolsey hit the heavy tanker, the bridge wing folded up and we dashed into the pilot house.  We were ordered to cease fueling and to proceed to Gibraltar for repairs, then on to Oran, Algeria.

As we entered the Straits of Gibraltar, strange thoughts began to enter my mind.  Something inside me said "You mean the Pillars of Hercules?"

Suddenly my mind was inundated with memories from my High School days.  Just the simple act of entering the Mediterranean seemed to bring into focus my interest in archeology and my years of studying Latin, along with Greek and Roman history. 

This was the "Wine Dark Sea" of the Odyssey, the battleground of navies for thousands of years.  Roman history came surging into my mind.  Moracco and all of North Africa to the south, now a desert, once had been the granary of the Roman Empire, with fruit trees and forests extending from Tunisia to the Atlas mountains.

Far to the east, just ninety miles from Sicily, the ruins of Carthage was all that remained of a Phonecian city which was the deadly enemy of Rome.  "Delenda est Cathgo" was shouted in the Roman Senate, and destroyed it was in the three Punic Wars.  During my next months in that sea I began to feel less like I was in a war against Germany and more as if I was part of the centuries old struggle to control the middle sea.  A history that went back to Egypt, Phoenicia, Greece and Troy, Greece and Rome, Rome and Carthage.

The small town of Mers El Kebir, a former French Naval base west of Oran became the "home port" for the Woolsey.  This had been the assembly base for the French fleet after the surrender of France to the Germans.  To avoid being used by the victorious Germans, the fleet had fled from Atlantic ports and from Toulon in southern France.  They were still there, playing the "neutral game" until the Royal Navy arrived in force and demanded their immediate surrender.  As the French Admirals pondered that demand, the time limit expired and the British opened fire.  The fleet was destroyed.  One more dreadful event that was to influence adversely Franco-British relations for along time.

We were moored alongside the burned-out hulk of a French destroyer at first, but later our permanent berth was alongside the concrete mole which formed part of the artificial harbor.

Our stay was long enough to allow time to visit Oran and some of the surrounding area.  It was not wise to go into the countryside alone, as the Arabs were not friendly and I did not want to disappear.  I could not resist the opportunity to go with a group to visit Sidi Bel Abbes in the desert south of Oran.  This was the headquarters of the renowned French Foreign Legion.  Never saw such tough looking guys in all my life.  Their magnificent museum was a tribute to courage and devotion to duty.  The deepest impression I carried away was their awesome pride in the repeated examples of the Legion fighting and dying to the last man.

Intensive training began for the planned invasion of Sicily in July.  We would have no opposition from surface ships.  The British had destroyed the French fleet at Oran, and had eliminated the Italian Navy as a threat after the night battle of Taranto.  The sense of being in a danger zone came from submarines and aircraft.  In addition to German submarines operating out of Toulon in southern France, the Med was within reach of German and Italian planes from Italy.

As a part of the psychological preparation we obtained army combat training films for the crew so they would have some appreciation of land combat.  One film was "Kill or Be Killed".  It described hand-to-hand combat, including such pertinent information as how to extract a bayonet which is stuck in the ribs of your opponent.  (You fire your rifle and the recoil pulls out the blade).  We also sent a few men to ride a tank in desert training and had a few soldiers go to sea with us.  The sailors thought tank warfare too dangerous while the soldiers thought only fools would fight at sea where the danger of drowning was added to their problems.

We benefited militarily also.  German planes were making low level attacks on ships, and we were woefully deficient in small weapons.  For a hundred loaves of fresh bread we obtained two 50 caliber machine guns and a large supply of ammunition.  The guns were mounted atop the bridge and made us feel very secure.

It was about this time that Hank Wier became commanding officer (our first warrior captain) and I became the Exec.  I had just been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, and I once again moved into his old job, this time to be the Executive Officer.

Time was fast approaching for the invasion of Sicily.  Troops were to land simultaneously at Gela, Licata and Scogliti, all historic sites on the island.  The Woolsey was to support the landing at Licata.

Everyone was expecting serious fighting as we began the attack on Italy.  Sicily was massed with Italian and German soldiers, had many airfields, and submarines were plentiful.  We decided to exceed our authorized supply of ammunition.  Very quietly and with no fanfare we took more than a hundred 5" shells and an equally number of propelling charges in their aluminum canisters.  The shells were tied down in the lower handling rooms of the four gun mounts.  The propelling charges were stacked in the officers head (bathrooms) as we pretended that the showers were the required protective sprinkler system.

Prior to our departure from Oran, we were joined at the concrete mole by the Augusta, the Command Ship for the operation.  A few days later a conference of the senior Generals and Admirals was held on board that ship, but this gathering did not include junior officers as the ones in Norfolk had.  But we did watch the parade of staff sedans bringing the senior officers.  When it seemed that all must have gone aboard, a military jeep came roaring down the mole.  Standing erect, next to the driver, was a sturdy officer in combat dress, fitted out with two pistols and a steel helmet.  None other than the now-famous General Patton.  Quite a sight.

Our orders were to proceed to Bizerte in Tunisia by way of the Tunisian War Channel.  This was a route along the north coast of Africa through the shallow waters which were swept continuously by minesweepers to keep it safe from moored and magnetic mines.  Attacks by enemy aircraft were common in this area.  Our four ships, Ludlow, Buck, Bristol and Woolsey left port in company to proceed to Bizerte.  Because of the likelihood of sudden attack by aircraft, we were in Condition of Readiness II - half of all the guns manned and ready, ship sealed almost as tightly as in combat.  Our two 50 caliber machine guns atop the bridge were always manned by eager volunteers from the bridge. 

Sightings of aircraft were frequent, but it was not easy to tell friend from enemy.  Our planes did have an electronic device called IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) which made a special mark on our radar screens.  It did not work well always and one destroyer was sunk by a German plane while the ship's Combat Information Center was still insisting that the plane was showing IFF.  We on the destroyers devised a simpler, more reliable test.  If the plane was headed for the ship it was enemy!

Another special hazard arose when the Germans installed acoustic torpedoes in their subs.  These fish would follow the sound of the DD propellers no matter how the ship tried to evade.  The Navy sent us a decoy devise called FXR (foxer).  This was a pair of steel bars towed behind the ship, making a shrieking sound in the water.  We soon became suspicious that these damned devices attracted torpedoes which would have missed.  We preferred to drop depth charges as soon as we made contact with the sub.

Moored in Bizerte, in the shadow of Carthage, we prepared to invade Italy, an echo of the times when Punic fleets sailed forth to challenge Rome for control of the sea.  Far to the south, at the tiny Arab village of El Djem in the barren desert, arises a huge stone stadium.  Only slightly smaller than the Coliseum at Rome, it stands deserted, a symbol of the Roman victory over Carthage and the later collapse of the Roman Empire.  (Note:  While assigned to US Embassy, Pans, 1954-56, I visited Carthage and illegally dug some items from the ruins.)

After refueling and receiving our orders we sortied with a large number of warships and joined the troop ships, most of whom came from Algiers.  It is ninety miles from Bizerte to Sicily.  A very tense ninety miles, but we did not take that direct route.  The force rounded Cape Bon, headed southeast almost to Malta, then headed north.  At midnight on July ninth we passed the island of Gozo off to the east. Due north was our landing point, Licata on the south coast of Sicily.

By this time I had lost my fascination with the history of the Mediterranean and my mind became focused on the dangers of the next morning.  The first wave of landing craft was due to touch down at 0248 in the morning just as the moon set.  In the hours before this a strong mistral wind arose, creating a high, breaking sea, but had only moderate effect on the landings.

It was a enormous undertaking, 590 ships in the American force, and 795 in the British forces attacking the eastern side of the island.

The response of the Italian forces was weak, many units marching down to the beaches to surrender.  However, the German forces, including the Herman Goering Panzer Division at Gela put up heavy resistance.

German planes attacked in force.  At about 0500, the destroyer Maddox, several miles south of the beaches on antisubmarine patrol, was sunk by a Stuka dive bomber, with the loss of most of the crew.  There was a total lack of American fighter planes to defend against the German planes.

Unbeknownst to us in the assault, General Spaatz had refused to provide fighter aircraft to the army and navy.  He said all his planes were needed in attacking airfields.

Off the beach at Licata, the Woolsey had been doing some 5" firing at targets the army requested, but most of our shooting had been with 40mm and 20mm machine guns at small groups of Italian soldiers (probably trying to surrender).

Suddenly, by voice radio, we received a call for help from the Beachmaster east of the city.  "We are being shelled by two guns on the harbor mole.  We can't land tanks.  Can you help us?"

Hank increased speed to 20 knots as we closed in on the harbor.  The target was easy to find.  Two guns on railway cars were shooting rapidly.  We could see the shells landing on the beach.  Our course took us past the target at 2000 yards, practically point blank range.  We opened up with rapid fire from our four big guns, putting out 60 shells a minute.  The heavy machine guns, going pom,pom,pom sounded like a hundred guns firing.  In two minutes it was over.  Nothing left of the Italian battery but smoking ruins.

(Note: Five years later, at the Amphibious Base at Little Creek, Virginia I met that Beachmaster as we were exchanging tales of our experiences in the Mediterranean.  Whenever he found me in the bar at the officers club, it was impossible for me to buy a drink.  He insisted on treating.)

On the night of July 11, we participated in one of those tragic occasions in which friendly forces fire on their own.  That morning the army decided to send paratroopers to land behind the enemy lines.  Unfortunately, the ships and the forces ashore were not fully informed.

We had frequent small attacks during the day, usually two or three planes at a time.  However, that night, between the hours of 2150 and 2300, the Germans sent in a total of 381 bombers.  A large scale, low-level attack began on the transport area and beaches.

The JU-88 bombers were preceded by planes dropping "chandelier flares", groups of flares in parachutes. The entire area was lighted.
Every ship, every beach was plainly visible. To our blinded eyes the planes were invisible, and flying so low that radar was useless. All we could see were dark shapes passing swiftly overhead.

Everybody was shooting, especially the heavy machine guns. Some planes fell, but it was impossible to tell who shot them. There was a tempest of sound blended of heavy machine guns (40mm and 20mm), five inch shelling and the heavy whump of bombs fallen among the landing craft and ships ashore.

As the Germans departed, the 144 transport planes full of American paratroopers passed over the transport area at about 1500 feet altitude. Everyone was trigger happy, shooting furiously at the slower shapes passing overhead. In the midst of the firing the order came over all voice radio circuits, "Cease fire! Cease fire! Friendly forces overhead!"

It was too late!

Years later, I learned that almost a hundred officers and men were killed or missing. Of the 144 planes involved, 23 were lost and 37 were damaged. It was dreadful, especially the next morning when we had to recover the bodies floating in their lifejackets. No one who was there will ever forget it. Even now the memory creeps into my consciousness on sleepless nights.

The next day our Army had gone far inland, and we had no more combat. The same did not apply to Gela a few miles east. The troops could not get much artillery ashore due to the fierce attacks by tanks from the German Panzer Division. It was a bloody battle, and for a while it was touch-and-go and came close to a retreat of the Americans over the beach. Finally, with the help of some artillery brought ashore, the foot soldiers drove off the tanks.

As the fighting moved inland all the ships except the Woolsey were ordered to the north coast of Sicily. For about three weeks we remained off Licata, serving as controller for the arrival of supply ships and searching for submarines. Incredibly dull and boring days. Finally we were ordered to return to Algiers, and it was a relief to be going anywhere.

SALERNO, ITALY

After leaving Licata, being low on both fuel and food, we put in at Bizerte, having transited very carefully the narrow La Goulette Canal which joins the city to the sea.  That night and the next, movies were shown on the main deck to relax after the stress of combat. Had several false alarms about air-raids which caused temporary "darken ship" orders and interrupted the showings.

For the next two months we commuted between Oran and Tunis, with occasional stops in Algiers. On one such visit we did a Mediterranean moor to a concrete mole, as was customary in artificial ports. That evening, while in my cabin, I heard and felt a tremendous explosion. Dashing on deck I looked at the large loading dock where merchant ships unloaded ammunition.

The dock was covered with flames punctuated by additional explosions. One merchant ship, ablaze from bow to stern, was drifting in the crowded harbor, a peril to everyone.

From nowhere appeared this tiny British destroyer, one of the Hunt Class of 900 tons. With daring and skill the young skipper put the bow of his ship to the bow of the burning ship and had a heavy wire cable attached to its anchor as the crew sprayed fire hoses on the sailors.

Then the little ship backed slowly out of the harbor towing the flaming freighter until it was in the open sea. It made you proud that such men existed.

The next amphibious assault took place on September 9th, at Salerno, about 30 miles south of Naples, Italy.

The Woolsey was one of the four destroyers and two cruisers assigned to provide gunfire support to the American forces, which landed south of the Sele River. The British troops landed north of that small river.

General Mark Clark had decided not to have the Navy conduct any preliminary bombardment as he expected to surprise the enemy. Protests by Adm. Hewitt were of no avail. In addition, at 6:30 pm the evening before the assault, General Eisenhower announced the armistice with Italy.

This ill timed announcement caused the troops to relax and lose the tenseness and élan' so necessary to combat. The next day was going to be "a piece of cake", everyone thought.

The assault began at first light, about 0330. The landing craft had about an 8 mile run to the beaches. The Germans were in place and ready. Due to the heavy fire from artillery and tanks, none of the large LSTs could get to the beach to land the Army tanks. Once more the foot soldiers were without artillery or air support. The landing became a bloody mess. Very bitter fighting developed. Army commanders ashore made urgent requests for Naval gunfire.

The Navy ships were several miles at sea as the Italians had planted a heavy minefield about two miles offshore.  This desperate situation required a desperate solution.

Just after noon, we received our orders by voice radio, and Captain Wier announced over the ship's loud speakers, "This is the Captain.  We have been ordered to pass through the Italian minefield to help the Army.  We will remain at battle stations, but all hands not essential below will come to the main deck.  All hands will wear life jackets."

The Woolsey followed the lead of a small minesweeper which had already swept a channel.  As we steamed at five knots, everyone was tense; it was almost like holding your breath for ten minutes.  From the bridge we could see several of the moored mines, which looked like pale green balloons in the darker water.

Rather unnerving experience, and now we were confined in a small sea-space, with no chance of escaping to seaward if things got too hot.

Following us were three destroyers, Edison, Ludlow, and Bristol.  HMS Abercrombie, a monitor (small ship, one big gun) followed a different minesweeper through the swept area.

Immediately we began shooting at German tanks in the open, and concealed in haystacks.  Much firing, and a lot of return fire from the tanks.  They had a real nasty 88mm gun.  A shell passing nearby sounded like the crack of doom.  We, and the other DDs, by luck, and good ship handling, avoided being hit while destroying many tanks.  The Abercrombie struck a mine that afternoon and had to leave for Palermo.  The following day the American cruiser Savannah was hit by a glide bomb from a German bomber.  Struck just forward of the bridge, the bomb exploded in Number Two Turret with its 8" guns.  Loss of life was heavy, but the ship did not sink.

Later we received a message from the 36th Division artillery commander, "Thank God for the fire from the blue belly Navy ships.  Brave fellows these; tell them so."

A landing craft came alongside about 1440 with two wounded men from the beach.  One was a young sailor named Dorey.  He was taken to the wardroom for immediate surgery by our doctor.  In spite of all efforts, he died while undergoing surgery.  (Our wardroom is designed to be an operating room in war.)  Our doctor was assisted by a corpsman, and a junior officer administered anesthesia.  His body was delivered less than a hour later to another landing craft for return to the beach.

The other wounded man, Carlos Zapata, U.S. Army, received emergency care by our doctor, then was transferred to the USS Thomas Jefferson a larger ship with better facilities.  Among the wounds treated on the Woolsey was the removal of the dog tag from the neck of his best friend who was hit by a shell from a tank.

Very few officers showed up for dinner at the wardroom that night.  The thought of the young seaman dying on the dining room table a few hours earlier was too much to endure.

After three days, the Woolsey was ordered to escort a convoy of empty troop ships back to Palermo, and other ports.  I cannot say I was reluctant to leave.  A day earlier we had come under such intense fire we had to withdraw from shooting for awhile.

The dreadful situation ashore continued.  The Germans had built up to three divisions with more than 600 tanks and mobile guns.  The attempt to drive the allied forces into the sea almost succeeded, but about three days after I left, it was repulsed with the help of Navy ships and the artillery which had been unloaded from LSTs.

The Woolsey was led back through the mine fields and joined the convoy being assembled at sea.  As we neared, an urgent report came over the radio that enemy torpedo boats were attacking.  Then a few minutes later we saw a flash in the night, and then felt a terrible explosion.  Something had happened on the far side of the convoy, but no one knew what.

The escort commander began calling each DD on the voice radio.  All responded except the destroyer Rowan.  One DD was detached to help that ship and rescue survivors.  The rest of us had to leave to protect the transports heading south.

It wasn't until we arrived in Oran that we learned that the Rowan had been attacked by three "schnellboots."  Torpedoed just abaft the mast, the ship exploded, and sank in a matter of two minutes.  Most of the crew went down with it.

A few weeks later, I met one of the survivors on his way to the United States.  As a quartermaster, he was on the bridge facing aft as the Rowan was firing at the torpedo boats.  Suddenly he observed the dreadful explosion.  All of the ship behind the bridge seemed to disappear.  The bridge and the mast fell backwards and he was tossed into the sea.

The landing at Salerno, just south of the Bay of Naples, had been designed to cut off the enemy forces in southern Italy, and open the way to Rome.

General Clark decided the landing would come as a complete surprise  to the Germans.  He did not want to "alert" them by having the Navy bombard the Italian and German positions prior to the landing.

It was a tragedy that the inexperienced Gen. Clark was in command rather than Gen. Patton, as everyone had anticipated.

Throughout this period, we continued to have problems with (not) having fighter aircraft to assist.  In Sicily the Army Air Corps high command had made a decision NOT to give fighter protection to the assault troops landing or to the ships and landing craft involved. This mistake was followed by the decision to send paratroopers at night over the ships and shore forces in the landing zone.  Both of these decisions cost unnecessary deaths.

At Salerno, the British had two aircraft carriers, but the American air support came from P-51 planes based in Sicily, giving them little time to be on station before running low on fuel.

Looking back on the invasion at Salerno and reading about it years later makes one wonder how a military operation could have been so badly planned with the lessons of Casablanca and Sicily so fresh in mind.  Is there really such a thing as the "military mind"?  Someone should look at military plans and ask, "How much is this going to cost in blood?"

Near midnight on October 8th a submarine sank the Buck as the destroyer was patrolling off Salerno.  Two days later the 94 survivors from the crew of 260 were spotted by a plane and then rescued.  On October 13th the Bristol was sunk by U-371 in the near Algiers in the Tunisian War Channel.

Meanwhile I waited in vain for orders to command the Ludlow.  Christmas was approaching and we were planning to celebrate in our "officers' club" in Mers El Kiber.  We even had a few Army nurses to join us occasionally from their barb-wire protected compound (protected against American soldiers, not the enemy).

September 16, 1943 became another date that changed my life (this is getting to be a habit along with that guardian angel who seems to protect me from the consequences of my own actions).

Hank and I were ashore in Mers El Kiber trying to find a good location for a baseball diamond for the five destroyers remaining in the squadron.  The Woolsey was scheduled to be in port for several days for maintenance work and recreation.

Suddenly we saw a motor scooter dashing towards us.  The Ensign driving came to a flying stop, and began shouting excitedly, "A ship has been torpedoed."  Hank and I jumped on the scooter, told the Ensign to follow us, and headed for the ship.  Smoke was already pouring out of the stacks as the Engineers had lighted off the boilers and were getting up steam.

We were underway about 1600 & headed out of port followed by the destroyers Edison & Trippe.  It had been two hours since the submarine attack, but we knew the sub couldn't go far at only 3 knots submerged.

By 1800 we were in the area with darkness setting in and the sea was tranquil and the sky clear.  We formed a line with the other two ships and with our sonar began a methodical search following what is called a "Retiring Search Curve," taking into account the original position and speed of the sub.

At 1817, the sonar operator received an echo.  "Contact bearing 018 degrees, distance 700 hundred yards."

The echo (of the submarine contact) was so strong and clear that we didn't need the routine classification report, "Contact evaluated as a submarine."  We sounded the alarm for the depth charge crews and proceeded to attack.

At 1822 we lost contact.  Everyone was tense.  At 1836 the operator regained touch, "Contact bearing 235 degrees, distance 1300 yards."

Three minutes later we dropped a full pattern of depth charges, set at 300 feet, as we assumed the sub would be going deep for safety.  The twelve depth charges exploded moments later.

One hundred and fifty feet below the surface of the sea, U-73 was shaken by the detonation of depth charges beneath her.  Leaks developed in the Diesel Room and the Fire Control Room.  Frantic efforts by the crew to stop the flooding were ineffective.

Captain Deckert brought the sub to periscope depth and saw the Woolsey.  He ordered an acoustic torpedo fired, but the depth charges had jammed the torpedo in the tube.  He then decided to surface, and escape in the darkness.  It was a fatal mistake.

On the Woolsey we were at battle stations.  Due to the disturbances caused by the depth charges, we lost contact.

However, at 1926 the radar operator shouted, "Radar contact.  Bearing 000 degrees, distance 1900 yards."  The sub was dead ahead, running at maximum speed of about 9 knots, headed north.

We were at 14 knots so we pulled right to pass the sub to port, a distance of only 1000 yards.  At 1928, we turned on the big searchlight, a 36 inch diameter, carbon arc monster.  The sub was lighted up like day.  Hank and I were both shouting, "Commence Fire!  Commence Fire!"  to the gun batteries.

In less than two minutes, every gun was pouring shells at the submarine.  A line of tracer bullets streamed briefly from the sub, trying to put out the searchlight.  We could see the crew coming out of the conning tower and jumping over the side.  Six minutes later the sub sank by the stern.

Our last view was the ship vertical, and it was sinking very slowly, it seemed, into the Mediterranean Sea.  The Woolsey had fired only 81 rounds of 5" ammo., 40 rounds of 40mm, and 60 rounds of 20mm.

We stopped to pick up 30 survivors including the Captain, Ober Lt. Horst Deckert, the executive officer, the doctor and most of the crew.  Six more were pulled aboard the Edison.  They were easy to find as there was a small light on each life-jacket, and each man had a whistle to blow.

The sub had a crew of 51, so only 15 of the men were lost.  Being well trained Germans, the crew had saved all the records they could carry.  We collected them, and turned over all the material to Naval Intelligence.

In order to breakup military control of the group, I had the sub captain put under guard in our captain's cabin, the Exec in my cabin, other officers in the wardroom and the remainder of the crew in one compartment.  Both the Captain and the Exec (very, very much a Nazi) spoke English.  Deckert asked me to have his family notified by the Red Cross, but I had no way to do that.

The Exec found out that Ensign Bergstrom, who was guarding him, was a reserve officer.  He disdainfully remarked that, He was Regular Navy.  Bergstrom replied, "The difference is that I am on active duty and you are retired!"

We headed for home base, entering Mers El Kebir at 2340, and were moored safely by midnight.  Our biggest flag flew from the masthead, and a broom (for a clean sweep) was hoisted from a yardarm.

Our prisoners had been clothed in Red Cross survivor outfits, and given coffee and a pack of cigarettes each.  When the Army took them from the ship, our soldiers saw that the Germans were smoking Camels and Chesterfields while our own troops had to do with substitute smokes called Wings.  The Germans lost their cigarettes.

As we returned to port that night, we received radio orders to detach me immediately and send me to Boston by the first available transportation.  Going home!  It had been 7 months, almost to the day, since I had left my wife, Evelyn.  The long separation was about to end.  In a few days I would leave, and my excitement knew no bounds.  Arrangements were being made to fly me to the Naval Air Station at Port Lyautey in Morocco.

Three years had passed since December, 1940, when I was on the Augusta in Vallejo, complaining that, "I could foresee little chance for drama in my personal life."

(Postscript.  My guardian angel still looked down upon me with compassion.  In January, 1944, the next invasion was to be at Anzio, Italy.  Planned and executed with the same lack of talent as we had experienced at Salerno.  The USS Ludlow, while firing in support of troops, was hit in the bridge by a large caliber shell.  Several men were killed and the captain severely wounded.)

(Note.  This is the end of this excellent account of the USS Woolsey's activities.  The Webmaster's uncle, Paul "Buddy" Schmeusser served aboard the USS Woolsey.)

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