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PART 3 - INVASION … SHEPARD … 11

Pitzer was at his declutching station and Gaylord W. Jones, electrician's mate first class, USCGR, of (245 North Broadway) Glendale, California, had both gen-erators running. Thrown off balance in the first shock, the "black gang" stayed at their posts despite the heavy smoke choking them. They had no real idea of what was happening because the phones went dead after an 88 struck the conn. They could feel the ship shaking from the explosions and grabbed their steel helmets. They knew that at any time the one hatch leading up to the deck could be hit and trap them below, but finally they were driven from the engine room in order to breathe.

It was just after they came up from the after hatch that we missed Lester P. Phillips, motor machinist's mate first class, USCGR, of (l5l6½ Cen-tral Avenue) Charlotte, North Carolina. Stationed at the after winch, "Smi1ie" as we called him was knocked overboard and carried out by the currents. He couldn't holler because of the combination of oil and salt water that clogged his mouth. His life jacket saved him for he was in the water about an hour. Exhausted and partially paralyzed from the underwater concussion from shells and mines exploding, Phillips was finally seen by a LCT, which actually scooped him out of the sea with the bow ramp. We thought Phillips was missing until he showed up at the survivor's camp 10 days later.

Meanwhile, I had gathered up some of the precious film in the conn. The Skipper and Lambert had of course already left to help below and I knew, with those shells bursting around us, that I was just inviting trouble by stay-ing up there exposed to direct hits and flying shrapnel. It was shortly after I climbed down the ladder to the signal deck that an 88 shell pierced the conn in a blinding flash and explosion, sending a huge piece of shrapnel hurtling through a ready box forward, but fortunately did not set off the ammunition.

After glancing through the forward ports of the pilot house I came back to the hatch and saw Lieutenant (j.g.) George A. Finn, our engineering officer, bravely attempting to cut away the ladder made fast along the upper deck life lines. He was out in the open exposed to the machine gun fire on the beach. He had to give up the attempt when shells began exploding closer. I glanced off the starboard beam and saw the "91" belching black smoke, but I had no time to pay attention in that direction, although I knew the other crew must have had as bad a time if not worse than we.

By now we were drifting in a little farther for the aft anchor cable had slackened. I went below to the main deck amidst the confusion and agony of burned and suffering soldiers. Some of the crew had managed to get one fire hose rigged up and were playing a stream of water through the forward escape hatch. I saw Army officers pleading with their men to get off as quickly as possible. Some soldiers were jumping overboard and others slid or let them-selves down a chain up forward of the damaged ramp. The cries of some of the helpless soldiers in the deep water were pitiful. All the while the terrific explosions, fire and heavy smoke filled the air and the littered decks heaved under the impact of still other shells as they ripped through steel plates.

I went aft and saw "Doc" Maleska and "Pop" Hursey aiding the wounded amidst the chaos. Without their cool stand as they swabbed the burned faces, necks and hands of soldiers and our own crew, there would have been many more bad cases of burns.

INVASION ... SHEPARD ... 12

By now the order to abandon ship had been passed, but because of the thunderous noise and condition of the ship not all the crew heard the order immediately. The Skipper had previously asked me to help fight the fire and I had gone forward, climbing over the crates of rations to relieve some of the others coughing from the heavy smoke. I lay low over the boxes playing the dwindling stream of water over the well deck and down the escape hatch of the troop compartment where the dead soldiers lay. I soon realized that it was hopeless to put out the fire with this little trickle of water. It seemed like every few seconds an 88 came whooshing over my head and as I ducked down the violent explosion would vibrate against my head, echoing in my helmet. I think it was then I felt more scared and lonely than at any time that day.

As the bulwarks on each side of me shut off the view I did not know the crew was abandoning ship until Mr. Finn yelled to me. I crawled back over the crates, stopping a couple of times to duck when I heard the whoosh sound of the 88s. Some of the crew and soldiers had gone in a rubber life raft but most of them had to swim for it. I decided to make one last attempt to salvage some of my film so I ran down the companion way, slid down the ladder and grabbed some stuff lying in my bunk. I heard the generators still running and the crew's quarters had not been touched by fire or shells as yet. Everything was as we left it. I even grabbed a hunk of bread on the mess table. I had for-gotten to eat breakfast that morning.

When I rushed up on deck, keeping close to the side of the cabin, I saw the other raft already filled with the last men. Some others were letting themselves down the rope ladder over the side. I followed the last men over the starboard side as the ship was broaching to. The good old life jacket kept me up and I used my arms and legs like mad to get me ashore. The tide had al-ready reached the high water mark and was flowing out now. My steel helmet kept my head too low and the heavy high shoes kept pulling me down, but I made it alright.

The boys on the raft had a tougher time because of the tide and mines around them. We saw bodies floating face down near us. One 88 hit directly ahead of the raft, spraying the men with water.

DiFalco, who had burned his hands, was struggling in the water, worn out. He saw a dark floating object and tried to grab onto it. But our first class gunner's mate, Michael Robert Zaley, USCG, of (825 North Pennsylvania Avenue) Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania, who had kept our guns in first class condi-tion, was nearby and saw that the object was a mine. He yelled at DiFalco to steer clear. DiFalco did.

Once up on the beach we sank exhaustedly on the pebbles, reaching the lowest point of human existence. But the shock of the 88s around us and the sniper's fire soon brought us to our senses. We began to crawl forward up to a small retaining wall of pilings that held back the earth and grass above the beach. This was the only protection from German shells and the machine gun firing from the hills ahead of us. There we began to dig in. Further down the Navy beach battalion men were trying to set up a signal light on the beach for the incoming ships. Each time they started sending a few letters we would hear a "zing" and out of commission would go the light again. Those German snipers were accurate at times. The Army medics and Navy corpsmen ran back and forth

INVASION ... SHEPARD ... 13

aiding the wounded men. Some of the soldiers stretched out along the beach were a horrible sight with parts of their body shot away. I was impressed time and again at the lack of moaning or cries from the wounded. They lay there still, waiting with haunted eyes, but not asking for help because they knew that every able soldier with a gun was needed forward in the lines.

Now as the tide went out it left our burning ship high and dry on the beach. Some of us sneaked back aboard, dodging sniper's fire, and we tossed over some canned pea soup and Army blankets. Then we moved down the beach, away from the ship which was still a target and drawing fire. I was still shivering rather violently as I lay down on the beach with my wet clothes and the cold wind from the channel blowing across me. I never realized a human being could vibrate as much as I did then. But there were others too shaking in the cold.

The only incident that made us smile a little during that grim seige was when portly Jones came marching down the beach with his fishing rod over his shoulder. He had managed to salvage this, which to him was more valuable than food then. Leonard W. Baker, officer's steward third class, USCG, of (26 Charles Street) Charleston, South Carolina, was one of those who went back to the ship. He had his sea bag in the stern steering engine room, which was farthest from the fire. Baker went below to get some clothes, but suddenly a machine gun opened up, splattering a rat-a-tat on the hull. Baker flew up the ladder, let himself over the side as fast as possible and dug in on the beach. He decided that clothes were not so important when the enemy had the range.

Meanwhile, George William Oswald, seaman first class, USCGR, of (1215 Pine Hollow Road) McKees Rock, Pennsylvania, had dug in along the pilings behind a stalled tank. But soon the Germans began opening up on the tank and Oswald left in a hurry. "It was too hot for me," he said as he joined our main party farther up the beach.

The story of the beach has been already told and it is no use to go into it again. Needless to say, we had a grandstand seat the rest of the day to the proceedings, which at times was dismal when we had to watch our own ships, tanks, landing craft and equipment blown sky high when a German 88 scored a hit. But we cheered the tremendous blasting by our heavy Naval ships, whose shells flew over our head with terrifying speed and noise. We watched the first German prisoners, hands on head, come down the beach under guard of Army MPs. They certainly knew the danger of their own guns for they hit the beach stretched flat at the first whoosh sound of the 88s.

In the early evening the Germans began a new barrage and we realized that if we were going to survive that night we would have to dig fox holes along those pilings, which we did, scraping the skin off our hands as we dug through the rocks and rough dirt below. We learned two days later, after being picked up, to our horror, that the Germans had set booby traps just below our foxholes. If we hadn't been rescued that night we probably would have dug in deeper and perhaps blown ourselves up. At any rate, it was nearing midnight while three LCMs managed to get in to the beach about a quarter mile down from us. They were sent in to evacuate wounded and survivors. We were feeling pretty low by then for the tide was once more coming in. In fact it was beating against the mounds of stone and dirt in front of our foxholes and before long would have run us up above the pilings. The oncoming tide on the pebbles sounded just like machine gun fire, adding to our nervousness.

INVASION ... SHEPARD ... 14

So when the LCMs hit the beach we walked down the road above the pilings. The full moon rising back of us gave a hideous light to the dead bodies lying along the beach road. Then we saw bodies stacked up like a lumber pile down farther. But we made the boats without drawing any fire. Most of the snipers, however, had been driven out of the hill overlooking the beach, but there was still danger of 88s. We helped the wounded into the boats and then followed them on. Most of our crew stayed together, but Chief Campen, Lambert, Pryzbos and Hurzey were separated and helped to load the very badly wounded on another LCM. We were taken to an LST, waiting a few miles out to unload her cargo and Army troops. But just as we were climbing aboard we had our first German air raid of the night. A German raider swooped by the LST in a long arc, just missing the barrage balloon, to fly along the beach and strafe. We had gotten off that beach just in time.

Completely worn out and hungry we groped along the dark deck and went below. Besides the Army troops and their equipment aboard and the regular Navy crew, there were over 100 badly wounded jammed in the crew's bunks and soldier's bunks. So we survivors had to flop down anywhere we could find on the deck. I lay down on the steel deck in a troop compartment where there were some badly wounded soldiers. I was so hungry I couldn't sleep much, but I finally fell off, only to wake almost every hour. During an air raid, when the shrapnel started falling like hail on the decks, we all jumped up mainly because of our nerves. The next morning more wounded were brought aboard, further jamming the ship. We sat out in the channel all day because the Germans were still shelling the beachhead and it was too risky for a big LST. But our heavy ships blasted the coastline and by Thursday we went into the beach and discharged the soldiers and their heavy equipment. Meanwhile, we survivors turned to and helped the medics with the wounded, which we did until Saturday night when we arrived back in England. I'll never forget those peaceful English hills and how good they looked to us after the French coast under fire. All the time that we aided the wounded by serving them their meals, feeding them and washing the canteens and dishes, we did not have any change in clothing until we reached the survivors base, nor any showers until the last night aboard the LST. Most of us hadn't brushed our teeth since the night before the invasion. So you can imagine what a motley crew we were that Saturday night after the invasion when we marched off at a Southern British port and were taken to a tent city for the night. The following day, Sunday, we were jammed into a Navy truck and driven over 100 miles across the South to the survivor's base, where we found thousands of other survivors packed in the camp. We were given a mattress and blankets, and for the first time in a week slept comfortably a full and quiet night. Not a man of our crew got up for breakfast that next morning and most of us slept right through to dinner time.

And so ends our invasion week, an experience we will never forget. Will we meet next on some Pacific beach? We hope not, but we will be ready if we must. We know that until we have Berlin and Tokio the war is not won. And we mean to win.

- USCG -

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