Twelve Desperate Miles (33 page)

Daylight broke with glad tidings on the seventh, D-day minus one. Dead ahead of the
Contessa
, about five miles distant, the convoy emerged out of the early-morning light. To John, the sight of the fleet was
a satisfying thrill. As ready as he’d been to travel singly across the ocean, he was now more than happy to hook up with the rest of the invasion fleet.

To the USS
Philadelphia
, the flagship of the southern group of the Western Task Force, the sight of the
Contessa
, sailing at the ship’s stern at seven forty-five that morning,
was simply “strange.” No one knew who she was or could be, so the destroyer
Cowie
was sent to investigate. Once again, the
Contessa
had a difficult time explaining her identity precisely. Her signalmen, Schaffer, Thomas, and Pottiger, wig-wagged their flags. When she finally made the
Cowie
understand that she was a lagging part of the convoy and the
Cowie
had that information confirmed through the
Philadelphia
, it turned out she was still several hours from where she was supposed to be. The southern group of the task force was headed for Safi; she needed to be off of Mehdia. The
Cowie
was dispatched to escort the
Contessa
to her proper group and the pair of ships steamed north.

The storm had moved off to the east, and the weather was decent on the morning of November 7, though a light breeze put a little chop in the water. On board the
Susan B. Anthony
, René Malevergne attended Mass and, afterward, watched as rations were distributed and troops lined up to fill cartridge belts from the cases of just-opened ammunition boxes. He bade his good-byes to the four young Americans, Georges, Tommy, Jacques, and Jimmy, with whom he’d spent hours chatting in French on the journey over; he also said good-bye to Colonel Toffey, whom Malevergne learned would be leading the assault on the north side of the River Sebou. His battalion would aim for the bridge that crossed the
river north of Port Lyautey, at the height of the Sebou’s bend, above the airfield. Malevergne promised to offer Toffey the support of the guns of the destroyer he would be guiding up the river.

At about three in the afternoon, the convoy had been broken up into its separate components, with Malevergne, on the
Susan B. Anthony
, heading north toward Mehdia; General Patton’s large contingent heading east toward Fedala, just north of Casablanca; and the southern wing of the three-pronged attack already heading south toward Safi.

On board the transport
Henry T. Allen
, Lucian Truscott was contemplating the fact that the invasion the next day would come on the heels of speeches from the president and General Eisenhower in which the French would be implored and invited to lay down their arms and join forces with the Allied cause against Germany. The messages would emphasize that Americans were coming to Morocco as friends and that no offensive action would be taken if the French army decided to capitulate.

Uncertainty about what was going to happen the next day had trailed American forces all the way across the ocean to this moment just off the coast of Morocco on the evening before D-day. As ready as they were for action, there were still those on the ships gathered off the shore who doubted that much would come in the way of fighting tomorrow. While Truscott was a professional soldier and knew he must be prepared for any eventuality, he also was loath to precipitate a bloodbath if it could be avoided. He worried that because his sub–task force Goalpost was aimed at a less populated area of Morocco than the two southern forces, that the messages coming from the president and Eisenhower might not be heard, or that the French commanders in the vicinity of Port Lyautey might not have the authority to act quickly or independently on the suggestion that they lay down their arms. He decided to prepare a personal note to the French commander at Port Lyautey that “
might reinforce these radio appeals.”

He called his French-speaking aide, Ted Conway, to his cabin and dictated a letter that Conway translated
en français
. To give the document a more ceremonial feel, they found someone familiar with calligraphy to
create ornate Old English lettering and then rolled the paper into a scroll, bound it with a wax seal, and tied it in a ribbon.

To deliver the letter, Truscott chose his other close aide, Major Pierpont Hamilton, whose charm, diplomatic skills, and command of the French language made him a natural for the errand. He hesitated before deciding to send Colonel Nick Craw as well. Craw, the Army Air Force liaison to Truscott’s group, would have command of the airfield once it was taken; and this diplomatic mission seemed, on D-day minus one, a particularly dangerous assignment. But for all the reasons that he’d already contemplated in writing the document, Truscott decided it was worthwhile to send Craw as well. From his prewar days working as an observer throughout Europe, Craw was familiar with a number of French officers and, like Hamilton, knew the language. Besides, he had asked Truscott if he could go.

It was a Saturday evening. The ships of the northern group were blacked out as they cruised through the soft chop of the sea along the coast of Morocco. On the decks of the transports, destroyers, cruisers, and the battleship
Texas
an eerie quiet prevailed, while below, the men of the First, Second, Third Battalions of the Sixtieth Infantry tried to get some rest while imagining what might lie ahead for them come morning. In their minds, they climbed smoothly over the sides of their transports and down the rope ladders into the waiting landing craft; and the landing craft swiftly and easily took them to a place they knew would be very different from the beach they’d practiced on at Solomons Island back in Hampton Roads, but not so different they couldn’t make their way safely to shore, couldn’t find a good cover to protect them as they made their way inland. Sand was sand, wasn’t it? Beaches were beaches. And there seemed to be no pounding surf—the potential trouble that had worried the navy and everyone else familiar with the Moroccan coast since the plans for the North African invasion had first been formulated.

Through the course of the voyage from Hampton Roads, the troops and their commanders in sub–task force Goalpost had been going over again and again the outline of their plans and what to expect once they
hit the beaches.
Mehdia was an ancient village of about three hundred founded centuries earlier by the Carthaginians. Today, it existed as a resort community about a thousand yards inland from the Atlantic Ocean, just at the mouth of the Sebou River. Landmarks in the village included a casino, a cannery, and a nearby lighthouse.

To the south of Mehdia, parallel to the coastline, ran a narrow lagoon two or three miles long. Between the lagoon and Port Lyautey was a bare high ground marked by rolling hills that ran up to the airfield to the northeast. Less than a mile upriver from Mehdia was a sixteenth-century fortress built by the Portuguese in the heyday of their African trade routes and known locally as the Kasbah. It was perched on a bluff above the river and spread out over several acres of highland and contained coastal batteries aimed seaward and toward the mouth of the river.

The Port Lyautey airfield—the prize of this expedition—was well guarded by antiaircraft defenses and native Moroccan troops, who were called Goumiers—a French corruption of the Mahgreb Arabic word “goum,” which meant “people.”
The designation was used as a generic term that circumvented the need to refer to the natives by tribal distinction. They were widely regarded as solid fighting men and had proven themselves more than capable in the war of the Rif. They were officered by Frenchmen and, despite the generic nickname, they were usually organized in units of Berbers of the same village. Their uniforms were topped with gray burnooses with vertical brown stripes that served as good camouflage in the dry landscapes they typically fought in.

Aside from the Goumiers at the airfield, U.S. forces knew that another detachment guarded the bridge north of Lyautey (the one that Colonel Jack Toffey’s battalion was assigned to take). High ground in the river loop between the Kasbah and the airfield was honeycombed with trenches occupied by French troops.

In all, the defense at Port Lyautey consisted of a regiment of infantry consisting of three battalions of Tirailleurs with twelve 25 mm guns. These soldiers were joined by several 75 mm batteries manned by
Foreign Legionnaires stationed at the Kasbah; a group of engineers; and a transport company. Reinforcements were available to Lyautey from Meknes, about fifty miles to the east, where parts of the French Foreign Legion were stationed. Of greater concern to Truscott were forty-five tanks stationed in Rabat, which could quickly arrive on the battlefield via the Rabat road.
He was hoping for little opposition from the French air force based at the Port Lyautey field, where intelligence suggested that only a few dated planes were hangared.

The assignments given to the three battalions of the Sixtieth Infantry that would be leading the assault on the region were pretty straightforward. The Second Battalion was to land at the most central of five landing locations, designated Green Beach, right at the doorstep of Mehdia. Their goal was to head for and capture the Kasbah, hopefully by 0600, before first light.

A demolition party was assigned to cut the boom that crossed the Sebou. Immediately afterward, the destroyer
Dallas
, piloted by René Malevergne, was to enter the river carrying its raider detachment, composed of Sixtieth Infantry troops specially trained as Rangers. The
Dallas
would steam upstream to the airfield and drop her commandos at the runways, where the attack would proceed.

North of the river, the Third Battalion, under Colonel Jack Toffey, was to land at Red Beaches 1 and 2 and traverse the ground above the Sebou until it reached the high ground directly opposite the airfield. One unit was to be dispatched to seize the bridge north of Port Lyautey; another was to cross the river in rubber boats and assist in the capture of the airfield.

To the south of Mehdia on Blue Beach, Major DeWitt McCarley was to move inland and reconnoiter to the south with the First Battalion. This combat team would move around the southern edge of the lagoon, establish roadblocks, set up machine guns and antitank weaponry, and generally protect the invasion from attack by those French tanks coming up the road from Rabat.

Lieutenant Colonel Harry Semmes, with an armored battalion combat
team from the Second Division that would eventually include fifty-four light tanks, was to land in the wave immediately after the assault battalions on Blue Beach and Green Beach. His battalion would likewise reconnoiter to the south and face any threat that appeared along the Rabat road.

Colonel Frederick de Rohan, commander of the Sixtieth Infantry, was to coordinate activities of the various combat teams and would be headquartered at Green Beach.

Soon, as the northern convoy steamed toward its position opposite Mehdia, the ship’s loudspeaker system would begin repeating these assignments to the troops as they prepared to depart on the landing craft, drilling into each soldier what his battalion was expected to accomplish, so that it would become so deeply engrained in each mind that there would be no thought of any other purpose to the mission.
First Battalion will gather south of the lagoon and reconnoiter along the Rabat road.… Second Battalion will move on Mehdia.… Third Battalion will land on Red Beaches 1 and 2 and head inland toward the high ground opposite the airfield
.

Whoever determined the password and its response for U.S. troops once they’d landed was likewise thinking that he didn’t want his soldiers doing any excess searching of their minds. The choice was a name front and center in the consciousness of the Western Task Force. “George” was the call; “Patton” was the response.

Weather reports coming from Washington and from the admiralty in London had predicted pounding seas for D-day, with surf up to fifteen feet hammering the coast of Morocco; but on the seventh the moderate swells encouraged Admiral Hewitt to make the decision to go forward with the invasion. Patton, of course, applauded the go-ahead. By the time the convoy reached North Africa, his growing estimation of Hewitt’s ability had come close to eliciting an indirect apology from Patton for his earlier behavior. “
I should like to call your attention to the fact that the
relations between the Army and Navy in this convoy could not possibly be more satisfactory,” he wrote to Marshall. “Admiral Hewitt and his chief of staff, Admiral Hall, have shown the utmost cooperation and the finest spirit. I desire to bring this to your attention because prior to leaving I had some doubts. These doubts have been removed.”