Sheppard and the French Rescue

by G. William Weatherly

  Morris was getting excellent information on the German movements telephoned from his spotters in the church steeple. He knew they were beginning to deploy. But he would now have to rely on the Gunnery Officer to issue the necessary orders. Argonne would have to shoot at several different targets or aim points all at the same time. She would also have to adjust the fire at Chuck’s direction as Major Jenkins controlled the largest concentration of fire himself.

  Two of the 5-inch mounts began firing smoke shells into the same area that had recently been covered by 18-inch high capacity and armor piercing shell bursts. Morris guessed where his enemy might be and began a barrage of main battery and 6-inch guns in the field that he would have used himself to deploy his forces for an assault. Using range spots of a hundred yards at a time, he was able to cover most of the area adjustments left and right expanded the devastation. He knew that the effect of the fire would be to make the German infantry take cover in the shell craters. That was Morris’s only real goal. The occasional hit or disabling near miss on one of the tanks was an added benefit.

  The two German majors had anticipated the artillery barrage and knew that the troops had to move forward. The only way to avoid the shells was to get so close to the enemy that they would have to stop the shelling for fear of hitting their own men. It wasn’t hard to get the tanks to press the attack, firing and machine-gunning to suppress the enemy, but the shelling, particularly the apparent randomness of those huge shells, was unnerving the panzer grenadiers of the mechanized infantry. Before two minutes had passed the German infantry was lagging behind the advance of the tanks.

  Lindenthal grabbed his mike to urge his grenadiers to keep up with the tanks. “Tiger vorwärts, marsch marsch! Schnell! Schell!”

  “Conn, radio central, we have found the frequency that the German tank commander is using for their tactical communications. Do you want us to patch it through to the conning station?”

  “Radio, Conn, patch it through,” Sheppard quickly replied.

  Turning to Commander Halverson he added, “Ollie, how is your German?”

  “Captain, I fear it is only fair, but I think I can give you the drift of what they are saying. The German commander is ordering his men forward. I think he wants them to come to grips with your Marines.”

  “Don’t look at me, Captain, my German is nonexistent,” Admiral Hamblen interjected.

  Sheppard turned to his JA phone talker, “Aft conning station, conn. XO send a fluent German speaker to the conning station.” That would take time and in the interim, Ollie’s ability would have to do. He could always pass it to Major Jenkins, but again, if the Germans were listening to his communications, then they would know he was intercepting theirs.

  No, Sheppard would have to rely on his grasp of the tactical situation ashore and intervene only when it would be to his advantage. The other speaker demanded his attention.

  “Panther, this is Cub, request 5-inch time-fused air bursts centered on area five zero yards north of last spot.” Morris was calling for the death knell of hundreds of German soldiers as they struggled to move forward in the face of eighteen five inch guns firing as quickly as they could—nearly 200 70-pound projectiles a minute—over 12,000 pounds of red hot steel fragments propelled by 1,300 pounds of high explosive. Sheppard hardened his expression; there was no way to avoid this. His mission was to save the French. He recognized that this was unavoidable, but still his mind grappled with the reality of what was occurring ashore, and searched for an alternative.

  The German actions didn’t matter. Whether they hid in shell craters or ran in the open, it did not matter. Morris’s plan covered both possibilities. The shrapnel from the air bursts cut into the German soldiers. The men fell exposing more of their bodies to the jagged shards of steel. Some screamed in pain. Others quickly feel silent. Within less than a minute all of the fight had left the German grenadiers as Morris marched the aim point right and left, up and down in the field as Argonne’s port sided erupted in a near continuous sheet of flame with the 5-inch gunners racing to load and fire as quickly as their tiring muscles would allow.

  Major Jenkins was calling for more smoke and a few star shells all along the area that he had bombarded with 18-inch high capacity shells but only 25 yards north of and on the craters in addition to the shrapnel. Those smoke shell bursts were positioned so that the Germans could not see through the smoke to where his troops waited. Nor could they see the craters.

  Major Max Kühne and his platoon commanders were confronted with a wall of white when the star shells burst. Clearly the enemy was using smoke to cover their withdrawal. It was time to race ahead before they could get to the next line of prepared positions. Max urged his tanks forward to rush the enemy. He had to get closer to this enemy to avoid the artillery fire that had already destroyed two of his lead tanks.

  “Vorwärts! Vorwärts in möglichst kurzer Zeit? he screamed into his radio. This artillery fire was devastating. The only answer was to go forward. How many of his men would be killed if they abandoned their tanks. “Nicht stehen bleiben Vorwärts!” Time was everything. The faster his tanks could advance, the fewer would be his losses. This had been a backwater assignment—a reward for the hard fighting in Poland and France. The French, except for the occasional attack by the Maquis, had been remarkably passive. What could be happening that would result in this level of military activity? Clearly, OberkommandoSüd had failed to anticipate this threat.

  It was only two months ago that the 354th Infanterie-Abteilung had been transferred away from Marseilles. If we still had that division, this would be much easier.

  Morris split his fire. Half of the 5-inch guns continued to pepper the area that he hoped contained the pinned down German infantry while the other half joined the main and 6-inch turrets in shelling the area concealed by smoke. He knew that the German tanks had entered it from the sound of their treads triangulated by his platoon commanders. All he could do was hope that his plan would succeed.

  When one of Argonne’s 18-inch high capacity projectiles exploded milliseconds after hitting the ground, it created a crater that was 25 feet across and 9 feet deep. The soil was loosened over even wider and deeper dimensions. The armor piercing projectiles didn’t create as large a crater, but loosened a larger area of soil. If a tank entered either of those craters, it could not get out. Even if only one tread passed over the side of the hole, the tank would roll over and finish upside down in the bottom.

  That was what Morris had hoped to accomplish by digging up a line across the front of his platoons, masking it with smoke and then blinding the German tankers with the reflected light of star shells from the white fog. None of the German tankers should be able to see the tank in front of them or on either side once they entered the white smoke. Until they got to the other side of the smoke they were all just individuals groping in the white cloud.

  A few tanks were lucky enough to enter a shell hole directly and not roll over. When they got to the far side of the crater, the loose soil did not provide enough traction for the tank to pull itself out. The 18-inch craters made excellent tank traps that the Germans could not see. Hopelessly bogged down, the tankers’ choices were to abandon their armored immobile fort or stay and wait for the inevitable grenades or satchel charge. Most chose to abandon their vehicles to be cut down by the anti-aircraft shell bursts.

  When the clanking of approaching tanks stopped; Morris more than anything needed to see. He ordered check fire first of the smoke shells and then the main and 6-inch batteries. He wanted to keep the star shells and shrapnel coming until he could see what was happening with the Germans.

  Oberstleutnant Dieter Fleischer was desperate for information. He had lost contact with all of his company commanders and none of the platoon commanders were answering his radio calls. His radio operator swore that the equipment was functioning and that Dieter was transmitting. The last he knew, his left flank panzer grenadier company was pinned down and his tanks were advancing into a
smoke screen.

  That is until the survivors of his assault units began to trickle back to his command post. There were not many. Not one vehicle was among them. Dieter knew that artillery was the queen of the battlefield, but a destroyer just couldn’t deal out this much devastation. The English would never be foolish enough to risk a cruiser or larger here off the coast of occupied France. Not under the bombs of the Luftwaffe or the torpedoes of the Kriegsmarine.

  7

  WITHDRAWAL

  AS THE SMOKE CLEARED, Morris was confronted with a scene from Dante’s Inferno. There were wrecked and burning vehicles everywhere. There did not appear to be any concerted effort on the part of the Germans to advance on his positions. He decided to end the bombardment. “Panther, this is Cub, check fire!” There was an occasional burst of automatic weapons fire, but the lack of tracers meant that it was probably the Maquis mopping up.

  Morris knew that the safety of a surrendered or wounded helpless enemy was now his responsibility. If he could not convince Commandant César to call off his men, he would also bear some of the responsibility for any slaughter the French might inflict.

  “Commandant, what are your men doing?”

  “Slaughtering Germans. Why do you care?”

  “I can’t let that happen! Those defeated and wounded soldiers are my responsibility to protect.”

  Émile, the leader of the Maquis, raised the Lugar he was holding. “Major, these men must die. I can’t risk any surviving that may have seen one of my men.”

  Morris grabbed the grip of his .45. “Commandant, it is my duty under the Geneva Convention to protect these men. Failure to do so makes me guilty of a war crime. If that means I must fight for them, then so be it. We are not the same as Germans. We do not slaughter as the SS does.”

  Émile spat in disgust. “It is stupid to fight over Germans. If they are so precious to you, take them with you!”

  Major Jenkins quickly saw that was the only option that satisfied all concerned. Now he had to explain to Captain McCloud why Argonne would have to be risked waiting for Morris to evacuate wounded German POWs.

  “Panther, this is Cub, send medical teams to stabilize wounded and extra stretchers.”

  Sheppard was still trying to clear the spots in front of his eyes to regain some semblance of night vision when Morris’s radio call came in. He had been steeling himself all evening for this eventuality. From what Morris had said it was clear to Sheppard that his Marines had suffered a large number of casualties. His men, his Marines this time, had been wounded or killed as a result of his orders. How many and how severe only time would tell? Sheppard needed to apply himself to the problem of getting them back aboard Argonne where his surgeons stood the best chance of saving lives. He sent the messenger of the watch to find Doctor Blankenship with orders to send one of his Doctors, two Dentists, and six of his twelve Pharmacist’s Mates ashore to triage and stabilize wounded. He vowed to do everything in his power to save all his men.

  Sheppard went to the chart table and showed the Quartermaster of the Watch and the Conning Officer where he wanted Argonne positioned. He cautioned them about approaching the marked areas any closer than 500 yards. He also drew in an arrow to show how he wanted Argonne to be pointed. The position would mean that the launches would have to travel less than three and a half miles from the quay at Le Brusc to Argonne’s stern.

  He had to think. He knew fatigue was getting to him. Radar! He went to the 21MC. “Combat, Captain, search with both Sugar King radars.” Jonathan Becker quickly acknowledged. If there were any German radars in the area: Jonathan would have found them by now.

  He had to concentrate. His men were depending on him. He could not afford to relax. It was 0315. Why weren’t all the French families onboard?

  Oberleutnant zur See Lothar Reitemeyer, Commanding Officer of the Schnellboote S-54, was rounding Cap Sicié. The gun fire had stopped a good ten minutes ago. All the star shells had also burned out returning the night to blackness that made hugging the cliffs east of Le Brusc dangerous. He knew he had about fifteen minutes until he passed Île des Embiez. That was when he expected to get a look at where the British warship might be. It had to be one of theirs, probably from Gibraltar. That would make the ship either a light cruiser or a Renown class battle cruiser. The latter was unlikely. Even the English were not so bold as to risk a warship that important within range of the Luftwaffe.

  He needed to set his torpedoes for the shallower draft of a light cruiser. Five meters should ensure a hit. Even if the ship was one of the English battle cruisers, their torpedo defenses were too weak to prevent serious damage to vital machinery. If he could get two or even three hits, he might even sink it and avenge the deaths of his friends.

  Oberstleutnant Dieter Fleischer began to recognize that his command, the 351st Panzer Grenadier Battalion had been destroyed. There were fewer than twenty-five survivors that had made it back to his headquarters. There was nothing more that he could accomplish with what was left of his men. Reluctantly, he radioed Army headquarters in Marseilles to report the disaster. There were what seemed like hundreds of questions. Headquarters wanted the strength of the enemy forces. What kind of ship was it? Dieter knew that they were really building a case against him for use at his court martial as much as they were trying to decide how to handle this enemy.

  He knew that if the Maquis was in the area his wounded would be quickly killed. Dieter had been with these men since the first operation to take Poland. He knew them all and some of their families. The fact that he could not save his wounded was what finally broke him. He didn’t mind the fact that his career was over. He knew that whatever a court martial decided for his fate would probably be just in the circumstances. What he could not face was the families of the men he had abandoned on the battlefield to the Maquis. It was his last thought as the bullet from his 9mm Lugar automatic entered the right side of his skull.

  Commandant César came up to Major Jenkins with a sad expression. “Major, I must leave if I am to reach where I must be before I am missed.”

  “Commandant, you are a brave man; thank you for all of your help.”

  “Major, it was my pleasure to watch you kill the German occupiers of my home.”

  “Is there anything that I may do for you or your men before they go?”

  “Thank you for the offer; but some of my men will search the German dead for what we need after you have taken their wounded. You are a good man. Perhaps there is hope for the future.”

  “Commandant, though I do not know your name, you must know that your actions today may have saved Great Britain from defeat. One day we will be back and France will be free. I hope someday to come back. Perhaps on an anniversary of today’s events we can meet again here in Le Brusc?”

  “That would be good. Au revoir et merci!” Émile turned and disappeared into the night. Morris feared that he would never see the intrepid French Commandant again.

  The Sugar George radar operator on the conning station called out, “Intermittent contact bearing one-two-six degrees, range five-four-double-oh yards. Designate skunk MIKE.” Sheppard jumped over to the radar.

  “Captain, the contact is just coming out from behind Île des Embiez. Based on the size it might be another S-boat.”

  Sheppard knew that this enemy was already in range of a low speed torpedo shot. He went to the 21MC as quickly as he could. He had to engage and destroy the German, if it was a German, before he rounded Île du Grand-Rouveau. “Guns, Captain; track skunk MIKE bearing one-two-six range five-four hundred. Prepare to illuminate with searchlights.”

  Commander Williamson probably sensed the urgency in Sheppard’s voice. His orders to the aft Mark 37 director were quick. “Sky Eight, track skunk MIKE bearing one-two-six range five-four hundred yards. Sky Eight, control all port mounts and searchlights.” It was not in accordance with procedure, but time was too short. Fortunately, his men in the number four secondary battery plotting room understood and began turning th
e J switches as quickly as they could.

  “Port mounts load high capacity contact fuses.” As tired as the men were the gunners and loaders in the port 5-inch mounts and handling rooms jammed Mark 41 shells into the hoists, raised them to the mounts where they were loaded into the guns. Mount ready lights came on as soon as the breech blocks were shut.

  Sheppard saw the 44-inch searchlight just aft and below the conning platform swing in the direction of the contact and heard the sizzle of the carbon arc being struck; “Illuminate!” He raised his binoculars as the Schnellboote rounded Île du Grand-Rouveau. Though not broadside, he saw enough to see that the contact was German. It took three steps to get back to the 21MC, “Commence firing!”

  “Continuous fire, master key” was the last order that Chuck needed to get out. Now it was a question of how quickly the director personnel and the operators of the Mark 1 computer could get a solution good enough to make hits on the S-boat.

  Sheppard had done what he could. Now he had a hard decision. If he accelerated and turned to avoid the German’s torpedoes there was a good chance that he would swamp the launches waiting to be unloaded at the stern. He raised his binoculars. There was one launch that had just hooked on with civilians and another that looked empty. That one must be filled with wounded—his wounded Marines!

  Morris had split his platoons into squads abreast to search for German wounded. He had briefed all the squad leaders on what to say in German to demand surrender. He gave a final word of caution that there might be fanatical Nazis among the wounded more willing to die for the possibility of taking an enemy with them than the hope of living. Accordingly, it was with some trepidation that the Marines entered the landscape churned up by Argonne’s shells.