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JOURNEY OVERSEAS VIA THE "MORMACSEA"
On May 16, 1st/Sgt Theriot's whistle sounded and the squadron lined up. There was a considerable tension, but that could be attributed to anxiety rather than fear. It was about 14301 when Captain Whittemore gave the order to march.
The men marched in cadence down the main Pittsburg avenue, and onto the pier. At 15302 the men climbed up the plank and boarded the "Army Queen" which was a small tug improvised for the transportation of troops down the bay3 into San Francisco.
The trip had all the earmarks of a pleasure cruise, despite the congestion, and the rationed potluck lunches. All eyes were focused on the myriad sights at bay. Destroyers, submarines, tankers all prowled the waters, looking awesome and formidable. Balloons hovered over the bay's strong points. Navy planes kept constant vigil: San Francisco at that time was in readiness for any eventuality. But all this apparent grimness failed to stifle the men's fascination for scenic and natural attractions. Seagulls in growing number, glided about the ship's mast, and scattered when an orange peeling was flung in the water.
By 19304 the "Army Queen" reached Frisco Harbor and anchored. The mammoth Oakland Bridge5 stood off in the distance. Golden Gate6 was a symbol. But the men's humor never ceased, "Golden Gate in '48" they sang.
Little or no time was lost that eventful evening. No sooner had they disembarked, they were again lined up according to rank and alphabetical order. Roll was called, then came the final embarkation, the apex in every army man's career. They knew that that last step on American soil would be a treasured memory in days to come.
The word debacle is best used to describe the first hour aboard the "Mormacsea." The hatch was none too large and the air was humidly stifling. There was much confusion, getting everything in proper place, equipment slung in the rigid, prescribed manner, and collecting cameras, electric razors, and flashlights. It was against the ship's regulations to allow such impediments in the hands of personnel.
On the morning of May 177, the "Mormacsea" lifted anchor and lumbered out into bay, cautious of its bearing because of nets, which were laid for coastal defense.
Up to noon, the shoreline of California could be seen on the misty horizon. But all eyes were turned ahead now. What lay ahead was of direct concern. The day, the sea was of a milky blue cast, but the beauty of it was dulled somewhat by the ship's rolling. The further out, the bigger and more turbulent the swells, and some of the men turned white with nausea.
For the first two days and nights, two dirigibles hung overhead, on vigil for lurking Jap submarines. On the third day they disappeared. From that time on, the "Mormacsea" was on its own.
Where the men were unaccustomed to the hazards of the sea, Captain Martin, the ship's skipper, had a full understanding. This was the Mormacsea's eleventh trip across, and on each trip Captain Martin was at the helm. He knew the dangers, and did not underestimate them. Every precaution was taken, and rigidly enforced. Everyday, sometimes three and four times, without warning, practice alerts were sounded. The men having had previous instructions knew exactly what to do in the event of an aircraft or submarine attack.
In the evenings, strict blackout regulations were likewise enforced. "No smoking on deck when the smoking light is out" was pounded and pounded into their heads.
Quarters aboard the "Mormacsea" were neither the worst nor the best. The officers were furnished private cabins. In the ship's two hatches were bunched 1500 to 1800 men. In the fore hatch was the 3rd Airdrome and 4th Airdrome Squadrons, and a Special Service Group.
The heat below in the hatches was overpowering, and during the evening when the mess hatch was open, and the only place that smoking was permitted, the smoke charged the atmosphere with an acrid, sickening heaviness. The lights remained on all night, which distracted sleep, and the continual swaying and rocking duplicated the discomforts. At 03008 every morning, reveille was sounded, and everyone was given just one minute to dress, don his lifebelt and be up on deck. The men had to catch on fast and they did.
Toward the end of the trip came the real test. The alert was sounded, "Unidentified ship on the horizon." Each man knew exactly what he was to do. Some had jobs assigned to them to help the crew. The others were to keep clear of the activities, keep an aisle open on both sides of the ship, and lay low. But the unidentified ship turned out to be Australian, an Australian destroyer which was to serve as escort. This was the first battle scare, and the men met the test, excellently.
According to the lookouts and the ship's log, a torpedo, on one moonlit night missed the bow end of the ship by three yards. Most everyone considered the story to be without veracity, but the event was recorded in black and white. With this verification, a subdued chill ran down everybody's back.
For the first time the men experienced bad food. For breakfast it was powdered eggs and sour apricots, for lunch it was an apple and an orange marmalade sandwich, and for supper, soup (somehow ironically, hot pepper soup: even on the Equator) and coffee. Wearing lifebelts, and the intense heat and the swaying of the ship did not help matters any. Those who were detailed to work with the crew's cooks in the galley, and the officers ate the same chow as the crew members, and that was next to excellent.
For entertainment, again it was cards, with the inevitable crap game. The Chaplain's office had a vast storage of books, which were readily consumed by all the personnel. Boxing matches were held on aft, and the 3rd was well represented. Pfc Joseph Appecillo was the ship's champion. The Special Service Group held daily programs with song and recorded music. Here again the 3rd stood out amongst the best. Pfc Louis Scaglione and Pvt Stanton Carter were as popular as any of the vocalists from Special Service.
It was the success of the entertainment that kept the morale on a steady keel. The chief complaint being the food, the saltwater baths, and congested sleeping quarters.
The sea of cobalt with its white caps of spume, the flying fish and an occasional ray featured the natural entertainment, but sometimes at night, a squall would catch the vessel in its wake, and toss it with remorseless violence. Occasional fogs hugged their dreariness over the ship. But this was better than the equatorial heat. The men bewhiskered and tanned were now old salts as well as shellbacks.
The sealed orders were opened. Originally, it was supposed to have been Muckley Field, about 20 miles north of Brisbane, but the orders read, Eagle Farm, Brisbane Australia.
Source: Pages 251-255 of PDF file made from microfilm reel A0514, obtained from the Air Force Historical Research Agency.
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Footnotes:
1. 1430 - 2:30 p.m.
2. 1530 - 3:30 p.m.
3. down the bay - Likely ferrying the troops through Suisun Bay, the Carquinez Strait and San Pablo Bay to reach the coast.
4. 1930 - 7:30 p.m.
5. Oakland Bridge - The San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, commonly referred to as the Bay Bridge.
6. Golden Gate - The writer is possibly conflating the Bay Bridge and Golden Gate. They are two different bridges.
7. May 17 - The squadron's overseas service is counted from this date, not when they reached their destination.
8. 0300 - 3:00 a.m.
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