Most people imagine that being in the infantry would be the most dangerous job in the armed services, perhaps none more than those of us who began our military careers with that MOS (Military Occupational Specialty.) But that is often not the case. In World War II, for instance, the most dangerous job of all, as determined by the mortality rate per mission, was to be a ball turret gunner.
These men, usually the smallest members of the aircrew, sat in a cramped fetal position for hours, dangling underneath the B-17s and B-24s that bombed Nazi targets in Europe. They had no armor, no parachute, risked losing their oxygen supply from freezing temps, and were the favorite target of Luftwaffe fighters.
The rest of these bomber aircrews did not fare much better. Badly wounded crewmen with no chance to survive the return trip to safety were sometimes thrown from the aircraft with a static line parachute – the hope being that German ground-pounders would save their lives and send them to POW camps. Better a slim chance than no chance at all.
But there was another force that faced equivalent odds to the daylight bomber crews – and, for the most part, they were barely able to shoot back. I am talking about the merchant mariners, drafted into service as seamen and sailors, too long overlooked for their unsung contributions to the war effort.
According to the Merchant Marine Act of 1936, "It is necessary for the national defense... that the United States shall have a merchant marine of the best equipped and most suitable types of vessels sufficient to…serve as a naval or military auxiliary in time of war or national emergency. "
During World War II, although private companies operated the ships, the U.S. Maritime Service directed what cargo would be carried and where. It trained these civilian seafarers to assist in manning the pitifully small guns hastily erected on their decks and often also placed small contingents of armed Navy gun crews on board.
To prevent panic and discord on the home front, the Pentagon acknowledged that ships were lost carrying essential supplies and materiel to the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines fighting overseas, but only a fraction of these were reported. Two here, another there, perhaps two more the preceding week. The actual losses *averaged* 33 ships per week.
In the early years of the war, so many more merchant marine ships were sunk that important military strategic choices were limited, plans delayed, and more lives lost, like when the cross-Channel invasion planned for 1942 had to take place two full years later. The Allied militaries could only do so much without the tanks, jeeps, bombs, rifles, bullets, food, uniforms, oil, gas, medical supplies, newly-minted soldiers and all the rest that goes into the logistical planning to support the strategies and tactics employed.
The merchant mariners of WWII made one of the biggest contributions to the winning of the war, yet their sacrifice goes widely unheralded or, worse, unrecognized. To man this greatest sealift of all time, the United States Merchant Marine went from 55,000 seamen to more than 255,000 in a little over 3 years. They ferried men and machines across both the Atlantic and the Pacific.
Every one of those 255,000 faced the daily possibility of attack from submarine wolfpacks, from enemy surface ships, from aircraft and, especially in the North Atlantic, from vicious weather conditions. Toward the end of the war, those in the Pacific could add kamikaze attacks to the list.
These perils did not “await” the men and women of the US Merchant Marine when they traversed the Atlantic. They began the first day of leaving US ports. German U-boats patrolled the American coasts. In the early years of the war, many of these unarmed or only lightly armed ships were sunk in sight of those still in port. These civilian sailors lived under the threat of German attack from the moment they left the range of U.S. shore guns. Early on, most tried to slip out at night. Even then, the German submarines would surface and observe any blacking out of the normal shore lights behind the ships’ silhouette.
Many died within their vessels. Those who could escape the suction of the sinking ship faced sharks, oil-on-water fires, and drowning. These mariners faced worse odds than those in the armed forces. Yet they stayed on, knowing they had the skills to keep the essential materiel that saved Allied lives and would bring the war to an end. They certainly didn’t do it for the money. For them, there was no jump pay or hazardous duty pay. In fact, they received no pay whatsoever unless they were aboard ship.
Every attack was terrifying; many were brutal. One egregious example: in July of 1944 the Liberty ship SS Jean Nicolet was torpedoed by a Japanese near Sri Lanka. There were 100 men on board. Every one of them survived the explosion. However. Their lifeboats were sunk by the Japanese sub crew. They were taken aboard the sub, their hands bound behind them, as Japanese sailors murdered most in a bloodbath of bayonets and rifle stocks. There were 30 left alive when a British aircraft discovered the sub. The sub crash-dived, washing the survivors, still bound, into the sea. 23 were rescued – of 100.
Back in the Atlantic, there was an “air cover gap” roughly a third of the way toward Europe and another third within air cover range of England. This became the submarine infested part of the Atlantic where the U-Boat wolfpacks had their shooting galleries.
Why did the Allied forces not concentrate their efforts on destroying these German submarines? We must always remember that in warfare, as in so many other endeavors, there are hard decisions to be made. Sometimes the choices are between bad and worse. As U-Boat successes increased rapidly in 1942, the Allied decision-makers were implored to bomb the U-Boat ports in St. Nazaire and Lorient on the Bay of Biscay. With only so many aircraft available, the decision was made instead to bomb the German war materiel factories.
During the war itself, these mariners were highly regarded. General Douglas MacArthur, not always one to share credit for successes, said during the war, " The high caliber of efficiency and the courage they displayed mark their conduct throughout the entire campaign in the Southwest Pacific area. I hold no branch in higher esteem than the Merchant Marine."
Do you recall the photos of the hundreds of ships offshore Normandy on June 6, 1944. Both warships and Liberty ships. The “Mulberrys” those of us who have visited Omaha and the other beaches? Towed through mine fields and under fierce shelling by 1000 volunteer mariners.
After their bravery, their essential role in winning the war, and the glowing praise from men like MacArthur and Eisenhower, at least after the war they were rewarded with recognition and reward, right?
No. After the war, they were forgotten.
None received the type of award given to military persons for valor under fire.
None received GI Bill benefits.
None even received Veterans benefits.
It took 43 long years and numerous court fights to get these unsung heroes medical care at VA hospitals, by which time most were men of 60 or 70 years.
For shame, America. And may those who read this and those who care never allow such a travesty to occur again.
There are so many hundreds of verified cases of bravery under fire and exceptional performance under the harshest duress that I cannot possibly recount them all. I will leave you with just one, this one in the South Atlantic…
On Sept. 27, 1942, the Liberty ship SS Stephen Hopkins came upon a vessel disguised as a neutral ship. In fact, it was the heavily-armed German light cruiser Stier and her resupply escort, the Tannenfels (also armed.)When the Hopkins refused to surrender, both vessels began shelling.
The Hopkins had few armaments: one 4-inch (102 mm) gun of WWI vintage at the stern, two 37 mm guns forward, and two 30 caliber machine guns on either side of the bridge. Her youngest crew member was an 18-year-old engine cadet fresh from his training, Edwin O’Hara.
The first shots from Stier’s secondary armament raked Hopkins’s deck, critically wounding the First Mate. The third salvo from Stier’s main armament found their range. But Stieralso received several hits from the outgunnedHopkins, including to the steering gear and the engine room.
The main defense of the Hopkins was from the 4-inch gun manned by Cadet O’Hara and his small gun crew, which managed to hit the Stier an unprecedented 15 times. By the end of the battle, with the remainder of his gun’s crew lying dead or wounded, Cadet O’Hara fired the last shot alone. A few moments later he was killed by an incoming shell.
Ultimately, the Hopkins could take no more. With but 21 survivors, the Captain and the US Navy Lieutenant in charge of the armed guards on board remained on the ship to return fire as it was sinking. Ltnt. Willet was last seen trying to cut away life rafts just before the ship sank.
The remaining 19 survivors in their one small lifeboat realized that the prevailing current would take them toward South America. They proceeded on a more than 2000 mile ordeal, subsisting on a diet of the occasional flying fish and -- mostly -- malted milk tablets. After 31 days the 15 surviving scarecrows waded ashore in Brazil.
But that is not the end of the story. All was not in vain. This little ship that could had so damaged the light cruiser warship the that the captain of the Stier had no choice but to transfer his crew to the armed re-supply ship by his side and scuttle his own vessel.
So many good ships, going in harm’s way.
So many heroes, unsung for too many years.
Having failed to remember them for so long, let us honor them now.
© JL Shaefer 2020