PERSONAL MEMOIR USS LSM 311 HOWARD M. McCONNELL, LT(JG) USNRMy DOB is 18 July 1924. After being graduated from Redfield, Iowa High School in the Class of 1941, I was sponsored by my Aunt, Miss Mabel McConnell, to enter Marquette University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in the College of Engineering. On December 7, 1941, I was at my drafting board at home in the living room catching up on homework when President Roosevelt came over the radio to announce the attack at Pearl Harbor. On the following day I requested admission to the U.S. Naval ROTC battalion on campus even though the term had started. I was admitted. Through the academic years of 1941 and 1942 the battalion attended classes and drills as normal college students, being in uniform on drill days only. In the summer of 1943 the battalion was activated as V-12 trainees, issued complete uniforms, and took residence in a converted apartment building on campus. Four roommates and I shared a suite. The others were Mr. Alfred Froehlich; Mr. Grover Frater; Mr. Allen Gramza; and Mr. William Reedle. Two experiences during our Summer Cruise on Lake Michigan can be noted. We boarded U.S.S. Wilmette, the Navy conversion of the ill-fated Great Lakes “whaleback” steamer S.S. Eastland. We were quartered in hammocks. The ship was fitted with two 4-inch 50-caliber Naval rifles, the standard primary battery for a destroyer in World War One. This is the largest rifle firing fixed ammunition. The guns were mounted forward on the forecastle, just one level above and directly over the crew’s head. The students were divided into five-man gun crews: pointer (the captain), trainer, loader, and two ammunition passers. Fire control was by a spotter who called the fall of shot with binoculars, as in 1917. My crew was the second to fire at the target about 2000 yards range, consisting of a mast on a raft. Our spotter was a retired Navy Captain who had served as the gunnery officer on a destroyer. He was gleeful to have the assignment with these boys, as boys we were. We knocked the mast off the raft after about four rounds. Being boys, most of whom had never fired a weapon of any kind before the .22 Springfields we used in Rifle Team, were excited and many had to use the head after their turn on the mount. As it happened we were firing to windward and all the windward portholes in the head were open for ventilation. When the great sheet of flame from the muzzle blast blew through those portholes just over their heads, the reader can imagine the panic. It was quite a sight to see five or six of us running aft for dear life on the open boat deck holding up their trousers as best they could. Navigation and piloting were fascinating to me, having come directly to University from a dairy farm in Iowa. Consequently I hit the books - Knight’s and Bowditch - with gusto and got an “A” both terms. This led to an unique opportunity one day on cruise. The ship had paid a port call in Escanaba, Michigan, a huge harbor and the only one large enough for a student to safely conn the vessel. Since there was only one harbor and only one opportunity, I was astonished to be called to the bridge and ordered to “take her out”. The OOD had set a course directly to the breakwall, with the harbor entrance about 20 degrees to starboard. The only thing I recall is standing frozen staring at that stone wall. The helmsman also stared straight ahead, no doubt having been warned about what might happen. At the point of decision the OOD announced in a loud voice “Mr. McConnell, you are relieved. Right full rudder.”
When the buildup in the Pacific for the final assault on Japan began, every person likely to be officer material on the LSM class of vessel was yanked from whatever duty station held and sent to Little Creek, Virginia for training. At Marquette, and possibly at many other NROTC battalions, all the Juniors and Seniors were summarily commissioned in February of 1944. Thus, the writer became an officer and a gentleman by act of Congress at the age of 19. Immediately on reporting for duty with Commander, Amphibious Training Command, United States Atlantic Fleet (ComPhipTraLant), each of us faced a selection board for assignment to a crew and billet. Our service records and transcripts were on the table. At the end of my interview the chairman announced “PXO” (Prospective Executive Officer). My assignment was to the crew in training for USS LSM 311, then building in Chicago at the Pullman Standard Car Company. Naval Base Little Creek consisted of an open field of mud, populated by quonset huts connected by duckboards. In February it was cold and damp. Some of the quonsets were classrooms; some were mess halls; some were barracks; and some were “Officers’ Country”. Otherwise they were identical. Beds were cots and heating was by a potbelly coal stove. Classrooms had folding chairs and an easel-mounted slateboard. Every person got some simulator training on aircraft defense. The simulators were movie projectors showing a World War One biplane, with the “guns” showing black dots on the screen. Crew specialists had their own sessions as a group with other crews, such as engines, gunnery, signaling, radio, supply, medical, ship’s office, galley, etc. Officers had sessions on “officer stuff”, also with other crews. All officers had to endure a week of lecture on ship handling, including learning celestial navigation in a couple of days. I was able to get my PCO (Prospective Commanding Officer) through it with some degree of understanding. Then the day came when we were shipped to the builder’s location. Officers and specialists came to Chicago a few days in advance of the rest of the crew. In due course Hull 311 of the class LSM was side launched in the Calumet River and christened with a bottle of beer. Those days were a kind of blur. The Executive Officer in the LSM Class is assigned as First Lieutenant in every vessel. That responsibility includes all deck fittings and machinery, damage control, and hull integrity. One of the jobs specifically stated in the manuals is that the First Lieutenant shall personally inspect all the double bottoms and ballast tanks before sealing the covers. I found the wisdom - in the form of a lunch bucket and a pair of pliers. Regulations required that one officer be on board at all times during fitting out and pre-commissioning. I stood most of these watches on the night shift. One evening when we were running a 24-hour full load test on both auxiliary generators I was awakened by the clatter of a City fireman trying to get down ship’s ladders to find someone in charge. It seems that a dockworker noticed smoke coming from the ship and called it in. On entering the engine space we found the mufflers boiling in smoke. The test had started before the paint cured. Sea trials were held in Lake Michigan supervised by an officer from the Ninth Naval District command. The ship was the second of this builder, his block of hull numbers starting with 310. Pullman had one of the very first contracts and its series were among the earliest vessels to see service. The ship was duly certified and accepted by the Navy. After provisioning for transit to the Gulf of Mexico, she was moored at Navy Pier for commissioning. It was my job to see the crew in proper uniform, clean, shoes shined, hats squared, and formed on the well deck in ranks facing the Commanding Officer. Ensign (later Lieutenant) Philip M. Brooks, Jr. read his orders and had his pennant hoisted. Colors were set and saluted. We were in the Navy. Our orders were to proceed to New Orleans for provisioning, to Galveston for ammunition and the guns, to and through the Panama Canal, and to Manus Island via BoraBora and New Caledonia. The first leg was to get this 208-foot ship through the Chicago Loop. Thence we were to proceed via the Illinois Waterway and the Mississippi. Some background must be stated. Chicago became a giant of commerce and industry between 1870 and 1900. Management and executives lived North along the lakeshore; Labor and services lived South near their jobs. As things got messier and dirtier, the beaches North began to stink if the littoral current was from the South. Southerly winds moved all the meatpacking effluent and raw sewage from the industrial area onto those beaches. Something had to be done. The ruling group decided that treating all that pollution would be expensive; let’s find a way to give it to someone else to worry about. Accordingly, a great ditch was dug between the Chicago River South Branch and the Illinois River downstate. Then, the mouth of the river at Lake Michigan was dammed and the river level raised so it flowed, backward, into the ditch. As commerce increased, the ditch was deepened for barge traffic, and was renamed the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal. This was our route to the ocean. Every vessel in the Inland Waters of the United States is required to have a pilot in charge when under way. The Coast Guard assigned an officer to us for the transit through the City and into the Canal. He attempted the Loop at rush hour one afternoon. There is a bridge, loaded with traffic at all hours, about every hundred yards. We were through one bridge and the next could not open for stalled traffic; and the one astern closed as expected. Our pilot got his orders confused and we backed under the bridge astern, destroying the guards for Gun Five. Embarrassed, we tied up for the night and the Coast Guard sent a more senior officer for the next day. (We found out later he was a boiler inspector.) We proceeded without incident with our new pilot until coming to a rail bridge over the Canal in the outskirts of the City. It could not open since a freight train was in the zone. The pilot decided that rather than try to go in circles in the narrow channel, or anchor, he would set us up against the rounded corner of the bridge abutment. What he did not know was that the abutment was round because of countless collisions with barges, and was just as sharp under the surface as the day it was cast. The engine room was holed below the water line in a long vertical gash. It was the only compartment large enough to sink her if flooded. In the classroom at NROTC I learned that in case of underwater damage a collision mat is required. I asked that the ramp be lowered and went to the wardroom for my mattress. Towing the mattress, I swam to the damage and let the water pressure suck it in. This allowed the engine crew to put other material over the hole from the inside and shore it. Thus, I am the only person in the Naval Service to have voluntarily dived into the Chicago sewer. Our Captain was equal to the emergency. He had the Coast Guard send a fire crew with two gasoline engine driven pumps (called a “handy billy”). With those operating at full capacity, our own submersible pumps employed, and the main bilge eductor working, the engine crew was almost but not quite able to get ahead of the flooding. The concern was that if the auxiliary generators were shorted out we would be a dead ship. So, we went back through the Chicago Loop at night with every bridge raised throughout the City, a tug fore and aft, breaking all the posted wake limits, streams of water pouring out, hoping that Lake Michigan was calm and would not cause our flooded bilge to slosh into the generators. Soon we were back at the builder and hustled into a commercial dry-dock nearby. After repair and cleanup, the Coast Guard detailed a person they said was their best, to pilot us through the City and into the Canal. Our Captain used his authority to prevent that person from boarding. He chose an afternoon at a traffic minimum to pass all the bridges, and we were on the way without incident. Many, many years later the Gunnery Officer, the Gunner’s Mate, and our wives had a mini-reunion at our home in Highland Park, Illinois. We took the Chicago River cruise as tourists, to revisit the Battle of the Chicago River. GENERAL MACARTHUR’S PLAN TO REGAIN THE PACIFIC probably was complete in mind even before he transferred from the PT boat on the first leg of his voyage to Australia on President Roosevelt’s orders. The first strategic objective was to retake the Philippine Islands. A base then would be available to support the advance on Japan’s homeland. Both the Allied and the Axis high commands knew that if the Philippines were to fall to the Americans, the war would be over. In fact that is how it turned out. The last convulsions of a dying Empire lay, tragically for all, in the path to closure. The tactical problem soon resolved itself from the statement of strategy. In early 1942 Japan stood at the unprotected doorstep of Australia and was poised to invade. The first task was to stop that threat. Two steps were necessary - to drive Japan off New Guinea, depriving her of land-based air capability, and to prevent their building an airfield in the Solomons. This first back-to-the-wall offensive gave us memories of the foot-slogging jungle trek of Allied infantry over the Owen Stanley range; the struggle for Guadalcanal; and the grim, costly night gun duels of the two Navies as Japan tried to reinforce their garrisons. All of 1942 and 1943, and more than half of 1944, were needed to dislodge Japan from the approaches to the first strategic objective. During that time, Japan tried to set up Midway as a forward base for the occupation of Hawaii and - in the hopes of Admiral Yamamoto - to make an unfriendly visit to the United States West Coast. The heroic sacrifice of many carrier-based pilots saved Midway and dealt a blow to Japan’s fleet air arm which affected every campaign to come, including their desperate attempt to drive the Americans off Leyte and thus save Japan’s hold on the Philippines. Every step along the way had to place the troops and their equipment on a defended beach with no cargo handling ports. In those early days the resources available to our Marines were pitiful - not enough, not the right kind, and not delivered when needed. To land equipment they had the LCVP - which could load a squad or a couple of jeeps - and the LCM which could load a six-by-six and a few people plus a jeep or two. It could deliver a light tank if sea conditions were favorable. By 1943 the LST came to the fleet. It was big. It could carry 2000 tons of cargo long distances and keep the sea safely. One might ask why the LST could not support troops on initial assault. Here is the problem: fully loaded the LST draws over eight feet forward. Records show many LST being unloaded at the seaward end of a long jetty bulldozed into the bay using whatever is available - logs, beach sand, debris. Troops on initial assault cannot wait for this. Even the equipment needed to make the jetty could not get ashore beforehand. If the LST were combat loaded to three feet draft forward for beaching, its load capacity would be reduced by something like 75 percent. A fully loaded LST ferrying materiel to an operation thousands of miles away would have to offload perhaps 1500 tons of cargo to prepare for beaching. Until the invasion succeeds there is no place to put that cargo. A vessel was needed to get heavy equipment ashore immediately following the first wave of troops, while being combat-loaded at a base thousands of miles distant. The United States did not have a design for the purpose, but Britain did. In mid-1940 when Sir Winston Churchill had to rescue his army from Dunquerque by any means possible, he had to leave every - all - wheeled or tracked vehicles behind, to be either destroyed or used against him. He resolved never to have that happen again, and had his Admiralty provide a solution in record time. Thus the Landing Craft Tank, or LCT, came to be. Initial designs were intended to go to the operational area in sections as deck load on transports, to be assembled on site. This worked for a while. By the time the design reached Mark VI, it was almost 200 feet long and almost 40 feet wide; and could land or embark up to 200 tons with about three feet draft forward. The United States factories made hundreds of the Mark III for shipment to England. They were the mainstays for operations in the Mediterranean. The LCT could not survive at sea by itself. It had to be towed or carried to the beach site. There are records of LCT Mark III being carried as deck load on an LST and side launched by inclining the ship. Once afloat on site, it was essentially unmanageable. It went sideways about as well as forward, and had to be steered using its engines. The Mark VI had a crew of 10 with two officers, existing in accommodation abominable even by the worst standards of the amphibious forces. The LCT had a severe tactical fault for Pacific service. The distances are immense compared to Europe. The LCT could not be trusted for long towed voyages when loaded for combat. It had to be loaded off the transports by crane. When the first wave of troops ashore need armor, they cannot wait a day or so for the LCT and the transport to get their act together. When it became realistic to make firm plans for the invasion of the Philippines, in about 1943 when things started to look up for the Allies, the US Navy laid a specification on the firm of Gibbs and Cox. It called for Mark VII of the LCT to overcome the problems of the Mark VI but land or embark the same load, 200 tons. However, it was to keep the sea under any likely conditions, loaded, for 4000 miles; make speed of 13 knots equal to the new fast amphibious troop carrier, the LCI(L); and defend itself against air attack. Not far into the design the architects realized this was not a “craft” but was a real ship. What to call it? It was smaller than the LST, taller than the LCT, that is, something “in between”; someone said it is a medium size tank lander. Not a very inspired name, Landing Ship Medium, but it stuck. The planning for the invasion of the Philippines was going forward, with a target date in November of 1944. That campaign, and those to follow in the Ryukus, plus cleanup in the Borneo area, would require about 450 of these ships. The eventual assault on the Japanese homeland would commit all of them. How to get 450 LSM hulls built, powered, armed, and crewed; and have the first fifty or so available in the autumn of 1944, barely more than a year later? The Bureau of Ships searched for qualified builders. The qualifications were - have access to water communicating with the ocean; have some welders; and have crane capacity appropriate. Cities like Pittsburgh and Chicago qualified along with the usual yards on the Coasts. Each builder - some were not “yards” at all - was assigned a block of hull numbers. That is why the number sequence and the overall launch sequence have never agreed. The first launch was in May of 1944. THE SHIP AND ITS MISSION The mission is simply stated: carry in the first heavy equipment wave with its crews and support, then anything else, at any time, anywhere. Having an open cargo space, the “well deck”, allowed the ship to be loaded alongside a transport ship by crane. The LSM was a crucial link in the logistic chain for every operation using it. MANNING PROBLEMS OF THE LSM Design complement as seen by the Bureau of Ships was 5 officers - Captain, Engineer, and three watch standers at the conn; and to work and defend the ship, 55 sailors. For 450 ships this total works out to be about 25,000 sailors and 2,250 officers. All these persons had to be acquired, evaluated, trained and assigned to ships to meet the builders’ schedule. The Navy policy to man these ships was to place one or two seasoned petty officers in each department on board, with similar experienced ratings to staff the support and medical functions. Everyone else in the enlisted ranks was a first or second class seaman or fireman. In most ships, about 85% of the enlisted crew were just out of boot camp or had qualified only as a striker. Further, almost without exception the ships put to sea with four officers and 50 sailors, and most never reached full manning. All ship training was done at Little Creek, Virginia under Commander, Amphibious Training Command, United States Atlantic Fleet (ComPhibTraLant). There was a whirlwind process to assign incoming officers and sailors to ships, followed by six weeks in “classrooms” which were Quonset huts heated by potbelly coal stoves. The “sidewalks” were duckboards set in the mud. This sounds good, and perhaps would have been if any LSM’s had been available to the training command. Finding officers for these ships was a thorny problem. The Navy was in the midst of an all-out buildup for the final phases of the war in the Pacific. The four Iowa class battleships; several fleet aircraft carriers; and countless destroyers and cruisers of every description were on the ways. Electric Boat Company and many subcontractors - including one in Manitowoc, Wisconsin - were turning out fleet submarines. The amphibious forces had to find their officer cadre in places that would not inconvenience the “real Navy”. Every officer in the LSM fleet was a reservist. Usually only one officer - the Captain - had any sea experience. They came from the fleet, having served as junior division officers in the larger ships or as department heads in destroyers or destroyer escorts. The billet called for the rank of Lieutenant. Some, a few, were; many more were jg’s; and some were even ensigns, given direct promotion from the rank of Chief or first class petty officer. Those “mustangs” in many cases had better command experience than the rest, having been in charge (Captain) of a tug or patrol vessel. Other officers came from anywhere found. Junior and senior Naval ROTC classes were commissioned prior to graduation and sent to Little Creek. Some were new graduates from officer candidate schools. The only officer who had intensive training in a specialty was the Engineering Officer. These men were usually graduate engineers who were recruited into the Navy and sent to diesel school for the engine types used. THE PHILIPPINE CAMPAIGN AND OTHER ENGAGEMENTS The Japanese High Command prepared in depth to frustrate the impending American invasion of the Philippines. They knew it was coming; and knew the approximate timetable - the only question was where. There were only two realistic possibilities: Luzon at Lingayen, and Leyte at Tacloban. Both figured in the detailed planning of the Japanese Navy. The invasion of the Philippines on October 20, 1944 marked the first appearance of a new weapon - the Japanese “Divine Wind”. This massive use of piloted aircraft on suicidal attack orders was unique in the history of warfare. The conventional wisdom at first was that these were a few heroic individuals taking this extreme method to please their Emperor. However, as the days passed, that notion faded. In fact, the suicide attack mentality was fostered and long planned as the ultimate defense of the Home Islands, in accord with the Code of Bushido. Postwar research has confirmed this: Divine Winds and Ancient Heroes: Reconstructing the Kamikaze Ideology By Nick Kapur 6/7/99 “On October 19, 1944, the day that Rear Admiral Takajiro Onishi formed the first kamikaze unit to defend the Philippines, his senior staff officer, Rikihei Inoguchi, suggested that the new unit be called the Shimpu Tokkotai, or “Divine Wind Special Attack Corps.” First tactical use of the LSM fleet was LSM Group Four, of 12 LSM, staged at the Admiralty Islands (Manus and Los Negros) and Hollandia, New Guinea for Leyte Gulf, landing on October 20, 1944, the day after activation of the Kamikaze corps. The approach to the beaches was a test for the LSM concept: embark armor and other heavy equipment, with their troops, for many days at sea. In the weeks and months to follow, LSM’s were a key player in many campaigns. Ormoc Bay: 12 LSM
Luzon operations, starting at Lingayen: 69 LSM The Divine Wind reached its highest pitch in Okinawa. At Leyte and Lingayen they came by the dozens every day; at Okinawa they came by the hundreds in waves, more than one per day. Every ship was a target. Early warning of an attack helped to let exhausted gun crews get some rest between waves. Every small ship - that is, destroyer on down - had to take its turn on the early warning picket line. These ships could intercept an attack by radar at extreme range. The radar pickets were the first targets of the first wave every day in hopes that subsequent waves would have less chance of detection. Many ships and many sailors gave their lives to help the invasion fleet to survive. THE ATOMIC BOMB AND THE END OF THE WAR In early August of 1945, every LSM in the Pacific and not on the line in Okinawa was issued winter clothing and given a two-volume set of instructions. This was the Operation Order for the invasion of Japan. The summer of 1945 was a tumultuous time for President Harry S. Truman. He was informed that the Manhattan Project was a success and that two - some historians say three - atomic weapons were ready for delivery. He had been informed, as Commander in Chief, of the havoc wrought by the Kamikaze corps at Okinawa. His military staff had completed the plans to put a massive Army ashore in Japan’s home islands. It was obvious that the suicide aircraft factor would be terrible indeed when the aircraft had only a few miles to their target rather than a few hundred. Behavior of Japanese troops in places like Saipan and Guadalcanal, where, keeping the Code of Bushido, they did not surrender, indicated the difficulties of a ground campaign in mountainous Japan. On balancing all the factors, and regarding the certain loss of life on both sides during an invasion, the President decided (against the advice of many close associates) to loose the atomic weapon on cities of military significance. As a result of the President’s decision, countless thousands of World War Two veterans - in both the United States and Japan - have had a full and productive life. When hostilities ceased, the celebration in the harbors was massive. Every ship expended all but the most critical pyrotechnic ammunition, all at once as fast as the loaders could run. THR LSM IN POSTWAR OPERATIONS LSM’s of Group Four, and others, made the first heavy equipment deliveries to Japan in support of the Occupation. Landings were made at Yokosuka Naval Base in Tokyo. These ferry runs ceased when the Port of Sasebo was opened and rail transport was available. To reach Yokosuka the LSM’s moved in column formation a few hundred yards past the Imperial Palace, after having done honors to all four Iowa Class battleships anchored in the deep harbor. The Koumintang Party in China, headed by Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Chek, still had control of most of the Coast after the Japanese had been driven out of south central China. Many LST and LSM vessels were sailed into China and donated to General Chiang with appropriate ceremony. The question remained how to stabilize North China. The LSM fleet was mobilized to ferry the III Amphibious Corps, US Marines to North China, staged from Okinawa and the Marianas. That same fleet had to evacuate them on the collapse of the Koumintang government under pressure from Mao Tse-Tung. GENERAL MacARTHUR AND HIS LSM’S IN KOREA When things were desperate in Korea, General MacArthur ordered an “end around” to interdict the North Koreas supply line down the western shore of the peninsula. The place to do this was at the head of the Inchon estuary, deep into the countryside; their supply train had to go around it. Now the tides in the Inchon estuary are very similar to those of the Bay of Fundy in Canada. Whatever vessel carried in the troops had to offload the equipment in the more solid ground at the head of the estuary at high tide, and sit there high and dry miles from the sea until the next tide when they could get turned around and exit. The LSM was the only amphibious type capable of the task. In spite of many misgivings by his staff, General MacArthur so ordered and the North Korean army was forced into retreat or capture. LATER OPERATIONS AND DISPOSITION Not much is recorded of the LSM work in the rivers of Vietnam. Hopefully an historian will work on this. Many LSM vessels were “lent” to foreign governments in addition to the transfers to China. Some are still in service, usually after so many modifications as to be unrecognizable. Not long ago the Thai navy sank one of theirs to form an artificial reef and a diving destination. Some went into commercial service in the United States. For a time, there were four operating as car ferries at the eastern end of Long Island Sound. Presently some severely modified LSM hulls are in commercial operation in the Columbia River in Washington State as cargo vessels. The Amphibious Ships Museum was able to acquire, from Greece, the last known LSM afloat in just about its original configuration. It has been donated to the Marine Corps Museum of the Carolinas in Jacksonville, NC where it will be on exhibit on land. It still has its twin 40mm mount with both guns. SOME NOTES ON THE HUMAN SIDE The writer’ ship, LSM 311, was a member of LSM Group 4 and served in the Philippine Campaign beginning to end plus the Borneo operation at Balikpapan. The 311 was not tasked to Iwo Jima or Okinawa, so she missed the very worst of the Kamikaze attacks. Otherwise her experience was, he believes, typical of the dozens of LSM’s serving in the Pacific. The anecdotes related are from his memories of life on board of the 311. PROVISIONING AND REPLENISHMENT The LSM’s never had, ever, a scheduled replenishment. The ships were on call night and day for lightering service from the transports. The supply officer had to keep track of the AK and AKA types in harbor and send messages “what have you got that I need?”. This was a sort of above-board version of the skill called “scrounge”. Those transports of any type readying for return to the USA were good targets. If they had a couple of sides of beef, or some ice cream mix, or anything he could use, whether or not on the table of organization for a crew of 50, he sent a boat with his storekeeper and a chit. Once he requested some pencils for the yeoman, who was running short. He came back with a gross of dozens in a box (1,728 pencils!). Every ship had a surplus of vienna sausage. The stateside contractor must have moved the decimal point a couple of places. When there were troops on board, everyone, crew, officers, troops, had vienna sausage at least four time a week at sea. Otherwise the crew rebelled and would not eat it. Once the supply officer came back with a 200-pound bag of mixed nuts in the shell. The only really safe place to keep them was the gyro room. From there, they were rationed to the galley for crew desserts. LIFE ON BOARD AND OPERATIONAL ANECDOTES
On the night of October 25, 1944, LSM 311 was beached for the evening meal after a particularly bad day. The writer was OOD for the evening watch when trails of sparks were observed passing overhead, some going north to south and some the other way. It was learned later that the ship was in the middle, literally, of the Southern Force of Operation SHO as named by the Japanese Navy. In the US this action is known as The Battle for Leyte Gulf. The complete description of all its parts is found in Admiral Samuel Eliot Morison’s History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (15 Volume Set
Once LSM 311 was tasked to go alongside a transport and take PBY beaching gear to the seaplane base off Samar Island. These are like large boat trailers. The aircraft taxis to the launching ramp where its engines are shut down and it is manhandled into position over the trailer. After being secured the rig is towed to the maintenance area. A Chief Aviation Machinist’s Mate whose arm probably was too short to hold all his hash marks commanded the facility. He said, quote: “I don’t like this place. I’ve been here three weeks, and I’ve had ninety-seven air raids and three typhoons.”
Many LSM’s assisted injured survivors, especially in the Okinawa campaign. LSM 311 was called to evacuate injured and wounded from a beach on Corregidor Island after the parachute jump to Topside (much has been written about this jump). Topside was a golf course with a hotel and clubhouse. The Navy was asked to neutralize the buildings by dive-bombing to prevent reinforcement from inside the tunnels. This they did, but in the process they turned every inch of Topside into jagged rocks and splintered stumps. Many of the paratroopers were hurt. Their comrades had to fight their way down that hill, which they did not yet own, carrying them all the way. LSM 311’s crew brought out every blanket and pillow to shield the injured from the hot steel deck. Fortunately a Navy hospital ship was in Manila Bay, nearby.
The draft forward of the LSM in beaching configuration, with 200 tons on board, was 3 ½ feet. How can a truck or tank or jeep or bulldozer swim ashore in that depth plus surf? The Marine Corps and the Army worked out a scheme to plaster a waterproof goop over every vulnerable surface such as spark plugs, distributor, battery, and anything else which might be damaged in the slightest. Fan belts were disconnected. Extension pipes were attached to air intake and exhaust, and gooped into place. Very, very few vehicles failed to get ashore.
Crew uniforms were not very uniform. Most, including the officers, wore out their issue shoes quickly and got Army hightops as replacements. All were careful to wear long sleeves and trousers from morning General Quarters until after evening GQ, to guard against flash burns in action, but in off-hours and at the beach in idle times any modest covering was allowed. Some of the photographs of LSM 311 show skivvies, no shirt, hat brim turned down for sunburn, whatever. On one occasion in a single ship mission the Group Commander was embarked. One day while the writer was OOD the Commander came to the bridge and saw our storekeeper more or less at leisure on the starboard gun deck. Our man was dressed properly, as was his habit. The Commander said to me: “See that man. He is a good sailor. He’s shabby but he’s clean.” The Commander was well pleased with the 311.
Most LSM’s got strange assignments, because the ships were handy and capable. One sunny day, with all quiet in the harbor and no wind or sea, LSM 311 was assigned to go alongside a transport to receive US Mail for the battleship USS Pennsylvania. We wondered why a ship instead of a boat was assigned. We soon found out. When we pulled away, we had the entire well deck stacked with mailbags, standing on end. Pennsylvania sent a working party to pass the bags over the torpedo blister to waiting hands on deck. After 15 minutes they were all seasick and had to retire to “firma nautica”.
Just about every ship larger than the LSM had a movie projector and the ships traded films among themselves frequently. About the best movie venue in the harbor was an LST relieved of its deck load. That provided a free space about 300 by 40 feet for people to sit on the open deck or get a chair if they had one. The LST in this configuration always invited other ships to send their movie party, providing all was quiet in harbor. On a memorable occasion the writer sat out under the stars and saw “Rhapsody in Blue”, the story of Gershwin and his music. Sixty years later the theme tune remains one of the writer’s favorites.
One person in our commissioning crew came on board as a cook’s striker. On enquiry, the writer found that he owned a bakery in civil life. The Captain said “That man will never stand a watch in this ship”. Accordingly, he was given the galley every night after securing from the evening meal and wondrous things were available to the evening watch and the midwatch. One day while idling on the beach - a rare occasion - one of the crew was seen coming up the ramp with a complete stalk of ripe bananas. Soon after, another came on board with a sack filled with coconuts. It seemed that our baker had sent them ashore with a few dollars. That was enough to find a couple of local lads, one to run into the jungle for the bananas and the other to shinny up a coconut tree and lop off a few ripe nuts with his machete. Now it was well known that the engineering department had a stash of ice cream mix in the spare parts locker, a remote location on the port side of the engine room where only they could enter. In due course, coconut banana cream pie was served to all hands. He must have baked at least 30 pies in that little oven.
The Pacific is misnamed because the explorer Balboa saw it on a quiet day at its eastern shore in the tropics. The LSM fleet had to go out to its job in the western Pacific where things are much different. The cyclonic storms there are like the same storms in the western Atlantic. Weather does cause difficulties. One day LSM 311 with three other LSM in company was returning from a mission during one of those storms. The ship broached and was struck by the ship astern, holing her above the waterline in the bosun’s locker. Damage was minimal; the access door was always dogged down. After a hasty repair alongside a tender, the Admiral called our Captain and the other Captain to his office and ordered them to the ammunition anchorage to load 200 tons each of 500 pound aircraft bombs, with detonators and igniters, then “go run into each other”. The latter order was considered not valid. The two ships beached as assigned and the Army Air Corps came for their bombs. A truck would appear; a six-by-six is rated for 2.5 tons, or 10 bombs, and we had 800 on the well deck. By and by another truck would appear and another ten bombs would go ashore. The writer was OOD that evening, and observed the sudden appearance of a group of local men and several trucks lined up. He was impressed with the Air Corps. Only a half century later, when visited by his quartermaster, did he learn that the crew had dressed two in full uniform, gave them money collected from everybody except the wardroom, and sent one to the village as recruiter; the other stood with a flashlight and commandeered every passing truck saying whatever their orders were, they were changed.
One day I was walking the deck during unloading and noticed a water spigot projecting into the well deck area at about the crew head location. This was in my opinion not allowable. On calling the senior petty officer of the engineering department for an explanation, I found that my crew had placed themselves on water rations so that any GI with an empty jerry can could return to his unit with five gallons of fresh water. I had no further protest and informed the Captain of what our people had done.
In war, sometimes each man must trust his life to a stranger. This was illustrated when LSM 311 was tasked in Mindanao to take four amtrak tanks deep into Davao Gulf in a black, overcast night for a scheduled surprise attack. The orders were to take the vehicles to within about 100 yards of the beach at the appointed place, point the ship toward shore, and lower the ramp. The amtraks were to swim ashore. Now: how did those tank commanders know that we did our part, in some danger, and did not just dump them into the ocean and retire?
LSM 311 got many single ship missions. The reason was that our Captain was an expert ship handler, and the writer got “A” in navigation at Naval ROTC. One of these was also a Mindanao excursion. The conventional wisdom Stateside early in the war was that there were no irregular troops in the Philippines. General MacArthur knew different; a light colonel named Fertig had been stationed for several years in Mindanao and knew the people well. He defied the order to surrender and formed a most effective guerilla force of more than Division size. The people were called Moro, of the Muslim faith. They never did get along with the Spanish occupation for four centuries, and they hated the Japanese with a passion. They did not much like the Americans either for the forty years of our own occupation. Our orders came to take a Company of these soldiers to a remote beach east of our original landing point at the town of Zamboanga. They and their officer streamed on board in the early evening, carrying their weapons, leading a goat and carrying some trussed live chickens. Not more than a few could share ammunition - their arms were American, British, Japanese, and a few German - whatever they could steal or capture. When all were settled, they proceeded to build a fire on the well deck forward of one of the vehicles. Their intent, being a Muslim people, was to ritually kill the goat and roast him for their meal. This did not go well with our Captain. With much discussion, the matter was somehow resolved to their satisfaction.
LSM 311 transited the Pacific from Balboa to Noumea alone. Two of the sailors were French speakers and in Noumea liberty they were much in demand. After one liberty, one of the men was seen returning to the ship out of uniform - that is, his blouse was rolled up into a ball in front. On inspection, the OOD found a little nose and two beady eyes peering out. A tiny puppy was attached to them. Since she was the First Lady on board, her name became Eleanor. She lived in one of the crew compartments thereafter, never causing any problem. She was clean and quiet. She accompanied the men on every swim party off the ramp (the bridge watch carried the Thompson against sharks). On the way from Guam to Pearl Harbor after the Surrender, while the writer was Commanding Officer, Eleanor disappeared. “Operation Magic Carpet” sent people home by available transport in priority of their “points”. Accordingly, any returning ship had a shuffled crew of a few plank owners, the rest being on TDY in transit. They had no real interest in working the ship or standing watches.
The rumor was that any animal returning from the Far East on board would cause the ship to be quarantined in Pearl, thus no liberty in Paradise. The writer was concerned that if the perpetrator of this outrage were ever identified, he would have a corpse in the reefer to explain to the Admiral. Many years later, the Gunner’s Mate told him that they knew who did it and shunned that person.
Another mascot was the ship’s monkey, a small energetic example of the species. The wardroom never found out how the monkey came on board. It was fond of the open air on the bridge at sea, and would often sit on the OOD’s shoulder. On one occasion the monkey bit the skipper rather severely (but playfully) on the ear. Monkey was so chastised as to flee up the mast and sit on the IFF yard for days until driven down by hunger. (The Captain’s daughter told the writer much later that her father bore that scar to the end of his days.) It appeared that Monkey was sold in Guam before departure for home.
In the second voyage of LSM 311 from Manila to Yokosuka Naval Base the weather out of Siberia across the South China Sea became very bad indeed. Monkey secured himself to the top of the wringer of the laundry machine with his tail wrapped around the handle. He held his belly in both arms and looked absolutely miserable. The troop officer came to the writer with a question “Is this bad weather?” and getting a so-so answer, he then asked, “Why are the crew all going to bed with their life jackets on?”
On the return from Guam to Pearl Harbor, LSM 311 was OIC of a flotilla of eight LSM traveling in company. Every ship topped off fuel before departure. LSM 311 tanked at a big Fleet tug in harbor who had extra and no use for it. A day out, merrily on the way home, the lead Petty Officer of the engineering department came to the writer saying “Captain, he sold you 25000 gallons of saltwater!” This was now an emergency. The flotilla was polled by semaphore for a fuel report. LSM 311 was fueled at sea from those with the most. A dispatch was sent to Guam with a report, but nothing came of it.
During the last days before arrival in Pearl, the Pacific weather was truly pacific. Tropical sunsets painted the sky 360/90 in a kaleidoscope of color. The radio shack crew rigged a receiver to access the commercial stations in Hawaii and set loudspeakers from the 1MC on deck. The stations alternated Hawaiian music and Christmas carols for four days. The writer, during the evening watch one day, saw a rainbow in the bow wave under moonlight. The Pharmacist’s Mate captured a flying fish, which went too high and landed on deck; Cook fried it for the Doc’s breakfast.
The flotilla made Pearl in the morning of Christmas Eve 1945 as reported in advance to Harbor Control. No berthing was available, so the flotilla had to do racetracks in formation off Diamond Head until the afternoon. Reformed in column, the ships passed Ford Island at the close of the business day. All those thousands of civilian workers (mostly female) were leaving for home. Every binocular, and even the symbolic OOD’s telescope, was passed from hand to hand along the port rail. Three people stood watch: the Captain, the helmsman, and the engine room supervisor.
In due course the flotilla of eight LSM arrived in San Diego and dispersed. After a few days in port, LSM 311 was tasked to tow a disabled LSM to San Francisco for further orders. The Captain of the Port, having four stripes to the writer’s one and a half, gave instruction to lash the ships alongside for the voyage. After protest that this was wrong, the writer said “Aye Aye Sir” and departed to make the arrangements. The other ship’s crew rigged the towing bridle for use and the crew of 311 made ready for a wire tow using the stern anchor cable. Then, the ships were lashed alongside as instructed and left harbor for San Francisco. It took an hour or so of vicious slamming of the two ships to get out of sight so the tow astern could be rigged. On passing the Golden Gate Bridge, off Alcatraz, the ships were reconfigured alongside for control during docking.
LSM 311 was berthed at the Treasure Island naval facility for further orders. All the crew except the Captain a few to maintain the ship were processed for return home. She had ranged the Pacific from Balboa to Noumea to Japan to San Diego, doing whatever was her assigned task. She was old, in a way. Some of her frames were bent in the hours off Point Loma on the way to San Francisco. Her forefoot was so worn away by the many landings on sand and rock that the forward ballast tank could not be emptied. The steering motor room had been shaken by the propellers to the point that it leaked constantly. The water makers were down to a third of their capacity. But those Fairbanks Morse engines, designed for submarine service, were as new.
In due course the commission pennant was hauled down, and Landing Ship Medium hull number 311 returned to being an assembly of steel and other objects.
The writer learned later that the vessel was sold for scrap. The buyer was the Chicago office of Fairbanks, Morse and Company - they wanted their engines back.
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Background notes for reference
The LCT
Sir Winston Churchill demanded a tank landing vessel after the disaster at Dunquerque, and had them ready at Crete and Greece. Made in sections for transport as deck cargo, they were assembled at site and if they could not be evacuated they were scuttled. They had practically zero sea keeping ability and abominable accommodation for 10 crew and two officers.
With the development of the LCT, the royal navy now had the kind of beaching vessel amphibious warfare demanded. Fast unfolding events in North Africa and Sicily further proved their viability and other marks soon were developed to fulfill a variety of needs. Next to come was the mark 3's. It would be even larger with an added 32-foot section giving a length of 192 feet and a displacement of 640 tons. Amazingly, this section added at the John brown yard made the vessel a little faster than the original mark one. The mark 3 was accepted on 8 April 1941, and would be entirely prefabricated in five sections. That increase in length allows it to carry five 40-ton tanks and all their related support equipment, or 200 tons of deck cargo. The US built 500 of the Mark V and almost a thousand of the Mark VI; many were sent to the UK and others to the USSR.
The Corregidor Jump
I visited Corregidor in 1992 and was astounded at the harsh terrain, the extensive gun emplacements, and the ruins of what was once a great military fortress. Bullet holes and craters abound, although many are now overgrown. A part of the Malinta tunnel is open to the visitor. It is hard to imagine how anyone survived the bombardment on that island (American and Japanese), and it is even more amazing that anyone could survive an assault on Corregidor, particularly a difficult airborne assault. Reading Corregidor: The Rock Force Assault pulled together the human side of Corregidor. The story of the Rock Force is certainly worth reading.
Maj. Raymond L. Laffoon Jr., USAF
For a direct account of the Mindanao guerillas see
http://amh.freehosting.net/wartime.html
For information on USS LSM 311 see http://www.navsource.org/archives/10/14311.htm
An excerpt from this site follows:
LSM-1 Class Landing Ship Medium: Laid down (date unknown) at Pullman Standard Car Manufacturing Company, Chicago, IL. LSM-311 was assigned to the Asiatic-Pacific Theater and participated in the:
Leyte operation;
Luzon operation;
(a) Mindoro landings, 12 to 18 December 1944
Manila Bay-Bicol operations;
(a) Mindanao Island landings, 10 March 1945, 17 to 23 April 1945, and 3 May 1945
Borneo operation;
Decommissioned, 29 May 1946, at Mare Island Navy Yard, Vallejo, CA. Struck from the Naval Register (date unknown) Final Disposition, sold for scrapping, 13 January 1948, to Fairbanks Morse & Co., Chicago, IL. LSM-311 earned five battle stars for World War II service
Specifications:
Notes: Registered complement was 5 officers, 55 enlisted. LSM 311 was fitted with a single barrel Oerlikon 40-mm cannon in Mount 1 with four 20-mm guns in the other mounts. Later hulls were fitted with a twin 40-mm Navy cannons with gun director as Mount 1. Howard McConnell |