We were all young boys, the crew of the USS Ludlow (DD-438), in those early days of World War II. I joined her fresh out of Pier 92 naval receiving ship in New York. Lieutenant Commander Liles W. Creighton was the commanding officer. We spent much of our time from mid- September through mid-October 1942 in mock invasion and gunnery exercises and torpedo firings. It was easy to see that we were preparing for a major amphibious assault.
At 0730 on 24 October 1942, the Ludlow stood out of Norfolk, Virginia, as part of a huge invasion force. Captain Creighton told us that we were to invade North Africa and to land Major General George Patton’s army of some 37,000 men on the beaches of Fedala and Casablanca, French Morocco. The crew was jubilant that we were going into real action, but in rather a subdued way, knowing that some of us might not come back. We were in Rear Admiral H. K. Hewitt’s Western Naval Task Force 34, numbering over 100 ships. D-Day was set for dawn, 8 November.
The 6th of November found us in company with the largest amphibious invasion force and armada of warships assembled up to that time. Our crossing of the Atlantic had been uneventful. At different rendezvous points we had been joined by the battleships New York (BB-34), Texas (BB- 35), and Massachusetts (BB-59), plus four aircraft carriers, a cruiser division, and a destroyer squadron.
The Ludlow refueled from a tanker in the rear of the convoy, and only then did we realize the immensity of the formation. It took us more than half a day at standard speed to reach our tanker, refuel, and return to our forward position in the outer destroyer screen.
Weather had been moderate until then, but it was starting to deteriorate. We spent most of the night rolling up to 42° in heavy seas. We had not yet been detected, although during the night our radio operators picked up a U-boat that was broadcasting in plain German rather than code. We also encountered a Portuguese ship of 8,000 tons. She was ordered to steer due south for two hours to clear our convoy and to maintain radio silence.
Admiral Hewitt’s Task Force 34 contained four task groups: northern for the Kenitra area; southern for the Safi area; center for Fedala and Casablanca; and a covering group to support the center attack group. At daybreak on the 7th, the southern attack group broke off and left the formation; at 1500 the northern attack group broke off. We were in the center attack group, approximately 75 miles from Fedala. The night was calm and warm and quiet—too quiet. That was to change with the dawn.
The Ludlow cautiously approached the African shoreline at six knots. The crew felt as though we were tiptoeing in, in company with the carriers Suwannee (CVE- 27) and Ranger (CV-4); the cruisers Brooklyn (CL-40), Augusta (CA-31), and Tuscaloosa (CA-37); and 14 destroyers.
At 0100 we lay to while the transports lowered their landing craft. Below decks, the Ludlow's crew heard President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s radio address to the French Moroccans. He asked them to let our troops come ashore without resistance and to shine searchlights vertically in the night sky in a signal of friendship.
We anchored just a half mile from the Fedala landing beach at 0400, unable to see it in the opaque night. We had led landing craft in from the transport anchorage and were dispatching them in waves for the beach. The only sound we heard was the low rumble of their engines as they passed close aboard to starboard; not even a whisper rose from the troops crouched in their landing craft. An eerie silence fell over the sea.
As loaded landing craft approached the beach, French searchlights stabbed the night sky, shining straight up, but treachery came as soon as our troops hit the beach. A big searchlight at Cape Fedala swept down on the landing beaches and French machine gunners raked the disembarking men with heavy fire. Destroyer gunfire soon blew the searchlight and its operators into oblivion.
The Ludlow had been at battle stations since 0100, and just before dawn the captain had ordered food distributed to all hands, because there would be no time for meals the rest of the day. I remember taking a ham sandwich from a mess cook’s tray on the bridge. At the moment I was taking my first bite, the silence was shattered by a tremendous explosion erupting close aboard to starboard. Fve often wondered if I inhaled that sandwich whole or threw it over the side. Shore batteries at Chergui, Algeria, and Cape Fedala had opened up on us. Returning fire, we heaved anchor and moved seaward.
Naval shore bombardment was called for at 0620 by the code word “Play Ball,” and four U.S. destroyers, including the Ludlow, did most of the pitching. Within minutes the four 138-mm. gun batteries at Fort Blondin opened up on us. The Murphy (DD-603) took a savage hit in her aft engine room. Three men died in the explosion, and seven were wounded. The heavier guns of the cruisers Brooklyn and Augusta now joined with the destroyers— our target, Blondin. We continued pounding until its guns were silenced at 0730. The Ludlow was attacked by a twin- engine bomber that we drove off with 20-mm. guns.
For the balance of the morning hours our destroyers continued trading salvos with Fedala coastal guns and complying with army fire support requests. We left a fuel oil tank farm ablaze from our bombardment, which created a cloud of dense black smoke that drifted down the coast some 12 miles to Casablanca. This pall of smoke nearly spelled disaster for the Ludlow, because as we were steaming toward the beach to continue fire support—in column with the Wilkes (DD-441) and the Swanson (DD- 443) behind us—shell bursts suddenly began falling all around us, and we could not see who was firing. All we knew was that it was coming from behind the curtain of smoke. The column immediately reversed course, leaving us in the rear. The shell bursts were red, green, and yellow, which indicated that we were being fired on by multiple naval warships.
Out of the curtain of smoke on our starboard quarter came the Vichy French cruiser Primaguet and six destroyers. At flank speed we headed seaward in a hellish hail of enemy fire. Suddenly, we were hit in the starboard bow. The explosion of the 6.1-inch gun’s shells wreaked havoc below decks. The officers’ quarters, mess hall, and food lockers were heavily damaged. Shell fragments pierced the number-two handling room and shaved the fuse off of a 5-inch projectile in a rack. Some fragments exited the port bow. Fire broke out below, and Captain Creighton ordered all bridge hands not essential to maneuvering below to help with fire and damage control. As I entered the smoke-filled passageway, I thought, “This is a hell of a place for a little ol’ farm boy from Vermont.”
Paint and the red deck linoleum were burning like tar paper. Damage control organized a human chain to pass ammunition out of the handling room and magazine because the bulkheads were getting so hot. Topside, a beautiful sight greeted the eyes of the Ludlow's crew. Intervening between us and the French warships came the cruisers Augusta and Brooklyn, their main batteries blazing. The Wilkes and Swanson wheeled around and, joined by the Bristol (DD-453) and Boyle (DD-600), also engaged the French ships.
Final score for this brief surface engagement: the Primaguet and the French destroyers Albatross and Milan were beached ashore and burned; the Fougeux, Frondeur, Boulonnais, and Brestois were sunk; and the Ludlow was heavily damaged. The French paid a bitter price for their futile resistance.
We returned to the transport area off Fedala and spent the night alongside the Augusta to effect emergency repairs. True to old Navy tradition. Captain Creighton lauded us, then ordered all hands to “Splice the Main Brace!”
The Ludlow was Quartermaster First Class Sahlin’s only ship, in which he served from 1942-45. This article is an excerpt from a memoir he wrote for family and shipmates.