All Aboard

Fighting men were off to war.

A ferryboat walloped through the choppy waters of a big U.S. harbor. Except for the riding lights of the ships in the stream there was blackout. Nudged by a hard-breathing tug, the potbellied ferry tied up to the pier and from her maw a soldier appeared. He was followed by another, then more, finally hundreds. Each man bent under a staggering load--150 lb. --as he filed through the warehouse.

On the other side they filed up the gangways of waiting troop transports. As the troops went aboard, a checker barked out each soldier's surname; he answered by shouting his own first name.

Thus one of the biggest U.S. troop embarkations in a 24-hour period of the war began, on the evening of a certain secret date. It went on far into the night and early morning as ferryboats and trains brought thousands of battle-readied soldiers to board troop transports.

This sailing was unlike those that had gone before. Grey-uniformed Red Cross workers, long prohibited by security requirements from attending troop embarkations, now passed out doughnuts and coffee, candy and chewing gum. On the piers bands were playing--for the first time in World War II--and the troops broke into thankful grins.

Said a rugged old officer: "Soldiers measure their lives in months, anyway, if they are worth a damn as soldiers. Going aboard transports, they ought to have something to take their minds off submarines and seasickness."

Loading for Battlefronts. Convoys leaving the U.S. during the early months after Pearl Harbor were apt to be tangled affairs. Troops boarded transports, then chafed at the wharfside many days. One engineer regiment carried to Australia trucks which had already been driven 30,000 miles. In World War I the confusion was worse. Men who had never fired a rifle were rushed overseas.

But now embarkation is a finely timed, streamlined operation. Nowadays, when the high command decides to send a regiment, division, squadron or other unit overseas, the outfit's commanding officer is "alerted." Then a movement order directs the outfit to be prepared to depart on a specified date.

From that time the outfit is in the hands of the burgeoning Transportation Corps, whose chief, Major General Charles P. Gross, West Point-educated engineer, became one of the Army's topflight commanders when Transportation was organized ten months ago. The duties of the Transportation Corps (a part of the Army Service Forces) are as numerous and as complex as those of any organization in the Army, but none is as dramatic as shipping soldiers off to war. The Transportation Corps moves the outfit--usually by rail--from the training camp to an assembly point, somewhere in the vicinity of a port of embarkation. There the soldiers spend a period undergoing last-minute conditioning and examination --and wondering what's going to happen to them.

Assembling for Sailing. One assembly area has loaded a large troop train in four minutes, has sent out 15,000 troops in one day--and on schedule.

Such an establishment is more like a sprawling hotel than an ordinary cantonment. Each unit has all its meals prepared and served by Transportation Corps men, since its own mess equipment has been sent ahead for loading into the holds of cargo ships. So have other supplies and organization equipment, which in some outfits (e.g., armored force) may run as heavy as nine tons per man.

The assembly point's medical corps makes a final examination of every soldier before approving him for overseas service. A few are found who should never have been admitted to the Army (chief ailment: hernia). A few mental cases are weeded out. Soldiers whose emotional unbalance escapes notice at training camps, where war seems remote, sometimes break down as they approach the port of embarkation. A special Reclassification Board at the assembly point, including psychiatrists, examines all cases marked "doubtful" by the medicos. Typical result: of 12,000 men examined one night, 143 were classed as "doubtful," but only 19 were prohibited by the Reclassification Board from sailing.

Outfitting for Overseas. Each soldier's teeth are examined, corrected if necessary (even to new sets of false teeth). His first-aid kit is checked. So are his inoculations (typhoid, yellow fever, etc.), his metal identification disks ("dog tags"), his financial allotment papers and his safe-arrival card containing his APO number. The quartermaster unit takes his old shoes and gives him new or reconditioned ones. He gets clothing which is impregnated with anti-gas chemicals. Ordnance men check the soldier's weapons and equipment, his ability to fire his rifle (a casual is sometimes found who has never fired his rifle; he learns in a quick course or stays behind).

During his last 24 or 48 hours the battle-bound soldier is confined to the assembly area. But from the time he arrives until the last "blackout" period he may obtain leave briefly to visit nearby relatives or friends. Sometimes the U.S.O. stages a dance (but not often enough, in the estimation of a general who snorted last week: "And to think they give dances for lounge lizards who will never leave this country!"). When a group of soldiers was asked what they missed most during their last week on U.S. soil, 90% answered "Girls!"

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