Because of the Christmas holiday, many of the British crew were on leave and didn't make it back to the ship in time for the boarding. As a consequence, no one checked off the units of the 66th Panthers as they trudged on board.

Twin lines of soldiers curled around the docks to the gangways of both Leopoldville and Cheshire, like tentacles from beasts that lived within the ships' hulls. During the disorganized loading procedure, several infantry companies of the 66th were mistakenly sent aboard Cheshire. Medical detachments a.s.signed to Leopoldville found their bandages and medicines loaded onto the wrong ship. Company clerks were frustrated in keeping track of the men who were on one ship while their records went on the other. By a lucky stroke, one company of foot soldiers, lingering at the coffee and doughnut tables, missed their call to board Leopoldville. By the time they regrouped, they were ordered onto Cheshire.

Amid the chaos and foulups, the morning broke on Christmas Eve.

By 9 A.M the transports were finally loaded and ready for the short voyage across the Channel. The troops nestled down in their packed compartments. Most tried to sleep, stomachs grumbling as the soldiers thought wistfully of a breakfast that was never served.

Slipping the pier, Leopoldville steamed from Southampton Harbor.

In her wake, Cheshire followed like an obedient hound. Both ships were fully loaded. All told, nearly 4,500 troops set out that day for the nine-hour Channel crossing.

Just past the breakwater, the harbor pilot was taken off the lead ship.

Pa.s.sing over the antisubmarine nets, the troop transports entered the Channel. Steaming through the watery expanse separating the mainland and the Isle of Wight, Leopoldville and her convoy met the destroyer escorts. H.M.S. Brilliant, Anthony, and Hotham, along with the Free French frigate Croix de Lorraine, took up defensive stations around the troop ships. It was business as usual.

At 2 P.m. the order was radioed from Brilliant for the transports to commence a zigzag course. Oddly, with so many Channel crossings under her hull, this was the first time Leopoldville had been ordered to perform the maneuver. The British gunners were poised at their stations. The officers made a brief inspection of the ship as it was underway. Everything appeared secure. Nothing was overlooked, nothing that is except a lifeboat drill. Each unit was verbally a.s.signed to an a.s.sembly area on deck, but few knew exactly where to go. Life belts were scattered in stowage compartments and none were issued.

The first submarine alert came at half past two. The ASDIC system aboard Brilliant detected an underwater object. Raising a black flag to signal the troopships, the destroyers set off to drop depth charges.

Fifteen minutes later, the drill was over. It was written off as a false alarm. But there was to be no relief. A short time later, another contact was made. Once again the destroyers sprinted ahead of the convoy and dropped depth charges. Whether they found a U-boat or not was never determined.

By the time the second submarine alert had ended, the sea was becoming nasty. Waves were running eight to nine feet from crest to trough and the men inside the ships began to suffer. Many became seasick and rushed for the heads. Others vomited where they were at the time. They cringed at seeing rats scurry about that lo(iked as big as cats. The Belgian crew made an attempt to feed the uncomfortable troops, but those who were not sick found the food inedible. Some ate from the boxes of C-rations they had brought with them in their packs.

The air inside Leopoldville rapidly became foul, tainted by sickness and bad food. Diesel fuel reeked everywhere, adding an unwelcome contaminant to the air. The throbbing of the engines and thumping of the propellers could easily be felt by those leaning against the cold steel of the hull. Most men sat on their duffel bags or tried to get some rest in the hammocks. They pulled blankets over their overcoats to keep warm. Only a few engaged in conversation or played cards.

None jokingly griped as they did on most crossings.

Spray whipped across the bridge wings of Leopoldville as the next watch filtered up and took their stations. Along with the navigator, helmsman, and the rest of the wheelhouse crew, the captain was due to be relieved. Instead, Limbor remained on the bridge, as he usually had during Channel crossings since D-Day.

Seven hours into the voyage, the wind and sea around the convoy grew to Force 6. The 2,235 men onLeopoldville were now only twenty-five miles north and slightly east of Cherbourg.

Over one-third of them had less than two hours to live.

Although Germany was still building U-boats fast and furiously in the winter of 1944-45, the Allies were sinking them as fast as they left the dock. Oberleutnant Gerhard Meyer did not doubt that his days were numbered. Commander Meyer's U-486 was one of very few submarines lurking in and around the English Channel. Dropping to the bottom by day and rising only at night, U-486 was constantly harried by hordes of destroyers and subhunting aircraft.

Completed nine months before Leopoldville began her fateful voyage, U-486 was the latest in German underwater design. The Type VII C-cla.s.s submarine was equipped with a folding snorkel to allow the boat to remain under the surface for extended periods. No longer did the submarine have to show herself to charge batteries. The snorkel vented the diesel engines and she could now cruise at forty-eight feet, her periscope depth, for days on end.

Having made the long trip from his base in Norway, Meyer would have preferred to be anywhere but in the cold waters off the coast of Normandy this Christmas Eve as he peered through his periscope. The time was 5:45 in the evening. It was dark with a lingering light reflecting on the clouds to the west. The sea was choppy, goaded by a brisk gale.

Folding down the etched steel hand controls, Meyer rested his forehead against the eyepiece and stared into the lenses of the periscope.

The sky was a gray tempest. Tufts of clouds, their shapes constantly changing, reflected the dying light of the sun. Curtains of sleet, riding the winds of the coming storm, raced over the water, then changed direction as if on a whim. The tempestuous sea rolled over the exposed tip of the periscope.

Rotating the shaft, Meyer looked toward sh.o.r.e, five miles away.

Inside the protected harbor of Cherbourg, the lights of the town flickered in the gathering night. He swung the viewer back to the open sea, peering through the gloom toward England. And then he saw something.

He made out the outlines of two large ships and a pair of destroyers.

There were also several other vessels, smaller ones he took for the American LST landing craft. The shot had to be quick and neat, no chance for a second attempt. Meyer had a healthy respect for the destroyers, which he knew would be all over the U-486 within a minute after the torpedo launch.

"Ready tubes one and two," he ordered quietly.

At 5:56 P.m Meyer ranged on the largest ship in the convoy. The bow of the submarine moved almost imperceptibly as Meyer lined up the shot.

Then he gave the order to fire. "Down periscope and dive!"

he shouted. "Quickly, quickly! Full speed toward the coast to throw off the dogs!"

Meyer did not wait around to observe the destruction of lives caused by his torpedoes. All he knew for certain was that one had missed, but he was pleased when he heard the m.u.f.fled explosion of the one that struck home.

"We hit her," he announced to his crew, who burst out in cheers.

A member of the British contingent on board Leopoldville was acting as a lookout in the crow's nest on the aft mast. At six o'clock on the nose, he shouted down to the crew manning the four-inch stern gun.

"Hey, mates, I just saw the bubbles from a torpedo!"

"Are you sure?" yelled back a young lieutenant.

"I saw the bubbles."

"Keep a sharp eye-" "Another one, another one!" the lookout cut him off. "Torpedo to starboard! " Deep in the bowels of the ship, most of the soldiers were asleep when the torpedo slammed into number-four hold starboard aft. Rivets burst and flew like rifle bullets. Hundreds died without knowing what struck them. Observers on deck swore they saw parts of bodies hurled high in the air.

Nearly all the men a.s.signed to compartments G-4 and F-4 were never seen again.

Compartment G-4 was occupied by 185 troops. Immediately above in compartment F-4, 170 soldiers were sleeping in their hammocks.

The steel girders supporting the bulkheads buckled. Deck F collapsed into Deck G, taking the stairways with them and preventing escape.

Cries of pain and panic were quickly snuffed out by the tremendous surge of water into the hull. Hundreds were engulfed by the sea and sudden darkness. Estimates placed those who died instantly at 315.

Fewer than twenty men made it to the decks above. One, a nonswimmer, was swept out through the hole made by the torpedo and was pulled back aboard from an outside deck by men who spotted him.

Walter Blunt of L Company heard the screams and m.u.f.fled cries only after his head broke from the water. The swirling debris reeked of oil and gunpowder. He found himself wedged in a hole in the deck above.

His head and shoulders protruded into the upper compartment, but he was wedged tight and couldn't struggle free. Waves washed over him as the ship began to sink beneath him, the dirty water rising higher and higher and causing him to hold his breath until he nearly pa.s.sed out.

He was thinking, This is a h.e.l.l of a way to die, when a light beamed on his face, and his company commander, Captain Off, leaned over him.

"Give me your hand, son. You'll be all right."

Blunt was pulled free and helped to the outside deck, where he was placed in the only lifeboat carrying wounded GIs who had survived the explosion. Out of Blunt's 181-man unit, 74 were killed and 61 injured.

Walter Brown of Company F owed his life to being seasick. Feeling the effects of the rough seas, he left his compartment and climbed to a head near the outer deck, where he planned to throw up. He had no sooner walked up to a sink than the torpedo hit. Knocked unconscious, he awoke to find water spraying on him from broken overhead pipes.

He saved himself by leaping onto the deck of a small ship that came alongside as Leopoldville began her slide to the bottom. He was the last man to escape the ship without jumping into the water.

Only Brown and five others survived from Company F. One hundred fifty-three went down with the ship.

Staff Sergeant Jerry Crean, Company B, was playing cards when he felt the impact and the ship suddenly slow to a stop. Receiving no instructions, Crean gathered the twelve men of his platoon and led them up to the open decks. He made sure they stuck together while he returned with enough life jackets to outfit them all. At seven o'clock, an hour after the U-486 sent her torpedo into Leopoldville, Crean was told help was on the way. Rescue vessels and tugs were reported to be coming from the nearby harbor to tow them in. But as the ship rolled on a ten-degree list, he realized for the first time that "this d.a.m.n thing is going to sink."

Finally, when the "Abandon ship" order was announced, if it was announced, it came in either Flemish or French and went untranslated.

If the . American officers in command had known earlier on the ship was sinking, many more lives could have been saved.

Several of Leopoldville's officers worked hard to save the ship and maintain order, but the sudden and unexpected disaster overwhelmed them. The Congolese crew wasted little time in collecting their personal effects and heading for the lifeboats. The ship's physician, Dr. Nestor Heffent, offered his services to the ship's British physician, Major Mumby, and doctors of the 66th Division. His two nurses had already abandoned him, departing in the first lifeboats to leave. The medical men all worked together to care for the growing tide of wounded men brought to the infirmary.

On the bridge, Captain Charles Limbor appeared overly calm. Some described him as being in a state of shock. He did not seem to have comprehended the enonmity of the situation. Slowly, he struggled to regain a sense of control as it became apparent the ship was in danger of sinking. He never quite made it.

Informed that water was rapidly rising in the engine room, he ordered the engines shut down. Believing that tugs were on their way to tow Leopoldville to sh.o.r.e, he ordered the anchor dropped to keep the ship from drifting with the tide. It was an error in judgment that was compounded by a thousand other mistakes that fateful night.

Confusion was mixed with calmness as uninjured soldiers of the Panther Division either stood in formation on the open deck waiting for orders or simply milled around, puzzled about what to do. All they were told was to wait or make way for the crew.

They watched in amus.e.m.e.nt that soon turned to outright rage as the Congolese crew struggled to lower the lifeboats. There was some cheering as the troops thought the boats were being prepared for them.

But then it became apparent the crew were abandoning the ship on their own. One or more boats tipped and spilled the crew into the sea.

None of the Congolese made any attempt to rescue their pa.s.sengers.

They soon rowed off, carrying luggage, radios, personal belongings, even a parrot in a cage, leaving no one on the ship who knew how to lower the remaining lifeboats and rafts. The soldiers also swore that officers wearing coats with gold braid rowed away with the crew. It was generally agreed that the crew took several boats when one would have been sufficient for their small number.

Several soldiers were killed or injured in trying to free the boats from their mountings and davits. Many attempted to cut away the ropes holding the many rafts, but did not have knives. The soldiers actually managed to launch a boat, but it was quickly filled by the Leopoldville's crew while the Americans stood by in disbelief.

Throughout the debacle, Captain Limbor did or said nothing.

Normally a strict disciplinarian, he stood mute without making the slightest attempt to display command. Fifty years later, survivors still curse Limbor and his Belgian and Congolese crew.

Sergeant Gino Berarducci of Company I was ordered into a lifeboat by a British officer. He believes it was the only boat that left Leopoldville with uninjured American soldiers on board.

A report fifteen years later by the U.S. Inspector General stated, "There was little doubt that the crew of Leopoldville was negligent in performance of their duties. They were not at their posts instructing pa.s.sengers, reporting condition of the ship, and launching lifeboats.

They seemed interested only in themselves."

Bewilderment seemed to strike the minds of the other ship captains.

While the British destroyers rushed about dropping depth charges, the troopship Cheshire stood by for nearly an hour less than two hundred yards away from Leopoldville. The men on board Cheshire thought they heard a m.u.f.fled explosion in the distance, and then it appeared to them that the other troopship was beginning to list. Their ship's officers did not comprehend the horrendous debacle that was taking place before their eyes. They did not have a clue to the growing crisis. They could only stand and stare through the darkness at the stricken ship until Cheshire finally turned away and headed into Cherbourg. Soon Leopoldville was lost in the darkness, and their attention turned to the lights of the harbor.

Only five miles from land, Leopoldville still had a chance of being beached if the tow ships arrived soon. But word was not getting through. Everyone was celebrating Christmas Eve, and very few personnel were on duty. All potential rescue boats sat idle, their crews on leave. The town bars and restaurants were filled with revelers. Flickenng lights and festive decorations framed the shop windows as both the military and civilian residents celebrated the last Christmas of the great war. They had no way of knowing a life-and-death struggle was taking place just off sh.o.r.e.

Thirty minutes pa.s.sed before Convoy Commander John Pringle, captain of H.M.S. Brilliant, signaled Cherbourg, "Taking off survivors.

Need a.s.sistance." By waiting too long to give the order to abandon ship, Limbor had sentenced the ship to become a war tomb.

The officers at the harbor-entrance control post were startled at the unexpected request. "Survivors of what?" they inquired.

"Leopoldville hit. Need a.s.sistance." No message came from Leopoldville at all.

On sh.o.r.e, military bureaucracy reigned supreme. Messages were sent, received, and pa.s.sed on. Orders were given but not relayed.

Highranking officers enjoying Yule parties could not be bothered.

Finally, men of decision began to take responsibility for the rescue operationmen like Lieutenant Colonel Tom McConnell at Fort Louest at the harbor entrance.

McConnell was a successful Indiana businessman before the war and minced no words in describing the situation to his superiors. He turned the phone lines blue with descriptive language, demanding, pleading, castigating sergeants and generals alike in an attempt to get a rescue operation underway. In no uncertain terms, he notified the general in command of the port that he was taking it on his own authority to send out rescue vessels. By the time McConnell's efforts had sent army rescue tugs on their way to the sinking ship, fifty minutes had pa.s.sed.

Ensign Natt Divoll, the navy duty officer at Fort Louest, wasn't having much better luck until he connected with Lieutenant Commander Richard Davis. When Divoll's call came from the fort, Davis didn't merely cut through red tape, he shredded it. Less than five minutes after being notified of Leopoldville's situation, Davis had two PT-boats racing toward the stricken ship. Two minutes later, a third left port. He then sent officers into town to pull sailors and soldiers from the bars. Shortly after 7 P.m Davis had Cherbourg started toward mobilization.

Minutes later, the first lifeboats carrying Congolese crewmen arrived at the docks and were questioned. Hospitals were notified, food and beds arranged. The rescue was at last being coordinated.

The people on sh.o.r.e began to realize a disaster was in the making, but the soldiers on board Leopoldville still hadn't been warned that the ship was slipping away beneath their feet.

In a precise display of skilled seamanship, Commander Pringle took the bull by the horns and brought his destroyer alongside Leopoldville.

Only thirty-nine years old, Pringle had spent twenty-two of them at sea.

As his ship approached, Pringle's crew threw out mooring lines.

With no Belgian crew to catch them, the British destroyer was finally secured alongside by soldiers, the ship's British gunners, and sailors from Brilliant, who leaped aboard Leopoldville.

The high seas pounded the much smaller hull against the larger one.

Steel plates buckled and groaned in protest as they sc.r.a.ped together.

The sounds were ominous, and Pringle realized he could not remain tethered to the troopship for very long. Still, the look of apprehension in the soldiers' faces was enough to repel any thoughts he might have of backing away quickly.

He would keep the two ships together for as long as possible before Brilliant was battered to sc.r.a.p. Soon shouts came from his men to the soldiers.

"Jump, Yank, jump!"

The evacuation was without focus. No officers were directing the movement, and the job of organizing fell to the sergeants and NCOS.

As the ship continued its list, the troops realized that the chance of Leopoldville's remaining afloat was diminishing with every minute.

Those still belowdecks were directed topside. They huddled on the open decks, exposed to the frigid wind, overcoats tightly b.u.t.toned.

Most still carried rifles, packs, and helmets.

The cold, dark night, the violent sea, the waves plunging and thrusting the little destroyer up and down like a toy boat, made the leap a terrifying undertaking for the young men crowded on the decks of the troopship. It was made all the more appalling by the men who mistimed their jump and missed the destroyer, falling into the water between the two ships before being crushed to death as the surge drove steel plates against steel plates.

By 7:20 H.M.S. Brilliant had managed to take aboard almost seven hundred soldiers of the 66th- The other destroyers of the convoy, Hotham, Anthony, and Croix de Lorraine had given up the hunt for the U-boat and headed for port. With no damage reports coming from Leopoldville, they were still unaware the troopship was in danger of sinking.

Pringle was growing more concerned for his ship. The constant impact caused by the turbulent sea had loosened the steel plates of Brilliant's hull. From belowdecks, his engineering officer reported the pumps were keeping up with the sudden flood of water but the flow was increasing. His radioman reported that he picked up signals from PT-boats and rescue tugs that were rushing to the scene.

"Sever the lines holding us to Leo!" Pringle shouted to the officer directing the evacuation below on the open deck.

Bob Hesse, the platoon sergeant from New York, along with a handful of his men, edged acrOSS the forward part of the ship until they reached the anchor chain on the forecastle. Someone from the British destroyer yelled at them.

"We're cutting off, Yanks! You'd better jump now! It will be your last chance!"