Italians reach interim period in peace moves
Steps necessary prior to negotiations have been fulfilled
By Helen Kirkpatrick
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Intense hate for Germans shown by Italian captives
Nazis attack prison ships en route to England; men will be assigned to farm labor
By Nat A. Barrows
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Jungle troops inching ahead against Munda
Japs hold fortified points on New Georgia Island until wiped out
By Brydon Taves, United Press staff writer
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Russians mob 2 theaters at Davies’ film premiere
Audience laughs at inaccuracies in Mission to Moscow, thinking them comedy
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OWI broadcast ‘blunder’ may bring major shakeup
Roosevelt sharply denounces the characterization of Italian ruler as ‘little moronic king’
By Joseph Laitin, United Press staff writer
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Point values increased on frozen foods
Action also taken providing for sale of items canned at home
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National GOP due for bitter internal fight
Willkie followers and old guard at odds on U.S. post-war policies
By Thomas L. Stokes, Scripps-Howard staff writer
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Editorial: Tonight’s address
The President makes few speeches these days, which is understandable. He is busy. His time must be husbanded. But the people are in sore need of the information and counsel and inspiration he can give them. He should have a big audience tonight.
Anything that he can report about Italy will find eager listeners. But the news from that area, as from other theaters of war, needs no presidential gilding. The country is not kicking about the progress of the war. On the other hand, it is puzzled and disturbed, and often irritated to the point of disgust, by situations here at home.
What is Mr. Roosevelt planning to do about the tug-of-war between wages and prices, which is threatening to turn into a free-for-all fight with inflation the winner?
That question, with all the tangents it involved in the way of labor troubles, food production, rationing rows, tax problems and whatnot, is vital. It deserves bold thinking and plain talking by the Chief Executive.
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
With the U.S. Navy in the Mediterranean – (by wireless, delayed)
Now it can be told that we had a couple of horrible moments as we went to invade Sicily.
At the time they both looked disastrous for us, but in the end, they turned out with such happy endings that it seemed as though Fate had deliberately waved her wand and plucked us from doom.
The weather was the cause of the first near-tragedy on the morning of the day on which we were to attack Sicily. That night, the weather turned miserable. Dawn came up gray and misty, and the sea began to kick up. Even our fairly big ship was rolling and plunging and the little flat-bottomed landing craft were tossing around like corks.
As the day wore on, it grew progressively worse. By noon, the sea was rough even to professional sailors. By midafternoon, it was breaking clear over our decks. By dusk, it was absolutely mountainous. The wind howled at 40 miles an hour. You could barely stand on deck, and our far-spread convoy was a wallowing, convulsive thing.
High command worried
In the early afternoon the high command aboard our various ships had begun to wrinkle their brows. They were perplexed, vexed and worried. Damn it, here the Mediterranean had been like a millpond for a solid month, and now on this vital day, this storm had to come up out of nowhere! Conceivably it could turn our whole venture into a disaster that would take thousands of lives and prolong the war for months.
High seas and winds like this could cause many things such as:
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The bulk of our soldiers would hit the beach weak and indifferent from seasickness, two-thirds of their fighting power destroyed.
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Our slowest barges, barely creeping along against the high waves, might miss the last rendezvous and arrive too late with their precious armored equipment.
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High waves would make launching the assault craft from the big transports next to impossible. Boats would be smashed, lives lost, and the attack seriously weakened.
There was a time when it seemed that to avoid complete failure the landings would have to be postponed 24 hours and we’d have had to turn around and cruise for an extra day, increasing the chance of being discovered and heavily attacked by the enemy.
I asked our commanders about it. They said, “God knows.” They would like to change the plans, but it was impossible now. We’d have to go through with it, regardless (Later I learned that the Supreme High Command did actually consider postponement).
Many ships in the fleet carried barrage balloons against an air attack. The quick snap of the ship’s deck when it dropped into a trough would tear the high balloon loose from its cable. The freed silver bag would soar up and up until finally in the thin, high air it would burst and disappear from view. One by one we watched the balloons break loose during the afternoon. Scores of them dotted the sky above our convoy. That night, when the last light of day failed, only three balloons were left in the entire fleet.
In the early afternoon we sent a destroyer back through the feet to find out how all the ships were getting along. It came back with the appalling news that 30% of all the soldiers were deathly seasick. One Army officer had been washed overboard from one craft but had been picked up by another about four ships behind.
The little subchasers and the infantry-carrying assault craft would disappear completely as you watched them. Then the next moment they would be carried so high they seemed to leap clear out of the water. By late afternoon, many of the sailors on our vessel were sick. Surely 50% of our troops must have been flat on their backs.
Officers try to joke
During the worst of the blow, we hoped and prayed that the weather would moderate by dusk, but it didn’t. The officers tried to make jokes about it at suppertime. One said:
Think of hitting the beach tonight, seasick as hell, with your stomach upside down, and straight off you come face to face with an Italian with a big garlic breath!
At 10 o’clock, I lay down with my clothes on. There wasn’t anything I could do and the rolling sea was beginning to take nibbles at my stomach, too.
I have never been so depressed in my life. I lay there and let the curse of a too-vivid imagination picture a violent and complete catastrophe for America’s war effort before another sun rose. The wind was howling and the ship was pounding and falling through space.
The next thing I knew a loud voice over the ship’s loudspeaker was saying:
Standby for gunfire. We may have to shoot out some searchlights.
I raised up, startled. The engines were stopped. There seemed to be no wind. The entire ship was quiet as a grave. I grabbed my helmet, ran out onto the deck, and stared over the rail. We were anchored, and you could see dark shapes in the Sicilian hills not far away. We had arrived. The water lapped with a gentle, caressing sound against the sides of the motionless ship.
I looked down and the green surface of the Mediterranean was slick and smooth as a table top. The assault boats were already skimming past us toward the shore. Not a breath of air stirred. The miracle had happened.