I served as Pharmacist Mate 1st class for LCI 489.
I was the ship's "Doc". The Navy prepared us well for war.
As Pharmacist Mate, I received extensive training on wound care,
shock treatment, bullet/shrapnel removal, setting fractures, control
of bleeding, trauma treatment, stitching, treatment of infectious
diseases, dressing and bandaging wounds, chemical warfare first aid,
etc. Onboard, everybody got immunisations.
I gave typhus fever vaccine every 6 months, typhoid fever every
12 months, tetanus booster as needed, yellow fever every 24 months
and small-pox every 6 months.
I also served as Chemical Warfare Representative,
and Lend-Lease Representative. I completed the required
communicable disease reports and sanitary reports.
Our
commanding officer was H. H. Montgomery, Lieutenant USNR.
As I recall, our LCI ship's complement included four officers
and between 25-28 enlisted men.
Around May 1944 we brought on two additional medical
men in preparation for D-Day. These men were Burton H.
Hockel, PhM1/C NR, and Harold Alvin Kadle, Hospital
Apprentice 2/C. I set these men up in the sick bay to give
IVs and plasma.
Approximately two weeks before the Normandy Invasion,
our LCI was quarantined as a precaution.
My recollection is that our LCI and 5 other LCIs among LSTs,
and LCMs pulled up to Omaha Beach just at daybreak on Jun. 6, 1944.
Actually, our LCI didn't land up on the beach, which was the goal of
LCIs. We hit an obstacle in the water and were not able to get right
up on the beach. Chuck Phillips would know the details on that.
There was a sandbar and we could not have made it up on the beach
anyway.
I was on the bridge/conning tower with Lt. Montgomery, Neikerk
and Wilson. Another man was on the bridge, too, but I can't
remember who it was. Lt. Montgomery was surveying where he wanted
to direct fire. Suddenly all hell broke out. Montgomery yelled,
"Get off the bridge" and we abandoned the bridge immediately.
The German bunkers that were supposed to have been blasted out
in an air raid weren't. Fire started coming from everywhere.
To make things worse, the water was very rough. We carried men
from the 1st Division (the Big Red One) to Omaha Beach on June 6,
1944.
Wood timbers/cross ties and barbed wire were attached to mines.
One of the first things I remember seeing just before all hell broke
out was a couple of dead men draped over these obstacles in the shallow
water. Later I learned that these men were sent in to clear and mark
channels for other landing craft and us. The fighting on the beach
seemed to be the most horrendous for the first 5-6 hours.
It eased up a little around what I thought seemed like lunchtime,
but the shelling continued for two days. You should have seen my
helmet. I wish I had saved it for my kids to see.
I was told that the Germans wouldn't aim fire directly at men in
the Red Cross helmets. A few hours into battle, I took my helmet
off because I was certain they were aiming right at that Red Cross.
I guess the German's figured for every hospital corpsman they
took out, the more overall casualties there would be.
Dead corpsmen can't save lives.
During the invasion itself, the sick bay expanded to include the mess
hall and the deck. The shipmates on our LCI were lucky. We did not
have one single casualty. The mess hall and deck were filled with
men from the Big Red One whom our LCI had carried and soldiers who
had come in on other landing craft along side us.
Travis Wilton Allen (Al), seaman 2/c NR, is the name of the man who
secured the lifeline rope that Karl Bischoff mentioned in his story.
Al Allen brought wounded men to me all day on the 6th and 7th of
June. He never stopped even though he injured his knee.
I think he took a surface shot across the knee. He was a good
young man. He probably saved more lives than we can count in
those two days, literally hundreds and hundreds. I don't know
how he maintained the stamina to keep bringing the injured from
the beach onto the LCI.
I patched these men up the best I could and got the really
injured ones transferred to hospital ships.
When Allen couldn't
get the injured to me, I went to them on the beach.
It was so loud with strafing, shelling, and mortar fire.
I'd yell, look out behind you Allen. Allen would yell, hit
the deck, Doc. We looked out for each other. It seems a
miracle now that we did not lose one crewmember on our LCI
on D-day. Sometimes the air was so full of fire that is seems
impossible that any of us survived.
By the afternoon of June
7, disabled boats/ships that were beyond repair had been sunk
out away from the beach to make a makeshift harbour/blockade.
Other less disabled ships had been pulled up alongside the
sunken ships. This reduced the waves a bit and made things a
little easier.
I remember when we rescued men from the Susan B. Anthony. When the
waves would swell, our ship would rise up and the men on the Anthony
had to judge it just right to get the timing right for their jump
across. I remember one young man who just couldn't make himself jump.
He finally tried and had both legs crushed badly. However,
he managed to hang onto the Anthony. I climbed up the cargo rope
and slung the young man over my shoulders. I brought him onto our
LCI and treated him. I had him transferred to a hospital ship.
I never caught his name. I have wondered over the years if he
made it home safely.
By this time I was 23 years old, in fact, I turned 23 on
Jun. 7 1944, the day the Anthony hit a mine. Twenty-three
seems young now, but at the time I was one of the senior men
on board and these 18 year old fellows seemed terribly young
to be fighting. My heart really went out to them.
Around 2 days out from D-Day a group of men from our LCI set out
on the beach. I treated men from Omaha and Utah Beach.
I believe it was an LST that brought in Ernie Pyle, a war
correspondent. I think we were actually on Utah Beach when we met
Ernie. We talked to him about what we had seen. We were deactivating
German bombs that had not detonated and were checking for any
survivors. By this time the fighting had moved inland a couple of
miles. But we still got occasional shells.
It was about three days out that I was authorised to give each man
2 ounces of Brandy. It was prescribed to help settle their nerves.
That was a common prescription in wartime for shell shock.
James Roland Argo.
Post Note: My Dad, James Argo, wrote this story.
He reunited with two of his shipmates, Karl Bischoff and Chuck
Phillips in November 2000. At the time of the email, snail mail
and telephonic reunion, he was suffering from lung cancer.
He died on Dec. 8, 2000.
This seems to have been a final mission for LCI 489 as far
as my Dad was concerned. All the old anxieties of war were passed
away and my Dad experienced a sense of healing by this reunion/
There is no doubt that he lived in the greatest generation.
I salute my Dad and the many other men who fought for our freedom,
cleared minefields, steered craft, patched up the wounded,
cleaned out bilge pumps, radioed, signalled, gunned and died.
Your parts were all significant and it is why we are here and free
today.
