In the evening of July 8, 1943, a group of transports and supporting warships was steaming eastward along the Tunisian coastline toward the next joint British-American operation of World War 11. Operation Husky, the invasion of Sicily, was only a few hours away, and elements of the 1st Infantry Division were on their way to their intended target, the coastal area of Gela.

Among the important objectives of the group was Gela proper, a quaint fishing town with a population of about 32,000. Its capture and defense were critical to the success of the whole operation, and the anticipated street fighting would require special handling. The task was therefore to be given to a new, elite group of the U.S. Army.

Colonel William O. Darby and his Rangers had already gained considerable renown in the North African campaign. The mission to take Gela would add even more luster to the Rangers’ reputation and greatly increase admiration for their leader. History has proved very kind to the Rangers’ efforts. Yet what most accounts fail to point out is that a full third of Darby’s command at Gela was neither Rangers nor infantry, but rather an untested battalion of combat engineers.

Headed for Sicily aboard the transport Joseph T. Dickman, the men of the 1st Battalion, 39th Combat Engineer Regiment, appeared ready for their mission, but they were actually a question mark. No one had more confidence in their abilities than Major Stanley Dziuban, the 1st Battalion’s commander. His men lacked any combat experience, however. There was not a single battle-hardened veteran among them. In fact, they had only been in the Mediterranean theater for five months, having arrived fresh from the States in Oran, Algeria, at the end of January. For the next 3 1/2 months they had remained close to the secured port of Oran, their only duties routine, noncombat engineering. But with the end of the North African campaign and preparations for Operation Husky, their role quickly changed.

The transformation had begun in the middle of May, when the engineers left Oran and moved some 100 miles south to an area in the Atlas Mountains, near Magenta, where they underwent a two-week period of intense training in infantry tactics. By early June the unit was again on the move, to the Fifth Army Invasion Training Center at Arzew. There the engineers were introduced to Colonel Darby and attached to his newly formed 1st and 4th Ranger battalions. For the next three weeks the three battalions rigorously trained together in realistic combat simulations, striving to reach a peak of combat efficiency.

Throughout this training period, the reason for relocating the engineers had remained secret, even to Dziuban. Secrecy was still the order of the day when, on July 5, the engineers, along with the Rangers (a union now designated Force X), were hauled to Algiers and fully combat loaded aboard joseph T. Dickman. It was not until the following day that Dziuban and his officers learned of their mission. Only then were they fully informed of their objectives and told that they were attached to General Terry Allen’s 1st Infantry Division for the invasion of Sicily.

Dziuban and his officers instantly focused their attention upon maps and models Of Gela, which showed the town sitting atop a 150-foot-high mound extending some three miles along the sea and some 4,000 yards inland. Obviously, the high ground would offer good defensive positions. Furthermore, they learned that the Italian 429th Coastal Battalion of the XVIII Coastal Brigade had established defenses in all directions around the community, extensively using concrete pillboxes and barbed wire.

The beach in front of the town was about 1,000 yards long and divided at its center by a 900-foot concrete pier. The beach to the left of the pier, designated Red Beach by the invasion force, was some 50 yards deep, while the beach to its right, designated Green Beach, was roughly 80 yards deep. Aerial photos had revealed several fishing boats beached on the shore, suggesting that mines were not likely to be a factor. What created the most immediate concern among the officers was the steeply rising ground behind the beach.

And there were other major concerns. On the north side of town lay a treeless, cultivated plain where the enemy had integrated several defensive measures. Poles installed as anti-glider obstacles were studded throughout the area, pillboxes were positioned to give machine-gunners maximum fields of fire and killing zones had been presighted for artillery

D-day was set for July 10, with H-hour scheduled for 2:45 a.m. The plan called for Colonel Darby’s Rangers to land in the first wave of the assault, the 1st Battalion on the western half of Red Beach and the 4th Battalion on the eastern half of Green Beach. Dziuban’s engineers were to land in the two following waves, with the critical center as their objective. Companies B and C made up the second wave. Company B, under Captain Theodore Arendale, was to land just left of the pier, while Company C, under Captain James C. Wilde, landed just right of the pier. In the third wave, Company A, under Captain Harold Hanson, was to land some 300 yards west of the pier and just to the left of Company B. A fourth wave made up of the 83rd Chemical Weapons Battalion would round out the initial assault as a supporting element.

The first phase of the on-shore operation required the Rangers and, engineers to reorganize at the base of the rising ground. Then, using existing footpaths and a central winding road, the three battalions were to simultaneously exit the beach and ascend the steep slope to town. Once up the slope, they would begin the second phase, amounting to a formation movement through town, eliminating resistance as they went. Ultimately, they were to move to their final objectives along the north edge of the community, establish defensive positions and await further orders.

Everyone knew, however, that the reality would never be as neat and clean as the words on paper made the plan sound. The weather was bad-it had been since the ships’ departure from Algiers, and it showed little sign of improvement. Rough seas constantly battered the convoy, and Joseph T. Dickman wallowed from side to side, making many men badly seasick. With H-hour approaching and the sea remaining rough, cancellation of the operation seemed inevitable. Then, at just before midnight on July 9, the weather suddenly began to improve. Although conditions remained far from perfect, it was decided to proceed as planned.

At around 12:45 a.m., the men were ordered topside. Wasting little time, the engineers quickly gathered their gear and began filing out onto the open deck and into the darkness. The men moved quietly to the transport’s side and descended rope ladders to the LCVPs (landing craft vehicles, personnel) that waited below.

Once loaded-an operation requiring careful coordination in the rough seas-the LCVPs moved to their assigned staging areas, where they were to circle until the order was given to proceed to shore. What followed was a grueling half-hour wait, just what many of the engineers had desperately hoped to avoid. Trapped aboard their small landing craft, some men were again suffering from severe seasickness, their stomachs churning as wildly as the sea around them. indeed, few men were immune to the turbulence, and all prayed for a quick escape from the ordeal.

Finally, the waiting ended and the journey to shore began. Rough seas had forced many of the landing craft out of position, causing considerable confusion among their operators. At this point there were no communications between LCVPs. Only through the leadership of Colonel Darby, who had strategically positioned himself aboard a guide boat with megaphone in hand, were the operators able to re-establish any semblance of order in their formation, although not before a searchlight from shore had switched on to illuminate the approaching boats for enemy gunners.

At 2:40 a.m., just seconds after the formation’s initial thrust toward the beaches, there was a sudden, huge explosion, and the engineers watched as a fireball momentarily lit up the beach where they were to land. The enemy had blown up a center section of the concrete pier with a series of preset charges. A special American team that landed earlier to defuse the charges had failed to complete its task in time. Immediately following the pier explosion a second searchlight switched on from shore, and a few artillery rounds began to splash into the sea ahead of the first wave of LCVPs.

The Navy had so far remained quiet, holding its fire until the last possible moment. At 3: 10 a.m., to the relief of the men heading for shore, the destroyer Shubrick was given permission to open fire, and its main batteries quickly knocked out both searchlights.

Intense gunfire suddenly erupted on both sides. The night sky and distant shoreline were instantly ablaze with tracers crisscrossing in wild patterns, punctuated by the flash and boom of ear-shattering explosions. The oncoming American invaders hunkered down within the semiprotection of their craft’s steel exterior. Safety had become a priority for the moment.

By 3:15 a.m., the gunfire had intensified. Machine-gun bullets were ricocheting off the landing craft, and mortar rounds were splashing the sea with greater regularity. The Rangers were just beginning to land. Several of their landing craft had already taken direct hits, and casualties were mounting for both battalions. For the engineers, however, progress so far remained unhampered. But as they drew near the beach, Dziuban and his men found their landing would not be made without some anxious moments.

Two hundred yards from the beach, one craft carrying members of Company B received a direct hit, quickly took on water and capsized with its full complement. Miraculously, no one was lost-thanks in part to the swimming skills of the company’s medical officer, Lieutenant Albert Thompson, who pulled to safety the only man who could not swim.

No other craft took such devastating hits, but there was another problem approximately 100 yards from shore, stretching the length of the beach, was a sandbar. Riding in one of the lead LCVPs, Lieutenant Arthur Dolan, executive officer for Company B and 1st Platoon commander, was standing up forward next to the ramp, ready to lead his men into combat. His landing craft was some distance from shore when it suddenly ground to a halt.

The boat had struck the sandbar, throwing all the men forward. Dolan’s medical officer, who had been perched upon the crafts platform at the rear, sailed through the air above them as a sudden burst of machine-gun fire snapped and crackled around the craft. One round perforated the high-flying medicat officer’s canteen that held his ‘personal medicinal alcohol. The Doc’s heartfelt expletive could be heard through the confusion, followed by, There goes my booze!

The ramp of Dolan’s craft flew open, and a rush of sea water flooded its interior and forced the men into a premature departure. Stepping out into deep water, Dolan ordered his men to activate their Mae West preservers and make for shore as best they could. Minutes later, exhausted and having discarded much of their equipment along the way, they reached the beach. Again, no one was killed.

The experience of Dolan and his men was not an isolated event. Several other landing craft also blundered into the sandbar. Yet, for the most part, the engineers landed unscathed.

After landing with Company C, Major Dziuban promptly established radio communications with Colonel Darby. He learned that the Rangers-especially the 4th Battalion-had run into stiff machine-gun fire, heavy concentrations of barbed wire and, somewhat unexpectedly, mines. The fishing boats had proved to be derelicts.

By the light of high-bursting flares Dziuban watched his men, many of whom were exhausted from their trek to shore, struggling across the beach to some safety at the edge of the rising ground. Machine-gun tracers laced the engineers’ way ahead, but the major had no immediate reason to be discouraged. Far from it. Aside from a few minor injuries, he had no reported losses. And while moving west along the beach to meet Captain Arendale, who had been mistakenly landed east of the pier, he learned that the center section of the beach was clear of barbed wire and anti-personnel mines. Anti-tank mines were present but posed no serious threat to the engineers. The enemy machine-gun fire was, for the most part, poorly aimed and lacking concentration. As a result, company commanders were able to reorganize so quickly that the engineers were actually ready to move into town ahead of the Rangers.

When the Rangers were in position, Dziuban ordered his men forward. They ran into trouble at once. Two active pillboxes combined their fire to completely pin down both Companies A and B.

The stalemate lasted for several minutes. Then Sergeant Harold Gilbert of Company B jumped up, ran to the nearest pillbox and tossed a grenade through its firing point. A dull thud was followed by silence from both pillboxes. Then a white flag appeared above the second. Gilbert finished his daring escapade by rounding up the humbled occupants, capturing eight Italians, including two officers.

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