Fort Mandan (LSD 21) - Naval Cruise Book

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ATLANTIC OCEAN Now and then we ran across other ships out in the middle of the Atlantic . . . But our alert lookouts were always there to spot them . . Nothing like a coffee break and bull session to break the monotony and help pass the hours . . We had to eat too--and the delicate preparation of our food was performed by master chefs . . . Say, who ' s that following us? Now and then we played games within our own squadron. Finally came the glorious day when, after two weeks of steaming, we pulled into our first port and rigged the gangway.

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CROSSING THE We had to get that magic E painted on the stacks before we left. Mr. Stemlicht did the job at Morehead City ... The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE It was a brisk February morning that we all pre- pared to get underway for our six-month venture into the Mediterranean. Wives, families, girlfriends, sweethearts all were on hand to give us a fond farewell. And it was with a wistful look that we saw Little Creek. We steamed down to Morehead City, N.C. where we picked up the Marines, and then proceeded on our long voyage across the Atlantic. It didn ' t take long for the chores brought on by an extended period of steaming to give us plenty to do to keep us occupied. There was cleaning to be done, watches to stand, maintenance to take care of, and a thousand and one other tasks that had to be accomplished. We steamed across in formation with four other ships of Amphibious Squadron Four--the USS Fremont (APA 44), which was our flagship at that time (the USS Mount McKinley, AGC-7, was to join us later), the USS Rankin (AKA-103), the USS Grant County (LST-1174), and the USS DeSoto County (LST 1171). We encountered a little rough weather on the way over, and there were several nights when we thought the rolls were about to get out of hand. But we wiapped ourselves around our bunks, held on with a firm grip, and weathered it. We had training sessions, and on the job in- struction as we readied ourselves for the job that we would have to do for the next six months. To some of us it was old stuff. But there were those of us who were making our first big cruise--and a few of us who were making our first trip out on a Naval vessel. We learned fast, and soon knew what we would be up against. In many ways the trip was tiring, but it was also profitable. We were all glad, however, when we finally reached that first port on the other side. Once we got underway there was plenty of work to be done, including menial tasks. Of course, we could pause for a picture . . . Checking out our fire power was part of the job too . . . Honest, fellas, I ' m working too- real hard . . . Well, Mr. Moncure, you see, it ' s this way . . .

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MALAGA, SPAIN He awakes at morning in a foreign land, he draws his breath in labor in the wool-soft air of Europe: the wool-gray air is all about him like a living substance ... Although the bull sometimes wins, he is more often the loser in the Spanish National sport of bullfight- ing. This Toro was one of the largest ever killed in Malaga. THOMAS WOLFE ' Twas in a little Spanish town that we first breathed the wool soft air of Europe. We anchored at Malaga and went ashore for our first liberty since departing Little Creek, and for three days built ou r castles in Spain. We missed the bullfight by two days, but took in the simple, picturesque landscape, the wine, and the senoritas. For some of us, the glories of Granada lived again as we marveled at the beauty and magnificence of the Alhambra, the pastoral calm of the olive orchards, the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas, and the colorful display of wandering gypsies. Malaga itself was a resort town, small but scenic. To the rear of the town, the mountains of Malaga stretched up and blended into blue sky and white clouds. Before it lay the expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. At night we rode in horse-drawn carriages, frequented wine cellers, chatted with Spanish people, and simply walked, absorbing all anew ex- perience had to offer. When we pulled into town the picturesque boulevards in Malaga were lined not only with trees, but with sailors too. The old Cathedral of Malaga, graced with a fountain at th e main entrance, provided a source of beauty. The Spanish carbinarri and traffic policemen are frequent sights around the square, and through- out town.