World War II, Leland "Bill" Tuck

In late fall of 1942, a U.S. convoy of ships bound for North Africa departed from the East Coast. The order of the day: To elude submarines.

On about the sixth or seventh day out, during zigzag maneuvers, a Navy tanker rammed the transport ship my brother, Leland C. “Bill” Tuck, was on, cutting into the side severely enough that the transport captain sounded the “stand by to abandon ship” alarm.

After an inspection, the captain elected to limp back to the Bermuda Islands, which the British owned. Several days later, they were picked up by another ship and transported to South Africa, landing in French Morocco.

As a dispatch rider, Bill carried classified messages among unit commands. Most of his trips were at night to escape attacks by German “Stuka” dive bombers. He said those Stukas could “ruin your day.”

During 1942 and 43, the Army drove Rommel out of North Africa and started north across the Mediterranean to Malta, Sicily and Italy. They fought their way north, day by day, one objective at a time.

On May 4, 1944, Bill and six other soldiers from the 606th Ordnance Company received secret orders to take two Army Ducks and assist the French Commandos and the British Royal Navy in an assault on German shipping on the southern coast of Elba Island.

The following is a copy of an article in Stars & Stripes, Italy edition, June 21, 1944, by Naval writer Bill Brinkley.

Marina Di Campo,

17 June 44

(Delayed) This town on Elba’s southern coast this afternoon was a torn after-picture of sudden death and destruction.

We were trying to get the Carabinieri headquarters, and down the road we met a Royal Navy chaplain with a grey beard and saintly-looking eyes and wearing a Tommy helmet. We asked him for directions.

“Turn around the next corner,” he said matter-of-factly. “Go past the dead German on your left, then turn right again at the statue of the angel. It’s straight up the road from there.”

The dead German was face down just beyond the sidewalk in front of a row of houses. It would appear that he may have come out of the house, started across the road when someone got him. The statue of the angel was untouched.

Beyond the angel stood a GI bare to the waist. Red hair stuck out of his chest and from under his helmet. He was standing by a Duck, of which he was the driver, and was smoking a cigarette. His name, he said, was Corp. Leland Tuck, of Marshall.

“I’ve been over to the German ship,” he said, “trying to help the English identify the English from the Germans in the ship.”

With the destruction that had been poured on Marina de Campo that morning, the living there now looked almost more unnatural than the dead.”

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On Aug. 20, 1944, the 606th Ordnance Bulletin “Private Stock” published the following article.

606th Men Invade

Island of Elba to Make Ordnance History

The island of Elba looms large in French history as the exile home of Napoleon, but to the men of the 606th, it let the world know about their little group of soldier-mechanics who participated in one of the hottest of all beachheads.

A correspondent assigned to cover this French and English invasion stared in surprise as he came across this group of seven Yanks on the island’s sandy beach during mopping up operations.

“What the hell!” he said. “I thought this was a French and English Army operation. Who are you?”

“Well, sir, we’re from an American Ordnance outfit over in Italy,” said Sgt. Russell R. Pierson, of Dallas. “We were given orders to report with two amphibious Ducks to the Royal Navy for a special assignment. We did, and they sent us here to handle ammunition and other supplies on the beachhead. We came in on D-Day with the second or third waves when the shooting was the heaviest.”

These words were rebroadcast on the “Army Hour,” which let the folks back home know that ordnance soldiers, who are normally rear echelon troops, see action, too. This seven-man group turned out to be the only American soldiers to make the initial landings in this invasion of Napoleon’s exile home.

“We hit on ‘H’ hour,” said Sgt. Pat D. Landman, of Fort Worth, Texas, “and kept on landing supplies for 21 hours. We took a five-hour rest, then went on for another 15 hours.” Landman was the sergeant in charge of this detachment.

Describing their mission of getting supplies through the beach, Cpl. Leland C. Tuck, of Marshall, told of “German machine guns throwing out tracers so fast there was nothing but a steady stream of fire.” To him, they seemed as bad as the German 88s and mortars.

Cpl. Tuck has the prize souvenir of the expedition. It’s a 6-foot-by-9-foot Nazi ensign of the German flagship in the harbor. The ship was boarded pirate-style by the French and English Commandos, and taken after bitter hand-to-hand fighting.

What had Cpl. Alvin T. McKinney, of San Angelo, Texas, worried was the mines on the beach. They could see the water mines and dodge them, but the ones on the beach made them pray.

German prisoners captured at the initial phase were used to load amphibious vehicles. Sgt. John C. McDowell, of Dallas, kept humming to himself, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,” as their explosive-loaded Duck swam to shore under fire. Sgt. McDowell was in charge of one of the two groups that came to see action and was getting plenty of it.

Back in his safe bunk, Cpl. Louis Kramer, of Chicago, described the stubborn German artillery and machine gun resistance and how they were shelled day and night. Fire from the beaches was soon silenced, but the 88s and six-inch stuff back in the hills kept giving trouble for some time. For three days, the Allies needed ammunition off the ships badly, so they couldn’t take too much time off to worry about German shelling.

“But I was worried anyway,” Sgt. McDowell said.

Telling how the Ducks went through all the shooting and came out in one piece despite being sprayed by shrapnel, Pvt. Floyd W. Price, of Oklahoma City, praised the French, who wiped the Germans off the island. He also told of the briefing received before the battle, which stated how important the job was and encouraged them to keep doing it, no matter what happened.

Demonstrating the Ordnance soldier’s versatility, Cpl. Tuck, while en route to the invasion in the Navy vessel, volunteered to take the place of a sick electrician. He also stood watch and chipped paint. When time came for liberty, having nothing but coveralls, he dressed up in a sailor uniform and went ashore.

This seagoing band of Ordnance men was grounded for some time. They moved into the outskirts of an Army camp. There, they found they couldn’t sleep late, so they got huffy and took off in their two Ducks.

They led the life of modern hoboes; fishing, sleeping in the open and living off the countryside, which meant fresh eggs in their rations.

A major, who was permitted to join in some of their daily expeditions, just couldn’t understand how the little band could exist without an officer. They just grinned.

•

And that’s the story of how seven men of the 606th helped the French Army make their first amphibious operation on the historic little Mediterranean Island of Elba.

When the war was over, the unit fought its way to Leghorn, Italy. Cpl. Tuck, along with his unit, left Leghorn on Aug. 9, 1945, aboard a small liberty ship and arrived in Newport News, Va., on Aug. 28.

Bill Tuck was honorably discharged as a T-4 on Nov. 2, 1945. He died Aug. 14, 1984, and was buried with military rites at Houstonia Cemetery. He is survived by his wife of 44 years, Hazel Tuck, of Braymer; two children, Gary Tuck and Carol Sulltrop; four grandchildren; and a great-child.