 Soldiers of the press. To Mrs. Marshall. New York office, the United Press on the telephone, will you? You want anybody sick of Bill? Yeah, get me Ed Williams. He'll be able to tell me where Leo Disher is. Leo Disher is in England. Recovering from 15 bullet and shrapnel wounds received while covering the attack on Oran Harbor for the United Press. This is the story of the letter Leo Disher received not long ago and his answer to that letter. Our story begins on December 7th, 1942, one year after our defeat at Pearl Harbor, one month after our victory at Oran, Algeria. In the city room of the Augusta Chronicle in Georgia, an editor put through a telephone call to New York. Hasn't that call to New York gone through yet? Well, yeah, it's on the pipeline now, Bill. Pick it up. Thanks. Hello, Ed. This is Bill Morris at the Augusta Chronicle. Best newspaper in the state of Georgia. Oh, yeah, that's what you all say down there. Okay, okay, then I'll just skip the sales talk and come to the point. Where can I get hold of Leo Disher? He's in England in a hospital. All right, what's up, Bill? Oh, well, uh, remember that story he filed for Oran? Sure. Nice job of reporting. You can say that again. It was a grand job. But here's what I'm getting at. One of the men he mentioned in the dispatch was Lieutenant Colonel George Frederick Marshall from Jacksonville, Florida. I think I remember. He was the commanding officer who told me about the cutter that took Disher to Oran. Yeah. Marshall was killed in that action, wasn't he? That's right. Mrs. Marshall, who lives here in Augusta, was in to see me today. She'd like to have some more information about her husband. You know how he died. Uh-huh. I thought maybe Disher might be able to give her further details. Think so? Probably. The only thing is, I don't know exactly where he is at the moment. You know how it is. Yeah, I guess you united press men get around. I'll tell you what, Bill. Have Mrs. Marshall write me a letter on to Leo. It may take a little while, but sooner or later he'll get it. How does that sound to you? Sounds okay. Fine. A year or so later, United Press staff correspondent Leo Disher in London, England, received a large batch of communications from the New York office of United Press. One of the letters was marked urgent. Open that one first, Harry. Might be a check. No one in the memory of man is marked a check urgent. Only the guy that gets them feels that way. Okay, little laughing boy. It opened it up anyhow. There's two letters. One is from the office. Dear Leo, the enclosed letter from Mrs. George Frederick Marshall. Marshall? Yeah. Is self-explanatory. We know you will want to answer it personally, so we're sending it along to you. Best regards and so on. Let me have Mrs. Marshall's letter. Yeah? You want me to... No, no. Don't take a smoke or something, Harry. Come back in 10 or 15 minutes, would you? Yeah, sure, Leo. You yell if you want me, huh? Okay, Harry. Dear sir. Today I've been to see Mr. Bill Moritz of the Augusta Chronicle who suggested that I write you. My husband, Lieutenant Colonel George Frederick Marshall, was killed in action at a run on November 8th. I've had no details whatsoever other than those in the enclosed articles written by your correspondent, Leo Disha. I realize that it is a great deal to ask without praying that you may be able to contact him. Even though he may not have any more first-hand information, he's probably in a position to find out for me exactly what took place. When in time our two little boys are old enough to be told, they will be very proud and I should so like to be able to answer their questions. It's a very dreadful thing and not to know. It makes it just a little bit harder. If you can find out anything for me, I should appreciate it more than I can tell. After reading Mrs. Marshall to let her, Leo Disha walked over to the window of his apartment and stood looking down at a quiet London park. He saw nurses willing baby carriages are stopping to talk to the policemen at the entrance. He saw a young man in an RAF uniform stop to light a cigarette. A young English girl in a WAPS uniform went by. She saluted the RAF officer and they stood talking and laughing in front of Leo Disha's window overlooking the park. And all the time Disha looked out his window, he was hearing a voice. A voice that he had last heard during the attack on a rat. Hello, the grenades! Harry! Yeah, Leo, can I do something for you? Yeah, I want to dictate a letter. Okay, go ahead. It's to Mrs. George Frederick Marshall, who addresses in the letter on my desk name. Right. Dear Mrs. Marshall. You got that? Sure. Oh, yes, of course you have. Sorry. Dear Mrs. Marshall. Oh, yes, you got that. I believe, Mrs. Marshall, that I can help. When I got you a letter this morning, I walked to the window and looked out over a quiet green park. Oh, yes. But momentarily, I saw instead a night made hideous with flame and explosion. And I heard again a voice saying, throw the grenades. Yes, I saw your husband that morning when the black coast of Africa trembled. But it was not the first time I'd seen him. All right, this way, Mr. Disha. The cat will see you now, sir. The first time was at a British port when I had bought the cutter taking us to Iran. Good morning, Mr. Disha. Sit down, won't you? The others will be aboard directly. Two American officers entered the captain's cabin. One was lean and bronzed, almost too young for the colonels' insignia on their shoulders. Mr. Disha, I'd like to have you meet Colonel Marshall. How do you do, Mr. Disha? And Lieutenant Cole of the United States Army. Glad to know you. How do you do? Now, make yourselves comfortable gentlemen while I see that all your equipment is loaded aboard. If you don't mind, Captain, I'd like very much to go along with you. There are several details I'd rather look after personally. Your husband spoke with a crisp authority that made me forget he was only 31. Later I said to Lieutenant Cole, he seems awfully young for a colonel. Yeah, but he's one of the best. I'd follow him anywhere. I saw your husband again at Gibraltar, Mrs. Marshall. And later, as we pushed across the Mediterranean, he told me something about how he was graduated from West Point. After he was married. Beautiful girl. And how he had a wife and two boys back in the States. Here's a picture. Beautiful girl. Isn't she? And this is our oldest boy, Ricky. He's going on three now. He's big for his age, isn't he? Yeah, he's a fine boy. We have another one now, six months old. I haven't got a picture of him yet. I imagine they'll be well when we get back in this raid. My wife says he looks just like me. Poor kid. We kept talking about back home until he had to go down to the war drum to meet with other officers to work out final plans to break the boom at Oran Harbor. It's your ready, gentlemen. Now this is our plan. The attack will begin at 0300. A British cruiser line offshore will fire rockets to divert attention from us. We'll go in and crash the harbor boom. Afterwards, we'll land and disrupt the harbor installation and capture any French vessels we can find at the dock. Now is that clear? If that happens, gentlemen, a few prayers from all concerned will be of great assistance. Now seriously, I've just received a piece of information that may indicate more trouble than we had at first anticipated. Now there's a cruiser type warship in the harbor. Now that means big guns and lots of them. Yes, quiet. However, I've made a plan which may or may not work. If the cruiser fires on us when we're past the harbor boom, we'll board her with machine guns and grenades. If we can neutralize her fire in that manner, our mission will be successful. If not, we'll have mercy on us all. It was then I began to understand what he intended to do, Mrs. Marshall. We had been surprised to learn that there was a cruiser in the harbor. That meant there would be heavier guns than we expected. But the colonel calmly described this bold plan to board the enemy warship with grappling irons and to capture it with machine guns and grenades in order to clear the way to the American assault on the harbor. There's a paragraph in your letter, Mrs. Marshall, saying information, but perhaps you can find out some of the details. Yes, I can tell some details. I remember how your husband climbed a ladder to the bridge just before the attack. He was carrying a tummy gun under his arms. He stood beside me and pulled out his service automatic on his holster. Yeah, take this, Mr. Disher. If I need it later, I'll yell for it. Okay, Colonel. How are we doing, Captain? Well, about a mile and a half to go. It won't be long now. Stand at cover. Force four, speed 12 knots. I don't know, Colonel, this is an awful tough, but our engineer assures us that our engine will get us to our destination. Carry on, Captain. Lieutenant Cole, get the man ready. Yes, sir. How much left rudder are we carrying now, Captain? Five degrees left rudder. Well, keep it at that. Yes, sir. Have the range finder give us a hundred-yard reading. Aye, aye, sir. Range finder, train on harbor and give hundred-yard reading. Range is now 1,500. Is the public address system working, Captain? Oh, yes, Colonel. The speaker's cut in. Ben, go again now. Stand by, please, and we pause. You all know you're assigned tasks. When I give the word, go in and do your job like soldiers to make our bless you all. Range is now 1,400 yards. Next one is... Force engine to head full! The guns of the warships in the harbor raked our little ship. Mrs. Marshall, that I have read many times. When in time, our two boys are old enough to be told, they will be very proud, and I should so like to be able to answer all their questions. Yes, Mrs. Marshall, they will be very proud. And you can tell them their father who was a slim, straight silhouette against the red flames of the guns. You can tell them that when he gave the order to throw the grenades, to attack a warship with hand grenades, his voice was calm about the chatter of his machine gun. Stand by. Stand by to throw the grenades. Yes, sir. Captain? Bring us alongside the cruise to get beneath the gun. We'll be blown out of the water. We'll be blown out if we don't go in. Bring us alongside. Stand by! Morning party's away. Throw the grenades. You can tell your sons, Mrs. Marshall, that their father kept stabbing back into the last. While the flames of our burning ship broke around him and shells tore away pieces of the bridge where he stood, striking back against guns so close that, well, it almost seemed we could touch them. You need never fear the boys, Mrs. Marshall. You can tell them that their father tackled a job of greatest importance to the success of our armies, and that he never quit fighting against impossible odds, and that he never struck the ship's colors. I'm glad, Bill Morris suggested that you write to me, and I hope this letter may help a little. But it's wrong for you to say you're asking great deal of means, Mr. Marshall. You are the one whom a great deal is at and proudly given. You and a great many others at home. You're sincere, Leo Disher. Leo Disher is one of a core of united press correspondence whose privilege it is to record the heroic deeds of our fighting men on the war fronts. In fulfillment of this assignment, these soldiers of the press share the dangers of soldiers in arms, and because in our democratic way of life, war correspondents do see at first hand the actions they report, the free peoples of the world are today the best informed. We will be back next week with another program of Soldiers of the Press. Be sure to listen, and meanwhile, listen to United Press news on the air. Look for United Press dispatches on their favorite newspaper. They are your guarantee of the world's best coverage of the world's biggest news.