4 a.m. to 8 a.m.

At 4 a.m., at Oran’s Z Beach, the 18th Infantry Regiment is finally formed up. 3rd Battalion/18th, under Lt. Col. Courtney Brown, plods off into Arzew to hook up with Darby’s Rangers and seize the French naval base southwest of the harbor, defended by Tunisian Fusiliers.

Meanwhile, Terry Allen gets his turn to go ashore, at 6 a.m. With his 35 staff members, burdened down with map cases, ammunition, life preservers, and rifles, Allen climbs down Reina del Pacifico’s ladders into landing craft. The men are packed like sardines, half lying on the decks, almost sitting on each other’s laps. H.R. "Red" Knickerbocker, a Chicago Sun correspondent, lies squeezed in the craft, notebook ready. The landing craft sails off towards Arzew and the sound of gunfire. Moments after Allen’s barge sails off, a French shell hits Reina del Pacifico.

When Allen’s craft closes in, the Royal Navy hurls smoke shells to screen the 1st Division’s HQ Company from French machine gunners holding out in a brick building in Arzew. A hundred yards from shore, the landing craft’s CO orders ramps down, and Allen and his men slosh ashore. When they hit the beach, Allen sets up the 1st Division’s forward Command Post (Tac HQ to Britons) in a wooden schoolhouse.

Knickerbocker stands on the beach, watching Americans struggle ashore. He notes that the troops, exhausted from their load, hurl gas masks, life vests, and other gear from their 180-pound bags on the beach. Amazingly, Knickerbocker sees a tall, slender man in French Foreign Legion captain’s uniform strolling up to him.

The captain says, in perfect English, "I think you had better do something about the Arzew Barracks. They are still occupied by Tunisian Fusiliers, and until they are cleaned out, the town is not safe."

Knickerbocker is stunned. "Captain Hamilton!" he shouts.

The Legionnaire grins and reaches out to shake the newsman’s hand. "Knickerbocker, my God. I haven’t seen you since Saigon!"

In one of the more bizarre reunions of the war, Knickerbocker has caught up with Captain Edgar Hamilton, the Legion’s only serving American officer, and an old pal from Vietnamese rebellions and World War I. Hamilton was caught by war’s outbreak in Algeria, and like most Legionnaires, spent the war in North Africa. He’s eager to join the fight against Hitler.

Knickerbocker brings Hamilton to the division CP. The Legionnaire explains the situation to Allen and the 18th Regiment’s CO, Col. Fred Butler. Butler takes three sergeants, a machine gun, Hamilton, and Knickerbocker over to the barracks. They find the barracks to be a large white building surrounded by a high wall, dotted with rifle slots. No human movement.

Butler, prematurely gray-haired, is waging his first battle. He orders his men to follow him.

Hamilton stops the colonel. "Hold it, sir. There’s an entire battalion of Fusiliers in that building, and the fact that they aren’t firing is a sign they are waiting for a good target. If you cross that drill ground, you are certain to be shot at."

Butler is unimpressed, even though Hamilton has spent 20 years in combat with the Legion. "What do you expect in war? Come on."

Hamilton shrugs and follows Butler onto the drill ground. Sure enough, the Fusiliers open fire, and the group runs forward to take cover under a stone wall. A young American gasps excitedly, "Gee, a year ago back in Brooklyn I never would have believed I could do this."

More 18th Regiment men come hustling up to exchange fire with the French, and after a few minutes, the Americans are out of ammunition. Hamilton is highly amused at the 18th Infantry’s sloppy tactics and lack of discipline. He suggests to Butler that they go to the mayor of Arzew and convince him to talk the barracks into capitulating.

Butler ponders the situation, and says, "OK, let’s go." Colonel, Foreign Legionnaire, and newspaperman head over to the Hôtel de Ville, where they find a very awake and upset mayor, Dr. Miguel Maille, standing under the usual picture of Pétain. The mayor’s jaws are trembling and teeth are clicking as he expresses his fear about the invasion of Algeria and foreign troops in his home.

Butler and Hamilton explain their mission, and Maille, a typical Vichy functionary, turns red as he listens. In French, Butler says, "Telephone the Arzew Barracks and tell them I have issued an ultimatum: Surrender or be shelled to pieces!"

Maille roars back, denouncing the Anglo-American invasion of North Africa. Butler cuts off the mayor. "Mayor Maille, I am telling you for the final time. You will make the telephone call as I ordered, or…"

Trembling all over, Maille grabs his telephone. The mayor is shaking so badly, he has to use both hands to hold the instrument. Maille babbles into the phone in rapid French. Butler, baffled, stares coldly at the mayor, and pats his holstered Colt .45.

Finally, the shaking Maille replaces the phone on the hook. He looks up at Butler, and in a soft and resigned voice, says, "The officer requests you come to the barracks and take his surrender."

A relieved trio of Americans head out to Arzew Barracks for the formalities. When Terry Allen hears of Hamilton’s work, he proclaims the Foreign Legionnaire an auxiliary member of the 1st Infantry Division.

At Arzew, the Americans take over the facility and capture 13 Lte. 298 seaplane torpedo bombers intact. The planes are fully fueled, armed, and ready for take-off. The capture saves the British fleet offshore from suffering French air attack and gives the Free French Air Force some patrol aircraft to fly later in the war.

Meanwhile, 1st/18th, under Major Richard Parker, also heads inland along the coast road, headed for Oran. At the town of St. Cloud, 1st/18th runs into trouble. Five French armored cars pop out of the town. The Americans fire anti-tank rifle grenades at the thin Panhards, which explode the lot. After the firefight, the Americans move in, and take their first look at the results of combat – bloodied and mutilated bodies hanging out of wrecked vehicles. Many Americans are sick to their stomachs.

Parker rallies his men, and they push on to St. Cloud, population 3,500. They run smack into machine gunners of the 16th Tunisian Regiment and Foreign Legionnaires, dug in the town’s concrete houses. The Americans attack and also face 75mm shells from the 68th African Artillery Regiment northwest of the town. Under heavy fire, Parker withdraws his battalion, and calls for reinforcements.

Back at Z Beach, the 16th Infantry Regiment clears their beach for the 3 a.m. arrival of 1st Armored Division’s Combat Command B, under Brig. Gen. Lunsford E. Oliver. Two Maracaibo tank carriers, Misoa and Tasajera, rumble up to the beach at 4 a.m., and put out pontoon bridges, to enable their loads of M3 Stuart light tanks to roll ashore. The process takes four hours. Once the tanks and their 4,772 men are ashore, they are to seize the La Senia and Tafaroui airfields, and support the parachute assault on them.

Meanwhile, the 16th Infantry Regiment fans out to cover the invasion’s extreme left flank, and head for Oran.

At Y Beach at Les Andalouses, the Americans are moving fast. By 5 a.m., half the troops and more than 30 vehicles are unloaded and heading out. The Americans deploy 37mm anti-tank guns in the village of El Ancor, about a mile inland, which covers the road to Les Andalouses.

At X Beach, scout cars of the 13th Armored Regiment hit the road just after 6 a.m., to set up road blocks to screen the advance of the flying column which is to be next ashore.

That force, an armored battalion, an armored infantry company, a tank destroyer platoon, and an engineer platoon, come ashore on X Green. The main punch, 20 M3 Stuart tanks, arrives on the Maracaibo tank ship Bachaquero, at 4 a.m. The converted tanker grounds 120 yards from the beach at 4 a.m., and engineers spend the next three hours building a pontoon bridge shallow enough for the tanks to land. By 7 a.m., the little tanks, with 37mm guns and lots of rivets, clank ashore.

As dawn breaks over Oran, the French Navy finally goes into action against the British invasion fleet. The French destroyer La Surprise sprints into the British force off Les Andalouses, charging the British transports Llangibby Castle and Glengyle. Both are loaded with American troops of 1st Infantry Division. The captain of Glengyle, E.V. Lees, radios for help, and the destroyer HMS Brilliant, four "battle dusters" snapping in the early morning breeze, sprints to the rescue, opening up with 5-inch guns. The two destroyers swap salvos for half an hour, when a British shell hits La Surprise, exploding her ammunition holds. The French destroyer erupts in a ball of fire and smoke, staggers away, and sinks a few minutes later.

At the same time, 30 miles off Oran, on the carriers HMS Furious, HMS Biter, and HMS Dasher, the tannoy (1MC to US Sailors, public address system to civilians) orders all hands to flight quarters. The three carriers spot eight Albacore torpedo bombers and six Sea-Hurricane fighters on their decks, and launch at dawn. The Albacore biplanes – among the slowest in the British inventory – and Hurricanes group at 5,000 feet, and head for Oran.

Their first mission is to fly along the Oran coast and dump propaganda leaflets on 10 towns and villages, providing the local residents with a lifetime’s supply of toilet paper.

Next, the British planes sweep over the critical La Senia Airfield, five miles south of Oran, where French AA gunners are waiting. As black puffs of smoke fill the sky, all eight Albacores peel out and dive on the hangars, dropping 250-lb. general-purpose bombs. 24 bombs hit the hangars, leaving a reasonable amount of destruction. The French score no hits.

As the Albacores wheel for home, HMS Furious spots a second strike on her flight deck, 10 Seafires with orders to strafe La Senia and Tafaraoui airfield, 10 miles further inland. The Seafires streak in on the deck, at eye-level. French Dewoitine 520s, up-sun and at altitude, attack the British fighters. Some of the French pilots have already gained kills against the RAF in Syria. The British break formation to counterattack. The Seafire is slightly superior in design to the Dewoitine, and so are the British aviators. The British shoot down five De 520s, while the French shoot down three Seafires. Oddly enough, while the French vigorously defend their airfields, their bombers make no effort to attack the British fleet offshore.

In Egypt, the British 8th Army struggles to advance and regroup. 1st Armoured Division is out of gas amid minefields south of a road junction called Charing Cross, while 7th Armoured is south of Minqar Qaim, in the same condition. 2nd New Zealand is out of fuel at Sidi Haneish, west of Matruh. All units are stuck in rain-created mud, as well. The only mobile outfit is Maj. Gen. A.H. Gatehouse’s 10th Armoured Division, rumbling along the paved coast road, delayed by booby traps and mines. One of Montgomery’s aides, Gen. Sidney Kirkman, drives up the Coast Road, finding it empty, and to Gatehouse’s Tac HQ. As Kirkman drives up a hill, a German anti-tank gun greets him with a round that nearly takes off his head. Kirkman parks his car, jumps out, clambers up the hill, and finds Gatehouse and 10th Armoured’s staff, standing around.

Kirkman looks down the hill and sees 40 tanks, engines running – but not moving. Someone asks Gatehouse what’s going on. Gatehouse replies that the tanks are part of 8th Armoured Brigade, and Gatehouse will not interfere with the way 8th Armoured’s Brigadier E.C.N. Custance will fight the battle. "This is Custance’s battle," Gatehouse says.

Kirkman watches for awhile, but the tanks don’t advance, pinned down by a single anti-tank gun. Disgusted, Kirkman hops back in his car and speeds back to Montgomery, who is coming up from behind. Kirkman tells Monty, "There’s a complete nonsense going on up there, you’d better go and look at it. I’ll tell you as we go, they are just doing nothing. They might attack with infantry, they might attack with tanks, but they’re just sitting there."

Monty is furious. He orders Gatehouse to attack. Gatehouse doesn’t do so until dusk.

Another naval officer having a rough day is Kapitanleutenant Cszhech, skipper of U-505, on his first war patrol on a submarine that has already sunk 46,200 tons. U-505 reached this score the day before, when Cszhech sank a 5,500-ton British ship. Now he spends the entire morning, east of Trinidad, pursuing another British freighter. At noon the ship picks up air escort, but Cszhech continues the chase. To no avail. At 1:23 p.m., he fires two torpedo shots. At 1:24, the steamer zigzags 50 degrees away and both shots miss. Cszhech blames luck. The crew blames Cszhech, suggesting (out of the skipper’s earshot), that the skipper put his periscope up too high (called a "Totem Pole" by U-boat crews), and the steamer saw the resulting spray, just in time to turn away.

Now the airborne element of Torch makes its appearance, as the C-47s carrying the 509th Parachute Battalion reach the North African coast, following their long flight over neutral Spain. The 38 transports have been scattered by rain, wind, and poor navigation.

As the C-47 named Shark Bait approaches Oran at dawn, the paratroopers inside are amazed to see only five transports in their group, in ragged formation. The other 33 are apparently missing. A paratrooper, looking down, says, "There’s nothing but wet water as far as you can see."

Another paratrooper chimes in, "Here’s some more good news…we’re damned near out of gas – and the fly boys don’t have the slightest idea where we are."

"Whoever named this crate Shark Bait sure as hell knew something we didn’t," a paratrooper answers. The troopers start inflating the plane’s three rubber life rafts.

Major Bill Yarborough’s C-47 is having its share of trouble, too. His transport is nearly out of fuel, lost, and alone. The plane follows a coastline while pilot and navigator struggle with their maps to find a landmark.

Yarborough sees a plane heading towards them, and suspects attack. He orders his men to point their rifles and submachine guns through the plane’s windows to provide some measure of defense. As the plane comes in, Yarborough sees it’s one of his own C-47s, also lost and looking for company. The two C-47s join in formation and fly together. They swoop down through clouds, get a break – and see a C-47 parked on an airfield on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. Yarborough thinks he’s reached Oran, and orders the pilot to come in to land. Then Yarborough sees another C-47 taking off, pursued by a group of men on horses. Yarborough realizes the soldiers are hostile, and orders his two planes to pull up. The third C-47 leaps into the air, leaving behind angry horsemen.

The three American planes fly on. Yarborough calls the third plane on the radio, and gets some answers. The C-47 had landed in Spanish Morocco, 200 miles west of Oran, and Spanish Foreign Legionnaires and Moroccan cavalry were trying to intern the Americans.

Meanwhile, 10 C-47s finally reach La Senia airfield outside of Oran, and into a wall of French anti-aircraft fire. "A hell of a way to greet your friends," says a paratrooper.

"Maybe those dizzy bastards down there don’t know Plan Peace is in effect."

Short of fuel, the 10-plane flight banks away from the airfield, and heads west for the Sebkra D’Oran, a dry salt-water lakebed 32 miles long, and more than seven miles wide. The planes land just southwest of the lake, and the paratroopers unload. Six more planes, including Shark Bait, join them.

Capt. Doc Alden debarks from Shark Bait and surveys the landscape. It’s flat, but there’s no sign of hangars, tower, or aircraft hardstands. "I had no idea that La Senia Airport would look like this," he says to another officer. "Where are the plane hangars?" The other officer shrugs. He’s baffled, too.

Alden flops down under a C-47’s wing, and writes in his pocket diary: "At something called Sebkra D’Oran. Hopeless mess. Men and no companies. All mixed up together."

With no opposition and even less to do, the paratroopers pull off the longjohns they wore in their planes during the night, while officers struggle to make sense of maps.

Up above, Lt. Col. Edson D. Raff’s C-47, piloted by Col. William Bentley, closes in on Morocco, leading five transports with Capt. William J. Morrow and his paratroop company. Bentley is leader of the transport group. As the planes rumble in, Raff and Bentley are baffled. Where are they, and where are the other 36 planes?

As they close in on Sebkra D’Oran, paratroopers on the ground see them, and send a radio message to the planes, saying they are under enemy attack. Actually, they’re not, but the green and tired paratroopers are jittery.

Raff looks down and sees three light tanks headed for the parked C-47s. He orders all six planeloads of paratroopers to stand up and hook up for a combat jump. After the jump, Bentley and his planes scatter. Bentley himself, short of fuel, has to crash-land his plane near an old farmhouse, and he winds up the day amiably chatting with French army officers, as their prisoner.

Raff’s hurriedly-selected drop zone is full of boulders, and when he hits the ground, his chest smashes into a large, jagged rock, cracking two ribs. Ignoring the pain, he leaps up and joins his men against the tanks. Raff rushes up to a knoll, and one of his men yells, "Colonel, there’s big white stars on those tanks. They’re ours!"

They are indeed, M3 Stuart light tanks of Lt. Col. John K. Waters’ tank column from Mersa Bou Zadjar, Beach X. The paratroopers and tankers shake hands and trade stories. Neither side has seen any opposition, so nobody knows if the French are fighting.

Meanwhile, Yarborough’s three planes find the collection of parked aircraft at Sebkra D’Oran, and they land on empty fuel tanks. Yarborough strides up to Raff, and barks the universal question of the day for the paratroopers, "What the hell is going on?"

"Damned if I know," Raff replies. "But the French are obviously fighting, Plan Peace or no Plan Peace." Raff also points out that he is missing 135 paratroopers.

A salient point. However, three planes land in Spanish Morocco, where their men are taken into custody by Spanish troops. One aircraft, after being lost over Spain, gives up and glides to a landing in Gibraltar. One that tries to land at La Senia is damaged by French flak, and crash-lands near Oran. Two more land on a French Morocco airfield, expecting a friendly reception, and their troops and crews are taken prisoner.

While these adventures unfold, Raff and Yarborough have to figure out what to do with their force. Despite his injuries, Raff is eager to move out and capture Tafaraoui airport. He climbs into a jeep and heads off with the tanks, and orders his men to march behind him across the Sebka D’Oran, a 26-mile hike, which will be followed by a 12-mile walk to Tafaraoui. The paratroopers collect their gear and move out. America’s first airborne operation is going from disaster to farce.

In Algiers, Kenneth Pendar drives through the streets, hearing church bells strike 3 a.m. He sees a single searchlight on Admiralty Point snap on and probe the harbor. Then the light snaps off, and is replaced by a rumbling sound from the sea, followed by a single air raid siren at Admiralty Point. All the others in the city have been silenced by the rebels. The siren is answered by packs of howling dogs – and the blast of gunfire from French batteries facing HMS Broke and HMS Malcolm. Pendar drives on to the telegraph office, which is in rebel hands.

Pendar, a peacetime Harvard archeologist, arrives at 26 Rue Michelet, the telegraph office. The French rebels read Darlan’s telegram, and Jean Rigault refuses to send it. He says to Pendar, "Tell Bob we cannot possibly forward this cable. It is not a matter of courtesy. It is giving the enemy a weapon."

Incredulous, Pendar grabs the cable. It reads: "Admiral Darlan to Marshal Petain: I was summoned at 0115 this morning by General Juin and found with him Mr. Murphy who declared to me that on the demand of a Frenchman, General Giraud, President Roosevelt had decided to occupy French North Africa with important forces this very morning, to save France which they wished to maintain its integrity."

"I answered that France had signed an armistice convention and that I could but comply with the orders of the Marshal to defend its territories."

Rigault says that Darlan cannot be allowed to order his troops to resist. Pendar agrees. He returns to his car and drives back to the Villa des Olliviers. The only other word Rigault has for Pendar is that an Allied invasion is rumoured to have taken place at Cap Matifou, 30 kilometers east of the city.

As Pendar drives through the blacked-out streets, church bells pealing, people are pouring into the streets, alerted by the noise and gunfire. In the Casbah’s narrow staircase streets, where 10,000 Muslims live packed in 100 acres, hordes of people race for the stairs, clutching bundles in one hand, kids in the other.

At the Place du Commissariat, crowds gather, and the conspirators bellow through loudspeakers, "You have nothing to fear. Our friends are coming. The Americans have landed near the city. Giraud ‘l’Africain’ has rallied to the Allies."

When Pendar returns to Villa des Oliviers, he finds Murphy walking up and down in the garden. Pendar tells Murphy the content of Darlan’s telegram.

"I don’t give a damn," Murphy retorts, "what Darlan said to Petain. What’s happening to the landings?"

Pendar reports the rumours of American landings at Cap Matifou, and Murphy explodes, "What the devil are they doing out there, 30 kilometers from the city!" Pendar doesn’t know anything about military science, either, so he can’t answer. Before both can play amateur tactician, Rigault appears and announces that he can take Darlan home on the condition that Darlan agrees to consider himself a prisoner and not communicate with anyone. The admiral is sitting in a room, puffing on his pipe.

Neither Pendar nor Murphy has time for such 18th-century shenanigans. And Darlan would be furious to be considered a prisoner. Rigault decides that nobody will be allowed to enter or leave the villa, and Murphy resumes pacing the garden.

"At least," asks Rigault, "are you sure your boys will turn up? I only guaranteed our operation for one night. Your friends were supposed to be here at 2 a.m. Now they are three hours late. At 7 o’clock it will be daylight. I cannot answer for what will happen after that."

At the Palais d’Hiver, Juin’s official headquarters, Major Dorange, Juin’s aide, arrives to find entrance barred by 30 young civilians in white armbands, and that Juin is being held under house arrest. Dorange is understandably enraged, and hops in a skiff to go to the Admiralty, at the very end of the western jetty, cut off from the city by port banks. Joined by Captain Dupuy of the Medical Corps, the two officers row across the harbor while HMS Malcolm and HMS Broke sail in to attack. The French skiff is too small for anyone to notice, and the officers are too busy rowing to watch the fireworks. When Dorange and Dupuy reach the Admiralty, they find the boss, Admiral Leclerc and his men, cut off from the shore by insurgents and amid a major battle. In the absence of higher orders, Leclerc is doing his job – resisting invasion.

While Leclerc and Dorange discuss the situation, a car drives up under a white flag, bearing an order signed by Mast. The officer carrying the order reports that German troops have landed in Tunisia, and American forces, called on by Petain, are landing in North Africa, to aid the French. French troops are to aid the American landing.

Leclerc has not achieved flag rank by believing rubbish. "Who gave the original order?" he asks.

The young rebel can’t answer. Leclerc decides to contact Juin, and Dorange offers to do so, if someone has a weapon he can borrow. Leclerc gives Dorange a huge 1874 revolver belonging to Leclerc’s assistant chief of staff, and Dorange uses that to seize the rebel car. Dorange orders the driver to head for the Caserne des Tagarins, headquarters of the Vichy Garde Mobile, the police riot squad, which is heavily armed. The rebels, aware that the Garde Mobile arms inventory includes tanks, has wisely chosen not to attack the Caserne des Tagarins.

Dorange speeds through Algiers in the predawn darkness, figuring out a plan. On reaching the barracks, the commander, Colonel Zwilling, has the Garde Mobile formed up. Dorange tells them: "Guards: this is the greatest day of your lives. The Germans have invaded Tunisia and the marshal has enjoined us to throw them into the sea. The Americans are landing in North Africa to aid us in our task. We shall go now to meet them and help them ashore."

The soldiers shout, "Vive la France! Vive le Marechal!" Then Dorange signals Zwilling, who tells his men, "It appears that General Juin is a prisoner in his villa. Our first job is to set free our commander in chief."

The troops set off, but Dorange takes a platoon of Garde Mobile with him to the Villa des Oliviers, four kilometers away.

Back at the Villa, Pendar and Murphy are still pacing. Admiral Raymond Fenard emerges with an envelope for Pendar. It’s another message from Darlan to Petain, and Fenard asks if the first one has gone off.

Pendar is evasive. He says he’s given it to be sent, and climbs into Murphy’s car. Murphy has a message for Pendar to take as well, saying "Western Task Force Commander from Murphy. It is urgently necessary that some Allied troops arrive in the city of Algiers as quickly as possible. Situation well in hand but unwise to let this endure too long." In his excitement, Murphy has put down the wrong task force.

Pendar double-takes on the message. "Allied?" He asks. "Don’t you mean American?"

"Allied," Murphy replies firmly. Pendar has not known that British troops are involved in the Algiers landing.

Pendar guns his car to take off…and Dorange and his Garde Mobile race through the gates of the villa, weapons at the ready, and yank Pendar out of his car. The cops line the diplomats up and strip them down. After the diplomats are stripped, Dorange himself yells at them. "You knew how I felt. What made you do such a stupid thing?"

Neither Murphy nor Pendar can answer, but now they’re the prisoners.

Dorange stomps into the Villa des Olivier’s salon, to find Juin pacing and gritting his teeth, while Darlan leans against the mantelpiece. The Frenchmen decide to go to the nearby Fort l’Empereur where Garde Mobile and 1st Regiment of Zouaves can guard them. On their way out, Darlan remembers that he gave a message to Pendar to transmit. The guards release Pendar, leaving Murphy under house arrest.

Pendar drives into the night, heading back to the Admiralty to transmit the message. As he reaches the harbor, so do Broke and Malcolm, an hour late. They near the floating booms, and French searchlights pick them out, blinding the ship’s officers. The French guns on Batterie des Arcades Pendar has heard split open the night. The two destroyers zigzag to find the gap in the boom entrance, and miss it twice. On her third try, HMS Malcolm is hit by a shell, which sets off an awe-inspiring internal explosion. Ten men are killed and 25 wounded. Her skipper, Cdr. A.B. Russell, unable to steer properly, staggers his ship away out to sea.

HMS Broke, however, under Lt. Cdr. A.F.C. Layard, makes another try at entering harbor, and crashes through the boom at 5:20 a.m., as Pendar watches, "like a knife through butter." Under heavy fire, Broke slides up and alongside the Mole Louis Billiard. Lt. Col. Edwin Swenson tells his Minnesotans, "I want you to hit that dock hard, then light out like stripy-arsed baboons up on the wharf until you can get some cover. Then fight like hell."

Swenson’s troops charge onto the dock, seizing a petroleum tank farm, an electric power station, and a seaplane ramp. These objectives in hand, the Americans dig in. French fire dwindles away. The only sound now comes from church bells that have begun pealing.

As the battle rages, Pendar brings his message to Leclerc, and watches the battle, fascinated and sickened at the same time. Leclerc orders Pendar held as a prisoner under an official and lugubrious portrait of Petain until 6 a.m., when the admiral returns from his radio room, saying the message is authentic. Darlan has informed Petain that the Americans appear to have landed from Morocco to Algeria and that British troops may be heading for Tunisia, an accurate deduction.

Pendar is free to go. He drives up the Rue Michelet to the U.S. Consulate and is arrested en route by more Garde Mobile and taken to the barracks of the 5th Regiment of Chasseurs d’Afrique. There tank crews are fueling their S35s and FT17s and loading live ammunition, before clanking out to re-take Algiers. Once more Pendar is a prisoner.

Meanwhile, Darlan arrives at Fort l’Empereur and orders all French forces in North Africa to fight the Allies wherever they land.

While the Algiers bickering and farce continues, so does the Allied invasion. At Apples Beach, the British 11th Infantry Brigade is moving in fast. Lt. Col. Trevor’s 1st Commando, riding in Mast’s trucks, reaches Blida Airfield to find white flags flying and Sea-Hurricanes from HMS Argus patrolling overhead.

Trevor leaves his commandos outside the airfield’s front gate, and finds Brig. Gen. A. J. de Monsabert, who commands the local garrison, ready to support the invasion. Known to his troops as "Strawberries and Cream" for his red face and snowy hair. De Monsabert has received conflicting orders from Algiers. Mast says don’t resist, and Koeltz says resist. Unfortunately, the airbase itself is commanded by Colonel Monstrelet, who has orders to fight the invaders. Rival French troops face each other across the airfield, dug in air-raid trenches, when the British and Americans arrive.

Monstrelet realizes his position is untenable. He puts a raincoat over his uniform, shoves his kepi in his pocket, dons sunglasses, and heads for the city, leaving De Monsabert in charge to greet the Allies.

After handshakes, De Monsabert refuses Trevor’s request to occupy the airfield.

Crestfallen, Trevor shakes hands with the general, and returns to his British and American commandos. He orders them to debark from their trucks and set up defensive positions around the airfield, so they can take it. De Monsabert adds one point: he’ll allow Allied aircraft to land at Blida, but not to take off.

The commandos unload their rifles and machine guns, and surround the airfield.

The rest of 11th Brigade is doing well, facing no opposition. The 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers of Gallipoli fame surround a French army barracks at Kolea. The men inside remain in their barracks, and their CO tells the British he will obey Mast’s orders and offer no resistance.

At Beer Sector, 6th Commando, having reorganized, start moving to encircle Fort Duperré. The original plan was to use darkness to scramble up the hill, but dawn is breaking. 6th Commando’s British and American soldiers attack anyway, moving to encircle the fort. The French troops hold their fire while the Commandos struggle ashore, in their soaked American uniforms.

The 168th Infantry is also moving inland. Iron Mike O’Daniel, who landed at the wrong Apples beach at 3 a.m., finally reaches his right Beer beach at 7 a.m., finding his regiment strung out, but advancing on Lambiridi and Murphy’s villa there. The 168th struggle across a 1,500-foot high mountain, carrying their machine guns, mortars, and shells. Their vehicles haven’t arrived.

At Charlie Beach, more members of 1st Commando move up Cap Matifou (the rumours are correct) to take the coast batteries. The commandos seize a signal station and a barracks, but the coast battery and fort do not surrender. 1st Commando calls for air and naval strikes.

Maj. Farrar O. Griggs’ 3rd/39th moves along the coastal road toward Algiers. After a six-mile advance, they run into a detachment of dug-in French infantry at Fort de l’Eau, backed by three S35 tanks. The defenders stop the American advance cold.

1st/39th, under Lt. Col. A.H. Rosenfeld, however, rides its trucks across the Algerian terrain, heading for Maison Blanche airfield. A handful of French tanks near the airfield toss a few shells at the Americans, but withdraw. The Americans keep pushing on.

At 4:30 a.m., air raid sirens wail in Gibraltar. Field Marshal Albert Kesselring’s first response to the fragmentary reports of invasion in North Africa is to fly reconnaissance planes to the Rock. British AA guns give the Germans a warm welcome, but neither side takes casualties.

Down in the underground tunnels of Eisenhower’s headquarters, nobody notices the air raid until British Major Anthony Quayle comes down to tell everyone about it.

Meanwhile, Ike and Maj. Gen. Kenneth Anderson discuss the prickly Gen. Henri Giraud. Eisenhower doesn’t want him in Africa, unless he’s involved.

As the night drags on in the tunnels, the air gets worse as reports come in. At 5:45, Fredendall reports, "landing continues unopposed." At 6:58, monitors report that Vichy-controlled Paris radio has not mentioned Torch in their 6:45 a.m. newscast.

Cdr. Harry Butcher, Ike’s naval aide, shaves in cold water next to Eisenhower.

In Morocco, Patton’s scattered Casablanca assaults move in. At Safi, Captain (Navy) François Deuve awaits the Americans.

They’re indeed coming. Ensign John J. Bell, leading a six-man reconnaissance team in a rubber boat, takes his craft to the top of the Safi jetty to guide in the Cole and the Bernadou. Bell throttles his boat to the tip, cuts engines, and sees the jetty’s lights go out. He waits for gunfire. Nothing happens.

At 4:10 a.m., Bell’s boat drifts to the tip of the jetty, and he can just make out the Bernadou’s approaching hull and flashing infrared light. Bell turns on his to guide in the destroyer.

Bernadou moves to the harbor entrance, which is quiet. She glides in. The night is split open by 75 mm coastal guns at Front de Mer, Major Deuve’s CP, a 155 mm battery south of Safi, and 130 mm guns at Pointe de la Tour. Machine guns on the cliffs, and rifles on the add streams of tracer to light up the darkness.

Bernadou increases speed, and heads for Beach Green, which is masked by anchored boats. She launches another set of fireworks with the American flag, which illuminate the harbor and intensify French fire.

The noise of battle alerts the American fleet, which signals "Play ball, play ball," allowing the ships to open fire. The battleship New York, six miles offshore, opens fire with her 14-inch guns. The shells smash the fire control tower on Pointe de la Tour, silencing the battery. The cruiser Philadelphia blasts the 155mm batteries south of Safi, while destroyers shell machine-gun posts.

The display of tracer, shot, and shell attracts scores of native Moroccans, who gather in crowds to watch the fireworks, heedless and disdainful of small arms fire.

For 15 minutes, coastal defenses and warships trade fire while Bernadou’s skipper, Lt. Cdr. R.E. Braddy, conns his destroyer into the harbor. As she heads in, the sound of gunfire dwindles. Below decks, K Company of 3rd/47th, under Capt. Gordon H. Sympson, awaits their moment to go ashore. The green infantrymen sit frightened by the shellfire, unable to fire back.

Then Bernadou runs aground on the rocks near a mole, hurling Sympson’s men out of their bunks and around the decks. The troops are near panic.

Sympson clambers down the ladder into the berthing space, and asks, "Anybody hurt?" No answer. "Okay," Sympson roars, "We’ve got a job to do. Let’s get the hell out of here!"

The troops rush up. Bernadou sailors throw out a landing net, and at 4:45 a.m., the first American troops come ashore in Morocco, stepping onto the Mole Petite Darse. K Company overcomes its fears and charges into defending Foreign Legionnaires.

While Bernadou advances, so does Lt. Cdr. G. G. Palmer’s Cole, carrying Capt. Thomas Wilson’s L Company of 3rd/47th. She heads into the harbor entrance and sees what her bridge crew thinks is Bernadou. Actually it’s the destroyer Beatty, moving to shell French gun batteries. Cole follows Beatty…right for a concrete jetty.

On his rubber boat, Bell ignores his own safety and starts signaling with a flashlight. Cole keeps coming. Bell shouts into his radio and gets Palmer on the line. Palmer orders "All stop," and the destroyer halts 30 yards before the jetty.

The tincan follows Bell’s lights to the port’s merchandise pier, and goes alongside like an excursion boat on the Mississippi. Wilson’s L Company charges ashore. One platoon silences a French machine gun team, and then races inland 300 yards to grab the Shell Oil Company’s storage facility and unloading cranes. Both destroyers receive Presidential Unit Citations for their work.

While the troops from the destroyers move into Safi, the rest of the invading force moves in. 1st Battalion of 47th Infantry lands at Beaches Red and Blue, north of Safi at 5 a.m., and head inland. At 5:10 a.m., light tanks and infantry reinforce the men from Cole and Bernadou. As the sun rises over Safi, the Americans seize the harbor, railroad station, post office, and police headquarters, disarming the cops.

As the Americans move cautiously inshore, they find dozens of natives grouped around them. The Army’s historian records, "Street intersections were crowded with natives turning their heads like a tennis gallery in trying to watch the exchange of fire. The wounded were poked and jabbered at."

A platoon from 47th Infantry slugs its way to Pointe de la Tour, attacking the big guns from the rear. The Americans charge in and find the fire control tower shattered by New York’s 14-inch shells. Among the dead Frenchmen is the officer in command of naval elements in the Safi region. The Americans hoist Old Glory, which flaps majestically in the breeze. Delighted GIs stand at attention and salute.

At Yellow Beach, south of Safi, 2nd/47th prepares to go ashore at 4 a.m. Maj. Louis Gershenow’s 1,450 men and 1,500 tons of vehicles are on the transport Dorothea L. Dix. As they unload, a truck being winched over the side swings out of control and crashes into the side of the ship. A can of gasoline on the truck is crushed, spraying fuel onto the hot motor of the landing craft below. That in turn sets of an explosion that covers the landing craft, the truck, and the Dix. Ammunition in the landing craft also cooks off, shaking the Dix, and sending a pillar of flame into the night sky. The mishap delays the landing at Jorf el Houdi until 8 a.m.

Back at Safi, General Ernest Harmon paces the bridge of Harris, doing what most modern generals do in battle – wait for reports. At 5 a.m. he gets a bad one: Cole and Bernadou have run aground, all crew and most troops lost. Harmon struggles to grapple with that one for 15 minutes, when a follow-up arrives: cancel the first message, both ships have done their jobs, and the landing is proceeding.

That’s enough communications confusion for Harmon. A World War I combat veteran, he won’t rely on overworked communications clerks. He climbs down a net, into a landing craft, and takes a 40-minute ride to the Safi beach. When he arrives, Harmon finds a large number of men lying face-down on the beach, their boots at the water’s edge. Harmon is puzzled as to the cause of this over-caution, as the only activity is the occasional sniper bullet.

The general spots a young captain, and summons him. "Why are your men lying there with their feet in the water?"

"Well, sir," the captain says, "because we’re under fire."

"Yes," replies Harmon, "I realize you are. But how many people are shooting at you?"

"About six, sir."

Harmon points to a building 200 yards away. "It’s obvious the snipers are in there. Send about 12 men to clean out the house, then get going with the rest of your company to your objective."

The captain eagerly jumps to obey, and in a few minutes, the snipers are defeated.

Harmon watches the action and says to his aide, "Those men will be fine soldiers once they have suffered through the stage fright of their first hostile action."

Next, Harmon wants to know where his tanks are. Eight M3 Stuarts have been landed from small lighters, but faulty batteries and drowned engines leave the little tanks on the beach. One lighter is lost, and another has broken down with engine failure. Without tanks, Harmon’s force will have a tough time against the French S35 armor.

He paces the piers, tense, awaiting the seatrain Lakehurst, which is bringing M3 Lee tanks, and the Titania, which will unload more M3s, at the Safi pier.

At Port Lyautey, General Lucian Truscott’s Goalpost Force is finally ready to attack. The sea is calm and the surf is unusually light. Col. Frederick J. de Rohan’s 60th Infantry Regiment, the "Go-Devils," has been waiting for hours. The landing craft go in at 5:40 a.m., with Maj. John H. Dilley’s 2nd Battalion headed for Green Beach south of the mouth of the Sebou River at Mehdia Plage. As the landing craft move in, the lights on shore go out. Then searchlights illuminate the scene, picking up the landing craft.

Seconds later, a red flare burst over the shoreline, and French 75mm and 138mm guns open fire on the invaders. The destroyer Roe and the battleship Texas cut loose with return fire, knocking out the searchlights, silencing the batteries. In the confusion, Dilley’s second wave gets ashore ahead of the first wave.

Meanwhile, Maj. Percy DeW. McCarley’s 1st/60th splashes ashore unopposed at Blue Beach, south of Green. McCarley is relieved by that, but he can’t recognize any landmarks. He and his battalion staff break out the maps and find out that they’re a mile-and-a-half north of their designated beaches. The day is not starting well.

Lt. Col. John J. Toffey’s 3rd/60th is destined for Red Beach and Red Beach Two north of the Oued Sebou, but their boats get lost in trying to form up from their control ship, the Osprey. The jumble of milling boats, in no order, starts heading ashore at 6:35 a.m., in broad daylight.

As the American landing craft go in, so do four French fighter planes (De 520s or American-built Hawk 75s, known to Americans as the P-36), which strafe the incoming landing craft and men on the beach. Their bullets and bombs swamp two landing craft, dumping Go-Devils into the Atlantic Ocean.

The 692nd Coast Artillery Regiment, part of this invading group, reacts as soon as it reaches the beach. The gunners set up their anti-aircraft guns (Coast Artillery is being converted to the anti-aircraft role) and shoot down two attackers, their first kills of the war.

On the beach, Toffey struggles to make sense of maps and to organize his battalion. The first part is easy. He’s five miles north of his designated beach. The second part is harder. His battalion is scattered all over the beach, along with its equipment. He rounds up his men, and leads them on the five-mile march to the airport. The men are burdened down, having to carry their machine guns, mortars, shells, bazookas, rockets, and ammunition boxes.

While the 60th Regiment moves in and out, Col. Demas "Nick" Craw and Maj. Pierpont Hamilton, in dress uniforms, struggle down rope ladders in the first wave. Baffled GIs gape at the two officers, in leather and brass, during the run-in. Both officers, who speak fluent French, are Truscott’s emissaries to the French command.

Hamilton spent many years in France, and Craw worked with French officers in Greece and the Balkans. Volunteers, they are to get through enemy lines and reach Col. Charles Petit, the local French commander, with Truscott’s appeal to cease firing and join the Americans.

They reach the shore without incident, and drive inland in a jeep, under a huge white flag, reaching the local Casbah. French troops direct the Americans to Port Lyautey with Gallic sang-froid.

As the jeep rounds a turn, however, less savvy French machine-gunners open fire, kill Craw, and take Hamilton prisoner. The French, stunned to discover they have killed men under a flag of truce, escort a shaken Hamilton to Petit’s headquarters in Port Lyautey.

Petit is cordial and gracious. He expresses his regrets over Craw’s death, and his distaste to be fighting "our American friends." However, without support from his superiors, Petit cannot order his men to lay down their arms. Until then, his soldiers’ honor requires him to keep fighting.

Hamilton asks if he can return to his own lines. Petit "regretfully" denies the request, and puts Hamilton in custody. So much for Truscott’s attempts at diplomacy.

After the campaign, Craw and Hamilton are both awarded the Medal of Honor. However, President Roosevelt has to present the coveted hardware to Craw’s family.

The last portion of the invasion takes place at Fedala, where Patton himself oversees Gen. Jonathan Anderson’s Brushwood Sub-Task Force. Repeated delays have postponed the 3rd Infantry Division’s assault until past 4:45 a.m., when the landing craft finally go in.

The Fedala force includes the entire 3rd Infantry Division, with the 30th and 7th Infantry Regiments in the invasion, and the 15th Infantry Regiment in reserve. The latter is one of the few veteran outfits in the invading force – until 1940 it was stationed in Tientsin, China, protecting American interests amid the bloody Sino-Japanese War. Also invading is the 1st Battalion/67th Armored Regiment, of the 1st Armored Division. In all, 20,000 Americans backed by the carriers Ranger and Suwanee, the cruisers Augusta, Brooklyn, and Cleveland, move in to attack.

Their target is a four-mile stretch of sand that is part of a renowned resort, which includes a magnificent hotel, race track, casino, golf course, beautiful gardens, and palm-lined streets. The soaked and cold Americans are, however, more concerned with the heavy surf and French defenses, which include coastal guns, attack bombers, and destroyers.

As the first wave hits the one-mile mark from the shore, they see searchlights pointing skyward from Cape Fedala and Cherqui, the heights that bookend the port. Anderson is relieved: he assumes the French have got and understood the message from Ike to point searchlights straight up as a sign they will not resist the landings.

Anderson is wrong. The French have aimed their lights up to locate possible Allied planes. When they don’t see any, they point the lights over the water, and right into the assault craft. As soon as the French see the landing boats, they open fire with coastal guns and machine guns. Heavy surf and heavy fire sweep boats out of control, and they crash against the rocks. GIs are hurled from their landing craft onto the rocks or into the water, and are killed. Some Americans are drowned when they are unable to regain their feet after being bowled by a wave. Other men cut their feet, hands, arms, and legs on sharp rocks, and stagger ashore without rifles, radios, or equipment.

Out of 116 assault boats sent in, 62 are wrecked.

Navy and Coast Guard crews show ample determination to bring their boats ashore under the heaviest surf they’ve ever encountered. However, once ashore, they believe that it’s the Army’s job to unload the boats. The Army men believe it’s their job to fight the enemy. They don’t help Navy crews unload cases, boxes, and cans, until resourceful Army and Navy officers motivate their GIs and bluejackets to work together and unload the boats.

Despite the carnage, the Americans attack. 1st Battalion/7th Infantry, under Lt. Col. Roy E. Moore, comes ashore on Red Beach Two, and charge into the town of Fedala, under sporadic machine-gun fire. They capture groups of Senegalese infantry, and surround the Hotel Miramer, the fashionable home base for the Casablanca branch of the German Armistice Commission. This collection of officers is a vital prize to the Americans.

The GIs surround the hotel while groups of Senegalese soldiers sit on curbs, light cigarettes, and watch. Moore sets up his men to charge into the hotel and storm into the three-story building. They find the Germans have fled.

As Moore and his men secure the premises, shells from six American destroyers start landing all over town. Aware that the hotel is probably a registration point for Navy gunners, Moore and his men dash out of the Miramer, to the amusement of the Senegalese.

The Americans continue into town, and run into a convoy of three German staff cars racing out of Fedala. The Germans hit the brakes as they see the Americans, and one of the GIs yells, "Comm heraus, Schweinhund," finally getting a chance to use the German he learned on his troopship. Ten German officers of the Armistice Commission, in full uniform, sheepishly raise their hands and step out of the car.

Meanwhile, Moore arrives at Fedala’s first street, Boulevard Moulay Youssef, and sets up 1st Battalion’s forward HQ near the Miramer Hotel. As American shells whistle into town, Moore sends his XO, Capt. Everett W. Duval, back to the beach to convince the Navy to cease fire.

While the Fedala assault unfolds, George Patton tries his own diplomatic maneuvers. Col. William H. Wilbur, one of his staff officers, goes ashore in an amphibious jeep, equipped with a radio, US flag, and a white flag. He carries a letter from Patton – approved by Roosevelt – to Adm. Francois Michelier, asking the admiral to accept an American occupation without resistance.

As Wilbur’s landing craft approaches the beach, French machine guns greet it with tracer. Once on land, the jeep won’t start. Wilbur finds another jeep, shifts his colors, and drives off to Casablanca.

He reaches French army positions, and a French captain in a civilian car escorts him to the headquarters of the Casablanca Division, one of Vichy’s better outfits in North Africa. Brig. Gen. Raymond Desre is in charge, replacing his boss, Maj. Gen. Emile Bethouart, who is in the clink. Wilbur tells Desre that he has a letter from Patton and FDR. Desre won’t take it. Adm. Michelier is in command at Casablanca. Wilbur places the letter on Desre’s desk and departs.

When Wilbur emerges from the building, the French captain offers to escort the American colonel to Michelier’s headquarters at the admiralty. Not a bad idea, Wilbur figures, so they drive over. When Wilbur arrives, so do the first American shells and bombs. A French Navy officer won’t allow Wilbur inside.

Wilbur demands an audience with the admiral, and the French refuse. Finally, a red-faced French officer points at the door and shouts, "Get the hell out of here!" Irritated, Wilbur and his driver head back to the Fedala beaches. As they drive along, they spot groups of French soldiers and sailors. Some look hostile, others smile broadly and wave.

Just before daybreak, the battleship Massachusetts and the cruisers Wichita and Tuscaloosa bear down on Casablanca. The crown jewel of colonial France, called "half Arabian, half European, and half Hollywood," boasts a population of 257,000, a French naval squadron, fighter planes, and anti-aircraft guns.

After dawn, the Ranger launches a full-deck strike of F4F Wildcats and SBD Dauntless dive-bombers. The fighters swing in over Cazes airfield and Rabat, with no opposition.

At 6 a.m., as the sun rises, the French coastal batteries open fire on the American armada off Fedala. The Americans return fire at 6:20, trading rounds with the Blondin Battery. The French guns straddle the cruiser Brooklyn and hit the destroyer Murphy’s aft engine room, killing three and wounding seven.

Murphy’s Engineering Officer, Lt. Cdr. Robert W. Curtis, enters the engine room, finding the temperature insufferable and the electrical switchboard spitting sparks. Despite heat, smoke, and steam, he reaches the switchboard, throws the master switch, and prevents it from catching fire. Then he helps his men out of the compartment.

At 7 a.m., Casablanca harbor finally opens fire on the circling American planes. French De 520 fighters race in to attack the Americans. Navy SBDs peel off to bomb airfields, coastal batteries, and anti-aircraft guns, while the F4Fs claw for altitude to tackle the faster De 520s.

A few minutes before 8 a.m., Augusta opens fire on Cap de Fedala just as Patton is preparing to go ashore. His landing craft hangs from the cruiser’s davits. The general’s gear, along with his ivory-handled pistols, have been loaded in the craft. Patton starts to climb into the boat, when the ship’s eight-inch guns cut loose. The muzzle blast of the round sets off a concussion wave that shreds Patton’s landing craft. He has to wait to land. Fortunately, an aide saves his pistols.

On shore, troops of Lt. Col. Lyle W. Bernard’s 2nd/30th Regiment attack Point Blondin, supported by Brooklyn’s guns. The battalion is there, but Bernard isn’t. His boat is the only one that misses the proper beach. However, Capt. Mackenzie E. Porter provides the spark for his H Company.

The cruiser’s six-inchers blast the fort’s fire control directors. Another shell hits a gun emplacement, wrecking the gun, and exploding powder bags. 30 Frenchmen are killed and wounded. When the smoke clears, Porter’s men charge the battery at the rush, capturing it before the dazed defenders can react.