NO ROOM TO LIE DOWN A WW2 Armor Novel

Greg Tschanz Erik Albertson Joshua Collins

No Room To Lie Down

Copyright © 2020 by WW2 Armor, NFP Cover Art Copyright © 2020 by WW2 Armor, NFP Created in the United States

This is a work of fiction based on the historical account and operations of the U.S. Army’s 66th Armor Regiment, 2nd Armored Division during World War II. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All characters are entirely fictional and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is coincidental. The data and events described in this book are historically accurate to the best of the author’s and researchers’ ability. All events within the contents of this work are based on original War Department records, unit operational reports and the official unit history.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the author’s prior written permission.

All images used throughout this work are either original photos created by WW2 Armor, NFP or came from the U.S. National Archives, German Bundesarchiv or the U.S. Army Signal Corps and are in the public domain.

Published by WW2 Armor, NFP 915 Doyle Road, Ste. 303-320 Deltona, FL 32725

www.ww2armor.org

Author: Greg Tschanz Historical Researchers: Erik Albertson & Joshua Collins Cover Design: Erik Albertson Front Cover Photo: Jon Soucy Editors: Erik Albertson, Joshua Collins, and Jon Soucy Chapter Illustrations: Erik Albertson

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the brave men of the armored divisions and the independent tank battalions who fought and served across from the Pacific, to North Africa, to Italy, and across Western Europe throughout World War II.

And to all the brave Allied heroes, men and women, who served and sacrificed their lives for our freedom across the globe throughout World War II. To those who never returned home, you will never be forgotten.

The author and research team would like to also sincerely thank and dedicate this book to Harry F. Miller, a dear friend and mentor to WW2 Armor and a World War II tank veteran from the 740th Tank Battalion. Mr. Miller, graciously assisted the team during the creation of this publication to ensure the details are as authentic as possible.

Contents

Foreword 1 Introduction 2 Prologue: I’ll Be Home Soon Gia 4 Chapter 1: No Turning Back 13 Chapter 2: Into the Storm 25 Chapter 3: The Breakout 36 Chapter 4: Awaiting Fate 47 Chapter 5: Contact 58 Chapter 6: Day of Days 73

--- To Be Continued February 2021 ---

No Room To Lie Down 1

Foreword

I have had the pleasure of meeting Erik Albertson at a military World War II reenactment in Reading, Pennsylvania several years ago. He had just crawled out of a replica of a World War II Tiger 1 tank and he was all dressed up in the uniform of a German panzer crewman. I told him at the time that he looked to be a real German Tanker and he thanked me for it. I guess I expected to have my nose knocked off my face but actually, we became very good friends. I met Joshua Collins and Greg Tschanz later at a similar activity at Conneaut, Ohio in 2019 where I met all the historians of WW2 Armor.

This group of dedicated men has assisted Rabbi Rob in receiving, renovating, cleaning, and fine-tuning a large collection of World War II armored vehicles. A spectacular achievement to say the least. A photo of our first meeting is on the dedication page of this book. During that first meeting, Rabbi Rob and I had a long discussion about his group of stalwarts and shared a lot of jokes and laughs. He is truly a very interesting and dedicated man and it is a pleasure to be a friend of his.

As a WWII Tanker myself, I am very happy the trio of authors are keeping our legacy alive by this book and by their actions with WW2 Armor. I hope with all my heart that this glorious land of ours will never have to suffer another world war nor any war for that matter.

Harry F. Miller World War II Tanker 740th Tank Battalion

No Room To Lie Down 2

Introduction

WW2 Armor is an educational outfit dedicated to preserving the history of the men and machines of U.S. armor units in the European Theater of Operations (ETO) during World War II. The group’s members are historians first and foremost. As such, they research and study the vehicles, weapons, doctrine, and tactics of the era as a way to educate the larger public on what it was to be an armor crewman during World War II, highlighting what those Soldiers endured and accomplished.

To ensure authenticity, WW2 Armor members actively train on appropriate vehicle operations and tactics used by the U.S. Army from 1943-1945 to include armor, tank destroyer, armored field artillery, reconnaissance, armored infantry, and support operations. The vehicles and weapons are owned by Rabbi Rob Thomas, who also leads the WW2 Armor team. The members of WW2 Armor include full-time staff and volunteers who work extremely hard to keep the vehicles and weapons in full working order. Many of the members are U.S. military veterans of both peace and wartime service. The team at WW2 Armor actively participates in World War II reenactments and living history events throughout the U.S., as well as participates in TV shows and movies.

Many books have been written about tanks, ones that cover types, models, variants, production, technical details, capabilities, and famous battles and campaigns. This publication isn’t about the technical aspect of war or the vehicle details and specifications. It is about the human aspect as without the men who crewed these machines, many of whom sacrificed their lives, they would just be 40 tons of steel sitting in one spot capable of doing absolutely nothing. It is the tank crew, who are the true beating heart and soul of an armored vehicle, despite its researched capabilities or specifications, that make the vehicle move, shoot, communicate, and destroy the enemy. That is what we wish to present to you as the reader, a view of the war from their viewpoint.

This book is a story about the crew responsible for coaxing a chunk of steel into becoming a fighting machine. In this endeavor, we attempt to combine the technical aspects of the machines in the conflict with the human aspect of the personnel involved, as together they tell a much more cohesive and powerful story. We have purposefully created a fictitious tank crew in the 2nd Platoon of G Company in the 3rd Battalion of the 66th Armored Regiment 2nd Armored Division. The men in the crew are characters created strictly to marry the human interactions of a crew to the technical aspects of life in their vehicle and the conflict in general.

We have strived to steer clear of all typical Hollywood stereotypes and myths that have blurred the reality of the actual historical record. This is an attempt to enlighten a larger audience to the simple fact that what the Allies were able to do by coming together, supporting one another, quickly learning from their mistakes, adapting their tactics and equipment to defeat a well- trained and equipped enemy. In this aspect, the greatest asset that the Allies had were the very individuals caught in the conflict and risking their lives daily in combat. No Room To Lie Down 3

Those who may be unfamiliar with certain aspects of the conflict might wonder why we refer to it as an M4 tank and not the common term everyone uses of “Sherman”. That term was not widely used at the time by American troops, and the moniker wasn’t approved by the War Department for public release until November 1944. The popular usage of the name “Sherman” by the U.S. forces and generally American public didn’t come about until after World War II was over.

In this work, we try to bring in several aspects of the 2nd Armored Division, but do not dive down into deep technical details as that is beyond the scope of this project. There are many fine literary works in existence that go into deeper technical details. We implore you, the reader, to invest the time in reading many of the fine works out there regarding the technical element of armor in World War II.

Our focus is on the ETO during World War II. The events leading up to the 2nd Armored landing on Omaha Beach are covered to establish the crew of the vehicle and provide the necessary background for the 2nd Armored as a whole and how that experience had yielded veteran tankers by the time the invasion of France was underway.

In reading this work, we at WW2 Armor hope that the reader gains a deeper understanding of the M4 medium tank, what it took to be in the crew, the aspects of the conflict as it revolved around an armor unit. As well as the other vehicles in the 2nd Armored Division as well as other vehicles and weapons used during World War II. This information is conveyed in two methods. The higher-level technical aspects are sprinkled in amongst the main body of work, as well as a Glossary in the back of the work containing a greater level of the technical aspects.

For the reader a note on the naming of tanks and the call signs used for radio communication. Each Company was given a letter designation, as in this story, our crew is in G Company. Tanks were named by their crews, some had the names of sweethearts back home painted on them, while other crews chose more entertaining names to distinguish their vehicles. As the tanks are in G Company, all names on the vehicles start with the letter G. If and or when a vehicle was either damaged or destroyed and had to be replaced, the name on the tank would change. Sometimes the change was the addition of a number to the name, or just an entirely different name.

Radio communications can get quite confusing. To alleviate the confusion for all radio communications between tanks, proper call signs were used. It was a simple but effective way to accurately advise of what each vehicle was doing and where they were. Again, as they were in G Company, every vehicle was referred to as “George” and then a number behind it corresponding to their vehicle’s bumper number and role within the platoon, company, battalion, and so on. For a medium tank company, the 1st Platoon Leader was “George 1,” and then the rest of the platoon was George 2-5; “George 5” being the Platoon Sergeant. This pattern repeated down to Headquarters and maintenance sections, “George 22.”

From the historians at WW2 Armor, we hope that this work helps introduce a new generation to the vehicles and brave men that crewed them in the ETO and keep their memory alive. No Room To Lie Down 4

Prologue: I’ll Be Home Soon Gia North Africa - 24 December 1942

Staff Sergeant Max Green looked over the railing of the SS Brazil, the converted cruise liner that has been home to half of the 2nd Armored Division for the last two and a half weeks. The other half of the division was nearby, aboard the SS Argentina. Before the war, both vessels had served a wealthy and well-to-do clientele, something Max’s family was not.

Living in the middle of the desert of Nevada in a small town called Las Vegas, Max’s family worked for everything they had. His father ran a gas station with an attached mechanic shop and on occasion sold a used car or two. Their existence wasn’t meager, they had enough to get by, but something as extravagant as an ocean voyage wasn’t something that they even talked about at the dinner table.

Max had been raised with an extraordinarily strong work ethic. “If you know something needs to be done and no one is doing it, then step up and get the job done,” his father had often advised, following up with, “looking at work doesn’t make it happen. Get to it.”

Lessons such as this is partly why Max had been promoted to staff sergeant and given command of a M4A1 medium tank, equipped with a 75mm main gun, and two .30 caliber machine guns, one coaxial with the main gun and one in the front glacial plate, and a .50 caliber machine gun for anti-aircraft on a mount on the rear of the turret.

Being in charge of a hulking 33-ton steel steed powered by a Continental R975 engine that ran off regular gasoline, wasn’t something he took lightly. As soon as the promotion came down, Max set to work on being the best he could for the job. He was now responsible for not only his life, but the lives of four other men.

On his crew were, Technician Fifth Grade Quinten “Red” Phillips, driver; Private First Class Roy Brown, bow gunner or commonly referred to as BOG; Private First Class Eugene Henderson, cannoneer, also referred to as the loader; Corporal Joseph Pavillard, gunner. They had been together since mid-1941, training on the M3 medium tanks, before getting upgraded to the M4A1 (75). Their tank, GIA, along with the rest of the division’s tanks were nestled in the transport ship Sea Train Texas.

“Merry Christmas,” came the voice of Roy Brown.

Looking over his shoulder, “You’re a day early there Roy.”

“All due respect, Sergeant, anything that gets me off this boat is a gift.”

“Understood, Private,” Max said, chuckling slightly. “The rest of the guys ready?” No Room To Lie Down 5

Max couldn’t blame Brown at all. Sea travel was not something that agreed with his constitution either. Hours and hours of nothing but staring at the empty ocean combined with the constant rolling of the ship on the waves usually meant both boredom and feeling queasy. They had all been assigned guard duty to be on the lookout of any enemy activity, but he suspected it was more to keep them occupied than anything else. The storm that hit them a few nights back did liven up the monotony, though in one of the worst ways possible. Some men had nearly been swept overboard by the massive waves, and others below decks trying to eat their food looked like the worst circus act ever.

Sighing his response, “They’ve been ready since day two of the voyage Sergeant.”

Again, casting his eye to the port growing slowly closer, “Well, it won’t be long now and we can get off this tug. Make sure and tell Pavillard to have everyone check their gear and be ready to move as soon as we get word.”

Sensing a retort from Brown. “Everyone double checks everything. Got it?”

“You got it, Sergeant,” Brown responded, turning on his heel heading back below deck. Pausing for a moment, “Heard a rumor of a big Christmas dinner on board,” he added.

“I’ve heard the same, but still we need to make sure everyone is ready,” Max answered. “Even if they feed us a big dinner, we still need to be ready to move as quickly as possible.”

With that declaration, Max heard his BOG’s footsteps move away to the interior of the ship. Truth be told, Max didn’t care one bit about a big meal on board. He’d been seasick since they set foot on board. He wanted off this ship and now. Just as that thought came to him, the wreck of a newly sunken ship slid into view, affirming his desire to be off the boat.

Once they had made the port of Casablanca and the ship tied off, orders came to get off quickly due to rumors of possible air raids. All the men on both ships quickly carted their gear down the gangplanks onto the concrete pier. More than one proclaiming their appreciation for being back on solid ground. No one seemed to remember it was Christmas Eve, though maybe they just took being off the ship as their present for the year.

Over the next few days, the division lined up and took possession of their tanks and vehicles as they emerged from the innards of their transport ship. Every crew greeting their steeds as a friend they hadn’t seen in way too long. Working the crank inserted into the engine to manually rotate the pistons around which would hopefully prevent hydro-lock due to oil settling down in the lower cylinders, which could ruin the engine. After a good 50 turns of the crank, the handle removed the TC gave the order to “roll 'em”. The driver would turn on both the 12- and 24-volt systems and throw the Magnetos on, three solid pumps on the primer sending gas into the chambers, then squeeze the Booster and Starter switches to his left while feathering the gas pedal. If all went well, after the brief electrical whine of the starter the engine sputtered to life, spewing white smoke as the heart of the vehicle came to life. No Room To Lie Down 6

Every vehicle was different, they sounded the same, but each one had its own little nuances to resurrecting it after the trip across the Atlantic. Some of the drivers flooded the engine on their first attempt to get the machines moving.

Once they were again alive, the armored column moved a bit out of Casablanca, up on to the surrounding hills. On New Year’s Eve, the division saw their first glimpse of war when German Bombers raided the port. Conical spears of light piercing into the dark sky trying to find a target. Ribbons of tracers flying skyward hoping to find the offenders and take them out of the fight. The men had seen such before in their exercises, but this time it was real.

On the 8th of January the regiment moved from the heights above Casablanca north to the Cork Forest outside of Rabat, Morocco. Their mission was guard duty, just in case the border of the Spanish section of Morocco was threatened by the enemy. Spain had yet to enter the war, but it was common knowledge that Spain’s Dictator, Francisco Franco, was sympathetic to the enigmatic leader of Germany, Adolf Hitler. Supplies had been provided by Germany for Franco’s successful overthrow of the Spanish Monarchy in 1939.

While there was a perceived threat 30 miles to the north, the regiment trained and performed necessary field maintenance on the steel steeds, weapons, and support vehicles. Training consisted of maneuvers and traversing the terrain with all the hatches closed, commonly known as “buttoned up”. Everything was trickier when looking out the 5” by 1.25” mirrored window periscope. Their driver, Red, was always good with driving buttoned up. Max wasn’t sure he would have been as good looking out the small periscope to gauge clearance of a vehicle that was eight and half feet wide and slightly longer than nineteen feet. Running into other tanks and just everything in general was always a risk. To get a fuller view the periscope could be rotated but a lot of the time that took hands away from the two steering levers, which if going straight was acceptable, but in a turn wasn’t the best idea.

Red had made that mistake only once. It was back in late July 1942 during an exercise in the Carolinas; their last exercise before departing the United States. The crew had just received their new M4A1 medium and it was a major upgrade from their M3 Medium tank which they received and trained on since early 1942. It was at night and Max had just ordered, “Hard left.” And Red then started the turn pulling back on the left steering lever stopping that drive sprocket thus stopping the left track, which caused the vehicle to turn as the right track kept grinding forward. Being at night and in unfamiliar territory Red tried to rotate the M4 Periscope letting go of the steering stick for just a second. That was when the tank found the ditch on the side of No Room To Lie Down 7 what he felt was too narrow of a road. After having to be towed out of the ditch, the resulting jeering from the other tankers along with a chat with Max and then their Platoon Sergeant, Red never made that mistake again.

The maneuvers also consisted of tank on tank action, machine guns only. Being sealed inside their steel homes the tiny bits of deadly lead posed no real risk to the crews. This gave them invaluable experience at shooting at moving targets as well as what it sounded like when bullets impacted the outside hide of their protection.

Practice with the main gun was against stationary targets, not their own tanks. Usually trees or a large boulder that they found. Sometimes monetary rewards were offered, or bets wagered on who could come closest to the mark, or whomever used less shots to adjust.

Days consisted of constant training, or maintenance on the vehicles. The nights consisted of training films, and as always guard duty.

At the end of February 1943 word came of the humiliating defeat of the American 1st Armored Division at some distant location called Kasserine Pass in Tunisia well to the east of where the 2nd Armored was. The rumor mill spun up with some men saying that the entire 1st Armored Division was wiped out. Official totals were coming in that well over 100 tanks had been lost, along with 6,000 men. Countless other vehicles and guns added up to a devastating loss for the first major engagement for the American Army in North Africa.

Word came down that some men from the 2nd Armored, Officers and Enlisted alike, would be reassigned to the 1st Armored to help replenish what had been lost. Max had learned that their Bow Gunner, Roy Brown was selected to go. He had wondered why the whole crew hadn’t gone. He had asked their Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant Richardson, but all he got was, “I am not sure Sergeant. Just get Private First Class Brown ready to move.” Then he was dismissed.

Walking back to where his crew was Max guessed the Lieutenant did know more but just didn’t feel it was relevant. And probably wasn’t any happier about the situation than anyone else. A terrible debut for America in a conflict that many had been fighting for several years, and now a loss of men to help out.

Gathering his crew together, Max gave the news as pragmatically as he could muster. Knowing that the crew was close knit, and any changes could upset the brotherhood these men had forged through training all this time. Red and Roy had become best of friends for whatever reason. They had shared a rural lifestyle, both growing up on farms, but they two had just been inseparable since they got on the tank together.

The next day Roy had to report to the assembly area along with roughly 150 other men and a few officers. They all boarded trucks to be shipped west to their new assignment. The crew of GIA wished their friend well, told him to show the 1st Armored how it was supposed to be done. Smiles all around as they shook hands and sent him off with the best wishes. No Room To Lie Down 8

Max watched as Red watched until the trucks had disappeared from sight. Then the red headed driver walked off to help with the routine maintenance on their tank and help with others if needed. The man would do what it took to keep his mind off the fact his best friend had just been sent off.

Not two days later, Max was shaken awake by Private Henderson.

“Sergeant. Something is wrong with Pavillard!”

Getting his bearings, “What? What do you mean?”

Pulling him from his bed, “He’s hollering and bent in two.” Henderson yelled.

Half stumbling after his Loader, “Did you guys call for the Medics?”

“Of Course,” Henderson advised, seemingly disgusted with the question.

Going into the tent Max saw his Gunner folded in half, wailing as if he’d been hit with a bat. There was vomit beside the man’s head. “What is wrong Joe?” putting a hand on the man as he asked.

Gasping for breath, “I don’t know Sergeant.” Rolling back and forth, “Feels like a hot knife is being jabbed in me.” And he vomited again. Coughing up a yellow viscous looking substance.

Then two medics burst into the tent. “Give us room.”

Max cleared out of the way sweeping his men out of the tent along the way. Everyone on the crew was very concerned. Henderson advised that Joe hadn’t been feeling the best over the last few days but figured it was just a bug going around.

A few minutes slid by and the Medics came out with Joe draped over their shoulders.

“What is happening? Where are you guys taking him? Is he going to be ok?” The trio of them asked.

“If I had to guess, I would say it is his appendix.” One of the medics stated. “He is burning up with fever and the pain is coming from the right spot. We just have to get him to the doctor and hope the thing hasn’t ruptured.”

And much quicker and unexpectedly they lost a second member of the crew, without even having seen the enemy. The next morning after a dismal breakfast they saw a short dark-haired fellow walking jauntily towards them whistling the whole time.

“Sergeant Green?” the fellow called out as he came towards them.

Looking the Private up and down, “Yeah. That is me. What do you want?” He wasn’t in the mood for any more bad news. Were they taking his tank away, or transferring more of the crew? No Room To Lie Down 9

Handing him papers, “Private First Class Isiah Kellerman. They assigned me to the crew.”

Looking over the papers, Max saw that all was in order. The Private had just come over from the states as a replacement for wherever needed. Extending his hand out, “Good to have you on the crew. You’ll be the new BOG.”

Red and Henderson, shook hands as well with the new guy. He whistled when he wasn’t talking, which seemed a bit odd to Max, but that was the least of his worries right now.

“We’ll take him and get him settled, Sergeant,” Henderson supplied.

That night Max went out to sit with GIA. This was something he did from time to time. He decided, with the crew's blessing, to name the tank after his wife back home. She was a raven- haired beauty he had met in high school and pursued relentlessly until they got married just before he deployed. She had since bore their first child, a healthy happy baby boy. He always carried pictures or the pair of them with him, as he never knew when he would get more in the mail. He closed his eyes and recalled his last moment with her before he departed, “I’ll be home soon Gia don’t you worry” as he held her closely and kissed her forehead.

Climbing up the side of his tank, Max slipped into the tight confines of the steel beast. Sitting in his Tank Commanders perch Max surveyed the inside of the tank with a flashlight. Everything in the turret was squared away as usual. The seat just in front and below him was where Joe Pavillard had sat. Now who knew when or if he would be back.

Further in front of that and below down in the front right hull of GIA was where Roy Brown had sat before being sent to help the 1st Armored. Now there was a new crew member to work into their rhythm. And possibly another new one as well. Over to the left in the turret was where Eugene Henderson, the Loader, worked the shells into the breech of the 75mm gun M3. As well he kept the Browning M1919 .30 caliber coaxial, or coax, machine gun fed. And in front of him their driver Quinten Phillips guided their steel steed through whatever they needed to do.

Sighing, Max leaned back on the inside of the turret shutting of his flashlight. He’d accepted the job of leading this crew into battle. It wasn’t a duty he took lightly. He demanded a lot of himself and was constantly searching for ways to be better. More efficient at the job before him. If he could find an edge maybe he could get them through this mess. In trying to find the best way to lead them, he struggled with being their commander and being a friend as well. They had to trust and respect him, so where was the line to be drawn between being in charge and being someone that they thought of as something more than a hard ass?

There was no doubt that he cared for each of them as friends, but he had to balance that with the needs to get the mission accomplished. The feelings he had for his brothers had been balanced and galvanized into taking the fight to the enemy. When the moment came, would he buckle and fold? No Room To Lie Down 10

Every day he reminded himself he would not. He would be the leader that these men deserved, the leader the Army had recognized in him. Folding under the pressure was not something that would happen. If by sheer will of force alone he would make certain of that.

Standing up he pulled himself to sit on the top of the Commander’s cupola. Looking up he saw the full moon shiny brightly in the night sky. Millions of stars twinkling as he looked skyward, a few thin clouds moving across the night sky backdrop. Letting his thoughts wander back to Las Vegas and Gia, he remembered the joy in her eyes every time he saw her. In the photos he had their son Walter had the same look in his. How long would it be before he got to see them again? Months? Years?

“Wonder if Kristy see’s the same sky?” A voice shook him back to reality. Looking down to his right, there was Red leaning on the side of GIA.

Thinking for a second, “Probably not just yet. They are 8 hours behind us.” Max advised.

Nodding his head, “That is why you’re in charge, Sergeant.” With the light of the full moon, Max could see the cheesy smile of the young man from Wisconsin.

Trying to not laugh at the jab, “Yeah Red. That is one of the questions on the test for Tank Commander. Do you know the difference in time zones?”

Both men chuckled. “You doing ok Red?”

Max watched as Red looked to the ground, his foot finding a small rock to kick, “Yeah.”

“I know Roy was a good buddy, but they needed him over there.” Nothing in the sergeant’s job description gave details on how to console men.

“Yeah, I know,” Red responded. “But this new guy and his whistling,” a heavy sigh came, “it doesn’t stop. In the short time he has been here I think I’ve heard every damn song ever.”

Max smiled at that comment, “That is actually kind of impressive. To remember all of those songs. Hell, I can barely whistle.”

“Well maybe you can teach him that,” Red quipped.

Resisting the urge to laugh, “Listen Red. He is on the crew, and we will run him through the paces. But part of that is being someone he can count on. Just talk to him and see if you can’t find a way to reason with him.”

Nodding again, “Of course Sergeant.” Then taking a deep breath, “Just take some time to get used to someone else in that seat. Ya know?” Red turned to look up at him.

Nodding slowly, “I understand Red. I do.” Thinking to himself, how many times will this happen? No Room To Lie Down 11

A few days later the crew learned that Joseph Pavillard would not be rejoining them as his appendix had ruptured, and due to that he was going to have a long recovery. As they digested that news, Monty Booker showed up as the replacement for their original gunner. He seemed solid enough to Max, but a little awkward in working with the rest of the crew, perhaps even a bit shy.

Well he will figure it out, if not I will do what I can to help him.

In May of 1943, the division got a new, freshly promoted Brigadier General Hugh J. Gaffey. Along about that time the 66th Armored Regiment pulled up stakes and moved all men and machines to Port Aux Poules in Oran, Algeria. Here the men trained on all aspects of taking their tanks through amphibious training similar to that of what they had done in Virginia back in 42.

For future operations such as beach landings there was a new vehicle to bring the tankers and their vehicles to the fight. Landing Ship Tanks, or LSTs for short. These massive ships were a little longer than a football field and fairly narrow. They had two main decks for vehicles. The heavier tanks always stayed on the lower decks, with jeeps and lighter command vehicles on the top deck. The entire front of the ship would open up and a ramp lowered down allowing the vehicles to enter or exit.

Each one of these LSTs could hold up to 30 tanks, with additional vehicles and 500 men per ship. And with their flat bottoms and shallow drafts, these craft could put all that fire power right on the beach. No need for a specialized dock and cranes and such. These large vessels allowed them to get the highly trained crews and their weapons of war right into the fight.

Over the next few months, Max and his crew continued their trek to the north and east along with the rest of the 66th Armored Regiment. They moved to Philippeville, Algeria, and then on to Bizerte, Tunisia. Days not spent traveling were occupied by training. Everyone recertified in gunnery skills and got refresher courses in vehicle identification, casualty evacuation, fire drills, the Browning M1919 .30 caliber machine gun, along with the .45 caliber Thompson submachine gun, and standard rifle and pistol training. As well indirect fire classes for the crews. That basically meant using their main guns as artillery pieces, where they couldn’t get direct line of sight on their target. So, the rounds, either High Explosive or Smoke, from their main gun, the 75mm gun M3, were lobbed to a target to fall from the sky as an artillery shell usually does. No Room To Lie Down 12

Evenings were spent watching films or playing cards while listening to the latest broadcast from a female who claimed to be their friend. Then she proceeded to tell them how they didn’t need to be there, and that they should just relax, listen to music and think about their wives and lovers back home. Often a male would add in bits of so-called news from the German side of things. All the guys knew this was an effort by the enemy to take them out of the fight. Break their will to do the job in front of them. If anyone ever fell for it, they never showed it. The assigned Army Counter Intelligence Corps Agents in the region also went to great lengths briefing the troops on the psychological warfare efforts the Germans actively conducted in an attempt to demoralize the American and Allied troops.

While in Tunisia, Officers of the regiment went to tour battlefields where the enemy had been met and defeated. They came back with more information on what the men would face when they met the enemy for the first time.

Then the crews had to ready their vehicles for transport. This involved a laborious exercise in making certain the vehicles were waterproofed. This consisted of applying mastic and tape to every crack and crevice where water could sleep in. Plus, a lot of work to the engine of the vehicle as they would be driving off the LSTs through the shallow surf up onto the beach. So, they would still need their engines and any waterproofing efforts could not hamper their ability to fight as soon as they needed to.

Activity increased on this effort and in early July of 1943, their tanks clanked towards the large LSTs, the front of their hulls split open like an odd mouth waiting to be fed. When they got close enough the Tank Commanders had their driver turn the steel beast around, and then they would be directed by the navy crews working the ship. One by one the bulky armor slowly reversed up the ramp and disappeared into the dark hold of the ship.

And on July 8th, Max and his crew, Red, Kellerman, Booker, and Henderson all loaded onto the LST, watched as the Tunisian coast slowly disappeared behind them as they moved east towards the new location of the war that had changed the course of their lives.

No Room To Lie Down 13

Chapter 1: No Turning Back Licata, Sicily – 10 July 1943, 0230 hours

Max tried to roll with the pitch and roll of the Landing Craft Tank ship that his crew and four others occupied. Salt spray kicked up over the sidewalls of the vessel coating his uniform in a fine mist. It was the 10th of July 1943 and their part in Operation Husky was kicking off. The 2nd Armored Division was landing in support of the 3rd Infantry Division on the island of Sicily west of Italy.

These smaller LCTs were much different than the monstrous LSTs. On this craft there were only four M4s. The smaller number of armored units was both good and bad. It allowed for armor to support the infantry units much quicker than the LSTs could. As well the smaller LCTs were more nimble and smaller targets for the enemy to take aim at.

“Mount up,” came the call from the navy men on the LCT. “Hitting the beach in 10 minutes.”

“All right fellas. Let’s get mounted up on GIA and get her ready, this is going to be much different than Africa,” Max called out over the drone of the large lumbering gray hulk and the voices of other Tank Commanders getting their crews moving.

He’d made sure that the manual cranks on the engine had already been done. It was somewhat comical watching Red and Monty try and work the crank handle while the ship lurched over the waves. If they’d have had to do that the night before it would have been impossible. The gale that had attacked the convoy was something they would all love to forget. Every last man got sicker than they had ever been, their skin matching the green of their tanks.

Red slipped down into the driver seat. Isiah into the BOG position. Monty and Eugene dropped into the turret as Max climbed up the front drive sprocket, grabbing various handholds on the way up the nine-foot vertical climb.

Standing on the turret he took a second to see through his binoculars what was facing them. Straight in front and off to the right a nice wide and deep beach where the ground beyond rose slowly up and away from the water. Off to the left the terrain was more rugged with a narrow beach that abruptly ended in sharp cliffs that rose fifty feet or more. And in between there was a town. It was a relatively small looking town, but he couldn’t see all of it.

As he slipped his small frame down into the commander’s seat, he looked over his crew. Plugging into the comm system, “TC on,” he reported in knowing everyone else had already called out that they were on and ready. Watching as they busied themselves getting their bodies into the positions needed, adjusting their own personal gear and various items in the tank, Max felt the gravity of the coming action hit him. No Room To Lie Down 14

This wasn’t training any more. Now, when the ship opened up and that ramp came down, it was real. What was facing them wasn’t an exercise. The sounds and smoke wouldn’t be fake. Germans and Italians were on that island, and they had orders to defend it. To push the Allied armies back into the ocean. This would be the real deal. Trial by fire.

He had been selected as the Commander of this vehicle and these men’s lives depended on him and his ability to lead them. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his resolve, he would not fail them.

“All right Gentlemen,” the voice of their Lieutenant came across the radio, “Start ‘em up.”

“Driver. Start her up.”

Red responded, “Rolling.”

Max knew his driver’s fingers flipped the Magnetos switch from ‘OFF’ to ‘BOTH’ and then squeezed the ‘Booster’ and ‘Starter’ switches together. After a brief electric whine from the starter, the R975-C1 motor started to cough trying to gain life. It didn’t catch the first time.

“C’mon old girl, let’s try that again. Rolling,” Red called out again.

Another brief whine of the starter and the coughs became more rapid, white smoke sputtering out of the exhaust. Max looked around at the other four tanks on the LCT, all were doing the same. The radial engines could be cantankerous and needed persuasion to get going. The 50 cranks that had to be done were to make sure the oil that had gathered at the base of the engine was moved around and hydro lock didn’t happen. If that occurred and a piston rod got bent the engine would be dead and the crew out of the fight.

BRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

GIA was alive. The motor had caught and was running. Red feathered the gas heavily as Max watched from the Commander’s cupola. Fire was always a real danger in a tank and one of the worst things that could happen. For now, he was looking for flames shooting out of the exhaust signifying a horn fire, difficult to see from his angle but nonetheless he watched.

“All right Red, looking good,” he advised.

“Copy TC,” Red said.

Looking back toward the front of the ship, the shore was much closer now. The other crews had gotten their beasts started as well, and he saw their front hatches being closed. A second later their Lieutenant came on over the comms, “Button up, prepare for departure.”

“All right gentleman. You heard the LT. Button up and get ready to move out.”

They were the third tank that would move off the LCT onto the beach. Where the LCT would drop them was anyone’s guess. The plan was of course to drop them as far up the beach as No Room To Lie Down 15 possible. But even during training in North Africa that simple concept had been proved to be elusive. Sometimes the crew was at fault for dropping the gate too early and then sometimes it was as simple as the shifting sands creating a sand bar no one knew was there.

Time would tell how this time would go. Silently Max hoped that the ramp would come down and nothing but a nice solid beach was in front of them. Rolling his eyes at the naivety of that hope, Max focused on the crew and getting off the ship. Casting a look back over his shoulder the vast expanse of over a hundred ships reassured him somewhat. There were the larger Landing Ship Tanks, that held up to 30 M4 tanks on their lower deck with additional vehicles and supplies on the upper deck. As well there were the naval warships there as well, with their large guns turned towards the coast, firing shells almost nonstop in support of the landings. The Germans did have aircraft flying above, either dropping bombs or strafing targets. But the Allied ships were supplying a welcome of tracer rounds flying up to greet their assailants.

Again, focusing forward, “Make sure those hatches are closed tight,” Max called out.

“Will do TC,” Isiah whistled back.

“Confirm TC,” Red advised, the tinge of contempt most likely directed at Isiah.

“Hey, Whistler, calm down with the tunes for now,” Max declared. “Focus on what is happening. Make sure your .30 cal is ready when we get clear.”

“Yes, sir TC,” Isiah confirmed, no whistling tone in his voice for once.

“Whistler,” Red repeated, “That is a good one TC.”

There was some laughter from Henderson and Booker as well. At least their new BOG now had a name to go with his demeanor. That would pull the crew together a bit more.

Max stood tall in cupola as they approached the beach. They jarred to a stop as the LCT plowed onto the sand beneath the waves. The mouth of the ship’s hull opened up and the ramp in front of the ship slammed down as the crew dropped it on orders of the ship’s commander.

“All right let’s move out,” the Lieutenant called, moving his right arm in a circular motion. No Room To Lie Down 16

And Max watched as the lead tank rose slightly and dipped as it went down the ramp. The engine could be heard revving as the steel tonnage was propelled forward. The second tank, or GERTIE as the name on her side declared, lurched forward and again dipped over the top of the ramp. The angle seemed a bit steep to Max, but it wasn’t as if he could turn and say, “Hey guys, could you maybe back up and move to a better spot?”

No, he would just have to go. The lead tank was now climbing out of the water onto the beach.

“Driver move out, slowly,” Max ordered, adding “When I tell you, give her gas and push forward.”

“Copy boss,” Red advised.

“Booker, you be ready to get on target when I advise. Once we hit the beach, we will go to the left of the lead tank and GERTIE. So be ready for whatever comes at us. Henderson listen carefully to what Booker says and just load what I say and when I say.”

“Roger,” both men replied.

GIA crept forward, her tracks slipping slightly on the deck of the LST. They lifted up slightly as they climbed to the lip at the base of the ramp. As they edged forward, “Steady,” Max advised knowing that buttoned up the Driver and BOG were probably only seeing sky at this point, maybe the far-off horizon of the far rising slope.

Then they reached the tipping point, and GIA went over the lip, landing on the ramp sliding a bit as it did.

“All right, give her throttle.”

Max watched as the front of their steed dove into the water splashing as she did. Mercifully the water wasn’t too deep but enough to come up to the base of the fenders of the front hull.

As the driver applied more gas, their tank lurched through the surge. Looking forward the first two tanks were fully out of the water now and heading up the beach. As soon as their tank got a little further onto the beach, he would tell Red to angle left a little so they could maneuver into position of the line formation.

Max stood tall in the cupola with his binoculars in his left hand, watching as the shell from the naval flotilla impacted the ground far ahead of them. Huge plumes of earth rose into the air with each explosion. The 3rd Infantry Division had landed 90 minutes before the first tanks of the 2nd Armored Division plunged into the surf.

He could see some of the infantry up beyond the beach, there was only scattered gun fire off in the distance, nothing as close as Max had anticipated. No Room To Lie Down 17

“Angle off to the left Driver. We need to come up alongside GERTIE about 100 yards off her left-hand side.” Max advised rocking back and forth in the cupola as the tank encountered smaller sandbars on its way out of the water. Looking over his left shoulder, “the other tanks are coming on through the surf now.”

“Whistler, Henderson, double check the 30s. Make sure they are loaded and ready to go.” Hesitating for a second, Max wondered if he needed to add that this was the real show this time. Better safe than never. “Remember everybody, this is NOT training, this time the shots coming at us are real. When we engage the enemy, we have to shoot to save our lives and those in other tanks and the infantry.”

He waited for a response. The crew seemed to be feeling the gravity of what was about to happen. “Report in,” Max ordered.

“Gunner Copy,” Booker responded.

“Loader copy,” Henderson responded.

“BOG copy,” Whistler called out.

“Driver copy,” Red advised. “We’ll do the job we’ve been training for the past few years to do Sergeant.”

“Keep your heads on right and we will get through this,” Max advised all of them.

The line of tanks was now formed and moving up the beach to a road that they saw in front of them about 100 yards away.

“All TCs this George 6, when we reach the road take a left but keep the spacing,” their Platoon Leader, 2nd Lieutenant Richardson, ordered. “We are to advance into the town and secure it along with the 3rd Infantry, over.”

Switching to the inter-tank comms, “George 6 George 8, acknowledge over.”

As they made the left Max looked out over the landscape of single-story homes on the outskirts of the town, and further along the buildings grew in size to four and five story buildings. Sinking down, Max reduced himself as being a big target sticking out of the top of his tank keeping his head only high enough that his eyes were over the top of his split hatch cupola.

Buildings were perfect places to hide snipers, as well as anti-tank guns or worse yet, armored vehicles.

“Watch your speed driver, we can’t get bunched up in the streets of the town.”

“Copy Sergeant.”

The throttle of the vehicle eased off and their pace slowed. No Room To Lie Down 18

Passing through the first houses Max kept his eyes peeled for any activity.

Being the third tank in the line, “Gunner, Traverse left.” Max ordered their gun to turn as it was their job to protect from anything on the left side of the column.

“Traversing left,” Monty responded, and the hydraulic traversing mechanism to Monty’s front in the gunner’s station whined as the turret moved left slowly.

“Steady,” Max watched the barrel move. “…On,” he advised when the barrel got about 45 degrees off the center of the tank. This advised the Gunner to stop traversing.

On towards the town they went, passing slowly through the houses and a few larger buildings, approaching a bridge that spanned over a river that emptied into the Mediterranean Sea. Dividing his watch from threats on the left to their lead tank, every building they passed Max noticed he was holding his breath. Waiting for the eventual discovery of a massive gun barrel that was levied on them.

Across the bridge they went, sporadic small arms fire popped off every so often but still nothing major. Then he saw something that shocked him.

“Would you look at this,” Whistler said before Max could manage it.

A line of what had to be surrendering troops was walking down the left-hand side of the road. By their uniforms they were Italian Army troops.

“All tanks, all tanks, this is George 6, do not shoot,” Came the voice of Lieutenant Richardson over the radio. “The Italians seem to have surrendered the town of Licata. I repeat do not shoot, over.”

Watching as they drove by the lengthy line of Italian soldiers, Max thought he saw smiles on their faces.

“If I didn’t know better, these guys look happy,” Red commented.

“What do you know about being happy Red,” Monty quipped laughingly.

“Well I don’t know about them, but I’m happy that there are less of them to shoot at us,” Whistler advised.

“Keep the chatter down and stay on the ready,” Max declared. “Just cause these guys are walking by here doesn’t mean that there are not some still left that want to see us dead.”

He could sense the relief in his crew, but they couldn’t get lax in their duty. Who knows why these guys surrendered? Maybe it was a trap to lure the Americans and their armor into the town. No Room To Lie Down 19

Further on the column moved. Stealing a look behind Max was somewhat reassured as more tanks were behind his platoon. Looking back in front he could see the land rise to a large hill on the far side of the town, that would be the perfect place for artillery or a forward observer to be, but no steel rain came hurtling out of the sky, “Thank God” Max thought to himself.

Following the lead tank, they turned right after the bridge, continuing on through the town of Licata. Groups of Italian soldiers would file past every so often, clutching white flags made out of anything that they could find. Looking at their faces every time Max saw relief in their eyes. These men didn’t want to fight, but somewhere some would.

They advanced on and merged with H Company who had taken a route further to the north of the city. Together the two columns advance on the local airport. Still anticipating a fight, they spread their forces out into lines of armor and advanced on the field.

All they found was abandoned airstrips that had the crisscross steel obstacles known as hedgehogs littering the strips which would deny the allies use of the facility until they were removed. That was a job for the engineers not their steel beasts.

Day one of Operation Husky ended without incident, other than the occasional strafing runs by German aircraft which caused no damage to 2nd Platoon of G Company. H Company had encountered a battery of the Cannone da 75/32, Italy’s 75mm anti-tank guns, and while they did some superficial damage to the tanks, there was no loss of life on the American side. More prisoners resulted from the brief altercation.

The next day orders were given to head further west and north to take a town named Naro. Everyone moved out a little after 0700 that day, and after receiving some small arms fire, the town was in the hands of the Allies well before 1100. The only real danger they encountered was their own air support, who strafed the advancing column, thinking they were a unit of German armor. Gasoline trucks went up in flames as a result.

“How the hell can they not tell the difference between us and the damned Italians and Germans?” Whistler bellowed during a hail of bullets coming from the sky. “They’re supposed to be somewhat smart people, but apparently haven’t had any training on vehicle identification.”

Grumbles from the rest of the crew added to the debate.

Wondering the same but knew they had to keep moving, “Just keep pushing forward and be on the lookout for any enemy activity,” Max declared, trying to keep them focused on the task at hand.

At 1830 of day 2 the entirety of 2nd Armored started to assemble just north east of the village of Naro. By 0000 there were more of the Regiment in one spot than had been since they all left Tunisia. The next morning after everyone was refueled, they moved with orders to take a town called Canicattì that occupied what was basically a pass in the hills towards the center of the island. No Room To Lie Down 20

H Company took the lead with infantry mounted on the tanks. Max and the rest of the company were held back for now. Committing more armor into a small area wasn’t the best practice.

Watching as their comrades advanced up the slope towards the city, Max was surprised to hear and see artillery coming in on them. It wasn’t accurate but enough to startle the men riding the tanks to jump off and scramble for cover. Smoothly the Allied tanks sped up and executed a zig zag pattern advancing into the town. No vehicles were damaged enough to be left behind.

Then through his binoculars Max watched as the tanks disappeared into the city. Plumes of smoke and dust would erupt every so often inside the city.

As time wore on the call came. H Company had moved through the city and come out on the other side and were receiving fire from artillery 2500 yards on a ridge above the city. Their ammo was running low and needed relief. G company was now to go into action.

Heading back to his tank, Max yelled out, “Time to move.” And he watched his men ditch the food they were eating, throw the contents of their cups onto the ground. Then climb into their respective spots in the tank. Before he had even gotten into his cupola, Red had the motor running and was ready to move.

“TC on,” Max called as he plugged into the comm system. The rest of his crew reported in.

“Alright. Orders have come down. H Company is running low on ammo and we are going in to take over where they left off. There is no resistance in the town but there are guns on the ridge beyond. Prepare to move out.”

“Loader. Battle carry HE,” Max ordered. With no reports of enemy armor, he hedged his best and figured if anything they would engage the crew on anti-tank guns, or lightly armored vehicles. With this order Henderson would grab a HE round and load it into the breach. That way there was no time lost when contact was made and they needed to take action. Seconds mattered in combat as it could mean life or death.

The radio was alive with chatter from the other crews and their Lieutenant. Max could feel the anticipation in their voices. He had to admit he was eager as well, but nerves were rising. Those had to be controlled.

The next span of time was a blur. They all moved out, platoons bounding one another as they moved into the edge of the town. Company H was moving back the opposite way but they stopped midway in the town. G Company weaved between them. Max’s platoon reached the base of the climb first. “Keep pushing forward,” was the order given.

“You heard the Lieutenant. Let’s get moving up the hill. Watch the spacing Red.”

“Copy Sergeant,” his driver replied as the tank started moving up the slope. No Room To Lie Down 21

All hatches were closed at this point due to the immediate known threat, but Max hated it as he knew he lost the vastness of his field of vision looking through the one periscope he had. Max’s head slammed up against the inside of the two split hatches as he peered out his periscope on the Commander's cupola. The angle of their path increased almost alarmingly as they moved up towards the waiting enemy.

Out of nowhere the ground off to their right erupted in a cloud of smoke and earth. The sounds came of more rounds flying in on them.

“Incoming,” Max yelled.

“Good guess genius,” Henderson retorted.

“Shut it. Keep pushing forward,” Max silenced them. More rounds impacted all around the advancing line of tanks. Attempts were made to execute a serpentine type path, but the angle of the rise had grown so steep it was best to just push straight on as any movement from their present path would bleed more speed from them making them bigger targets.

Their pace was unbearably slow. Max looked down at his crew, all of them had their heads pressed on the rests of the periscopes that allowed them to see outside while keeping them safe. The tiny little mirrored reflection didn’t give them a huge field of view but enough to get the job done.

Finally, the crest of the long slope drew close.

“Alright. Be ready,” Max called now staring intently out his periscope scanning the terrain and what lied ahead.

Time seemed to slow as the bulk of their machine tried to go over the crest of the ridge. For what seemed like forever all he could see was the sky which was starting to darken as the afternoon had started to turn into evening. Max hadn’t even checked what time they left to move forward. Time right now was not a concept to him, other than how long it took to see the target, get the main gun on it and destroy it. As of this moment, that was all that mattered.

The motor churned away as their steed moved forward, slowly dropping its nose as gravity pulled it back down. Swiveling his periscope Max scanned for targets, knowing that everyone except the driver was doing the same.

Henderson called out, “Target left!”

Spinning his view of the world Max heard Whistler, “Mother of God what is that thing?”

Seeing what he saw Max wondered the same. Whatever it was, it was mostly barrel, which thankfully wasn’t pointed at them.

“I don’t know,” Monty answered. “It isn’t in the Field Manual.” No Room To Lie Down 22

“Driver Stop. Gunner Tank. HE. Traverse Right.”

“Traversing right,” Monty called back.

Machine gun popped off from somewhere slinging lead towards the line of tanks.

“Steady,” Max said, willing the turret to get on target, “ON! Range one three hundred.

After a few seconds Monty responded, “Identified.” Signaling he had the target in his sighting scope and had made all the adjustments needed.

Followed quickly by, “Clear!” from Henderson advising the main gun had its round and he was clear of the breech’s recoil.

“Fire!”

“On the way!” and with a stomp of the foot trigger, the tank lurched as the firing pin of the 75mm of the high explosive round was struck and the propellant ignited sending the projectile of the round hurtling towards the target.

The round impacted just beside the large barreled weapon. Men could be seen leaping off the back of the vehicle running for their lives.

“Miss, doubtful left. Adjust. Load Shot this time. Range one three hundred.”

“Clear!”

“Identified.”

“Fire!”

This time the round struck home hitting the vehicle right beneath the main barrel.

“Target, good hit!” Max declared. As cheers filled his ears, “Re Engage.”

“Clear!”

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

And again, the round struck the vehicle, this time just below the top track, the resulting explosion throwing tread pieces everywhere.

“Good Hit!”

Scanning the area Max saw the other tanks engaging similar vehicles. Towering columns of smoke erupting from their targets as well. Then he saw a truck scooting away to their left. No Room To Lie Down 23

“Gunner. Truck. HE Traverse left.”

Monty grabbed the handle and turned it to the left causing the turret to spin. This was his first move of the turret in true combat, as he rotated the handle hard and turret spun to acquire its target, he watched as the target came into view and then started to slide out of the reticule. His adrenaline got the best of him and realizing that, he stopped traversing left and was about to go back towards the target when his Tank Commander called out the mistake.

“Calm Down, Booker. Traverse right.”

“Sorry Sergeant.”

Max heard Monty mumbling to himself as he reversed the track of the gun.

“Clear!” The round was ready to fire.

“Steady. On! Range five hundred. Lead two zero.”

“Identify!” Monty was on target.

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

The round traveled the five hundred yards in the blink of an eye hitting the right rear tire of the vehicle sending it over on its side. Men scrambled out of the vehicle.

“BOG... Doughs in the open. Right front. Fire!”

“Copy,” Isiah yelled as he started whistling as his .30 cal. started chattering towards the fleeing men. Max watched the tracer rounds walk towards the men. For a split-second dread flooded through Max as he watched the impending death stalk closer to the men running away. Taking lives was always going to be part of all this, but now to watch it happen was distressing.

A few of the men fell as the bullets impacted them. The whistling of show tunes filled the intercom as their BOG went about his work. The jauntiness of the tune was almost as disturbing as watching men get hit by the bullets.

The rest of the men disappeared around a bend in the road. “Cease fire.” Max advised. Scanning back and forth in his periscope all Max could find were destroyed vehicles and piles of clothes that were now dead soldiers.

“All tanks. All tanks, this is George 6 report in.” Rang out the voice of Lieutenant Richardson through the radio. Everyone listened as the rest of the platoon reported their status, and George 10, their Platoon Sergeant Staff Sergeant Thomas, gave his praise. Everyone reported in as functional and ok. No loss of life in their platoon. No Room To Lie Down 24

Max sat down heavily on the thick metal seat covered by a thin layer of padding and leather. Peering through his windows to the world the realization that they had survived hit him. It should have been a relief, but the opposite was true. The weight of his responsibility to his men felt as if it was going to crush him.

Breathing deep Max tried to think of something inspirational to say. Good job just wouldn’t cover it. Then it came to him, “Gentlemen,” he started straightening in his seat, “We have survived our Baptism by fire.”

He saw the heads of his crew lift as they thought about what he said.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Came the first reply from Henderson. “The reason we did was cause of you.”

“Yeah,” Chimed Whistler.

“Affirmative,” remarked Monty.

“I ain’t driving anyone else’s tank,” quipped Red.

A slow smile came to Max’s face. His crew was coming together, all the training had paid off. And Max was doing the job he needed to. There was always room for improvement, and he would make sure they got better and better at their jobs.

“Driver, prepare to move out.”

Later that day in the new assembly area, they would get credit for destroying an Italian 90mm Self Propelled Gun, and the truck that was trying to escape with troops in it. Over the next few weeks, they would advance more than 120 miles, engaging the enemy numerous times on the way to Palermo. Then they would occupy Sicily until the order came that the men and equipment were to be loaded onto ships for a new destination.

No Room To Lie Down 25

Chapter 2: Into the Storm Southern England – May 1944

“This has to be the most disgusting stuff on the planet,” Max complained, reaching into the cardboard container grabbing another handful of the black goop called mastic. The crew had been using putty knives to spread the thick substance onto their tanks. This was all part of the waterproofing process to protect their tanks when they had to drive them through the surf onto a beachhead.

This process has been done when their vehicles were transported across the Atlantic, and again before they invaded Sicily. The mastic was applied to any and all joints on the tank, anywhere that might leak. The hatches already had seals on them and the water wouldn’t be high enough to pour in them. Or at least that was the hope.

Henderson remarked, “This is nothing compared to what that guy,” jerking his thumb towards the BOG they all called Whistler now, “did when he drank one too many beers.”

In response, Whistler let out a long loud wolf whistle making them all chuckle.

Monty stood up hands on his lower back stretching it from the crunched form he’d assumed while applying the sticky compound down the seam on the tank around the drive sprocket. The four of them were working on getting their vehicle ready to travel again.

They’d been in the south of England for just over eight months. Tidworth Barracks had been their home during all this time. A large military base with good solid brick buildings for them to bunk in. Much better than tents.

During that time the training regimen that had dominated their lives in North Africa came back. Of course, they had been updated with the lessons they learned in Sicily as a crew. Also incorporated in the battalion’s training regime was education gained from the fighting in North Africa and mainland Italy.

The training regimen included more gunnery training both in direct fire and indirect fire. Small arms training, physical conditioning, map reading, vehicle identification, and the most important of all training with other platoons. Tank movement and supporting fire were refined. As well they trained with the Infantry, with them mounted on the tanks, and operating on foot. No Room To Lie Down 26

Their baptism by fire in Sicily proved that they could and needed to be better at the art of war. As a result, their maneuvers training was almost endless. But that is exactly what they needed. If nothing else was learned, when the rounds started flying everything went out the window and all one had left was the training that they had been through. The fear was real enough, but the procedures that they had done over and over, that is what the brain grasped onto.

Looking around, “I’m going to have to come back here one day,” Max remarked.

“To the marshaling area?” Red quipped.

The two of them had become close friends during their time in England. Henderson and Whistler palled around, chasing women, drinking beer, general rabble-rousing. Red was married and Monty just would rather read, or just explore the area, so the two of them did just that. When passes were given, they would head off and find an old castle to explore, or just talk with the locals and have the older ones share stories of the Great War if they were willing.

Everyone had fallen into a routine of training and while all knew something big was brewing. Then on the 5th of June, the order came. The entire regiment was to move to their assigned marshaling areas and prepare to move out to destinations unknown.

And at a little after 0200 on the 6th of June when the crews were headed to their tanks and other armored vehicles, a growl could be heard in the dark skies above. Low at first, hard to make out, but familiar. More and more people noticed the noise looking up. By now everyone was used to the sounds of aircraft in the sky, but this sounded different. Somehow it felt different.

The volume of the growl continued to grow as the rotary engines of hundreds of aircraft cut through the inky blackness, bound for Northern Europe. The men understood why they were moving out. It was unmistakable, the time to liberate Europe from oppression had come.

And they were heading towards that battle.

Now it was the 8th of June and men knew that on the 6th of June the invasion had begun, codenamed Operation Overlord. This was the single largest amphibious assault ever undertaken by any military in history. The Allies had gained a foothold in France and were pushing inland, but they needed help and the 66th and the 2nd Armored would be called upon to be that support among countless other units and divisions from the nations that comprised the Allied forces. No Room To Lie Down 27

“Alright, that should be it,” Red called out. Stepping back from GIA, their M4A1, the men surveyed their hard-waterproofing work. Monty came over as did Whistler and Henderson.

“Man, o man, I sure hope we don’t have to do this again,” Whistler admitted. Every crack and crevice had been coated or filled with mastic to make GIA as waterproof as possible. Tape had been applied over top of certain spots as an extra barrier, as well as over the muzzle of the barrel. There it was thick enough to keep water from getting in and accumulating, but thin enough to where it could be shot off should the need arise.

“You can say that again,” Henderson said adding, “just like that time in…”

“Alright now,” Whistler stopped him.

Giving each other a hard time, the approach of their TC, Max, went unnoticed.

“Admiring your handy work?” He asked walking past them deftly climbing up GIA. Looking around he nodded his head seeming to approve of the work done. “Check the seal around these air intakes, we don’t need saltwater getting in here.”

Two large metal constructs had been mounted to the engine deck extending over the exhaust manifolds allowing them to ford in deep water similar to that of those they had during the invasion of Sicily. One would allow air to come into the engine giving it life while keeping water out. The other gives a channel for the exhaust to escape from the engine. Both giving them the ability to get through deeper water. And these life-giving apparatuses were easy to get rid of once they were on solid ground. They significantly increased the profile of the vehicle and that wasn’t a good thing at all.

“We are to drive to the docks and load on to an LST,” Max told them.

“Thank the lord,” Whistler remarked.

Cutting a look towards the BOG, “Why do you say that?” Max inquired.

Seemingly feeling a bit ashamed, he watched as the man looked at the ground before responding. “It's just,” Whistler hesitated, “I am just happier to be on a big ship.” Looking Max in the eye, “That little LCT we had in Sicily made me sick as a dog Sergeant.”

Before Max could respond, “Well that and a butt-ton of beer,” Henderson quipped.

The lot of them all started to laugh. Standing on the back deck of the tank Max took a second to take in the joy they all shared right now. Sicily had been a good learning ground for them, and they had come together nicely. But now they were all going into the heart of the battle. Everyone had been saying how much harder the Germans would be now that they were going into the heart of Europe. What would be waiting for them in the coming weeks, and months?

“Alright, prepare to move out,” Max called them up onto the tank. No Room To Lie Down 28

A few minutes later GIA and her crew were winding their way to the docks where several hulking LSTs awaited them. The prow of the ships split open like large mouths allowing access into the innards of the vessels. When it was their turn Red swung their tank around and backed it into the LST they were assigned.

Then they awaited the rest of the tanks to get ingested into the LST. Once that was complete and they watched the bow doors close, they all felt the ship move away from the dock and out into the bay and wait for the rest of the convoy. After everyone was loaded, the convoy traveled a little over 10 miles to Omaha Beach across the English Channel, where thousands of troops had landed just three days before on the initial invasion of Europe.

“Driver, let's crank her up,” Max called out over the comms system.

“Rolling,” the man from Wisconsin replied.

Some members of the crew of their LST kept watching for any signs of fire, horn, or engine. Any sort of flame aboard this ship, fully laden with vehicles of war, all armed and ready to fight, could have disastrous consequences.

The heart of their chariot came to life, and smoothly hummed after a few seconds.

“She’s ready to go,” howled Whistler, followed by a piercing blast from his pursed lips making the crew want to pull the earpieces far away from their ears. Instead of reprimanding the man, Max let it be. Instead using it to their advantage, “You’re right Whistler. She is ready to go and eager to get into the fight and help bring this to an end. Everyone keep your heads on straight. The beach has been taken and we have pushed inland by a few miles. That doesn’t mean the danger is gone, so keep your eyes open. The German’s will fight for every inch of that ground and we’re going to help make sure they don’t push us off the beaches”

They all felt the ship slow and the bow rise up slightly. The hatches of the M4A1 were open for now, only to be closed if the order came down. All the waterproofing actions they had taken would hopefully not be needed. Hopefully, the LST doors would open and they just drive right onto the beach.

They watched as the crew busied themselves ready to open the ship up. One of them crawled up the inside of the metal beast onto a perch fifteen feet or so above the main inside deck, donning his own headphones and microphone set up, Max, Red, and Whistler watched, while Henderson and Monty busied themselves inside the turret, as the man started barking into the microphone. A few seconds after the massive front doors of the vessel cracked open and a beam of sunlight cut into the gloom of the ship.

Wider and wider the gap became, and then the ramp inside the ship lowered. Hurriedly the crew of the LST secured the doors and the ramps, and the man up in his nest pointed at the first tank and made a sweeping motion forward. Following the direction, the lead tank eased down the ramp and onto the Omaha Beach head-on. No Room To Lie Down 29

The rest followed suit as directed by the beach masters to include GIA and her gallant crew. Down the ramp then up the beach following the line of American armor moving out to add themselves to the ongoing struggle to free France from the Germans.

All around them the beach was a hive of activity, nothing any of the tankers had seen before to this magnitude. Engineers were driving dozers around, removing obstacles the Germans had put in place trying to stop them from landing. They were also hauling disabled vehicles out of the way to make the flow of men and supplies flow faster up the beach to where they would be of use.

Evidence of the great battle was everywhere. Some of the smaller landing craft, the types that only held men, were beached, jeeps were stuck here and there in the sand, the Amphibious DUKW trucks dotted the landscape, and even some of the armor that had landed among the first waves of the assault forces from the independent tank battalions that first day was still present, the wading gear and duplex drive systems still on as those unfortunate crews had never even made it off the beach. But their vehicles were later repaired and were ready to put back into action.

Looking around Max’s eyes rested on the line of ambulances and wounded men waiting to get on the very ship they just got off. For those men, the war was most likely over. Some would come back, but that all depended on how badly they had been wounded.

Ripping his view from a fate he didn’t want to conceive, Max looked up and the tops to the hills overlooking the beach, numerous concrete bunkers were visible, some looked pristine while others were blackened from fire or otherwise damaged. These were where the enemy had laid in wait for their enemies to arrive, raining fire down from on high from the dreaded German machine guns, the MG34s, and MG42s. Their high rates of fire made them extremely formidable and the very sound of them buzzing away sent fear into one’s soul. His crew was safe enough behind their 51mm of cast armor plating at its thickest on the front of the tank, but those poor infantrymen, involuntarily Max shook his head.

“Just follow the column Red,” Max called out trying to busy himself with the task at hand. He’d contemplated his and everyone else’s mortality enough for one day.

“Sure thing Sergeant,” Red responded.

“Where are we heading to Sergeant,” Whistler inquired.

And as his timing was just right there was a guide directing them off the road just past the top of the cliffs. “Well for now, right here,” he replied with a gesture.

“All tanks. All tanks, this is George 6. Proceed to the designated transit area to remove all waterproofing measures and once complete we’ll move to the assembly area at Mosles.” Their Platoon Leader advised. No Room To Lie Down 30

“All right Red. Move us up behind GERTIE, then shut her down, and let's get to it. Get the snorkels off and put them to the side, get all the tape off, including the part over the main gun, and get the mastic scraped off as best you can.” Max ordered his crew.

“Roger Sergeant,” Red replied, followed by everyone else.

Easing into the spot behind GERTIE, Red made sure to give them enough room to be able to traverse the turret which would snap the tape and loosen the mastic up a bit from the turret ring.

“At least we didn’t have to shoot through the tape,” Monty said.

Henderson added, “Any day we don’t have to do that is a good day.”

“Shutting her down,” Red called out, followed by “12 and 24 Volts off boss.”

With that declaration they all scrambled out of the tank, Monty having depressed the main gun down allowing easier access to the tape placed there to guard against saltwater.

“So this is France? I expected something different,” Henderson remarked.

Shooting him a puzzled look, “What exactly did you expect?” Monty inquired.

Shrugging his shoulders, “Dunno. It just looks a lot like England.”

Shaking his head, “Fascinating. Let's get to work getting those damn snorkels off,” Monty directed. “Whistler and Red, you guys got the main gun and the others, right?”

“Yup. No problem with that,” Red replied.

Max was relieved to see Corporal Booker stepping up. He’d steadily been improving since joining them in North Africa, the shell he had been in was eroding away. Max had a chat with him one evening when the rest of the crew were off with other duties. He levied upon the young man that he was second in command of the vehicle. Should anything happen to himself, then Monty had to take over. Monty admitted he knew this and apologized for not acting more responsibly, too which Max advised, “Don’t apologize just fix it, and don’t go nuts with this, we are all a team, and that is what it takes to make this work.”

Luckily, the young man had responded well to the direction provided. Max had watched as Monty slowly exerted the authority if needed.

“I have to go and get the plan from the Platoon Sergeant and Lieutenant. You all get GIA ready to move,” Max said as he walked over toward a growing group of other Tank Commanders and unit leadership.

“She’ll be ready Segreant,” Whistler told him as he belted out a jazzy Glenn Miller song starting to work. No Room To Lie Down 31

Soon enough the task was done, and the men had a few minutes to breathe. Cigarettes were lit and some of them dug into a 10 in 1 meal carton. They stood together and listened to the sounds of battle in the distance. The heavy whomp of artillery shells being punched into the air, the chatter of automatic weapons, and the snap of rifles as men on both sides exchanged volleys trying to get the better of each other.

“Here we go again,” Red absently commented.

“Yeah,” Whistler added, changing his tune to a more somber one.

“Maybe this will be like Sicily,” Henderson supplied.

“I don’t want it to be like that. I just want to get it over with so we can go home.” Red advised.

“Too true,” Monty said back to his friend, knowing that man had plans with his girl and the family farm back in Wisconsin. “But the fact is we are here now and we have a job to do, right?”

The three of the men looked back at him, all admitting he was right. A shiver went down his spine as they looked at him. Monty didn’t like to be in charge of anything much less the crew of a tank, thankfully Max had that job. And God willing it would stay that way.

“Alright let's mount up,” Max’s voice snapped. “We are heading towards a town called Mosles. There we will wait for the rest of the battalion to get onshore and join us.”

Quickly the crew piled inside their home and Red took them out of the area leaving their mess of waterproofing prep behind. On through a small French village they drove past a sign that told them they were in Colleville-sur-Mer, another French village. It was very easy to see the intensity of the battle that had taken place here. Several buildings had walls missing. The entire steeple tower of one church was gone, while the main street had been mostly cleared of rubble, there were piles everywhere. Burnt out vehicles were on the sides of the roads. And the bodies of dead Germans could be seen in the ditches. Lines of Americans heading towards the front walked on the side of the road. Small batches of wounded men were wandering back towards the beaches.

As they left the town and entered back into the countryside, Max noticed that the fences were few. Instead, like in England, the farmers used natural barriers of thick hedges or earthen walls to separate their fields. Later that afternoon they arrived in the assembly area and set about making sure every aspect of their vehicle was ready for combat. Actions on all weapons were checked and lubed. The drive gears inspected, tracks and track tension checked, oil and gasoline topped off, the main engine gone over, and the turret rotated fully to make sure no remaining mastic gummed up the works.

That night they slept outside under a tarp attached to the side of the tank. All night the sounds of the battle drifted over to them. None of them slept very much. No Room To Lie Down 32

Over the next few days more and more of the battalion and regiment arrived in the surrounding area. And the preps continued, crew, pouring over their vehicles, again and again, making certain all was ready when the time came.

And for 2nd Battalion that call came on the morning of the 13th of June. Max and the rest of 3rd Battalion watched as two companies of M4’s with a company of the smaller M5A1 light tank’s that would act as recon and screening for the M4’s and trailing behind came the Maintenance company and Headquarters Company, all rolling forward to play their part in the liberation of France after four years of occupation under the German Third Reich.

“Do we know where they are going?” Red asked as they stood under a tarp staying out of the rain that had set in.

“Not sure,” Henderson said, looking towards Max.

“They have orders to go and try and relieve some airborne troops that have been in a town called Carentan or something like that. From what I’ve heard those boys have been there since the pre-dawn hours of the 6th of June and are in sore need of help.” Max disclosed.

The gravity of his words settled on the crew. The Airborne’s job was to drop behind enemy lines, cut off from any kind of support, fight their way to their objective and hold it until support came. Evidently these poor bastards have been out there alone for seven long days.

Later the reports came back of the airborne troops hopping on to the rear deck of the M4’s and using the .50 cal. mounted there to kill anything that moved, using almost every last round of ammo that the tankers had for their heavy machine guns. Those brave souls had been waging battle with the 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division, who the men had been unlucky enough to encounter while they were securing the area.

The reports also advised of the difficulties that the 2nd Armored faced with the 10-foot-tall dividers between fields covered with thick bushes, hedgerows, and the sunken roads of the area. The two factors combined to make up the bocage landscape that predominated the Normandy area, and greatly limited the effectiveness of tanks and armored vehicles maneuverability.

This type of landscape heavily favored the men defending and not the ones on the offense. Their enemy had been in the area for years now and knew how best to utilize the natural advantages. And they were exploiting them for all they were worth. Allied intelligence hadn’t predicted this terrain difficulty through their imagery analysis of photos taken overhead by reconnaissance aircraft in the weeks and months leading up to the invasion. The Germans needed to hold Carentan, and then fight their way to the coast to drive a wedge between the American forces that had linked up from Omaha and Utah beaches.

But the 2nd Armored along with the 101st Airborne was not about to let that happen. Fierce fighting raged on for days as the men and machines were resupplied at night with both gasoline and ammunition being carried in by hand. Each M4’s alone required over 100 gallons of fuel No Room To Lie Down 33 per fill up, then factoring in the ammunition for the main gun, the two .30 caliber machine guns, and the monstrous .50 caliber turret mounted gun, this logistical effort was remarkable and absolutely vital. Without gas or ammunition, GIA was essentially a immobile steel bunker.

This was the time when the armored division got their first exposure to the German’s version of the bazooka, the Panzerfaust. A lightweight weapon that any infantry man could carry. It was basically a large warhead on the end of a pipe with a short-range rocket attached to the warhead. Over great distances they were not accurate, but with the bocage, distance wasn’t needed. With limited entry points all the enemy had to do was wait. When any armored vehicle either came in or drove by, they would push the button, igniting the rocket that would hurtle onward to inflict a crippling or killing blow to the offender.

While the 2nd Battalion was fully engaged in fighting the enemy, GIA and her crew along with the rest of 3rd Battalion kept up with the maintenance of their vehicles and training. They moved to a new staging area on the 15th of June near a town called Creamy.

“Ok gentlemen,” Max started out, “We are on alert to be ready for whatever is needed. Keep going over our GIA and be ready for anything.” His tone was more dire than he figured it should have been, but he had to make certain that they were ready to move at a moment’s notice.

More than once were they called upon to go out and hook up to derelict German vehicles, pulling them back to a quickly fashioned junk yard. This way the vehicles could be studied if need be and were out of the way of the advancing Allied forces.

A drawback to this effort was, a lot of the time the vehicles had the unlucky individuals that had perished during the battle. There hadn’t been too much time for the stench of death to take hold, but they still had to see the faces of the dead.

None of the crew liked it much, but Whistler oddly enough seemed the least affected. Therefore, he drew the luck of going out and chaining up to the vehicle.

One day Henderson said, “Hey Whistler. Let me get this one, ok?” His tone exasperated.

Falling back into his BOG’s seat, “Sure thing,” Whistler replied, whistling as always.

Henderson slithered out of the Commander's Cupola and climbed down GIA. Grabbing a tow cable that was already secured to one of GIA’s tow hooks. The vehicle they needed to move was one of the German halftracks and it was wedged nose first in a ditch. This meant Henderson had to find a different point to attach to other than the front hooks on those troop carriers.

Red watched as Henderson walked along the side of their target, stepping over a few German corpses. Then, BOOM, the earth lifted up and some of Henderson along with it.

“Son of a Bitch,” Red screamed. No Room To Lie Down 34

“What the hell?” Whistler called out, his hands finding the handle of his .30 cal. machine gun and sweeping it from side to side looking for the threat that killed his friend.

Shrinking down in his hatch, “Calm down. Look for targets,” Max ordered them. “Gunner be ready,” he declared scanning the horizon as their friend lay out there silent and injured if not dead.

For minutes they searched finding no threats. There was no sound coming from Henderson and looking at the man that he had crewed with since Louisiana, Max could tell he was gone. They called for engineers to come up and search the area for mines. And sure enough, that was what had taken their friend’s life. After the vehicle had been taken out of action, the enemy laid some mines around it for just this very reason.

Slowly, GIA made her way back to camp, minus one of the crew. The men of GIA were quiet, not knowing quite what to do. This was the first time that they had lost one of their own in combat. The others were transferred or taken out due to illness, never by enemy action. Not until now.

Max felt himself struggling for something to say to try and help make it better, but he knew there was nothing he could say. At least not right now. The silence was disturbing. And it took a little while to realize even the ever-present tune of melodies was no longer streaming through their headsets.

For the rest of the month of June, more of the same was the order of the day for 3rd Battalion. Nothing much changed for them, except for the arrival of new M4 variants. Both had a new main gun, one with a bigger 76mm high velocity gun, and the other a 105mm howitzer. Not having enough to go around, a few of the 76mm armed M4s were distributed amongst the platoons; the order was one per platoon if possible. Most of the tankers didn’t want them though as they rarely engaged enemy tanks and the lower velocity 75mm had a better High Explosive round and was better against ‘soft’ targets and enemy doughs. But the men were glad to have them in case needed as the tank destroyer battalion, the 702nd, attached to the division couldn’t always be there to engage enemy tanks if needed. As far as the 105mm armed M4s, three were reserved for the battalion’s Assault Gun Platoon and one distributed to each of the three medium tank company’s headquarters section to serve as the Assault Gun Section. No Room To Lie Down 35

Hearing word spread through the other armored units in Normandy, the maintenance section started using bits of metal lying around and those from the hedgehogs emplaced by the Germans on the Normandy beaches to fashion teeth on the fronts of their tanks. These were called hedge cutters or bocage busters; a design created by a Sergeant in one of the other tank units in Normandy. There were many variations on the designs of these devices, but all were made out of heavy steel beams and extended out well in front of the tank. After many trials they were deemed well worth the effort as with them the tank could plow right through most all of the earthen walls surrounding the many fields in Normandy. The advantage of surprise was now put back in the hands of the Allies as they could pretty much come into any field where they wanted. No longer limited to the corridors of death that the enemy wanted them to use.

No Room To Lie Down 36

Chapter 3: The Breakout Northwest of Saint Lô, France – July 24, 1944, 2230 hours

Crump

Crump

Crump

Monty Booker absently looked at the interior of the tank’s turret as the sounds of artillery echoed through the night. A quick peek through his gunner’s targeting scope didn’t reveal any indication where the shells were landing. He just knew that for now, at least their location wasn’t the intended target, thankfully.

Seems like Max and the Lieutenant picked a good location for once. But hey, why wouldn’t this random stand of woods be a good location? I mean we are in the middle-of-nowhere France. How much safer could we be? Monty felt his eyes roll involuntarily from the ridiculous notion.

He was just trying his ever-futile effort to make sense of war. It was a past time he had been practicing since he first landed in North Africa back in ‘42. This obsession was something Monty felt necessary ever since he’d enlisted taking himself from his simple farm life in eastern Tennessee. Smirking to himself and shaking his head, fighting back a chuckle, Monty fingered his rations.

Normally he would have been able to enjoy the spoils of the 10-in-one rations. Those meals were much more appetizing and filling than the K-Rations that he and the rest of the crew were saddled with tonight. Infantry, commonly called Doughs, would happily barter for the cardboard boxes labeled ‘First half of 5 Rations’ or ‘Second half of 5 Rations’.

Sadly, the bulk of their supplies had been outside on the back deck of the tank strapped down, ultimately a casualty of a mortar barrage not more than 48 hours ago. Their Tank Commander, Staff Sergeant Max Green, had tried to get replacements immediately, but couldn’t that night, the battalion’s trains and supply depot were just too far to the rear.

Monty glanced over at his new Loader, Private Justin Birch, or Razor as they took to calling him after his first attempt at shaving led the other crew members to ask if a grenade had gone off in the helmet he used for a wash basin.

It hadn’t been three nights back when they were all outside their M4A1 medium tank, under the canvas tarp slung off one side of the vehicle. All five of them laying out trying to sleep. Monty couldn’t remember what real sleep was anymore. But that night he had come close to achieving it. Until he was jarred by screams of “INCOMING!” This sent all of them scrambling like bugs No Room To Lie Down 37 up the side of the tank in a desperate attempt to reach the relative safety inside their steel steed.

It would be a good long while before he slept outside again. Heck, not even under this damned thing, he thought. No sir, inside he would stay, no matter how damned uncomfortable it was. It was much more desirable to him to hear the scraping of metal fragments skittering across the hull with him safe inside, then to be in the open air with that threat of death flying everywhere around him.

Having already eaten the extra dry biscuit out of his K-rations he pondered eating the meat ration, or should he wait? Eat the D-Bar of chocolate instead? Looking forward and down from his gunner’s position he could see the bow gunner, which everyone called the BOG, Private First Class Isiah Kellerman.

Wonder what he ate first? Bet it was the Spam. He’s a bit crazy like that. Most everyone hated the meat product that was in the meal. So much so that it was generally the last thing they would eat, but Isiah ate it first.

Isiah was a 19-year-old kid from Chicago, and from the way he acted Monty could tell he’d been raised with manners. He always ate his meals in order, and when he saw others eating items out of order his nose wrinkled slightly. There was no outright judgement from Isiah, just slight disdain for not following what he saw as standard etiquette.

The boy had a huge love of music and was dang near constantly whistling tunes. Thus, Isiah was dubbed ‘Whistler’ shortly after joining the crew in North Africa. While entertaining, Monty found it slightly disturbing to hear such joyful, upbeat melody accompanying the noise of battle. Especially the one time when Whistler belted out a particularly peppy number as he ripped a Kraut Motorcycle driver and the guy in the sidecar near in two with his .30 caliber machine gun.

Off Whistler’s left sat the driver, Technician 5th Grade Quinten Phillips, or Red, as they called him. That was purely due to the red hair that was always kept closely cropped since he was eternally paranoid about getting lice. Monty scoffed at the concern about lice. Of all things out here that could get him, this guy is worried about little bugs in his hair? Maybe lice were a major concern on the dairy farm Red lived on with his folks in Wisconsin, he had no idea. Tank crews didn’t have to be worried about lice anywhere near as much as the doughs did.

Monty could tell Red was already passed out, leaning over towards his left, using the side of the small driver compartment to try and support him for some level of comfort. But the soft, opening volley of snoring had started. In about two hours Red and Max, their tank commander, would be in an unrestrained battle to see who could out snore the other and the rest of the crew would be the ultimate losers in the contest. The only reprieve the other three would get was when Max or Red took their turn being awake to be on guard and to keep an eye out for any trouble.

Looking over his shoulder, there sat their Tank Commander, which everyone just called the TC. Max was a small, greasy man from the desert city of Las Vegas, Nevada. Monty had always been amazed that his full name was Maximilien, that just wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before. No Room To Lie Down 38

Monty had been a replacement to the crew after they landed in North Africa as their previous gunner was medically evacuated. He’d been told that Max was short for Maximillian, but that didn’t sound like a real name to him. Red had been on the crew before him since back at Fort Benning. Whistler had been added in North Africa when the original BOG, Roy, didn’t make it into the tank quickly enough during an artillery barrage. Roy had been one of the men selected to go to the depleted 1st Armored Division after the Kasserine Pass shellacking that they had taken in Tunisia.

Word got back to the crew of GIA from one of the original Tank Commanders in the company that was also transferred that after the barrage, the only thing found was part of a foot that was Roy’s -- but no one could really be sure. Red had taken it really hard as the two of them had been together since the first day of basic training. It took Red a good year before he even smiled again. That first smile came when Monty fell off the back of the tank into a mud puddle when Red popped the tank into gear, causing it to lurch forward, just before departing England. Apparently, this had tickled his funny bone, he had roared with laughter as Monty cursed him out over his new makeover.

After that incident Red had taken a bit of a liking to Monty. It felt good to have somewhat of a friend. Trapped in this hell that is war, to know there was at least one friend he could count on, gave him a level of comfort. Allowed him to continue to breathe and move.

Looking around the darkening tank he guessed he really could count on the lot of them, Max, Red, Whistler, and even their new loader, Razor. They all knew they were in this together and had to rely on each other. Being a tank crew was different than infantry. In the Infantry, guys could change things up a bit. Sure, they were in a squad, but that was part of a platoon which was part a company and so on. And a squad could have 12 guys in it. If you didn’t get along with one, there were many others to buddy up with.

In a tank, there was no such luxury. All five men had to get along. If you didn’t like one of the guys, there were two possible solutions. Try and work things out with the other guy, or talk to the TC who would get things straightened out. Sometimes the result would be that one of the two gets moved to a different crew. Cohesion amongst a tank crew was paramount. Every life depended on the others. Naturally some crews functioned better than others.

As Max had told him, “Talk to me first if you have issues, don’t keep your problems to yourself. And don’t cause any trouble in my tank! Do that and you’ll come through just fine.” Then he added, “And when I tell you to fire, you fire and you hit what the hell I tell you to hit!”

That talk on the ship before they landed in Sicily probably saved all their lives on several occasions. There were more than a few times that Monty wanted to say something. Especially to Whistler. The man was clearly crazy. But he had to admit, he was good at reacting to trouble before the other tank members could see. He’d cleaned out an anti-tank nest they’d missed just yesterday. The whistling while doing it, that was just unnerving. Monty was glad he couldn’t see Whistler’s face while he was doing what needed done. No Room To Lie Down 39

Again, Monty thumbed through the contents of his K-ration box. Did he really want to put the powder into his canteen cup so it resembled lemonade, or not at all? That answer was an obvious one as he’d tried that powder once, and that was the first and last time. Maybe chew some gum? His fingers found one of the Chesterfields in the box. Shrugging to himself he opted for that.

Smoking was a habit he picked up in the military, like many other troops. The inside of the tank had a litany of odors, they almost made him forget the atrocious stench of the battlefield. The scent of hydraulic fluid mixed with that of the lubricating oil that went on everything was an aroma that he would never be able to forget. Mixing with those was their own unwashed flesh, the gas generated by their own bodies, and the stench of relief that was a byproduct of not being able to leave the tank for extended periods. Funny how that wasn’t something they really covered in basic training. But it also made perfect sense.

“Hey Sergeant? Can we stop for a minute? I need to take a piss!”

If that sentence was ever honestly uttered, Monty gave it a 50/50 shot that Max would throw the offender out of the tank while moving. Besides that is why they kept a spent shell casing around.

“Hurry up and smoke that. Going to button up soon,” came Max’s deep voice from behind making Monty damn near jump out of his skin. “After that we ain’t opening ‘til the morning. No telling when that rain is gonna hit us. We don’t need the smoke getting in our eyes.”

“Sure,” Monty stammered. “Sure thing, Sergeant.” Tucking the cigarette behind his ear, he turned slightly to see his Sergeant.

The man was on his throne, a seat that put him right under the commander’s hatch at the top of the turret. Leaning back against the rear of the turret, map on his lap, flashlight sitting on one of the many small ledges of the turret. Monty watched as Max’s eyes darted back and forth on the map, pencil scribbling things that he was muttering onto a scrap piece of paper. Monty had watched this show every night for over a year now.

He had pieced together that Max was working out what might happen the next day. Generally, they didn’t know exactly where they were going. The overall direction over time would end up being east, but as he had learned there were many ways to get east.

As TC, Max took the job very seriously, he was determined to be prepared for anything that might challenge them. A few times Monty had seen the scrap of paper on the floor. It had mileages, gallons of fuel, ammo count, directions, town names, little scratched out routes, arrows pointing different directions, estimated numbers of tanks both American and Kraut, numbers of men, again both American and Kraut.

The man was trying to account for anything and everything. Every time he could, he ran those numbers, drew the maps, looked at every place they may end up. Hell, he even jotted down any good spots they might make a stand and fight. No Room To Lie Down 40

The times after battles he worked even harder, especially when the casualty rate was high, primarily for the doughs from the 41st Armored Infantry supporting them. It seemed like he punished himself for the casualties. Monty knew the things he blamed himself for were far out of his control but trying to talk to Max about it, didn’t end well.

“You gonna smoke it or not? “Again, Monty jumped as his brain had drifted away.

“Sure, Sergeant,” Monty plainly replied.

The Chesterfield was on his lips, and Zippo flicked into life. A long pull from the cigarette and smoke flew from his nostrils.

“You look gassed,” Max said, eyes not coming off the map. “Plan on getting some sleep. I’m taking first watch.”

“It won’t help,” Red piped up, not turning around. “He ain’t gonna get any prettier.”

A smile came to Monty.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Yeah, I was, but you’re so ugly it woke me up,” Red shot back.

Monty could tell Red was laughing. They had spent enough time together that the good-natured ribbing was taken as just that. Friends picking on each other, trying to make the best of the situation they had been put in.

Whistler chimed in, “I dunno about you, but I sleep like a baby every night.”

Razor cackled with laughter, and was fixing to say something but, Max sharply cut in.

“Listen up and pipe down.” Max interjected his voice raised in volume. “We’re moving out again early tomorrow and y’all need to be sharp. So, every one of you get some shuteye.”

All noise stopped, replaced by the rustling of their coveralls and tanker jackets as they moved around seeking some level of comfort. For the BOG and the driver there was little choice. They would lean against one portion of their area of the tank or perhaps the transmission. For Razor he folded up just on the floor to the left of the TC. As for Monty, it was either a slight lean back to a bulkhead or lay over the breech of the gun. He could of course lean forward and rest against the cushion of the telescopic sight, but that was a position he normally assumed most of everyday. Neither option was preferable but his back needed some relief from the hunching position as he scouted for targets. So, in his mind Monty flipped and caught a coin. If it was heads, the breech was the bed, tails, lean back. And tonight, fate chose, the breech. Damnit.

“Red. Make sure the 24-volt system is shut down,” Max said. “Keep the 12-volt system powered up. “We can use the auxiliary generator for radio communications.” Max declared. The battery No Room To Lie Down 41 and electrical systems in the tank were two of the many critical systems that made their machine hum.

Monty heard Red grumbling under his breath. Probably musing that they were and had been off for a good long while. Sure, one time he forgot, but after the chewing dished out by Max after he himself got chewed on, Red wouldn’t ever forget again.

“Confirm 24 volts are off, TC,” Red said. And there may have been a few extra words shared under his breath by Red but Monty couldn’t make them out.

Leaning over the breech, Monty tried drifting off to sleep by thinking of home, trying desperately to block out Max’s mutterings as he continued to pour over the possibilities of tomorrow.

“HEY!”

Jolted awake, Monty looked around, slowly getting his bearings.

“Time to wake up!” was accompanied with a tap on the back of his tankers helmet.

Blinking and spinning around he saw Red’s toothy grin.

“Morning, sunshine!”

Slouching back onto the breech, “Your yellow teeth are the last thing I want to see in the morning.”

Chuckling ensued. “Well if you think I want you to see my beautiful choppers every morning, you’re crazier than Whistler.”

Red started to climb out of the split lid of the Commander’s hatch, nudging Monty as he went. “C’mon, we need to top off the ammo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me double check the count in here.”

Peeking his head back in, “I already did that while you snored this morning. Need four rounds of White Phosphorus, six HE, and only two AP.” The white phosphorus rounds were what they used for smoke to blind a target. Armor Piercing rounds, or AP, used primarily on enemy tanks, designed to penetrate their thick steel plates. HE rounds are high explosive rounds that they used on softer targets like enemy wheeled vehicles, lightly armored half-tracks, or troops around a gun emplacement.

Monty checked the numbers in his head from when he checked last night. “Thanks Red.”

“No worries, sleepyhead,” Red called as he laughed.

“Hey, I need that beauty rest to look my best for the next town we liberate!” Monty exclaimed. No Room To Lie Down 42

Extracting himself from the gunner’s seat, Monty stretched as best he could in the confines of the turret. All the crew was between five foot five and five foot nine, but they still seemed too big for the inside of the vehicle. What he wouldn’t give for a single night in a normal bed. Even just five minutes in a good comfortable place to lie down like a damn normal person.

With all three hatches open the light of early morning showed the stained white color of the inside of their home. Nearly every surface had been stark white at some point, but with little time or supplies for cleaning, the white had turned shades of layered stains. The original pristine white was gone, replaced by shades of yellow, brown and gray through the fact they had to live inside this steel beast.

Pulling himself up out of the turret, Monty’s eyes squinted as he adjusted to the dim light of a new day. The other tanks in the platoon were nearby and activity was going on all of them. Drivers checking the tracks and the bogeys to make sure everything was lubed and ready. BOG’s lugging cans of .30 and .50 caliber ammo to feed the machine guns. Loaders and Gunners dragging cases of ammo towards their tanks. The TC’s were over in a group, huddled over a table as their newly minted Company Commander, a Captain, pointed at a large map.

Most of the crews didn’t need much ammo, yesterday was a light day for business. Monty considered it a good day. They hadn’t encountered any Kraut tanks, just some of their trucks and a few of those weird half-tracks, their sides angled unlike the flat sided American counterparts. A smile came to him as he remembered their last loader who gave him a round of unfused HE to fire at an enemy half-track Sicily. The damn round went clean through the vehicle but hadn’t exploded.

Monty had looked through his targeting scope stunned. “What the hell? It went clean through?” The half-track scooted behind cover before they could get another round off.

Max had taken that guy ’for a walk’. Monty and the rest of the crew had just exchanged knowing glances since a couple of them had been given similar talks at points prior. There was little room for screw ups like that. Luckily it hadn’t been a tank or worse, anti-tank gun, that he had screwed up on.

The smile abruptly left as he remembered the very next day that same loader, Eugene Henderson, went to go attach the tow cable to a derelict vehicle. All the crew could do was sit there after they heard the explosion. And there he lay, sprawled on the ground not making a sound, and not moving. Waiting to see if there was any other threat was excruciating.

Henderson’s body lying there stuck with Monty. He’d seen other men wounded and die, but his death was more personal. That man had become family, a brother, just like everyone else that lived and worked in their M4A1. His memory and what happened would occupy a place in Monty’s soul and it would always be there. Monty hoped that someday the memory would not come flooding back when he looked through his periscope. That could cost him time, and loss of a second was too long when in combat. No Room To Lie Down 43

Monty had been mad at the loss, because he didn’t want him, or any of the guys on his side of the war to suffer. The damn Krauts deserve to suffer, if, for nothing else, ripping so many people’s lives apart due to their quest for the world.

“Hey Monty,” Razor came trundling up to him with some of the rounds for their 75mm main gun. “We needed 1 round of White Phosphorus, 2 HE, and only 10 AP. Right? I already took them over to the tank.”

Drawing in a long breath, “No kid. We needed 4 rounds of White Phosphorus, 6 HE, and only 2 AP. What’s eating at you?”

Razor just looked at the ground, his shoulders slumped.

“It’s alright Razor. C’mon let’s go get the right stuff. Next time just write it down, ok?”

“Sure thing Corporal. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just stop trying so hard and let’s double check all counts from now on.”

The kid was always trying to please all of them. And in doing so, he was constantly missing things. What he needed to do was to work on his attention to detail.

“You doing ok this morning, Razor?” He had been with them for a full month now but Monty wasn’t sure he was handling combat well. When he first showed up, they were in the rear, waiting on repairs to be made to the tank.

“Yeah. I guess,” he replied, chewing on a large wad of gum. “Looks like it will be a pretty day. Not a cloud in the sky.”

Monty had to give it to the kid, he was optimistic while still probably scared to death inside.

Looking up at the rapidly bluing sky, “Well that means our air force buddies will be up thankfully.”

Fetching the proper ammo counts and returning the extra, they returned to their steel house. Razor climbed back into the turret and opened the pistol port allowing Monty to pass a round in at a time so he could place them in the proper stowage racks. Whistler was plopping cans of machine gun ammo on the tank so he would put them inside after he climbed up. Red was checking everything over. The last thing they needed was to throw a track during battle.

When they were all about done, Max walked up.

“Ok, let’s go over this,” he said. “Razor get out here. Red come here, and Whistler, shut the hell up for a minute.”

After they all got close, Max put his map case against the front slope of GIA and gave them the plan for the day to move to their jump off point to the south in support of this new breakout plan No Room To Lie Down 44 senior leadership devised called ‘Cobra.’. Another little village somewhere in western France that they would liberate from the Germans, and then another and another and another. Once the “go” was given, planned now for the morning of the 26 after heavy rain delayed the mission by almost a week, Max pointed out the route they would take south, expectations of enemy strength and their reported positions, the standard stuff they had all heard every day since being on the crew. Only difference this time was that there was purportedly a heavy bombing mission planned tomorrow afternoon to soften up the German forces southwest of Saint Lô before the ground forces started their advance. Max always added what he wanted to happen if the Intel was ‘complete crap.’

“We’re hot starting soon, so get this stuff stowed. Red,” Max said, pointing at Red, “you and Birch get 50 cranks on that engine. And Birch, stay back there and watch to make sure we don’t have an engine fire. Once we get her running, mount up.”

Then to the Whistler, “Make sure your machine gun is loaded and ready as we’re clear the assembly area.” Then to Monty “Get that coax up and ready as well.” Then Razor, “Keep a level head kid. You give him,” indicating Monty, “What he needs when he needs it.”

With that Max turned towards the latrine and headed off. “He’s always so busy and focused” muttered Monty.

The command for hot start would be issued by the Lieutenant. The platoon of tanks would all start up at once. If they all started one at a time, anyone listening could tell how many vehicles there were. All of them starting simultaneously, while a hell of a racket, kept their real numbers secret.

“I’ll be right back.” Remembering he wanted extra periscopes Monty ran back over to the supply trucks and grabbed a few extras. There was nothing worse than losing the ability to see the outside world and they’d lost a couple yesterday.

As he ran back with three new scopes, Razor was taking his turn on the cranking handle. Red was beside him smoking a cigarette. The handle seemed to be turning easy. Monty had taken his turn on the handle more than once, they all had. Fifty turns of the handle were necessary for the R975 radial engine, the heart of their machine. “Here,” he said, handing a cigarette to Red and then one to Whistler. He kept the other as he scrambled up into the turret.

“12 and 24 on,” called out Red.

“TC on,” called Max.

Monty hadn’t even heard him get into the tank.

Hearing the crackle as he plugged into the internal communication system, “Gunner on.” Monty advised.

“Loader on,” piped in Razor. No Room To Lie Down 45

“BOG on,” accompanied with a shrill whistle.

“My ears, dangit Whistler. Driver on,” called Red.

“All tanks, this is George 6, get the engines rolling on my count...stand by,” their Platoon Leader ordered over the radio. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1...start ‘em up.”

“Rolling!” Red declared after hearing Lieutenant Richardson’s order.

The first sputtering of life sounded from behind Monty as he checked the targeting scope just to be sure nothing had happened to it overnight or during the morning preps. The engine rumble died out.

“Told you it got colder last night,” Whistler jabbed at Red, “She needs another prime.”

“Yeah yeah,” he acknowledged. “I know my baby. You just sit there and whistle while you shoot people,” Red piped back.

“They ain’t people, they’s Krauts.”

Ignoring the remark, Red called out, “Rolling!” followed with a whisper of, “C’mon baby start for me.” barely audible on the intercom.

Again, the engine sputtered. Red feathered the gas as he squeezed the coil switches together. Monty felt the R-975 C1 engine catch and start to work on its own.

“There she goes,” declared Red.

The noise inside the tank reached a deafening level as the engine flared into life. Red’s foot was heavy on the gas. Monty knew this was normal to get the engine up to temp.

“Monty and Razor. Spend some time outside for a bit. Never know what we will run into,” Max declared.

Razor slithered out of the TC hatch and stood at the back of the turret. Monty stood on the loader seat leaning forward.

“We’re third in the column for now, so once you see the other two go, roll out Red,” Max called out. “And watch the spacing.” No Room To Lie Down 46

Within a few minutes their steel steed lurched into motion and off they went to yet another tiny village to cleanse it of the infestation of German invaders. What would they find? No Germans? A few poor bastards with only rifles to try and fend them off with? A full German company complete with the dreaded Tigers or Panther tanks?

Or perhaps, just perhaps, tonight might for once bring a nice quiet place to lay down for a while…

No Room To Lie Down 47

Chapter 4: Awaiting Fate North of Canisy, France – July 26, 1944, 1700 hours

Disengaging from the site of his Panzerabwehrkanone 40, “You made sure those fools brought us plenty of Panzergranate 39, right?” Egon asked his loader Hermann. “Today is not a day for them to versauen.”

“Ja, Ja,” Hermann responded. “They brought us all the AP rounds they could find.” Chewing a hunk of stale bread as he talked, “Why are you so worried about this today?”

Egon felt extreme pain behind his right eye at the idiotic question. The man certainly was a fool. It was July 26th. Almost 2 months ago the Allies had landed in France on the beaches in Normandy. It was then that Egon’s Pak 40 unit, along with several others got called up from their station just outside Paris.

The day before the skies were covered with Allied planes. Bombers, hundreds if not thousands of bombers of every size. Egon had never seen so many planes at one time in one spot. Even back at the start of the war when the German military machine was the ultimate force in the world.

Thankfully his unit was just coming in from outside of Paris, and weren’t underneath when the payloads were deposited on the poor bastards put in place to hold the line north of their position west of Saint Lô. They had been far enough off to the southeast of the target zone to not get any direct impact. But they all felt the ground tremble from the tonnage dropped. That was enough to start his gut worrying.

Stabbing a sideways glance to Hermann, “cause they are coming Hermann. You and I,” throwing his hand around, “All of us are awaiting fate now.”

Egon had been in the Wehrmacht since 1941 and was lucky enough to get assigned to artillery units from the very start. At first, he thought he wanted to be in the regular infantry as they got all the glory during the earlier years of the war. But as time wore on, he became more and more appreciative that he was in artillery.

For the most part the artillery units were out of the main fight. They were very important of course but due to the fast moving combined arms style of war the Wehrmacht had used so effectively, the artillery troops were not often in jeopardy of any type of direct enemy fire.

He was fully aware that was changing. No longer would artillery, or anyone, be spared from the fight. Several of his class had gone off to the Eastern Front to fight the Russians. At first it was like other fronts, the going was easy. Huge swaths of land had been liberated from the Communist scum. The news reels had shown countless victories, smiling faces of the soldiers as they waltzed into the country. No Room To Lie Down 48

Then the news reels stopped coming as often, and when they did show up, the looks on the faces were vastly different. Smiles seemed forced. Eyes haunted. Shoulders once rounded back with pride, now slumped as if a huge weight were on them. Others didn’t seem to notice these small nuances, but his father was a psychologist, a man dedicated to the human brain and how it functioned. Often had Egon been instructed on how to read people. Never was there a simple walk through Kassel, Germany. Every step was a lesson in how to know what people were feeling.

Egon had grown to hate their walks. It had only been he and his father. His mother had died when he was very young from pneumonia. From then on, every breath his father took was to educate his boy. There had been no affection shown, just clinical education. Growing up he learned to resent his father, but now sitting here in the middle of the Normandy region of France in the Bocage country, he wished nothing more than to take a walk with his father again.

The day Egon left to serve their country and the sweeping regime der Führer had implemented, Egon’s father expressed complete disgust in him. “That man is nothing but an ego maniacal mad man. He will get all of us killed with his delusions!” The aging man spat as Egon left. As the door closed, “If you survive this madness you have NO home here boy!” That was the last thing his father said to him. No letters had ever come to him. And of the few he sent home; Egon was certain they lay on the table in the hall. That is if his father had not promptly thrown them in the fire.

Now here he was, the gunner on the PaK 40 Anti-tank artillery piece. Sitting astride the left tubular leg of the gun, Egon leaned against the breech shield. It was the closest to a comfortable position he could get into on the weapon. Closing his eyes for a second, he wondered why they couldn’t have fashioned some sort of rudimentary seat that could be added onto the leg of the piece. It would have been easy enough to remove when the legs were moved from their bracing position used during firing, to the towing position when both legs were brought together and attached to the Mittlerer Zugkraftwagen 8t when they got to move to a new position.

This weapon was way too heavy for even the six-man crew to move it very far. Hell, they’d be lucky enough to reposition the gun, if need be. The six men on the crew consisted of himself as gunner, Hermann the thickheaded fool as the loader.

Lucky for all of us, a genius is not needed to ram a new round into the breach.

Then there was Heinz, Walter, and Guenter, or ammo slugs as he called them. Their entire life was to make certain that the weapon was fed. Simple as that.

And even at that, they couldn’t be trusted. More than once had they brought back Panzergranate 38, or High Explosive rounds, instead of the AP rounds he needed. And Hermann hadn’t even noticed. No Room To Lie Down 49

Thick headed ass. He nearly got us killed. Egon remembered when they had fought in North Africa. Back then there was a completely different set of Ammo Slugs, but they had been just as either stupid of lazy and brought the wrong damned ammo.

That was the day when Egon learned what real pain was. American artillery had struck them causing high casualties. He himself had been severely wounded, enough that he and Hermann were sent back to Germany to recover.

When they got out of hospital, the 5th Panzer Army was no more. The Americans and British had obliterated the rest of the Army. Since they had no Unit to return to and now were in the Panzer Lehr 275th Division. And here they sat, at the end of a road junction in Northern France. Hermann and he waited for the Americans to come again.

That was when they had been fighting against the new enemy, the Americans. Their panzers hadn’t been particularly impressive, but a panzer was still a panzer and a threat that had to be dealt with.

They had been positioned in a slight natural defilade and as fate would have it, on the side of their attack. Egon’s head was glued to the sight as the enemy rolled forward. They were within the 1800-meter range of his PaK 40. “Feuer!” Unteroffizier Fritz had yelled.

Trying to not anticipate the violent concussion of the massive gun, Egon hammered the firing button in the center of the gun. Feeling the report, before his hearing returned, he pressed his eye into the scope to see if he hit home.

To his amazement he saw a huge fireball erupt on the back half of the armored giant. “Scheisse! You idiotens! That was a HE round. AP!” he screamed at Hermann over the breech of the gun, “AP You simpleton! That is a panzer!”

Hermann looked like he wanted to take a swing at Egon. “Get me an AP Round NOW..mach schnell!”

With disgust on his reddening face, “Bastarde Dummkoepfe!” followed by many more insults directed at the ammo slug crew Hermann turned to get another round. No Room To Lie Down 50

“It had better be right this damned time!” Egon yelled as he looked back into the sight. The dust cloud kicked up by their weapon has settled mostly so he could see better. The high profile of the American panzer was still present. They had stopped when hit by the HE round.

As he waited for a fresh round, the hatches of the vehicle opened. The crew piled out of the vehicle, running to the far side away from where they had been hit. “Schnell!” Egon yelled just as he heard the metallic clink, then sliding of the round into the breech. The charging handle slamming home.

“Bereit!” yelled Hermann.

Egon’s hand spun the traverse slightly and adjusted the elevation by a hair. Hoping to hit a little lower on the vehicle, closer to where the engine should be, and maybe get the fuel tank. Anxiously anticipating the call from their Unteroffizier Fritz, his leg bounced involuntarily.

After what seemed an eternity, “Feuer!” Came the call.

Slamming the button home again, Egon watched intently through his scope. The round took no time traveling the 1600 meters from the muzzle brake to the side of the American panzer. An eruption of flame and smoke was the result as the shot went through the thinner side armor and it must have hit the ammo stowage causing the orange and red flames to explode from inside the vehicle.

“Volltreffer” he yelled, holding one hand up in the air in celebration.

That day had been a good day for the Werhmacht. That time had easily turned the American onslaught back near the mountains of Kasserine, Tunisia in February 1943. Since then things had changed pretty drastically. They had lost North Africa, Sicily, parts of Italy, and they had failed to capture Moscow. And just seven short weeks ago, British, Americans, Canadians, and a few nations, had successfully landed on the beaches in northern France. Anyone with any damn sense knew that they were on the wrong end of the scale now.

“Obergefreiter, double check the windage and elevation. The enemy will be coming straight down this road, and we have to be ready to repel them.” Unteroffizier Fritz told Egon.

“Javohl Unteroffizier,” Egon responded, going through the motions of checking the position of the gun. He had already checked it 45 times this morning. But ol’ Fritz was a particular prick and he had to be abided. He had sent many on the team to other assignments, generally much worse ones. It didn’t take much for him to deem someone unfit to be on his crew.

This is where the years of nonstop education by his father came in handy. He knew that all he had to do was keep his mouth shut and follow orders, no matter what. And the orders generally weren’t unreasonable, just irritating and delivered with an air of arrogance. That is what generally set the others off. Fritz wasn’t any better or more educated than any of them. Well perhaps more educated then Hermann, but it wasn’t harder to be smarter than a stump. Yet he acted like he was an aristocrat and so much better than anyone else. No Room To Lie Down 51

“You’re sure that the round in the breech is an AP Round?” he looked at Hermann.

Disgustedly, “Javohl,” Hermann replied adding, “leck mich am arsch,” in a whisper as he sank beside the right side of the breech. “Ammo Slugs. Make certain we have all AP rounds,” he threw over his shoulder.

Egon leaned into the sight as he heard the men behind them grumbling and fumbling with the metal cans the ammo came in. It was sighted right down the middle of the country lane. At least as much as it could be, they had set up on the far side of a T-junction just to the right side using the high earthen berm that lined the lane as cover. The tires of the gun rested in a shallow ditch on the side of the lane. The stabilizing legs kicked out at 30-degree angles, their butt plates resting against the rock walls of the field behind him.

Another PaK 40 was off to the left by a hundred meters or so. Their field of fire was directed to the more open fields west of them. Egon didn’t really know that crew. They seemed competent enough and he hoped he was right.

Dug into the earthen banks lining the farm fields all around them were multiple machine gun nests. Mortar teams were scattered around as well, with some regular Wehrmacht troops scattered throughout as well.

He doubted any of them had slept for the past few days. At least any of them that had any sense wouldn’t have been able to sleep. The crew of his weapon had either laid in the shallow ditch or the other side of the stone wall and tried to sleep. They had been eating their Iron Rations usually reserved for an emergency which they were undoubtedly in. These rations were supposed to last up to three days which Egon found ridiculous as any one person could eat the crackers in wax paper, a paltry can of meats, sometimes canned soup, the deplorable ersatz coffee and some sweet “Schoka-Cola” in one sitting.

After the extensive bombing they could hear the guns and cannons of their enemy creeping ever closer to their position. In the past fear was something he could easily manage having full faith in the superiority of the German war machine. All of their weapons were far superior to the enemies, or so he had been told. And just three short years ago he believed it, but living in a war makes a man wise. Weary as well but wise, smart enough to try and use their experience to get any advantage possible.

That is why Egon tried for a good side shot on the tanks. The armor was thinner there than in the front. And if possible, the back half where the engine was, that was a great spot. If he was given an HE round instead of AP, the HE would at least burn and possibly catch the engine on fire. Fire usually made people panic, stopping the tank as the crew ran for safety. Then the men could be picked off as they fled.

If not the engine, he would take a shot at the front half of the tank, which an AP round would slice into the meager barrier taking out one of the men in the front. Watching a friend destroyed again floods a normal man with dread. No Room To Lie Down 52

In the past these tactics had stopped many of the American panzers when they advanced. But inevitably their enemy learned and adapted to the dangers of war. Now both sides were smarter in how to pursue the job of killing each other.

“Achtung,” Unteroffizier Fritz said, raising the binoculars to his eyes. “Panzers!” his arm pointed to the North west.

Egon leaned in, pushing his eye harder on the cushion of his sight. Not having to look over at Hermann he could tell the man was hunkering further down behind the 2-layer steel plate that made up a shield for the gunner and loader. The noise of the charging handle moving made Egon smile involuntarily.

“Du bist gut,” Hermann advised, adding, “I checked the rounds the slugs got us. They are mostly AP. They told me that there weren’t any more and brought any HE they could find as well.” And with that his loader smacked him on the shoulder. “Aim well my friend.”

“That is the only way I know,” he replied. “I give you hell Hermann, but you’re a good loader and a good man.” And with a laugh Egon added, “But you are as dumb as a stump.”

A laugh came back, “Fahr zur Hölle.”

“Shut up the two of you,” Fritz snapped. Kneeling down, “you three make certain that the shells do not stop coming.”

Egon stole a side glance at their Unteroffizier. The field glasses were glued to his eyes, and he used them to scan from the fields where the panzers had been sighted all the way back to the right well past where their gun was zeroed in. Leaning back into his sight Egon found the tree that he was using as a marker for 1800 meters. Yesterday Fritz had told them to ‘dispatch the enemy as far out as possible’. He knew that their leader was hoping to stun the enemy early and hold them at bay as far away as they possibly could.

Egon wasn’t sure what good it would do. The Sonderkraftfahrzeug 7 that towed their gun had left 2 days ago, so there was no way to move this piece from where it was. Sure, they could reposition given by a small margin, but even that took time with a weapon that weighs over 1400 Kilograms. Add to that the fact they had put the tires in the shallow ditch to try and take advantage of the slight rise in the road. This T-junction rested at the top of a rise in the land, giving them a commanding view of the area around. Now if there had been less cover for the enemy to use to shield themselves.

“Feuer,” came the order for the other Pak40. Egon heard the shot go. His eye remained glued to the sight for the inevitable. All he needed was a good broadside shot. That would block the road from any other traffic. Thereby cutting off that avenue of attack at least.

“See anything Unteroffizier?” No Room To Lie Down 53

His replay came as a whisper, “Ja.” And after what seemed like an eternity, “panzers, and halftracks, and infantry. They are all coming.”

There had been particular emphasis on the word ‘all’. Egon shifted his perch on the leg of the weapon causing him to lean even further forward. Part of this was to push himself closer into the shield that would hopefully protect him.

The engines became louder as they drove inexorably closer to them. Still nothing crossed the road to give him a good shot. One the American M4 Medium panzers crossed the road outside the range of the gun. His hand quivered over the firing button, it took a lot of focus for him to not push the plunger. But that would have wasted the round.

The order to fire rang out again and again for the neighboring gun. He wondered if they were having any luck getting kills. The thump of their mortars started repeating the rhythm of their crews sending greetings to the invaders.

Looking down the road, Egon spied the front drive wheel poke out from the left-hand side of the lane. His eye checked the marker. It was in range!

Two words came at the same time.

“Unteroffizier?”

“FEUER!”

Slamming the plunger home Egon felt a hopeful smile paint his face.

But the Tank stopped short! The round impacted further down the road.

“Verdammt!”

Egon couldn’t tell if he yelled that or the Unteroffizier. “Don’t miss again!” That time he knew who yelled that.

The charging handle racked home. “Ready!” followed by the slap on his shoulder.

Looking down the sight again he saw that the panzer was almost across the road now. He didn’t wait for any orders this time. Another slam on the plunger and the round impacted in the extreme rear flank of the panzer.

“Volltreffer” called his Unteroffizier.

Egon knew that already. He saw that he had ripped the idler wheel clean off the vehicle disabling at least. Of course, the gun was still functional but at least they couldn’t directly shoot at his position from there. And due to recent rains, there was no huge dust cloud kicked up due to the percussion from the weapon. No Room To Lie Down 54

With no real way to relocate in a hurry they needed to keep their location as concealed as possible.

Is that a halftrack coming up the lane? Fool.

Undoubtedly full of infantry.

“Ready!” and another slap of the shoulder.

Egon rotated the elevation wheel ever so slightly and hammered the plunger home again. The careful aim he had taken was rewarded with a direct hit to the engine. That huge mass of metal is what stopped the AP round from ripping clean through the vehicle.

The CLANG of the shell being expelled seemed louder than he expected. Not taking his eyes off the road, he waited for another round to be slammed home. He watched as men scrambled over the sides of the halftrack. Scrambling for the cover on the sides of the road. They were hurried along by MG42 fire that started pouring down the lane from well concealed and fortified positions in the Bocage.

ZING! SMACK! SMACK!

They were receiving fire now. It was whizzing past the shield of their gun, impacting the rock wall behind them. Looking again in his scope, Egon couldn’t believe his eyes. Someone was at the machine gun on the halftrack and was firing at them. He couldn’t figure out if the man was delusional or the bravest man he had ever seen.

“Ready!” and another slap of the shoulder.

Egon debated for a second if to expend the round on the one threat or wait a second to see if another vehicle would try and push past the halftrack which was just behind the panzer he had disabled.

Before he could decide the brave American was cut down by the machine guns of his kameraden.

Several Cracks behind him told him the Ammo Slugs were firing their K98 rifles. Everyone was pouring fire down the road trying to keep the enemy pinned down. With the ultimate goal to make them pull back, or if they were foolish enough to try and move up, take their lives.

He loosed another round down the way into the halftrack to make the point. This time he must have hit the gas tank as it erupted into a fireball.

“Excellent!” Called out the Unteroffizier.

And just then a massive explosion to their left slammed Egon into the side of the breech. It took a second to realize he was on the ground in between the stabilizing leg and the gun itself. Pulling himself back up he looked to see what had happened. No Room To Lie Down 55

The other PaK 40 was no longer there! A crumpled twisted heap of metal with a pipe sticking up in the air was there but not a weapon of war. His eyes scanned wildly around for the crew, and all he saw were a few bodies, or parts of them to be more accurate.

Something hit him on the head, and it hurt. Spinning around he saw Hermann. The man appeared to be screaming at him, but Egon heard nothing he was yelling. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything. All he could do was stare at Hermann looking quizzically at the helmet he was trying to thrust into his hands.

His hands absently went to where his own helmet should be, and instead of metal he found hair. It dawned on him that the helmet must be his.

Slowly he took the bucket and put it back on his head. And then Hermann slapped him, hard. And he could hear “Erwidere das Feuer!”

“Javohl!” He screamed. And sitting back down he saw why his loader was screaming at him. Another American panzer was pushing past the half-track. Absentminded Egon simply pushed the plunger. His round flew well above the metal monster.

“Scheisse!” he forgot to adjust the elevation. He hadn’t taken the time to use his site, just assumed that he was dead on.

As another round was loaded Egon adjusted his elevation and windage. Screaming was coming from his right now. Stealing a glance, he saw men fleeing up and over the bocage. What on this earth could make them flee from a secure position?

A huge growl came from inside the bocage. Egon’s eyes were plastered to the earthen wall as it began to move on its own.

Hermann yelled “Ready!” And slapped Egon on the shoulder. When he didn’t move Hermann yelled, “Fire you fool!”

Another smack, this one on his helmet. “Dummkoepfe!”

This hit broke his fixation on the earth moving on its own. Quickly he looked down the sight, with a quick check of his aim, and hammering the plunger, Egon watched the round hit the right front of the panzer. That was the driver’s seat the round found. The massive steel hulk stopped dead.

Egon watched in horror as the turret swiveled slightly. The barrel of the main gun was lining up on their position.

“LOAD!” Egon screamed. No Room To Lie Down 56

Too late to do any good as the enemy fired on them. With a resounding explosion the round blew apart the wall behind them. Bits of the wall clanked off the gun, and peppered Egon’s back. He hugged the gun holding on waiting for the terror to stop.

“LOAD!” He yelled again.

There was no response. “Dammit Hermann! They are going to…” he lost all words as he glanced over towards Hermann. His friend was looking at the same spot that captured Egon seconds before.

Where there had been a stout thick earthen wall, another American panzer was emerging now. It was as if the earth was giving birth to the enemy. Any doubt in his mind was now gone. Today he and his fate would meet. And fate wore the mask of death.

The turret of that vehicle also traversed towards them.

“Run,” Hermann started to yell when the coaxial machine gun beside the main gun of the panzer started chattering its tune of annihilation.

The next few seconds stretched into minutes.

As Hermann turned to push Egon on to run. The bursts of the gun ripped through the air striking his friend several times in the back. Egon watched his body buck under the impact of the rounds. He saw the man’s eyes grow wide with shock and pain. Why had he given so much grief to this man? Yes, he was thick headed but he did his job and did it well enough to keep them alive. Until now.

Then a piercing pain slammed into Egon’s left shoulder, spinning him around from the force of the impact. His legs were still on either side of the bracing leg and this sudden motion made his knees buckle tearing him towards the ground. His momentum slamming him into the steel shield he had used for safety. The whole time he heard the machine gun doling out its justice on anything it could find.

Stunned and in a massive amount of pain Egon lay on the ground. The deep roar of the engine of the panzer sounded as it moved forward. He lay there waiting. How long before he would bleed to death? His left arm was useless, it wouldn’t obey any command to move even a little.

Shifting his head slightly he saw a body laying where the Unteroffizier had been a moment ago. There was no way to tell if this was the same man. Where a face should be was just a sunken hole. The skin blackened fading back to normal skin at the edges of what should have been a head.

He wanted to look for Heinz, Walter, and Guenter, but his legs were tangled around the leg of the gun, and he had only one arm to try and roll over with. No Room To Lie Down 57

Then he heard footsteps coming running towards where he lay. Fear flooded into his soul. The infantry that was pinned down in the road must be advancing. They would surely shoot him as soon as they found him.

Boots invaded his field of view. He kept perfectly still.

KRAK. KRAK. KRAK. PING.

The telltale sign that an American rifle was out of ammo.

More boots came running up. He heard them yelling. What he couldn’t tell, he didn’t speak any English. One set of boots went to the sunken face, kicking it over. A flicker of anger burned for an instant.

How could they kick a dead man?

One the other side of the gun he heard something heavy slap onto the ground. Guessing that was Hermann, his anger grew. Could he somehow get up and kill them?

Just as he was going to try, a massive hand gripped his right shoulder jerking him over onto his back. Pain replaced anger and a scream came from him as his other shoulder protested at being moved. As well a new fountain of pain in his lower left leg spouted.

Immediately rifle barrels were in his face and men were screaming at him. Their eyes wide with either fear or anger. Spittle flying as they screamed. He had no idea what they were saying. One of them kicked his shoulder. Again, he screamed, and then everything went black.

No Room To Lie Down 58

Chapter 5: Contact Saint Samson de Bonfossé, France – July 27, 1944, 0700 hours

They were in the third tank of the 2nd Platoon of the G Company 3rd Battalion in the 66th Armored Regiment of the 2nd Armored Division in the United States Army. Landing in Normandy on the strip of sand designated Omaha Beach three days after the Allies initial push into the much-vaunted Atlantic Wall the Germans had built to keep them out.

And now they were on a road in France near some town called Saint Samson de Bonfossé that they secured the previous night around 2300 hours.

“This place is pretty,” Whistler commented.

“It’d be a whole lot prettier if it wasn’t full of the damned Germans,” Red retorted as he pulled the left steering lever back. This action made the tank turn left and the right track kept grinding forward.

That very morning leaving their overnight assembly area, the view was amazing. Low rolling green hills, dew on the grass glinting in the sunlight, patches of very light low fog hung down over small ponds the farmers used for their livestock. For a brief moment one wouldn’t be able to tell that the day would probably involve the destruction of men.

“Easy Red,” barked Max. “Keep us in the middle of the lane. We can’t go into the ditch and throw a track. Last thing we want is to be a sitting duck.”

Monty heard the sharp intake of breath from his friend Red, as he advised “You got it TC.” He smiled to himself as he peered out his M68 periscope looking for any sign of the enemy.

It was July 27th 1944, the second day into Operation Cobra and pushing southward. Just yesterday their tank, GIA, and the remainder of the tanks from G Company and 3rd Battalion had pushed the Germans out of Canisy supported by the doughs of the 41st Armored Infantry and a company of M10 Gun Motor Carriages from the 702nd Tank Destroyer Battalion who was held in reserve. A large portion of the 2nd Armored Division had ground down the remnants of the enemy over the last 48 hours who had held their shattered defensive positions after the massive aerial bombardment on the 25th.

Today’s objective for the 3rd Battalion was to push southwest towards Villebaudon while 1st Battalion pushed southeast towards Tessy Sur Vire.

Pushed was a nice way of framing what we did. Punished the bastards as hard as we could. Monty thought he had seen violence in North Africa. But the past few days had definitely proved that a fallacy. In the days since this crew had driven off the landing craft and across the expanse of sand to the slight rise off the beach, his eyes captured true horror. No Room To Lie Down 59

The loss of other crew members to mines and such was nothing to witnessing men mowed down through his M68 periscope. It wasn’t that they were immune to harm. But to be out in the open and not behind 2 to 3 inches of solid American Steel… A cold shiver ran down Monty’s spine at the thought.

When Pearl Harbor happened, he literally ran to the nearest recruiter and signed up for the Army. Reading the headline in the paper had lit a fire in his soul. Being what most would call a country boy, he had been raised fiercely patriotic. His father had been in World War I and had always told Monty, “Time will come again, and you’ll go. I ain’t gonna tell you great stories or lies about how great it is, cause it just ain’t. It is horrible to see what man can do to another man, but in life everyone has to do things they don’t like. So, when it happens, you’ll go and you’ll serve. You hear me boy?”

Convincing was not necessary. Monty had idolized his father for as long as he could remember. The day he died in ‘38 ripped a piece of his soul away. That day Monty had to go into town for some reason, whatever the reason he couldn’t recall. All he knew was when he got home, he had found his father out lying in the field. He had been working the land just like every day before that. It was fall and he was plowing under the remnants of this year’s crop to fertilize the field for the next year. The ox they had still had the plow attached and was just standing there, having stopped a few yards ahead of the figure of Monty’s hero.

There lay the man that had raised him since his mother had passed when Monty was 7. Kneeling beside his hero, “Pop?” he nudged him praying he would move, moan, anything. “Please Pop,” nudging him again, choking back tears. Taking his hand, he knew all that was left was the body of his idol. There was no sense left of the man that had once been the strongest and most resilient person he had ever known. Monty squeezed the callused hand regardless, and then the tears came. Uncontrollable sobs and wailing as he collapsed, hugging his father.

The doctor had said it was a massive heart attack. “He just worked himself to death,” he advised putting a hand on Monty’s shoulder trying to console him. A few days later Monty stood beside the hole in the ground that would hold his father’s physical body hostage. The grave of his wife to the left. A few people from the small church they went to occasionally showed to pay their respects. Monty had been numb the entire time.

Monty knew the men he watched being savagely taken, would have no service marking the end of their existence. If they were lucky, they would get a semi proper burial somewhere in France. Their families back home would get a letter or telegram advising that their brother, father, husband, wouldn’t be coming back. And that is how their life ended, simple as that.

Yeah, I’ll stay in the tank if I can help it.

Invulnerability wasn’t a reality inside his steel shelter. He knew that but compared to the sights he saw through his little mirrored window to the world; it was way safer than being out there.

Crew members had been lost, as had entire vehicles, to the enemy. But in here, he had the power of a 75mm gun, with the choice of three different types of ammo to use. Right beside the No Room To Lie Down 60 massive main gun was a handy little .30 caliber machine gun that would gladly chatter away anytime he needed it to. As well up front with the crazy SOB Whistler, another .30 cal to help in setting the tone for any fight that was foolish enough to want to engage them. And to top it all off, outside on the rear of the turret the much vaunted .50 caliber heavy barrel machine gun. That was an awesomely impressive weapon. The .30 cals did sufficient damage to the enemy, but the .50 cal, well it was almost an alarmingly gratifying feeling to thumb the butterfly down sending hot death down range.

Chatter in his headset brought Monty back to the here and now.

“Field off to the left,” Max advised switching to the crew channel, “We’re going to go echelon left. Driver in about 300 yards, then start to push out left. Gunner leave the gun dead center until I tell you otherwise.”

“I see it TC,” Red called out, “That hedgerow ends up ahead. I’ll push out once we are clear.”

“Copy Driver.” Max said.

Looking over his left shoulder Monty saw Max peering through small windows just below his hatch. Checking each window over and over.

“BOG, keep your damn eyes peeled, last thing we need is any surprises.”

“You got it TC,” Whistler advised with a soft whistle.

Monty slapped Razor, “Be ready. Never know if we will need HE or AP. Copy?”

He watched as Razor nodded, then blinking as if remembering to speak, “Copy Corporal” Then added, “No Smoke?”

Shaking his head as he turned back to his scope, “We are taking the fight to them, so I doubt it.”

“Be ready with whatever he tells your Loader. You don’t question a word he says. He has the scope and the gun so you give him what he needs when he needs it.” Max barked. Adding, “and make sure to keep the .30 cal fed!”

There was no question, just a statement. The underlying tone, ‘Do your damn job or we might die. You’ve been doing just keep it up as this game isn’t over yet...not even close.”’ No Room To Lie Down 61

Monty wanted to say something to boost the kid’s confidence but now wasn’t the time. So, without taking his eyes off his outside view he slapped the kids’ leg and gave a thumbs up.

“Driver. Ease off to the left.”

“Roger.”

Monty felt the tension increase. Seconds ticked by as they clanked forward. The tank that had taken up his frontal view slid to the right and out of sight as they pushed left.

“Driver. Straighten up and dead on, don’t pick up any speed.”

“WILCO.”

The echelon left would have them in a diagonal line spreading out to the left with the Lieutenant’s tank in the lead as the pivot point and behind the tank ahead of them by about 50 meters due to the terrain.

“Keep your eyes open boys.” Max told them.

Monty didn’t need to look back to know the man’s eyes were squinting hard enough to see the future. Out of reflex his right hand found the power traverse handle, his left coming up resting on the elevation handwheel. Ever so slightly he tested the elevation up and then back down.

Sensing something wasn’t right, his hand left the traversing grip, moving to the right and further back finding the travel lock. Well-rehearsed fingers pulled the plunger out, twisted it by 45 degrees and then gently let the spring pull it back into the cradle. the travel lock generally stayed in the locked position unless they were in a fight or expecting one. That way the gun stayed true in, dead center pointing directly in front of them. There had been no order given to traverse right when they had been in the column, so the 75mm cannon had remained secured in the forward position.

It was easy to tell the turret was free as it moved slightly when Red was straightening their line of travel. He could feel the gentle sway as his eyes rested on the cushion of the M68 periscope. Before he tried the power traverse, his fingers dropped below it, to the control box and the switch on the side. It was up, so the hydraulic traversing mechanism was on. This was more out of nervous energy than anything, knowing he had turned it on as soon as Max had said they were going off into an echelon formation. With nothing but an open field in front of them, he wanted to be able to act fast. Even a second saved from a switch flip, could be the advantage they needed.

“Slow her down a bit, Driver. You’re getting too far out of position.”

“Copy.” No Room To Lie Down 62

Monty could see the land was sloping slightly down and away from them. It probably dropped 10 maybe 20 feet between here and the next hedgerow that was probably 2500 Meters away. That might account for Red’s increase in speed, but maybe it was nerves. The throb of the engine lowered ever so slightly.

“That’s better. Keep that speed and dead on. The other tanks are pushing further left. We’ll all be in line soon.”

The feeling of near invincibility slowly receded from Monty’s mind. Being out in an open field with nothing in front of him but 2 inches of American steel somehow made a feeling of vulnerability creep in.

The call came.

“Gunner. Truck. HE. Traverse Left,” Max ordered.

“Traversing left.”

Monty didn’t even hear Razor grabbing a shell, he just focused on his job.

“Steady.” Seconds slowly ebbed through time as Max waited for Monty to lay the gun on the target. “On!”

Monty saw the German Panzerspähwagen Sd. Kfz. 221 running from right to left. It was one of the four wheeled armored cars they used for reconnaissance. Switching from the M68 Periscope to his main site the M70F Telescoping site, he made the needed minor adjustments to make certain he had the bastards in his site.

“Identify!” Monty yelled.

“Fuse set Delay.” Max advised Razor.

A second later he could hear the breech slam home. A punch to the shoulder with the declaration “CLEAR!” told him the gun was ready.

Max shouted, “One Nine Hundred. Lead Three Zero. FIRE!”

Monty’s hand spun the elevation wheel slightly, “On the WAY!” and his left foot tapped the foot trigger for the main gun. Immediately there was no sound. Monty was always surprised at the lack of noise when the firing pin struck the primer of the 75 mm shell. He always expected that the resulting percussion would make everyone deaf for a split second, but by now they had fired hundreds of rounds since ‘42 and were used to it. But the major noise resulted outside the tank, funneled out through the barrel of the main gun.

Any tank was a noisy affair to be in. The roar of the R975 engine, the clanking of their steel treads, the whining of the drive gears, the hum of the hydraulics on the turret, add in machine guns and the main gun, along with the necessary chatter and it would make anyone deaf. No Room To Lie Down 63

A split-second later Monty watched the round impact the ground just in front of the rolling metal box. He’d led them a little too much. “Doubtful left, re-engage Lead Two Zero.”

“Give me another one Razor,” Max and he yelled in concert.

“CLEAR” and another slap on the shoulder.

“Fire!” Max yelled again.

Monty had been following the car as it tried to sneak away. “On the way!”

This time their efforts were rewarded as the round hit in the engine of the target. “HIT, Target, cease fire!”

The rate of travel of the target slowed and another round caught the target dead center. One of the other tanks had fired as well.

“Ha Ha. That is a damned coffin now,” Whistler exclaimed.

“Gunner. Truck. HE. Traverse right.” Max commanded.

“Traversing right.” Monty advised. Switching back to the M68 Periscope so he could get a broader field of view, once he had the target in the window his head would move back down, putting his left eye back on the cushion of the M70F site.

“Steady.” The whir of the hydraulics whined as he spun back to the right. The radio was alive with chatter. Monty and the rest of them could hear it but not make sense of it all as it was chatter for Max to receive, interpret and filter down to them what they needed to know. If he’d had time to think about all that information being flung about, it would make his head hurt. His efforts remained focused on his job. Finding targets and killing them.

“On,” Max told him.

This time Monty saw a German halftrack heading out to the right of them. There had to be a hole in the Hedgerow somewhere. These things just hadn’t been sent out in the open.

“Driver Stop!” Max barked at Red.

“Roger,” Red yelled back.

“Identify,” Monty yelled, switching scopes again.

“Range One three hundred, Lead One Zero. FIRE!”

No adjustments needed other than leading the target, “On the WAY!” his foot making the routine motion of hitting the trigger traveling the 6 maybe 7 inches from the resting perch to the metal pedal. No Room To Lie Down 64

“Beautiful.” Max called out as the HE delay fuse round caught the vehicle dead center just above the tracks. Flames shot out the top as the round detonated.

“BOG. Take those doughs out,” Max screamed to Whistler.

Monty saw a few troops climbing over the sides of their wounded vehicle as they tried desperately to escape a fiery death.

“Copy,” came the response along with a Glenn Miller tune being whistled.

Has he been whistling this whole time?

The .30 cal of the BOG chattered to life. Monty could see the tracer rounds as they went. Every fifth round out of the gun, they had a little pyrotechnic addition on the back end. That way a gunner could more easily tell where the rounds were flying in and dial in as necessary.

“Driver, move out.”

“Copy.”

THOOM!

GIA shook as the earth in front of her heaved up.

All the voices came at once.

“Holy shit!”

“What the hell?”

“Are we hit? What happened?”

“Jesus Christ!”

Max’s voice rang above the others, “Driver Stop God dammit!”

Red pulled both levers back and pushed down on the heavy clutch. The combination of the two actions took all power from the drive sprockets and stopped both tracks from moving at all. GIA lurched to a stop as bits of the earth rained down on her. No Room To Lie Down 65

“Where did that shot come from?” Max yelled scanning from the periscope located on one side of the commander's hatch. Everyone’s hands grasped their Periscopes, rotating them to try and find the offending weapon that tried to destroy them.

Monty had seen the earth burst in front of them. It had to be a large caliber weapon firing at them. Nothing else would make that sort of dent in the earth.

“BOG spray that hedgerow. Let’s see if we can get lucky.”

Whistler continued the same ditty from earlier as he pulled the trigger on his weapon. Monty still couldn’t see anything that could have fired upon them. A cold chill tried to run through him as his brain summoned up the image of a Tiger tank, or a Panther tank. Neither one did he want to see. They were the deadliest tanks the damn Krauts had. Both could make quick work of GIA if they had a good crew.

Monty felt himself start to draw away from his periscope. Unrelenting fear threatened to take root in his deepest core. Slapping the side of his helmet he forced his eyes back to where they had to be. He would find the bastards and he would send rounds to them and kill them. That is what he did.

A quick thump sounded out, then a CLANG off the side of GIA. A ricochet! The round intended for them bounced off the side of their home. The noise clearly came from the right side of the tank, which meant the weapon and its crew were to the right. That narrowed their search.

Monty was rotating the M68 Periscope back to the right when, “Gunner! Antitank! HE! Traverse right!”

“Traversing right.”

“Steady. On!”

Monty squinted into the Periscope trying desperately to see what Max saw. Then, through the clutter of the hedgerow he could just make out a muzzle. It was an artillery piece. “Identify!”

“Set the fuse for super quick. I’m gonna bounce this bastard,” he yelled.

At this time, he knew Razor was giving the fuse a turn to set from ‘Delay’ to ‘Quick’. This would give a half of a second delay for the detonation of the shell after it hit a solid object such as the earth.

He heard the round slide into the chamber, the breech clanking shut. “CLEAR!” barely even feeling the slap on his shoulder as Max yell, “Fire!”

“On the way!”

And then he watched as his round kissed the earth maybe 20 yards short of the barrel. Then sailing back into the air and exploding just over the barrel of their would-be executioner. No Room To Lie Down 66

Reaching down he flicked the switch of the coaxial .30 cal and toed it to life. Watching the tracers, he adjusted the travers and the elevation to make sure he was hitting the target.

“Good shot! Driver, reverse a little and go around that crater. We don’t need to throw a track out here right now.” Max ordered.

“You got it TC,” Red called, working the gear shift to get a bit of distance from there would be grave. Then a pause and a shift back to second gear. With a pop of the clutch Monty felt the tank sway to the right as his friend drove them round the dent in the earth.

“Dead on Red. Keep this speed.”

“Copy”

TING! TING! TING!

Small caliber bullets pinged off the hide of their tank. It was more aggravating than unnerving at this point. An inexperienced crew might have hesitated or even retreated from this, but this crew in GIA, no way that was happening.

More ricochets sounded off. Looking through the mirrored window into the world, Monty saw flashes in the hedgerow announcing where the bullets were coming from.

“Bog. Light up the hedgerow. Make your shots count.” Max declared.

The only acknowledgement was a new tune being whistled. Monty had no idea what this one was. The din of battle outside coupled with the cacophony that was life in a tank made it impossible to distinguish the finer details at times.

“GAMBLE is hit!” Max yelled.

GAMBLE was one of the M4A1 tanks in their platoon; their Platoon Sergeant Staff Sergeant Thomas. They had been 5th in the order of march that day as usual.

“Driver, Halt!” max ordered. “We are holding here for a second. Keep lighting up that line.”

“CLEAR!” Razor yelled.

“Gunner. Reengage the same target again.”

Head pushing on the cushion of the telescope sight, Monty double checked his aim. “On the way,” he yelled, satisfied he was still on target.

Again, the round bounced off the ground, this time a little further ahead from the last round. Detonation of the shell was a little further behind the target. There was no way of knowing if there was any direct impact to the enemy, but it was safe to assume the message to anyone trying to man the gun was, “Don’t.” No Room To Lie Down 67

“Loader. Leave the next one with the Delay. Gunner, depress slightly and put this just below the barrel. Got it?” Max dictated.

At the same time Monty and Razor both declared, “Copy.”

Slowly Monty cranked the elevation wheel depressing the 75mm main gun down just a hair. The precise location of the base of the gun was a mystery as it was well concealed, so he had to make an educated guess.

A slap on the shoulder and “On the way,” the round was headed down range. Watching as bits of earth and shrubbery lifted into the sky. The ultimate reward was seeing the barrel of the weapon shift! The angle of the barrel now pointed up and away from them. His round had impacted to the left of the gun. If nothing else the crater made the weapon shift on its base, and unless they had a vehicle at the ready, moving it back into a fighting position would be nearly impossible.

The thud of mortar rounds started to sound off around them. This was more of a threat to losing a track which would immobilize a tank making it an easier target. More anxious chatter could be heard on the radio.

“Driver. Move forward. Dead on, slowly!”

“Roger.” Red called back.

Again, the bulk of their M4A1 lurched ahead.

“Steady.” Max advised, “We are in a line and need to hold it. Doughs moving up from the back. Once we get closer to the hedgerow, they will take the fight to them and clear them out.”

“I’m out. Loading,” yelled Whistler.

“Gunner. Coax doughs in the open!” Max declared.

Seeing troops fleeing across a gap in the natural fence between fields, “Identify,” Monty called. Using the same foot switch but a different pedal for the main gun Monty sprayed the area. Rotating the turret to the right and then the left. Seeing a few of the men fall, a sense of satisfaction settled in his soul.

Steadily they trudged on. They were within two hundred yards now of the row. Muzzle flashes popped off down the line of resistance. The smell of cordite was thick inside the tank. Shell casings from their machine clinked into the link bag attached under the side of the gun, new ones being added liberally as they advanced finding new targets.

“Driver. Stop!” Max called out. No Room To Lie Down 68

It had seemed like an eternity that they had been slowly moving forward. The mortar rounds had all but ceased, gunfire that had been relentlessly peppering them was withering. Still they did their jobs. Laying machine gun fire and rounds from the main gun when and where needed.

“Our boys are coming through. Watch your fire.”

Monty and Razor both acknowledged. It wasn’t long before Monty saw a few of their men come into view. The distinctive pattern of the new camouflage some of them wore gave them away. As he watched these brave souls push forward, again he was grateful for the protection they had inside their vehicle.

GIA was right at an opening in the earthen barrier. It was just wide enough for them to fit through. Monty could see the field on the other side. It laid out flat in front of them, not rising until the next hedgerow which was probably 1500 meters away.

Their infantry was going up and over the hedgerow. They were on the hunt, trying to secure the area and see what threats were possibly there.

The crescendo of gunfire came again as the men tried to push over. Just off the left of the opening the earth lifted throwing dirt and branches skyward. Infantry hugged the ground.

A squawk in their ears and a new voice came through, “There’s a damn Tiger in the field!”

Someone had grabbed the field phone that was located on the rear of their tank that some of the crews had installed back in mid-July to ease the communication process between the tankers and the infantry as their respective field radios didn’t talk to one another. Another lesson learned from North Africa and Sicily This item was a field modification that several tanks had employed. It let the doughs outside talk to the Tankers and give them intel on what was happening and able to help locate targets. A regular field phone, mounted in an empty ammunition can, wired into their internal comm system.

“Where in the field is it?” Max asked. No Room To Lie Down 69

“Off to the left about nine hundred yards out.” The man advised. Adding, “Don’t go through there, he’ll hit you right away.”

The ‘there’ must have meant the opening right in front of them. Despite the heat inside the tank, a chill ran through Monty. Nothing like the term ‘Tiger’ to strike a chord of fear inside him.

And with a ‘click’, the call ended.

Max switched over the comm system to talk to the other tanks in the platoon. There were four left. GIA was second in line. GREEN MACHINE was the lead tank off to their right. GERTIE was next to their left and then GEM. GAMBLE was somewhere behind in the field, but appeared to be damaged and unable to move. None of the tanks in the platoon could get a radio call from GAMBLE to see if they were ok. However, Staff Sergeant Thomas had pulled out his M-238 signal flags and held up his red and yellow flag signaling the tank was damaged but the crew was alright, and waved his arm signaling the platoon to push on. This was not standard signaling procedures in combat, but something the platoon had developed as an emergency means of communication if a tank lost its radios while back in England.

They all heard Max advise the rest of the platoon of the information. The TC in GREEN MACHINE would make the call as to what happened next. He was the Platoon Leader and senior ranking member of this platoon and the responsibility fell to him. A job that Monty never wanted. Staying tucked right here beside the main gun was simply fine with him.

After what seemed like thirty minutes, “Acknowledge all,” Max said.

“Listen up,” talking to all them now, “Here is the plan. GERTIE and GREEN MACHINE will push through the hedgerow to try and get the drop on whatever is over there who knows what it really is as the doughs tend to exaggerate half of the time. We will hold until I say to advance. Be ready for anything.”

One by one they all reported in. Driver, then BOG, Gunner and Loader, “Roger TC.”

Shortly after landing at Omaha beach, some of the crews had welded steel teeth onto the front of their tanks. This was to make them able to cut through the earthen walls that separated fields in this part of France. At first the tanks had gone up and over, but that exposed the soft underbelly of the mobile gun platforms.

Monty wanted to rotate his periscope to watch but he didn’t dare move it in case a target presented itself in the gap.

The radio chatter was silent as the tanks to their left moved forward. He could hear the growl of their engines as they pushed up.

He listened as Max mumbled to himself, “steady fellas.” No Room To Lie Down 70

In an instant the radio flared to life again. Voices on the verge of panic sounded off. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but heard their main guns sound off, and felt the ground shake as a round in reply impacted the earth somewhere.

“Driver. Move forward.”

“Gunner be ready.”

Monty felt the vehicle creep forward. He resisted traversing left in anticipation of the Tiger. There was no telling what other threats may be in the field.

“Speed up Driver,” Max declared.

“Copy TC.” And their vehicle spurred to life.

Monty felt his hands start to shake. His leg was bouncing. Just as they poked through the opening, he exhaled a long breath to try and keep calm.

“Gunner. Tank. Shot. Traverse right!” Max yelled.

Not listening, Monty started traversing left.

“Gunner. Right, traverse right!” the call came again.

Cursing himself Monty rotated the grip back to the right spinning the turret in the right direction.

“Driver Halt. Steady.” Max said, “On!”

“Identify!” Monty Screamed. This was definitely a German Tank. Not a Tiger but a danger all the same. The vehicle had its flank exposed to them. Its main gun spouted fire as the crew shot at something off to GIA’s left. It had to be GERTIE.

Not able to worry about their sister tank, Max gave the info. “Range four hundred.”

“CLEAR!” advised Razor.

“Fire!”

“On the way!” his foot slamming the pedal down.

The round caught just behind the main drive wheel at the front of the tank. Monty saw the vehicle rock from the impact.

“Good hit. Driver hard right. Increase speed.”

“Gunner traverse left. Stay on target.” No Room To Lie Down 71

Rotating the gun grip to the left hard, making the hydraulics whine, Monty kept the enemy in his sights. Their turret was now spinning to try and get the M4A1 in their sights. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he watched the barrel of their main weapon seeking to retaliate. Time seemed to slow as he waited for the tap from Razor.

Through his scope the swivel of the enemy’s turret kept moving but stayed just behind them. And then another round impacted the German tank. GREEN MACHINE had landed a shot on the front of the enemy.

This impact seemed to stun the crew as the turret stopped immediately.

“CLEAR” came the call finally.

“Driver Halt. Range Three Five Zero. Fire.”

“On the way!” Monty advised, again slamming the pedal home. This time he had aimed at the back half of the vehicle trying to hit the engine compartment. The round hit just above the lower road wheels on the side of the vehicle.

“Good hit! Track came off. She’s wounded bad. Hit it again!” Max yelled almost cheerfully.

“Driver! Ease us up to the left. Want to put one right in the back of her.”

The vehicle shifted as Red pulled back on the left handle stopping that track while the right one continued to move.

“Dead on.” Max said, “Driver Halt.”

“Gunner, traverse right. Shot. Hit the engine again.”

“Traversing right,” Monty replied. The slightest relief came to him knowing they had at least crippled the threat.

“Steady. On!”

“Identify!” Monty said feeling a smile come to him. In his telescoping site the backside of the vehicle was broad and inviting.

“Driver. Stop!” Max said. “Range Three hundred. Fire”.

“On the way!” Monty yelled.

In his sight he saw the vehicle rock before his round ever hit. Then his went straight into the back flat steel that guarded the heart of the vehicle. Flames shot out the top deck as the round penetrated. No Room To Lie Down 72

GREEN MACHINE had hit the target just before they had. The threat of this tank was done. Five 75mm rounds had hit this target from very close range, and it did not move at all. Flames were coming out of the engine and they waited to see if anyone would come out of the dead hulk. Not a single soul.

“Driver. Move forward steady on the speed.” Max’s voice was more relaxed now. “the other tank is dead as well. GERTIE and GEM took it out.”

They moved forward looking for any more threats, but for now, in this field at least, they were safe. Small arms fire sounded off as their infantry moved to clear out any remaining enemy that still sought to fight.

The four tanks took up defensive positions and awaited further orders. The company’s maintenance recovery team hauled back GAMBLE to the assembly area for repairs. The platoon was relieved Staff Sergeant Thomas and his crew on GAMBLE were alright. They were lucky the impact from the German round just took out their right sprocket, first set of bogey wheels, and broke the right track. Looking at his watch, Monty saw it was 1215 now. They had moved out at 0700 this morning. In a little more than five hours they had encountered and defeated a threat. One more obstacle down. How many were left he wondered? And would he live to see them all removed so they could all go home again?

No Room To Lie Down 73

Chapter 6: Day of Days Northeast of Beaucoudray, France August 1st 1944, 0400 hours

After securing the town of Percy on the 29th of July, G Company along with the remainder of 3rd Battalion had pushed northeast after being relieved that evening. Over the following two days, the battalion moved to the northeast of the enemy controlled area of around Beaucoudray linking up with 2nd Battalion in order to prepare for their next objective as the war progressed into another month with no end in sight.

“Red,” Whistler nudged the driver of GIA, “C’mon Red. Time to wake up.”

Stretching as much as the space would allow, “You make one heck of an alarm clock Whistler,” Red advised. “I mean, I didn’t get a tune or anything this morning.”

Looking over he saw the BOG smile, “Well, just for you I think I can scare something up.” Pursing his lips together the tune of Don’t Fence Me In started to flow through the inside of their tank.

The tune was slow and soft, just what they all needed to start the day. Monty started to hum in accompaniment prompting Red, “Well, hell sounds like you two may have to get booked on the USO tour one day soon. I can see the billing now, Come and see Whistler and Monty butcher all the songs you know and love.”

That drew a chuckle from Razor, the loader, who was trying to extract himself from the floor of the turret behind Red. Turning in his seat Red could see their TC, Max going over the map in his map case, and the plan for the day after receiving the operations order, from their Platoon Leader, freshly promoted First Lieutenant Richardson.

During the night prior, they had topped off all their ammunition and gasoline in preparation for the next day. It had been nearly two months since he drove GIA off the transport onto the Normandy beach. Most of the first month there hadn’t been too much action for G Company, some of the rest of the regiment had seen a good amount of combat, but engagement for their particular company had been comparatively light. The last week of July however things began to change for the men of 3rd Battalion, and now they were making ground breaking out from the Allied secured beachhead in northern France. It was about damn time, Max thought to himself over the last couple days as the armored divisions in theater, 3rd Armored Division to their west and 2nd Armored Division, were doing what they trained to do, breakthrough and exploit.

Today that could change. After his operations order briefing with the Platoon Leader and the other Tank Commanders at 0300 hours, Max back briefed his crew the orders he had been given. Their platoon would be the head of the column for G Company and the 3rd Battalion as they advanced east about six kilometers towards the next objective, a place called Tessy sur No Room To Lie Down 74

Vire. Once there, clear the Germans from the town and seize the high ground. This story was starting to become a repetitive tone, the only difference was the name of the town.

Red had mulled the plan over in his mind, as the rest of the crew did. Simple enough. Drive a few miles, engage and eliminate any resistance they happened to find and then park on a hill and wait. Yeah, that is exactly how it will go.

“Ok everyone, now that we have had our morning recital, get some food in you, we are moving out soon,” Max snapped Red back to the task at hand.

“Yummy, more 10 in 1’s, all a man could ever need,” Monty commented.

“C’mon you know you like these,” Red chided him. “I bet when this is all over you will be trying to get these from the Army.”

“You sure won’t get them in any restaurant, that’s for sure,” Razor declared.

“There is no amount of money you could give me to eat these after the war.” Monty stated, “Besides, I’m either moving to Las Vegas and working for our Sergeant or moving to Wisconsin and working on that farm of your family’s Red.”

“What about Chicago,” Whistler asked, feigning offense.

“Uh uh, no way. From what you’ve told me about winter there and the wind off the lake, you can count me out.”

Responding with a puzzled tone, “Wait. Working for me? And what exactly will you be doing?” Max inquired.

“So, the way I figure it, you can add a diner onto the gas station and I can cook, and Razor here,” slapping the young loader on the shoulder, “He can be the busboy or work the counter.”

Shaking his head and smiling, “Got it all figured out do ya?”

“Of course, I do, Sergeant. I didn’t get to be a Corporal on luck.” Monty tapped his helmet, “I am a smart fella.”

“Sergeant, can I go outside and see if they gave us waders, it is getting pretty deep in here,” Whistler laughingly asked.

“Denied,” Max stated again, shaking his head. GIA had her crew. They had come together very nicely. Each one knew their job and did it well. Max would continue to work with them and try to make them better, sharpen them to a finer point, but for now he couldn’t ask for more than what he had in his tank. No Room To Lie Down 75

“Eat up, then Red, you and Razor get out there, give her the 50 cranks and one last check of everything. Today our platoon is in the front of the column and we don’t want to look like fools over something stupid.”

“Copy Sergeant,” his crew responded. Again, he figured he’d done all he could do for them for now. What the enemy had in store for them was out of his control.

Shortly after 0500 on the first day of August 1944 the order came over the radio. “All Tanks. All Tanks. Move out.”

“Driver. Move out. Follow GREEN MACHINE.” Max ordered. “Once we get out of the assembly area and into the fields, we are going into a wedge formation once we get into the objective area. We will be off, GREEN MACHINE to the left, but wait until I give the command.”

“Copy Sergeant,” Red advised.

Looking through the tiny, reflected vision in his periscope, Max saw the sky starting to slowly brighten. A mist was rising from the ground which would provide them cover, but as well it gave cover to their enemy. The intelligence given the night before had advised that the enemy was in the area and likely had armor support, but they were unsure of the numbers or types present.

Max hoped this would be like the past month and resistance would be light and scattered. But a feeling in his gut told him that wouldn’t be the case. Not that he could do a damn thing about it, they had to move forward and fight. Shoving the apprehension aside, the Tank Commander for GIA steeled himself to do his job.

Shortly after they left the overnight assembly area near a village called Chevry just northeast of the small village and objective area of Beaucoudray, the fields opened up enough and after getting the order from their Platoon Leader, Max instructed Red to move into their rightful position in the column formation. The ground was undulating a tiny amount causing a seesaw movement as they rolled forward. The early morning mist still hugged the ground.

After about 500 yards the column formation of tanks reached Le Village Lucas. As they No Room To Lie Down 76 reached the small town the column turned right, their line of demarcation, onto a road marked Vierge de la Rivière to begin their attack east towards Tessy Sur Vire.

As the formation advanced east along their attack route, Max lowered his body into the turret so that only his chest, arms, and head were exposed out of the turret as he scanned the terrain with his binoculars looking for enemy movement. As they were crossing a field to their right, maybe only a few thousand yards from the line of demarcation, their Platoon Leader called out, “All tanks, all tanks, halt and hold. Enemy observed ahead.”

“Driver Stop!” Max barked. Scanning the scene through his binoculars, Max saw movement. Through the shifting mist he saw shapes moving from right to left.

“All tanks. All tanks. Move into a line formation and wait for the command to open fire.”

“Driver, move forward.” Shifting his periscope to see to their right, Max watched as GREEN MACHINE, their Lieutenant’s tank, slid into view off to their right. “Driver Stop,” he barked, reversing his view to the front of them.

“Sergeant looks like an armored car to me,” Monty advised as his eyes were trained into his own periscope.

Looking to see what lay in front of them. Being closer than before the picture was much clearer. A column of lightly armored vehicles and trucks moving in front of them, probably down a country lane.

“See way more than that,” Max commented.

“Gunner. Armored Car. HE.” And then he waited for the command as the other tanks in the platoon got into position. Looking again and knowing GREEN MACHINE was on their right and GEM off to the left, Max set his sights on the second vehicle in the column. From the Field Manual 30-40 they had studied time and time again it was obvious that this was one of the 8- wheeled German armored cars. In front of it was the 4-wheeled version and behind them were several trucks probably full of troops.

“Clear,” Razor yelled.

The call came, “All tanks. All tanks. This is George 6. Fire at will.”

“Gunner traverse left, second vehicle in the column.” The turret rotated, “Steady. ON. Three hundred. Lead one zero.”

“Identified.” Monty responded.

“Fire,” Max bellowed. Knowing they had the element of surprise he wanted to take full advantage of it. No Room To Lie Down 77

“On the way,” and the gunner's foot tapped on the fire control switch. The gun answered as the firing pin struck home.

Since they were only 300 hundred yards away, the impact was nearly instantaneous. Their shot hit dead center of the target, which veered to the right away from them probably due to the impact.

“Target!”

“Gunner. Reengage. Three hundred.” The target had stopped moving so there was no need to lead it anymore.

“Identified.”

“Clear.” The loader advised as the breech slammed up.

“Fire.”

“On the way.” Another report from their 75mm main gun.

This time the round hit just above the rear wheel slamming into the engine compartment, rewarding them with a nice explosion of the high explosive round and the ensuing fireball as the red-hot fragments found the fuel lines.

“Target. Good hit.”

There was no movement from the vehicle and Max couldn’t see anyone jumping out so he rotated the periscope searching for the next target.

Looking left he saw that GEM had made short work of the 4-wheeled armored car, and was peppering the smoking wreckage with machine gun fire indicated as the tracer rounds impacted the steel skin of the vehicle. No threats there, he rotated back right.

“BOG. Doughs in the open front right.” Seeing some of the enemy that probably escaped one of the trucks.

“Copy Sergeant,” And Whistler went to work. Timing his bursts with another jazzy tune being whistled as he squeezed the trigger.

Bits of earth popped up as the bullets impacted the ground around the forces running towards them. Then the men started to fall as the bullets found their mark. Some of the German doughs were smart enough to drop to the ground seeking cover on the side of the road.

“Gunner. Doughs. Caliber thirty. Traverse right. Steady…..,” Max ordered waiting for the main gun to get into place. “On. Three hundred. Fire at will.”

“Roger!” and Max added his coaxial machine gun to the fight. No Room To Lie Down 78

After a minute or so, there was no more movement. “Target... target... cease fire.” Max advised still scanning for movement or more targets. Looking out he saw several vehicles on fire and bodies strewn about. They had caught that force completely by surprise and taken them out. From the makeup of the unit, it seemed to be a reconnaissance force out probably trying to find the American force. Well, they had succeeded in finding their target, just a little too late.

“All Tanks. All Tanks. This is George 6. Job well done. Let’s move on to the objective. Keep your eyes open for more of the enemy,” The Platoon Leader advised.

“This is George 10, great shooting boys keep stacking them up,” their Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Thomas, added.

“Driver. Move out, fall in line behind GERTIE and get back on the road,” Max stated. Taking a deep breath counting his blessings that they had survived the initial engagement. Everyone in the platoon was fine. And now they were moving forward along La Poemelière to Tessy Sur Vire. “Only a few more kilometers to go,” Max thought to himself. What would the rest of the day bring?

On the road to their objective, the only sound inside the tank was the rhythmic thrum of the radial engine as it propelled them closer to the final objective. Houses could be seen forward ahead of them. There had been nothing but farmland until now, this had to be the village or the outskirts at least.

As they grew closer to the town to their east, the road sunk down as the earth on either side climbed up slightly surrounded by thick groves of trees along the road on either side at times along the route. GREEN MACHINE was still the lead tank in the platoon, GERTIE next, then GIA, with GEM and the Platoon Sergeant’s crew in GAMBLE following up in the rear. GIA had her main gun traversed slightly left over the left fender, opposite of GERTIE whose main gun was covering the right side of the road. The rear two tanks followed suit.

The narrower roads and thick vegetation entering the town ahead forced them to remain in a column formation rather than a wedge or a line.

Rotating his view from the left to front and back again, Max kept close watch for any movement. Any at all, and his crew all were doing the same and would call out if they saw anything. GREEN MACHINE was starting to follow the road marked Route de Chevry around a bend to the left just outside the town to the west when a streak of light came from a thicket of bushes just off the road on their left side impacting against GREEN MACHINE’s turret.

“Panzerschreck!” Screamed Whistler.

And as he screamed GERTIE opened up with her coax machine gun as the tank stopped to get their main gun aimed properly. But as she started to deliver vengeance another team of Germans let loose with another one of their Raketenpanzerbüchse 54s, commonly referred to as the Panzerschreck, from her left side. No Room To Lie Down 79

“Driver STOP!”

“BOG. Doughs. Left front. Fire at will!” Max demanded. His blood was boiling at the attack. Not knowing the state of the other crews, all he could do would be to control his crew.

“Gunner. Canister. Doughs. Traverse Right. Steady…... ON. Range One hundred,” Max commanded. “Clear,” Razor slapped Monty on the shoulder.

“Fire!”

“On the way!” and what amounted to a large shotgun shell from the 75mm Shrapnel, Fixed, Mk. 1 round sent several large lead balls into the foliage where the Germans had fired on GERTIE from. Between the .30 caliber rounds from the BOG and the lead balls from the shrapnel round, leaves and limbs of plants went flying.

“Gunner. Reengage.”

Again, Razor yelled, “Clear!”

“Fire!” Max ordered.

And the response from Monty was, “On the way!”

During this exchange, Max heard GEM and GAMBLE from Baker section call that they were moving off of the road to their left into a field to engage the team that hit GREEN MACHINE. After dealing heavy damage to the general area, the three remaining tanks of 2nd Platoon got the call to pull back and regroup with the rest of G Company and other reinforcements.

Once Max and the other TC’s were certain the threat had been dealt with, they were able to see that most of the crew from both hit vehicles evacuated safely and were coming towards them. GREEN MACHINE had lost their loader when the round cut through the armor. The Lieutenant had taken shrapnel to his left arm and face. GERTIE suffered the loss of their driver and wounded the BOG as the spalling fragments ricocheted inside and struck the BOG in the face and left shoulder. The survivors climbed aboard the remaining three tanks and were taken to the rendezvous point and from there they would make their way back to the rear echelon area for aid.

1st Platoon had taken a different route to their south into Tessy Sur Vire and as the 2nd Platoon would later find out, was running into their own problems. Two of the 1st Platoon’s tanks actually got into the village proper, only to be taken out by anti-tank fire and mines. The crews that were lucky enough to escape, their tanks were quickly captured before they could get out of the town.

And as more of the 66th tried to make its way towards the objective, the column had been cut from along a parallel road 400 yards to their north by two of the deadliest German armor vehicles, Panzerkampfwagen V’s or more commonly called Panthers or Mark Vs by Allied No Room To Lie Down 80 forces. The Panthers had a deadly long barreled high velocity 75mm main gun that could fire from a long distance and still maintain accuracy. As well, they possessed a very thick steel hide in the front with about 80 mm worth of armor sloped at 55 degrees and could withstand most frontal assaults, but suffered greatly from thinner side armor with only about 50mm in order to save on the overall weight of the medium tank. Luckily, there were only two panthers on the hunt that morning and with the numerical superiority and supporting artillery, the Americans destroyed one of the beasts and sent the other scurrying back to where it came, licking its wounds as it retreated.

It was now 1430 hours on the 1st of August 1944. H Company had been brought up to join with the remnants of G Company. The newly organized task force advanced east on either side of the road leading to Tessy Sur Vire. H company had the north side of the road and G company on the south side rolling in a line formation towards their objective. The mission was to take the high ground northwest of the town, then sweep the area clean of enemy forces.

The tension was high in the tank, as it should be, having witnessed two tanks get taken out of action in the blink of an eye. As Max looked through his periscope, he had to convince himself every tree and bush wasn’t a threat that should be mowed down to make sure. His crew deserved better than that.

“Keep your eyes open, remain calm, and listen to my orders,” he advised them. “Loader, battle carry HE.” The high explosive round would cover for most situations that they would encounter. Generally used for vehicles with thin armor, or no armor, anti-tank guns, and enemy doughs and it could be used against tanks if the situation was right, and if nothing else it would give the enemy something to deal with while his crew reloaded. With GREEN MACHINE and GERTIE gone and the survivors of their crews sent to the rear. GIA, GEM, and GAMBLE had been folded in with GAME OVER and GOT NOTHING LEFT, two tanks from 1st Platoon, that had tried to enter the city and met with their own difficulties.

This combined platoon had no officer but 1st Platoon’s Platoon Sergeant, the TC in GAME OVER, had been given command of the ad hoc combined platoon. Max and his own Platoon Sergeant knew Staff Sergeant Jamie Mcleod, TC of GAME OVER, and knew he could handle the job. He was a bit of a heavy fellow and came from the south, somewhere in Georgia, and had a very no-nonsense approach to the job. Truth be told, Max was glad he nor his Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Thomas, didn’t get the job. Trying to keep his crew alive was enough for him, adding four more crews would be too much to handle and Max never wanted to let anyone down. Even though he knew that wasn’t a reality, he tried every day to be better than the last. Then not knowing if First Lieutenant Richardson would return to the platoon, Max knew he needed Staff Sergeant Thomas to help get their platoon across Europe.

Again, they approached the area where their platoon had taken fire, killing and wounding some of his friends. One at a time, Max absently wiped his hands on his pants legs, returning them to grip the sides of the periscope. No Room To Lie Down 81

Their earpieces crackled, “All tanks, this is George 5. Keep your wits about you. They are out there and we need to shoot first,” Came the gravel tone of GAME OVER’s TC.

Sweeping wide of the two damaged M4A1’s blocking the road into town, the new combined platoon focused on the village ahead.

The houses were crammed close together off the main road, garden walls obstructed some of the view. Then Max saw it, a helmet just over a garden wall moving at a quick pace, bobbing as the soldier wearing it was running.

“George 5 this is George 8, I got movement. Eight hundred yards ahead 2 o’clock, dough running behind the walls up there,” Max called it in.

“Acknowledge George 8. All tanks, all tanks halt and prepare to engage on my command.”

“Gunner, traverse right.” Max told Monty. He wasn’t sure of the target just yet but wanted to be close to where he had seen movement.

Somewhere further right a bright glowing round came flying in, hitting just in front of GIA sending earth skyward.

GAMBLE called out, “Anti-Tank gun nine hundred yards front right 3 o’clock. Returning fire.”

“All tanks, all tanks, this is George 5. Fire at will fire at will!” Came the call from GAME OVER’s TC.

At that moment, the wall of a cottage crumbled as a German tank lumbered forward. It was off to the left of GIA and GAME OVER and GAMBLE fired upon it nearly simultaneously, taking it out of action before it could even get a chance to fire and do any damage.

Then where the soldier had been spotted running Max saw more movement. This time he could make out the barrel of something being adjusted into position.

“Gunner. Traverse right. Steady…. ON. Eight Hundred.”

“Identified,” Max responded when he was on target.

“Fire!”

“On the way.”

“Short just hair. Reload HE!” Max ordered.

The garden wall disintegrated as the round impacted the stone and cement construct. The dust started to settle and Max could clearly see a German 88 sitting there, the crew had been thrown off by the blast but were clambering back into position. No Room To Lie Down 82

“Gunner. Reengage.”

“Clear!”

Max adjusted the elevation ever so slightly. “Identified.”

“Fire!”

“On the way.” The depression of the foot switch caused the firing pin to ignite the propellant in the shell. The projectile impacted the large front shield of the German 88, ripping it off in the resulting explosion.

“Good hit. Give me one more.”

“Roger!” Monty confirmed.

A few seconds later, “Clear” let them know the main gun was ready to fire.

Monty lowered the gun by a fraction and to the left just a little.

“Fire.”

“On the way.”

This round went through the left-hand shield slamming into the back portion of the weapon in another resounding explosion.

“Target! Nice job Booker.” The sense of relief knowing that 88 was out of action was immeasurable. Those guns could make short work of any piece of American armor, and having one entrenched and ready, the crew could pump out between 15 and 20 rounds per minute.

A fleeting thought ran through Max’s mind. How come they didn’t open up on us sooner? Were there more? Had they laid in ambush? To try and help alleviate that concern he continued to scan to the front and sides searching for any threat.

“All tanks. All tanks this is George 5. Continue our advance,” Came the order from the acting platoon leader in the hatch of GAME OVER.

“Driver. Move out, stay in line with GOT NOTHING LEFT.”

“Copy Sergeant,” Red responded.

“Go slow. We don’t want to get ahead of the other tanks.”

“You got it.”

“Loader. Battle carry HE.” Max ordered. No Room To Lie Down 83

A few seconds later, the comforting, “Clear,” declaration was made.

“BOG, eyes open for any movement. We don’t want to get hit like GREEN MACHINE and GERTIE.” Max ordered as he continued to be on the hunt. Being within 800 yards of the village, the .30 caliber machine gun of the BOG could deal with any infantry running around trying to get into position to fire on them.

“Doughs in the open. Right front,” Whistler announced.

Spinning his portal to the world to the right, he spied them, enemy troops running from one building to another.

“BOG. Doughs, right front. Fire at will!”

There was no response from Whistler other than the chatter of his machine gun as it sent rounds hurtling towards the offenders. At least one went down and another either got hit or tripped as Max watched him fall into the building the others had run into. Rounds continued to impact around the door and along the side of the building, breaking the one window on that side. The tracer rounds appeared to have caught the window curtains on fire as smoke began to come out of the window Whistler fired at.

“Good spotting. Keep an eye on that building, Whistler.” Checking on each side to make sure they were still in line, Max found that Red had the speed just right.

“Driver, maintain speed,” Max commented, and no sooner had he said that when the radio flared with one word.

“Tank!”

The comment sent a chill through Max’s soul. This was one of the most feared vehicles the German’s possessed. The combination of the main gun and the thick sloped armor made it a foe that few wanted to tangle with head on. A Mark IV medium tank was bad enough, but the American M4 could go toe to toe with those, the scales were even. But a Mark V or Mark VI known as a Tiger that first appeared in North Africa, the scales tipped in favor of the enemy when confronted head on. However, thankfully there had been no confirmed reportings of Tiger tanks in the American sector up until this point aside from three damaged Tigers discovered by an anti-aircraft unit on a rail car coming from the British sector up north back in July.

In the early days of the war they appeared to be invincible, but lessons were quickly learned and there were ways to defeat them. Get around the side to the side or rear of the tank where the armor was much thinner. When head on fire at the turret ring or ricochet a round off into the hull off the tanks bottom side of the gun mantlet. Also ricocheting a round off the ground just in front of the tank so that the projectile strikes the thin armor underbelly of the tank was another method proven effective. All of these methods of course meant you had to get close to the beast. That took nerves of steel and a will to match. However, most of the targets engaged by No Room To Lie Down 84 tanks up until this point had been anything but tanks, and if needed the attached 702nd Tank Destroyer Battalion would be called in with their M10 Gun Motor Carriages to assist if needed.

“Where is the tank?” came a panicked voice on the radio.

“All Tanks, this is George 5. Identify who is calling out and where the target is!” demanded Staff Sergeant McLeod.

“This is George 4. Looks like a Mark V. Position is between us and George 8.” The TC from that tank declared.

That meant it was off to the right as GOT NOTHING LEFT had the extreme right flank of the line. Trying to see the enemy Max looked that direction but only saw houses. The enemy had cover from them. Maybe they could move in behind him and help out.

Then he saw a spout of flame and a puff of smoke as the main gun of the Panther fired from behind the house.

“Damn it! GOT NOTHING LEFT is hit!” the TC for GEM yelled. “We are taking a position to the left to get a better firing position on that bastard.”

“Roger,” advised their acting Platoon Leader. “GIA, and GAMBLE, move forward and see if you can’t get a side shot on the damn thing or at least flush it out. GAMBLE take the lead.”

“This is George 8 WILCO,” Max advised, following Staff Sergeant Thomas’s move in GAMBLE.

“Gunner, traverse right, 2 o’clock.” He was going to put him on the house that the shot had come from. That way they were at least pointed in the right direction. “Steady.” a little further, “On! Stay on the house, it is behind there.”

“Roger will keep the sight on that house.” Monty replied.

“We will put the HE round towards the back of the vehicle and then Razor load an AP round. Be ready.” The plan was laid out and it should work.

Red eased GIA into the very western outskirts of the town itself picking to go right of a smaller building which would put them onto a street called Rue du Nid de Loup. Max knew that then they could maneuver into a good spot to fire on the Mark V if it didn’t move. But even if it did, they would back up trying to keep that massive plate of steel between them and any danger in the front. That would expose them to GIA’s 75mm gun, and he knew Monty would make those shots count. No Room To Lie Down 85

Swiveling his view to the left to check for any threats, he saw it just as they eased from behind the building. Another Panther, probably 700 yards up the street from where they were. They had presented a juicy target for the Germans in that tank.

“Driver, Reverse now!”

Red didn’t even hesitate. “Copy,” was all he said. GIA ground to a halt, at the same moment the main gun of the Panther went off. The round fiercely impacted inches in front of their tank sending dirt and chunks of cobblestone from the road into the sky littering GIA with the falling debris.

“Son of a bitch!” Yelled Whistler.

“Where is the tank?” Monty yelled.

“Gunner Traverse left,” Monty started as Red hammered their steed into reverse, trying to get them out of danger.

The M4A1 lurched backwards as Red stomped the gas. The next two events happened precisely at the same time, GIA backed into the building they had just passed and the Panther fired. This time the round found its mark. Right in GIA’s front left drive sprocket.

The concussion from the explosion was cataclysmic. GIA stopped moving immediately. Max’s head was ringing as he looked around trying to determine what exactly happened. Then the realization hit him. The Panther was probably still there and reloading.

“Is everyone alright? Crew report.” Max asked his crew in an effort to ensure no one was hurt or killed.

“Gunner up.”

“Loader up.”

“BOG up.”

There was no response from the driver, Red, but in the heat of the moment Max didn’t catch Red’s failure to report. No Room To Lie Down 86

Without knowing exactly where the Panther was or where to fire and with an immobilized tank, there was no option left. “Loader, remove the HE round and load Smoke, quickly,” Max ordered.

A few seconds later, “Clear!”

“Monty, fire the Smoke at the ground about a hundred yards to our front.”

“On the way!” Monty declared.

GIA’s 75mm gun roared to life one last time, hurling the smoke round to her front. Upon impact, the ground and sky to their front was covered in a white smoke concealing their position and next move.

With deep regret, as he did not know the exact amount of damage to GIA, Max gave the command he never thought he would have to, “Grab the small arms and grenades and abandon tank!”

Max scrambled out of the split hatch followed by Monty and then Razor. Machine gun rounds were pinging off the hull of their now dead tank. Not being able to fully focus on where the danger was coming from, he guessed it was the Panther.

“Come on,” he yelled. Grabbing the arm of Monty as his gunner clambered out of the tank. Max practically threw him off the back deck. Razor was out by the time Max went to grab him. Hopping down off the back deck he checked for the rest of his crew. Whistler and Red weren’t there. Looking around the right side of the tank he saw Whistler on the ground crawling towards them. Grappling with the wiry BOG, Max pulled him upright and shoved him behind the tank. They were safe for the minute, the tank in front of them and a building beside them.

“Where is Red?” Max yelled above the roar of the engine and the machine gun rounds that continued to impact GIA, adding insult to injury. Max quickly recalled he never heard Red respond to his report request after they were hit.

All he got in response was a shake of Private First Class Kellerman’s head. A look of defeat was in the man’s eye.

“DAMN IT!” Monty cursed. No Room To Lie Down 87

“There is nothing we can do now,” Max declared. “We have to get out of here as that damn Panther is still coming. We will come back for him later” He could hear the metal tracks creaking as the massive 40 plus ton beast came to finish the deed.

“We are going to run as hard as we can back to the rest of our armor. When I say, we all go.” That was the best he could do now.

He would wait until he heard their adversary get closer and when they had the building as cover off they would go like jack rabbits.

Just as he was about to take off a loud explosion came from the far side of the building. Looking up he saw that GAMBLE had moved to where they had an angle on the enemy as it cleared a building advancing down the lane. They had shot right into the side of the Panther, and at close enough range that the AP round bore a clean hole right through the thinner side armor. The Panther seemed to stagger as it continued to roll slowly forward. Another round was slammed into the back quarter of the beast right in the mechanical heart of the machine. All forward movement stopped. GAMBLE didn’t waste any time and let loose with both .30 calibers in case anyone came out of the tank. They added a third round into her just to be certain of the kill. The Panther burst into flames as fire screamed upwards out the tank’s top two turret hatches.

GAMBLE, GAME OVER, and GEM all moved into the outskirts of the town, the other Panther was nowhere to be found. Staff Sergeant McLeod stopped by GIA’s crew still behind their vehicle and ordered them to move towards the rear and report in, he would relay the information on the radio.

By 1800 hours that day the objectives were met and the town cleared of enemy forces. Several times during their effort German artillery rained down, but they were able to weather that storm. All told, the 3rd Battalion alone lost 15 M4 and M4A1 medium tanks and one M5A1 Light tank. Their tally for the day was two Mark V’s, six Mark IV’s, plus just over ten other anti-tank guns and vehicles.

The taking of Tessy Sur Vire was their first encounter with the enemies’ Panthers. They had learned that they were indeed formidable, but not invincible. They could be beat. No one wanted to face them, but seeing firsthand that they could be beat gave some confidence to the crews. No Room To Lie Down 88

Max sat in the new assembly area with Booker, Kellerman, and Birch. Looking at them, he felt as dead as their eyes looked. Technician 5th Grade Quinten Phillips had met a horrible end. Later on, reports would indicate that the round clipped the left drive sprocket causing it to detonate early thus limiting the damage to the crew. All except the man they all called Red. His life was not spared.

In the next few days a new tank would be given to them, and a replacement crewman. Max had already decided Kellerman was the new driver. Whoever the Army assigned to him would occupy the BOG seat.

Monty looked up at Max, “Sergeant. Do you mind if I write to Red’s girl back home? I want to explain what happened.”

“We all will Monty...we are a family and today we lost our brother,” Max replied as a tear rolled down his cheek.

No Room To Lie Down 89

To Be Continued…