I fired again and again into the building that sheltered it. The Opel turned toward the hidden tank, and a stream of green tracers-the German tank’s machine gun-crossed our orange ones. Orange machine gun tracers chased the car down the street. Our officers had told us anything on wheels was German military. “Staff car!” my tank commander yelled, and I fired. Suddenly, a black blur crossed my gunner’s scope. When we pulled up to the intersection, it spotted us and backed into an alley. All I saw was a German tank peeking out from behind a building. I would be meeting Gustav for the first time, though I didn’t know it was him, not then. As we neared the cathedral square that day in 1945, I knew German tanks were waiting. Instead, I just talked to God-asking that we make it through each city block, make it to nightfall. We particularly feared the German Panzerfaust, a bazooka round that turned to boiling metal when it hit, burning through tank armor and spraying molten steel inside.Īll you could do was shoot first and hope to get them before they got you. The ammo and fuel you’re sitting on can erupt into a volcano of fire. If your tank gets penetrated, all that armor around you turns into shrapnel. People think tanks are safe, but that’s an illusion. We worried about German tanks and watched for bazooka teams in the buildings. American bombs had created a labyrinth of blocked streets and ambush points. It skinned our nerves raw, but what could you do? Someone had to go first.Ĭologne was particularly dangerous. As the heaviest tank, we were always first in line, first around the corner, first over the hill. It was presented to us like an award, but it was a curse. We had one of only 20 in the entire European Theater. Army’s answer to the more heavily armed and armored German Panther and Tiger. I suppose we handled ourselves well, which is why we got a Pershing tank, the U.S.
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