his binoculars, spotted a prime mover and anti-tank gun moving at high speed break from the cover of the woods into a clearing and back into the woods again. Its appearance had been so brief there had been no chance to take it uner fire. It was apparent that the Germans were beginning to close in from the flanks. A short time later the commander spotted a self-propelled gun, this time on his left flank. It was inching its way into position to fire from the crest of the ridge that ran to the left end of Hastenrath. He barked a command; the guns of the four tanks swung over onto the self-propelled gun which immediately backed off the crest of the hill and out of sight before a round could be fired. As minutes ticked away, tension mounted and mounted. Since the brief action by the enemy on each of the flanks all had been quiet. The town looked deserted, the whole countryside looked deserted, and yet nothing could be further from the truth. To make matters even more desperate, tha tanks held in an open field. There was no cover and no cover to he had. The lead tank commander peered from his open hatch, desperately searching for some movement. His gun was trained down the main street. From a pile of debris, not more than 100 yards away, came a tremendous blast at the same time an ear-splitting crack as an armour-piercing shell missed the top of the turrent and his head by inches. The gunner had seen the blast at the same time. The gun was slightly lowered and fired. The tank had a round in its breech. The antitank gun had to reload. The armour-piercing shell struck the debris exactly where the blast had been seen. The tank crew reloaded as fast as possible and fired a second shell, this time high-explosive, to make certain that the gun and its crew were destroyed. The action was over. The commander reflected. How could the gun have missed at point-blank range? He was certain the gun was not there originally or it would have fired while his gun was pointing to the left at the self-propelled gun. The crew, were lying down, must have worked the gun into position. They could do this, as the gun had a very low silhouette. Once in position, they were confronted with the problem of removing some of the debris. They could not do this by hand, as the tank crew would have seen them. It was evident that not much debris had to be removed, as the armour-piercing shell had only missed the top of the tank by a matter of inches.
The anti-tank gunner must have planned to pull the remaining debris away with his tremendous muzzle blast. This was an excellent idea. It would have worked, had it not been for the fact that the tank commander and his gunner were looking directly at the gun when it fired. While he was contemplating this, he studied the town of Hastenrath and the surrounding countryside. With his eyes barely above the hatch, he scrutinized every detail, constantly reminding himself to be alert and to look for any movement. As he was doing this, impatience set in. Where in the hell was the infantry? Why weren't they down here? Didn't they realize his tanks couldn't last much longer in this exposed position? The reason returned. He knew that the 36th Armoured Infantry Regiment was as fine an infantry regiment as there was anywhere. He knew, if anyone could get into them, they could. He remembered from experience that if you gave the Germans just 24 hours to dig in, you paid hell getting them out again. And here they'd had almost six weeks in which to dig in and prepare their defences. His thoughts were broken by a call from battalion requesting an ammunition report. He called his remaining three tanks for their reports. Then he checked with his loader as to their condition. The report was: "Just these six rounds on floor and one in the breach." "My God." He could vaguely remember firing forty or fifty rounds, but here they had fired ninety rounds! The reports began to come in. Two tanks had seven rounds each, the other six rounds. He called battalion, giving the report. There was a low whistling sound at the other end. And then: "We're trying to get in to you, and we'll try some way to get some ammunition down to you." Time was literally killing them. They had been stationary now for almost an hour. During that time the Germans had attempted to move a self-propelled gun into position on the left flank. They had moved an antitank gun right uner their very noses. And what about the prime mover and anti-tank gun spotted on the right flank? They should be in a position by now. He toyed with the idea of moving on into town and fighting it out in the streets there. But even as he thought about it, he knew it was ridiculous, he was positive there was a mine field between his tanks and the town, and he wasn't about to loose one of his tanks to the minefield -that would be 25% of his force and 25% of his fire power. For what? Just to prove there was a mine field there? Even if they did get into town, they wouldn't stand much of a chance. Every doorway, every cellar opening, every window would be a likely base for a Panzeraust attack. Without the infantry, his tanks didn't stand a chance. His thoughts were broken by the good aufullest sound and by his tank being lifted off the ground and shaken. He was violently thrown against the gun-guard. Boun. cing from that, he slammed into the back of his gunner. As he scrambled to regain his footing, he knew that they'd been hit, but not penetrated. That meant that the gun that had fired, was firing at extreme range. As he peered out the hatch again, he knew that his chance for spotting the gun was very slight. He had to be looking right at it when it fired. Again he was violently thrown against the gun guard. Bouncing from this, he was wedged between the gunner's right shoulder and the side of the tank. Fighting once more to regain his footing, and to get his head out of the hatch, his thoughts went to his crew. My God, his men had courage! There they eat, knowing any second they could be killed or badly mangled. They knew what they were in for; they had seen the remains of other crews hauled from their tanks. It was much harder on them than it was on him. He was absorbed in the complete concentration of locating that gun. While all they could do was sit and stare at the interior of the tank or peer through periscopes which afforded them only limited vision., they took another hit. Secured this time by a better handhold, he was not thrown against the gun guard. The hit was low on the side. The interior of the tank was lit by a ball of fire ceused by the terrific friction of the penetration. A white hot eighteen pound projectile entered the empty ammunition rack under the floor. The earlier models of the M-4 "Sherma " medium tank did not store ammunition under the turret floor. The steel walls of the compartment prevented the molten metal from striking the interior of the hull and ricocheting throughout the tank. This saved the crew. The fact that the anti-tank gun was firing at extreme range, also saved the crew. The velocity of the projectile was so reduced, that the ammunition compartment was able to confine its effect. Still searching the countryside, he felt the shoulder of his gunner pushing him up from underneath. He had been so intnse on trying to locate the gun that he had forgotten they had to get out of the tank and get out fast! He boosted himself up and out onto the rear deck, allowing his crew to scramble out. His map case, no matter how dangerous it was, or how crazy, he had to get it. Dropping back inside, he felt for the map case. It was gone! He spotted it on the other side of the turret under one of the rounds. Diving under the gun he grabbed it -back across the turret, up and out. As his hands were on the front elope of the turret, his knees on the edge of the hatch, his legs and buttocks over the opening of the hatch, he heard a tremendous sound. Ignoring this, he half-slipped and half-tumbled to the ground, joining his crew.
After the war the tank commander received a letter from his platoon sergeant, Fred Nooly, who had been watching all of this. Fred stated in his letter that as he was just clearing the hatch opening, an armour piercing projectile struck the two open hatch covers directly behind his buttocks. The hatch covers simply vanished. Had he spent an extra second or two inside the tank, his escape would have ended in the hatch opening. He had to get his crew away from the tank. The gun had gotten the tank, now it would switch to highexplosives to get the crew. The only cover available was a cabbage patch a short distance away. They made a run for it. As they flung themselves down amongst the cabbages, his gunner yelled: "I've been hill" The wounded man lay only about ten feet away; the tank commander inched his way toward him. An automatic weapon opened up, cutting cabbage leaves off around his head. The leaves trickled down his cheek. When he stopped, the gun stopped, when he started,„ the gun started. This procedure continued until he reached the man's feet. Ten minutes to go ten feetl He had been hit in the arch of his foot, and the foot was pretty badly torn up, but the shoe was still on, holding everything in place. He knew that the wound was very painful, but it wasn't bleeding very much. He told this to the gunner, not the part about it being painful, he already knew that - only that it was not bleeding badly, and

that he would be okay. It would soon be dark, and they could make their move. My gosh . it was cold! The dampness of the ground had already seeped through his clothing, and it looked as though it was about to snow. Then he remembered: the artillery barrage. Surely they called that off - they must have, for where they were lying they wouldn't stand much of a chance under a 800 gun barrage, oh they must have called it off. That was something to think about. Suddenly he realized how quiet it was. The artillery had ceased firing, and it seemed as though no activity was going on around him. It was now dark enough. He signalled his crew to crawl over and join him. They lay with their heads in a circle. He explained if they were to crawl over to the rear of the tank, they could follow the tracks back to their own lines. The ground had been so soft, the tank had been sinking in four to five inches. He was going to crawl over and join his remaining three tanks. At this point they heard a voice say "Hands up!" They looked over to the bank by the road and saw a German helmet barely protruding above the bank and a pair of eyes staring at them. They yelled: "Come on over!" He ducked. Again his head protruded above the bank, again he said: "Hands up!" This time he was invited over with a string of swearwords. What in the world were they going to do with a prisoner? They had enough problems of their own. Again his head ducked. The next time his head protruded above the bank, two others joined him, each with a light machine gun, complete with stock, ammunition drum and bipod. He knew two other words: "You come!" But that wasn't necessary. The crew had already got the point. As they crawled towards the Germans, the tank commander heard six artillery guns fire. He knew that these were 3rd Armoured Division guns, as only armoured artillery had six guns to a battery. As they tumbled into the ditch, alongside the Germans, the bank completely erupted from the explosion of six 105MM shells. As they shook themselves free from the dirt, they tried to talk the Germans into coming back to their lines, stating that there was plenty of good food and cigarettes. A German with a pistol stuck it in the ribs of the tank commander, and said: "Raus!" On entering Hastenrath, he saw a prime mover still burning. He recognized that as the vehicle he had hit from Scherpenseel.
Later he found out that the damaged antitank gun that was lying nearby had been hit by his first round of high-explosives. The gun had been in position covering the road from Hastenrath to Scherpenseel. Here he had knocked out an anti-tank gun he didn't even know was there. The commander and his crew were led into the basement of the first house they came to. Once inside, he recognized that these houses were not ordinary houses. They were built as part of the German defence. The outside of the building appeared to be made from quarry stone. The basement was reinforced concrete. The entrance was zigzagged, so no one could fire directly into the basement, nor could they drop handgrenades inside. The German officer recognizing the tank commander's rank, ushered him to a desk and his crew to a nearby table.
It was indicated that they wanted them to empty their pockets. This done, the German officer politely gestured for the tank commander's map-case. A look of surprise crossed his face, as he went through the contents. This was replaced by a broad smile, as he spread the photographs out on his desk. And why shouldn't he smile? He was looking at a pretty girl, and he knew it. He looked up and pointed to the photographs, and said: "Frau?" The tank commander nodded. The German broke into even a broader smile. The photographs were replaced in the map-case, the map-case closed and returned to the tank commander. All personnal property was returned. Not a thing was taken, not even their cigarettes. The Germans were very polite and handled the affair in a business-like manner. There was an air of mutual admiration in the basement that night. It was indicated that the crew was to sit down.
The tank commander reflected: Was there any way he could have prevented his crew from being taken prisoners? As he thought on this, he realized that from the moment they came out of the tank until they rolled into the ditch alongside the Germans they had been in the open and could have been killed at any time. They definitely were wanted as prisoners. Then he thought of the six guns that had fired. Had an observer spotted the movement and mistaken them for Germans? If so, he certainly had laid his guns right in on the target. The Germans beckoned for them to move out. As they walked up the street of the shell-worn town, he hear his tank engines start, turn around and head towards their lines. Here he was so close to his tanks, and yet he couldn't reach them. A great feeling of disappointment and discouragement swept over him. After all the years of training and fighting in Normandy and fighting that day he ended up as a prisoner. He was no longer a part of the American fighting force. As they approached the building near the end of town, they were once again led into a basement. He had noticed that eyery building he passed seemed to be made from quarry stone. The building and basement he was now in was the same as the building he just left. This was going to be a tough town to take! The Germans indicated for them to sit on the floor. After a short time, a truck pulled up in front. They were led outside. The Germans were unloading large cans of hot food. Once unloaded, the captured crew mounted and was driven towards the rear of the lines. After a short drive, they pulled up to a farm house and were ushered inside. The tank commander finally located a German who could understand and speak English. He requested immediate medical attention for his wounded men. The German officer assured him that a vehicle was on the way to remove him to a hospital. They were led down a hall to a furnished room, and told to wait. A door opened, and a German captain addressing the tank commander in perfect American said: "Lieutenant, would you step in here, please." They were joined by a German major who also spoke perfect American. The interrogation started in a casual off hand .manner. The tank commander was offered a glass of beer; he accepted, but only one. He would have liked more. The day's action had left him exhausted and extremely thirsty. When the questioning started, he replied with his name, rank and serial number. Further questioning - the same reply. After the third name, rank and serial number the Major said: "Lieutenant, we have time to kill until they come and pick you up. What would