An American Tank Gunner, His Enemy, and a Collision of Lives in World War II

By Adam Makos

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The Shermans motored farther from the safety of the forest toward where Rolf and the Panther lay in wait. They were now only a mile away. But Rolf wanted them closer. He’d learned on the Eastern Front to wait until the target was within a half mile’s distance, then to shoot the last tank in the column, then the first, which created a deadly logjam. After that, the hunting was easy.

(Makos 2019, pp.37)

Two thousand feet above the battlefield, an American L-4 spotter plane was circling with one wing pointed toward the earth. Known as a “Grasshopper,” the L-4 was used to direct artillery fire.

Gustav and the others gripped their hatches, awaiting the Rolf’s command. They were eager to flee, but didn’t dare. It was a crime that the German Army wouldn’t hesitate to punish – with extreme prejudice. By the end of 1944, they would execute 10,000 of their own soldiers.

(Makos 2019, pp.40)

Across the field and beyond the road sat another Panther with just its turret showing. It had been immobilized by the P-47s but hadn’t burned. It was still partially operational.

And therein lay the problem. A captured Panther could be repurposed, an eventuality that would happen across multiple theaters during the war. On the Eastern Front, the Russians had seized enough Panthers that they printed instruction manuals in Cyrillic. And in Italy, the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada would soon capture a Panther and gift it to the British 145th Regiment of the Royal Armoured Corps, who’d use it under the ironic code name “Deserter.” Later, in Holland, the British Coldstream Guards would find their Panther, “Cuckoo,” in a barn, and fight with it into Germany. 

(Makos 2019, pp.44)

Buck and Janicki took their places at the gun and hunkered down for their shift in front of the spooky black woods. Hunched over the gun, Buck couldn’t stop replaying their encounter with the Germans earlier in the evening. What if they were German commandos? He had heard that some English-speaking Germans – dressed in American uniforms – had infiltrated the lines at the start of the battle. The only way to identify these scouts and saboteurs, aside from questioning them about baseball or Ginger Rogers, supposedly was to check their trousers for German underwear.

(Makos 2019, pp.99)

The Nazis’ orders had made it perfectly clear that any unwounded soldier who allowed himself to be captured “loses his honor and his dependents get no support.” Heinrich Himmler, Reich Leader of the SS, had been unsparing in his thoughts on deserters when he messaged the 5th Fallschirmjager Division: “If there is any suspicion that a soldier has absented himself from his unit with a view to deserting and this impairing the fighting strength of this unit one member of the soldier’s family (wife) will be shot.”

(Makos 2019, pp.101)

The division buried Bill in his uniform and a mattress cover. After the makeshift funeral, the army sent his belongings, a pad of addresses, and a prayer book, to his mother, Lauretta. 

Normally after a man died in a tank, the unit would transfer the machine to another company – the army didn’t want the remaining men seeing the ghost of their fallen comrade at inopportune times. But for some reason, Eleanor remained in Easy Company’s possession and Fahrni was promoted to commander. Chuck couldn’t escape fast enough. 

(Makos 2019, pp.177)

In his rush to become a veteran, he’d overlooked the downside: war is an ugly business to be good at. 

Buck departed the lodge with his M1 on one shoulder and the triple-barreled weapon on the other. Despite Janicki’s best efforts, Buck’s eyes were distant and his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment when he’d pulled the trigger. His life had changed forever. 

Should I have shot over his head or into that oak tree?
Would he have dropped the gun and run?

He couldn’t shake what was happening in the lodge behind him or forget the faces of those German soldiers as they watched their friend die. He’d heard in church that God knows every hair on a person’s head, and how “when you take your last breath, God is with you.”

Looking over his shoulder, the thought gave Buck a chill. God was probably in that basement, about now. 

In his rush to become a veteran, he’d overlooked the downside: war is an ugly business to be good at. 

(Makos 2019, pp.142)

The 1938 “Subversion of the War Effort” law made it criminal to undermine the war effort in any way, shape, or form, and the punishment for breaking the law was death. Did drinking in uniform while making unpatriotic toasts qualify? At this point, after all they’d been through, they didn’t care.

After a test sip or two, the veteran tanker passed the mug to the next man. Gustav took a tentative sip. It tasted fragrant, like a combination of spice, anise, peppermint, honey – and beer. He liked it. When the myg was emptied, another sergeant spiked a second beer beneath the table. Almost every man had a hidden flask. As the mugs continued to make the rounds from one taker to another the songs got louder and the jokes cruder. Gustav grinned and laughed more than he spoke. 

A side effect of the alcohol was a desire to reminisce. One of their favorite often-told stories was of 2nd Company’s one – and only – Texan. A German American, he had been visiting his ancestral homeland when the war broke out and he was drafted by the Germans soon after. As a radio operator, his accent came in handy in Alsace. When the Americans were firing artillery, he’d call them on the radio. Hearing his thick Texan drawl, American troops were convinced he was one of their own. It was an assumption the Texan would use against them to redirect their fire into the wrong field. 

(Makos 2019, pp.151)

Wir nicht scheissen.

Since a grenade was not an option due to the potential for civilian casualties, Buck shouted the only German he knew: “Raus kommen! Wir nicht schiessen.” It meant “Come out! We don’t shoot.” 

In one of the first houses they cleared, German civilians had come up laughing and shaking their heads after Buck had employed his German. They corrected Buck, telling him that he had been shouting “Wir nicht scheissen.” It was a transposition error of just two letters but it made a difference. He had been saying, “Come out! We don’t shit.” It provided a much-needed moment of levity.

(Makos 2019, pp.168)

A Yank magazine reporter labeled these citizens of Cologne the “Who? Me? Germans.

“When you talk to them about the misery they have brought on the world and on themselves their reaction is: ‘Who? Me? Oh, no! Not me. Those were the bad Germans, the Nazis. They are all gone. They ran away across the Rhine.’”

That generalization might have overstated the case, especially in the city of Colorne.

During the elections in 1933 – before Hitler seized power – 44 percent of Germans across the country voted for the Nazi Party. However, in Cologne, the vote was 33.1 percent in favor of the Nazis. About two-thirds of the city’s populace voted against the regime. And that was before Cologne’s citizens had weathered a brutal decade living under the shadow of the Gestapo.

The Party’s secret police were still executing people in Cologne – including a fifteen-year-old local, a Russian POW, a Polish slave laborer, and seven others – up to four days before the Americans reached the city.

(Makos 2019, pp.223-224)

With a few pounds of pressure, his coaxial could wipe one more enemy soldier from the earth.

Clarence balanced the power of life and death in his index finger. With a few pounds of pressure, his coaxial could wipe one more enemy soldier from the earth. 

Those were his orders, after all. This was his duty too.

But Clarence hedged.

Fighting to the end. Killing to the end. That’s what they did. The Germans he’d been fighting all these months. 

And he wasn’t about to become someone like them. 

(Makos 2019, pp.298)

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References

Makos, Adam. 2019. Spearhead: An American Tank Gunner, His Enemy, and a Collision of Lives in World War II. N.p.: Random House Publishing Group.

ISBN 978-0-8041-7672-9