大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Norman Wigley of the 大象传媒 Radio Sheffield Action Desk on behalf of Mr George Martin, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

This edited account is taken from the book 鈥淐assino to the River Po. Italy 1944-45. A personal account of life and action in a tank troop,鈥� written and published by George Martin.

Other parts to this story can be found at:

Part 1: A7832441

Part 2: A7832702

Part 3: A7832964

Part 4: A7833152

Part 5: A7833549

Part 6: A7833710

Part 8: A7833972

Part 9: A7834043

Part 10: A7834179

By Sunday 16th July 1944, the main effort was now directed to pushing north from Arezzo; in such hilly country and with close vegetation, visibility was very restricted. We moved out early but progress was slow, not only because of shelling, but a recce to a village ahead found it strongly held. We were ordered to hold the road while infantry were brought in to clear the village. We, it seemed, had to be available to clear an open centre line to the north. A troop from our squadron occupied the higher ground in a vineyard to our left, and just ahead of us, one of their tanks on the road in front of us.

My troop sergeant was just ahead of me on the left of the road, my corporal a short distance behind in the centre of the road. To my right rear, a vineyard and right front, a field of maize, six to eight feet in height. In such country, the enemy could be much too close for comfort and still not be seen. The road to our front rose to a crest about 100 yards away, then dipped to join another road 50 yards further on; standing on the near side of right corner was a large house. Apart from a few shells, which dropped around, the waiting was uneventful, until I noticed a slight movement by the house. Very very slowly, the familiar muzzle brake of an 88mm gun appeared from behind the house; very slowly more of the long barrel appeared but, because of the rise in the road, we could not see the hull of the tank. As more of the barrel came out, it swung slowly round towards us; at first sight I had radioed all tanks, 鈥淭iger ahead鈥�, and we prepared for action, knowing full well that our 75mm shells would not penetrate the frontal armour of his turret. The enemy also knew this and, hull down, realised he was not likely to suffer damage. I decided to give the Tiger a warm reception so, ordering rapid fire with solid shot, got the gunner to aim carefully at the gun barrel as it turned. With the tension building up as the gun continued to turn towards us, we kept firing. With less than half its length showing the movement stopped, slowly then the gun started to withdraw until it disappeared behind the building. 鈥淲e鈥檒l have to watch out for that thing,鈥� said the gunner, 鈥淚 doubt if we鈥檝e damaged it.鈥�

Squadron HQ sent a simple message 鈥� 鈥淗old your positions and don鈥檛 let the enemy through to the west.鈥� Over to our left, we heard a loud bang as a tank on that flank was hit by an A.P. shot; we could see smoke rising from the 鈥榖rewed鈥� tank in the vineyard. I decided to go forward and have a word with the troop sergeant, and seconds later, I was standing on the back of his tank discussing the danger points to watch for, especially the house on the corner and our right flank. That done, I said 鈥淐heerio鈥� and jumped down by the side of his tank when I heard what sounded like a bang, a roar and a crack all rolled into one, followed by a hissing sound which blew me to the ground and flung me some yards to the rear of the tank. I came round a few seconds later, I heard voices and getting to my feet, rather drunkenly, I suspect, found my right hand and arm quite useless; it hung limply by my side and I recall feeling my fingers with my left hand and thinking 鈥榳ell they鈥檙e still there.鈥�

The situation now came sharply into focus; the tank had been hit and the sergeant was being lifted down from the tank by the driver and co-driver, he had a smashed leg. Fortunately the tank was not on fire and the two drivers now helped down the badly wounded wireless operator; he had been pushed out by the gunner. In fact, instead of jumping out himself he had got the wireless operator from his seat, under the gun, and then lifted him out where willing hands hauled him out. The driver climbed back on to the tank to get the gunner out, but at this moment, a second shot crashed through the turret. The driver was blown to the ground, shaken but not bruised, but from the turret we heard a choking cry and a groan 鈥� then silence as the tank suddenly burst into flames. If any man died for his friend, that young man did 鈥� he knew, as we all did, that any delay in getting out could be fatal. We got the survivors to safe positions and called for a 鈥楬oney鈥� (a Sherman without a turret used as transport) to transport the wounded.

The wireless operator, poor lad, had suffered serious wounds and was barely conscious. He had been sitting with his arm on his knee when the shell came through, severing his leg at the thigh and his hand just above the wrist; not only that but he had been badly cut by splinters and shrapnel. By this time the tank was well alight and it was only a matter of time before the ammunition started to explode. We made the wireless operator as comfortable as we could, when he suddenly opened his eyes and looking earnestly at me, he said, 鈥淥h hello sir, do me a favour will you?鈥� 鈥淵es, of course I will, but don鈥檛 talk, the Honey will be along soon and you鈥檒l be off to the Field Dressing Station.鈥� He half smiled and in a weak voice continued, 鈥淭hanks, I want you to write to my mother, tell her I鈥檝e done my best.鈥� Mercifully he drifted into unconsciousness as the 鈥楬oney鈥� came to a halt by the rear tanks. Willing hands lifted him on to a stretcher and carried him to the waiting 鈥楬oney鈥�.

Although we were used to losses in battle, I felt deeply the loss of these two young men, but there is little time for dreaming, a voice brought me back to reality, 鈥淪ir, I鈥檇 get the hell out of here before the tank blows itself to bits.鈥� From inside the burning tank, I could hear the ammunition exploding, so I got out 鈥� and fast! By now the use was returning to my hand and arm so, climbing into my tank, we watched for any further signs of the enemy, but nothing moved and I suspected they had withdrawn. We had been very lucky, and thankful, that we had not been raked with machine gun fire while bailing out; this had happened to other crews so very often. Why, I wondered, could it be that our adversary had a sense of chivalry lacking in many of his compatriots? The infantry took over our positions that night and we pulled back to harbour nearby. Our young wireless operator died as he reached the F.D.S.

Next morning, we were kept in reserve. The Medical Officer paid us a visit and had a look at my arm, which was swollen and very painful. I was ordered to go back for treatment as the arm was cut above the elbow by a piece of tank or shell and it had gone septic. The Regiment had been taken out of line for the present, so I could not argue. This gave me a few days for treatment, and rest, and to help the wound heal. It was good to be out of battle and it all seemed strangely quiet. I was sent to a large house near Lake Trasimento and nearby was the village of Monte Petriolo. The inhabitants were poor but friendly and hospitable and I used to drop into the carpenter鈥檚 workshop for a chat and to meet the locals. My few days passed all too quickly and I soon found myself heading back to Squadron, but not before I had done one of the jobs I had hoped I would never have to do, to write to the next-of-kin of those of my troop, killed in action. In those peaceful surroundings at the house, I found it hard to write to mothers concerning sons they would not see again.

Pr-BR

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