Armageddon - Max Hastings [65]
It was standard German practice to create blocking positions with a mix of one or two well-concealed tanks or assault guns—turretless tanks which profited from their low silhouette—protected by a ring of infantry with Panzerfausts. Which attackers should approach first—footsoldiers or armour? Throughout the north-west Europe campaign, again and again advancing Allied forces played out a black comic music-hall sketch: “After you, Claude—no, after you, Cecil.” Soldiers argued under fire about who should do the business. “Teach the men to work with tanks and not be afraid of them,” urged Lieutenant Jack M. Brown of the U.S. Army. Attacking infantry often huddled behind their own tanks for protection from small-arms fire, which was fair enough. But then, if a Sherman suddenly lurched backwards down the road after spotting Panzerfausts—or, more likely, after two or three of its consorts had been knocked out—the accompanying infantry were prone to scamper backwards too. It was physically difficult for infantry leaders to communicate with armoured crews, shut down in their steel boxes under fire, even when telephones were installed at the rear of tank hulls. In both American and British armies, there was constant reciprocal backbiting. Tank crews complained that their supporting infantry lagged behind, often wilfully. Corporal Patrick Hennessy’s squadron commander said bluntly to his accompanying infantry officer: “If you won’t get in front and clear the fausts, we’re not going on.” Hennessy said: “The infantry were always trying to crowd against the tank for protection, and we kept telling them to keep away. If we hit a mine, the tank would only throw a track, but they would all be blown to bits.”
Infantrymen, in their turn, protested that their supporting tanks were too cautious. “During the advance to Metz the tanks . . . worked wonderfully with doughboys, [but after Metz] I began to notice the change,” wrote Major William Sheehan, a staff officer of the 377th Infantry. “As we went on further the tanks became more and more cautious, and the doughs were asked to do more and more. Of course the tanks are going to suffer losses. Who doesn’t? But the faith first established in the tanks is now lacking.” There was an ugly incident during 30th Division’s actions on the Siegfried Line in September, when Shermans of 2nd Armored Division supporting the infantry against a German counter-attack suddenly discovered that they were all in need of “urgent maintenance.” Lieutenant Roy Dixon, a Sherman troop commander, said: “The infantry always thought: ‘As soon as anything nasty happens, the tanks push off.’ ” Captain “Dim” Robbins, an infantryman, said: “One always felt that the tanks were having a rather cushy time. Co-operation between infantry and armour was pretty poor.”
It should be remarked, however, that the Germans were not immune to the same problem. “The infantry commander sees in the tank a cure for all difficult battle situations,” lamented a combat report of 1/24th Panzer Regiment on the Eastern Front in February 1945.
The infantry commander sees in the tank a powerful armoured monster with a huge gun, without recognising its limitations such as weak side armour, limited vision and manoeuvrability . . . Some infantrymen expect tanks only to move in one direction—forwards. Every necessary halt and pause for observation required by armoured tactics makes them impatient . . . On 14 February tanks were engaged in