They Fly Before the Raging Bull!

Sherman VC (Firefly) of the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment, 11th Armoured Division

Newly promoted Second Lieutenant James Fitzhugh stood in the commander's hatch of his brand new Sherman VC, serial number T263030, which the men had taken to calling "Old Thirty-Thirty." He now commanded Number 3 Troop in A Squadron, 3rd Royal Tank Regiment in the 29th Armoured Brigade of the 11th Armoured Division, the "Black Bulls." Said troop consisting of one Sherman VC "Firefly" and three 75 mm gunned Sherman Vs. The latter which his crew still insisted on referring to as "The Lambs," (as in "sacrificial") even though the Germans made a point of attempting to destroy the 17-pounder equipped VCs before they worried about the Sherman Vs.

Which is why the troop commander's vehicle was typically never in the front or rear of the troop but somewhere in the middle, or, preferably, hanging back a ways in an overwatch position while the Sherman Vs "tested the water" by advancing first.

"Are you about done lads?" Fitzhugh ceased studying his map long enough to inquire if his crew were done with refueling. The other tanks in the troop were wrapping things up as well. They had just completed a sixty-mile dash from just north of Vernon (where they had crossed the Seine River) to Amiens, on the banks of the Somme River. Since leaving Flers on the 17th of August, they had traveled too many miles on the same set of tracks. Those had been replaced on all four of his troop's vehicles yesterday by their attached tank maintenance troop with the assistance of the crew of each tank. Once topped off with fuel and ammunition, they were pushing on to Arras and then Lille.

His uncle would have recognized those names from his war, 1914 to 1918, had he not died in 1927 from the effects of being gassed by the Huns. Fitzhugh understood his uncle's dislike of the Germans, he was surprised that he didn't hate them.

"Nah laddie, life's too short to go about hating folks. Dislike the bastards I do..."

"Horace, watch your language in front of the children!" Fitzhugh's mother chastised her older brother often for his language.

"Aye Maggie, sorry. Anyway Jimmy, I don't like the Huns, not a bit, but I don't hate 'em. They was trying to kill me, I was trying to kill them. But the gas, that was just wrong. For that I almost hate them."

Fitzhugh didn't hate the Germans, he despised them, especially the SS. He had seen too many executed French villagers and even a few instances of dead British POWs which the SS had killed rather than let loose or try herding along in their headlong retreat. Unofficially, his squadron didn't take SS prisoners. Unofficially.

"We're ready here Lieutenant!" His driver Corporal Tommy Ginns shouted up at him. Time to move on. The squadron commander came over the radio and gave the order, "Move out, road column, let's snap to it!"

"Another day another shilling, right Leftenant?"

"A shilling for thee, a pound Sterling for me, you dog of an enlisted swine."

"Right Sir! Stuff it Sir!" His gunner, Sgt Cecil Chapman was always riding him on his elevation to the officer ranks. Fitzhugh was sure that when the war was over he'd be lucky to revert to Sergeant!

Path of the 11th Armoured Division of which 2Lt Fitzhugh's troop is a part.
17 August to 04 September 1944
(Source)

The German Wehrmacht, which had rolled triumphantly into France over four years before, was now a shadow of its former self. Most of their armored vehicles had been destroyed in the Falaise Pocket. The 7th Army, the defenders of Normandy had been crushed, elements of the British 11th Armoured Division, the "Black Bulls" of 11th Armoured had captured that army's most recent commander, General der Panzertruppe¹ Heinrich Eberbach, outside Amiens. He had commanded the remnants of 7th Army for roughly nine days.

The Germans were fleeing on foot, using requisitioned vehicles, and anything they could get their hands on. Old French armored vehicles, modified extensively, were in evidence among the columns of retreating troops. But only if you could see them in the dark, it was suicide to travel by day. The USAAF and the RAF² had established air supremacy over France and well into Belgium and the Netherlands. Most of the Luftwaffe's fighter strength was devoted to protecting the Fatherland from round the clock bombing, the Amis by day, the Tommies by night.

(Source)

German armored units were being reconstituted far behind the lines from the remnants of once proud Panzer units. Many of which were then transferred to the East, to be ground up in the meat grinder which was the Russian Front. A front which was now far from Russia itself as the Red Army pushed deeper into Poland and the Baltic States. To the south the Russians had overrun most of Romania. The end was all but certain.

But for whatever reasons - honor, their oath to Hitler³, pride, the Germans were not ready to surrender. The forces in the West fell back, delaying the Allies where they could, though supply problems were starting to slow some of the Allied spearheads without any resistance.

If the Wehrmacht could make it to Belgium and the line of the Albert Canal they might be able to halt the Allied advance short of the Rhine. It was their only hope.

Bundesarchiv

Bundesarchiv

Many Germans surrendered, bereft of hope and the will to fight, they simply gave up.

Imperial War Museum

But enough fought on to make the Allied advance a trial for the soldiers involved. While victory was in the air, many more men would die and be wounded before that victory was sealed. But the end was near.

All that remained was to total up the cost of that victory...





¹ General of Armored Troops
² The United States Army Air Forces and the Royal Air Force, respectively
³ On the 16th of March 1935, all members of the German military swore an oath to Adolf Hitler personally. Not to the German people or government, not to the laws of the land, but an oath to a single man, Hitler.

Editor's note: At 1511 hours local on Thursday the 13th of August, my daughter, The Nuke, gave birth to a 7 pound 9 ounce healthy baby boy, mother and son are doing well. Through the wonders of modern technology, I've already video chatted with her and my son-in-law. The newest member of my tribe, who we call Robbie, for that is his name (Robert Ryan) is a handsome lad, no brag, just fact. I am very, very happy.