Hitler's Panzers (51 page)

Responsibility for creating the conditions for armor to operate belonged to the infantry divisions. They were not expected to operate alone. American know-how and productive capacity would deliver any number of armored fighting vehicles a fully mobilized army might require. Mobilization plans provided for independent tank battalions to support and cooperate with them on a more or less one-to-one basis, similar to the original German concept of the assault gun.

The US Army had another expected ace in the hole. In 1940 none of Europe’s armies, even the Soviet Union, intended to pit tanks against tanks as a matter of course. Given the vehicles’ relative scarcity, such tactics made no more sense than a chess player seeking to exchange queens as an opening gambit. The preferred counter was the towed antitank gun. America developed an alternative: high-velocity guns on self-propelled carriages. The definitive initial Tank Destroyer—a literal, conscious translation of the German Panzerjaeger—was the M-10: a three-inch- high velocity gun in a lightly armored, open-topped turret on a modified Sherman chassis, relying on surprise, speed, and shock against its better-protected adversaries.

The tank destroyer concept has been so sharply and systematically criticized that its genesis is often overlooked. The motto of “seek, strike, destroy” was meant to be applied against the kind of tanks operational in the early 1940s. The M-10’s three-inch gun was at the time of its adoption as good as any armor- piercing weapon on tracks, even the 76mm gun of the Russian T-34. Doctrine called for using tank destroyers in masses—at peak strength there were over a hundred battalions—to stop massive, high-speed, flexible attacks of the kind that took the Germans to the gates of Moscow.

Tank destroyers were, in short, not a bad idea at the time. Ironically they were intended to counter just the kind of operation the overstrained panzers were never able to mount against American forces that were consistently on the offensive. And on the offensive, tank destroyers were enough out of their element to be without a role—particularly as the nature of German tanks changed. With their thin armor and relatively high silhouettes, M10s “stalking” Panthers or Tigers resembled nothing so much as ants attacking an armadillo.

The Shermans were left on their own. Were they good enough? In North Africa, then in Sicily and Italy, American tankers regularly encountered up-gunned Panzer IVs, Panthers, and Tigers. On the whole the Shermans coped—not perfectly, but they coped. To supplement the medium-velocity gun, the US introduced a 76mm design based on the M-10s three-inch. Intended primarily to engage tanks with armor-piercing rounds, the gun was something of an afterthought in the contexts of doctrine that still discounted tank-versus-tank combat, and of experience that asserted the importance of tanks in direct support of infantry. It was correspondingly unpopular among senior officers who preferred the more versatile medium-velocity 75. The proportion of 76mm Shermans in the armored divisions reached an average of a third only at the end of 1944. For the independent battalions, it stabilized at a little over a fourth.

The British took a different tack, mounting their 17-pounder antitank gun—ballistically a rough equivalent of the German 88—in one out of four of their Shermans. In the weeks after D-Day, none of the alternatives proved optional. The 75mm gun was ineffective against German frontal armor at any but near-suicidal ranges. American crews quickly learned that the 76mm was second-rate. To make it better fit a Sherman turret, the Ordnance Department reduced the barrel by over a foot, correspondingly reducing muzzle velocity, ballistic effectiveness, and armor penetration. The Firefly was an excellent tank killer, but its long barrel stood out from the Sherman shorthorns, making it a distinctive and favorite target.

Bocage restricted maneuver. Enough German tanks were present to provide far closer mutual support than had been common in North Africa and Italy. Crew losses mounted; crew morale declined. Awkward questions were raised in Parliament, thanks in good part to the Establishment connections of the Guardsmen riding tanks. Eisenhower contacted Chief of Staff George Marshall demanding that AFVs with 90mm guns be made available as soon as possible. Allied heavy bombers even devoted some effort to knocking out the Reich’s tank factories.

US armored divisions were reorganized prior to D-Day, and the number of by-now nearly useless light tanks reduced to a fourth of their strength. The reconfigured divisions, with three battalions each of tanks, infantry in half-tracks, and self-propelled light howitzers, were significantly more mobile than their German and Soviet counterparts. But with only slightly more than 10,000 men, their shock and staying powers were so limited that after the war, a board recommended adding three infantry battalions and virtually doubling the division’s size.

The new organization reflected the updated field manual released in January 1944, which addressed destroying enemy forces in combat more than did its predecessor, but continued to stress the armored division’s primary role as offensive operations in enemy rear areas. This had worked well enough in Sicily, where George Patton kept the 2nd Armored Division concentrated and used it for exploitation, most notably in the 100-mile lunge to capture Palermo. Admittedly resistance was light, but US armored divisions had never been intended to engage their panzer counterparts directly. German and Soviet armor created opportunity; Americans developed it. Tank killing fell, albeit by default, to artillery and air power.

Nor were Soviet-style deep operations part of the Allied repertoire. Operational art was irrelevant to Britain’s fundamentally maritime strategic paradigm. It required 40 years to develop in the US after World War II, and even then was presented with more enthusiasm than understanding. No specialized armored higher headquarters existed or evolved in either army. US armored divisions were usually allocated among standard corps in a ratio of one to two or three infantry divisions. That reflected both Eisenhower’s broad-front strategy and America’s policy of deploying the smallest possible army. The “90-division gamble” meant armored divisions had to be kept up front instead of being concentrated panzer-fashion.

That the British, after briefly testing the use of massed armor in Normandy, accepted a similar system reflected the fact that the Allied armies were fully motorized.
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The race across France and Belgium showed infantry divisions could keep pace with the armor in a way neither the Germans nor the Soviets could match, while heavily concentrated armor tended to get in its own way. The riflemen were also supported by armor on a scale considered jaw-dropping by Landser standards. An American infantry division on the offensive could usually count on a battalion of fifty Shermans and another of three dozen tank destroyers able to serve as assault guns manqué or to tie into the radio network as supplementary fire support. Its British counterpart could call on up to a brigade of Shermans or Churchills, the latter roughly a better-protected, turreted counterpart of the Sturmgeschütz IIIF, plus a family of specialized armor: flame-throwing tanks, mine-clearing tanks, and tanks with turrets removed and converted to armored personnel carriers.

It nevertheless remains defensible to suggest that in terms of doctrine and material, Allied armor on D-Day was ideally configured to defeat the panzers of Operation Blue. Technical changes during the campaign were marginal. The M-18 Hellcat tank destroyer, introduced in late 1943, could make the incredible top speed of 55 miles per hour, but had almost no protection and carried the same 76mm gun as the new mark of Sherman. Although official tank destroyer doctrine still considered a heavy gun unnecessary, a 90mm gun on a modified M-10 chassis went into production in April 1944. By V-E Day, 22 battalions of them were on the ground in the European Theater of Operations. The M-26 tank, whose heavy armor, 90mm gun, and 48-ton weight made it a reasonable counter to the Panther, was not standardized until 1945; only around 200 were serving with the armored divisions when the war ended.

US design and procurement agencies did manage to develop and introduce by late 1944 the definitive light tank of World War II. Weighing a bit over 18 tons, with a medium-velocity 75mm gun adapted from an aircraft model and a top speed of 35 miles per hour, the M-24 was ideal for 1941. In 1944 all it needed was a buggy whip.

On the British side the number of Fireflies was doubled. More 17-pounders were mounted on more Lend-Lease M-10s, and on obsolescent tank chassis, of which there were so many in Britain’s inventory. At best these were stopgaps. But British tank designers, who for much of the war might as well have been working for the other side, finally got it right with the Comet, a fast 35-ton Panther killer with a modified 17-pounder gun and a better all- round tank than the M-26. But only a single armored division received the new vehicles during the war. The even better Centurion set postwar standards of effectiveness for years, but only began field trials in May 1945, reflecting a government decision to delay projects that could not enter service in 1944. The bureaucrats responsible did not have to clean human remains from burned-out Sherman hulls.

With those points made, others can be offered as counterweights. Stephen Zaloga appropriately observes that technical comparisons and tank-on-tank duels are disproportionately interesting to battle buffs and war gamers, particularly with the development of computerized visuals. In fact, the number of tank-versus-tank battles fought during the European campaign was limited, and many of those were small scale, involving a half dozen on each side. Postwar research, moreover, indicated that in those situations the most important factor was reaction time: seeing first, firing first, and hitting first. Second came tactics: positioning and movement. Technical comparisons were less significant.

An experienced crew, or a well-trained one, had a better chance in a direct confrontation. On the other hand, a poor crew with an inferior tank in a hull-down position, or on the flank or rear, had at least a first-strike edge over better men advancing in a state-of-the-art AFV. That held true even for the much- vilified tank destroyers. British M-10s manned by artillerymen successfully engaged Panzer IVs in Normandy; M-18s showed well against attacking Panthers at Arrancourt and many another now-forgotten sites.

“Advancing,” however, is the operative word. About half of all Allied tank losses in the European theater of operations came from high-velocity gunfire. British and Americans alike tended to describe any such round as an 88. Case studies suggest that as many as three-fourths were in fact 75mm. These could have come from Panthers or Panzer IVs, assault guns or open-topped tank destroyers—and not least from the towed antitank guns, whose crews contributed heavily to German defensive successes in Normandy. One or two well-positioned, well- camouflaged Pak 75s (and the Russian Front had made the Germans experts in concealment) could slow the boldest tankers until infantry could arrive to finish them off. And the gunners often had a good chance of getting clear to fight again before matters reached grenade range.

“Advancing” might also be cited as an adjective modifying the positive consequences of the Sherman’s well-established mechanical reliability. While it is certainly preferable to have tanks on line rather than under repair, recently available German statistics for the Eastern Front make clear that the crucial variable in maintenance was ability to recover the vehicle. In the predominantly offensive campaign for Northwest Europe, where the Allies generally occupied the battlegrounds, would it have been any more difficult to salvage a less-reliable tank with higher survivability in combat?

Much clearer is the fact that missions shaped proficiency. By 1944, as the previous chapter indicates, the panzers were configured by equipment and experience to fight other mechanized forces, whether by holding a front or counterattacking. Most Allied tank engagements were combined-arms operations involving buildings and entrenchments, troops caught in the open and unarmored vehicles. A Sherman in an American armored division might carry as little as a third of its gun ammunition in armor-piercing rounds. Machine guns could be used more often than the main armament in “routine” situations: the .50-caliber on the turret of most Shermans chewed through earth and walls with devastating effect.

It is correspondingly reasonable to suggest that tank crews conditioned to that kind of fighting might lose a little of the type of situational awareness required for tank-on-tank action. But the panzers were always somewhere in the background. Any German tank encountered could take on the dimensions of a Panther or Tiger. Allied and Japanese airmen in the Pacific similarly reported destroyers as cruisers and cruisers as battleships. Stress and adrenaline were major factors; panzer crews in Russia were no less prone to upgrade their opposition for scoring purposes and bragging rights.

Armor revisionists are fond of stating—accurately—that only three Tiger battalions fought in Normandy, all in the British sector. It is no less true that in their greatest number, during the Battle of the Bulge, Panthers were only a quarter of the AFVs committed—even before they started breaking down. But in the middle distance on a cloudy day, the differences between a Panzer IVJ and a Tiger can be difficult to discern even without the distractions of combat. What stood out was their common feature: the long-barreled, high-velocity gun calculated to make instant believers of US Ordnance types more interested in engines and transmissions than in weapons design.

DURING THE AUTUMN of 1944, in the aftermath of the failed attempt on Hitler’s life on July 20, and in the aftermath of the Red Army’s colossal breakthroughs in the East, the Nazi regime and the German people mobilized their last reserves of ferocity and fanaticism. The propaganda vision of a people’s community at arms and the free rein given to violence on both foreign and home fronts enhanced a pattern of exploitation and dehumanization already permeating German society from the factories to the countryside. Rationality gave way to passion and to fear as retribution loomed for a continent’s worth of crimes.