Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

By late afternoon of D-Day, two companies of American tanks, the medium size Sherman M4s and the M10 tank destroyers, rolled onto the Paestum beach. Nick placed their tank in a defensive position, waiting for orders to move out. He scrutinized the area, realizing that this was far worse than the Gela beaches of Sicily. His eyes squinted at the dead bodies strewn everywhere in murky water and on the beach. The blood was already changing color in the water and he could hear the unmistakable sounds of German 88mm cannon fire booming in the distance. Nick felt the muscles in his calves tighten at the mere sound of it. He was glad that he didn’t have to drive at that moment. Nathan looked aghast, his eyes welling up at the sight of body parts strung along the beach. He took the canteen from his belt and gulped the water in big mouthfuls.

Paul and Al turned their heads from the beach scene and busied themselves, Paul checking the operating system of the gun and Al positioning the ammo. Paul’s eyes twitched while he examined the equipment and Al’s hands shook as he moved some of the shells, as the sound of the Acht-achts, a term everyone used for the feared eight-eight shells, were getting closer and closer, pounding every minute. A piss stain spread on Al’s groin area, which caught the eye of Nathan who was checking to see if they were ready for action.

Within seconds Nathan spilled water from his canteen. “Sorry I got you all wet, Al.” While Al pried the wet pants from his legs, Nathan fumbled with the aluminum flask before managing to attach it to his belt. He screamed over the booming rounds: “Guess we’re all jumpy.”

The medics were still taking care of countless wounded, while a detail of men removed the bodies or what was left of them for burial. Nick crossed himself and muttered: “Mother of God.” Things were degenerating the further they moved up the boot of Italy and he was anxious about the ensuing combat along this path.

Over the next ten days the Fifth Army would experience what was later called some of the fiercest fighting in the war. After a tactical group of tanks assembled on the beach, Nathan’s crew was sent out in advance to scout the position of the Acht-achts. Just before they left, a report came in from the shifting front, describing how an 88mm gun cut a hole through two sides of a Sherman M4 tank and obliterated wide clusters of infantrymen.

On the second day of the operation, Nick drove their tank destroyer beyond Paestum to find where the Acht-achts were hidden. As they proceeded north up highway 18, Nathan directed Nick to cruise east at a fork on a country road. He had him stop on the side of the road to study his terrain map, when he spotted the telltale, smoke puffs from a battery of Acht-achts camouflaged in a small forest behind Persano.

Nathan panned the area with his field glasses. “Massive column of Panzer IV tanks heading south,” he shouted. “On auxiliary road from Eboli. Can’t believe it’s General Herr’s 16th Panzers in counterattack.” The field glasses slipped from his fingers, dangling from the neck. “We’re in deep shit, Nick! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

When Nathan came across the first signal corps outpost, an air strike was called in to knock out the 88mm guns in the forest near Persano. By the time Nathan’s crew reached the midpoint of their return, several companies of Sherman M4 tanks passed them up, speeding straight for the Eboli road. Their tank destroyer squadron must have taken another route, so Nathan ordered Nick to turn around and follow the medium tank column. The Panzer IV tanks had already spread across the valley and Sherman M4s met the enemy in a deafening tank battle.

“Nick, I can see orange flashes,” Nathan called out over the headsets. “We’re going to run behind the M4s parallel to the battle line. So we can reconnoiter before our company gets here.”

“Got it, Nate,” Nick responded.

“Paul and Al, ready the gun for rapid fire.”

They followed the sound of the pounding guns in the distance and, when they were in the right position, they crossed the field of fire at the rear of the battlefield. What started out as a reconnaissance mission turned into a terrifying exchange of firepower. They could see that the M4s were taking a lot of hits. Shells were exploding all over the place but their tank had the advantage of not being pinned down at the forward position. This would be their opportunity for a swift decisive action, while waiting for the tank destroyer reinforcements.

“Nick, we’re going to run the other way, only we’ll be firing instead of looking, right behind the M10s. Paul and Al, are you listening?”

“We hear you,” they said.

“We have to be extremely careful before we shoot. Don’t want to knock out one of our own. We’ve seen enough casualties from friendly fire. Nick, move at full speed, then stop dead every time when you see a gap wide enough between the M4s. Paul and Al make each shot count.”

With incredible precision Nathan’s crew made the last run, pacing the tank, and kept rapidly firing rounds at turrets, a weak spot for the German tanks. They set aflame three of the Panzer IV tanks, encouraging the Sherman M4s to move forward aggressively with the oncoming tank destroyers suddenly filling in from behind with Captain Monroe in the lead and Nathan’s crew rejoining the company. More Panzer IVs replaced the ones out of commission, so it was a critical time for naval gun support, which Captain Monroe called in over the radio. Within a short while, a pair of P-51s were overhead spotting for the cruisers, Philadelphia and Savannah, which drove 6-inch shells into the armor of the German tanks, eventually forcing them to retreat all the way back to Eboli. At the end of the day, Captain Monroe commended Nathan’s crew for their courage and initiative. “Gentlemen, I only heard of one other tank crew having so many enemy tank kills in one battle. Total of Five Panzers destroyed in my field report. Outstanding!”

It took ten days for Operation Avalanche to be successful in driving the Nazis past Naples, not the two days that General Clark expected. Nick’s squadron was being held back in reserve, rather than continuing north in the mountains towards the Gustav Line. During this time neither Nick and his buddies nor anyone else, not even the brass, could ever have predicted the ferocity of the fighting north in the Battle for Rome. It was one German defensive line after another, reminiscent of trench warfare during World War I. The Allies battled every day for slivers of wet, lice-infested, treacherous terrain, changing sides so many times that it was difficult to know who and where the combatants were in hills of fog and gun smoke, the bilious smell of decaying bodies everywhere. The casualty roster expanded every day on both sides within the death trap of Cassino.

There were vivid accounts in the newspapers and no shortage of rumors among Nick’s tank squadron. While waiting for new orders, Nathan and the crew busied themselves maintaining their tank and writing letters. Nick grasped that they had been lucky to be held back, but what would happen next to them was anybody’s guess. At the beginning of the New Year, they knew something was up when they got notice of a new, amphibious exercise.

“Not another goddamned, amphibious assault!” Nick blurted out.

“Sure as hell looks that way,” Nathan said, as the four of them, without another word, retreated to their tent to lose themselves in letters from home, old and new.

The Battle of Anzio, Operation Shingle, began on January 22, 1944. Nick’s tank destroyer squadron was attached to the 1st U.S. Armored Division, commanded by Major General Harmon. Their squadron was held in reserve, so the tension magnified for Nathan’s crew. Nick tried not to dwell on bad things, but he saw it in his comrades’ faces and felt it himself as they waited in their tank—the imminent risks stark, right before their eyes, while the amphibious landing of the U.S. and British infantry took place on the beaches at 0200.