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Barkmann wipes the back of his hand across his forehead before lowering his cap back on his sweat-soaked hair. He watches the company supply sergeant run back from the corner ahead, as a dust cloud creeps closer on the horizon.
“American tanks on the road at 500 metres,” Hauptscharführer Heinze pants, looking up at Barkmann leaning from the command hatch of their Panther tank.
“Excellent,” Barkmann replies. “We will attack.” He switches his throat mike on. “Driver, forward, halt under the next large tree. That should stop the aircraft from finding us and give us an excellent place to ambush the column from.”
The wait is not long, as Panther 424 idles in position, unnoticed by the slowly advancing Americans. Barkmann scans a road ahead, the thick Bocage creating a narrow lane. “Poggendorf, target Ami Panzer, 200 meters. Fire,” he orders.
The heavy Panther rocks back with a roar as the 7.5cm round flies towards its target. The lead M4 Sherman tank explodes in a dazzling display of sparks, even before the dust from the muzzle blast clears. Time stands still as the loader rams round after round in the smoking breech, each shot rocking their tank as enemy tank after tank explodes just to his front. Return shots bounce off the thick steel of the Panther, the American guns unable to score a kill. Carefully, he pulls back to the next tree, resuming the fight from there.
Hearing the scream of aircraft engines in a steep dive, Barkmann drops into the turret, just as the tank is lifted into the air on the blast of the first bomb. The Panther is sprayed with bomb fragments. Moans come from his headphones and daylight streams through a crack in the side of the tank.
“Heinz,” Barkmann calls to his driver, his voice lost in the ringing of his ears, “Can we still move? Can you get us out of here?”
As the Panther tank’s fire slackens, the American fire redoubles. A round clangs against the armour. Another smashes the track damaged by the bomb, forcing 424 to slew violently to the left. The tank lurches again, and then grinds back around the corner, grunts of pain accompanying every movement of the vehicle.
“Poggendorf, see what you can do for Heinz,” Barkmann orders. “We must get back to the workshop so we can fight again tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Oscharf,” Heinz breathes through gritted teeth, “I’m not leaving 424 for the Americans. We’ll make it home.” The Panther pulls out for home under the fading sun, leaving behind nine smouldering Sherman tanks on the field of battle: not a bad day’s work!
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