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Paperback
Published September 30, 2021
By this time, the sun had risen and it promised to be a warm and sunny day. Render rolled up his battledress sleeves, which immediately prompted a rebuke from his instructor. Lesson No. 1 was to always protect the skin from unnecessary burns. Lesson No. 2 was to keep looking through his binoculars. Lesson No. 3: ‘Don’t get out of the tank and go swanning about. You get killed doing that.’ Fearn was clearly thinking of Keith Douglas. Lesson No. 4 was not to close the turret hatches down, because then the tank and crew were virtually blind. No. 5 was never to wear a helmet – it was an easy target for snipers and got in the way. No. 6 was to put it instead on the machine-gun bracket on the turret with goggles on the rim. ‘The German snipers often think it’s your head,’ Fearn said, ‘and shoot it instead.’ Finally, Lesson No. 7: ‘Don’t ever raise your voice excitedly over the radio net.’ It was all rather bewildering, but Render recognized he was being given sound advice and determined to follow it religiously.and occasionally there's the absurd:
Aren’t you under a misapprehension about the target?’ Peter Selerie cut in. ‘Surely it is a cow? Over.’ ‘I’ve never seen a cow with a turret on it before,’ Dring replied. ‘Out.’The unit's constant drip of casualties continue up to and then over the Rhine, with the acknowledgment that although some things improve, others stay the same:
So often in the war, technological advances in weaponry developed faster than man’s effective means of operating it. Lancaster bombers could drop immense amounts of ordnance with increasing accuracy as the war progressed, yet the men flying in these tin cans were no better protected by the end of the war than they were when the Lancaster was first delivered to front-line squadrons in early 1942. By August 1944, Fireflies had been issued with a new kind of shell: an APDS – armour-piercing discarding sabot – which when fired had a velocity of over 4,000 feet per second. The dreaded German 88mm fired at around 2,900 feet per second. That was quite a difference. Yet Shermans remained underarmoured – and were deeply uncomfortable places to be, the hatches barely big enough to offer an escape route, and the concoction of fumes, dust and grit as noxious as when they first appeared on the battlefield in North Africa. Shermans were so effective because there were lots and lots of them, and they were reliable and quick-firing. The overall aim of the Allies was to win the war as quickly as they could with as few casualties of their own as possible. However, the speed part of the deal meant that casualties were still inevitable, and that there would be lots of them.And that ultimately, no matter how impressive, overengineered and difficult to operate Panthers, Tigers and Jagdpanthers (and there seem to be an awful lot of Jagdpanthers) are, ultimately the biggest danger was a guy with a metal pipe:
worst of all for any British troops moving along this road, men with panzerfausts. The Germans had spent the war designing, building and operating an array of incredibly complex and sophisticated weaponry, but this simple, mass-produced tube of metal was ensuring there was no easy ride for the Sherwood Rangers or any other Allied troops advancing deep into Germany.All in all, the Rangers had a full war, but while the achievements are quite astounding:
They had begun the war as weekend part-time soldiers, then had been sent overseas on their horses, had performed cavalry charges with sabres drawn, had been converted to artillery, had survived the Siege of Tobruk, had been mechanized and had turned themselves into one of the finest armoured regiments in the British Army. During the war, they amassed an astonishing thirty battle honours, sixteen of them since D-Day: more than any other single unit ever in the entire British Army.the human cost, as always, is what makes you stop, just for a second:
sitting talking to Stan Perry in his garden in the June sunshine, I asked him whether he thought much about the war and the terrible losses the regiment had suffered. He was, by this time, the last surviving troop leader from the Sherwood Rangers. ‘Thinking back over the years, you don’t forget,’ he told me. He reckoned he bore three types of scars from the war. ‘There’s the first, your conscience, that you actually killed some young chap who was probably not very different from you.’ The second was what he called the conscience of the mind. ‘The mind worry. The memory. Had you been a better soldier, had you deployed differently on a certain occasion, would that have saved the life of some of your men?’ It bothered him that the orders he had given had resulted in some of his men losing their lives. ‘That hangs about,’ he said. ‘And then the other scars you have, of course, are the physical scars from wounding.’Far and away superior to the headline grabbing stuff published as books by journalists. Someone needs to pick this up and televise it. Some of the best history published in the last twelve months.