Memories of Serving in the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment
In the Field
In the early 1960’s, the Troopers of A Troop, 1st Squadron, 14th ACR in Fulda, Germany, were becoming very tired of our young commander’s almost fanatical insistence on cover and concealment and noise and light discipline when we trained “in the field” (meaning outside Downs Barracks conducting military exercises or maneuvers).
I recall, for example, that we were tasked to be the aggressor force during a particular field training exercise (FTX). We took up positions on a hillside and immediately went into our now familiar routine. Camouflaged everything in sight. All hatches opened and latched. Interior lights turned to battle red. All radio speakers set to the lowest volume. No loud talking, running engines or smoking in the open—almost total silence and darkness.
Our foe soon moved on to another hillside across the valley. They cranked up engines and changed positions. They stumbled around with flashlights, yelling and cursing. rattled their mess kits, slammed hatches. What a show! We sat in our tank turrets and jeep fenders looking at each other and shaking our heads in amazement.
We struck at first light. (Come on, guys. We are Cavalry! You had to know we would drop in for a visit bright and early.) Our raid was a resounding success. Later, during the critique, the very amused umpires informed us that although we were sitting in our opponent’s laps all night, they never realized we were there.
Oh, we still called our troop commander, Capt. Norman Harms, “Old Noise and Light Norm,” but with a whole new sense of respect and appreciation.
Tank Saved by Girl
One beautiful afternoon, while slowly moving through a small village near Fulda, the gas pedal in my M48A2 tank suddenly went to the floor. The engine dropped to idle and the tank ground to a halt. I ran back along the fender and threw open the grill doors. Sure enough, the throttle linkage had come apart. Everything was there except the cotter pin
that held the pivot together.
As I finished examining the engine compartment, I noticed a group of children had gathered to get a closer look at the noise-making behemoth now sitting silent. In particular, I saw a young girl about 11 or 12 years old, her long blond hair held back by Bobbi pins. I tapped her on the head. She looked up. I tapped one of the Bobbi pins. “Bitte?” She immediately pulled it out and handed it to me.
I re-assembled the pivot using the Bobbi pin to secure it, gave the linkage a couple of test yanks, flashed her a grin and a thumbs up, and off we went.
I like to think that somewhere in Germany today, when a certain family gets together, the youngsters start whispering, “I wonder if Grandma is going to tell that whopper again about the day she fixed a tank with a hair pin.” Yes, my dear, you and your Bobbi pin certainly saved the day for one American tank crew.
Eugene Artz, Specialist 5th Class
Tank Driver, A Troop, 1st Squadron, 14th ACR
March 1961-September 1963
Retired from the U.S. Air Force as a Master Sergeant