Field Maneuvers in Germany

During the Vietnam era, while many soldiers were heading to Southeast Asia, I was stationed in Germany as a Military Policeman. From time to time we worked in the field with the 24th Infantry during large training maneuvers across the German countryside.

One of our regular duties was moving ahead of the armored units to set up traffic control points. The tank convoys, usually long lines of M60 and support vehicles, would move slowly along narrow rural roads.

Our job was to leapfrog ahead of them. We would drive several miles in front of the convoy, find an intersection or small crossroads, and set up a checkpoint to stop civilian traffic. Once the tanks passed through, we would quickly pack up, jump back into the jeep, and race ahead again to the next intersection to do it all over.

Many times this happened at night.

The German countryside could be pitch black. There were no city lights out in those farming areas, just dark forests and quiet villages. You could sometimes hear the tanks before you saw them — the deep rumble of their engines carrying across the fields.

When the M60 finally appeared out of the darkness, they seemed enormous. Their silhouettes moved slowly down the road, steel tracks grinding against the pavement while diesel exhaust hung in the cold night air.

Standing at a lonely intersection in the middle of rural Germany, directing traffic while tanks rolled past one after another, you felt very small compared to all that machinery.

But it was part of the job, and we did it night after night during those maneuvers.

Night Checkpoint

One night during maneuvers I was posted at a turn where the tank column had to leave the main road and move onto a smaller country road. I was standing in the darkness with nothing but a yellow signal flashlight to guide them.

The countryside was completely black. No lights, no traffic, just quiet farmland. Then I heard the sound. First a distant rumble. Then the grinding clatter of steel tracks against pavement. The M60A1 tanks were coming.

Soon the first tank appeared out of the darkness, its shape barely visible except for the faint reflection of my signal light on the metal. I waved the yellow beam, directing it to make the turn.

It swung wide and followed the road just like it was supposed to.

Then another tank came.

This one seemed different.

Instead of turning, it kept rolling straight toward me.

For a second I thought maybe the driver couldn’t see me. Or maybe he just didn’t like MPs very much. Either way, sixty tons of tank was moving in my direction.

I stepped backward as far as I could without leaving my position, still waving the light.

The rumbling grew louder. The ground vibrated under my boots.

The tank kept coming.

Finally I glanced down—and saw the steel track passing about a foot from my boots.

The massive machine rumbled past, the tracks grinding along the pavement close enough that I could have reached out and touched them.

For a moment I stood there frozen, listening as the tank finally turned and continued down the road behind me.

Then the next tank came along like nothing unusual had happened.

Out there in the dark German countryside, directing armor with nothing more than a small flashlight, it occurred to me that sometimes being an MP could be a lot more exciting than people imagined.