Patton's Panthers: The African-American 761st Tank Battalion In World War II

Patton's Panthers: The African-American 761st Tank Battalion In World War II

On the battlefields of World War II, the men of the African American 761st Tank Battalion under General Patton broke through enemy lines with the same courage with which they broke down the racist limitations set upon them by others—proving themselves as tough, reliable, and determined to fight as any tank unit in combat. Beginning in November 1944, the 761st Tank Battalion engaged the enemy for 183 straight days, spearheading many of General Patton's offensives at the Battle of the Bulge and in six European countries. No other unit fought for so long and so hard without respite. The 761st defeated more than 6,000 enemy soldiers, captured thirty towns, liberated Jews from concentration camps—and made history as the first African American armored unit to enter the war. This is the true story of the Black Panthers, who proudly lived up to their motto (Come Out Fighting) and paved the way for African Americans in the U.S. military—while battling against the skepticism and racism of the very people they fought for. Journalist Sasser, a veteran of both the army and the navy, retells the story of the first "colored" (the term in use at the time) armored unit allowed to enter combat, where it spearheaded Patton's drives, defeated more than 6,000 German soldiers, and liberated concentration camps. The unit's story, like the story of any "first," is also that of the enemies on their own side--the hatred and prejudice that had, for half a century, deliberately consigned colored military personnel to do the work no one else wanted to do. Stylistically, Sasser adopts the storyteller's approach, following various men and officers of the battalion from their homes, through training, and finally into combat in a Europe that is fast departing living memory. Much of the dialogue Sasser uses is constructed, of course, but it is convincing. Though not the first study of the 761st, this highly readable book is one of the best. Frieda Murray Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Charles W. Sasser has been a full-time freelance writer, journalist, and photographer since 1979. He is a veteran of both the U.S. Navy (journalist) and U.S. Army (Special Forces, the Green Berets), a combat veteran, and former combat correspondent wounded in action. He also served fourteen years as a police officer (in Miami, Florida, and in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where he was a homicide detective). He is author, co-author, or contributing author of more than 30 books and novels, including One Shot-One Kill and Hill 488 . Sasser now lives on a ranch in Chouteau, Oklahoma, with his wife Donna. Chapter 1 We are now in this war. We are in it all the way. Every single man, woman and child is a partner in the most tremendous undertaking of our American history. We must share together the bad news, the good news, the defeats, the victories, the changing fortunes of war. -- President Franklin D. Roosevelt A cold January rain drizzled onto the rolling red-dust hills of central Oklahoma the day Ruben Rivers walked to war. He had to walk to Tecumseh to catch the bus that would take him to join the army, because no vehicle could get down the road when it rained, not unless it was pulled by mules or horses. He seemed reluctant to take each step. He stopped and looked back down the muddy road that led past the ramshackle farmhouse behind the rusty barbed wire. There were those in the little Negro community of Holtuka who insisted this was a white man's war and that Negroes didn't belong in it. The only reason Negroes were invited was so they could cook for the white man and clean up after him while he did the fighting. Ruben didn't see it that way. This was his country, too. Hadn't the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor? Ruben and the two other older boys in the large Rivers family, Robert and Dewey, had talked of little else but the war since the sneak attack five weeks ago. Ruben was the first of them to make up his mind to go. He stood in the churned mud of the road looking back at the house. A gawky farm kid in faded overalls, brogans, and a raggedy old winter coat, seemingly stuck in a stage of growth that was neither boy nor fully man. Rainwater beaded on a smooth honey-brown face that showed traces, perhaps, of both slaves and slave owners. The jaw was strong and well defined, the eyes dark and so straight-staring they averted under no man's gaze. A lean young man going to war like millions of others from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C. Little sister Anese stood alone on the front porch waving through the drizzle. A brown little girl wearing a faded feed-sack dress Mama had sewn for her. Tears and rain in her eyes. Waving and waving. The others were out at the barn tending livestock or still inside because they couldn't stand the further heartbreak of actually watching Ruben leave home. Ruben waved a last time at his baby sister. He then turned abruptly, batted his eyes, lowered his head into the cold rain, and resolutely tru