I'm here to tell the tale of Hermie,
a true American Shermie,
the little Sherman who could.
Fresh off the boat at Normandy,
his paint gleaming new.
Unscathed by schrek or shell,
eager to expend his fuel.
As the sounds of battles raged,
down to road to Carentan,
Hermie gunned his engines,
eager to help the men.
His company CO smiled sadly,
at his youthful enthusiasm.
Unbeknownst to Hermie,
he was just another tool.
No upgun,
no fifty-cal,
No smoke grenade shells.
Hermie was just another tank,
to slow the Axis hordes.
Another sacrificial lamb,
to feed the Gods of war.
And then the order came,
And Hermie raced off towards battle,
guns primed and loaded,
his small cannon eager to spit its shell.
The flank was broken,
wounded men streamed on by.
A platoon of Axis volks pursued,
eager to shoot goodbye.
And Hermie charged forth,
both his machine guns blazing,
and with a resounding BOOM,
scattered the volks with his fury.
The volks began to flee,
Hermie went on a shooting spree,
but felt his skin split,
as a cloaked PAK succeeded in a hit.
Wounded by 3 straight shots,
Hermie howled in pain,
as inexperienced Engineers,
began to patch him up.
But time waits for no tank,
as an Axis Panzer rolled up,
and began to shoot men up.
Still bleeding from his wounds,
Hermie answered the call,
traded blows with the Beast,
and once again retreated to be healed.
And time after time,
infantry swarmed the line,
and time after time,
Hermie held the line.
A Panzer charged into the fray,
and began to pound riflemen flat.
Upon seeing Hermie and a Wolverine,
began to fall on back.
Hermie and his companion chased,
firing shell after shell,
and even when his companion blew,
the injured Hermie insisted on sending the Panzer to hell.
Hermie's small cannon boomed,
and its shell split the air,
buried its head into the Panzer,
and blew it all to hell.
And Hermie continued to fight,
refusing to fall off the line.
Twice more ambushed by PAKs,
and twice more survived their shells.
Then a ferocious beast broke through the lines,
and unleashed its horrible rage,
upon all that met its gaze.
Bloodied bone and twisted metal,
was all it left behind.
57 mils hurriedly turned around,
praying not to be found.
The Beast roared,
spitting its furious wrath,
rending flesh from bone,
and metal from bolts.
Injured by the stings of 57 mils,
The beast rounded a corner,
hidden from their sights.
And brave little Hermie,
his health bar nearly spent,
Bravely rolled on forth,
And faced the Beast's Maw.
The Beast turned its turret to track,
and Hermie sped on by,
barely avoiding,
its terribly lethal gaze.
And Hermie opened fire,
his round aimed true,
and split the great Beast open,
and in all directions its parts flew.
And still Hermie kept on fighting,
from the 12th minute to the forty-fifth,
and only when the battle was won,
did Hermie bid the field adieu.
Gentlemen, I present to you Hermie, a true American Sherman.
He stopped countless infantry rushes, wiped out several cloaked Stormtrooper commandoes, survived 3 PAK ambushes, destroyed 2 Panzer 4s, and sent a Tiger Tank to the scrapyard.
In 1 game, he went from a fresh, 0 XP, to a vet-2, 150 XP Sherman. (Vet 3 is 250 XP).
I fully expect him to be blown to scrap in his next battle, but till then, let it be known to the world, the Tale of Hermie, the little Sherman, who could.
