COLOGNE, Germany — In the shattered heart of Germany’s fourth-largest city, American tanks from the legendary 3rd Armored Division rolled into history on March 6, 1945, engaging in what would become the most extensively documented armored confrontation of World War II — a desperate, close-quarters tank duel fought in the shadow of the Cologne Cathedral and captured frame by frame by combat cameramen who risked their lives alongside the soldiers they filmed.
The engagement, now known as the Cologne Tank Duel, pitted the newly deployed American M26 Pershing against German Panther and Mark IV tanks in a fight to the death that lasted mere minutes but has fascinated military historians for nearly eight decades. The battle unfolded as Allied forces pushed toward the Rhine River, determined to seize the vital Hohenzollern Bridge and break the last German defenses in the region.
By early March 1945, the Western Front had collapsed into a relentless American advance. The Spearhead Division — as the 3rd Armored was known — had fought continuously since Normandy, grinding through German defenses toward the Rhine. Cologne, though reduced to ruins by Allied bombing, remained a critical objective.
Its capture would open the path to the river and strike a devastating blow to German morale.
Leading the American thrust into the city was Colonel Leander Doan’s Task Force X, comprising some 45 tanks. Among them were two that would become forever linked to this battle: a Sherman 76 commanded by 26-year-old Lieutenant Karl Kellner of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, and a brand-new Pershing tank named Eagle Seven, commanded by Sergeant Bob Early. The Pershing, weighing 46 tons with 100 millimeters of frontal armor and a powerful 90-millimeter gun, represented a significant upgrade over the Sherman — though it remained largely untested in combat.
What made this engagement unique in World War II history was not merely the ferocity of the fighting but the presence of journalists, photographers, and combat cameramen embedded with the leading American elements. Staff Sergeant Jimmy Bates, Leon Rosenman, and British photographer Fred Ramage, armed only with cameras, ran the same risks as their armored comrades, meticulously documenting the advance in real time. Their footage would become some of the most iconic imagery of the entire war.
The German defenders were a patchwork of shattered units. Remnants of the badly mauled 363rd Volksgrenadier Division held positions in the area, while at least three tanks from Panzer Brigade 106 — a Mark IV and two Panthers — were thrown into the fight at the last moment in a desperate attempt to stem the American tide. Among the German tank commanders was 18-year-old gunner Gustav Schäfer, who had endured a hellish journey under constant air attack to reach the Rhine’s eastern bank.
The American plan called for a coordinated assault: units would push in on each flank to seal off escape routes, while a central column led by E and F Companies of the 32nd Armored Regiment would drive from the northwest into the city’s heart, targeting the cathedral and the Hohenzollern Bridge. The advance began in the village of Poldheim, where cameraman Jim Bates captured footage of the American column moving out at approximately 10:00 a. m.
on March 5.
Progress was steady but cautious. Infantry advanced alongside the armor, clearing houses along the route — a task requiring extraordinary courage from soldiers who had to be first through each doorway. By mid-afternoon, the tanks had reached the wider section of Venloer Strasse, a main artery leading directly to the city center.
Here, Bates filmed Early’s Eagle Seven firing toward the old cemetery as the Americans continued clearing a path eastward.
By nightfall on March 5, the western suburbs had been secured, and the famous twin spires of Cologne Cathedral were finally visible in the distance. American forces held their positions, regrouping and rearming for what would prove to be a far sterner test. Across the city, the Germans were also preparing.
Late that evening, Schäfer’s Mark IV arrived at the eastern bank of the Rhine after its harrowing journey, only to learn that the following morning he would advance directly into Cologne.
The morning of March 6 brought a critical decision. The American force split into two parallel routes: one group of four Shermans led by Eagle Seven took the Subbelrather Strasse, while a second group including Kellner’s Sherman 76 continued along Venloer Strasse. Both groups aimed to converge on the square where the cathedral stood.
The camera teams split as well, with Bates and Rosenman following the Pershing group while another team accompanied the Shermans.
Shortly before 10:00 a. m. , Schäfer received orders to advance.
Three German tanks crossed the Hohenzollern Bridge into the city. Two were immediately directed to the central station, while Schäfer’s group was ordered further west, passing the cathedral until reaching an intersection. Among the German commanders was Oberleutnant Wilhelm Bartelbarth, an experienced tank commander holding the Iron Cross first and second class, who positioned his Panther in a railway tunnel northeast of the cathedral — a location unknown to the advancing Americans.
The Pershing group, accompanied by cameraman Bates, advanced directly toward Schäfer’s Mark IV. Nerves were frayed on both sides as the tanks cautiously closed distance through rubble-filled streets. Then, without warning, a civilian vehicle driven by local grocer Michael Delling, with his 27-year-old employee Katherina Esser in the passenger seat, raced into view — apparently trying to escape the approaching firefight.
The car drove straight between the opposing tanks with tragic results.
Tense and unsure who occupied the vehicle, both Clarence Smoyer, the gunner in the Pershing, and Schäfer in the Mark IV opened fire. Riddled by machine gun rounds, the Opel slewed to a stop. Delling was killed at the wheel, and Esser was mortally wounded beside him — civilians caught in the crossfire of war, their deaths a grim reminder of the toll exacted on noncombatants.
Moments later, an enormous explosion shook the city as German pioneers blew up the Hohenzollern Rail Bridge — the last possible lifeline for German armor in Cologne. There was now no way out for the German tanks. It would be a fight to the end.
The destruction of the bridge also demoralized the German crews, sealing their fate in the battle to come.
With tracer fire alerting each tank to the other’s presence, Smoyer caught sight of the Mark IV as it hastily reversed behind a building. Though the German tank was now out of sight, its location was known. Smoyer made a decisive choice: he repeatedly slammed armor-piercing rounds into the five-story building directly in front of the enemy tank.
The resulting debris collapsed onto the Panzer, blocking its turret from rotating.
Surrounded, outgunned, and demoralized by the bridge’s destruction and the damage to their tank, Sergeant Militzer and Gustav Schäfer had finally had enough. They exited the tank and ran down the road into a side street, taking shelter in a nearby hotel basement. Three remaining crew members stayed in the damaged tank, disappearing from the pages of history.
With the path now clear, the Pershing cautiously advanced toward the cathedral, infantry and camera team in tow. But on the parallel route, events were unfolding with deadly consequences. Kellner’s Sherman and its companion tank had reached a point identifiable today by the remains of a Roman tower, just a few hundred meters from the cathedral, when destroyed buildings blocked further advance.
A specialist Sherman bulldozer was called in to clear the route. As the crews waited, cameraman Clarence Garold pointed his camera down the street at a darker area among the rubble. He could not have known that hidden in the railway tunnel was Bartelbarth’s Panther.
Seconds later, a 75-millimeter armor-piercing shell slammed into the gun shield of Kellner’s Sherman, tearing through its armor and killing driver Julian Patrick and assistant gunner Curtis Spear outright.
Approximately seven seconds later, a second shell struck the Sherman. As Garold continued filming, Lieutenant Kellner and Corporal John Gialuca emerged from the smoking turret — Kellner’s left leg clearly lost in the explosion. Gravely wounded, he made it only a few yards behind the tank before collapsing.
He died a short time later and is buried today in his hometown of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was just 26 years old.
Shocked by what they had witnessed and unaware of the enemy tank’s location, the crew of the second Sherman began to reverse for cover behind a rubble pile when it too was hit — this time in the right track by the concealed Panther. As its crew abandoned the tank, several members ran to aid the wounded Kellner, a moment captured by Fred Ramage’s photograph that later appeared in Life magazine. In less than a minute, two Shermans had been destroyed by an unseen foe, and three men had lost their lives.
Today, historians know from a letter written by Bartelbarth himself that the Panther had taken position beneath a bridge close to the railway station, spotting and hitting the two Shermans from that location. Calculations based on known points and visibility along the street — much wider today than in 1945 — indicate the shots were fired from approximately 340 meters away.
Word of the disaster quickly reached the Pershing crew. F Company’s commander contacted E Company’s commander, who in turn reached Early, informing him of what had happened and asking him to destroy the enemy tank. Now aware of the very present danger somewhere along his route, Early decided to get a better look from relative safety before risking his tank.
Entering a building through lower windows, he climbed to a mezzanine with cameraman Jim Bates.
Meanwhile, the Panther had broken cover and moved forward approximately 100 meters to a new position, covering three lines of approach to the cathedral. It could now command the area but was far more 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭. Electing to face its strong frontal armor toward the knocked-out Shermans, Bartelbarth apparently remained unaware that the powerful Pershing was much closer and off to his right.
Just after 2:00 p. m. , Bates, photographer Jim Hines, and Early reached a window on the building’s upper floor.
Standing well back to avoid detection, Early spotted the Panther side-on approximately 120 meters away. Bates later recalled their conversation: Early told him to stay there and that he would return in his tank to put the German tank out of commission so Bates could photograph it.
Returning to Eagle Seven and briefing his crew, Early fired up the 500-horsepower Ford V8 and began to advance. Smoyer, a trusted crew member, had been told not to wait for an order but to fire as soon as he had a shot, hoping the Pershing’s powerful gun would destroy the Panther with a single round. Inside the Panther, Bartelbarth faced three possible routes of American advance and made a fateful decision — ordering his gunner to traverse right, possibly having heard the approaching Pershing’s engine.
As the range closed and the Pershing cleared the corner building, Bates — having moved up one floor for a better view — began filming. Hesitation proved the deciding factor. As Bartelbarth and his gunner peered through the dust at the emerging Pershing, the German commander reportedly called out, “Don’t shoot,” believing the unfamiliar silhouette might be one of his own tanks.
By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.
The Pershing cleared the corner and, without stopping, fired from nearly 110 meters directly into the Panther’s side. Jolted by the explosion, Bates ducked at the moment of firing and missed the first impact, but Rosenman, positioned to the rear, filmed the shot. Bates rose again seconds later, capturing the second round smashing into the Panther’s side armor, and kept filming as smoke began to billow from the stricken tank.
Knowing further rounds were coming, Bartelbarth was already abandoning his tank, his crew following. The famous Cologne Tank Duel was over. But what became of the crew captured on film as they fled their burning tank?
A detailed analysis of Bates’ 16-second film clip, slowed and stabilized, combined with research by German historian Dirk Löbke, has allowed historians to piece together the sequence of events.
The first clear frames show the turret cupola hatch opening and a crewman — presumably Bartelbarth — standing up. The impact hole of the first shell is visible on the Panther’s side. For the next four seconds, the tank commander struggles onto the Panther’s front deck before dropping to the ground.
Subsequent frames show him running for cover as the radio operator emerges from his hatch and dives off the front deck.
As the radio operator disappears, the gunner begins emerging from the same cupola hatch. Finally, the driver emerges from his hatch at the front left — about the same time Smoyer’s second round strikes the tank, very likely killing the gunner who had yet to exit. Over the total sequence, four of the five-man crew are visible.
Surviving records suggest Bartelbarth, driver Koenig, and one other man were later taken prisoner. A fourth unknown man died of his wounds after escaping, and a fifth was likely killed in action.
Bates’ footage remains powerful — a snapshot of a moment that affected all concerned for the rest of their lives. Clarence Smoyer was no different. Reflecting years later, he said: “I never went to that tank and looked inside, but they told me all of the crew perished there.
I thought about it many, many times. When we were firing, I don’t remember seeing them getting out. It always did bother me that they all had to die.
I’m happy that some of them did survive, very happy.”
Immediately following the engagement, the Pershing reversed and stopped outside a building approximately 100 meters away. Bates and Rosenman emerged onto the street to join the crew, where the famous scene was captured showing the men of Eagle Seven — no doubt simply glad to be alive. The Battle for Cologne was over.
Bob Early, Clarence Smoyer, and the men of the 3rd Armored Division eventually went home. So did Gustav Schäfer and Wilhelm Bartelbarth. Many of their comrades did not.
Smoyer never forgot that day at the cathedral and returned several times after the war to visit the spot from where he fired those famous shots. On a trip in 2013, he met Gustav Schäfer — whom he had last seen through his gun sight 68 years before. They got on well and left as friends.
The Cologne Tank Duel stands as a unique chapter in World War II history — not merely for the ferocity of the combat but for the extraordinary documentation that captured it. The footage and photographs taken that day by brave cameramen who stood shoulder to shoulder with soldiers provide an unparalleled window into armored warfare at the close of the European theater. They remind us that behind every tank, every shell, and every explosion were young men — American and German alike — whose lives were forever changed in the span of minutes on a ruined street in Cologne.