How One Soldier Destroyed 3 Tiger Tanks in 90 Seconds — With Nothing But a Bazooka

One Sergeant, Three Tiger Tanks, and 90 Seconds That Changed the Battle of Anzio

Corano, Italy — May 23, 1944.
At exactly 11:27 a.m., three German Tiger tanks emerged from the morning haze and rolled across open ground toward American infantry positions near the Italian village of Corano. Each tank weighed 57 tons. Each carried an 88-millimeter gun capable of destroying any American vehicle from more than two miles away. And together, they threatened to stop the Allied breakout from Anzio cold.

Crouched behind a destroyed German ammunition truck just 75 yards away was Technical Sergeant Van Barfoot, 24 years old, four months into one of the most brutal campaigns of World War II. He had never faced a Tiger tank before. What he had was a bazooka—designed for engagements at less than half that distance—and no time to retreat.

By the end of the morning, one Tiger would sit crippled and abandoned, a key German artillery gun would be destroyed, two wounded Americans would be carried to safety across nearly a mile of contested ground, and the Allied advance would continue. The actions would later earn Barfoot the Medal of Honor, but at the moment, they were simply the result of necessity.

A Battlefield Under Siege

The Anzio beachhead had been a killing ground since January. For four months, American and British forces were confined to a narrow seven-mile perimeter, shelled daily by German artillery positioned on higher ground. Casualties mounted relentlessly: 24,000 Americans and 10,000 British soldiers killed or wounded.

Barfoot served with the 45th Infantry Division, which had lost nearly 3,000 men attempting to break out toward Rome. On the morning of May 23, the long-awaited offensive finally began. Momentum was everything. Any delay could doom the operation.

Barfoot had already been fighting for hours. He crawled alone through a marked minefield, used drainage ditches for concealment, destroyed three German machine-gun positions, killed five enemy soldiers at close range, and helped capture 17 prisoners. It was already an extraordinary morning.

Then the Tigers appeared.

An Impossible Shot

American infantry doctrine was clear: when Tiger tanks appeared, infantry withdrew and called for artillery, tank destroyers, or air support. None were available. Radios were down. American tanks were still moving up from the rear. The German counterattack was unfolding in real time.

Three Tigers could halt an entire battalion.

Barfoot picked up the 2.36-inch M6A1 bazooka. General George Patton himself had warned soldiers to keep bazooka engagements under 30 yards. At 75 yards, accuracy dropped sharply, wind drift mattered, and penetration was uncertain—even if the rocket hit.

The lead Tiger advanced to within 60 yards. Its commander stood in the open hatch, scanning for American positions. Barfoot knew he would get only one shot. The backblast would expose him instantly. A miss meant death.

He fired.

The rocket crossed the distance in just over a second and struck the Tiger’s right track assembly near the drive sprocket. The shaped charge detonated, severing the track. The massive steel links unraveled and jammed beneath the hull. The tank lurched forward, then stopped—immobilized.

The other two Tigers immediately turned away, withdrawing behind a ridgeline rather than remain in a suspected kill zone. In less than 90 seconds, the German armored thrust had collapsed.

Turning the Tide on Foot

The disabled Tiger’s crew soon abandoned the vehicle and surrendered. Barfoot took them prisoner, then noticed a far more dangerous threat: an abandoned German 75-millimeter field gun positioned to fire directly into the American advance corridor.

If reoccupied, it could inflict devastating casualties.

Ignoring doctrine once again, Barfoot moved forward alone. When three German soldiers attempted to man the gun, he closed to 20 yards and opened fire with his Thompson submachine gun. All three were killed within seconds.

Barfoot then disabled the artillery piece permanently by detonating captured German grenades inside the breech.

The immediate battlefield was secure—but the day was not over.

Carrying the Wounded

As smoke drifted across the fields, Barfoot heard voices calling for help. In a drainage ditch 70 yards away lay two wounded American soldiers, both bleeding heavily. Their medics had been killed or pinned down. The battalion aid station was 1,700 yards to the rear, across ground still under artillery fire.

Barfoot made a decision that would test him more than the firefights.

He carried the first wounded soldier—shot through the chest—across nearly a mile of shell-torn terrain, arriving at the aid station after 43 minutes. After less than two minutes of rest, he turned back.

The second soldier was worse off, bleeding from abdominal and leg wounds. Midway through the return trip, the man lost consciousness, his full weight sagging against Barfoot’s shoulders. Artillery shells landed nearby. Barfoot’s vision narrowed from exhaustion. His legs cramped and shook.

He did not stop.

Near collapse, he reached friendly lines as medics ran forward to take the wounded man from him. Both soldiers survived.

Recognition Earned in Combat

That evening, Barfoot’s company commander submitted a detailed report. The recommendation for the Medal of Honor moved rapidly up the chain of command. Within weeks, it was approved.

Unlike many recipients, Barfoot chose not to leave the front. He accepted a battlefield commission to second lieutenant and remained with his unit through Italy, southern France, and into Germany.

He would later fight in Korea, then serve again in Vietnam, retiring as a colonel after 34 years of military service.

A Soldier’s Legacy

The Battle of Anzio produced more Medal of Honor recipients than any other engagement in World War II—22 in total—a reflection of its brutality. Barfoot’s actions stand out not because they were flashy, but because they were sustained: courage followed by initiative, followed by endurance, followed by compassion.

He did not defeat three Tiger tanks head-on. He did something smarter—and far more dangerous. He made the only move available when time, doctrine, and physics all said it should not work.

On a battlefield where hesitation meant failure, Van Barfoot chose action.

And because he did, the breakout from Anzio continued.