At dawn on June 7, 1944, a young Canadian major in a cramped Sherman turret glanced through his periscope and saw something no Allied tanker ever wanted to see.

A German Panzer IV was emerging from the hedgerow 200 yards ahead, its main gun turning toward him.

Major Sydney “Rad” Radley-Walters, 24 years old, had been in combat for exactly one day. He had never destroyed an enemy tank before. The German crew in front of him had been fighting since Poland and France. Their tank could outgun his. Their armor could outlast his.

And yet, within seconds, it would be the German tank that burned, and the Canadian crew that survived.

That shot — Radley-Walters’ first tank kill — was the beginning of a story that would see a quiet Canadian officer become the top Western Allied tank ace of the Second World War, help break German armored power in Normandy, and, decades later, be quietly linked to the destruction of Germany’s most famous tank commander.

It did not start with confidence.
It started with a regiment that had never even seen a tank.

From Foot Soldier to Tank Commander

When Canada went to war in 1939, the Sherbrooke Fusiliers were an infantry regiment. Radley-Walters, a graduate of Bishop’s University, joined as a young officer. For the first part of the war, he trained men to fight on foot.

Then, in early 1942, everything changed.

The Canadian Army reorganized several units into armored regiments to prepare for a future invasion of Western Europe. The Sherbrooke Fusiliers were told they would now become a tank regiment.

There was only one problem:
Not a single man in the unit had ever worked with a tank.

Their conversion to armor was not the result of long-term planning. It was abrupt, improvised, and heavily dependent on British training and equipment. Officers learned from manuals before they learned from machines. Soldiers practiced on whatever training tanks were available, then graduated to the American-built M4 Sherman — the workhorse of the Allied armored forces.

On paper, the Sherman was adequate.
In Normandy, it would be tested against some of the most formidable tanks ever built.

Into Normandy – And Into an Ambush

The Sherbrooke Fusiliers landed on Juno Beach on June 6, 1944, in support of the 3rd Canadian Infantry Division. It was a chaotic, deadly day. Eleven Shermans made it off the beach. By dawn the next morning, three had already been destroyed.

The Canadians had prepared for minefields, artillery, and anti-tank guns. What they had not fully appreciated was the scale of German armored resistance waiting behind the beaches.

Across the hedgerows of Normandy, elite German divisions fielded Panzer IVs, Panthers, and Tiger I heavy tanks. These vehicles, especially the Panthers and Tigers, outclassed the Sherman in almost every technical category:

Gun power: The 88 mm gun of the Tiger could knock out a Sherman at long range.

Armor: German heavy tanks could withstand hits on the front from Allied 75 mm guns.

Optics and training: German crews had excellent sights and years of combat, particularly on the Eastern Front.

By contrast, Radley-Walters and his crews had months of training, some field exercises, and one day of combat.

The mathematics were unforgiving.
A Tiger could destroy a Sherman at distances where the Canadian tank’s gun simply couldn’t penetrate the front armor. To win, Sherman crews had to use mobility, teamwork, and terrain.

They had to get close.
They had to get to the German flank.
They had to survive long enough to do it.

That morning near Norrey-en-Bessin, when Radley-Walters ordered “Fire!” and saw the Panzer IV he was facing stop and smoke, his crew was learning in real time whether their training and instincts were good enough.

They were.

Fighting in the “Green Hell” of Normandy

Normandy was not the open desert of North Africa, nor the sweeping plains of Russia. It was a maze of fields, hedgerows, sunken lanes, orchards, and small villages — terrain that favored ambush.

German tank crews used it well. They parked hull-down behind earth banks or rubble, exposing only their turrets. They fired first, then backed up, moved, and re-engaged from a different angle. Allied tankers often saw only muzzle flashes before shells began striking around them.

For the Sherbrooke Fusiliers, the first weeks after D-Day were a brutal education:

The regiment supported repeated infantry attacks in the hedgerows south of Caen.

Tanks were lost to hidden guns, minefields, and well-placed German armor.

Crews had to bail out in seconds when their tanks were hit, fires spreading rapidly in the gasoline-powered Shermans.

By late June, the regiment had lost more than 20 tanks. Many of Radley-Walters’ fellow troop leaders were dead or wounded. The learning curve was steep and unforgiving.

And yet, something else was happening underneath the chaos:
The Canadian crews were getting better.

They learned:

Never to silhouette themselves on ridgelines.

To advance behind hedgerows whenever possible.

To use one troop to draw enemy fire while another worked around the flank.

To coordinate closely with infantry, artillery, and engineers.

Radley-Walters excelled in this environment. He was aggressive but calculated, willing to take risks — but always with a clear idea of what they might achieve. His squadron became known for its ability to survive, maneuver, and hit back.

By early July, he had destroyed several German tanks and was promoted to major and permanent squadron commander.

He was 24 years old.

Tiger Country

As the battle for Normandy intensified, heavier German armor arrived.

The 12th SS Panzer Division “Hitlerjugend”, made up largely of young but ideologically hardened volunteers, deployed Panthers and Tigers into the Canadian sector. They were commanded and supported by officers and NCOs with deep combat experience.

Intelligence briefings emphasized the threat:

The Panther had sloped armor and a long 75 mm gun with excellent range and penetration.

The Tiger I was heavily armored and equipped with the famous 88 mm gun. Its front armor was nearly impervious to standard Allied tank rounds.

The Shermans, for their part, retained some key advantages:

Reliability: They broke down far less often than German heavy tanks.

Mobility: They were quicker off-road than Panthers and much more agile than Tigers.

Numbers and logistics: When a Sherman was knocked out, another could often be brought up quickly. German heavy tanks were harder to replace.

Adventure and patriotism are one thing in a recruitment poster. Facing a Tiger at 800 yards in a muddy French field is another.

Radley-Walters learned to turn the Sherman’s advantages into tactics:

Avoid duels on open ground.

Force close, fast engagements.

Use multiple tanks to overwhelm single heavy opponents.

Let more lightly armed Shermans keep the enemy’s attention while specialized vehicles did the killing.

That last point became critical when a new weapon entered the field.

The Firefly Arrives

The British had been working on a solution to the heavy tank problem: a Sherman modified to carry the long-barreled 17-pounder gun, one of the most effective Allied anti-tank weapons in the war.

They called it the Sherman Firefly.

This gun gave Allied armor something it was desperately missing — the ability to penetrate Panther and Tiger frontal armor at practical ranges.

Radley-Walters’ squadron eventually received two Fireflies. They were critical assets, but also highly visible due to their long barrels. German gunners learned to identify and prioritize them.

To keep them alive, Radley-Walters:

Kept Fireflies slightly behind or off to the side of other Shermans.

Used terrain and concealment to hide their distinctive guns.

Brought them forward only when a clear shot at German heavy armor presented itself.

The Fireflies didn’t make combat “fair.” But they gave Allied tank commanders new options — and when used well, they could turn moments of crisis into opportunity.

The most famous of those moments came on August 8, 1944, near a small French village called Gaumesnil.

The Day the Ace Fell

On that August morning, Radley-Walters had eight Shermans, including two Fireflies, positioned around Château de Gaumesnil, overlooking Route Nationale 158 south of Caen.

The Allies had just launched Operation Totalize, a major offensive aimed at breaking German lines and driving toward Falaise. The Germans responded with a counterattack — led in part by heavy Tiger tanks from the SS.

Among the Tiger commanders that day was SS-Hauptsturmführer Michael Wittmann, the most celebrated German tank ace of the war, credited with over 130 tank and gun kills.

Radley-Walters didn’t know who Wittmann was.
He didn’t need to.

He knew he was facing Tigers, and that they were coming up the road directly into his sector.

At around noon, seven Tigers advanced north, supported by Panzer IVs and self-propelled guns. As they emerged from the hedgerows, Allied tanks from both the Canadian and British sides opened fire in a coordinated ambush.

From his position inside the chateau grounds, Radley-Walters held his fire until the range closed to a few hundred yards. The British tanks to his left, hidden in orchards, started engaging first. One Tiger was immobilized. Others maneuvered.

The Tiger marked “007” rolled forward.

At roughly 400 yards, one of Radley-Walters’ Fireflies fired.

The armor-piercing round from its 17-pounder gun struck the Tiger from behind and to the left, in a vulnerable area near the engine deck. A few seconds later, the tank erupted in a violent explosion. The turret was hurled from the hull.

No one inside survived.

The Germans did not know exactly what had hit them. The Canadians did not know who was inside that particular Tiger. British crews were also firing and destroying Tigers that day — especially a gunner named Joe Ekins, whose actions became well-known in veteran accounts.

For decades after the war, there was spirited debate among historians and veterans over who, exactly, had killed Michael Wittmann.

Later battlefield analysis, using:

The direction of penetration on the wreck

The positions and ranges of Canadian and British tanks

The pattern of the engagement

…suggests that the fatal shot most likely came from one of Radley-Walters’ Fireflies near Gaumesnil. He himself never claimed the kill. In fact, he only learned much later that he may have been responsible.

When told about it in the late 1980s, he reportedly shrugged. For him, it was just one more destroyed tank in a long list.

That attitude summed up his approach:
The objective was to defeat the enemy and protect his crews — not to chase personal glory.

The Long Road Home

By the end of the Normandy campaign and the subsequent fighting through France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, Sydney Radley-Walters was credited with 18 confirmed tank kills, along with numerous other armored vehicles destroyed.

He survived:

Three tanks knocked out from under him

A direct hit that killed his loader and wounded him

A mine blast that left him concussed and bleeding

The grinding stress of months of front-line duty

He rose from platoon leader to regimental commander in the Canadian Armoured Corps, became his country’s leading tank ace, and earned decorations for gallantry and leadership.

After the war, he stayed in the Canadian Army, served in various roles, and eventually retired as a brigadier-general. He lived a quiet life, raised a family, and rarely spoke about his wartime record in public.

He died in 2015 at the age of 95 — respected by his peers, honored by France and Canada, yet still largely unknown outside military history circles.

Why His Story Matters

Sydney Radley-Walters’ career is more than a list of destroyed tanks. It is a window into what the Allied side of armored warfare really looked like:

Crews learning to fight in machines that were technically inferior to many of their opponents’

Units improvising tactics in confusing terrain under constant threat

Leaders adapting on the fly, using speed, teamwork, and intelligent risk-taking to survive

Young men from universities, farms, and cities who had to become battlefield professionals in months, not years

It also challenges a common myth:
That the Allies only won because of overwhelming numbers and industry.

Numbers mattered. Production capacity mattered. Air power mattered. But so did the ability of individual commanders and crews to adapt to conditions that their training had not fully prepared them for.

Radley-Walters started the war in an infantry regiment that had never seen a tank. By the end, he was leading armored units across Europe and quietly shaping how future generations understood Canadian armored warfare.

He never asked to be a symbol.
He just did his job — very, very well.

If stories like this help you see the human side of history — the decisions, risks, and improvisations behind the big arrows on battle maps — they’re worth preserving.

Men like Sydney Radley-Walters didn’t fight to be remembered.
But remembering them is one way to honor what they endured.