THERE OUR TANK ROARS, AMIDST THE STORM WINDS.

Eighty years ago, Allied forces were rallying to the relief of Bastogne and the liquidation of the Bulge.

To this day, tankers train whether it storms or snows, which is why we're not singing those words auf Deutsch.

Trains contributor Larry Ground recalls a move from Southern training grounds to Fort Drum.

The past months had been busy for the 24th Infantry Division at Fort Stewart, Ga. A year earlier, the unit was regular infantry with jeeps and light trucks. Now the division worked feverishly exchanging light equipment for tanks and armored personnel carriers. Even the unit’s name was updated — 24th Mechanized Infantry Division.

The next step for the new mechanized division was a major training exercise. Fort Drum, N.Y., was selected for a January 1980 event. Located close to Lake Placid, the site for the upcoming Winter Olympics, Fort Drum would provide a different climate. There might be snow, something many of the soldiers had not experienced.

Joining Fort Stewart soldiers would be units from the 194th Armored Brigade (Separate), Fort Knox, Ky., as well as units from Fort Bragg, N.C.; Fort Huachuca, Ariz.; and Scott Air Force Base, Ill. The equipment move was a logistical challenge. All of the division’s heavy equipment would need to be transported nearly 1,100 miles from Fort Stewart to Fort Drum.

Rail transportation is often best for deploying a large, mechanized infantry or armored unit. Soldiers routinely train on all aspects of loading and unloading such rail movements. Experienced noncommissioned officers and railroad personnel provide supervision and hands-on training.

A few things have changed since the war, for instance Sarge didn't say "I want eight volunteers, you, you, and ..."  Mr Ground was not subject to that call in any event.

Routinely, in the early 1980s, a detachment of soldiers traveled along to provide security and logistical support. For the rail movement between Fort Stewart and Fort Drum, eight soldiers would serve as rail guards or “supernumeraries,” the military term for personnel accompanying shipments by rail or sea. Six served as guards, one would be the cook and a sergeant was in charge of the detail. A caboose was provided by the railroad, which had room to sleep four at a time — more or less comfortably — a simple kitchen setup, a toilet, and a coal-burning stove.

The supernumeraries boarded the train at Fort Stewart and stayed with it to Fort Drum. The rail movement was tentatively scheduled to begin a week before Christmas. Transit time was estimated at three or four days, putting the eight soldiers in Fort Drum a few days before Christmas and nearly two weeks before the rest of the unit was due to arrive via Air Force transports.

In the end, the first sergeant had no trouble getting volunteers. It was a chance at an adventure, operating as a small team on an important mission. It would mean being away from family over the holidays, but that was part of military service. Being a staff officer in the division logistics office, I did not volunteer, but monitored the train’s progress from Fort Stewart.

In the same way that battle plans rarely survive their first encounter with the enemy, train movements, particularly of extra trains at Christmas, rarely survive their first hours with the dispatcher.

That despite tanks being loaded onto flatcars making news elsewhere.

The 26-car train was loaded and cleared to depart Fort Stewart about a week before Christmas. A local TV news crew came out and captured video of the train rolling by, loaded with tanks, armored personnel carriers, and heavy trucks. The rail guards were seen waving from the caboose as it rolled by.

The news then cut to coverage of the Soviet Union’s ongoing movement of military forces into Afghanistan. One network broadcast showed Soviet tanks in the snow in Afghanistan, juxtaposed with the movement of vehicles from Fort Stewart heading to Fort Drum for winter training.

Sure enough, the general amnesty of the extra board as Christmas approached caught up with the Army.

On Christmas Eve the guards received mixed news from the train crew. The train would not be moving on Christmas Day. It was heading into the Petersburg, Va., yard, where it would stay until Dec. 26. The crew tried to soften the blow by pointing out that Petersburg is immediately adjacent to Fort Lee, one of the largest Army bases on the East Coast. Perhaps the guards could catch a ride to the base and eat in a real mess hall and sleep in a real bunk.

The sergeant of the guard nixed that idea. The guards would remain with the train. Even if the train was inside the rail yard, the mission was to ensure everything remained secure. However, groceries and coal would need to be restocked.

The train crew directed the sergeant to the Petersburg yardmaster — someone they were familiar with and knew he had experience working with the military thanks to nearby Fort Lee. If anyone could help, it would be the yardmaster.

And he did, but the United States Army, in the manner of all things governmental, runs in triplicate.

Early that summer, the division logistics officer answered a call from the procurement office. In question was an invoice from the Petersburg yardmaster for services rendered to a transient shipment on Dec. 24. The colonel assured them the bill was legitimate and should be paid. No, sir! Sorry. The proper procedure had not been followed. The purchasers should have obtained three competitive bids and followed standard contracting protocol. That the provider turned down the Class A agent’s cash payment violated the fine print of some government regulation. Much paperwork was now needed in order to pay the yardmaster.

Months later, when the logistics officer briefed his replacement on outstanding issues, the yardmaster’s still-unpaid bill came up. The incoming logistics officer promised to make it a top priority.

When Christmas rolls around, we are sometimes reminded of the yardmaster who went out of his way to help eight soldiers far from home. We would like to think he was eventually made whole for his services and for the way he went above and beyond the call of duty. Maybe he did get paid; then again, maybe not. If nothing else, his efforts were then and still are appreciated by the eight soldiers and those of us who know the yardmaster’s story — a gentleman who helped some cold and lonely soldiers at Christmas.

"Thank you for your service" is a courtesy civilians sometimes earn.

That is all.