This “Kid” WRECKED Hitler’s Most FEARED SS Panzer Brigade!

Thursday, December 21st, 1944. Days after murdering 85 American PS, the Waffan SS came for Malmedi. The only thing between them and the US third battalion’s exposed flank was a lanky 19-year-old American rifleman. Before dawn, German artillery lit up the sky. Shells smashed into the bridge he was guarding, shaking the frozen earth.
Through the smoke, a panzer emerged. the lead tank of Comp Group Piper, First SS Pancer Division. The tank commander stood tall in the turret. The private leveled his bar and dropped him where he stood. The column froze for a heartbeat just long enough. He sprinted through a hail of gunfire to a barn, grabbed a bazooka, and fired.
Metal screamed as the turret locked, sealing the crew inside their steel coffin. And that’s when this 19-year-old kid decided if the first SS Panzer Division wanted that bridge, they’d have to drive over his corpse to take it. This is the unbelievable true story of the kid who single-handedly wrecked Hitler’s most feared SS Panzer Brigade, Frank the Tank Killer, Curry.
[Music] The snow in Belgium was red with blood. Hitler’s last gamble, the Arden offensive, was tearing into Allied lines like a steel spear. Baston was under siege. American units were being shattered. And for every man holding the line, Melmedi had already proved one truth beyond doubt. Surrender was suicide.
Just one day after the attack began, Colonel Yoahim Piper’s first SS Panzer Division rolled west from Billingan. At a crossroads near the hamlet of Bes, they slammed into a US convoy from Battery B. 285th Field Artillery Observation Battalion. Outgunned and surrounded, the Americans surrendered. The Waffen SS disarmed them, lined them up in neat rows, and opened fire.
Men dropped in the snow as German troops strolled among the bodies, shooting anyone who moved. Survivors later recalled hearing laughter as the killing went on. When it ended, 84 Americans lay dead. Just over 40 escaped, either by playing dead or vanishing into the trees. It was one of several massacres Piper’s men committed that month, slaughtering hundreds of unarmed GIs and Belgian civilians.
And it’s why just 4 days later, a 19-year-old private named Francis S. Curry knew exactly what was at stake. If the SS came for him, there would be no white flag, only a fight to the last round. [Music] But before all that, Frank Curry was just a farm kid from Lock Shell Drake, New York. Born June 29th, 1925. He lost his father at age 5 and his mother at 12.
Frank grew up an orphan with foster parents in nearby Hurleyville. And even back then, Curry showed grit. He graduated from high school in a class of 11 and one week later at just 17 enlisted in the US Army. He crushed the entry tests, was sent to officer candidate school at Fort Benning. But at 18, the Army decided he was too young to pin on bars and sent him back to the ranks.
He entered the army specialized training program designed to turn promising recruits into engineers and linguists. But by early 1944, the infantry was bleeding out in Europe. The program was gutted and Curry’s classroom became a rifle range. He drilled hard, mastering every infantry weapon. M1 Garand, Browning automatic rifle, bazooka.
By spring, he was England bound as a replacement for the 30th Infantry Division, Old Hickory. He landed in Normandy in July, weeks after D-Day, joining the push through France, Belgium, and into the Netherlands. By fall, he was a battle tested rifleman fighting through Aen and the Ziggfrieded line.
And by December, he was with the 120th Infantry when the quiet Arden exploded into Hitler’s winter counterattack. The Battle of the Bulge. As the sun rose December 21st, 1944, a frozen fog clung to the Arden. Then, without warning, German artillery shattered the silence. Shells tore into the Third Battalion 120th Infantry’s right flank, the sector guarding a small but vital bridge.
PFC Francis Curry hugged the frozen ground as explosions flung dirt, snow, and ice into the air. That bridge wasn’t just a crossing. It was the anchor of the battalion’s flank. If it fell, the Germans could sweep around, trap the third battalion, and roll up the entire American line. As the barrage lifted, Curry heard it, the grinding clank of tank treads.
Through the haze emerged a panzer from the first SS Panzer division, camp group of Piper. The same butchers who’d massacred Americans at Malmedi just 4 days earlier. Behind it rolled more armor and halftracks, waffen SS infantry and black uniforms, fanning out through the snow. Most of the Americans fell back to a nearby factory.
Curry looked around and realized he was alone. It was at that precise moment that Francis S. Curry died and Frank the tank killer Curry was born. Cue the doom music. [Music] All by his lonesome, Curry leveled his bar at the lead tank, squeezed the trigger, dropping the commander cold and forcing the panzer to back up. With machine gun fire shredding the air, he tore across the street toward a nearby building where he knew heavier firepower was stashed.
He dove head first through a window in a burst of shattering glass, rolled to his feet, and came up gripping a bazooka without wasting a heartbeat. Curry slammed a rocket into the tube, swung it toward the panzer, then fired. The blast slammed into the seam between the hull and turret, locking it in place, trapping the crew inside, and bringing the entire column to a dead halt.
Falling back to a nearby building, Curry fired his bar from the hip, mowing down SS infantry, trying to flank him. Inside, he spotted another bazooka, but no rockets. Without a second’s hesitation, he burst out the door and sprinted across the street through murderous machine gun. rifle and tank fire to a disabled vehicle. He yanked out the rockets, then charged back across the same gauntlet, rounds snapping past his head, and dove back into the building.
Curry rammed a rocket into the bazooka, swung it toward the second tank in the column as it tried to shove the disabled lead tank aside and pulled the trigger. The warhead slammed into its hull with a thunderous crack, stopping the panzer cold. Shifting positions yet again, Curry spotted three SS soldiers in the doorway of an enemy held house.
He mowed those jokers down with a single burst from his bar covered by friendly fire. He advanced alone to within 50 yards of the house, stood upright in full view of the enemy, and fired a rocket that blasted away half the wall. Without pause, he sprinted across the street through a mastrom of lead, grabbed a load of anti-tank grenades and hurled them at the armor, destroying the tanks and forcing the crews to abandon their vehicles and take cover in the house.
In the open, Curry climbed onto an abandoned halftrack and rad the building with its mounted 50 cal. From his forward position, he spotted five Americans, two wounded, pinned down by fire from the house, and three enemy tanks. Knowing they couldn’t escape unless the guns were silenced, he again crossed the street, threw withering fire, grabbed more grenades, and pounded the tanks until the crews bailed out.
He then seized an unmanned modus, its crew lying dead beside it, and unleashed a blistering stream of 50 caliber freedom scenes, into the enemy position until all five Americans were safely clear. By the time the smoke cleared, camp group of Pipers SS had taken heavy casualties, lost multiple panzers and halftracks, and were pulling back from the bridge, convinced they’d stumbled into a massive American force.
In reality, it was one man’s relentless attack, shifting from weapon to weapon, that stopped them cold. In less than two hours, Curry had killed or wounded numerous enemy soldiers, destroyed multiple armored vehicles, rescued five pinned down comrades, and bluffed one of Hitler’s most feared SS spearheads into retreat, holding the vital right flank and keeping the third battalion from being surrounded and cut off.
In fact, the Supreme Allied commander himself, General Dwight D. Eisenhower would later say that Private First Class Francis Curry’s actions had single-handedly shortened the war by 6 weeks or more. Just weeks later, still in the chaos of the Battle of the Bulge, Curry was at his regiment’s command post when German forces came at them again.
He moved through the fight like a veteran twice his age, rallying men, holding positions, helping beat back the assault. For that action, he was awarded the Silver Star, America’s third highest award for valor. By the end of the war, Curry had also earned the Bronze Star, three Purple Hearts, and a promotion to technical sergeant.
One of those Purple Hearts came in Bavaria when he was wounded while disarming a group of German soldiers who didn’t seem ready to quit. July 27th, 1945, near Rams, France, Major General Leland Hobbs stood before the 30th Infantry Division and presented Frank, the Tank Killer Curry, just 20 years old, with the Medal of Honor. The cheers from his fellow soldiers weren’t just for the medal.
They were for the man who had saved lives, stopped a massacre in the making, and beat the daylights out of Hitler’s best killers. If you made it this far, thank you. Seriously, my goal here is simple. To preserve and share the stories of badass American heroes like Francis S. Curry, a 19-year-old orphan who landed in Normandy, fought through France, faced the SS butchers of Malmedi, and in under two hours wrecked their armor, saved five men, and bluffed an entire panzer column into retreat.
These aren’t just war stories, they’re legacies. Unfortunately, the algorithm doesn’t typically reward tales of American badasses. I’d be grateful if you shared this one. Hit that like button and dropped a comment below. Should Francis Curry be a household name? Or at the very least, does a man who Eisenhower said shortened the war by 6 weeks deserve more than a paragraph in a history book? Sources are linked in the description, including the full Medal of Honor citation and interviews with Curry himself.
Thanks for watching, and remember, not all bridges connect towns. Some hold the line between freedom and tyranny.