In an era before risk assessments, blast gauges, and traumatic brain injury protocols, Tank Crew Evaluators (TCEs) rode into live-fire gunnery on top of the turret—exposed and often holding on for dear life. It was a different time, a different Army. Some would say it was when tankers were men of iron riding machines of steel.
On Top of Thunder
During gunnery on the M60 series tanks—including the M60, M60A1, and M60A3—TCEs either straddled the loader’s hatch or bolted a seat to the top of the turret. From there, they evaluated the crew’s performance, plugged into the comms via a CVC helmet, and listened to every call, command, and curse word.
With the arrival of the M60A2, the experience became even more absurd. The evaluation seat was bolted directly to the tank commander’s cupola, elevating the TCE nearly 18 feet in the air. It gave a commanding view—and a front-row seat to disaster if the driver slipped up or the TC gave a sudden halt. One sharp brake and the TCE could be airborne. Rumors swirled about some seats being fitted with seat belts, though few ever saw one in the wild.
No Safety Briefs—Just Steel Nerves
This wasn’t just tolerated—it was expected. Back then, being a tanker meant living with a bit of risk in the name of realism. Crews were learning how to fight armored vehicles in combat conditions, and TCEs had to be close enough to see every move.
Today, that’s unthinkable. Modern tank gunnery prohibits any crew member from being exposed outside the turret when the main gun is fired. The danger of traumatic brain injury (TBI) from overpressure and concussion is now well understood. Safety measures are in place to protect soldiers from the very kind of experiences that once defined the tanker ethos.
The “Suicide Seat” of the M1 Era
Even in the 1990s, as the M1 Abrams came into full operational use, remnants of the old ways persisted. During the Armor Officers Basic Course, the M1 tanks used for training had what was unofficially dubbed the “suicide seat.” This wasn’t a factory feature—it was a jury-rigged spot where a senior NCO would ride along to “babysit” four brand-new lieutenants who were learning to operate as a crew.
It was dangerous. It was questionable. And yet, it was considered normal. No tank commander would do it today, but back then, it was just another day on the range.
From Turret Riders to Tactical Towers
Eventually, safety caught up with tradition. The advent of the “jump” radio and tower-based evaluation systems eliminated the need for rooftop observers. TCEs could now monitor communications, fire commands, and crew coordination from a safe position—without risking a sudden flight off the back deck.
It was smarter. It was safer. It was the right move.
But it also marked the end of an era.
Final Thought
Today’s crews are just as capable—perhaps more so, with modern technology and better protective gear. But for those who remember the days of riding live turrets and flying without seat belts, there’s a special kind of pride. These weren’t just tankers—they were men of iron, living the mission before it was safe, digital, or sanitized.
They didn’t just evaluate gunnery.
They embodied it.
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