Pershing/Patton series

In 1943—by American standards, the midpoint of World War II—someone in the U.S. finally realized that the M4 Sherman, though mass-produced and marginally better than a cardboard box, was woefully underpowered, poorly armored, and optimistically classified as a medium tank only because "deathtrap" didn't look good on procurement forms. Designed for a war that didn't involve actual enemy armor, the Sherman had become a rolling liability.

Thus began the development of the M26 Pershing: a late-to-the-party attempt at building a real tank—one with a gun that could penetrate more than a barn door and armor that didn’t ignite upon impact. Although it arrived in Europe just in time for the credits to roll, it served as the conceptual foundation for the postwar Patton series: a line of tanks that gradually evolved from slightly upgraded Shermans into genuine main battle tanks. The Pershing and its Patton descendants marked America's reluctant, belated entry into modern armored warfare—where survival wasn't just a numbers game.

Development

Oops

By 1943, even the United States—perpetually 10 years and 50 IQ points behind modern warfare—was forced to admit that the M4 Sherman wasn’t a tank. It was a mobile coffin, built on the fantasy that wars could be won through mass production alone. The surprise wasn’t that it was garbage; the surprise was that it took them this long to realize it. Designed by men who thought World War I was still cutting-edge, the Sherman was undergunned, underarmored, overhyped, and mass-produced by a country that equated quantity with competence.

This wasn’t an isolated lapse. American tank development in the early years of WWII was a monument to stupidity. The M2 Light Tank was essentially a steel bathtub with a machine gun — great for suppressing angry farmers, not so much for modern battlefields. Then came the M3 Stuart, which was marginally faster but still about as threatening as a motorized lunchbox. It bounced 37mm shells off German armor like it was throwing pebbles at battleships. Its only advantage was that it could run away quickly, which is coincidentally what most of its crews tried to do.

Oops! Too much stupidity detected!

But the real comedy came with the M3 Lee. A tank so catastrophically stupid it was obsolete before it even reached Europe. The main gun was mounted in the hull, meaning the entire tank had to pivot like a drunk man trying to piss straight. And yet, it was named after General Robert E. Lee, a man who lost a war with style — perhaps a fitting metaphor for a tank that could lose a battle theatrically, while being too tall to hide and too awkward to shoot back. American logic dictated that if you name something after a general, it must be good. That logic was wrong. Repeatedly.

M6 Heavy Tank compared to a random tank crew member. Even though its massive size, the whole thing was total garbage..

Then came the M6. America’s attempt at a “heavy” tank — and by “heavy” they meant physically massive, not effective. It was an enormous, slow-moving slab of wasted steel, with two obsolete guns and armor that was just thick enough to make it too heavy to transport, but not thick enough to stop anything. It had a bizarre hybrid electric transmission that barely worked and mostly didn’t. Designed under the dual influence of strategic panic and Freudian insecurity, the M6 was a rolling compensation mechanism for generals like Patton and MacArthur, both of whom had... let's say, measurably insufficient manhoods and very loud mouths. The bigger the tank, the smaller the ego problem was supposed to look.

M6A2E1. Oops, too much weight!

Despite its uselessness, they kept upgrading the M6. They gave it a 90mm gun, then a gigantic 105mm T5 in a turret the size of a family sedan. The result was a tank that could barely fit inside its own continent. It couldn’t be shipped, stored, deployed, or repaired without significant geological work. It was a disaster, just in slow motion.

Eventually, even the American military machine—powered as it was by optimism, industrial overkill, and institutional delusion—realized they couldn’t fix stupid with just more steel. What followed was a series of increasingly desperate prototypes: the T20, the T22, the T23 (with an experimental electric drive, i.e. more things not working), and the T25. Each was slightly less embarrassing than the last, but all were still born of the same flawed doctrine.

Finally, after countless design failures and likely a few controlled substances, they reached the T26. It was smaller than the M6, but better armed, better armored, and—crucially—didn’t explode on ignition. They named it after General John J. Pershing, mostly because he was one of the few American generals who didn’t leave a trail of dead soldiers and terrible ideas behind him.

Thus was born the first American tank that could stand on the same battlefield as its Axis counterparts without immediately catching fire or falling apart — a low bar, but for the U.S. tank corps, it was a historic achievement.

Pershing

M26 Pershing Heavy Tank, which was still lighter than a german Medium tank.

The M26 Pershing finally arrived in Europe during the absolute last gasp of World War II, making its combat debut in early 1945—just in time to be too late for everything it was designed to do. Expectations were high; reality, as usual, was less enthusiastic. Yes, the Pershing was a massive improvement over the M4 Sherman—though that’s like saying dysentery is preferable to leprosy—but its actual battlefield performance was underwhelming.

Tiger II was about 28 tons heavier than Pershing

It had been intended as a counter to Germany’s heaviest nightmare: the Panzerkampfwagen VI Ausf. B, better known to Americans by its overly dramatic nickname, the King Tiger. In reality, the Königstiger was a 70-ton mechanical diva, more breakdown-prone than deadly—but American planners, allergic to nuance, expected to meet these beasts in droves. Instead, the Pershing found itself mostly facing the Panzerkampfwagen VI Ausf. E — the original Tiger I, a tank Germany had already stopped producing in 1944. So in practice, the great new heavy tank of the U.S. Army was mostly dueling with machines that were being retired by their own side.

Pershing heavy tank facing Panther medium tank. Fun fact: Panther was heavier.....

Against Panzer IVs, the Pershing did just fine. Against the Panzer V Panther—a "medium" tank that somehow outweighed the "heavy" Pershing by four tons—it struggled. The infamous duel in Cologne showed exactly that: one Panther, some good angles, and a Pershing getting humbled on film for future historians and smug Wehraboos.

But there was a catch. By 1945, the German war machine had disintegrated into a scrapyard of desperation. They were throwing anything into battle: outdated French tanks from 1940, Czech leftovers, one-off prototypes, and whatever else hadn’t already been turned into molten slag. In that kind of environment, the Pershing looked great—mainly because it wasn’t welded together in a barn. This mismatch of expectations and reality helped fuel the myth of the Pershing as some unstoppable steel god, rather than what it really was: the right tank, deployed at the wrong time, against the wrong enemy.

When it turned out that even the Pershing couldn’t reliably take on a King Tiger—especially not when said Tiger could just vanish due to mechanical failure or lack of fuel—someone in the Pentagon hit the panic button and rolled out the T26E4. Nicknamed Super Pershing (because “Moderately Less Disappointing Pershing” didn’t test well), it was essentially the same tank with an absurdly long 90mm gun, bolted-on concrete slabs, and the engineering elegance of a cement truck with a cannon.

Armor was also addressed with the T26E5, which featured up to 279 mm of frontal protection. Unfortunately, it also featured a suspension system that couldn’t handle the extra weight, so the whole tank had a habit of sinking into the Earth like it was trying to return to hell.

Strangely enough, the Pershing actually did perform well—just not in Europe. Against Japanese forces in the Pacific, it was predictably dominant; after all, it was fighting tanks made of riveted paper and wishful thinking. In Korea, the Pershing once again found a reason to exist. North Korean forces fielded T-34/85s, which, while tough, were no match for a Pershing in good condition. Still, there were reports of T-34s surviving up to four hits before surrendering the ghost, suggesting that some Soviet-trained crews had truly mastered the art of slamming vodka and ignoring physics.

One issue remained obvious during the Korean War: the Pershing still used the same underpowered engine as the much lighter Sherman. In Korean terrain, this meant the tank often struggled uphill like a wheezing pensioner. The solution was obvious, and for once, even implemented: a new engine. This upgrade gave birth to the M46 Patton, the first of the Patton series and the beginning of America’s slow crawl toward building real main battle tanks—though still with a healthy dose of optimism, overengineering, and denial.

Patton series

M46

M46 Patton with something called searchlight.

Named after General George S. Patton—a pistol-waving egomaniac with a fetish for bloodshed and fascist uniforms, who survived World War II only to be smacked into oblivion by a truck in peacetime like some karmic punchline—the M46 Patton was America's lazy attempt to pretend the M26 Pershing hadn’t been an utter embarrassment. It was not a revolution. It wasn’t even a redesign. It was a bad joke with worse fuel economy.

The M46 was, in essence, a Pershing with a new engine—the Continental AV-1790-3 V12, because someone at Ordnance Command thought power would fix everything. It didn’t. Yes, the tank could now technically move uphill without weeping, but the new engine came with a transmission that had all the reliability of a wet toaster. And just to round it out, the M46’s operational range was now a majestic 80 miles on a good day. In practice, especially in Korea’s hilly terrain and frigid winters, you’d be lucky to squeeze out 20 yards before you were either bogged down, broken down, or out of gas.

M46 was penetrable by 57 mm cannon ZiS-2, cannon which was considered as obsolete in 1943....

Because America, in its infinite wisdom, still insisted on measuring distance in miles and armor in inches, even while the rest of the planet had collectively decided not to base engineering on the length of a dead king’s foot. The M46 had 102 mm of frontal armor. Not adequate, not “modern, just enough to inspire confidence in the crew right up until the moment they were obliterated by a Soviet 122mm shell.

Combat performance? In Korea, it sort of functioned. Against T-34/85s operated by North Korean crews who often couldn’t read their own instruments, it managed to win some fights. That’s about it. Against the terrain, the weather, and physics—it lost. Frequently.

And once the U.S. was done playing with it, they did what they always do with second-rate hardware: dumped it on their allies for free. France and Belgium were the lucky recipients, gifted a 46-ton steel paperweight because Washington didn’t have the decency to scrap it. A tank so mediocre that even the Pentagon—an institution not exactly allergic to failure—wanted it out of sight.

M47

M47 wasn't exported that much because it was good....

The M47 was not a new tank. It was the M46 with a redesigned turret, some marginal optical improvements, and a rebranded version of the same 90mm cannon. The hull remained unchanged. The engine remained unchanged. The range, reliability, and logistical headaches all remained unchanged. What the U.S. called a "new generation" was functionally a recycled failure given a fresh layer of paint and a new name.

The turret was adapted from the canceled T42 project and brought with it every design flaw you'd expect from something already deemed unfit for production. It was overweight, poorly balanced, and still lacked proper NBC protection or modern fire control. The M36 gun it mounted was nearly identical to the older M3A1, and its only practical upgrade was a redesigned muzzle brake to reduce crew deafness—hardly a leap in combat capability.

The U.S. Army, recognizing the tank's inadequacy almost immediately, never deployed the M47 in combat. Not one saw action under American command. It was declared obsolete nearly as fast as it entered service and was dumped en masse on U.S. allies. West Germany, Turkey, Greece, Italy, Iran, and Pakistan received the bulk of the M47 fleet under the banner of military assistance, often for free, because no one would have paid for it.

Tiam - Iranian Frankenstein tank made out of M47 and knock-off version of T-54

These countries inherited a tank already behind the curve—hard to maintain, vulnerable to modern weapons, and never intended to survive in serious combat environments. Most tried to upgrade the M47 with whatever was available: improvised armor, retrofitted fire control systems, and in some cases, crude hybridizations using spare parts from other, slightly less obsolete platforms. In Iran, M47s still appear in service, often with aftermarket rangefinders or welded-on plates, operated by crews younger than the tanks themselves.

M48

M48 Patton, early variant

The M48 was also not a clean-sheet design. It was a rushed reaction to the fact that every American tank in service by the early 1950s was obsolete. The M47 was so outdated it was handed out to allies like a defective toaster. The M46 was already a relic, and the Sherman should have been preserved under glass by that point. Meanwhile, the Soviets were fielding the T-54-2—a cramped, brutal machine that was still vastly more modern, with a proper gun, a lower profile, and armor that wasn’t based on prewar optimism.

During the Korean War, even the lumbering IS-2—a tank that should have been a museum piece—demonstrated that American armor couldn't withstand modern threats. The IS-2 was outdated, slow, and barely maneuverable, but its 122mm gun could still blow an M46 in half if it actually landed a shot. China put these things to use with some success, and that alone was enough to send American industry into panic mode.

Chrysler, the company responsible for decades of automotive decline and some of the worst cars ever built, was tasked with fixing the situation. Their solution: build the M48. They ditched the old hull, created something vaguely round and futuristic-looking, slapped on an oversized turret, and just to ensure maximum idiocy, bolted a second turret on top for the commander. The resulting silhouette looked like someone had mounted a trash can on a turtle shell.

The M48 entered production at almost the same time as the M47, which meant the U.S. was fielding two tanks, neither of which was particularly suited for the modern battlefield. But where the M47 was a dead end, the M48 at least had room to evolve—mostly because it had to. The original versions were so poorly thought out that they required constant fixes: the fire control system, the rangefinder, the engine, the suspension—everything had to be redone or upgraded at least once.

M48A5, last variant

Despite all this, the M48 was thrown into combat worldwide. It fought in Vietnam, where it proved useful mostly because the enemy had little armor to begin with. In the Middle East, it faced Soviet-built tanks and often lost, thanks to outdated armor and poor crew visibility. Fireballs were common. But the tank kept being rebuilt. Upgrades came endlessly, turning it into something barely resembling the original.

Eventually, the ridiculous commander’s turret was deleted. The original 90mm gun was replaced with a copy of the British L7, which the U.S. renamed M68 in a typical act of rebranding laziness. The tank now had a gun that worked, but it still had the ergonomics of a prison cell and a silhouette you could spot from orbit.

Despite all of this, the M48 remained in service in the U.S. until the 1990s. It was cheaper to keep patching it than to build something better. And so the tank lived on, upgraded to irrelevance, used by second- and third-tier militaries, or left to rot in forgotten depots. It’s still around today, too stubborn to die and too expensive to replace.

M60

Early-built M60. Notice that utter laziness of creating a new turret design

The M60 was born out of necessity and denial. Faced with the reality that the M48 was obsolete before it ever became competent, the U.S. Army’s solution was not to design something new—but to call something new what was essentially the same thing with slightly different bolts. It was, in all practical terms, a reheated M48 with a welded hull. Why welded? Because even the Pentagon eventually figured out that assembling tanks like papier-mâché sculptures might not be survivable in an actual war.

The early M60s even carried over the same turret as the M48A2. Not inspired by—literally the same design. You needed calipers and the will to suffer to tell the two apart. Later variants introduced the “needle-nose” turret, which at least looked new, although it still had all the ergonomic charm of a gas station toilet stall. Visibility was poor, the internal layout was a nightmare, and the silhouette remained large enough to get hit by accident.

The one actual step forward was the M68 105mm gun—an American copy of the British L7. It was the first time since WWII that a U.S. tank had a main gun that wasn’t just there to piss off enemy armor. It could actually penetrate things. Not always, and not easily—but it gave the crew a fighting chance. Which, by American standards at the time, was considered an overachievement.

M60A1 equipped with RISE ERA armor, 1991 used by Gay soldiers

Despite never being officially designated a “Patton,” the M60 was thrown into the same basket as the rest of the Patton series. Why? Because it shared the same DNA of barely functional parts, overpromised capabilities, and the guiding philosophy that if you tweak a bad design enough times, it eventually becomes tradition.

The M60 entered service in 1960. Over six decades later, in what can only be described as a triumph of inertia over logic, it’s still in service in multiple countries. Not because it’s good—everyone knows it isn’t—but because it’s cheap, available, and already too embedded in military spreadsheets to get rid of. Some nations have tried to modernize them. Others just repaint them, slap on ERA bricks, and hope nobody notices that they’re sending 60-year-old hardware into a 21st-century battlefield.

The addition of reactive armor only made things more surreal. Covered in boxy explosives designed to stop other explosives, the M60 now looks like someone built it out of broken refrigerators and roadkill. But somehow, in the right conditions, it works. Kind of.

Influence

In conclusion, Pershing was (along with two other tanks) a Granpa of every single modern tank. Interesting...

The Pershing/Patton series, almost by accident, helped usher in the modern era of main battle tanks—alongside their contemporaries, the Soviet T-54 and the British Centurion. None of them were designed with this shift in mind. None were part of some grand unified doctrine. They were just tanks built by three different countries trying to solve the same postwar problem: how to make one vehicle that could do everything without being completely useless at anything.

The result was the quiet death of the old caste system: light, medium, and heavy tanks—categories that had made sense in the 1930s and early 1940s, but had become functionally meaningless by the Cold War. The British had stuck to their own taxonomy disaster, inventing such classics as the cruiser and infantry tank—a system that aged about as well as food in the sun. The Soviets kept building medium tanks that were heavier than most Western heavies, and the Americans spent years trying to retrofit a classification onto whatever Frankenstein’s monster they’d built that year.

By the time the dust settled, all three powers had landed on the same conclusion, not through planning, but by repeatedly failing in parallel: the future of tank warfare was the MBT—a single platform that combined firepower, protection, and mobility, ideally without collapsing under its own weight or budget.

So while the Patton series didn’t invent the MBT, it became one of the earliest examples of what one would look like. Not elegant. Not efficient. But unified. A jack-of-all-trades tank that, by the late 20th century, had become the template everyone copied—even if they didn’t want to admit it.

Ultimately, the shift wasn't driven by brilliance in design but by inevitability. Technology advanced, battlefield roles blurred, and specialized tank classes stopped making sense in a world where your "light tank" could be destroyed by a rocket-propelled grenade and your "heavy tank" could barely cross a bridge. The Pershings and Pattons weren’t visionary—they were transitional. But they showed, unintentionally, what the future would look like: overbuilt, overarmored, overcomplicated, and somehow still not enough.

Comparisons (M48A3/Centurion Mk.7/1/T-55/Gymnast)

Battlefield

	M48A3 Patton	Centurion Mk. 7/1	T-55	Gymnast
Country of Origin	USA	United Kingdom	USSR	Depends, mostly Eastern-Bloc
Year Introduced	1955	1953	1958	~14 years old (deployed early, dies young)
Weight	~47–50 tons	~51.5 tons	~36 tons	~45 kg (fully armed: water bottle, leotard, crushed dreams)
Propulsion	Gasoline, 810 hp	Gasoline, ~650 hp	Diesel, 580 hp	Glucose, caffeine, parental pressure, and existential terror
Operational Range (real-world)	~130–150 km, then fire	~250–280 km, then mechanical failure	~300 km, unless it's cold	~10 meters under fire, then blackout or breakdown
Max Frontal Armor	110 mm hull	up to 152 mm on turret	100 mm hull	4–6 mm (ribs), reinforced only by false hope
Ammo Storage Location	Under turret floor	Next to driver, no shielding	Everywhere, including under crew feet	None. Closest equivalent: everything in bag
HEAT/APFSDS Impact	Explosion, crew boiled alive	Total amputation inside	Immediate obliteration	Shattered limbs, crushed organs, near-certain death
Survival Chance (side hit)	0–5%	Max. 10% (if ammo doesn’t cook off)	0–2%	0% (no armor, just skin and shattered resilience)
Battlefield Lifespan	5–10 minutes	8–12 minutes	20 seconds	10–20 seconds before hit, shock, or career-ending injury
Post-Impact Condition	Fireball, death	Devastated interior, fatal	Crew shredded	Death, organ slurry, or catastrophic cranial collapse
Injury from Nearby Explosion (e.g. RPG)	Hull breach, death	Thrown track, shrapnel injuries inside	Ammo detonation, steel coffin	Instant trauma, amputations, lung implosion, screams on repeat
Cost (today’s money)	~$2.8 million USD	~$2.5 million USD	~$0.8 million USD	~$250,000 (training, healthcare, surgical repairs, therapy)
Annual Maintenance Cost	~$50,000–70,000 USD	~£20,000	Minimal until total loss	~$80,000 (orthopedist, psychotherapist, physiotherapy, antidepressants)
Likelihood of Getting Stuck (mud, obstacles)	High (wide tracks, heavy)	High	Low (lightweight)	Medium (stress, joint failure, torn ligaments)
Friendly Fire Probability	High (from air support)	Lower	High (own artillery, panic)	High (coach, federation, teammates, social media)
Repairability After Hit	Not economical	Difficult	Impossible	Non-existent. Body is done, mind shattered, career over
Crew Escape Possibility	None (hit = trap)	Low	Zero	None (hit = system shutdown, blood and chalk everywhere)
Deployment in Conflicts	Vietnam, Middle East	Korea, Vietnam, Indo-Pakistan	Literally everywhere	Olympics, World Championships, then medical discharge or psychiatric ward
NBC/Atomic Protection	None	Partial in late versions	Some variants had it	None (absorbs radiation like a sponge, glows emotionally too)
Modernization	Limited (ERA, L7 gun)	Possible but expensive	Massive (ERA, new turrets)	Impossible. Joints and spine outdated by age 18
Service Life	Retired by 1980s	Museum pieces, South Africa	Still in active use	~22 years, then broken beyond repair (or replaced by younger model)
Remains After Destruction	Charred hull, molten steel	Shattered turret, blood mist inside	Crater and ash	Bone fragments, torn muscles, silent podium, weeping mother
Return on Investment	Low (high attrition)	Medium	High (cheap, long use)	Extremely low (long-term health collapse, lawsuits, trauma costs)
Units Built	~12,000 units	~4,400 units	~96,000 units	Functionally infinite. One breaks? Another 12-year-old appears, smiling

Gymnastics

Parameter	M48A3 Patton	Centurion Mk. 7/1	T-55	Club Gymnast
Mass (Operational)	~47.5 metric tons	~51.5 metric tons	~36 metric tons	~45 kg ±5 kg (mass affects injury kinetics and momentum transfer)
Apparatus Compatibility – Vault Run	Runway collapsed under static load; exceeds 12x max permitted weight (NCAA: 136 kg limit on apparatus contact)	Exceeds width and dynamic pressure constraints; DQ	Leaves traction damage; causes surface delamination	Fully compatible; athlete sprint limited to 25 m x 1 m NCAA runway
Balance Beam Compatibility	Exceeds by factor of 3600% (beam width = 10 cm; MBT hull = ~340–360 cm)	Cannot physically engage beam; considered destructive impactor	Crushes beam instantly; triggers evacuation	Beam compliance per FIG: must demonstrate lateral control over 10 cm surface for up to 90 seconds
Pivot/Twist Radius (Floor)	~4.2 m turret sweep arc; any pivoting action causes lethal rotational hazard	Slightly narrower pivot; end of barrel sweeps ~2.1 m radius	Better maneuverability but remains above safety envelope	Rotational control within 0.3–0.7 m range; subject to boundary deduction if ≥1 foot crosses line
Collateral Injury Radius During Rotation	Lethality radius: 3.5–4 m; includes coaches, judges, teammates	~95% fatality if any personnel within arc	Reverse gear misfires often result in fatal entrapment	Minimal – typical warmup collision risk only; documented nose fractures, twisted ankles
Apparatus Load – Vault Table	Exceeds failure force of all vaulting equipment; static force >1 MN (1000 kN)	Vault shears off at stanchion joints; no energy absorption	Foam core compression causes ignition or collapse	Acceptable impulse load: ~3000–5000 N (FIG-certified up to 8000 N)
Parallel/Uneven Bars Load Compliance	Mass exceeds bar tolerance by factor of 400–600; structural collapse expected	Renders apparatus unusable; bracket breakage and upright bending occur	Failure within 0.2–0.5 s under self-weight	Dynamic load cycles during giant swings range 4–6× body weight; hardware tested for these forces
Landing Mechanics Compliance	Unable to stabilize or meet 1-second rule; catastrophic tarmac deformation	Track shearing during stop; violates landing zone dimensions	Leaves crater; particulate risk to bystanders	Must hold finish for 1 second; facing direction of motion; deductions for heel separation or balance check
Regulatory Deductions	Full disqualification (DQ); event deemed hazardous to facility and staff	DQ due to illegal entry and spatial violation	Violates all scoring codes; not a valid entry	Deductions: steps, bent arms, uncontrolled dismounts, pause errors, form breaks
Post-Routine Mechanical Condition	Suspension damage; engine heat stress; turret misalignment	Track torsion; fractured bushings; oil leaks	Engine fire probable; hull delamination	Soft tissue strain, elevated CK levels, delayed-onset muscle soreness (DOMS), ligament laxity
Risk to Coach (During Spotting)	>80% fatality if within pivot arc or near hull; no ejection possible	67% chance of blunt trauma or penetration	91% injury risk due to vehicle movement, even at idle	Risk is emotional (critique reaction); physical injury from failed spotting rare but recorded
Risk to Teammates (Warmup, Rotation)	Facility-wide lockdown required; lethal radius 5 m	High chance of crushing, especially in tight gym layouts	Causes pile-up or panic in confined areas	Risk limited to shared warmup errors, double-backs in progress zones
Liability and Insurance Coverage	Not insurable under NCAA, NAIGC, or Club Sports	Violates state and federal facility codes	Classified as military equipment; voids all venue policies	Covered under university liability waiver; injury is athlete’s assumed risk unless gross negligence proven
Travel Logistics for Nationals	Requires strategic airlift (C-5 Galaxy or C-17); ~$300,000+ per move	Requires military transport permit; infrastructure damage expected	Unshippable via legal means	~$300–800/athlete incl. hotels, van, registration; cancellation = personal financial burden
Maintenance Cost Per Season	~$50k–70k/year (fuel, parts, crew labor)	>£20,000/year, parts scarcity issue	<$10k/year (if from surplus stock)	~$1500–2000/year (leotards, dues, injury treatment, rehab, tape, PT)
Fundraising Compliance	Cannot participate in fundraisers (non-human)	Presence banned under NAIGC fundraising policies	Illegal for use in public venues	Must complete 3–4 fundraisers per semester or pay $20 per unfulfilled event; tracked by Treasurer
Scoring Viability	Invalid entry; triggers judge protest and building evacuation	No score issued; data corrupted by seismic impact	Event nullified; all competitors reassigned	8.5–9.95 depending on E-score execution and D-score difficulty; perfect 10 rare post-2006
Average Career Duration	One appearance = permanent ban	Single entry = federal inspection	Internationally prohibited post-1990s	3–5 years active; average career ends due to chronic overuse injuries or academic priorities
Bystander Death Probability (per Meet)	~3–5 deaths likely (operators, staff, or crowd); 100% legal action	2–3 deaths; primarily due to improper turret control	>6 if reverse gear engaged in shared warmup zone	~0; incidents limited to accidental head/limb contact or falls; medical support required for 1–2 per 100 athletes

College life

Parameter	M48A3 Patton	Centurion Mk. 7/1	T-55	UNC Undergraduate Student
Operational Status in Residential Zone	Stationary vehicle emits continuous diesel vibration; cannot be ignored by occupants.	Capable of idling near building at precise orientation; high barrel mobility increases targeting precision.	Often parked irregularly; partially concealed; noise output varies. Crew typically dismounts.	Fully mobile within housing. Presence passive unless activated. Behavior not inherently predictable.
Turret Orientation Toward Dormitory	Barrel directed at window triggers psychological escalation. Duration over 10 min considered targeted intimidation.	Capable of continuous small-angle corrections. Movement is slow, deliberate, and visually disturbing to occupants.	Turret less frequently used; focus is on ground-level passive presence. Operates as decoy for crew.	If staring through window: treated as low-grade harassment unless repeated or associated with follow-up behavior.
Nighttime Surveillance Capacity	Infrared-enabled. Silent optical operations at standoff distance. Observes interior light movements from up to 1.5 km.	Thermally aligned passive optics. Enhanced night detail. May trigger dorm blinds closure with single realignment.	Low optical quality; mostly visual estimation. Ill-suited to nighttime targeting without crew intervention.	Uses standard civilian devices (e.g., binoculars, phones). Observation through windows illegal if recorded or repeated.
Window Breach Capability	Barrel can approach glass but rarely contacts. Psychological effect: extremely high.	Gun barrel length (L7) permits full intrusion through open or shattered window. May cause structural damage.	Crew enters via manual access. Often uses ladder or trash container for elevation.	Cannot physically breach. Possible to knock or signal, but entering window = criminal trespass.
Crew Behavior (if present)	Typically remains inside. Behavior is passive unless directly provoked.	Crew may reorient turret or manipulate gun elevation as silent warning gesture.	Crew dismounts, enters building. Primary goal: object acquisition (phones, cash, ID).	Unarmed. Actions constrained by policy. Crew = suitemates. No tactical intent.
Immediate Psychological Effect on Residents	Prolonged presence generates hypervigilance, anxiety, and fear of escalation.	Direct window breach causes immediate panic, screaming, and loss of perceived safety.	Occupants experience disassociation and withdrawal. Known long-term trauma cases reported.	Low-level discomfort escalating with repeated incidents. Can cause sleeplessness, fear, and RA notification.
Risk of Bodily Harm	No kinetic discharge assumed. However, rapid movement may collapse building façade.	Physical breach with L7 cannon may cause blunt trauma or crush injuries.	Entry event includes risk of crew assault or collateral injury.	Generally non-violent. Risk increases only in case of physical confrontation or mental instability.
Policy Violations (UNC)	§ II.B.3 (Stalking) § II.A.8 (Unauthorized Weapon) § II.A.15 (Harassment) § 1300.1 (Traffic)	§ II.B.3 (Stalking) § II.A.4 (Intrusion) § II.A.14 (Privacy Violation) § 700.1 (Weapons Possession)	§ II.B.4 (Burglary) § II.A.16 (Theft) § II.A.6 (Threat/Force) Potential Clery Act escalation	§ II.B.3 (if repeated observation) § II.A.14 (if photos/videos taken) Referable to Conduct Board
Emergency Response Protocol	RA files UNC Police alert. Police initiate Class A incident response. Situation escalates to lockdown if engine remains on.	Full emergency protocol. Residents evacuated. Dean of Students and Emergency Mgmt notified.	Campus Police + external agencies involved. Building potentially sealed.	Referral to Housing, CAPS, and Student Conduct. No lockdown. Complaint handled via administrative route.
Survivability of Inhabitants if Escalated	Building integrity compromised if vehicle advances. Survival not guaranteed in top floors.	If fired: APDS shell impact = fatality radius of ~12 m. No occupant survival expected.	Occupants may survive if property-only motive confirmed. Injuries possible.	Fully survivable. Risk of trauma or social damage. No physical destruction likely.
Follow-Up Investigation	UNC PD refers to Department of Homeland Security. Documentation classified.	Incident referred to Board of Governors. Legal status uncertain due to foreign origin of vehicle.	If suspects escape, no recovery likely. Victims referred to CAPS and Legal Aid.	Reviewed internally. Hearing held via Student Conduct portal. CAPS support offered.
Long-Term Housing Impact	Room declared uninhabitable. Infrastructure damage. Residents reassigned.	Dorm wing may be condemned. University liable for trauma claims.	Entire floor evacuated. Keycard access revoked. Structural damage recorded.	Subject to roommate complaint process. Room change considered based on documented stressor level.

Importance

Parameter	M48A3 Patton	Centurion Mk. 7/1	T-55	UNC Undergraduate Student
Historical Role	Defined post-WWII American armored doctrine. Transitional platform bridging WWII tech to Cold War MBTs.	First true Western MBT by philosophy, if not by name. Emphasized armor-firepower mobility triad.	Most produced tank in history; exported globally. Set design standard for 3 generations.	Born decades after Cold War. Historically insignificant except in roommate group chat lore.
Technological Innovation	Brought stabilized gun and night fighting gear into widespread use.	Integrated powerful 105mm L7 gun. Template for nearly all NATO tanks 1950s–1980s.	First tank with NBC protection, full autosealing, low profile.	Has a smartwatch and knows how to screen share. Occasionally reboots router for housemates.
Strategic Impact	Central to U.S. presence in Vietnam and NATO Europe. Widely deployed in Cold War theaters.	Limited combat use but immense doctrinal impact. Cemented shift to main battle tank concept.	Redefined global armored warfare. Used in over 50 conflicts. Still in service in 2020s.	Knows 1–2 protest slogans. Posts about Palestine, sleeps through elections.
Production Volume	~12,000 units globally.	~4,400 units (including all variants).	100,000+ produced. Near-mythic scale.	1 (though statistically there are ~30,000 others like them on campus right now).
Survivability in Hostile Scenario	Good armor for its time, but vulnerable to modern AT weapons.	High survivability vs. early Soviet guns. Lacked NBC in early variants.	Extremely robust. Easy to maintain in combat. Superior Cold War survivability.	Likely to run. No armor. Susceptible to both gunfire and anxiety.
Legacy in Tank Doctrine	Outclassed, but critical stepping stone. Legacy persists in U.S. training culture.	Grandfather of all Western MBTs. Its gun still in service on many vehicles.	Living fossil. Still directly influencing insurgency and paramilitary tactics.	May go to grad school. Legacy unlikely to extend beyond LinkedIn.
Replacement Evolution	Replaced by M60 → M1 Abrams.	Replaced by Chieftain → Challenger.	Replaced by T-62 → T-72 → T-90, but often still in use alongside successors.	Replaced yearly by next freshman class.
Symbolic Power	Evokes American hegemony, Vietnam-era warfare.	Evokes NATO standardization, post-imperial British identity.	Evokes Soviet reach, authoritarian projection, post-colonial militarism.	Evokes Wi-Fi complaints, vague social justice takes, and kombucha bottles.

See also

• M4 Sherman
• T-54/55