But Sgt. Don Collier doesn't take it as a comment on his age. Or as an insult. It's just his nickname, a label that each member of a tank crew earns.
Collier's comes from the fact that he's commanded this motley assortment of soldiers for a long time. They were killing Germans in North Africa way back when. They fought through Italy and Normandy. And years later, they're still all fighting together, making their way across Germany in the waning days of World War II.
It's the spring of 1945, and you can feel that this nasty war is in its endgame. But there's still a lot of fighting to be done. And it's more dangerous now than ever. The enemy is desperate, in retreat and setting up for a suicidal last stand. And even though Hitler may have had to start forcing children into the battle to bolster his troops, the German army still has plenty of tanks, brutal beasts of war more heavily armored and powerful than anything the Americans can field.
That, however, won't stop Collier's crew. With a new private manning the bow gun, they'll be giving more than they get. Sure, that Norman kid is green—afraid of dying and even more afraid to pull a trigger—but they'll knock him into shape. Once he gets an eyeball of what war can do, when he sees what horrors one man can do to another man, he won't be dragging his feet on killing any more.
After all, they scrawled Fury on the barrel of their M-4 Sherman's big gun for a reason: Collier and Co. plan on delivering the full fury of the American fighting machine 'til every last villainous German is dead and gone!