I met Walt Schneider in September 1995 at the Springfield, Vermont airfield as we lined up to board a B-17G “Flying Fortress,” the four-engine bomber that was instrumental in defeating Nazi Germany in World War II. The aircraft, named “Nine O’ Nine,” (destroyed in a 2019 crash) was owned and operated by the Collings Foundation of eastern Massachusetts.
There were 10 of us who paid for a one-hour ride in her. For me, it was a dream come true as I have always been fascinated with the Fort. Walt had been a tail gunner in a B-17 during the war, flying 28 missions out of England with the 100th Bombardment Group, nicknamed “The Bloody Hundredth.”
When most people think of the air war over Europe, they envision combat in a clean, pristine environment, high above the mud and blood on the ground. In fact, the air war was one of the most brutal and costly theaters of the war. The Eighth Air Force alone supplied most of the bombers and fighters hurled against Fortress Europe and suffered more combat fatalities than the entire U.S. Marine Corps in the Pacific Theater (a fact that does nothing to diminish the courage and sacrifice of the Leathernecks.)
Flying in unheated and un-pressurized aircraft at 25,000 feet, the men were exposed to temperatures as low as minus-60 degrees that froze equipment and killed men who were forced to breathe through oxygen masks that were sometimes inoperable.
The tight formations of hundreds of airplanes winging through the worst weather imaginable caused frequent midair collisions as deadly as the German defenses which were the deadliest of all. The Luftwaffe hurled hundreds of fighters at bomber formations and it was not uncommon for a bomber squadron to send 15 planes out on a mission and have only one return.
Of the 140 flight officers of the 100th who arrived in England; after four months only three remained on flying status. Not a few succumbed to debilitating PTSD. In period photographs, they look about 50 years old although their average age was 20.
Walt was the oldest on board that day, wearing a battered leather flight jacket with “Hard Luck” painted on the back, a phrase often used to describe the 100th. Once in flight, he sat at the bombardier’s station in the nose, I took a few photos of him looking out the Plexiglas nose cone, lost in thoughts that I could not even fathom.
Afterwards, I printed some pictures of him and our adventure and sent them to his home in Colrain. Walt asked to visit and graciously gifted me with a cloth wall hanging commemorating the 100th BG with facts and illustrations about his unit. Walt sat on my couch as he told me about some of the men he had served with.
At which point, he broke down and wept.
I tried to comfort him knowing that the trauma of the past half century was still carried within him and would mostly likely endure until the end of his life. I recently read his obituary and learned that on his last mission, his plane was hit by flak which killed one and wounded another of his comrades. Since the war and until his passing in 2006, Walt attended over 800 reunions of the Bloody Hundredth.
In my extensive readings of the Eighth Air Force’s history, what stands out is the extraordinary heroism and devotion of those who climbed into their aircraft on what amounted to suicide missions. Currently, when million-dollar athletes skip games because of a sprained pinky, it’s sobering to read of crewmen continuing to fly their planes, stay at their stations or to help a buddy while suffering grievous wounds that are too gruesome to describe in a family newspaper.
The men of the Eighth were clear that the only thing that motivated them to get out of bed on mission days were not abstract notions of fighting for freedom or democracy but to not let down their band of brothers. There is a story of a gunner who was trapped in his position and unable to bail out of his fatally stricken aircraft. The three other gunners on board chose to stay with him so he wouldn’t die alone. Thus, they all perished, as brothers.
War is nothing but a tragic waste but until the human race evolves beyond it, I am indebted to men and women like Walt and his comrades who risked it all to stop the evil scourge of Nazism.
Daniel A. Brown lived in Franklin County for 44 years and is a frequent contributor to the Recorder. He lives in New Mexico with his wife, Lisa and dog, Cody. “Masters of the Air,” the story of Walt’s “Bloody Hundredth” bomb group is currently being filmed as a miniseries produced by Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks.