FanStory.com - The Darkness of My Life by Richard Frohm

What I went through is a darkness no one should ever experience.

My road to a lifetime of true darkness began on September 30, 1944, with my arrival at Rattlesden, Army Air Force base in England. A week later, it all began. I was the top turret gunner and flight engineer on a B-17 bomber. Ours was a ten-man crew. The pilot Lt. Paul O’Reilly, co-pilot, Lt. James Morris, bombardier, Lt. Frank Chapman, navigator, Lt. Samuel Rosenthal, radio operator, Sgt. Tony Vitale, waist gunners, Sgt. Mark Dewitt and Sgt. Rick Delong, tail gunner, Sgt Brian Corning and myself. By the end of November 1944, we had flown twenty-three bombing missions.

How we survived that long was a miracle, or as Lt. O’Reilly put it, his Irish luck. No matter what it was, hell. Between German fighters and flak*, we lost hundreds of planes and over a thousand men either killed, wounded or taken prisoner.

I watched bombers explode, killing an entire crew or watch B-17’s burning and headed earthward. Praying to God the entire crew would escape. Sadly, watching as only some of the crew could parachute. If you knew the crew, it was worse. For me it was on a mission to bomb the ball bearing plant in Schweinfurt that left a horrible memory. My cousin Thomas O’Neill, a pilot in our group, was flying on our right. As we neared Schweinfurt, the flak was severe. I saw flak bursting around his bomber before it exploded from a direct hit. All I saw were large pieces falling. Two bodies falling, with no parachutes.

It was bad enough to see my cousin die, but to read a letter from his mom asking about his death. I cried as I remembered that moment. Writing to her was the hardest thing I had experienced in my nineteen years.

I will forever remember November 30, 1944, our twenty-third mission. That was the date which would be the darkest day of my life. A day that darkness would come and stay with me my whole life.

That day began like any other when we were going on a bombing run. I was the flight engineer and top turret gunner on a B-17 bomber.

At 0430 hours, the on-duty sergeant woke my crewmates and me with a shout of, “Wake up, boys, it’s time to fly!”

Tired or not, it was game day for us.

We dressed and headed for the mess hall for breakfast. I don’t know how the cooks knew it was going to be a bad target, but they did. We knew when they used real eggs instead of powdered eggs for scrambled eggs. That meant a heavily protected site like Berlin, Regensberg, or Schweinfurt. Unlike other branches of the military. We had a close bond with our crew’s officers. We ate breakfast as a crew.

As our crew sat at a table, we all guessed the target for the day. Lt. O’Reilly, our pilot, looked up.

“What difference does a bombing site matter? We have my Irish luck on our side.”

That one remark brought out laughter from our table. Lt. O’Reilly had a gift of making us laugh. He seemed to have a gift at easing our worries.

After breakfast the pilot, co-pilot, and the navigator went to the mission briefing. That was when they learned the target for the day. The rest of us had the chance to attend a Catholic priest’s blessing. I went before every mission. I was Catholic, but that did not matter. Men from every faith would come to receive God’s forgiveness. If you were going to die, God’s forgiveness meant a lot to them.

By 0600hrs, we were all headed to our bomber. As we were driving, Lt. O’Reilly would brief us on the mission and target. The target that day was the ball bearing plant at Schweinfurt, Germany. A highly defended target.

At 0630hrs, our group took off and connected with the other bomber groups before heading to the target.

By 0715hrs, all groups were formed into one and proceeded to the target.

The flight across France went smoothly. There was minimal attack from German fighters. That changed once we entered Germany. The Luftwaffe poured every plane they had at us. Even with fighter planes there to protect us, it was a living hell.

It is hard to describe to those that were not there other than it was hell on earth. The B-17 had paper-thin walls. Bullets would pierce through one side and literally out the other side unless it hit something like one of us. From my turret at the top, I saw hundreds of German fighters attacking our squadron. I watched plane after plane going down in flames.

As we approached Schweinfurt, the flak began. Bomber crews would describe that flak as, “So heavy that you could walk across it.” I watched bombers as they exploded. Thinking to myself, “I am glad that wasn’t me.”

Just after bombs away there was a hole blown through our right wing and a second one blow the tail section off, taking Brian Corning with it as it headed downward. Immediately after, there was another explosion that threw me out of my turret position. Fortunately, I landed on my belly parachute. I was able to get one hook onto my harness. The plane began a nosedive. I could see Lt. O’Reilly and Lt. Morris feverishly trying to free themselves from their seats. However, the downward force held them in their seats. The last explosion blew me out through the open bay doors. As I fell out, my only thought was my surviving was a miracle.

I descended from twenty-one thousand feet. With only one parachute clip attached, the descent was rough. Added to my trouble were pieces of debris falling around me. Several pierced my chute, speeding my descent faster. I hit the ground so hard that I lost consciousness. Coming two, I stood up and saw a group of German soldiers running towards me with their rifles ready to shoot me. I had no choice but to surrender.

They took me to a small village and placed me in a truck. Shortly after, they brought Lt. Chapman and Mark Dewitt.

From there, they transported us to an interrogation camp. Every town we went through, people that saw us in the truck would run up and spit on us. They hated our guts.

Upon arrival at the interrogation facility, they separated us. During my interrogation I refused to answer questions. Giving only my name, rank, and serial number. As a result, I was placed into solitary confinement. The room was roughly eleven feet by eleven feet, no windows, solid metal door. My only light was a hanging bulb. What I endured over ten days was brutal. German guards would come in at various hours and slap me around. It was as if they enjoyed it more than finding anything out. They gave me very little food and only a small amount of water. In fact, it was so bad that I peed into a bottle, so I had something to drink.

I was released on the eleventh day. I saw my crewmates briefly as all three of us went to different prisoner of war camps. They held me at Stalag Luft IV. This was a horrible camp. Basically, no medical care, little food, and we only had our uniforms to wear. Since the camp was overcrowded new arrivals had to sleep on the floors with straw as our bedding.

I was told by other guys the German guards would let their dogs off the leash and let them attack a prisoner just for the fun of watching. They would shoot you for trying to help him. I experienced being bitten by their dogs. After the guards called the dogs off and walked away, fellow P.O.W’s helped me up and assisted me in going to our hut. All they could do was wash my wounds and rip up any cloth they could find for bandages.

As bad as that was, it was being there for Christmas that hurt the most. I could not get my family and fiancée out of my mind.

Things went from bad to worse. With the Russian army approaching from the east our German captors decided to evacuate the camp and march us west. On February 2, 1945, over eight thousand of us were forced to march west. It was one of the worst winters and springs in a long time. Our captors gave us one Red Cross box and a blanket. Food was scarce and only limited medical care. We slept outdoors on the frozen ground. If we were fortunate, we would sleep in an overcrowded barn or empty building. Like many of the others, I had trench foot, frostbite, and dysentery. All we could do was eat charcoal to help the dysentery.

We did our best to help the ill. However, at one point, we decided to help those we could and leave the others behind. We never saw those left behind again.

We covered over six hundred miles over the course of eighty days. The end of our misery came in Lübeck, Germany, on May 2, 1945. Our German guards fled the day before.

We were saved by the British and Canadian troops. They provided us with showers, clean uniforms, food and medical care.

One month later, I sailed home by ship. For me, the war was over, but not the darkness in my life.

As other soldiers kept their memories hidden. I did the same. That was the norm for World War II veterans. There was no such thing as post- traumatic stress disorder.

I tried to recover from my darkness by keeping my family from knowing anything beyond my being shot down and held in a prison camp until the war ended. The one event that kept my memories alive was my youngest daughter’s birthday. She was born on November 30, 1955. How do I articulate what it was like for me every one of her birthdays? I said nothing to my family. I wanted my memories kept to myself. My thinking was it was better for them and me.

With all of that said, the darkness I lived with would follow me to the grave.

Flak: Exploding shells fired from cannons that exploded at the heights our planes were flying. When the shells burst, it would send hundreds of pieces of shrapnel (metal ) in all directions. Some shells struck bombers directly.