When people think of World War II’s air war over Europe, it’s easy to picture endless formations of B-17 Flying Fortresses and B-24 Liberators cutting across the sky, bristling with guns and determination. But behind those iconic images lies a much tougher reality—a story of strategy, sacrifice, and survival. Nowhere was that more evident than in the fateful “Black Week” of October 1943, when the US Army Air Forces (USAAF) weathered some of their bloodiest and most horrendous days.
The USAAF went into the war with a daring strategy: precision bombing in daylight. Conceived at the Air Corps Tactical School in Alabama, the doctrine postulated that contemporary wars were won on factories and assembly lines. Strike at the enemy’s industrial core, and you may end the war sooner—and save lives in the trenches. To apply maximum pressure on Germany, the Americans collaborated with the British Royal Air Force, which conducted night bombing missions, producing a “round-the-clock” air war to shatter the backbone of the Nazi war machine.
Theory was soon met with the brutal realities of war. The B-17 and B-24 were technological wonders, outfitted with as many as eleven machine guns and flown in tight formations intended to shield crews by sheer firepower. Yet as the bombers penetrated deeper into Germany, they encountered a wall of defenses: radar-guided fighters, deadly flak batteries, and well-trained Luftwaffe pilots. USAAF fighter escorts, such as the P-47 Thunderbolt, could not simply remain with the bombers to the target. When the escorts broke away close to the German border, the bombers were very much alone.
The price in human lives was terrific. By the end of 1943, the life expectancy of a B-17 crewman was only eleven missions. Crews understood statistically that they would not live through a full 25-mission tour. Morale suffered as vacant bunks mounted in the Quonset huts at home.
Then was October 1943—”Black Week.” The Eighth Air Force made a series of deep raids into German territory, targeting U-boat bases, airframe factories, and ball bearing factories. On October 8, the Bremen and Vegesack raids lost heavily to flak and enemy fighters. The following day, raids on Anklam, Marienburg, Gdynia, and Danzig left additional bombers broken by rocket-armed twin-engine fighters. On October 10, the Munster raid occurred when the 100th Bomb Group in the lowest position was almost annihilated—only one of thirteen aircraft returned.
Major John C. Egan, who commanded the 418th Bomb Squadron, was at the center of these operations. Renowned for his warmth, sense of humor, and inspiration of his men, he flew with his crews and even took a demotion to stay in the thick of things. On 10 October, he commanded a B-17 with John Brady’s crew on the Munster raid.
Their ship was hit by flak at the point of the initial attack, killing one of the crew and injuring others. The survivors parachuted and were made prisoners at Stalag Luft III. As their reunion in the POW camp was one laced with humor, Cleven said after Egan was shot down two days later, “What the hell took you so long?”.
Such stories disclose the humanity and resilience of the airmen. Annie, Egan’s daughter, came to recall later his good-humored nature and the respect he inspired, as well as learning about the harsh conditions crews suffered—flying at 20,000 feet in unheated planes, fighting frostbite, and with death always pending. The peak of Black Week was on “Black Thursday,” October 14, in a huge raid on Schweinfurt’s ball bearing plants. Of 291 bombers that departed, 229 made it to the target area, escorted only the first 200 miles.
After that, they encountered waves of German fighters and unrelenting flak. Luftwaffe pilots came head-on, twin-engine JU-88s fired rockets at distant ranges, and straggling planes with damage were culled. By the time the formations approached the factories, smoke and fire from downed planes scarred the sky. Sixty bombers were lost, and hundreds of airmen were killed or missing—a ratio much greater than anticipated.
The raid established that deep penetrations inside Germany without long-range fighter escort were simply not sustainable. It had an immediate impact. The USAAF discontinued daylight long-distance raids for months, focusing on targets within the range of fighter escort. The concept of unescorted precision bombing had proved a failure—at least until the advent of the P-51 Mustang, which was now able to escort bombers well into enemy-held regions.
Black Week and Black Thursday were costly lessons paid for in blood. They showed that courage alone was not enough to defeat technical and tactical deficiencies. But they also demonstrated the unprecedented resolve of the airmen, whose sacrifice paved the way for final victory. The aerial campaign in Europe was never just about bombs and machinery—it was about men in them, their friendships, their anxieties, and their unbreakable will to carry out their duty, no matter what.
