P.P.F.C. Robert "Bob" Black, 
remembered by a fellow
soldier
Below is an article written by one of
Bob's fellow soldiers, Earl Rife of Ohio. I cannot thank
him enough for having the foresight to have written the
events of Bob's last days down. barbara
PREFACE: This is the story of how the
17th became Airborne. In it I have
tried to give accurate account of what took place, from
the time we left our base camp, until the time we met
the first troops crossing the Rhine by bridge. I
have used my own thoughts and feelings, knowing they
represented those of most of the other fellows. My
wish is that this account be dedicated to the fellows
from my outfit who were not to go back with us. 2
Lt Irving E Brenner, Sgt Carl M Faust and Pfc. Robert E
Black. They were the real heroes of the operation
to us, giving their all for their country, like the men
they were. Their memories will always live with
us, the fellows who came into the Army with them, as
well as those who joined the outfit as time passed
by. They were regular fellows and were well liked
by everyone. It is only fitting that this story,
of the operation that took their lives, be theirs
As usual, before a big operation, rumors are being
circulated freely, and had been for days, at our base
camp. Something was in the making, there was no
doubt of that in anyone’s mind. Preparations were
obvious to us – zeroing in our rifles, clothing and
equipment shortages coming in, and there was activity
everywhere. Finally the non-coms were called to a
meeting and, shortly thereafter, we were oriented.
It was going to be what we had trained for from the time
the Division was activated two long years ago – an
“Airborne” operation – and a tough assignment. We
were to land across the Rhine to secure a bridgehead for
ground forces, in enemy territory that was strongly
defended, something everyone feared either inwardly or
openly.
We packed what clothing and equipment we were not taking
with us in our duffle-bags for storage, after which we
made our rolls and put our combat equipment in our
packs. Then came the first trying period, waiting
for the QM trucks to take us to the trains. Some
of the fellows started to sweat out the mission during
the wait, others gathered in small groups, joking and
wise-cracking, while others preferred to sack.
Finally the trucks arrived, we loaded up and away we
went to the station. Once there, we settled down
for a long ride in “40 x 8” freight cars. It
turned out to be one of the most uncomfortable rides I
have ever taken. After eight hours, we arrived at
our destination, loaded trucks once more, and took off
for our marshalling area.
Things were soft for us in our area, our only complaint
being that we were not allowed out of our enclosure,
except with an officer on business. The food was
good, we had movies every night, there was a radio and
Victrola in each mess-hall, plenty of athletic equipment
could be had for the asking, church services were held
daily, and there was plenty of time to write those
“last” letters. Generally, the fellows didn’t show
any signs that they were thinking of what was soon to
come off, most of us spent the days reading, writing, or
playing volleyball. At night we got plenty of
sleep, since there was no reveille in the morning.
On our second day, a non-com came around asking the men
if they wanted to be in the movies. At first
everyone thought it was a gag and there was no
takers. We found it to be the truth, so everyone
wanted to get in on it. I was on of the lucky ones
who succeeded. The photographer got us grouped as
he wanted us and explained all about the picture, which
was to be titled “The 17th Airborne Invades
Germany”. He then started to make the shots he
wanted, groups and individuals, running through two
reels of film. When it was over, we began to
wonder when we would get to see the picture and whether
the folks back home would recognize us, if they saw
it. As yet, none of us have seen it and don’t know
whether it has been shown in the States.
We were further oriented the following day, the GO
showing us maps with our landing zones marked on them,
as well as other necessary information. He also
gave us an overall description of just how everything
was planned, our support, objectives, enemy
installations, and told us the estimated resistance
expected. After the orientation we drew our
ammunition, then gathered in small groups to discuss the
orientation. Some thought it would be plenty tough
and others thought it would be fairly easy, but we all
agreed that it was well planned. One thing that
bothered most of us was the length of time it would take
the ground units to make contact with us. Later we
were to find we had no worries in that respect.
Later that day we loaded up the equipment, in
preparation for a take-off on short notice. We
were given our flight numbers, serials, take-off times,
etc., at the airport. Met our pilot and co-pilot,
both of whom had been in previous airborne operations,
and our minds were a bit more at ease when they told us
it wouldn’t be too bad. Returned to the area to
get a good rest, for the next day was going to be
“it”. The tension was beginning to show in most of
the fellow’s actions and, in spite of the joking, it was
quite evident that I wasn’t the only one who was
scared. Played some volleyball, saw a movie, then
turned in. It was hard to get to sleep that night,
but finally dozed off after tossing around for a couple
of hours.
Rolled out at 4:30
AM, then went to breakfast, which consisted of two good
sized pieces of genuine beefsteak, fried potatoes, two
eggs as ordered, fruit juice, cherry pie, bread, butter,
and coffee. What a meal. After eating, we
put on our personal equipment, had a formation, then
took off for the airfield. Arrived there about an
hour before take-off time, made a final check of
equipment and began to really “sweat it out”.
Would have been much better if we had taken off
immediately, for all nerves were on edge and some
fellows went for walks to the rear of gliders, parked
off the runway, carrying a shovel in one hand and a roll
of paper in the other. The order to load up came
and we waited for about ten minutes before our plane
started down the runway. Each plane had a double
tow, the nylon rope became taut and then the gliders
were off the ground, to be followed a few seconds later
by the plane. We were on our way. What would
happen before we hit the ground again no one knew, but
we all had our ideas. It wasn’t going to be a
pleasure trip, and some of us were not going to make the
trip back again.
Once in the air our thoughts were jumbled – how and
where was the news of the operation going to be made
public first. Would we get a good write-up, what
would the reaction of the folks back home and the
fellows we left behind be, would we make a good landing,
would we surprise the “heinies” to the extent that they
would be off guard, how many of our buddies would be
casualties. Many other thoughts ran through our
minds, but everyone kept them to themselves, only
occasionally would someone speak. We sighted a
large city which we identified as Paris, the Eiffel
Tower off in the distance, barely visible in the
haze. While circling the outskirts of the city, we
flew low enough to see people stop whatever they were
doing and look up at the great air-fleet
above. We wondered what their thoughts
were. Another fleet of planes and gliders joined
us as we completed the first circle. Once more
around Paris and then we headed north.
It was
a beautiful day, real flying weather, although
occasionally we hit sections where air pockets were
frequent and the ride was a bit bumpy. Some
gliders tossed about considerably while others kept
fairly steady. The scenery below was beautiful,
the plowed fields mixed among the green ones gave the
effect of a giant patchwork quilt. One wondered
how it could be possible to go from such peaceful
scenes, only to be surrounded by the horrors of war a
few short hours later. The first hour passed and
all was well. Soon we came to another large city,
which turned out to be Brussels. There we were
joined by another fleet of tow ships and gliders; this
time they were British – Lancasters and Halifaxes towing
Horsa gliders. Circled the city before heading
northeast to our destination. Windmills were
spotted on the countryside below and we knew we were
over Holland.
Although we had been well briefed as to the time we were
due at our landing zone, the fellows began to get
uneasy. Fighter planes were spotted above, below,
and to either side of our formation. Douglas C-47
and Commando Transports, returning from the drop zone,
also flew by in large formation. We knew then
that some of the boys were already “in”. Someone
sighted a fair sized river ahead, which we thought was
the Rhine, and we braced ourselves. Had we arrived
ahead of schedule? That seemed to be the main
thought in everyone’s mind. Nothing
happened. The pilot did not even put on his
flak-suit or steel helmet, so we relaxed again for a
short time. A glider broke loose from its tow ship
up ahead and started its graceful descent. It was
definitely one of our group, so we tried to figure out
who could be in it. Those guys, whoever they were,
were lucky; that seemed to be the general trend of
thought.
A
large body of water, looking much like a lake, loomed
ahead a few minutes later. As we got closer, it
was quite evident that we were looking at the Rhine, the
barrier to Allied Troops upon which the “krauts” were
placing so much of their hopes. Everyone looked
out the windows, straining to see what activity was
going on below. Allied vehicles were spotted close
to the west bank, then we were over the water.
Other than the tangled wreckages of the bridges the Air
Corp had bombed, we sighted nothing in the river
itself. Tried to spot activity on east bank, but
we were unsuccessful, due to the dense mass of smoke
over which we were flying. The only things visible
through the smoke screen were the flames from burning
planes and buildings. Puffs of black and white
smoke, as well as the crack of flak shells, were all
around us. The pilot reached up for the tow
release pulling it down and cutting loose within a few
seconds of the time planned. We were on our own
now.
When
briefed, we were told we would be over enemy territory
for about three minutes; actually it was closer to five,
the worse five minutes I ever hoped to spend and it
seemed like eternity. We moved so slowly that we
would have been a perfect target if the “krauts” could
have seen through the smoke. As it was, I don’t
know how we got through that storm of steel without
suffering serious damage. A glider to our left
suddenly burst into flames and went down, then another
in front of us suffered the same fate. I think
everyone in our glider prayed harder than they ever did
before. A shell exploded close by, close enough to
feel the concussion, and a piece of shrapnel tore
through the tail section. My throat became choked
up and the other boys seemed to have the same thought
that I did, to get as much of our bodies as possible
under our steel helmets. The pilot and co-pilot
seemed very cool, although they admitted they had never
seen so much flak or so many aircraft go down. The
pilot nosed the glider down at a sharp angle, let the
tail down at about fifty feet, and we were on the ground
a few seconds later. Lost the landing gear when we
hit, then slid forward about thirty yards before coming
to a
stop.
Our first thought was to get the hell out, but quick,
opened the door, took a few paces and dove for the
ground, bullets whistling by in all directions.
After a few minutes, during which we regained our
composure, we reentered the glider to unload the
equipment and ammunition. Then took off for the
assembly area, keeping al low as possible and moving
quickly to make a poor target. All around us were
gliders, some had made good landings, others hadn’t and
they were smashed varying degrees. A couple landed
in the woods nearby, one on its wing tip; one look at
the latter made us wonder how anyone could have gotten
out alive but, through some miracle, there was only one
casualty. Another really turned out to be a
“flying coffin”, smashing into a tree, its nose becoming
part of the trunk and the tail sticking high in the air
at an angle of 45 degrees; everyone in that glider was a
casualty to some extent.
Finally
located our CP, reported in, exchanged experiences and
found there were many groups still unreported. It
didn’t look good for a while; we had casualties, too
many of them, and had lost some vehicles, equipment and
ammunition. More fellows came in as time passed,
causing our hopes to grow for those as yet
unreported. In the next few days we were to see
why some loads were not “in”, and never would be.
There
wasn’t much artillery firing by now, but considerable
small arms fire in all directions, getting further and
further away. Saw numerous ‘chutes hanging from
trees or collapsed on the ground and wondered how the
troopers made out. Medic jeeps were racing in all
directions, some with loads and others going back for
new loads. POW’s were coming by in groups with
their GI guards; they didn’t look much like “supermen”,
but seemed happy they were prisoners, for the war was
over for them.
The Battery was reorganized, received orders from
Headquarters, and we were off to perform our
mission. The resistance was light in the sector
after the first few hours, “krauts” giving up without
much fight. A terrific number of prisoners were
taken in a relatively short
time.
Everything went well the first night for us, until
shortly after mid-night, when the “jerries” tried a
counter attack, which we expected. As luck would
have it, I was one of the guards on our gun at the time,
so can give a fair description of what happened a short
distance away. The other guard and I both heard a
clicking noise quite far away, but coming closer.
We didn’t recognize the sound immediately, but soon knew
it came from tank treads. The “krauts” have a
habit of sneaking their armor into position with motors
idling, making as little noise as possible. We
called the guards at another gun about two hundred yards
away, in the direction from which the sound was coming,
and found that they had heard the noise but hadn’t
spotted anything. Almost immediately after the
call was finished, all hell seemed to break loose,
tracers and explosions lighting the sky. One
“heinie” heavy machine gun seemed to be zeroed in our
position, sending numerous volleys over our heads, much
too close for comfort. We awakened the rest of the
squad and waited for instructions. The enemy had
been engaged by troops to the left of our position,
consisting of the gliders pilots that had brought us in,
and were now acting as infantry, one platoon from an
“ack-ack” Battery with 50 caliber machine guns, and one
platoon from my Battery. We received orders to
move, losing no time in going out of action or getting
to the assemble point. Shortly after that,
everything became quiet again but there was no sleep to
be had that night; we were all wide-awake. The
dawn of another day came and we found that the attack
had been completely repelled – two “kraut” tanks were
knocked out, approximately thirty “supermen” were
“kaput”, and about an equal number of prisoners were
taken. Our losses were practically nil.
We
moved into another position later n the morning.
Everything was still quiet, except for an occasional
shot from a sniper followed by an answering shot or
volley, and artillery could be heard in the
distance. One or two airbursts exploded
uncomfortably close, but that was all. A column of
prisoners came marching up the road we were covering;
there were thousands of them, representing almost every
branch of service and with ranks from field officers to
privates. It took them almost a half hour to pass
our position and we noticed that some were old enough to
be great-grandfathers, while others should have been
home playing “cops and robbers” in their back yards.
We
located a house with a well-stocked wine cellar and
immediately began to quench our thirst. It had
been a long time since we had been able to get a good
shot of liquor and it tasted damn good. In France
and Belgium we were told by the natives how the
“heinies” had taken everything when they fled. We
know now how truthful they were, so we quickly
confiscated all the whiskey, champagne and wine we could
carry, sure did tickle our dusty tonsils and, although
we drank freely, no one over-indulged.
One
thing still bothered us a little – we were anxious to
know whether the ground forces had succeeded in crossing
the river and how soon they would make contact.
Didn’t have long to wait for that information, for a
group of tanks came in from our right and were
identified as British. They came across the Rhine
on “Buffaloes” and ferries. We were all quite
relieved to see them. Our elation was complete a
short time later, when a convoy of jeeps came along the
road to our front. Luck was with us and the convoy
came to a stop. I went over to talk with one of
the drivers. Almost “jumped for joy” when he told
me he was in the 17th and that the convoy had
crossed the river by bridge. Also gave me other
information that put me completely at ease. Before
the jeeps started moving again, I told the driver they
had been “on the ball” and were damn happy to see
them. That bit of conversation was overheard by a
couple of glider pilots who happened by at the
time. One of them turned to me and spoke a few
words I’ll never forget: “Hell, man, if it wasn’t for
you guys, these fellows wouldn’t be here. You
fellows deserve all the credit”. I thanked him and
repaid the compliment. There aren’t words to
describe the extent to which we respect men like him and
his brother pilots, they are “out of this
world”.
At last the 17th was really “Airborne”, our mission had been successfully completed.
FINIS
Note: Bob is buried in the US Cemetery in Margaten,
Holland. barbara
