Few World War II units have the burden of legacy that the 100th Bomb Group does. Called the “Bloody Hundredth” throughout the Eighth Air Force, the unit developed a reputation that veered on the side of myth—one characterized by staggering losses, ceaseless missions, and tales of unparalleled bravery. Inexperienced pilots who were assigned to the unit tended to do so with grim resignation, fully realizing that flying with the 100th might as well be a one-way ticket home. But below the legend is a very human tale of sacrifice, brotherhood, and a type of bravery that continues to resonate within today’s U.S. Air Force.
The unit was formally activated on June 1, 1942, at Walla Walla Army Air Base, Washington. Its first commander, Colonel Darr H. Alkire, established a sobering tone from the beginning. In one of his very first speeches to the men, he didn’t shy away from describing what they had in store for them. Strategic bombing, he informed them, wasn’t clean or glorious—it involved bombing cities with all the attendant collateral damage.
His words struck hard: “You’re going to be baby-killers and women-killers.” It was a raw, unfiltered warning about the psychological burden these men would carry. In its early months, the group suffered from scattered training efforts and a touch of arrogance that would soon prove costly. That hubris came crashing down in April of 1943 with a cross-country training flight that went awry, and Alkire’s subsequent replacement by Colonel Howard M. Turner and renewed efforts at discipline and preparedness.
By June of that year, the 100th was on the ground at Thorpe Abbotts in East Anglia, England—its wartime residence for the remainder of the war. They flew their first mission on June 25, and reality set in quickly. Three planes were lost on that first raid alone, and the group’s men soon realized what was at stake.
As missions mounted, so did the death toll. The designation “jinxed” started to stick after a string of high-loss operations. On the August 1943 raid against Regensburg, the 100th was in an exposed role in the bomber formation and paid a high price, losing nine of the 22 planes they sent up. Next was the October trip to Münster, where just one of 13 B-17s made it back. That one survivor, piloted by Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal, was a symbol of the group’s toughness and indomitable spirit.
The 100th was more than aircraft and numbers—it was characterized by the men who sported its patch. One of the most influential of these was Colonel Neil “Chick” Harding, who succeeded Turner. Harding understood profoundly the cost combat had on his men and was infamous for leaving them alone to deal as best they might. The unit also had its colorful personalities—men like Majors John “Bucky” Egan and Gale “Buck” Cleven were the type of men who dominated a room, loud and cocky in the face of ever-present danger.
And then there was Rosenthal. A pre-war New York attorney, he wound up piloting 52 combat missions, got shot down twice, and returned each time. He wasn’t only respected—he was revered. Major Harry Crosby, the squadron’s navigator, once called Rosenthal “the heart and spirit of the 100th,” a sentiment generally held by those who served with him.
Though their losses were heavy, it’s well to recall that the 100th’s experience wasn’t uniquely so. The Eighth Air Force as a whole suffered among the most severe losses of any U.S. military branch in Europe during the conflict. Of the approximately 4,000 men who served in the 100th, over 700 were killed. An astounding 77 percent of its original aircrew were casualties in some manner—killed, wounded, captured, or missing. Yet, what distinguished the 100th was how its narrative ended up speaking for the larger experience of American bomber crews. Historically, only 57 of the original 361 air crewmen completed a complete tour.
Tragedies notwithstanding, the 100th kept flying and fighting through some of the war’s most pivotal times. They participated in key operations over Berlin, aided in the D-Day invasion, and flew missions during the Battle of the Bulge. By April 20, 1945, the squadron had flown their last mission, without even one casualty. It was a subdued but forceful conclusion to an extended and violent campaign, enabled in part through enhanced tactics and the belated arrival of fighter escorts that had been absent in the group’s early years.
Today, the Bloody Hundredth’s legacy continues—not only in textbooks, but in the skies and on the ground. The modern 100th Air Refueling Wing at RAF Mildenhall continues to fly under the same banner, with traditions honoring the past. You’ll still find “Rosie’s Riveters” nose art painted on the unit’s KC-135 Stratotankers, and a building named after Rosenthal stands as a daily reminder of the group’s sacrifices. Veterans, active-duty personnel, and families gather regularly to honor that legacy, keeping the spirit alive for the next generation. As Lt. Col. Thomas Risner once put it, today’s airmen “stand on the shoulders of giants.”
The 100th Bomb Group’s tale is more than planes crashing from the heavens or fighting over Europe. It’s about individuals—young men who flew into the unknown and battled incredible odds witthe h the strength of will and determination. Their tale, though tested in the fire of war, continues to inspire. The legacy of the Bloody Hundredth stays with us not as a story of death, but as one of valor, perseverance, and sacrifice that will not fade.