Eleven Minute Fright (A true account) By LEONARD EVANS Our hearts were heavy and our thoughts deep as the wheels left the ground and we began to rise. We were headed overseas in a lumbering awkward B-29 for our tour of thirty-two combat missions in the Far East. It was eleven o'clock at night. Our eyes focused on the scene that began to unfold below, illuminated as if it were mid-afternoon. Suddenly the right gunner's view was interrupted by what looked like water being sprayed on his blister. The immediate conclusion was that the wing tank must have sprung a leak and was spraying 100 octane gasoline all over the fuselage. After calling the pilot and discussing the situation, we decided the only remedy would be to take the plane back down. It was not a snap decision, because it involved much more than an ordinary landing. We would be unable to lower the flaps for fear the sparks from the electric-flap motor might ignite the gas flowing over the wing and blow us from here to wherever we go from this world. Not lowering the flaps required two major things besides a very capable pilot. First, we had to maintain about fifty miles per hour additional airspeed. Second, we had to follow a much shallower angle of approach. The pilot radioed the control tower that we were coming back because of a gas leak. The field was ready to receive us as we circled the runway and started our final approach. We had started the approach about ten miles out to give us a very low angle of attack. The air speed was kept high. As we drew nearer and nearer the field, tension grew. This wasn't like the rest of the landings; this time we were in trouble. The uneasiness grew until, like a shade drawn slowly over a lighted window, the world around us dimmed. We were half a mile from the end of the runway when it happened. The red glaring eyes of the warning lights blinked at the pilot. Before us were high tension wires, at our height or just above us. The only alternative was to get above them. The pilot pulled the stick back and the big plane began to rise. A moment later the wires flashed below us, we had made it. My thoughts were so intent on getting over the wires that I didn't notice what was happening to the plane. It began to shudder, squeak, and crack. Before we could do anything the plane stalled. The wings were useless. The huge machine began to fall like a toy plane from a little boy's hand. We lit about a hundred feet short of the runway. Our wheels sank in the soft ground. As we hit the concrete runway, the wheels were sheared off one at a time. As the fuselage screeched and scraped over the runway, the resulting sparks caused the wings to become blazing infernos. It was as if we had plowed into the center of the sun and were watching the flames devour the vehicle that had taken us there. The squeaking, tearing, and grating continued for what seemed a lifetime. Finally I came to my senses and realized that the plane had come to rest (although facing the opposite direction from which it came). Unconsciously I ripped off my headset and scrambled for the nearest opening, of which there were many, parachute and all. It was hard to believe that I was the same person who climbed aboard that plane such a short time ago. Halfway to the opening all the lights went out and I fell to the floor in confusion, not knowing which way was out. The next thing I saw was an eerie blue light coming from bare electric wires, and I was headed for it. It was the only light there was, and light meant safety. I threw myself at it and found myself rolling in the weeds outside a few moments later, with the parachute still attached to my back. The plane was surrounded by firemen and rescue crews. The fire was pretty well under control as I got to my feet and began a frantic retreat, stopping only at the insistent tugs of three other crew members. As I turned around, the rescuers cut away the parts of the plane that had the bombardier pinned between his seat and the bombsight. He suffered a broken back and was the only serious casualty on the crew. We learned later, however, that one of the firemen had died from a heart attack as he watched the plane come in. The plane was broken almost in half, and parts were found up to a mile away. It was a loss of about one million dollars. We had been in the air for a total of eleven minutes, more of a fright than a flight. Sixteen Lu Ree Lamborn INTEREST Photo by Rex Brunker