How to Wait for It

In the formation of combat-bound Flying Fortresses, over northwest Europe at 13,500 feet, there was only a moment of confusion. But it was enough. There was a collision, and one of the B-17s, with its tail cut off, spilled crazily forward. The heavy forepart plunged with its pilots, gunners and navigator. Only one bailed out. As the formation bored on, its air crews saw the tail of the mangled ship sailing erratically, like a piece of paper dropped from a skyscraper window.

In the tail was a 19-year-old gunner. When he heard the crash he made for the escape hatch. It was jammed. He tried to get through the rear window: too small. Long minutes later, Belgian peasants saw the tailpiece sail to earth. They picked the unconscious gunner from the wreck, got him to a hospital.

There last week, after eight days of unconsciousness, the young gunner revived. His only injuries: a bruised thigh, a lacerated ear, a ruptured blood vessel in his stomach. What had he done when he finally realized that he could not bail out? What could he do? He had unsnapped his parachute, sat down in his gunner's seat, lighted a cigaret--and waited.

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