Munitions Empire

Chapter 659: 618 falling flying fortress

Chapter 659: 618 falling flying fortress

“Damn it! We’ve been hit!” the pilot flying the aircraft found his control stick had become heavy, and as he tried to regain the feel of controlling the plane, he realized that his aircraft wasn’t responding at all.

“My control stick is malfunctioning! Co-pilot! Take over the controls! Quick!” Seeing that there might be a problem with the plane, the pilot yelled at the co-pilot.

Then he saw the co-pilot clutching his thigh, looking at him with a pained expression. A bullet had come from below, piercing the fuselage of the plane and going through the co-pilot’s thigh, apparently also puncturing the roof of the cabin.

“Someone’s been shot! Someone’s been shot!” Watching the blood flowing from the co-pilot’s thigh staining his pants red, the captain almost forgot that his aircraft seemed to have lost control.

He grabbed the control stick, realizing it had completely lost control over the plane; he looked through the side window at the wing next to him and saw one of the engines still emitting black smoke.

It seemed virtually impossible that a Maxim heavy machine gun with .45 caliber bullets could threaten a B-17 Flying Fortress Bomber.

...

In World War II, to bring down these sturdy airborne monsters bristling with defensive firepower, Germany had to install an array of large-caliber weapons on their planes: 20mm cannons, 30mm cannons, and even rockets over 100mm in caliber...

However, there’s always an exception, and even the sturdiest aircraft might suffer unexpected failures due to bad luck.

This particular plane had the misfortune of getting hit by a burst of machine-gun fire seconds before the bombing run ended, and it manifested all sorts of glitches as if by some specter.

“Didn’t they say nothing could shoot down a Flying Fortress?” The bomb aimer, who came running at the shout, saw the bleeding co-pilot, furrowed his brows, and complained.

There were only five people on the plane because at this moment, the B-17 bombers produced by Great Tang Group hadn’t been fitted with defensive machine guns, so there was no need for a full crew.

“We’re losing altitude! I don’t know if the steering is still working! But I can see black smoke on the wings!” the captain, clutching the stick, said to the two beside him.

“Flight Fortress number 397 is going down! Calling the tower! Calling the tower! Repeat! Flight Fortress number 397 is going down! We are crashing! Location... location unknown! Near the bombing zone! Near the drop zone!” the captain repeated the message of their impending crash into the radio handset.

The two who were further away hadn’t had time to come over yet, but they surely already knew about the injury because of the radio.

“There’s a bullet hole underneath the fuselage, a bullet pierced the bomb bay doors.” Another crew member who hurried over reported the aircraft damage he saw along the way: “One of the doors won’t close and this could be bad news.”

“Doors? It won’t close? The bomb bay?” The bomb aimer looked at his newly arrived comrade with surprise, asking anxiously.

“Yes, and it seems we are getting closer and closer to the sea.” On his way over, he had seen the sea surface below the fuselage.

“We’re done for...” said the co-pilot, still bleeding and pale-faced, “We’re not going to be the first Flying Fortress crew to crash, are we?”

“Shut up! Don’t talk like that,” the captain moved the control stick, trying to regain control of the plane, but he failed, and the plane started to turn to one side, then couldn’t be corrected again.

Annoyed, he tried to pull the control stick to return the plane to normal flight status. But he clearly failed, and the entire aircraft descended a great deal more in altitude.

With concerted effort, they transferred the unconscious crew members out of the plane and escaped from the aircraft one by one.

By then, their plane was almost sinking, and the crew had to hurriedly move away from the Flying Fortress Bomber, of which only the tail was still floating on the surface of the sea.

“Now, this is all we’ve got.” Pointing at the whistle on his shoulder, the electromechanical engineer self-deprecatingly joked with a mix of laughter and tears.

Everything had been so hurried that they had forgotten the flares stored in the airplane’s locker, neglected to grab the life raft that had been shot through with eight holes, and also left behind the air bottle.

In short, they awkwardly crawled out of the plane, awkwardly drifted in the seawater, forgetting all the survival skills they had learned before.

“Where’s the navigator? Do you see him?” the captain, holding onto the unconscious co-pilot, turned back to ask the equally disheveled bomber.

“Captain! Captain! I’m here! I’m here!” Separated by the span of an airplane, the navigator was waving his arms and shouting loudly.

Everyone was accounted for, and the captain sighed with relief. Then he looked up at the empty skies and the silent expanse of sea.

It seemed they were far from the battlefield, far from the clamor—they didn’t even know which corner of the world they were in.

“Someone will come to rescue us,” the captain reassured his subordinates weakly.

“I hope they come soon,” the electromechanical engineer, already somewhat afraid, kept the unconscious co-pilot afloat as he looked anxiously around.

Honestly, this feeling was really bad. Aside from the sound of the waves, there was an unsettling silence. It was as if they were the only people left between heaven and earth. A terrifying sense of desolation washed over them, torturing every nerve.

“I have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling,” the bomber said as he idly moved his hands in the water, with seawater from his hair dripping onto his anxious and fearful face.

“It’s only been a minute! Don’t scare yourself!” the captain said, staying afloat thanks to his life jacket. Rather than saying he was holding onto the unconscious co-pilot, he was actually relying on the co-pilot’s buoyancy.

The navigator was still tirelessly paddling in the distance, trying to swim over and regroup with them, but it seemed he was also not very good at swimming, floundering for quite some time without getting much closer.

After all, they were aviators, and swimming really was an additional skill. Some only knew a bit, while others were completely helpless in the water.

“I hope they come find us soon,” said the electromechanical engineer, wiping seawater from his face as he looked at the co-pilot, whose complexion had turned exceedingly pale.

“Yeah, I hope they get here quickly,” the captain echoed, looking at the sky.

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