The Time — 7:45 A.M. on February 2, 1945

The Place — 28,000 feet over Port Arthur, Manchuria, Northeast China

The Plane — Brooklyn Bessie - 4th — an F-13 (B-29) Photo Recon Plane

Our camera run over Port Arthur had just begun when there was a heavy jolt and an explosion in our # 2 engine. We were getting light flack at the time but to this day we do not know whether the flack or engine malfunction was the cause of our downfall. The engine lost power and started to knock and vibrate. I immediately aborted the mission and headed West (toward home) and with the help of our flight engineer, tried to feather the prop - with no success. RPM was down to 1,000 and the engine started to smoke and lose oil. I began a fast letdown in order to depressurize. We were now over the Gulf of Chinli, part of the Yellow Sea, and could see the China mainland in the distance. On the intercom I alerted the whole crew about the problem and told them to be prepared to jump if I gave the order.

At 12,000 feet we depressurized, levelled off at 10,000 and opened the front hatch. At this point I felt that we had an even chance of staying airborne. I had one eye on the bad engine and the other on the Gulf water below … as seen through the open hatch. It would have been suicide to jump into the Gulf so I made a quick decision to go for the land … come what may. As we crossed the coast on a westerly heading there were level fields on our left and high mountains to the right. We had a “secret” map which showed the guerrilla strong points in green - so we edged right toward the mountains where these safer areas were located. By this time the oil in # 2 engine was nearly gone - the unfeathered prop was winding up at tremendous speed - and the engine continued to vibrate and smoke. I knew it would eventually fly off.

Now I felt that our chances were slim so I had the radio operator send this message - “Number two out, can’t feather, losing oil, 121 East 40 North, returning home. Ready to jump.” The crew tore up and threw out all manuals and secret matter - except the guerrilla map - turned on the IFF and smashed the cameras and radios. The B-29 is 98 feet long with only a crawl tunnel connecting the front and rear of the plane. There were five enlisted men in the rear and five officers and one enlisted man in the front. I then ordered the entire crew to arm themselves, load up with anything that might be useful on the ground and check each others chute buckles. Then for some unknown reason I reached behind my head for my dress cap … and tucked it inside the flying suit I was wearing. I had the rear group open their door and post one man at an extra intercom … to be sure they got the word, if it came. About thirty minutes had passed since the emergency first started - and we were ready, come what may. My only prayer was that the prop would not fly into the plane … and kill all of us.

The hub of the prop next turned red, then white, from the heat and started to waver. I remember shouting “Here it comes.” The prop flew left and hit the # 1 engine. That engine and the entire plane started to vibrate violently and the whole left wing went up in flames. I pressed the mike against my throat and gave the order three times to Bail Out!

The men in front with me were gathered around the open hatch … which was about six feet deep. As I glanced over my right shoulder to give the order to jump, one of the Navigators said “See you on the ground.” stepped into the hole and disappeared. Meanwhile, the plane, still shaking itself apart, started to fall left into a deep spiral. I fought it but could no longer control it. I glanced back again to make sure everyone was out. They were all gone except one officer who was frozen in the hatch shaking his head “No.” I was still trying to control the ship and when I looked again he was gone.

Now it was my turn. I knew that the instant I released the controls the plane would go into a tighter spiral or even a spin … but I had no choice so I dove for the hatch. Centrifugal force took over and I flew right over it and up against the engineer’s panel and just beyond. For the first time real fear, or should I say terror, gripped me. For a few fleeting moments the thought raced through my mind that I was not going to get out.

Somehow I fought the centrifugal force, reached the hatch and pushed myself down inch by inch. Finally, one shove and I was out. There was no fear of the jump itself because the situation was too desperate. Altitude was about 7,000 feet indicated but because of the mountains the true altitude was much less. I pulled the rip cord the instant I exited the ship. No, I didn’t count to ten! Thank God the chute did not open or it would have fowled on the plane. I knew I was falling awfully fast for a parachute. I looked up and over each shoulder … no chute. I then looked down at the rip cord and it was still in my hand. I had pulled it only a few inches out of its pocket. I gave it a good yank and the chute opened with a jerk. My first thought was the absolute dead silence that exists up there. Then I thought the chute was rising instead of descending…. and I had no bail-out oxygen bottle! I saw the plane crash, explode and burn in what looked like a village … and immediately thought “the peasants will kill me if they get me.” This later proved false but it did kill three farmers … for which our government later sent an official apology.

I did not see any other chutes while I floated down. The rest of the crew had all landed together, but since I was delayed getting out, I had crossed three mountains and so was out of their sight. While descending I heard several shots but after each one I found that I was unharmed. As I neared the ground I thought I had better prepare for the landing because I was drifting sideways. Before I could do anything … Wham. I hit hard with an awful jolt. My left leg was doubled under me, my chin hit my right knee and I bit through my tongue. Nothing like those soft TV landings!

I had landed near the top of a mountain (ground was small rocks, weeds, few trees and light snow). My chute caught in a small tree and I tried unsuccessfully to free it to avoid detection. There was nothing in sight except a couple of small houses that seemed abandoned. I immediately started praying and got out my compass and Chinese flag. Using the compass, I figured out the direction of the other crew members … and started out. A few minutes later two men appeared just ahead on the mountain top and they hollered to me. I waved a white handkerchief and stood with my hands up. One of them got down on one knee and raised his rifle - so I hit the dirt. He fired and the bullet tore up the ground just in front of me and about two feet to the left of my head. I had a 45 automatic strapped under my left arm but I never even thought about it. He stood up so I did likewise and raised my hands again. This time he (and his buddy) came on the run towards me with rifle raised. I held out the Chinese flag. He looked at it … dropped his rifle and hugged me … as I hugged him even tighter! Up to that point I did not know whether he was a Chinese or a Jap.

Needless to say, my hopes went sky high. He led me to a stone house a couple of miles away and there I tried to use my Walkee-pointee. No one spoke English and they indicated that they didn’t know anyone who did. A short time later a boy, wearing a blue Chinese uniform, barged into the house carrying my chute. I tried to get it from him but he got ugly … so I decided I didn’t really want it anyway. Using the Walkee-pointee, I asked him to take me to my friends. We walked for about an hour, climbing mountains and at times I was crawling flat on my stomach along narrow mountain trails with thousand foot drops inches away. I was scared stiff and praying like mad.

We were about a hundred feet from the summit of the mountain when about twenty Chinese soldiers came over the mountain top, single file, and pointed to the valley below. A couple of them tried to relieve me of my 45 automatic and my watch but I had other ideas so they got neither. They gave me a Chinese Army coat and one soldier and my original guide led me back down the valley.

At this point we passed some peasants carrying parts from the plane and soon came to the place where the prop had landed. it had started a fire. Some of the brush was burning, four houses were burned down, two donkeys were burned to a crisp and I saw one man trying to cover his burnt face and hands with towels. A crowd quickly gathered around me so I figured I had better beat it. The soldier refused to come so I headed up the valley and the original guide and about six farmers came along with me. One gave me a donkey to ride. After a while we ended back at the first house I had been in after I landed. I switched from the donkey to a mule and with the original guide plus one other farmer we started out again.

We crossed three mountains and it was now eight hours since I bailed out. Up ahead was a small house. As we approached it I heard someone holler “Hey, there’s Humby.” I leaped off the mule and ran into the house ... and there to my surprise and delight were the other members of my crew. My first question was “Who is missing?” Their answer was “Only you.” Because they had all jumped together they were able to count the chutes coming down. The count was only ten ... so they figured I had been trapped in the plane. Two of the men had sprained ankles and two had cuts on their heads. One lost some teeth when his canteen hit him in the mouth. Other than bruises the rest were OK. We were in the hands of friendly Chinese guerrilla (Communists) near the town of PINGGU … about fifty miles northeast of Peiping (also known as “Peking” and now “Beijing”). For the first time I breathed easy because up to this point I did not trust anyone with whom I had been in contact.