There were a total of five planes that did not make it back to the base at New Delhi during the fuel storing operation. All of the other crews were constantly on the lookout for any downed comrades. On a fateful trip home after discharging their fuel, Papazian's spotters locate an aircraft deep in a valley on the eastern side of the mountains.

Without a second thought, the Pilot began a spiral descent to get close enough to the wreckage to see if there were any survivors. No evidence of life was noted. Climbing back up from the deep valley took too much of the remaining fuel and it was just minutes later when everyone had to bail out of the falling bomber.

Pete was the first one to leave from the rear of the plane, and the others dribbled out for several minutes more. The order of exit meant that “Pappy” landed the farthest from civilization as an American boy could possibly imagine. He came down flat on his back in the mud of an Asian rice paddy. He learned, the hard way, about the fertilizing techniques used by farmers in that part of the world. They used human waste exclusively.

It took two weeks for Papazian to get back to his home base. The first several miles were done by stumbling on his extremely bruised legs. Of course, there wasn't a single shower or bath to be had, so the best that could be done for his immersion material was to briskly brush it off after the stuff dried. He finally found a farmer with an oxcart who gave him a ride for several miles in exchange for his cigarette lighter. At the more than halfway mark, the few american dollars in his wallet were recognized. A purchased dilapidated bus ride finally got him to New Delhi. Even his best friends wouldn't come near him until he had put all of his ragged putrid clothing in the garbage and bathed for at least an hour.

One final story of “Pappy's” wartime experiences had to do with his combat missions out of Tinian. The bombing runs to Tokyo and back were just about the absolute limits of the B-29 traveling distance. After just a very few of these trips, the Medics performed a calming treatment for the crew members. As they exited the aircraft, a small cart was wheeled up to the plane. A doctor or nurse poured out a jigger of scotch whisky into a small paper cup and everyone got their welcome home shot.

For men who had just finished a long stressful experience the little bit of alcohol was nice, but totally inadequate for what they, at the time wanted for a lift. An alternation of the usual gulping down was instituted.

A gallon thermos container was appropriated from the mess hall and the entire crew all walked around to the other side of their plane and carefully poured each allotment into the jug after every distribution.

The scotch cache was entrusted under pain of death to the airplane's crew chief. Actually the Sgt. was promised a share of the total accumulation when the vary last mission was underway.

Eventually, the thirtieth trip came to pass. By this time, the temporary teetotalers were working on gallon number two. Moments before starting engines for the final mission, a mock ceremony was held to officially load the full container on the B-29, and present the guardian of the booze with the extra scotch in the second one.

By necessary pre-arrangement, the Pilot and Navigator were not going to touch a drop until the plane was home and shut down. If the engines were really humming, the Flight Engineer could go off his wagon the last fifteen minutes of the trip. The other seven team members could start their toasts when turn-around was finished and the five hour flight to Tinian was commenced.

One of the most interesting aspects of this party concerned the interior design of the Super Fortress. In the nose was the “green house” where the Bombardier sat enclosed by plexiglas windows in front of and between the two pilots. Behind the three forward members were spaces for the radio operator, the navigator and the engineer. In the aft section were the positions for the radar operator and the four gunners. Connecting the two zones was a tunnel mounted over the bomb bays.

In order to give the guys in the rear a tip of the jug, someone had to crawl through the tunnel and pass it on. Then to return the giggle juice to the front, another someone had to crawl the other direction through the tunnel. It wasn't too long before consumption had reached the point where the inter-com system was overloaded by discussion of who had to go where, after the current snorts of scotch were “down the hatched”.

The end result of the debauchery was; the medics had to haul all but three of the celebrants out of the airplane on stretchers and take them to the hospital tent for revival. The entire crew was busy the next day cleaning the inside of the aircraft with soap and water so their replacements wouldn't gag when they got in.