Mid-upper Sgt. Osborne Hakeswell and tail gunner Sgt. George Whipple huddled under one blanket aft of the boat's cabin trying to get warm. It was of little use as both men were completely soaked from the rain they had run through to get away from the city of Brest. Near the harbor they had been spotted by a tavern keeper and turned over to the crew of the small boat. Other than asking them if they were Anglais, the crew had said nothing more, but indicated with their hands that the two fliers were to jump quickly into the fish hold if a German patrol boat got close. They had been handed a battered cup and a half bottle of brandy.
Sgt. Whipple said through chattering teeth, "My guess is we're about halfway across the channel. We should make the coast before daybreak.
"We'll bloody well be finished with this bottle before then and it's all that's keeping me from freezing to death.
"Don't complain, mate, we're better off than the other lads. After I jumped I saw only five chutes open and I'm sure I was the last to jump. That means they couldn't get Flight out. Just before the Jerry hit the engine I heard Novak on the intercom saying that he couldn't stop the bleeding. Except you, I didn't see nobody, and I have a bad feeling the Krauts have them."