This was a bit of a rough one for us. We made it to the target zone without running into any fighters. It was at that point our luck ran out.
First the flak got us. That knocked the tail turret out of operation. Then a fighter came at us. All they did was damage the starboard ammo box in the waist section.
The bombs were dropped and we made the turn and began heading for home. An enemy fighter surprised us coming in from 6'clock low. The blighter hit us hard.
Oxygen was lost for Barton, our mid-upper gunner, his heat was also knocked out. They also took out our port flap and the number 4 engine. We managed to feather the prop though.
After the surprise of the attack he continued the attack and damaged our port wing, inboard fuel tank. We were losing fuel and needed to try to limp back to friendly territory.
We had to descend due to the oxygen and heat issues. We began dumping equipment to lighten the load and conserve as much fuel as possible. We all knew that if we didn't make land we would all probably freeze to death before we would be found in the cold water.
Some of the men began praying that we would survive this nightmare. Some began writing letters to loved ones figuring if our bodies were ever found perhaps these notes would somehow survive in the frigid waters.
Odds of getting back seemed slim but then, appearing over the horizon, was land. It seemed like we had just crossed the coast and we were out of fuel.
We prepared to bailout and but did so over merry old England. We had returned home, barely, but we had made it.