Waist gunners fired.
The top turret engaged.
The ball turret searched beneath the bomber.
The tail position covered pursuing fighters.
Forward guns challenged frontal attacks.
The Fortress became what its nickname implied.
Not invulnerable.
Difficult to approach without paying.
Japanese pilots still closed.
They had numerical advantage and home territory beneath them.
Some were highly skilled.
The battle became one of repeated passes rather than a single attack.
The attackers would dive or sweep through, fire, break away, then climb or reposition.
Old 666 had to survive every cycle.
A Lone Bomber Cannot Hide Damage From Its Crew
Inside a formation, men may see another aircraft smoking but know their own airplane remains stable.
Inside a single bomber under sustained attack, every impact belongs to you.
A vibration changes.
Everybody notices.
An engine sound alters.
Someone calls it.
A hydraulic line fails.
A turret slows.
Interphone wiring goes silent.
A crewman stops answering.
Every failure shrinks the aircraft's options.
Old 666 absorbed damage while the crew adapted.
This was where familiarity with the airplane mattered.
They had worked on it.
They knew systems.
They knew which problems could wait and which meant immediate danger.
An aircraft rebuilt by its crew had become a machine the crew understood almost personally.
That knowledge was now part of survival.
The Japanese Pilots Were Also Learning During the Fight
They discovered which gun positions were strongest.
They saw the B-17 was more heavily armed than expected.
They adjusted approaches.
Some attacked from below.
Others used high frontal angles.
Several could attack nearly together, forcing gunners to choose targets.
A single gun cannot engage two aircraft coming from opposite directions simultaneously.
Numbers create choices for the attacker and impossible decisions for the defender.
Old 666's crew therefore needed communication as much as ammunition.
Which fighter is closest?
Which one is committing?
Which is only feinting?
Where is the next attack forming?
Crewmen called threats across the interphone.
Zeamer maneuvered when he could without destroying the mission geometry.
The Fortress remained one aircraft trying to behave like a formation.
The Photographic Run Finally Reached Completion
At some point, the crew had what they had come to obtain.
The required coverage had been made.
Only then could survival become the sole mission.
Zeamer could turn Old 666 away from the target area.
The Japanese fighters did not politely allow the bomber to leave.
They followed.
A reconnaissance run ending does not magically create safety.
Now the B-17 had hundreds of miles of ocean between itself and home.
It was damaged.
Its pilot was badly wounded.
Its bombardier was dead.
Other crewmen had been hurt.
The fighters still had ammunition.
The forty-five-minute battle was not over.
The Fight Became a Running Battle Toward Open Water
Leaving land behind could eventually reduce the enemy's ability to remain with them because Japanese fighters had their own fuel limits.
But Old 666 had to survive long enough to reach that distance.
The fighters pressed their attacks.
The crew continued firing.
Each minute changed the arithmetic.
Japanese pilots expended ammunition and fuel.
American gunners expended ammunition.
Damaged systems worsened.
Men became tired.
Wounds continued bleeding.
The bomber moved farther from Japanese bases but remained close enough for repeated attacks.
This is how endurance becomes a weapon.
The Japanese hoped the B-17 would fail first.
Zeamer's crew needed only to remain functional slightly longer than the enemy could continue effectively.
One Fighter Came Directly at the Cockpit
Accounts of the battle emphasize the ferocity of frontal attacks.
Zeamer was not merely steering defensively.
Old 666 had been fitted so that forward fire could be used aggressively.
When an enemy fighter committed to a head-on pass, Zeamer could point the nose toward the threat while the crew fired.
The two aircraft closed at enormous combined speed.
A fighter pilot looking through his sight saw a four-engine bomber growing rapidly.
The American crew saw the fighter coming straight toward them.
Neither side had long.
This was not the slow circling combat associated with popular images of dogfighting.
It was closer to two vehicles charging toward one another on a road while both fired weapons.
Then, in an instant, one flashed past.
The bomber shook.
Somebody called damage.
Another attack began.
Old 666's Modifications Had Turned a Known Weakness Into a Surprise
A standard B-17E's nose defenses were less formidable than later versions of the Flying Fortress.
The crew's added armament helped compensate.
Japanese pilots approaching from ahead expected a certain level of fire.
They encountered more.
This did not stop every hit.
Zeamer and Sarnoski were proof of that.
It did make the frontal approach dangerous enough that the B-17 could kill attackers.
Aircraft modification often matters most when it violates an enemy's expectation.
A fighter pilot bases his attack on what he thinks the target can do.
Old 666 could do more than its battered appearance suggested.
The Crew Claimed Several Japanese Fighters
As with many aerial battles, exact victory counts can be difficult to reconstruct perfectly after the fact.
Air combat happens quickly.
Multiple gunners may fire at the same aircraft.
A fighter seen smoking downward may recover later.
An aircraft claimed destroyed may be recorded differently in enemy documents.
What is beyond dispute is that Old 666's crew fought effectively enough to make the Japanese attack costly.
Several enemy aircraft were believed destroyed or damaged.
That mattered tactically.
The crew did not need a perfect score.
They needed enough attackers disrupted that the B-17 could continue westward.
Every Japanese pilot forced away reduced pressure.
The goal was not domination.
It was survival with the photographs.
Inside the Cockpit, Zeamer's Condition Was Getting Worse
Adrenaline can hide damage temporarily.
Blood loss cannot be negotiated with forever.
Zeamer had severe wounds.
He continued operating the controls.
Other crewmen tried to help.
Medical treatment aboard a bomber was crude.
There was no surgical team.
No blood transfusion.
No emergency room.
There were bandages, morphine, first-aid knowledge, and whatever improvisation the crew could manage while the aircraft remained under attack.
Pain medication created another problem.
A pilot who received too much morphine might become unable to fly.
Zeamer needed relief.
He also needed consciousness.
The crew had to balance care against the brutal requirement that somebody keep the aircraft alive.
He continued flying.
The Copilot Could Assist, but Zeamer Still Knew the Aircraft Best
Cockpit teamwork became essential.
A wounded pilot does not need to perform every physical action alone to remain the aircraft commander.
He needs to make decisions.
Control when necessary.
Communicate.
Interpret the machine.
Zeamer stayed involved because the fight remained dynamic.
A badly damaged B-17 often required constant correction.
Engines might produce uneven power.
Control surfaces might respond differently.
The aircraft could be trimmed only approximately.
The copilot and other crewmen became extensions of the wounded captain.
This was no longer ordinary crew coordination.
It was collective compensation for a man physically failing in the center of the cockpit.
The Japanese Fighters Finally Began Breaking Off
Fuel mattered.
Distance mattered.
Damage mattered.
The longer Old 666 moved away from Japanese bases, the more dangerous continued pursuit became for the interceptors.
At some point, the attacks diminished.
Then they stopped.
The crew had survived the fighter battle.
That realization did not produce safety.
It produced a different emergency.