The pilot might move a control and receive no normal response.
Worse, a damaged cable might work in one direction but not another.
A control surface might move only partly.
A loose cable could jam.
A pulley could be damaged.
A cable under partial tension could fail when the pilot applied a larger input.
Douglas had no way to test every possibility safely while flying at reduced altitude over hostile territory.
Disconnecting the automatic pilot could therefore become an experiment with only one chance.
If the airplane immediately rolled or pitched beyond what trim and power could correct, the crew might not have enough altitude to recover.
Douglas chose not to conduct that experiment.
He kept the system engaged.
This is where experience matters.
An inexperienced pilot may feel compelled to restore normal control because normal control feels safer.
An experienced pilot can recognize that a strange but stable condition is sometimes preferable to an unknown condition.
The B-17 was damaged.
The automatic pilot was not a perfect solution.
However, the aircraft was still flying.
The correct emergency action was therefore not necessarily to change anything.
Sometimes the safest move is to preserve the imperfect state that still works.
Douglas appears to have done exactly that.
The men in the rear could see damage the cockpit could not
The B-17's size divided the emergency into separate worlds.
Anderson in the tail saw flame streaming behind the aircraft.
Men in the waist could see damaged cables.
The engineer could monitor engines and systems.
The navigator was trying to keep track of position while the airplane's altitude and route changed.
Douglas and Hunter had the forward view and control responsibilities.
This division meant communication was essential.
The pilot could not inspect the entire aircraft.
He had to believe what other crew members reported.
When Anderson reported fire, Douglas had to respond without seeing the same image.
When Burke reported engine conditions or airspeed, Douglas had to incorporate that information immediately.
When navigation became uncertain, the cockpit could not simply stop flying while the navigator solved the problem.
Each man held one piece of the aircraft.
The crew survived because enough of those pieces reached the cockpit in usable form.
That is one reason bomber crews developed such close trust.
A man several yards behind the pilot might be the only person able to see whether a wing was burning.
A gunner could identify smoke that instruments had not yet explained.
An engineer could notice a fuel problem before the pilot understood its source.
A navigator could tell the crew that a coastline ahead was not the coastline they expected.
Every voice mattered.
The pilot remained responsible for the final action, but responsibility did not mean possessing all the information.
Douglas had to fly through other men's eyes.
A small wound in the nose showed how close the flak had come
The August 1 damage was not confined to engines and controls.
The later crew account states that bombardier Gilbert Goldman suffered a slight head wound when a piece of flak entered the nose.
The word “slight” can make that sound unimportant.
Inside a bomber, it meant a piece of metal had passed through the aircraft close enough to strike a crewman.
Fragments did not need to destroy a B-17 directly.
Flak worked by filling a volume of sky with high-speed metal.
Fragments could cut cables.
They could open fuel or oil lines.
They could damage electrical wiring.
They could puncture oxygen equipment.
They could hit engines, instruments, crewmen, or structural members.
The same burst might create several apparently unrelated failures across the aircraft.
That helps explain the strange collection of problems aboard 43-37892.
An engine fire was visible.
Control-cable damage was less visible.
Fuel leakage became obvious by smell.
A weakened engine mount might remain hidden until the airplane was on the ground.
The crew could identify symptoms without necessarily knowing every cause.
Only after landing could men stand around the bomber and begin seeing the emergency as a whole.
By then, the machine itself was finished.
The hung bomb added another problem at the worst time
One detail in the veterans' account deserves attention because it shows how combat emergencies rarely arrive one at a time.
After the bomb run, one 500-pound bomb remained hung in the aircraft.
Goldman and Burke had to deal with it while the bomber was already losing engines and experiencing control problems.
A hung bomb was not merely dead weight.
It was explosive material inside or attached to a damaged aircraft.
If the B-17 later crash-landed or ditched with the bomb still aboard, the consequences could become worse.
Removing it reduced both weight and risk.
Yet reaching and releasing a hung weapon inside a damaged bomber could itself be dangerous.
Goldman had already been struck by a flak fragment.
Burke had engineering responsibilities elsewhere.
The pilots were fighting the aircraft.
Every new problem stole attention from another problem.