"Seven seconds from Eternity"

29th April 1944: A vivid account of being the last man out of a burning B-17 en route to Berlin

B-17s of the 447th in formation during a mission over Europe

A B-17 Flying Fortress of the 447th Bomb Group fires a flare during a training mission from Rattlesden.

Norman Bussell¹ served with the 447th Bomb Group, 8th Air Force as a Radio operator /Air gunner. The events of 29th of April 1944 would affect him for many years. It would never truly leave him - but by the time he published his highly acclaimed memoir in 2008 he had come to terms with his worst traumas.

Anyone who has fought in a war can think of many times when death was cheated, because of the slightest change in plans; in routines; in circumstances. I can recall scores of times when, had fate not intervened, my mother might have found an Army Chaplain ringing her doorbell.

Such an incident took place as we began our mission to Berlin. As we flew over the English Channel, Little Joe came into the radio room and sat on my chest chute, which was just in back of my chair. I could understand why he did it. It was a helluva lot softer than the hard, cold floor of the plane. I turned and said, "Little Joe, don't sit on my chute. What if I have to use it today?"

Annoyed, Joe tossed the chute across the radio room and it landed next to the door leading to the bomb bay.

"It won't hurt the damned chute to sit on it!" he said.

As it turned out, if Little Joe hadn't tossed my chute across the room, it would have been consumed by flames, because later, fire started in the exact spot where my chute had been lying, and I would have had nothing to bail out with. I never got to thank Little Joe for saving my life. A few minutes later, this sweet little kid from the Brooklyn was dead. He was just nineteen years old.

Waist gunners on a B-17.