When This B-17 Lost Its Entire Nose — This Crew Flew 10 Minutes Pulling Bare Cables

The Bomber Without a Nose

The Perils of War
At 9:42 AM on July 14th, 1944, First Lieutenant Evald Swanson, a young American pilot flying a B-17G Flying Fortress nicknamed Mispa, found himself in the thick of one of World War II’s most perilous aerial battles. Over Budapest, he watched in horror as German Panther tanks advanced, knowing that the lives of American soldiers on the ground depended on his actions. Swanson, a high school history teacher from Molen, Illinois, had flown 17 combat missions before this one, but nothing had prepared him for the madness unfolding before him.

In the sky, explosions from 88 mm flak guns ripped through the air, black clouds bursting across the sky. The sound of their ferocity rattled the very bones of the aircraft. The formation of 60 B-17s from the 483rd Bomb Group pressed forward, their mission clear: strike the Shell oil refinery and the railway yards in German-controlled Budapest. The stakes were high, as this was a critical blow aimed at the supply lines for the Eastern Front. But war, in its brutal simplicity, always had a way of shifting the odds.

The Explosion
As Mispa neared the target, disaster struck. An 88 mm shell slammed into the nose of Swanson’s bomber. The explosion was instantaneous, and in that split second, the front of the aircraft was vaporized. The bomb bay, the nose compartment, the bombardier’s station—all of it disappeared. The devastation was so complete that the aircraft was left flying without a cockpit. Lieutenant Kenneth Dudley, the bombardier, and Second Lieutenant Joe Henderson, the navigator, were killed instantly. They were 23 and 24 years old.

Swanson, along with his co-pilot, Lieutenant Paul Burnt, and the remaining crew members, was left in a plane that had lost its nose, its instruments, and its structure. The B-17G, typically a fortress in the sky, had now become a falling piece of metal, held together only by sheer will and the incredible determination of its remaining crew.

A Fight for Survival
The B-17G, known for its inherent stability, had become a nightmare. Swanson, now flying blind, had no instruments, no airspeed indicator, no altimeter. The wind screamed through the open space where the nose had been, and the cold air at 30,000 feet made the flight unbearable. Blood stained the cockpit floor as shrapnel from the explosion covered the crew. But amid the chaos, Swanson’s mind stayed sharp. He knew that his plane, Mispa, would either fall to the ground or survive based on his next move.

Without the control column and without the cockpit to guide him, the aircraft began to stall, tipping toward a deadly nose-up climb. But somehow, Swanson managed to level the plane, fighting with all his strength to keep it airborne. There was no margin for error now. He had to get his crew to safety—somehow.

The Crew’s Courage
In the rear of the aircraft, the crew members began to move. The radio operator, flight engineer, and gunners, knowing they had no time to waste, moved forward despite the chaos. They could see the exposed control cables running through the bomb bay, and they knew what had to be done.

Staff Sergeant Charles Tucker, the tail gunner, was the first to take action. He climbed forward to help, knowing that they could not allow the aircraft to spiral out of control. The cables, once protected inside the aircraft’s structure, were now exposed to the freezing wind. The crew began pulling them by hand, each of them working in sync, using every ounce of strength to maintain control.

Without communication, without guidance, the crew had to rely on instinct and trust. When Swanson adjusted the throttles, the crew members, standing 30 feet away in the bomb bay, had to pull the corresponding cables to adjust the aircraft’s flight. Each movement, each pull, was a matter of life and death. The slightest mistake could send the Mispa into a deadly spin. But the crew held their positions, determined to keep the plane flying as long as they could.

The Price of Courage
With the plane losing altitude steadily, the formation of B-17s that had once flown in close formation began to pull ahead. Swanson and his crew were alone. Without a nose, without instruments, the Mispa was far behind, vulnerable to enemy fighters, vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire. The other bombers in the formation continued toward the rally point, but Swanson had no way of knowing if they could wait for him. Every minute that passed, they were farther from safety and closer to German territory. The Mispa was on its own.

Swanson and his crew were fighting the odds, but even as the bomber began to descend, they had no idea how long they could last. The engine was burning fuel at an alarming rate, and with three working engines instead of four, Swanson had no way of knowing when they would run dry. Still, he pressed forward, determined to make it to friendly territory. Each second they spent in the air was a gamble, but Swanson’s resolve kept him going.

A New Mission
At 9:44 AM, another shell hit Mispa, and engine number two exploded. Flames shot from the engine, and the propeller came to a grinding halt. With only three working engines left, the Mispa was losing airspeed. The bomber was now dangerously close to stalling again, and Swanson had to make a decision: continue flying or abandon the mission entirely. But the men below, the American soldiers trapped in Budapest, were depending on them. If Swanson turned back now, they would be lost.

Swanson made a choice that would change everything. He would press on, risking everything to complete the mission, to get the remaining men out alive. Mispa would not be left to die in the skies over enemy territory.

The Final Struggle
The mission now had a new objective. Swanson knew that without a functional cockpit or reliable controls, Mispa could only stay in the air for so long. But he kept the plane steady, adjusting the throttle and fighting against the aerodynamic drag caused by the missing nose.

As the formation moved farther away, Mispa began to fall behind. German forces, now aware of the crippled bomber, began to target it. The Luftwaffe had learned the hard way that the Mispa wasn’t just another observation plane—it was a force to be reckoned with.

But it didn’t matter now. Swanson had to get the crew to safety. The Mispa was on its last legs. The aircraft was going down, and Swanson knew he had to act fast. The tail section was failing. Every minute in the air increased the risk of a deadly crash.

Swanson’s heart raced as the crew members in the bomb bay began jumping out of the plane, parachuting to safety. One by one, they left Mispa, knowing that staying aboard meant certain death. Swanson remained at the controls, hands locked on the throttles, determined to keep the aircraft level until the very last moment.

By 9:56 AM, only Swanson and his co-pilot, Burnt, remained aboard. The other crew members had jumped, leaving the plane behind. The control cables were slack. The plane was no longer responsive. Swanson knew that the aircraft was going to break apart soon. He had to make his move.

The Final Jump
Swanson made the painful decision to jump. With the aircraft spiraling out of control, he crawled toward the rear exit of the plane. The wind pressure was unbearable. The aircraft, still in a slow descent, was shaking violently as the control cables flapped in the wind. He unbuckled his harness and prepared to jump, knowing that it was now or never.

At 9:58 AM, Swanson jumped. The slipstream hit him with force, knocking him sideways. He felt the violent jerk of the parachute deploying. Then, the world went silent. He looked back toward Mispa as it plummeted toward the earth, the tail section snapping off midair. It crashed into a line of trees, a black plume of smoke rising in the distance.

Swanson was alive. The war was over for him. He had survived the unthinkable, flying a damaged plane without a nose, without instruments, and without control. But in the end, he had completed his mission. His crew had survived, and the soldiers on the ground had been rescued.

Life After the War
Swanson spent the next several months in a prisoner-of-war camp. He was eventually freed, and after the war, he returned to civilian life in Michigan, where he married and started a family. Though he rarely spoke about the war, the memories of that day, of Mispa, and of his incredible survival would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Swanson received recognition for his actions, including the Silver Star, but he never considered himself a hero. He was a pilot, a man who did his job under the most impossible circumstances. The events of that day, however, would remain etched in his mind for the rest of his life—a reminder of the limits of human endurance and the power of sheer determination.

Though Mispa was lost, its story lived on. In 2017, historians uncovered the remains of the plane in an Austrian museum, unaware of its remarkable history. After a lengthy restoration process, Mispa was returned to the skies. The B-17G that had once flown without a cockpit would now serve as a tribute to the men who risked everything for each other and for the soldiers they rescued that fateful day over Budapest.

Legacy of Courage
Swanson passed away in 2009, but his legacy lived on in the stories of the men he saved and the aircraft that had defied the odds. His actions on that day in 1944, the impossible mission he completed against all odds, would serve as a reminder of the courage, resilience, and humanity that defined the greatest generation.

Note: Some content was generated using AI tools (ChatGPT) and edited by the author for creativity and suitability for historical illustration purposes.