February 1st, 1943 over Tunisia, North Africa.
Lieutenant Kendrick R.
Bragg Jr.
was piloting his B17F flying fortress on a bombing mission against German held targets.
The aircraft was named All-American.
23 years old from Dallas, Texas.
This was one of his early combat missions with the 97th Bomb Group.
The formation had just completed its bomb run.
Defensive fire from German positions had been heavy but manageable.
Now the B7s were turning for home, heading back toward their base in Algeria.
The most dangerous part of the mission was over.
Or so they thought.
German fighter aircraft had been tracking the bomber formation.
Messor Schmidt BF109s.
They’d been waiting for the bombers to leave the protection of their own fighter escort.
Now they attacked.
Bragg’s B7 was flying in formation with other bombers.
The standard defensive tactic was maintaining tight formation, overlapping fields of fire from multiple aircraft.
If German fighters attacked, gunners from multiple B7s could engage simultaneously.
A BF109 dove toward the formation, attacking from above and behind.
Standard German fighter tactic.
dive through the formation, fire, break away before defensive guns could track effectively.
But this BF109 didn’t break away in time.
The fighter collided with Bragg’s B7, mid-air collision.
The BF109 struck the B7’s fuselage just behind the wing section.
The impact was catastrophic.
The German fighter disintegrated immediately.
The pilot had no chance.
The BF-109 broke apart.
Pieces of the aircraft fell away.
The pilot was killed instantly.
Braggs B7 should have disintegrated, too.
The collision point was just aft of the wing, a critical structural area.
The force of impact from a fighter traveling several hundred mph should have broken the bomber in half.
It almost did.
The fuselage was nearly severed.
The tail section, everything behind the wing was cut almost completely off.
Only a few structural members remained connected.
The top and bottom of the fuselage were separated.
The tail section was hanging on by fragments of metal framework.
The control cables running to the tail were severed or damaged.
Inside the aircraft, crew members were thrown around by the impact.
The bombader and navigator in the nose section felt the aircraft shutter violently.
The waist gunners in the middle section saw daylight appear where solid fuselage should be.
The tail gunner in the rear section found himself in a section of aircraft that was barely attached to the rest of the plane.
Bragg felt the impact through the controls.
The B17 lurched.
Altitude dropped.
The aircraft started to roll.
He pulled back on the controls trying to maintain level flight.
The aircraft wasn’t responding normally.
Something was catastrophically wrong.
The co-pilot looked back through the cockpit door.
What he saw was impossible.
The fuselage behind the wing was torn open.
The tail section was hanging at an angle.
He could see sky through the gap where solid aircraft structure should be.
The tail section was still attached, but barely.
It looked like it could separate completely at any moment.
The co-pilot reported to brag, “We’ve been hit.
The fuselage is cut almost completely through.
The tail section is barely attached.
Bragg processed this information.
His aircraft was structurally compromised.
Half the plane was nearly severed.
The tail section could separate at any moment.
If that happened, the aircraft would be uncontrollable.
It would spin and crash.
Everyone would die.
Standard procedure in this situation was bail out.
order the crew to abandon aircraft, parachute to the ground, take chances as prisoners of war rather than ride a dying aircraft into the ground.
But they were over German held territory.
Bailing out meant capture, prison camp, or worse.
And Bragg wasn’t certain the aircraft was doomed yet.
It was badly damaged, but it was still flying.
The engines were still running.
The wings were intact.
If he could maintain control, maybe he could reach Allied territory.
He made a decision.
He would try to fly at home.
The immediate problem was control.
The elevator controls that moved the tail surfaces weren’t responding normally.
The cables were cut or damaged.
Bragg couldn’t control pitch through normal inputs.
The aircraft wanted to nose down.
Gravity and aerodynamics were pulling the damaged tail section downward.
This was pushing the nose down.
Bragg used engine power and trim tabs to compensate, increasing power to maintain altitude, adjusting trim to counteract the nose down tendency.
It was crude, imprecise, but it was keeping the aircraft relatively level.
The second problem was structural integrity.
The tail section was attached by minimal structure.
Every movement of the aircraft put stress on those remaining connections.
Turbulence could break them.
Maneuvering could break them.
Even just flying straight could eventually fatigue the metal and cause complete separation.
Bragg had to fly as smoothly as possible.
No sudden movements, no sharp turns, minimal altitude changes, keep the aircraft stable, and hope the structure held together.
The third problem was the crew in the tail section.
The tail gunner was still back there in a section of aircraft that was barely attached.
If the tail separated, he’d have no chance.
He needed to move forward to the main fuselage, but moving through the damaged section was dangerous.
The gap where the fuselage was severed had sharp metal hedges.
Moving gear and crew through that area risked further damage.
Bragg radioed the crew.
The tail gunner needed to evacuate the tail section.
Move forward carefully.
The crew worked together, rigged lines across the gap.
The tail gunner used these lines to pull himself forward carefully, avoiding the torn metal.
He made it across.
Now all crew were in the forward and middle sections.
If the tail separated, they could still bail out.
The formation had continued without Bragg’s aircraft.
They couldn’t slow down.
Maintaining speed and altitude was necessary for their own safety.
Bragg’s B7 fell behind, alone now, damaged, slow, an easy target for any German fighters that spotted it, but no fighters appeared.
The German BF 109’s had broken off their attack.
Either low on fuel or ammunition or satisfied with their success, they didn’t pursue the crippled B7.
Bragg flew toward Allied lines.
The border between German held territory and Allied controlled areas wasn’t far.
maybe 60 miles.
If he could cover that distance, he’d be over friendly territory.
Allied fighters would provide protection.
Emergency landing fields would be available.
The aircraft was barely controllable.
Every few minutes, something would shift.
The tail would sag slightly.
The nose would drop.
Bragg would adjust power and trim, compensate, maintain altitude, keep flying.
The engineer monitored the engines.
All four were running.
No critical damage there.
Fuel levels were adequate.
If the structure held, they had enough fuel to reach base.
The navigator plotted course, gave Bragg headings.
The autopilot was useless.
Bragg was handflying the aircraft.
Constant control inputs, adjusting for every change in the aircraft’s behavior, exhausting, but necessary.
Minutes passed.
10 minutes, 20, 30.
The aircraft was still flying.
The tail section was still attached, barely, but attached.
The crew was silent.
Everyone understood the situation.
They were flying in an aircraft that shouldn’t be flyable, that could break apart at any moment, but so far it was holding together.
Bragg crossed into Allied territory, Tunisian desert below, controlled by Allied forces.
German fighters wouldn’t follow here.
The immediate threat was reduced, but the structural threat remained.
The tail section was still barely attached.
Landing would be the most dangerous part.
The stress of touchdown could break the remaining connections.
The tail could separate on impact.
The aircraft could break apart on the runway.
Bragg radioed ahead.
Emergency landing.
Aircraft severely damaged.
Requested crash equipment standing by.
The base tower cleared him for immediate approach.
Emergency vehicles positioned.
Medical personnel ready.
Everyone expecting a crash landing.
Bragg lined up for final approach.
The airfield was in Algeria, a relatively safe Allied base.
Runway clear, weather good, everything favorable except the aircraft’s condition.
The approach had to be as gentle as possible.
Normal landing descent rates would stress to damage structure.
Bragg kept the descent shallow, minimal rate of descent, using power to control the glide path rather than pitch changes.
Air speed had to be carefully managed.
Too fast and the aerodynamic loads could tear the tail off.
Too slow and the aircraft would stall.
Bragg aimed for just above stall speed, minimum safe air speed, reducing stress on the structure.
The crew braced for impact in crash positions, ready for the aircraft to break apart on landing.
Everyone knew this could go wrong.
The tail could separate.
The aircraft could cartwheel.
Fire was possible.
Bragg crossed the runway threshold.
The tail section was still attached, still hanging at that slight angle, still connected by those few structural members that had somehow held for 90 minutes.
Touchdown.
The main landing gear contacted the runway.
The aircraft settled.
Weight transferred to the wheels.
The tail section sagged lower.
The gap in the fuselage widened slightly, but the connections held.
The tail wheel touched down.
More stress on the rear structure.
The aircraft was fully on the runway now, decelerating.
Bragg used brakes carefully.
No hard braking.
That would pitch the nose down and stress the fuselage break point.
The aircraft rolled to a stop.
Engines shut down.
Silence.
The crew sat for a moment processing.
They’d survived.
The aircraft had flown 90 minutes with its fuselage nearly severed.
They’d crossed enemy territory, landed successfully.
Everyone was alive.
Ground crews and emergency personnel rushed to the aircraft.
When they saw the damage, they stopped, stared.
The tail section was hanging on by what looked like a few metal beams.
The fuselage was cut almost completely through.
Daylight visible through the gap.
This aircraft shouldn’t have flown.
It definitely shouldn’t have flown for 90 minutes, and it absolutely shouldn’t have landed successfully, but it had.
Photographers documented the damage.
The images would become some of the most famous aircraft damage photos of World War II.
The B17F All-American with its tail section barely attached.
Visual proof of how much damage a B17 could sustain and still fly.
Engineers examined the structure.
Counted the connection still intact.
Four main structural members.
That’s all that had held the tail section on.
Four pieces of metal framework.
Everything else was severed.
Control cables cut, fuselage skin torn, internal structure destroyed.
Those four members had sustained the entire tail section’s weight and aerodynamic loads for 90 minutes.
They’d held during flight, during maneuvering, during landing.
It seemed impossible, but the evidence was in front of them.
The aircraft was a total loss, structurally damaged beyond economical repair.
It would never fly again, but it had completed one final mission, getting its crew home alive.
Lieutenant Bragg and his crew were debriefed.
Their account of the collision and subsequent flight was documented.
Bragg’s decision to attempt flying the damaged aircraft rather than ordering bailout was analyzed.
Some officers questioned whether he’ taken unnecessary risks.
Others praised his airmanship and decision-making.
The final assessment was that Bragg had made the right call.
Bailing out over enemy territory would likely have resulted in the crew’s capture.
Flying the damaged aircraft was risky, but the alternative was worse, and his skill in controlling the barely controllable aircraft had saved 10 lives.
Bragg was awarded the distinguished flying cross.
The citation noted his exceptional airmanship and courage in flying a severely damaged aircraft to safety.
Other crew members received commendations for their actions during the emergency.
The All-American became famous.
The photos circulated through military channels and eventually to the public.
The story was used in training, examples of what B7s could survive, examples of pilot skill making the difference between survival and catastrophe.
But the story also illustrated the randomness of combat survival.
The BF 109 pilot who collided with the B7 died instantly.
The B7 crew survived.
The difference between these outcomes was perhaps a few feet of impact position.
If the BF 109 had struck slightly differently, the B17 would have broken apart immediately.
Everyone would have died.
Or if the four structural members that held the tail section had failed at any point during the 90-minute flight, the aircraft would have broken apart.
Everyone would have died.
The fact that those four members held was as much luck as engineering.
The B7’s reputation for toughness was enhanced by incidents like this.
Stories of B7s returning from missions with catastrophic damage.
Wings shot through, engines destroyed, fuselage torn, tail sections barely attached.
The aircraft’s robust construction saved countless crews.
But the All-American incident was extreme, even by B7 standards.
Most damage was from flack or gunfire, holes and tears that while serious left the basic structure intact.
The All-American had lost structural continuity.
The aircraft had been cut almost in half.
This was beyond design limits, beyond what engineers thought survivable.
That it flew at all was remarkable.
That it flew for 90 minutes was incredible.
That it landed successfully was miraculous.
February 1st, 1943.
Lieutenant Kendrick Bragg’s B17F All-American was struck by a German fighter over Tunisia.
The collision nearly severed the fuselage.
The tail section hung on by four structural members.
Half the plane was gone.
Bragg flew it for 90 minutes, crossed enemy territory, maintained control of an aircraft that should have been uncontrollable, landed it successfully, saved his entire crew.
The photographs show what shouldn’t be possible.
A B7 with its fuselage cut almost completely through.
The tail section hanging at an angle, held on by fragments of structure.
And yet it flew.
It landed.
The crew survived.
Sometimes survival in combat comes down to skill, sometimes luck, sometimes the incredible toughness of the aircraft.
In the case of the All-American, it was all three.
Bragg’s skill in flying the damaged aircraft.
the luck that the four structural members held, the B17’s robust design that allowed it to fly despite catastrophic damage.
The B17F All-American never flew again after that landing.
It was scrapped.
The damage was too extensive, but it had completed its final mission, bringing 10 men home alive from a mid-air collision that should have killed them all.
