the efforts of her crew, suddenly had a different set of forces act upon her tortured frames.
Firstly, many of the hand-manufactured struts fell out, no longer held in place by pressure, as physics decided to reverse its forces, with compression now primary on the underside, swapping itself with tension, now applied to the upper surfaces, tension which was sufficient to catastrophically open up the fault line that had developed in flight.
In turn, the stressed underside, started to detach, as frame supports and skin gave up the unequal struggle.
The tailskid had been deployed, and it was this modest metal support that held the tail in place whilst the fuselage decided whether it would stay intact, or come apart.
In the end, the skid failed and the tail section partially fell away.
In the cockpit, whilst the speed was no longer a problem, the additional drag of the tail assisting in decelerating the aircraft, ‘Miss Merlene’ was being dragged off course, as the starboard side of the rear end acted on the runway, creating an anchor effect.
Part of the metalled runway matting snagged and increased the forces dragging the B-29 off course.
The interlocking Marsden Matting started to pull up off the ground in one large bending piece.
The forward momentum was beaten by the grip of the runway metal, and the tail section tore off in stages, as each frame yielded up its hold.
No one up front heard the screams behind them.
‘Miss Merlene’ was suddenly free.
Too late to prevent the starboard gear running off the runway and into the softer ground.
Too late to prevent the ground taking the damaged gear in its embrace.
Too late to prevent the undercarriage straining in its mount and becoming detached.
The right wing cut into the soft ground, slewing the B-29 even more to the right.
The port undercarriage met with the yielding ground and struggled to remain intact, the wheels clogging as the earth invaded and clung.
Despite the futility of it all, Crail and Nelleson continued to try to steer, gripping their control columns, and feeling every hump and bump as the aircraft moved inexorably on towards…
… towards men who suddenly realised their predicament, and for whom an exercise in curiosity suddenly became a race for survival.
The observers ran for their lives as ‘Miss Merlene’ came closer, her port undercarriage trying hard to stay intact under the colossal strain.
The right wing started to disintegrate as the starboard outer engine caught the ground and was ripped off, turning the B-29 more to the right.
By a miracle, the left wingtip swept over the top of a number of huts which, although unoccupied at the time, would have added to the risks for ‘Miss Merlene’s’ crew.
Through the glasshouse, Loveless observed the approaching fuel bowser and fuelling station, the pair sat inevitably in the area through which the Superfortress would pass.
He gritted his teeth, and a slow moan escaped his mouth as the aircraft took the shortest possible route towards…
… towards…
With a lurch, Dimples-nine-eight came to a halt less than four feet from the bowser, the nose stove in but not breached, the soft earth surrounding it like a rolled comfort blanket.
“Crew out! Crew out!”
Pilots and flight engineers switched off everything and undid their harnesses, as the others rightly broke world records in their haste to get outside of the death trap, the smell of aviation spirit heavy in the air already.
Crail stood back as Fletcher dragged the unconscious Jones to the hatch and passed him out to the waiting Nelleson and Loveless.
Jeppson, bleeding heavily from a head wound, stumbled past, disorientated by the crash-landing and the blood in his eyes. Crail grabbed him and guided him to safety, the heavy fuel fumes already causing his brain to ache.
He dropped to the ground, ignoring the momentary pain, and urged the men to move away from ‘Miss Merlene’.
Faithful to the last, the aircraft did not catch