Diving meant increased airflow over the wings, which meant more speed. Belle's speed increased rapidly as she headed towards the ground. 100 knots, 200 knots, 250 knots. At 275 knots she was not only well above her maximum dive speed but also in danger of tearing one of her wings off. But that fire was still not out and she would not pull up unless she absolutely had to until the flames had been extinguished. At 6000 feet, an altitude that made it easy for even the larger unwieldy mortars to strike her, she leveled off the flames reduced to wispy smoke that were quickly dissipated in the airflow. The G-forces involved as she pulled up were tremendous. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her vision went gray as she threatened to black out. She forced herself to remain conscious, then she bit her lip and gritted her teeth to keep the fuel where it belonged in her churning tanks as she leveled off. She succeeded for the most part, gagging as fuel mixed with hot bile worked its way up her throat. Her wings wobbled but her skills in flying were unmatched and she straightened out, still holding down her lunch.
Looking around she felt a pang as she realized she was alone. Alone and wounded. If there wasn't a more perfect target for the Luftwaffe, there was one now. She had never felt more relieved as she reached the safety of the Channel, the coast of England looming in the distance. Another hour and she'd be home. She hissed as a second engine cut out and wondered if she was running low on fuel. The gauges were of no help, they had been destroyed along with most of her instrumentation when that 109 had strafed her head. Feathering the prop she continued on, ignoring the pain that her roasted number four engine gave her. That wing was also weakened by the burns and she worried that it might not hold under the stresses of flight. Not that she had any choice but to force it to. She pushed past the pain and continued on, enjoying the view of the farmers fields below her.
Back at the airfield, the other planes had all landed safely. As was customary for the lead airplane, Ruth was the last to land, pulling off to the side next to Pea and C-Cups who's head was freshly bandaged. Ruth filled C-Cups in on events after she had left the formation. "Smoke over the target was intense and we had to go around again. Fighter defense was the strongest I've ever seen it. We faired well but a dying kraut knocked out Mother on the way down." "A dying kraut got the rookies?" C-Cups asked, shocked. She'd heard of plenty of strange ways to die, there were always new ways being discovered in this war, but that was certainly the most unusual. "Belle got 'em with her tail gun. He banked and went straight through Mother's tail. Belle couldn't even look at her." "I can't say I blame her. For none of it." "Yeah, well tell that to her." Ruth snorted. "Where is she? Thought I gave her command." "C-Cups asked. "You did. But after we finished our run, a 109 put a few rounds into one of her engines and knocked out her instruments for good measure. She had to dive to put the flame out. Last I saw she was heading towards France." "God..." C-Cups looked down, biting her lip as she fought hard to accept reality. "Hey, Belle's the best flyer there is. If anyone can make it through she can." "How long will it take her to fly the distance on three engines?" Ruth looked down. "She should've already landed by now. But she was losing fuel. Could be she had to shut down another one. I'd give it another 15 minutes before I call it." "You're being optimistic." C-Cups accused her. "Sometimes, that's all I can afford to be." Ruth admitted. C-Cups had nothing to say to that.
As Belle approached the airfield 20 miles out a fierce pain overtook her. Her remaining right engine seized, coughed twice and shut down all together. She feathered the propeller immediately, cursing under her breath. She had never flown on one engine before. She didn't know of any B17 that had even tried, not even in the test flights. And she had read every manual that Boeing provided on the subject. There was nothing in there that indicated what she should do. "Guess I'm going to have to write a new manual then." She chuckled at her optimism. Her statement riding on the presumption that she would land first.
At the airfield, Ruth had stopped looking desperately at the sky hoping that one of the little crows she saw turned out to be a B17. Biting her lip, she turned to C-Cups ready to accept that her friend was dead when a very welcome sound reached her ears. It was rough it was dirty and it sounded agonizing but it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She whirled around. C-Cups, surprised at the other plane's quick actions, did the same. Both saw the dark shape in the distance resolve into a B17 and there was only one plane it could be. The field could not possibly have cheered any louder. Belle had another few miles to go. She was lined up with runway on the far side of the field. Ruth could see that three of her engines had been shut down, the propellers feathered and motionless. She had lost her ball turret and through the gaping hole in her belly hung several control cables. None of which thankfully were actively bleeding. Her tail was shot to hell, covered in blood spatters. Her head bore a large actively bleeding wound that had to be affecting her concentration. Blood ran down between her eyes, mixing with the remains of Windy City that adorned her nose. Despite all this, she didn't waver in her course. Ruth could only imagine the concentration it was taking to hold her glide slope. Despite her best efforts, Belle's altitude was dropping fast. One engine was not enough to keep her heavy bulk in the air this low to the ground.
Having the runway in sight, Belle lowered her gear, feeling the left one extend fully but the right... She knew something was wrong the moment she tried to extend it. When her ball turret had been destroyed the damage had extended to her hip. The joint was severed. She could not lower it herself. As her profile became more pronounced, Ruth and C-Cups recognized the severity of the situation. "God she's only got one wheel down." C-Cups turned away, burying her head in Ruth's side. "Tell me when it's over." She begged, not wanting to see Belle go up in flames. "She's not done yet. She's trying." Ruth said. "Come on Belle. You're so close, come on." She whispered.
Belle felt it when her crew succeeded in reattaching the joint. She immediately dropped the right wheel, popping flares to let the ground grew know she'd need medical assistance when she landed. She could barely focus now, her head wound seriously hampering her ability to fly. "Just a little farther." She whispered to herself. Her wheels contacted the runway and she bounced once before sticking it. A renewed cheer went up as the other B17s realized she'd made it. Belle applied her brakes and limped off the runway onto the grass, her gear trembling. She could barely see straight but she did notice C-Cups barreling towards her, the other B17 taking her in a tight embrace. Belle gladly leaned into her, purring. Ruth came up on her other side, helping to support her. Belle closed her eyes, an action that earned her a fierce nudge from Ruth. "Ah, ah. No counting sheep just yet sweetheart. It's photo op time." She ran her tongue over Belle's head, clearing the old blood away. More dripped down as the wound was still open but Belle ignored it. "Okay, okay." She grunted, getting her gear under her. She shook the other planes off and they retreated out of the frame. Belle turned her attentions to her crew, all alive. "I love you!" Cheered Virgil as he leaped up and patted her side. She grinned, his happiness infectious. The photographer snapped the picture. Dennis came up, the bottle of champagne that Danny had sneaked aboard in hand. His frowny face was just a facade as he pulled his hand off the top of the bottle, allowing it to spray his men. Even Belle got a little on her. As the boys played she snatched the nearly empty bottle out of his hand, holding it between her teeth as she tipped her head back. She had never tasted a sweeter liquid. When she lowered her head, Dennis stood there somewhat amused. "Enjoy it?" He asked and she nodded, the bottle clanking against her skin. He chuckled and put a hand over her nose. "Thank you, for never letting us down." Belle offered a shaky purr, the bottle slipping from her teeth and falling to the ground. She took a stumbling step forwards and her gear collapsed. Ruth and C-Cups caught her before she went down, Ruth lifting her head and attempting to carry her on her back. Belle offered her pilot one last soft look before she allowed her exhaustion to overtake her. She passed out peacefully on Ruth's back, C-Cups and Pea licking her wounds clean.
...
Baby Ruth (April 1938- January 1944) successfully lead the remaining squadron of 21 planes back to Kimbolton. She went on to fly 3 more missions before being killed in action in January 1944.
C-Cups (May 1937- August 17 1943) C-Cups was repaired and returned to service. Her first flight was the infamous Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission. She became one of the 60 bombers shot down over Germany that day. It was her sixth birthday.
Black Eyed Peas (April 1937- June 1946) survived the war but crashed in Florida during a training flight. She was humanely euthanized after efforts to save her failed.
Mother and Country (May 1940-May 17, 1943) was just one of thousands of new B17s who would die before they saw their first year of combat. Of the 12000 B17s built during the war, 5000 would perish in the skies over Europe.
Windy City (March 1937-May 17, 1943) was considered to be one of the finest flyers in England. Her skills in the air made her the perfect choice to train new aircraft. Her knowledge of tactics and strategy helped win the war.
Memphis Belle (April 1936-Present) is one of the last surviving B17 veterans of the war. Haunted by her experiences she rarely speaks of her service. Her relationship with Windy City was not known to the public until the 1980s when Belle finally came clean.