HE great B-17 was dying in the air， sinking down through<br > the last 1，5oo feet toward a glittering sea. The sandy haze of<br >the approaching shoreline merged confusingly with the starred，<br >cracked web and ragged holes of the Plexiglas in the broken nose<br >canopy.<br > The inner two of the four engines were silent. The outer star-<br >board engine roared at full throttle， trying to take the weight of<br >flying the bomber. The outer port engine coughed， screamed in<br >agonized little bursts of power， coughed again. From where he<br >sat in the ruin of the flight deck， the pilot occasionally risked a<br >glance at the oil pouring in swift，， spasmodic rushes from its<br >cracked hub， streaming over "tlie l~l ~-and-white United States<br >Army Air Force star on the wing. ~<br > A glance was all he could risk. H ~ hunched， rigid， in the 180-<br >mile-an-hour gale blowing back through the broken nose canopy，<br >pushing forward on the control column with his entire strength，<br >trying to hold the nose down so that the B-17 would not rear into<br >its final death stall. Above the roar of the wind he could hear，<br >faintly， the cracking and creaking as the bomber slowly broke up.<br ><br >