The final six minutes of Hell’s Wench—and the legacy that reshaped the war.

The instant Hell’s Wench released its bombs, the bomber lurched upward. Baker pulled back on the yoke, trying to climb above the coming explosions.

But the wing was failing.

The right-side engines flickered.
Hydraulics died.
Warning lights lit the cockpit like a Christmas tree from hell.

Below them, the refinery exploded.

The shockwave hit the bomber like a fist.

The B-24 rolled sharply.
Baker fought the controls and leveled the wings—barely.

But fires now raged along the wing, the fuselage, the cockpit walls.

The bomber was dying.

Yet Baker turned south—toward home.

The Attempt to Save the Crew

They were now 800 feet high, the bare minimum for parachutes.

If the crew bailed out now, most would survive—captured, yes, but alive.

But Baker had another thought.

Yugoslavia—and friendly partisan territory—lay only 40 miles away.

If they could gain altitude, even a little, they could glide closer to safety before bailing out.
Maybe avoid German captivity.
Maybe survive the war.

So Baker climbed.

900 feet.
1,000 feet.
1,200.
1,500.

The wing structure groaned, threatening to tear off at any moment.

But Baker kept climbing.

One Engine Left

Engine No. 3 died.
Then No. 4.
Then No. 1 caught fire.

Only one engine—No. 2—remained.

With a burning wing.
And a burning fuselage.
And the flight controls half-melted.

Yet Hell’s Wench still flew.

The crew stayed at their posts.
Gunners scanned for fighters.
Merritt transferred fuel by hand from broken tanks.
McCormack lay in the nose, watching small Romanian farms drift below, calculating angles, distances, survival odds.

The radio was dead.
The intercom was dead.
Baker couldn’t even tell his men to jump.

Still, he climbed.

1,700 feet.
1,800.

Jerstad glanced at Baker.
Both knew the engines wouldn’t last.

Then—
Engine No. 2 died.

The bomber began sinking.

Catastrophe — The Wing Fails

With all engines gone, the bomber lost speed rapidly.
The burning right wing—already weakened—buckled.

Then:

The entire right wing tore off the aircraft.

In an instant, Hell’s Wench rolled violently into a death spin.

The force slammed every crewman against the walls.
Escape hatches were now above them—impossible to reach.

There would be no bailout.

The aircraft tumbled faster—
2 revolutions per second…
3…
4…

Ammunition in the waist guns began to cook off, firing bullets randomly inside the spinning furnace.

Through the cockpit, the ground rushed upward—
fields
trees
villages
people running in terror as the spinning fireball descended.

Baker fought the controls to the very last second.

At 9:47 a.m., Hell’s Wench slammed into the earth at over 300 mph.

The explosion carved a 15-foot crater.

All ten men died instantly.

The Aftermath — A Mission Paid in Blood

Of the 178 bombers that departed Benghazi:

53 were lost

310 men killed

54 captured

108 wounded

The costliest one-day mission in U.S. Air Force history.

But the strategic results were undeniable:

Ploiești’s production dropped from 12 million barrels to under 4 million a year

The refineries Baker’s group attacked were devastated

German tanks, U-boats, and aircraft immediately felt the fuel shortage

Historians estimate the mission shortened the war by three months

The sacrifice of Baker, Jerstad, and their crew changed the course of the conflict.

Medal of Honor — For Two Who Chose Duty Over Life

Six months later, two Medals of Honor were awarded:

⭐ Lt. Col. Addison Baker (Posthumous)

For refusing safe landing…
for leading the attack through the most intense defenses in Europe…
for completing the mission while flying a burning aircraft.

⭐ Major John Jerstad (Posthumous)

For volunteering to fly a mission he didn’t have to fly…
for choosing to continue the bomb run when he could have bailed out…
for dying at his station beside his commander.

The remaining eight men received no medals.
But their sacrifice was no less.

They followed their leaders into hell.
They stayed at their posts.
They completed the mission.

They died as a crew.

And history remembers them that way.