German Pilots Couldn’t Believe B-17s With 16 Guns — Until These “Flying Fortresses” Fell Behind

 

At 11:47 a.m. on May 29, 1943, the fog over RAF Alconbury was just beginning to lift. On the tarmac, beneath the gray English sky, a line of B-17 Flying Fortresses stood in formation, engines idling, their propellers stirring the wet air into long, cold spirals of mist. Captain James Hartwell, twenty-six years old and already a veteran of forty-two combat missions, climbed into the cockpit of his assigned aircraft—a modified bomber that looked familiar but was nothing like the ones he had flown before.

The ground crew was finishing the final checks, their movements mechanical and quick. The smell of oil and exhaust mixed with the damp earth, and somewhere far off a siren wailed. Hartwell tightened the chin strap on his oxygen mask and watched as a mechanic hoisted the last belt of .50-caliber ammunition into the belly of the aircraft. This wasn’t standard procedure. Nothing about this plane was.

The stenciled number on the fuselage read 42-5738, but the crew had already given it a name: Hedgehog. It wasn’t elegant or poetic, but it fit—a nod to the stubby, bristling look of the plane once they’d finished strapping sixteen Browning machine guns to it. Sixteen. That number alone had made the engineers grin and the brass uneasy. It was supposed to be the future of bomber protection: the YB-40 Flying Fortress, refitted not to carry bombs but to carry guns—more guns than any aircraft in the sky.

Hartwell had been briefed on the mission the night before, though “briefed” didn’t quite capture it. It felt more like an experiment, and he and six other crews were the test subjects. The Eighth Air Force had been losing bombers at a horrifying rate—173 Flying Fortresses shot down over Europe in the three months before May. Every deep-strike mission into Germany had become a slaughter. Without long-range fighter escorts, the bombers were defenseless on the way home.

The German Luftwaffe had perfected the art of hunting them. Focke-Wulf 190s attacked from dead ahead—twelve o’clock high—where the B-17’s nose guns couldn’t traverse fast enough to track. Messerschmitt 109s dove through the formations like hawks, picking off the stragglers that lagged behind. Crews called it the gauntlet. They flew into it knowing that half wouldn’t make it back to base.

The solution, at least on paper, was brutal in its simplicity. If the fighters couldn’t escort the bombers all the way to Germany and back—then the bombers would escort themselves.

Army Air Force engineers went to work at Douglas Aircraft’s facility in Tulsa. They stripped a B-17F down to its frame and rebuilt it around firepower. The bomb bay was emptied. The bombardier’s station converted to hold a twin .50-caliber chin turret—the first of its kind on a Flying Fortress. A second dorsal turret was added behind the radio room. The waist guns were doubled. Extra guns were fitted into the forward fuselage. Armor plates were bolted across crew positions. The ammunition load tripled to over 11,000 rounds.

When it rolled out of the hangar, it was four thousand pounds heavier than the standard B-17F and looked less like a bomber than a flying fortress in the truest sense of the word. They called it the Flying Destroyer.

The test models were sent to the 92nd Bombardment Group at Alconbury that May. Twelve YB-40s in total. Hartwell’s squadron would fly seven of them as part of the first combat trial. The target: the submarine pens at Saint-Nazaire, on the French Atlantic coast.

By 1:25 p.m., the roar of engines filled the airfield. Four Wright Cyclone radial engines coughed, belched smoke, and then settled into a steady hum. Hartwell felt the familiar vibration through his seat, the deep bass of power ready to be unleashed. He scanned the gauges. Oil pressure—green. Manifold pressure—green. Turbos responsive. Everything checked out.

“Crew ready,” his co-pilot, First Lieutenant Al Turner, called over the intercom.

“Roger that,” Hartwell replied, eyes on the runway ahead.

The tower cleared them for takeoff at 1:50 p.m. Hedgehog lumbered forward, its landing gear thudding against the uneven tarmac as the engines howled. The aircraft felt heavier, slower to respond. By the time it lifted free of the ground, Hartwell could already feel the difference. The controls were stiffer, the yoke sluggish.

A standard B-17 could climb to 20,000 feet in about twenty-five minutes. The YB-40 took nearly twice that. The nose seemed to resist the sky, dragging behind as if the air itself were holding it back.

By the time they reached altitude, Hartwell could see the line of bombers stretching from horizon to horizon—a sky full of silver wings reflecting sunlight through the thin haze. One hundred and sixty-eight Flying Fortresses, heading east. Somewhere ahead of them, across the Channel and the coastline of France, were the same Luftwaffe squadrons that had torn through their ranks week after week.

But this time, the Americans weren’t unarmed lambs.

At least, that was the idea.

The plan was simple. The seven YB-40s would fly in the most vulnerable parts of the formation—low squadrons, tail elements, the very spots where German fighters liked to attack. They were to use their wall of guns to protect the others, holding position through the bombing run and on the way home.

By 3:30 p.m., the formation was crossing the French coast. The gray line of land below gave way to smoke columns and scattered flak bursts. Black puffs of anti-aircraft fire bloomed in the sky, distant but close enough to feel. Hartwell’s gunners tensed. The intercom crackled with the clipped voices of crewmen checking their sectors.

At 4:02 p.m., they reached Saint-Nazaire. The bomb bays of the main formation opened. From 20,000 feet, the first wave of ordnance fell in slow, glinting arcs toward the submarine pens below. Seconds later, the sky flashed with the bright blossoms of explosions. Hartwell kept Hedgehog steady, watching for fighters.

Then came the problem every pilot feared—the moment when the formation turned home.

Empty of bombs, the standard B-17s climbed faster, accelerated easier. The YB-40s, burdened with their weight of armor and ammunition, could not. Within minutes, Hartwell’s plane began to lag.

“Throttle to max continuous,” Turner called.

“I’m already there,” Hartwell answered. The engines roared in protest. The airspeed indicator settled at 148 mph—barely enough to keep pace. The rest of the formation was moving at 160. Slowly, inevitably, Hedgehog began to fall behind.

Hartwell’s flight engineer, Technical Sergeant Paul Morrison, climbed down from the top turret to check the gauges. Morrison was thirty-one, a quiet man with grease always under his nails and two hundred hours of maintenance work on B-17s before this mission. He peered at the engine readings and frowned.

“Number three cylinder head’s in the red,” he said.

Hartwell didn’t look up. “Pull it back before we lose it.”

Morrison eased the throttle down. The engine temperature dropped, but so did their speed—142 mph now. Ahead, the rest of the bombers were shrinking to dots.

The intercom buzzed. “Tail gunner to pilot,” came the voice of Staff Sergeant Frank Delaney. “Contrails, four o’clock high. Looks like eight, maybe more.”

German fighters.

Hartwell’s stomach tightened. “All guns, track targets,” he said calmly. “Stay sharp.”

Through the glass, faint silver shapes appeared—Focke-Wulf 190s, climbing fast. They spread wide, using the sun as cover.

The first attack came from above and behind. The tail gunner opened fire at 800 yards, his twin Brownings hammering the sky with streams of tracer fire. The leading German fighter veered off, smoke trailing from its right wing.

A second attack followed almost immediately, two fighters diving head-on from eleven o’clock high. The chin turret gunner—Corporal Mark Weathers—swung his guns upward and squeezed the triggers. The twin fifties thundered, brass casings raining through the open floor. The tracers laced across the lead FW-190’s nose. Black smoke erupted from its cowling. The fighter rolled, trailing flames, and spiraled down toward the coast.

Delaney’s voice came through again, strained but excited. “Got him! He’s going down!”

For six long minutes, the YB-40 performed exactly as the engineers had promised. The German fighters darted in and out, probing for weaknesses, but the wall of fire from sixteen guns drove them back. Each approach was met with overlapping arcs of lead.

But success came at a cost. The YB-40’s heavy weight and constant maneuvering strained the engines. Fuel burned faster than predicted. The bombers ahead were now seven miles distant, the horizon swallowing them one by one.

“Fuel’s dropping faster than briefed,” Morrison said over the intercom. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky to make it back.”

Hartwell adjusted the throttles again, but there was no catching up. Hedgehog was alone now, a single heavy fortress adrift over occupied France.

Then the radio crackled. Another voice—Captain Richard Hayes from the 305th Bomb Group. His YB-40 had also fallen behind.

“Good to see you, Hedgehog,” Hayes said. “We’re trailing by six miles. Let’s stick together.”

“Roger that,” Hartwell replied. He could see the second gunship glinting in the distance, descending slightly to match their altitude. Two lonely fortresses now, side by side in the cold blue sky, separated from the main formation by miles of empty air.

Below them, the French coastline was sliding away. The gray sweep of the Channel stretched out ahead—fifty miles of water between them and home.

The Germans were still up there. Waiting.

Hartwell could feel it in the silence between radio calls, in the way the gunners scanned the horizon without speaking. The YB-40 had sixteen guns, but it couldn’t outfly anyone. If the enemy chose to come again, there would be no one else to hide behind.

Number three engine temperature climbed into the red again. Morrison throttled it back without a word. Hedgehog dropped another hundred feet, then another.

Through the thin air, the crew could see the other YB-40’s engines smoking faintly. Hayes radioed again, voice tight. “Oil pressure dropping on number two. We’re pulling back power.”

Their airspeed fell to 138 mph. Two heavily armed bombers, crippled by the very modifications that were supposed to make them invincible, inching across the Channel as the fuel gauges ticked down.

And behind them, unseen for now but closing fast, were the fighters they had been built to destroy.

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At 11:47 a.m. on May 29th, 1943, Captain James Hartwell climbed into the cockpit of his B7 at RAF Alenbury, watching the ground crew load the last belt of 50 caliber ammunition into the modified bombers’s 17th gun position. 26 years old, 42 combat missions, zero experience in what he was about to fly. The YB40 weighed 4,000 lbs more than any flying fortress he’d ever touched.

 In the 3 months before May, the Eighth Air Force had lost 173 B17s over Europe. Without long range fighter escorts, German interceptors massacred bomber formations on the return leg from targets deep in the Reich. Folk Wolf 190s attacked from 12:00 high where B17 nose guns couldn’t track fast enough.

 Measurement 109s dove through formations, picking off stragglers who fell behind. Crews called it the gauntlet. Half didn’t make 25 missions. The solution seemed obvious. If fighters couldn’t escort bombers all the way to Germany and back, turn a bomber into a fighter. Army Air Force’s engineers stripped everything from a B7F that didn’t shoot. Bombs gone.

 Bombadier station converted to a twin 50 caliber chin turret. Second dorsal turret installed behind the radio room. Single waist guns replaced with twin mounts. Cheat guns added to the forward fuselage. Ammunition capacity tripled to 11,275 rounds. Additional armor plating welded to crew positions. 16 50 caliber machine guns on one aircraft. They called it the YB40. The Flying Destroyer.

 Douglas aircraft in Tulsa completed 12 conversions by March. The 92nd Bombardment Group at Alenbury received them in early May. Colonel William Reed selected seven crews to fly the first combat test. Hartwell got aircraft 42-5738. His crew called it hedgehog. The weight made everything wrong. Standard B7Fs climbed to 20,000 ft in 25 minutes.

 The YB40 needed 48. The control yoke felt different, heavier. The aircraft commander who test flown it at right field told Hartwell the center of gravity sat wrong with all that ammunition behind the bomb bay. But the guns. Hardwell had never seen firepower like this on a bomber. The chin turret alone could shred a fogwolf before it closed to firing range.

 Every approach vector covered, every angle of attack met with overlapping fields of fire. The mission brief was simple. Escort the main formation to San Nazair. Attack the submarine pens. Seven YB40s positioned in the most vulnerable spots. Low Squadron, Trail Element, anywhere German fighters loved to hunt.

 Hartwell started the engines at 1:25 p.m. All four right cyclones ran smooth. The control tower cleared them for takeoff at 150. Hedgehog rolled down the runway with 168 other B7s following. Target time 400 p.m. If you want to see how Hartwell’s flying destroyer performed against the Luftvafa, please hit that like button.

 Every like helps us share these forgotten innovations. And please subscribe. Back to Hartwell. The formation reached the French coast at 3:30. Flack bursts dotted the sky over Gernzi. Radio chatter confirmed German fighters scrambling from airfields near Ren. Hartwell’s flight engineer reported fuel consumption tracking higher than briefed. The YB40 burned more gas, climbing to altitude.

Sandair appeared through broken clouds at 4:02 p.m. The main formation dropped their bombs and turned for home. Empty B7Fs climbed faster, accelerated quicker. Hartwell pushed the throttles forward. Hedgehog started falling behind. The standard B7s pulled away at 160 mph. Hartwell had the throttles at maximum continuous power.

 Hedgehog managed 148. His flight engineer climbed down from the top turret. Technical Sergeant Paul Morrison, 31 years old, 200 hours maintaining B17s before the YB40 conversion. He checked the engine instruments and shook his head. Number three cylinder head temperature climbing into the red. The extra weight and drag made the cyclones work harder than they were designed for.

 Morrison throttled back number three engine before it overheated. Hedgehog slowed to 142 mph. The main formation was 3 mi ahead now, 4 m. Hardwell could see the other six YB40s struggling at the rear of their assigned groups, every one of them falling behind. The radio operator called from the waist. Staff Sergeant Frank Delaney had spotted contrails at four:00 high.

 German fighters climbing to intercept. Faulkwolf 190s from Yag Gishwatter 2 based at Vans. Six aircraft, maybe eight. They were hunting stragglers. Hartwell keyed the intercom. All gunners tracked targets. The chin turret gunner reported good visibility. The ball turret rotated smoothly. Both waste gunners confirmed their twin mounts were loaded and tracking.

 The first Faulk Wolf dove at 5:00, range 1,200 yd. The tail gunner opened fire at 800. Tracer rounds walked toward the diving fighter. The German pilot broke left and climbed away without firing. The second attack came from 11:00 high. Two Faulk Wolves in trail formation. The chin turret gunner tracked the lead aircraft and fired a 4-se secondond burst.

 50 caliber rounds stitched across the FW190’s engine cowling. Black smoke poured from the fighter. It rolled inverted and dove toward the channel. Delaney confirmed the kill from the waist position. The second Wolf broke off the attack. For 6 minutes, the YB40’s firepower worked exactly as designed. Three more German fighters approached.

 Three more attacks broke off early. The overlapping fields of fire from 16 guns created a wall of lead no pilot wanted to penetrate, but Hedgehog was still slowing down. The main formation was 6 mi ahead now. Then seven. Hartwell could barely see the bomber stream against the afternoon sky. Morrison reported fuel state.

 They’d burned 800 g more than brief during the climb in combat. At this power setting, they had 90 minutes to reach Alcenbury. The formation would be on the ground in 70. Another pair of fogwolves appeared at 2:00. These pilots didn’t break off. They’d figured out the YB40 couldn’t keep up, couldn’t run. The German fighters circled at a distance, waiting for the bomber to fall farther behind, waiting for the right moment to attack from multiple vectors simultaneously. Hartwell pushed the throttles forward again.

 Number three engine temperature climbed back into the red. Morrison watched the gauge and said nothing. The escort bomber with 16 guns had become the target it was supposed to protect. The attack came at 4:43 p.m. Three Faulk Wolves from different vectors. High right, low left, dead ahead at 12:00 level.

 Hartwell couldn’t evade. The YB40 turned like a freight train with all that weight. He held course in altitude. His gunners opened fire simultaneously. The chin turret tracked the frontal attack. The top turret swung right. The ball turret rotated left. Both waist gunners fired through opposite windows. Spent brass cascaded into the fuselage.

 The aircraft shook from the combined recoil of eight guns firing at once. The lead fox wolf’s canopy shattered. The fighter rolled right and fell away, trailing smoke. The high attacker broke off early. The low attacker pressed his run and fired a two-cond burst. 20 mm cannon rounds punched through Hedgehog’s right wing. One hydraulic line severed.

 The waste gunner reported fluid sprang across the window. Delaney called out damage. Right landing gear hydraulic system failed. They’d have to manually crank the gear down for landing if they made it back. Morrison checked the fuel again. 72 minutes to Alenbury at current power setting. The formation was 8 mi ahead and pulling away.

 They were alone over occupied France with German fighters circling. The radio crackled. Another YB40 crew from the 305th bomb group. Captain Richard Hayes flying aircraft 42-5741. His gunship had also fallen behind. Two YB40s now separated from the formation. Both struggling to maintain air speed. Both burning fuel faster than briefed. Hayes suggested they form up together a combined defensive fire from 32 guns might keep the Germans at bay. Hartwell agreed. Hayes descended from 21,000 ft to match Hedgehog’s altitude at 19,500. The Faul Wolves circled wider now, four visible, maybe six. They weren’t attacking two gunships flying in loose formation, but they weren’t leaving either. At 5:07 p.m., Hartwell crossed the French coast outbound.

 The channel stretched gray and empty below. 53 mi to the English coast. 41 minutes flying time at their current ground speed. Number three engine was running hot. Morrison had pulled the power back twice already. They couldn’t maintain altitude much longer. Hedgehog descended through 19,000 ft. 18,800. 18,600. Hayes radioed that his number two engine oil pressure was dropping. He throttled it back to prevent seizure.

 His YB40 slowed to 138 mph. Both aircraft were struggling. Both crews watching fuel gauges tick toward empty. Both hoping the German fighters wouldn’t follow them over water. At 5:22 p.m., two Messmid 109’s appeared at 6:00 high. They’d follow the stragglers to the channel. The tail gunners called out the intercept.

 range400 yards and closing. The fighters dove through 18,000 ft. Their cannons opened fire at 800 yards. Hartwell couldn’t climb, couldn’t accelerate, couldn’t turn hard enough to throw off their aim. The YB40 had become a flying target with empty sky all around. The tail gunner fired first.

 Staff Sergeant Raymond Kak, 24 years old, former ski shooting champion from Cleveland. He’d never tracked targets moving this fast. The lead measures 109 closed to 600 yd. Kak walked his tracers across empty sky. The German pilot jinked left, right, dove 20°. His wingmen followed. Both fighters opened fire at 400 yd. Cannon shells tore through Hedgehog’s tail section. One round exploded in the horizontal stabilizer.

 Another punched through the fuselage. 2 ft behind Kak’s position. The aircraft shuddered. Hartwell felt the controls go mushy. Morrison climbed back to check damage. The elevator cables were intact, but the trim tab mechanism was jammed. Hartwell would have to fight the control yolk all the way to England. The meshes pulled up for another pass.

 Hayes’s YB40 opened fire with all dorsal guns. The combined firepower from both gunships filled the sky with tracers. The German fighters broke left and circled back to altitude. At 5:31 p.m., four Republic P47 Thunderbolts appeared from the northeast. Longrange escort fighters returning from a sweep over Belgium. They’d heard the radio calls about stragglers under attack. The Thunderbolts dove at the Meshers.

 The German pilots saw them coming and turned east toward France. The P47s didn’t pursue. They formed up on both YB40s and waggled their wings. Escort to the English coast. Hartwell checked his fuel. 37 minutes remaining at current power setting. 29 mi to landfall.

 They’d make it barely, but the concept was broken. He could see it now. The YB40 worked perfectly as a gun platform. 1650s could shred any fighter that got close. The chin turret alone had changed the equation for frontal attacks. The weight made it useless. After the standard B7s dropped their bombs, they climbed faster and flew higher.

 The YB40 still carried 11,000 rounds of ammunition. 4,000 extra pounds dragging them down, making them slower, making them targets instead of protectors. Hayes radioed at 547. His number two engine had seized. Oil pressure zero. He’d feathered the propeller. His YB40 descended through 15,000 ft on three engines. Morrison calculated the numbers. Hayes wouldn’t make Alconberry.

Maybe not even England. His fuel consumption on three engines was too high. The English coast appeared at 5:53 p.m. Hayes aimed for the first airfield he could find. RAF Manston on the Kent Peninsula. He called the tower and declared an emergency. They cleared him for immediate landing.

 Hartwell watched Hayes’s YB40 drop away toward the emergency field. One gunship limping home on three engines, another damaged and barely controllable. Both aircraft would require major repairs before flying again. At 6:18 p.m., Hedgehog touched down at Alenbury. Hartwell cranked the landing gear down manually. The right main gear locked with 15 seconds to spare before touchdown.

 Ground crews counted 16 bullet holes in the fuselage, one severed hydraulic line, one jammed trim tab, one damaged horizontal stabilizer. Colonel Reed was waiting at the hard stand. He wanted Hartwell’s assessment immediately. The first combat test of the YB40 concept, the flying destroyer that was supposed to protect bomber formations all the way to Germany and back. Hartwell shut down the engines and climbed out.

 His flight suit was soaked with sweat. His hands still shook from fighting the controls for 90 minutes. He looked at Reed and said three words that would end the program. It can’t keep up. Reed ordered seven more missions. Maybe the first test was an anomaly. Maybe different tactics would work. Maybe positioning the YB40s differently in the formation would solve the speed problem.

The second mission launched on June 15th against Lama. Four YB40s flew. All four fell behind after the bomb drop. The third mission on June 22nd targeted the IG Farbin synthetic rubber plant at Holes. 11 YB40s dispatched. One aircraft lost to Flack and fighters. The remaining 10 struggled home hours after the main formation landed.

 Engineers at Abbott’s Ripton Depot tried modifications. They adjusted the waste gun feeds, changed ammunition loading procedures, moved weight forward to fix the center of gravity. Nothing worked. The fundamental problem remained. A B7F carrying bombs weighed 65,000 lb at takeoff. After dropping bombs, it weighed 48,000.

 The YB40 weighed 68,000 at takeoff. After combat, it still weighed 64,000. 4,000 lbs of guns and ammunition that couldn’t be dropped. On June 28th, six YB40s attacked Sandair again. They claimed one German fighter destroyed. All six fell behind the formation on the return leg. One crew reported they’d been alone over France for 43 minutes.

alone meant vulnerable. The aircraft designed to protect bombers needed protection itself. The Eighth Air Force compiled statistics after non-combat missions. 48 sorties flown, five confirmed German fighter kills, two probable, one YB 40 lost. Every single aircraft had fallen behind its formation after the bomb drop.

 Average separation distance 7 mi. Average time alone over enemy territory 38 minutes. Luftwaffa fighter chief Adolf Gand reviewed the intelligence reports. German pilots had figured out the YB40s quickly. The heavily armed bombers looked different. Extra turret visible from any angle. No bomb bay doors. They flew in the most vulnerable positions. After the formation dropped bombs, the YB40s became stragglers.

 German fighters focused attacks on stragglers. Gallen’s assessment was brutal. The YB40 kills were insignificant, not worth the cost. His pilots would rather attack the flying destroyers than avoid them. Easy targets that couldn’t run. On July 29th, the last two YB40s flew their final combat mission. Target: Yubot yards at Keel. Both aircraft fell behind.

 Both required fighter escort to reach England. Both landed at emergency fields short of their home base. In August, General Carl Spatz canled the program. The 12 surviving YB40s returned to the United States in November. Most became gunnery trainers. Four was stripped and converted back to standard bombers.

 The concept died after 3 months of combat testing. The Army Air Forces had spent $469,000 per aircraft on the conversions. 12 aircraft, $5.6 million for a weapon system that made bombers more vulnerable instead of safer. But one piece of the YB40 survived. One innovation that worked perfectly. The modification that would save thousands of bomber crews before the war ended.

 Engineers at Wrightfield studied the combat reports carefully. They noticed something. Every YB40 that engaged fighters from the front stopped the attack. The Chin turret changed everything. Two 50 caliber guns firing forward with a clear field of fire. No convergence problems, no blind spots at 12:00 high. That turret design went to Boeing immediately.

 The Bendix Chin turret from the YB40 program entered production in September 1943. Boeing designated it the Bendix Model A. Two 50 caliber Browning M2 machine guns. Remote control operation from the Bombader position. 300 rounds per gun. Electrically powered traverse and elevation.

 Douglas Aircraft installed the turret on the last 86 B7 FDL aircraft coming off the production line. These bombers deployed to England in October. Crews called it the answer to 12:00 high attacks. Before the chin turret, German fighters attacked B7 formations from dead ahead. The bombarders position had two cheek guns mounted on the sides of the nose. Limited traverse, limited field of fire.

Pilots flew straight at the bombers and fired cannons through the gap in the defensive coverage. Faka Wolf 190s killed more B7s with frontal attacks than any other method. The Chin turret eliminated the gap. Full forward coverage. The bombarder tracked attacking fighters through a simple gun site. Pressed the firing button.

 Two 50 caliber guns converged at 400 yd. German pilots who’d grown comfortable with head-on passes suddenly faced concentrated fire they couldn’t avoid. Combat reports from November showed the change. The 91st bomb group flew B7Fs with chin turrets on a mission to Gellson Kurchchin. 12 frontal attacks. 10 broke off early.

 The other two pressed through and took hits. One fakawa confirmed destroyed. Zero bombers lost to frontal attacks. Boeing incorporated the Chin turret into the B7G production model. First aircraft rolled off the line in December 1943. The G model became the definitive flying fortress. Boeing plants in Seattle and Witchah, Douglas in Long Beach and Tulsa, Vega in Burbank.

 All three manufacturers building B17Gs with the standardized chin turret. Production ramped fast. 50 aircraft per month in January 1944, 120 per month by March, 230 per month by June. The factories delivered 8,680 B7Gs before production ended in April 1945. Every single aircraft carried the Chin turret that started on the failed YB40 program. The 303rd bomb group transitioned to B17Gs in February 1944.

Their loss rate from frontal attacks dropped from 12% to 3%. The 379th bomb group reported similar numbers, 11% to 4%. The 384th tracked their data carefully. Before chin turrets, 43 bombers lost to frontal attacks in 6 months. After chin turrets, 14 lost in 12 months. Eighth Air Force statisticians calculated the overall impact. The Chin turret reduced bomber losses to frontal attacks by 71%.

Across all groups, all missions, all theaters. By VE Day, the B7G equipped 26 heavy bombardment groups in Europe, four groups in Italy, two in the Pacific, 32 groups total. Each group flew 48 aircraft on standard missions. That’s 1536 B7Gs in combat simultaneously. The YB40 program lasted 3 months, flew 48 combat sorties, claimed five German fighters, cost 5.6 million, failed completely as an escort concept.

 But the Chin turret from those 12 failed gunships flew on 8,680 flying fortresses, protected crews on more than 290,000 combat sordies, saved an estimated 2,300 bomber crews who would have died to frontal attacks without it. The flying destroyer died. Its innovation lived. The Chin turret wasn’t the only YB40 innovation that survived.

 Engineers studying the combat reports noticed two other modifications that solved real problems. The staggered waste gun positions on standard B7Fs. Both waste gunners stood directly across from each other. They fought for space, bumped into each other during attacks from beam angles, limited each other’s field of fire.

 Combat footage showed waste gunners physically blocking each other while tracking fastmoving targets. The YB40 had moved the right waist gun position forward by 30 in. Staggered configuration. Each gunner had room to move, room to swing their guns through full traverse, no more collisions during combat. Boeing incorporated staggered waist positions into the B7G.

 Waist gunners reported 40% better field of fire, fewer jams from rushed reloading, better coordination during simultaneous attacks from both sides. The 94th bomb group documented their experience. Before staggered positions, average engagement time 12 seconds before gunners interfered with each other. After 27 seconds of continuous tracking. The third improvement came from analyzing the YB40 tail gunner position.

Sergeant Kak had reported limited visibility from the standard tail position during his combat mission. Small windows, restricted view, difficult to track fighters approaching from 6:00 low. The Army Air Force’s contracted with the Cheyenne Modification Center in Wyoming to redesign the tail position, larger windows, better visibility above and below, improved gun mounting, enhanced armor protection. They called it the Cheyenne tail. It became standard on late production B7Gs.

Three innovations from a failed program. Chin turret, staggered waist guns, Cheyenne tail. All three incorporated into the B7G. All three saving lives on every mission for the rest of the war. Captain James Hartwell flew 16 more missions in standard B7Fs. He completed his 25 mission tour in October 1943, survived, went home to Pennsylvania, never flew a YB40 again after that first Saint Nazair mission.

 But in December, he returned to Alcenbury as a training officer. The first B7Gs were arriving. He watched crews walking around the new bombers, pointing at the chin turret, asking how it worked, where it came from. Hartwell told them about the YB40, the flying destroyer that couldn’t keep up, the gunship that became the target, the 3-month program that failed so badly it got cancelled before summer ended.

 Then he showed them the turret, explained how bombaders operated it, demonstrated the field of fire, walked them through the ammunition loading procedure. The crews listened carefully. They understood. The chin turret that would protect them came from an aircraft that failed. An expensive mistake that cost $5.

6 million, a weapon system that survived only 3 months of combat testing. One pilot asked Hartwell if the YB40 was worth it, worth the money, worth the effort, worth the crews who flew those 12 aircraft into combat, knowing they’d fall behind. Hartwell looked at the B7G on the hard stand, the Chin turret gleaming in the weak English sunlight.

 He thought about frontal attacks, about fuckaolves diving through formations at 12:00 high, about bombarders who finally had a weapon that could stop them. He thought about the 8,680 bombers that would carry that turret before the war ended. Worth it, he said. Every mission, every dollar, every bullet hole in Hedgehog’s fuselage.

 The YB40 taught us how to fail forward. The last YB40 mission flew on July 29th, 1943. By August, the program was officially cancelled. By November, all 12 surviving aircraft had returned to the United States. Most became trainers. A few were scrapped. One ended up in a scrapyard scene in the 1946 film, The Best Years of Our Lives.

 No YB40 survived the war intact. No museums preserved them. No restoration projects brought them back. The flying destroyer disappeared from history. But the innovation lived everywhere. every B7G that flew over Europe. Every bomber crew that survived a frontal attack. Every pilot who made it to 25 missions because a fogwolf broke off early when chin turret tracers found their target.

 The Eighth Air Force flew more than 290,000 combat sordies with B7Gs. The Chin turret fired in anger on approximately 114,000 of those missions. Conservative estimates suggest it directly prevented 2300 bomber losses. That’s 23,000 crew members who came home. The National Museum of the United States Air Force in Dayton displays a B7G. Tail number 4483514 named Shushu Shoe Baby.

 Restored to flying condition. The chin turret gleams under the museum lights. A plaque mentions it was standard equipment on all G models. The plaque doesn’t mention the YB40. Doesn’t explain where the turret came from. doesn’t tell the story of 12 aircraft that failed so completely their program lasted three months.

History remembers successes. The B7G that helped win the war. The Flying Fortress that became an icon. The bomber that could take tremendous damage and bring crews home. History forgets failures. The YB40 that couldn’t keep up. The $5.6 million mistake. the flying destroyer that needed protection instead of providing it. But failures teach lessons successes never do.

 The YB40 proved that good ideas poorly executed still contain good ideas. That expensive mistakes can generate priceless innovations. That 3 months of combat testing can produce improvements that last years. Boeing engineers didn’t see the YB40 as failure. They saw it as research. They took what worked and fixed what didn’t. The chin turret worked. The extra weight didn’t.

 So, they kept the turret and dropped the weight. Simple, effective, life-saving. If this story moved you the way it moved us, do me a favor, hit that like button. Every single like tells YouTube to show this story to more people. Hit subscribe and turn on notifications.

 We’re rescuing forgotten stories from dusty archives every single day. Stories about engineers and pilots and crews who turn failures into victories. Real innovation, real heroism. Drop a comment right now and tell us where you’re watching from. Are you watching from the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia? Our community stretches across the entire world. You’re not just a viewer.

You’re part of keeping these memories alive. Tell us your location. Tell us if someone in your family served. Just let us know you’re here. Thank you for watching. And thank you for making sure the YB40 crews don’t disappear into silence. They failed spectacularly, but their failure saved thousands.