I flew 35 missions over Ploiești, Vienna, Budapest, and Berlin. My closest call: over Vienna in February 1944, my B-24 took a direct 20mm shell through the cockpit, killing my co-pilot instantly. His blood covered my flight controls. I had to land the plane with my hands covered in it, trying not to look at his face. His name was Paul Hartman. He was 21. We made it back to Foggia, Italy. I delivered his body to the medics and went to get coffee. Then I threw up for twenty minutes. The squadron commander came and found me and said: 'You're flying again tomorrow.' I said 'yes sir.' What else was...