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February 20, 1944. 28,000 feet above Leipzig, Germany. Big Week—the massive Allied air offensive to destroy Luftwaffe fighter factories. Over 1,000 B-17 bombers fill the sky. Second Lieutenant Walter Truemper, 23, navigator from Aurora, Illinois, plots the course for 'Ten Horsepower' from the 351st Bomb Group. Technical Sergeant Archibald Mathies, 27, flight engineer from Scottdale, Pennsylvania, monitors four Wright Cyclone engines. An 88mm flak shell explodes through the cockpit. Co-pilot Lt. Ronald Bartley dies instantly, torn apart by shrapnel. Pilot First Lieutenant Clarence Nelson takes fragments to head and shoulder, slumps unconscious over the controls. The B-17's nose drops into a screaming power dive. Altimeter unwinds: 28,000 feet. 25,000. 22,000. Thirty-six thousand pounds of bomber hurtling toward terminal velocity. Standard procedure: bail out. Ten parachutes available. England 400 miles west. Perfect survival odds. Truemper and Mathies don't jump. They fight G-forces hand-over-hand into the shredded cockpit. Blood everywhere. Wind hurricane through shattered Plexiglas. They haul Nelson's deadweight off the yoke. Truemper slides into pilot seat—zero flight training. Mathies takes co-pilot seat—knows engines, not flying. Altimeter: 15,000 feet. Both hands on yoke. Pull. Elevator trim wrong. Hydraulics fight them. Muscles strain. Nose rises millimeter by millimeter. At 13,000 feet, pullout begins. Wings flex dangerously. Rivets groan. At 11,000 feet—level flight. Two non-pilots fly a heavy bomber. Improvise climb to 22,000 feet. Adjust superchargers. Balance throttles. Navigate west across occupied Europe. Fighters could attack anytime. They could feather engines, spiral dive, bail out safely. They fly three hours. Alone. No formation protection. RAF Polebrook tower picks up radio call: "This is Ten Horsepower. Pilot unconscious, co-pilot dead. Navigator and engineer flying." Colonel Romig begs them to bail out: "P-51s will escort parachutes. Weather perfect. Save yourselves." Truemper: "Negative. Bringing Nelson home." B-17 appears on horizon, too high, too fast. Approach wrong. Gear down—three greens. Yaws left, overcorrects right. Main gear slams tarmac, bounces 15 feet up. Truemper pulls back (wrong instinct). Aircraft stalls, drops flat. Right gear collapses. Number three engine grinds runway. Fortress cartwheels 180 degrees, breaks apart, burns. Fire crews reach cockpit first. Nelson breathing, pulled through fuselage gap as ammo cooks off. Truemper crushed by yoke through chest—dead on extraction. Mathies trapped in turret, leg compound fracture—extracted alive but dies in hospital. Three dead trying to save each other. Tower officers weep. Ground crews stand frozen. Colonel Romig writes Medal of Honor recommendations that night. August 1944, FDR signs orders. September 15, Mrs. Josephine Truemper receives her son's Medal in Ohio. October 3, Mathies family receives theirs in Pennsylvania. Citations identical: "Refused to parachute to safety... attempted to land damaged aircraft... gallantry above and beyond duty." Two small-town Americans chose crew loyalty over survival. Zero flight training. Three hours over enemy territory. Crash landing to save their pilot. Perfect bailout rejected. Modern aircrews study this at Air Force academies. Crew resource management born from stories like theirs. One choice defined two lives and Eighth Air Force legend. Unseen Comrades uncovers forgotten Medal of Honor bonds. Subscribe for WWII heroes who died rather than abandon brothers.