t and drag of the fused aircraft.

Rojohn tried to break free—gunning the engines, rocking the airframe, attempting to wrench The Little Skipper loose.

Nothing worked.

With the sea below and certain death awaiting anyone who bailed into the icy water, Rojohn made a daring decision:

Turn toward land. Give the crew a chance.

It was a maneuver no training manual had ever imagined.

Slowly, impossibly, the two pilots coaxed the joined aircraft into a turn. They watched the German coastline slide back into view—salvation for those who could bail out, danger for the pilots who could not.

The Last Prayers of Joe Russo

In the waist of the aircraft, three crewmen—Elkin, Neuhaus, and Little—tried desperately to free Russo. The metal around his turret was fused solid.

His voice continued over the intercom:

“…now and at the hour of our death…”

Elkin later said they knew, with crushing certainty, that there was no way to extract him.

One by one, with profound reluctance, they moved toward the rear exit—the only viable escape route, now surrounded by fire.

Each paused to look back toward Russo.

Then they jumped.

The Pilots Stay at Their Posts

Rojohn ordered Leek to bail out as they reached land.

“Bill—you gotta jump! Go now!”

But Leek refused.

He knew that if he left, the force on the controls would overwhelm Rojohn, sending the tangled mass of metal into an uncontrollable spin. Neither pilot would survive.

“I’m staying, Glenn.”

The words locked their fate.

Below them, German soldiers on the island of Wangerooge looked up in disbelief. An eight-engined monstrosity was limping toward shore, flames trailing behind it.

One officer saw at once that the aircraft posed no threat.

“Cease fire! Those men have no hope now!”

The Final Descent

The ground rose rapidly.

Leek and Rojohn held fast to the controls. Their last words were prayers.

“Deliver us from evil…”

Then the world exploded.

Nine Lives, lodged below them, struck first—shattering on impact and launching The Little Skipper upward like a catapult. The remaining aircraft slammed down again, its fuselage snapping as it plowed through a wooden building.

Silence followed.

And then—astonishingly—movement.

Both pilots were alive.

Survival and Capture

Leek dragged himself from a shattered opening in the fuselage, shaken but alive. As he reached for a cigarette, a German soldier rushed forward—waving him away from a spill of aviation fuel that could ignite at any moment.

Rojohn escaped as well, battered but intact. Between the two aircraft, ten men survived the collision and crash.

Both pilots were later taken prisoner. Axis officers reportedly treated them with respect bordering on awe; few had ever seen such flying.

When the war ended, Rojohn returned home a decorated hero, though he rarely spoke about the Distinguished Flying Cross awarded for his actions. He preferred to point to Leek:

“In all fairness,” he said, “he’s the reason I am alive today.”

A Legacy of Courage

The story of The Little Skipper and Nine Lives is often called the “Piggyback Flight”—a name that barely hints at the extraordinary events it describes. It is a story of aviation physics defied, of teamwork under unthinkable pressure, and of courage found in the most desperate corners of war.

It remains one of the most astonishing midair survival stories ever recorded—a testament to the resolve of World War II aircrews and the bond that held them together through fire, fear, and fate.