The Little Skipper: A B-17 Mission to Hamburg

December 31st, 1944. The sky above northern Germany was a cold, steel-blue canvas, streaked with the distant trails of contrails from bomber formations slicing toward Hamburg. In the cockpit of B-17 “The Little Skipper,” 2nd Lieutenant Glenn Rojohn gripped the control column tightly, his eyes scanning the horizon. Beside him, 2nd Lieutenant William Leek adjusted the throttle, keeping their bomber steady among the dozens of other Fortresses in their squadron. The mission was clear: strike the oil refineries in Hamburg and return home. The stakes, however, could not have been higher.

As they approached enemy territory, flak began to erupt in jagged bursts below them, black smoke plumes rising into the sky like hellfire. Rojohn watched in horror as B-17 after B-17 in the target area was shredded by the relentless barrage. The bombing formation moved as planned, yet the carnage below reminded them that every mission carried the potential for total annihilation.

Then, amidst the chaos, Rojohn spotted the smoke target over the docks. That was the cue. He barked into the intercom: “Bombs away!”

The bomb bay doors yawned open, and a stream of 500-pounders fell toward the earth. In the ball turret, gunner Joe Russo could only watch as the bombs hit their target with deadly precision. “Right on target,” he muttered, though the voice in his throat was tight with tension.

The formation began the 180-degree turn to head back out to sea. Relief was short-lived. “Bandits, 11 o’clock high!” The call crackled over the intercom. German interceptors—jet-propelled Me 262s, nimble Bf 109s, and buzzing Fw 190s—swooped down on the formation like predators. The first jets screamed past, their MK 108 cannons spitting death, leaving trails of smoke that glittered ominously in the sunlight.

On their right, “Faithful Forever” was struggling. Already damaged from flak, it took another hit. Pilot 2nd Lieutenant Leo Ross radioed in a grim, steady voice: “Faithful Forever going down.” Miraculously, he guided his crippled plane to a level altitude of 5,000 feet, allowing the crew to bail out safely.

The chaos intensified. B-17s in the main formation began to drift apart, engines streaming oil and fire. Suddenly, the “Nine Lives,” the lead plane in their formation, came under attack. Its pilots, McNab and Vaughan, were instantly killed when a Bf 109 strafed the cockpit. The plane, without control at the helm, continued to climb slightly, a ghostly predator barreling toward the other bombers.

Rojohn and Leek realized the horror unfolding. “Look out! We’re going to collide!” Captain Ethan Porter’s voice crackled through the radio, but it was already too late. At 12:44, the “Nine Lives” slammed into the belly of “The Little Skipper,” metal screaming against metal. The impact threw Rojohn’s hand from the throttle and slammed Leek’s knees into the column.

“Holy mother of… we’re riding another Fort!” Rojohn shouted, staring in disbelief at the plane pressed against theirs like a pair of mating dragonflies. Inside the ball turret of the “Nine Lives,” Staff Sergeant Edward Woodall Jr. was trapped amid twisted aluminum and sparking wires. The hydraulics were dead, the turret jammed, yet he clung to his hand crank, slowly moving the guns downward. Below, Russo in “The Little Skipper” recited his Hail Marys, the sound trembling through the intercom as if the heavens themselves were listening.

Leek, moved to tears by the ball turret gunner’s prayers, removed his intercom to allow Russo his final moments of solitude. Meanwhile, Rojohn fought to regain control, bringing the engines to idle and nudging both planes into a slow turn, aiming to bring them back over land. Flames licked the left wing, heating the fuselage of “The Little Skipper,” but the pilots persevered.

Minutes felt like hours as the two planes, locked together, inched closer to the German coast. The flak resumed its deadly pattern as German anti-aircraft batteries fired with desperate precision. Amidst the chaos, the .50 caliber ammunition cooked off in the fire, bullets spraying through the air, making every second a dance with death.

“Get ready to bail out, crew!” Rojohn ordered, directing them to the tail door, the only viable exit. In the waist area, Elkin, Neuhaus, and Little struggled to free Russo. The ball turret was jammed beyond hope, and Russo’s prayers continued unabated, a haunting testament to courage in the face of impossible odds.

Leek remained in the cockpit, refusing to abandon Rojohn. “I’m staying, Glenn,” he said firmly, his presence critical to keeping both planes stable. Rojohn, trusting his co-pilot’s instinct, focused on steering the burning, twisted craft over the land, over the coast, and into the only chance for survival.

Then, with a shudder that shook the very soul of the bomber, “The Nine Lives” disintegrated upon impact, the force launching “The Little Skipper” momentarily back into the air. The left wing sliced through a wooden building, and the nose of the B-17 came to a halt after an agonizingly long moment. Silence followed—a silence thick with disbelief, grief, and gratitude.

Emerging into the daylight, Leek found himself facing a German soldier, rifle raised, amidst gasoline-soaked wreckage. “Stop!” the soldier barked. Both pilots survived, bruised and battered, yet alive against all odds. Thanks to their skill, six crewmen survived from “The Little Skipper” and four from “The Nine Lives.”

Rojohn humbly downplayed his heroism, attributing his survival to Leek’s steadfast presence. “In all fairness to my co-pilot, he’s the reason I am alive today,” he would later say. The Distinguished Flying Cross awarded to him was a testament not just to skill but to courage, leadership, and the thin line between life and death that these men navigated in the skies over Germany.

This mission, one of the most harrowing in B-17 history, exemplifies the bravery, precision, and human spirit in the face of unimaginable danger. It is a story of heroism, faith, and sheer determination—the story of “The Little Skipper” and its crew, who rode into hell and survived.

For those eager to learn more, Cyndi Rojohn’s book, The Piggyback Flight: Pilot’s Journey, offers an exhaustive account of this extraordinary mission, piecing together the lives, prayers, and valor of the men who flew into the heart of danger and lived to tell the tale.

And if you think this was incredible, there’s even more astonishing wartime survival stories—like the B-17 tail gunner who fell without a parachute and somehow survived. Click here and watch the unbelievable footage to find out more.