"Due to the jet stream over Japan, high altitude bombing that we had been trained for, did not prove successful. To improve our effectiveness, LeMay decided to send the 314th over Japan at low altitude. History would record that such tactics were a brilliant strategic move, but at the time we were sure it was pure and unadulterated suicide. 

Our first of these low altitude missions was the fire bomb attack on Tokyo. We, were about in the middle, timewise, of the bomber stream, and by the time we made our bomb run, the city was awash in fire. On either side of us, I could see several B-29's being "coned" by searchlights. Enemy night fighters were flying the searchlight beams, directly through their own flak, attacking the silhouetted B-29. We were at about 7,700 feet, dropping our load, when we received a terrific jolt that seemed to be from under our tail. I looked out my rear window and saw a night fighter locked onto us and firing continuously. Fortunately, he was shooting too low. We were then flipped over on our back. I thought the nose had been shot away as I sensed the engines dying. (The crew up front believed the tail had been blown off). I prepared to jettison my side hatch and jump. I felt around for my chute, which was supposed to be near my right leg, but decided it had fallen to the floor, which I later found to be true. Inasmuch as the tall compartment was so crowded, I always unsnapped my chest pack in order to operate the gun sight. Since I couldn't get my chute on and the fire seemed to be a solid mass below, I decided to ride it down. I called on intercom but received no reply. The plane seemed to stabilize for a second and I heard Senger ask Bates for the altitude. He answered: "3,700 feet." We again flipped over on our back and plunged downward uncontrollably. When the plane righted itself for the second time, Senger again asked Bates for our altitude. We were now at 500 feet! About the same time I heard one of the waist gunners yell that he had been hit and was bleeding badly. In the next breath, he muttered 'Oh!' - then there was silence.

We began a very low and fast run down the length of Tokyo Bay heading for the open sea. As we traversed the bay, the gunners on the flak barges below never fired on us. I suppose we were so low that we took them by surprise. As we pulled away from the shoreline we began to slowly climb as we assessed any damage to the aircraft. The interior of the plane was an absolute mess with flight gear strewn all about. The control cables were very slack literally drooping between the pulleys. The side gunner who believed he had been wounded so badly found out otherwise: he had been doused with the "can" in the mid-compartment when the aircraft flipped.

All of us were sure that the plane had been an its back at least twice. 
Reason One: the engine had died away as though they were being gasoline starved. Reason Two: the flak jackets that we used to cover the floors in the three compartments were widely scattered.

The engineer's flak jacket that he had been sitting on had floated up and covered the main control panel as we tumbled, he did some frantic rearranging to get to his controls when the engines began to die. While we were flipping over and falling, both pilots were struggling to gain control, but their efforts were fruitless until we leveled off at 500 feet over Tokyo Bay. 

At de-briefing, we recounted our experience. A civilian Boeing representative overheard our account of flipping over and insisted that, "it was an impossibility in a B-29." We maintained that this had happened - not once, but twice, and invited him back to the hardstand to inspect our aircraft. He did so. We showed him where the gasoline from the tank of the auxiliary generator ("Putt-Putt") had run out of a vertical vent pipe and along the side of the plane. More obvious was the discovery of the main wing spar twisted at its center section, After a thorough inspection, the Boeing man became convinced that a B-29 could be flipped over on its back and still survive and indeed, this one had done so. On a later test flight, when hands were taken off the controls, the B-29 would go into a climbing turn.. This was corrected, and 'old 773', flew normally once again, 

Durrance remembers vividly how a priest (probably Group Chaplain, Chester Pelt: would be near the head of the runway for each mission takeoff. He would bless each plane as it approached the turn. He never failed to be there regardless of the weather. Vic recalls that one night, as "we were turning, we gunned number one and two engines to swing the big bomber around to the head of the runway. I was certain that the prop blast would blow him down, but he stood his ground - giving the blessing - as we passed. Even though I never met him, I developed a deep respect for our padre" (It could be said that all of the other crewmen probably had similar feelings)