There was no transition that I could ever make myself remember. One moment I was trapped in my gunner's seat in the burning B-29B bomber just moments after the raid on Osaka. Air was whistling loudly through the shrapnel holes in the fuselage, spraying me with blood from the nearly decapitated Pete in the EWO's position beside me, and I was frantically searching for the lever on my ejection seat. And the next minute I was on the deck of a yawing Japanese fishing boat, trapped between the sturdy 


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