In April 1945, Master Sgt. Henry Erwin, just 23 years old, was aboard a B-29 bomber high above Japan. His job was to drop white phosphorus bombs to mark enemy targets. But one of those bombs misfired — bounced back into the cabin — and struck him right in the face.
The phosphorus exploded, blinding him and burning deep into his flesh. Smoke quickly filled the plane. The bomb was still burning—just seconds away from igniting the entire aircraft and everyone inside. Yet Erwin didn’t hesitate.
On fire and unable to see, he grabbed the canister, held it close to his chest, and began crawling blindly through the smoke-filled cabin. When he reached a table blocking his path, he lifted it with one arm while still clutching the burning bomb in the other, then made his way to a cockpit window. With the last of his strength, he threw the bomb out.
He collapsed, engulfed in flames.
His crewmates rushed to put out the fire. His first concern was only one thing: “Is everyone else okay?”
Surgeons worked for hours, carefully digging out flecks of phosphorus from his eyes—each fragment catching fire again the moment it touched air. No one believed he would survive. But just seven days later, still bandaged and broken, Henry Erwin was awarded the Medal of Honor — the only one available, taken from a display case in Honolulu and rushed to his bedside in Guam.
And against all odds… he survived.
