Why a Gunner Walked Into an Inferno

In the midnight hours of June 12–13, 1944, Lancaster Mk. X KB726 of the Royal Canadian Air Force’s 419th Squadron thundered toward its target, the rail yards at Cambrai, France. Among its crew were two close friends, Andrew Mynarski and Pat Brophy. The Germans were waiting, their skies bristling with searchlights, flak, and prowling night fighters.

When a Junkers Ju 88 struck, the Lancaster was ripped apart by fire and chaos. As the order to bail out came, Mynarski turned back. His best friend was trapped in the blazing tail, and instead of saving himself, he plunged into the flames to try to free him. It was an act of devotion and courage so profound that it earned Andrew Mynarski the Victoria Cross.

On June 12, 1944, Officer Andrew Mynarski is in the mid-upper turret of his Lancaster KB726. Over 600 bombers are heading to strike several targets in northern France. In the cockpit of the KB726, 22-year-old Arthur De Breyne tells his men to get ready. Then, blooms of fire burst below them, detonating just short of their plane. De Breyne throws the aircraft into an aggressive corkscrew, pulling it into an upwards turn through the clouds as they manage to escape the deadly gaze of the searchlights, or so they think.

The Germans were ready, waiting with deadly flak guns and prowling night fighters. A Ju-88 struck, and in an instant, the Lancaster was engulfed in fire. The aircraft starts pulling heavily to the left, as the right engines push the aircraft to the side. If they’re falling, they don’t have much time.

De Breyne orders the crew to bail out. Andrew Mynarski instantly realized Brophy was trapped. With the hydraulics shot, the turret was locked solid. He rushed back, hoping the hand crank might budge it, but it wouldn’t move an inch. The turret was jammed tight. Enemy fire had shredded the lines carrying brake fluid, and now it poured like a river down the fuselage, fueling the fire that already engulfed the engines.

Without a second thought, Mynarski plunged into the inferno, fighting his way toward Brophy. Desperation fueled his every move, first hacking at the turret doors with a fire axe, then, when that failed, hammering at the metal with his bare, burning hands. Flames consumed his flight suit and licked at his parachute, yet he refused to stop. Only when Brophy, realizing the hopelessness of it all, motioned for him to go, did Mynarski finally pull back. His clothes began to smolder, the heat unbearable.

At last, knowing there was nothing more he could do, he turned to Brophy. Standing tall in the inferno, he gave one final salute, mouthing the words, “Good night, sir.” It’s the same words that Mynarski would tell him every day when they went their separate ways after an afternoon together. He then jumps into the dark.

Mynarski’s fall was swift and brutal. His parachute, shredded and burned, failed to slow him, and he slammed into the ground with devastating force. Miraculously, he was still alive, though his body was engulfed in flames, his clothing burning away. Local French farmers, who had seen the flaming bomber overhead, rushed to his side and carried him to a nearby German field hospital. Despite their efforts, his injuries were too severe, and Mynarski succumbed shortly afterward.

Back in the wreckage, Pat Brophy had remained trapped in the doomed Lancaster’s tail turret as the bomber plunged earthward. Incredibly, he survived. When the aircraft tore itself apart on impact, the blast threw him clear, his turret ripped open as the bomber’s bomb load detonated. Flung into a tree, Brophy was knocked unconscious but lived, a survivor amid the fiery destruction that claimed his friend.

When he awoke, he realized he was in enemy territory, and as quickly as he could, he threw everything that he didn’t need in the fire to cover his tracks. He was eventually found by the French resistance, which helped him escape capture until the arrival of the Allied forces two and a half months later. Brophy only learned of his friend’s massing months after the crash.

The guilt of his surviving and Mynarki’s death haunted him and made it his mission to tell the world of his best friend’s final acts. As a result, Andrew Mynarski was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross for his actions.