Preparations for low-level attacks involved the following routine: fuel selectors switched to full tanks; fuel mixtures to auto-rich; props at twenty-one hundred rpm; gun switched, “ON”; gun sight, “ON”; bomb-bay doors open; bombs armed; shoulder harness locked; and so forth. After clearing the ridge we pitched down and followed the contours of the terrain, picking up speed as we followed the flight ahead of us. The town was a bit off to the right and the airfield straight ahead- a perfect approach for our purpose of sweeping the length of the strip with .50-caliber fire and parafrags. The lead flight’s guns kicked up dust in wide tracks in front of each ship and then the paragrags began to blossom out over revetments and some trees where the enemy planes were likely hidden. Our approach was in line with the length of the runway and our airspeed about 275 miles per hour as we descended in a shallow dive. When we were about three hundred feet over the ground and still descending we were within range to begin strafing the few planes in evidence and some suspicious looking lumps and buildings. Those six nose guns barked in unison when I squeezed the trigger on the wheel and the instrument panel vibrated with their recoil. Suddenly there was nothing. NOTHING! Just total darkness and complete silence-no roaring engines, no barking guns, no wind whistling through, for with the silence my instant thought in reaction to this strange event was: So this is how it is. I’ve been hit and I never even felt it. No pain. No noise. Just like turning off a switch. I’ll be damned! As suddenly as it had stopped, the roaring of the engines was back and I could feel the wheel trembling in my right hand. However, I could still see nothing. Now my brain said: I must be blind! But we’re still flying; pull up before we hit the ground. I eased back on the wheel and the pitch of the engines changed as the plane began to climb. Still unable to see, I held the wheel steady and then relaxed the pressure somewhat to avoid a stall when the controls began to feel slack but I felt we were still climbing a bit. I had not changed the throttle positions and, not being able to see, left them where they were. Since we were still flying my next thought was: maybe we can somehow get out of this mess yet. There was some hope but how? About three or four minutes after the incident began I started to squirm in the seat. There was a faint glimmer of light on each side, but nothing identifiable. Straight ahead remained very black indeed. The engines were still turning smoothly at high rpm, so I concluded we could not have been too seriously damaged. Now , however, I could feel a sharp pain across the bridge of my nose. Whenever the controls began to feel sloppy some forward pressure on the wheel would change the engine pitch and should avoid a stall, but there was no way of telling how high we might be above the ground or water. I cautiously tried to let the plane fly itself back to level or whatever attitude the trim and power setting settled into. I was confused and could not fathom just what had happened. Several minutes and several erratic oscillations must have passed before I began to get an idea of what might have taken place, unlikely as it might have seemed. The thick armor glass panel on top of the cowl above the instrument panel was hinged at the bottom and had two sliding latches holding it into fittings at the top. This arrangement permitted the glass to be easily lowered for cleaning. Somehow, the framed glass panel had fallen and caught me squarely on the nose, wedging the wide, black metal frame against my eyes. I could not see ahead and it had pinned my head in place after jamming my sunglasses down into my cheeks. The glass probably weighed twenty to twenty-five pounds and the black metal frame around it was two and one-half to three inches wide. That was it! The sliding pins at the top of the frame had somehow worked loose and the vibration of the nose guns beginning to fire had released them. The armor glass panel, which measured about twenty-four inches by eighteen inches, had swung through an arc of about sixty degrees before striking my forehead and nose with stunning effect. With my hand I felt the glass lying horizontally across my nose and, with an upward push, pulled my head back away from the wide black frame so I could see ahead somewhat. It took several tries before I was able to push the glass up far enough for me to see to get the plane leveled out. Shoving it back into place and latching it took still more effort while the plane, on its own, was not flying exactly straight and level.