A burning Vickers Wellington was coming apart over Holland when Sergeant James Ward did something almost impossible. He crawled outside the bomber at 13,000 feet and went after the fire himself.

Between 3 and 6% of the general population suffers from acrophobia. That’s the doctor word for fear of heights. Most normal people are rendered a bit uneasy if exposed to a high place, particularly without reliable safety measures.

The military weaponizes this. Back when dinosaurs roamed the plains and I was training to become an Army officer, we had to walk along a long board set up on cinder blocks maybe eight inches off the ground. The objective was to step over a big wooden box mounted in the middle. At the time, we thought that a fairly ridiculous exercise.

Then we climbed a tall tower out over a deep lake and had to do the same thing. This time, however, the long plank was secured forty feet above the water. What had been a bit of a lark down on terra firma became a gut check that high up in the air.

That exercise was supposed to teach us something, though I don’t recall exactly what. It did, however, leave an impression on me.

Even though I am not in that 6% myself, I still wasn’t too crazy about having to clamber over that big box suspended forty feet above a lake. While we can likely all agree that a modest fear of heights is pretty physiological, a WW2-era aviator named Sergeant James Allen Ward did not seem so encumbered.

James Ward: The Kiwi Sergeant Who Was About to Redefine Brave

James Ward was born on 14 June 1919 in Wanganui, New Zealand, to English parents Percy Harold and Ada May Ward. He attended Wanganui Technical College and trained to be an educator. Ward had just accepted his first teaching position in 1939 when World War 2 kicked off. He volunteered for the Royal New Zealand Air Force and was accepted for flight training.

At this point in the history of the British military, pilots could be either commissioned officers or sergeants. James Ward was the latter. Additionally, unlike their American counterparts, most British multi-engine bombers were typically configured to fly with a single pilot. Even the massive four-engine Lancaster flew with a single pilot alongside a flight engineer who was trained to manage the flight controls in an emergency. When a unit had enough pilots, they would take along a spare whenever possible, but it wasn’t necessary. This was, however, important for new inexperienced aviators just learning their trade.

James Ward was eventually assigned to No. 75 Squadron flying twin-engine Wellington bombers. At the time of his arrival, No. 75 Squadron only had a single flight position remaining open. Ward earned the posting on the strength of a coin toss.

Vickers Wellington: The Fabric-Skinned Bomber That Refused to Die

The Vickers Wellington was called the “Wimpy” by the men who flew it. 11,461 of these tough twin-engine bombers were produced. The plane carried a crew of five and evolved through several marks. The Wellington Mk IC was 64 feet long and sported an 86-foot wingspan. Maximum takeoff weight was 28,500 pounds, and the plane would carry 4,500 pounds’ worth of ordnance.

The Wellington Mk IC carried two.303-caliber Browning machineguns in each powered turret in the nose and tail. There were fittings for two more .303 Brownings in waist positions. The plane’s maximum speed was 235 mph, and the service ceiling was 18,000 feet. The Wellington had a maximum range of 2,550 miles. The plane remained competitive with similar German, Japanese, and American designs.

The Wellington was curious in that it was formed around a geodetic skeleton covered in doped fabric. This made the airframe strong but light and was a cost-effective way to build airplanes. However, the fabric covering was not as substantial as aluminum. It was also quick to burn.

Vickers Wellington Mk IC Specifications

Aircraft	Vickers Wellington Mk IC
Length	64 feet
Wingspan	86-foot wingspan
Maximum Takeoff Weight	28,500 pounds
Ordnance	4,500 pounds’ worth
Maximum Speed	235 mph
Service Ceiling	18,000 feet
Maximum Range	2,550 miles

8 July 1941: A Bf 110 Turns the Wellington Into a Fireball

By mutual acclimation, the British bombed at night, while the Americans operated during the daytime. This kept the pressure on German air defenses around the clock. However, the Germans quickly adapted. Particularly early in the war, their day and night fighter forces were without peer.

On 8 July 1941, Sergeant Pilot James Ward was flying with his commander, Squadron Commander Reuben Widdowson. This was Ward’s sixth combat mission with this pilot and crew.  Their objective was the Dutch coast. Everything went smoothly until Ward and Co turned the big plane for home.

Out of the darkness, Ward’s Wimpy was attacked by a German Bf 110 night fighter. These aircraft eventually carried their own radar and variable geometry guns optimized for the night fighter mission.

At this point in the war, however, German night fighter pilots usually received rough guidance from radar ground controllers and then finalized their attacks, keying off of the small yellow flames emitted by the target planes’ exhaust stacks.

The Bf 110 carried four 7.92mm rifle-caliber machineguns tightly clustered in the nose along with a pair of 20mm cannon fitted in the belly and boresighted to fire alongside the smaller machineguns. This extreme concentration of firepower brought down many an Allied bomber.

On the evening of 8 July, this Bf 110 raked the Wellington along the right wing root. The fuel tank in the starboard wing ruptured and began spilling gasoline. This fuel caught fire and threatened to burn through the aircraft’s structure.

The tail gunner was hit in the foot, though he did successfully shoot down the marauding Messerschmitt. However, in short order, the plane’s fabric skin began conflagrating. The crew hacked a hole in the fuselage to access the fire and expended all of their onboard fire extinguishers fruitlessly. They even threw their coffee onto the flames in an unsuccessful effort at putting out the stubborn fire.

With the fire spreading steadily, Squadron Leader Widdowson ordered his crew to bail out while he still retained control of the aircraft.

However, Sergeant Ward made one last suggestion. What if he could crawl outside the airplane and then use an engine cover to smother the flames? This operation would be unimaginably dangerous. However, it might just prevent the crew from spending the rest of the war in a prison camp or worse. Widdowson relayed his bailout order.

Nobody had ever done this before, and the plane was not designed to support a NASA-grade EVA (Extra-Vehicular Activity) in flight. Ward just had to make this up as he went along. He removed the astrodome navigation port and harvested a length of rope from the onboard survival dinghy. Once he had the dinghy rope secured around his waist, SGT Ward crawled out of the airplane. The hole was too small to accommodate a parachute.

13,000 Feet Up, James Ward Climbs Onto the Burning Wing

The Wellington stalls at around 65 knots or about 75 miles per hour. That number goes up if the flaps and landing gear have not been deployed. Ward somehow fitted his parachute while also clinging to the exterior of the airplane. With the slipstream tearing at his face and hands, SGT Ward actually crawled along the outside of his airplane heading to the right wing root that was actively ablaze.

There was nothing to hang on to, so Allen punched foot and handholds into the Wellington’s fabric skin with a fire axe…while also being buffeted around at 13,000 feet over Holland in the dark.

Ward described his experience outside on the wing of the aircraft while exposed to the slipstream, as “…being in a terrific gale only worse than any gale I’ve ever known.” He did, however, eventually reach the engine along with the part of the wing that was fuel-soaked and burning.

The plane’s navigator, SGT Joe Lawton, kept tension on the dinghy rope while Ward was crawling around on the outside of the big flaming airplane.

They had previously been using the padded engine cover as a seat cushion. Cushion in tow, Ward crawled three feet down the fuselage to get to the wing and then slithered another three feet hand-over-hand to reach the fire. Now he was oriented right behind the screaming prop that was trying desperately to blow him off into space.

Ward used the engine cover to smother the fire and discovered a gaping hole in the plane along with a severed piece of tubing that appeared to be the source of the fuel leak. He attempted to plug the hole and staunch the leak with the cushion. However, a gust tore the cover out of his hand, and it was lost.

Now utterly exhausted, Ward clawed his way back through the astrodome. However, the fuel line was still leaking. As they neared their home airfield, accumulated gasoline flared up again but miraculously burned itself out without reigniting the wing fabric. Despite the severe damage to the airplane, Squadron Leader Widdowson and Sergeant Ward successfully wrestled the big machine safely to the ground.

Victoria Cross Glory, Then a Brutal Final Mission

On 5 August, SGT James Ward was awarded the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest decoration for gallantry in combat. SGT Ward was one of only three New Zealanders to earn the VC during World War 2.

The award was presented by Winston Churchill himself at 10 Downing Street. Once in the presence of the Prime Minister, Ward found himself unable to speak. Moved by the young man’s discomfited state, Churchill said, “You must feel very humble and awkward in my presence.” Ward replied, “Yes, sir.”

Churchill continued, “Then you can imagine how humble and awkward I feel in yours.”

While on leave to receive the award, Ward attended a formal dinner in his honor. Someone spilled fuel from a cigarette lighter onto Ward’s hand and inadvertently set it alight. The injury was trivial, but Ward fainted. Realizing the emotional trauma that the young man had clearly endured, Ward’s treating physician drafted a note to keep him off of flight duty. That note was never passed up the chain.

I wish the tale ended there. However, SGT Ward kept flying combat missions. Upon his return to his unit, Ward was given his own plane and crew. On his second mission as aircraft commander, Ward’s Wellington was engaged by a German night fighter.

The plane caught fire in short order. Appreciating that the machine was doomed, Ward held the aircraft steady and ordered his crew to bail out. Two of the five-man crew did so and were made prisoner. Ward and his other two mates rode the plane in. James Ward was 22 years old at the time of his death.

James Ward’s Victoria Cross Story Still Defies Belief

There is brave, and then there is “climb outside a flaming aircraft to save your buddies” brave. James Ward was next level. His amazing sacrifice ultimately helped drive the Allies to victory. Now, better part of a century later, I am legitimately in awe of the man.