"Art Frechette was falling through a cold December sky. He was not falling like a rock but like a rag doll, arms and legs loose and useless. His fall had begun at around 15,000 feet, when his B-17 bomber exploded and fell into flames. The explosion hurled the young navigator clear without leaving a scratch. His parachute was undamaged and in perfect working order... yet, it remained unopened as he fell toward the Italian Alps at the rate of 150 miles per hour. Art Frechette was totally unconscious."
From: the story: "Without A Parachute"
