My father was on the USS Princeton on October 24th 1944 when a 550lb bomb crashed in the deck and started a fire (it didn't explode right away). He suffered burns on his body and spend some time in the water waiting for rescue. Some time later the bomb exploded, killing many on deck (along with some from another ship, which I forget the name right now).
He died at 52 and I never heard him complain about anything, I guess he understood nothing is worst that loss of life.
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