Of all the millions of aircraft that flew during World War II, some are still immediately recognizable. Among the most impressive is Flak-Bait, a Martin B-26 Marauder. Its name is steeped in history and personality. Constructed in Baltimore at the Glenn L. Martin factory in April 1943, this bomber accomplished more than flying—it lived, time and time again. Flak-Bait completed more than 200 missions and became known as the war’s most rugged American aircraft. It is the only U.S. bomber that is known to have completed so many missions across Europe and made it back.
Committed early to Lt. James J. Farrell of the 449th Bombardment Squadron, 322nd Bomb Group, the aircraft was christened with a personal, nearly lighthearted flair: “Flak” for the German flak it would encounter, and “Bait” after the dog of Farrell’s brother, so nicknamed “Flea Bait.” The name held—and in all senses, it was apt.
Between August 1943 and the final weeks of the war in 1945, Flak-Bait operated in some of the most hazardous skies in Europe. It flew in support of operations such as the D-Day invasion, the Battle of the Bulge, and targeted raids on V-weapon installations. Its 200th mission, in April 1945 over Magdeburg, was a milestone that was historic and symbolic, highlighting the plane’s remarkable staying power.
The bomber’s record is incredible. Flak-Bait survived more than 1,000 hits of enemy fire—flak splinters, bullets, and even cannon shells. It flew home from missions with one engine out, sometimes on fire. Hydraulics and electrical systems malfunctioned, but the plane never failed to deliver its crew home. Amazingly, no crew members were killed while flying Flak-Bait; one was injured. Its durability, combined with the expertise of its crews, sealed its place in legend.
Just as impressive is the preservation of Flak-Bait. Post-war, the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum purchased the aircraft. Instead of restoring it to a glossy state, curators decided to leave its scars intact—dents, patches, and all. Each rivet, each field repair speaks for itself. Experts, such as Chris Moore, appreciated these blemishes, especially the fabric-covered control surfaces that were evident with damage. They provide a palpable link to the wartime experiences of American bomber crews, experiences which a complete restoration would have destroyed.
Sewing up Flak-Bait has been a judicious exercise in conservation rather than restoration. Specialist craftsmen like Pat Robinson, Lauren Horelick, Chris Moore, and Malcolm Collum treated this historic aircraft with techniques more usually associated with art conservation.
Components are retained unless essential to replace. Original cloth is stabilized with subtle overlays, and paint is examined to avoid flaking or fading. An irregular piece of German flak lies hidden under the radio operator’s seat—a quiet reminder of the bomber’s perilous flights.
Logistical issues are always on hand. Flak-Bait has never been completely reconstructed since 1946. Relocation, reassembly, and upkeep demand exquisite care. Kristen Horning, a collections professional at the museum, says the process is deliberate. The credo is interference to a bare minimum, with every decision aimed at maintaining the authenticity of the plane.
Flak-Bait’s history is as much about humans as machines. More than 350 airmen flew the bomber during its career. Theirs—and the names of hundreds of ground crews, tour parties, and even kids—still adorn its fuselage. Some are handwritten, some scratched into paint. These signatures are a living history, a tie that museum curators still respect.
In the end, saving Flak-Bait is not just a matter of maintaining a plane in one piece. It’s a matter of dignity toward the lives of all who constructed it, flew it, and risked everything on board it. As curator Jeremy Kinney has stated, the aircraft is a time capsule, alive due to its grime, battle scars, and marks of combat—not despite them.
In an age when most wartime planes were broken down or destroyed, Flak-Bait persists. It survives as a testament—not only to engineering genius and longevity, but to bravery, selflessness, and the burden of history borne by each flight.