North Africa, 1942. Dust, heat, thirst, flies. For those who liked that sort of thing, it was a good clean fight: nothing to harm but the sand, the enemy and yourself. Striking hard and escaping fast, Fanny Barton’s squadron play Russian roulette, flying their clapped out Tomahawks on ground-strafing forays. On the ground, the men of Captain Lampard’s SAS patrol drive hundreds of miles behind enemy lines to plant bombs on German aircraft.
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Having survived a double tour on Lancasters in WW2 (and won two DFCs), Flight Lieutenant Silk rejoins Bomber Command much later and qualifies to fly the Vulcan bomber. Welcoming him, the airbase commander says: “You have the best, and the worst, job in the world. You have the Vulcan, incomparably the finest bomber. That's the best bit. Your job is to fly to the Soviet Union and destroy cities.
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