This candid WWI memoir takes readers inside the cockpit with an RAF officer on the Western Front from the outbreak the Great War until its end in 1918. Louis Arbon Strange was at the Royal Air Force’s Central Flying School when war broke out in 1914. He immediately reported to Royal Flying Corps headquarters and joined No. 5 Squadron. Strange remained on active duty throughout the war, serving his country over the Western Front from August of that year until the enemy’s surrender. Strange transferred to No. 6 Squadron in 1915 and went on to form and command No. 23 Squadron. Due to illness, he did not accompany his squadron to France, but spent that time training others. He took charge of the Machine-Gun School at Hythe and other schools of aerial gunnery before returning to the Front. There he commanded the 23rd Wing and finally took command of the 80th Wing from June 1918 until the end of the war. As Strange chronicles his experiences, he provides unique insight into how and why the Allied airmen eventually prevailed.

"Escape... escape... escape... by God!"' was his constant exhortation. "Never mind hunger pains, discomfort, or any other agony. Let escape become your passion, your one and only obsession until you finally reach home."' Shot down over Berlin in 1941, Richard Pape's saga of captivity is a story of courage unmatched in the annals of escape. Four escapes took him across the breadth of German-occupied Europe; to Poland and Czechoslovakia; to Austria and Hungary. Aggressive and impetuous, his adventures sweep the reader along on a torrent of excitement.

Tracing the history and achievements of enlisted pilots from 1912, when a Corporal volunteered for pilot training, through 1942, They Also Flew records the personal sagas of men determined to serve their country in the air.

This is no ordinary memoir. Moving back and forth through time, two stories with fascinating parallels gradually unfold. One is of a Second World War Spitfire ace whose flying career came to a premature end when he was shot down and lost an eye, the other is about his progeny, a second generation fighter pilot who rose to the rank of air marshal. There were times when the lives of both father and son, 'Robbie' and 'Black' Robertson, hung in the balance - occasions when survival was simply a matter of luck. The narrative is unique in its use of two separate and distinct voices. The author's own reminiscences are interwoven with those of his father recorded more than thirty years ago. Intensely personal and revealing, controversial too at times, this memoir is above all about people. There is a final irony though. The son spent a lifetime training for the ultimate examination - one that despite strictly limited preparation his father passed with flying colors. To Black Robertson's eternal regret, he was never able to put his own training to the test. His father was awarded the DFC and retired as a flight lieutenant after five years or so. He himself served for nearly thirty-six years, earned a Queen's Commendation, an OBE and CBE and served as an ADC to HM The Queen. But after reaching almost the top of the RAF tree, in one important sense he retired unfulfilled; his mettle was never tested under fire. Anyone interested to know more about flying, about the RAF, about leadership, about character even, need look no further than this beautifully crafted, immensely readable account.

Of all the celebrities who served their country during World War II--and they were legion--Jimmy Stewart was unique. "Bomber Pilot" chronicles his long journey to become a bomber pilot in combat.

A rip-roaring gallop through the lives of the Royal Flying Corps air crew in the Great War. They lived their lives amidst a strange dichotomy as they moved from safety to dire danger, and back again in a matter of hours. This created a dreadful strain that could soon shred anyone’s mental health. On the ground they were cloistered in simple but adequate accommodation several miles behind the lines. Farmhouses, barns and huts were used, but they were all far better than the squalor faced by the infantry scurrying in their muddy trenches. Flying personnel were blessed with beds and blankets. They could set up a decent mess and socialise to their heart’s content. A smorgasbord of entertainments, with perhaps an old out of tune piano, access to drink and occasional vigorous games of mess rugby. There were visits to local towns which offered tantalizing glimpses – and sometimes more - of the female of the species. A glimpse was probably never enough for most of these very young men. What more could a chap want? But when they were flying over the front it was no laughing matter. Death lurked in the skies, zooming in its ‘winged chariots’ out of the sun, or bursting from the clouds. A moment’s loss of concentration, or tactical blunder, could consign them to being shot down and falling thousands of feet until the crunching impact of terra firma brought a terrible relief. But better that than a punctured petrol tank, the first flickers of flame, then the roaring inferno and the agonies of incineration. There was little or nothing for them to laugh about in the air. But when back on the ground they tried to put aside their fears.