When Stan Wilson joined the R.A.F. he wanted action—and certainly he got what he wanted. The dogged, grim fighting men who made up Red Flight sometimes almost forgot what rest and sleep felt like. Stan had no quarrel with the incessant pursuit of Messerschmitts; the touch and go dogfights; the whistling scream of anti-aircraft fire and the whining drone of the bombers. It was when very funny things began to happen, as his gas tank being drained and his flying orders crossed-up so that he headed off the Glory Trail in the wrong direction, that ...
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