A Yankee Flier with the R.a.f.
The year is 1940. Stan Wilson, a hotshot Canadian test pilot with a smile that barely hides his restless hunger for adventure, walks into a Royal Air Force mess hall and into history. He's crossed the Atlantic to join Britain's desperate defense against the Blitz, where young men in trembling Spitfires are all that stands between England and invasion. The sky becomes his battlefield, and each dogfight is a brutal game of chess played at three hundred miles per hour. But Stan carries a secret. Something in his past threatens to ground him forever, and every laugh shared with his fellow pilots, every narrow escape from a Messerschmitt, brings him closer to the moment when the truth will out. Montgomery writes with the breathless energy of a man who knew these skies firsthand, capturing the peculiar romance of war: the terrifying beauty of flight, the fierce loyalty between men who may not see tomorrow, and the unbearable weight of living on borrowed time. This is wartime adventure at its purest: stripped of irony, unafraid of heroism, drenched in the specific glamour of 1940s aviation. It endures for readers who want to remember what courage looked like before it became complicated.
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“Then he jerked the throttle open and the Hawk roared and strained on the cab rank.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“They had checked the Hendee Hawks so many times they could see every detail of the ships if they closed their eyes. O'Malley had come near being recommended””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“I'm a thinkin' you'd best head the Moon Flight in the right direction when the spalpeens come over again.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“A few minutes later they were waddling out on the field. The blast of steel propellers sawed through the air as a Spitfire flight warmed up on the cab rank.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“The Irishman turned serious for one of the few times since Stan had known him. "Faith, an' I think of them poor devils sometimes," he muttered. "'Tis hard for them with nothing to believe in. Fighting because they're told to fight. Crashing to flaming death because one man orders them to. 'Tis a bad state of affairs this world is in, so help me.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“O'Malley looked at the pie counter but shook his head. Five pies in one afternoon might spoil his dinner and he planned to enjoy a real feed.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“What kind of pie, sir?" For a moment O'Malley was struck dumb over his great good luck. This mess had a choice of pie. "Apple," he said hopefully. The corporal set a brown crusted pie on the counter and poised a knife over it. O'Malley reached over and took the knife. He proceeded to cut the pie four ways. "But I say, sir, we don't cut pies that way. It's against regulations, sir." The corporal was plainly flustered. "Indaid?" O'Malley said. "An' could ye put down the whole pie in me chit book?" "Of course, sir, but really if you let me cut it, sir, it wouldn't be ruined and you'll pay for only the portion you eat." "Ah," O'Malley said and slid a quarter of the pie out of the tin and into his big hand. The corporal watched with fascination as the slab disappeared.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
“O'Malley sat at a table with a whole pie before him. He sliced it neatly across, then turned it half around and sliced it across again. Allison snorted his contempt while Stan watched, a grin on his face.””
— Rutherford G. Montgomery
