This does for the modern single-engine jet something of what de Saint-Exupery did for the old baling-wire mail plane. Love of occupation has seldom been more vividly expressed, or more beautifully. It's very moving. With constant awareness of a counterpart Russian jet pilot, Mr. Bach describes his plane on a night flight from England to France so that the reader feels as if he were being lifted up, moved and set down. This book is not simply the next best thing to a solo jet flight; it is a super-amplification of the experience because, though he doesn't say so, Bach condenses thousands of hours of flight into one act, one evening, one multiple knowledge of stars, a jet and a man--and a thunderstorm. Bach is a god unto himself, and he tells you so in many an anti-glamorous paragraph, and you believe him. But his literary testament is an exciting book in fine King's English.