A crack British fighter pilot, Johnson knocked down some thirty old Nazi planes, and did a substantial amount of low-level strafing. But Johnson is no chest-thumper, and he writes not as a hero but as an example and witness of the air war. This was the primitive training he received, such were his early experiences soloing, these were the signals exchanged during combat. The German craft had certain superior features; the British others. The error of the Luftwaffe was to abandon a target area too soon; the R.A.F. went on costly strafing raids. With the same icy detachment, Johnson summarizes the antics and spirit of fellow fliers, his own marriages, etc. At first the details about tactics and strategy seem to get in the story's way, but later -it all seems justifiable, commendable - a brutal, glamorless, dead-eye view of the war as it was seen and fought. It all has an unarguable reality, and should find its way to a masculine market.