(See Cover) At an airport near London one day last week a wiry little man clambered out of an R.A.F. transport plane and bustled up to the city. In the next days bigwigs in paneled Whitehall offices and hard-working operations officers in the low buildings of coastal airdromes spent time looking into a pair of piercing, watery blue eyes peering out from under uptwirled Mephisto eyebrows. Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill, one of the hottest top-ranking officers that the R.A.F. has produced in World War II, was back from Canada.
Four...
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