North Africa, 1942. Dust, heat, thirst, flies. For those who liked that sort of thing, it was a good clean fight: nothing to harm but the sand, the enemy and yourself. Striking hard and escaping fast, Fanny Barton’s squadron play Russian roulette, flying their clapped out Tomahawks on ground-strafing forays. On the ground, the men of Captain Lampard’s SAS patrol drive hundreds of miles behind enemy lines to plant bombs on German aircraft. This is the story of the desert war waged by the men of the RAF and SAS versus the Luftwaffe and the Afrika Korps – a war of no glamour and few heroes in a setting often more lethal than the enemy.
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More of this author please
How about a Piece of Cake?
Maybe. Maybe not, but only because there are so many books, and so little time.
Robinson's usual cynicism/realism about war and the many types of personalities that make up a group thrust together for a common goal (more or less). Brilliant characterisations as always.
Well read, and characterised, although a bit toffee-nosed where it shouldn't have been (e.g. enlisted men). Just one bit of constructive criticism - Fanny Barton is a New Zealander, not an Australian. There is a very distinctive difference between how NZers pronounce 'a', 'e' and 'i' and how Aussies do. Something akin to South Africans. Fanny sounds like an Ocker (rough Aussie). Otherwise, great reading.
Would have, if I could have.
Please do Piece of Cake!