“Tea, Mr Hemingway?”
The navigator shouted again in Hemingway's ear.
“I've a flask of tea, wondered if you'd like some?”
Ernest Hemingway smiled, but shook his head.
“As you please.”
The radio operator made his way back to his position just behind the co-pilot's seat - where Hemingway was sitting – and poured himself a cup of tea from a battered red thermos flask.
Hemingway pressed the black button on his intercom mouthpiece and spoke to the pilot, Wing Commander Alan Lynn.
“ Where are we, Alan?”
Lynn's reply crackled in the ear-piece of Hemingway's leather flying helmet.
“About half way across the Channel, Ernie, you dropped-off back there. Sweet dreams?”
“ I was back in Italy, 1918. Hospital in Milan. Been thinking about that a lot recently. Knew a girl there I wanted to marry.”
The twin-engine Mitchell medium bomber was the ideal aircraft for attacking the V1 rocket launch sites. They were relatively fast, held a good bomb load…