Of all air force missions, torpedo bombing was the most perilous; In 1942, the RAF estimated a crew had only a 3% chance of surviving a 2nd tour. The reason was simple: they flew low and relatively slowly along a predictable path towards often-fiercely defended ships, yet they were also deadly to their enemies. Across the vast oceans of the Second World War, torpedo bombers became instruments of sudden maritime doom, striking battleships and convoys alike from wave-top height. From fragile biplanes to powerful twin-engined attackers, these aircraft shaped naval warfare, deciding campaigns in seconds of impact, courage and precision flying under unimaginabledefensive fire. These are ten of the greatest.
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10: Heinkel He 115 ‘Der Seedoppelagent’
Unlike the Junkers Ju 88 and He 111, which were Germany’s most successful torpedo bombers, the He 115 was purpose-designed for the maritime role; it was also distinctive as the only seaplane (an aircraft that can operate directly from water) on our list.
The He 115 was a rather large twin-engined floatplane powered by two BMW radial engines. It first flew in 1937 and garnered a string of world records. Its prototype set eight international seaplane speed-and-payload records in March 1938, carrying loads of up to 2,000 kg over 1,000-km and 2,000-km courses.
The Heinkel He 115 was valued for its long range and dependable handling in rough seas. Its top speed was about 327 km/h (203 mph), which proved adequate early in the war. However, it became increasingly vulnerable to enemy fighters, while its large float-equipped design made concealment and escape difficult.
The Heinkel He 115 served with the German Luftwaffe as a torpedo bomber, minelayer, reconnaissance aircraft, and transport. It operated extensively in Norway and the North Atlantic, attacking Allied shipping and supporting special missions. Some captured aircraft later flew with British forces for covert operations and intelligence missions. Though the He 115 is added at the He 111’s expense, we think it is an interesting aircraft worthy of inclusion.
9: Aichi B7A Ryusei ‘Grace’ ‘Grace under fire’
The B7A was a large, advanced carrier-based torpedo-dive bomber developed for the Imperial Japanese Navy, intended to combine strike roles in a single high-performance aircraft. It was designed specifically to deliver a Type 91 aerial torpedo against enemy shipping while also carrying conventional bombs for dive-bombing attacks. It was meant to be Japan’s next-generation naval strike aircraft; in practice, it arrived too late and in too few numbers to matter.
Chief Engineer Toshio Ozaki’s design centred on a mid-wing configuration with an inverted gull-wing layout, chosen to provide clearance for a large propeller while still allowing a capacious internal bomb bay and the structural considerations required for carrier operations. Powered by the Nakajima Homare 12 radial engine, the Ryusei achieved impressive speed for a carrier bomber—around 352 mph—allowing it to outrun or at least evade many contemporary interceptors after a torpedo or bombing run.
First flown in 1942, the B7A suffered from prolonged engine reliability issues and continual airframe refinement, delaying meaningful production until 1944. By that stage, Japan’s carrier fleet and strategic position had already collapsed. Roughly 80 aircraft were completed at Aichi before a major earthquake destroyed its manufacturing facilities, with a further 25 assembled at alternative sites. Its limited production run severely restricted any chance of operational impact.
In theory, the Ryusei was intended to operate from the fleet carrier Taihō, but she was sunk before ever embarking the type. The last viable carrier, Shinano, was also lost shortly after commissioning, leaving the B7A to operate from land bases. As a result, its intended role as a carrier strike torpedo bomber, delivering coordinated attacks against enemy shipping formations, was never fully realised. Despite its promise and performance on paper, the “Grace” ultimately remained a weapon of unrealised potential in the closing stages of the war.
8: Nakajima B6N Tenzan ‘Jill’ ‘Me Tenzan, you Jill’
The Nakajima B6N Jill was Japan’s main late-war carrier torpedo bomber. It replaced the B5N Kate and was built for attacks against well-defended fleets. Impressively, it was almost one-third faster than the B5N. Its role was to deliver torpedoes at sea against enemy task forces under heavy fighter cover.
The Nakajima B6N Tenzan used the Nakajima NK7A Mamoru engine, which produced nearly double the horsepower of the engine in its predecessor, the Nakajima B5N Kate. The B5N’s Sakae engine produced about 1,000 hp, while the Mamoru generated around 1,850 hp on paper. This gave the B6N higher speed and better performance, though engine unreliability often reduced its real-world advantage.
B6N formations took part in the Philippine Sea and Leyte Gulf battles. They launched torpedo attacks against United States carrier groups and escort vessels. They achieved limited confirmed sinkings but did record torpedo hits on escort carriers and destroyers. As losses mounted, some surviving crews were later reassigned to kamikaze missions as well as reckless attacks with near-suicidal odds.
It had high wing loading and a high landing speed, which restricted it to Japan’s larger fleet carriers such as the Taiho class. It could not safely operate from smaller decks. Its combat record shows fewer successes than earlier types, but it remained Japan’s most capable dedicated torpedo bomber in sustained fleet action
Married at First Flight: Which aerospace powers are swiping right after NGF?
The disintegration of the Next Generation Fighter (NGF) element of Europe’s Future Combat Air System has left the global combat-aircraft industry looking rather like the morning after a disastrous speed-dating convention. Delegations that spent years discussing “shared visions” are suddenly back on the market, updating their relationship status. But who will date? And will it last? It’s time for the most expensive dating show in history…welcome to Fighter Island!
Modern fighters are so expensive that few nations can build one on their own. Unfortunately, international defence programmes often start as a strategic partnership and end as a toxic situationship. Everyone talks about love, then three years later, they’re arguing over intellectual property and workshare, and leaving in the morning with their underwear and books in a box. With NGF apparently joining the long list of aerospace relationships that consciously uncoupled faster than a canard delta in freak crosswinds, we ask: Who swipes right next?
France is already eyeing the single life, Germany is rather desperately flirting across the entire European industrial bar, and Spain is simply hoping someone texts back with a dickpic with an Airbus logo attached.
Our panel of entirely unqualified romantic aerospace matchmakers investigates. Sit back as we explain the whole complex situation in 4500 words that won’t feel like homework.
France and India
Wait, are France and India not married? They already run like an old, comfortable ‘monogamish’ relationship: India flies French fighters and wants more. They seem like such a nice couple. Sure, every so often, after a couple of glasses of Haywards 5000, India brings up that awkward night France halted Mirage 2000 production with a mildly resentful “remember when you left me on read for three months?” and France changes the subject, but they still end up back together.
For France, India is the ideal partner: serious money and scale. Enough to make a next-gen fighter programme feel viable rather than a vanity project that leaves the mortgage unpaid. They also (importantly) share France’s love of forcing planes to land on boats.
For India, France offers something equally tempting: advanced aerospace tech leading to eventual happy celibacy. Meanwhile, France worries that it could eventually become a subordinate partner to a nation with a greater appetite.
Though largely harmonious, they wonder if they really want the same thing after all. India wants tech transfer and local production (secretly, it wants to learn enough to eventually leave France and ‘go monk mode’).
Add in India’s lingering situationship with its mental ex, Russia, and the whole thing gets even more complicated and emotionally unresolved. The chemistry is obvious. The sex is still great. But did I see S-400s in her bedside drawer?
The only real question is who gets custody of the source code after the breakup… or the wedding… or whatever this is. Both claim to want independence, but could the attraction be too great to keep them apart? India just hopes France never finds the romantic video Israel sent them:
Compatibility Rating: 8/10
Odds of Getting It On: 4/1
Sweden and Brazil
These sassy underdogs from series 2 of Fighter Island were a huge hit with the public for their fresh approach to military aircraft. Who could forget the lovable cringy moment when Brazil named its transport aircraft Millennium as a tribute to its love of Robbie Williams? Or their classic trolling of the US in calling the Brazilian Gripen the F-39? Clearly a fun couple, yet sensible too.
Unlike many speculative partnerships, this one is built upon an existing relationship. Brazil’s Gripen programme has created real industrial cooperation, real trust and real experience working together. Engineers know each other. Managers know each other. Procurement officials have already survived meetings together. Brazilians have braved pickled herring, and Swedes have fallen for churrasco.
Both nations occupy a similar strategic niche. Neither possesses superpower resources. Neither can casually spend hundreds of billions pursuing technological perfection. Both, therefore, specialise in designing practical, efficient systems that deliver impressive capability without requiring the GDP of a medium-sized continent. There is also philosophical compatibility, even if Swedes are bad at emotional expression and samba.
Swedish aerospace engineering traditionally emphasises flexibility, affordability and intelligent design. Brazil’s aerospace industry has developed under similar pressures, producing sophisticated products while remaining acutely cost-conscious. Neither side suffers from a pathological belief that every aircraft must also be capable of solving climate change and making espresso.
A future joint fighter could occupy an attractive position in the market: advanced enough to compete, affordable enough to export and independent enough to appeal to nations seeking alternatives to American, Chinese or major European suppliers.
The obvious challenge is scale.
Even together, Sweden and Brazil remain smaller than the giant coalitions behind competing sixth-generation programmes. Additional partners might eventually be required, along with substantial export success.
Still, compared with many proposed partnerships, this one has something unusual.
Evidence. But in dating-show parlance, they’re already sharing a Netflix password. But (and I like big butts) neither has their own motor, and it is handy if at least one partner can drive.
Compatibility Rating: 9/10
Odds of Getting It On: 3/1
Germany and GCAP
This would be one of the most powerful aerospace partnerships imaginable (barring Sweden and France signing up too). It would also be the defence-industrial equivalent of somebody announcing they are embracing the single life before immediately downloading three dating apps and parking on the edge of the woods at a dogging hotspot.
The attraction is obvious. Germany brings enormous industrial capacity, engineering expertise and financial resources. It’s good at making stuff. Britain contributes combat-aircraft experience and programme leadership (yes, with the usual caveats). Italy supplies aerospace depth and manufacturing capability. Japan brings advanced technology, serious funding and an admirable willingness to actually make decisions. Together, they could create an aerospace coalition with resources unmatched by any fighter programme outside the United States.
Germany would not be greeted by a blank canvas. GCAP already exists. The partners have spent years negotiating industrial responsibilities, agreeing on governance structures and learning not to throw things at one another during meetings. Adding Germany would be rather like arriving halfway through an established polyamorous relationship and asking whether everybody would mind if you moved in and took the master bedroom. Nobody particularly enjoys that conversation, especially when it is conducted with the bluntness of a panicking German.
Questions would emerge immediately. How much workshare does Germany receive? Which existing partner gives some up? How much influence accompanies Berlin’s funding? Does Airbus join the arrangement? And what’s the quickest way to assign Germany the task of working on the aspect it has no experience in?
The timing makes the situation even more amusing. German officials have already suggested that going it alone remains a serious option. Airbus has reportedly explored alternative partnerships, and Berlin has openly discussed nationally led approaches.
In dating terms, Germany has spent the last week telling friends it is perfectly happy being single, but is acting a bit crazy. It has stopped behaving like a single eligible bachelor and has started acting more like three separate ones. One day it is whispering sweet nothings to GCAP, the next it is revisiting old FCAS photos, and occasionally it stares into the mirror and wonders whether it should just build something itself and never text anyone again. „War ich in der Flugzeugwelt nicht mal eine ziemlich große Nummer?“
It has then spent the following week asking whether GCAP is seeing anybody.
Export policy could also prove entertaining. Britain generally regards exports as evidence that a programme is succeeding, regardless of whether they make ethical or practical sense. Germany (somewhat selectively) tries to avoid selling kits to active war criminals. Japan is delighted it can sell explodey things again. Italy will likely spend much of the discussion wondering why nobody else can simply act like grown-ups.
In an increasingly chaotic dating scene, now quite bizarrely, GCAP looks like a stable, long-term relationship, but the kind where everyone smiles in press photos while quietly kicking each other under the tablecloth. Japan is politely exploring side-pieces; Italy wants a slightly greater say in how the flat is decorated, and the UK insists everything is fine, in a tone that suggests it absolutely isn’t. (Japan and the UK love doing things extremely slowly, bespoke and very expensively, the latter doing so in the name of frugality.)
Yet there are compelling reasons to make it work.
Germany may conclude that joining an existing relationship is cheaper, faster and less risky than furnishing an entire flat in Munich on its own. The existing GCAP partners may decide that Germany’s money and industrial heft are worth making room for another toothbrush in the bathroom.
Everyone insists that communication is excellent, expectations are clearly defined, and boundaries are fully respected. Though at some point Germany will have to explain the complicated “nuclear family” it has with the US. Which means defence analysts should expect a major argument before Christmas.
Compatibility Rating: 7/10
Odds of Joining the Relationship: 5/1
Russia and India
Every dating programme eventually features that one couple whose friends keep asking the same question.
“Why are you seeing your ex again?”
Russia and India occupy that category with remarkable consistency.
Historically, the relationship made perfect sense. Russia supplied fighters, tanks, submarines and missiles. India gained access to military capability on terms few other suppliers could match. For decades, the partnership appeared durable and mutually beneficial. But the neighbours could hear the truth through the walls.
Then complications accumulated. Russia was furious about India’s side bae France. Projects slipped behind schedule. Costs rose. Spare-parts support occasionally resembled a treasure hunt. India grew increasingly frustrated by delays and performance shortfalls. The FGFA episode* ended badly enough that many observers assumed the relationship had finally run its course. India left FGFA feeling it was just wanted for its money and was being lied to. And yet, here we are. The couple you can hear arguing in the corridor at 3 AM are flirting again. Sure, Russia is a drunk and beats up his exes, but he’s changed, right?
(*When Russia milked India for too much money for an unstealthy stealth fighter, something India walked out on, leaving Russia with a combat aircraft that even the Russian Air Force won’t properly commit to war)
India continues to diversify toward France, the United States, and domestic programmes. At the same time, Russian equipment remains deeply embedded across large sections of its armed forces. Replacing everything would be eye-wateringly expensive. Though ambitious to live alone, India still knows in its heart of hearts, if Tejas was anything to go by, it is happiest married.
Russia, meanwhile, still views India as one of its most important defence customers. The result is a relationship neither side fully trusts, and neither side can entirely abandon. In dating terms, India knows exactly why the previous breakup happened. Russia insists things will be different this time. Everybody else watches from a safe distance and quietly places bets on how long the reunion lasts. Ulta-pulta rishta.
Compatibility Rating: 5/10
Odds of Getting Back Together Again: 7/2
France and Sweden
At first glance, France and Sweden appear surprisingly compatible. Hitting above their weight at doing things their own way, with excellent, reliable products and good at sales. Together, they could surely create something formidable.
The French would bring sophistication, resources, combat experience… and engines. The Swedes would bring pragmatism, efficiency and a refreshing tendency to ask whether a proposed feature actually needs to exist. This could be a healthy balance. But headstrong, independent France and commitment-averse Sweden would be a toxic pairing.
France generally prefers partnerships in which France occupies a leadership position. Sweden generally prefers partnerships in which Sweden remains meaningfully independent. Neither nation built a successful aerospace industry by enthusiastically accepting instructions from foreigners. French aerospace executives would possess strong views regarding who should be in charge. Swedish aerospace executives would possess equally strong views regarding who should not.
Both countries value home-cooked capabilities and advanced defence industrial sectors, appreciate that technological independence requires sustained investment, though only one force-feeds geese to enlarge the livers.
A partnership could therefore emerge if circumstances demanded it. The relationship would have considerable potential. The first five years would simply consist of arguing about whose idea it was. Both too proud; verdict: not a cat in hell’s chance.
Compatibility Rating: 4/10
Odds of Getting It On: 18/1
Japan and the United States
Japan is married into a serious, respectable relationship with the UK and Italy through the Global Combat Air Programme. It’s not glamorous, but it’s built on trust: all three partners are pooling money, technology, and political patience to raise a “future fighter” together. It’s the long marriage where nobody gets rich quick, but everyone owns the house at the end.
Then a very powerful, very wealthy outsider arrives, the United States, offering something faster, shinier, and already halfway built: a next-generation fighter concept in the NGAD/F-47 direction.
And here’s where it turns into Indecent Proposal.
The American pitch is basically:
“Stay in your long, complicated marriage… or spend one night with me and walk away with something more advanced, sooner, and backed by the most powerful defence industry on Earth.”
GCAP, meanwhile, is the loyal spouse in the background, saying:
“We’re building something real together. It’ll take time; it’ll be hard, but it’s ours. Don’t trade that for convenience. Sure, you might not fancy me when we’re putting the recycling out together, but you know I’m not insane.”
The temptation is real because GCAP is slow, expensive, and politically fragile. The American offer is seductive because it promises capability sooner, not in the late 2030s.
But the catch, the classic twist in this story, is that accepting the “proposal” doesn’t just affect Japan. It risks collapsing trust in the entire GCAP relationship, leaving the UK and Italy wondering whether Japan ever really loved them. And Japan may regret getting back into bad with a lover who seems not quite the same person they once knew.
So Japan’s dilemma becomes the same moral pressure point as the film:
Do you stay loyal to the long-term relationship you built…
Or take the high-value shortcut that changes everything afterwards? And do it with the kind of rich douchebag who would suggest such a thing? Trump has already been reported to the dating app, but predictably, it is taking no responsibility.
And unlike the movie, there’s no single clean payoff, just a very expensive, very geopolitical consequence either way. Both very risky.
(The United States, of course, never formally joins the many relationship dramas mentioned, but somehow appears in every conversation anyway. NGAD is the desired but untrusted hottie who doesn’t even try to interfere, yet still ends up being the reason everyone checks their phone a little too often, even if everyone is a bit scared of how she, every now and again, smashes up partners’ houses and cars and then legs it down the road singing Limp Bizkit)
Compatibility Rating: 8/10
Odds of Getting It Going Badly For Everyone Else: 1/2
South Korea and Indonesia
Viewers fell in love with sexy Indonesia, despite her quirky flakiness, and square old South Korea proved too much of a snooze-fest. The attraction was obvious from the beginning. South Korea needed a partner for the KF-21 programme. Indonesia sought access to advanced aerospace technology without bearing the full development costs. Everybody smiled for photographs. Memoranda were signed. Optimism flowed freely. Then Indonesia felt trapped and worried she was being subsumed, longed for the thrill of single life.
Indonesia keeps breadcrumbing, offering the odd flirty but ambiguous WhatsApp message, while financial contributions have become intermittent, and oral sex becomes a rarity. South Korea hangs in there, partly because both sides still gain something from it. South Korea receives international participation and potential export credibility. Indonesia gains industrial knowledge, manufacturing experience and access to capabilities that would otherwise be difficult to obtain.
The difficulty is predictability. Defence programmes thrive on certainty. Aerospace engineers enjoy many things. Budget ambiguity is rarely among them.
Nevertheless, neither side appears eager to walk away completely. Too much effort has already been invested.
In dating-show terms, they are the couple who have broken up three times, reconciled twice, and continue to insist that everything is proceeding according to plan. Still, their child, the KF-21 may well prove to be a happy one, so maybe they will try for another? That’s if the American godfather doesn’t feel left out.
(Don’t tell Indonesia, but South Korea has quietly started building its own dating profile)
Compatibility Rating: 6/10
Odds of Remaining Together: 4/1
Spain and Italy
Unlike some proposed pairings, Spain and Italy already understand the joys and frustrations of multinational aerospace programmes. Both possess significant aerospace industries. Both have experience working within large European collaborations. Both occasionally feel overshadowed by larger powers while quietly doing a substantial proportion of the actual work. There is therefore a natural logic to the match. They work together on the Typhoon, and both love a Harrier. Neither country necessarily wants to dominate Europe other than culinarily (well, hasn’t for a long time anyway). Neither possesses the industrial weight of France nor Germany. Both understand that collaboration is not merely desirable but essential. Importantly, both countries tend to approach aerospace programmes with a relatively pragmatic mindset. The objective is generally to build aircraft rather than to engage in lengthy philosophical debates about the meaning of aircraft.
The challenge lies in scale and ambition, and in the fact that, like Romeo and Juliet, they are from rival families: Airbus and Leonardo. Would the parents approve? Would a Spanish-Italian fighter possess sufficient resources to compete against larger programmes? Could it attract additional partners? Would governments remain committed through inevitable budget crises and political changes?
Those questions remain unanswered.
Yet there is a respectable chance that both countries could pursue a deeper partnership if larger European projects continue to fragment.
This is not the glamorous celebrity couple of the fighting world. It is the sensible couple who quietly buy a modest house together while everybody else is still arguing on social media. History suggests they may have the last laugh if the parents ever let them.
Compatibility Rating: 8/10
Odds of Getting It On: 12/1
The attraction of going solo is obvious
No disputes over intellectual property. No arguments over industrial participation. No committees containing representatives from twelve governments and seventeen subcontractors. No emergency summits were convened because somebody objected to the placement of a radar component. The joyful evolved simplicity of single life.
The disadvantage is equally obvious.
The development of modern combat aircraft costs an astonishing amount of money.
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The bill eventually arrives.
And unlike a collaborative programme, there is nobody else at the table pretending to reach for their wallet.
France remains the classic solo dater. South Korea increasingly looks capable of looking after itself. Turkey continues trying to impress everyone in the room. Germany is the surprise new arrival: newly single, financially comfortable and loudly insisting it is perfectly happy on its own.
Which may well be true.
But the history of defence procurement suggests that, sooner or later, even the most self-sufficient aerospace power starts browsing the dating apps again.
Building a sixth-generation fighter entirely alone is rather like spending Saturday night with a glossy brochure of your own achievements. It may be satisfying, it avoids awkward compromises, and nobody can complain about your performance.
But eventually, you notice everyone else has split the bill. And the wankbank doesn’t do overdrafts. And that’s when the loneliness starts to get expensive.
France and Canada
At first glance, France and Canada appear an unlikely couple. One possesses a centuries-old habit of designing combat aircraft. The other has a centuries-old habit of debating whether it actually wants to buy any, and of banging on about the one that got away (the Arrow).
Yet there is more chemistry here than first appears, for they (at least some of them) share a love language.
Canada has long sought to maintain a meaningful aerospace sector while avoiding the astronomical costs of developing a combat aircraft independently. France, meanwhile, may emerge from the NGF collapse seeking partners who can contribute funding without immediately demanding control over half the programme.
There are genuine industrial links. Canada’s aerospace sector is world-class in several areas, particularly advanced manufacturing, systems integration and aerospace engineering. Politically, relations are generally friendly, and there is no historical baggage that often complicates European defence partnerships.
Canada’s real baggage lies elsewhere. It remains locked in a complicated on-again, off-again relationship with its toxic, domineering ex; the sort of ex who insists they’re not controlling, while quietly maintaining access to your bank account, social calendar and GPS location and threatening to kill you, then the next day acting loving and accusing you of acting ‘weird and hostile’. And, annoyingly for Canada, they share a child, little baby NORAD, with their gaslighting ex, so they will always be linked.
Any French-Canadian aerospace romance would therefore begin with the same awkward question that haunts many new relationships:
“That’s all very nice, but what does your ex think about it? And is it really your ex?”
There is also the small matter of geography. France’s strategic outlook is shaped by ambitions for military autonomy and global power projection. Canada’s defence priorities tend to involve North America, NATO and remaining on speaking terms with Washington. New-generation aircraft will be long-range, and Canada is massive.
Still, if Paris decides it wants a financially stable, technically capable partner with relatively low industrial drama, Canada could receive a discreet late-night text.
Whether Ottawa replies before changing its mind is another matter entirely. Or perhaps before its ex notices the message and starts asking questions. Sweden is a great rebound, but Canada may have her eyes on the next lover.
Compatibility Rating: 6/10
Odds of Getting It On: 10/1
Sweden’s UCAV – let’s not slutshame
Not every aerospace relationship needs to end in marriage. Increasingly, the hottest prospect in the fighter dating market isn’t a next-generation fighter at all, but the increasingly fashionable concept of Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA): loyal wingman drones designed to accompany crewed fighters into combat. Except, being Scandinavian, this one doesn’t wish to be defined in such a reductive way and is kinda more of a sleek UCAV that can do anything than a CCA.
Here, Sweden finds itself in an unusually attractive position. The sex-positive Saab has already been pursuing advanced autonomous combat aircraft concepts and possesses exactly the sort of expertise that many larger nations need. Unlike a full sixth-generation fighter programme, a CCA project is relatively affordable, politically manageable and less likely to end with ministers throwing briefing papers at one another. Sweden has a great track record, and its exes are happy to sing its praises.
The obvious suitor is Germany. Reports suggest Airbus has already explored closer cooperation with Saab following the collapse of NGF, and a loyal wingman programme would offer a comparatively low-risk way to test a broader industrial relationship. I’ve been a bit heteronormative so far, so let’s say she is checking her out but has yet to arrange a date.
The United Kingdom could also be interested. GCAP’s future concept of operations relies heavily on autonomous systems, and Swedish expertise would fit naturally into that. Italy might likewise see opportunities, while Spain’s position will depend heavily on where Airbus ultimately lands.
The attraction is simple. Developing an entire sixth-generation fighter together requires countries to agree on almost everything. Developing a drone merely requires them to agree on enough. In modern aerospace procurement, that qualifies as true love. And unlike a next-generation fighter, if the relationship goes wrong, at least the supersonic Saab job (who resembles her beautiful grandmother, the Draken) is designed to be expendable. She also has sisters (a crewed future fighter and a subsonic drone) who could be perfect dates for other singletons.
Compatibility Rating: 8/10
Odds of Getting It On: Depends Who’s Paying
The European Megapolycule
Every dating show eventually reaches the point where somebody suggests an arrangement so ambitious, so optimistic, and so catastrophically complicated that producers immediately start ordering extra cameras. In aerospace terms, this is the dream of a truly pan-European sixth-generation fighter. Not Britain plus Italy plus Japan. Not France plus Germany plus Spain. Not some tidy arrangement involving two or three sensible partners. Everybody. Britain. France. Germany. Italy. Spain. Sweden. Possibly the Dutch. Perhaps Belgium. A Scandinavian or two. Any government capable of fogging a mirror and signing a memorandum of understanding.
On paper, it is irresistible.
The combined industrial base would be enormous. The available funding would dwarf existing programmes. Europe would field a single next-generation combat aircraft rather than spending decades building multiple aircraft that all perform roughly the same missions while politely pretending otherwise.
Meta-adour
The export potential would be immense. The political symbolism would be irresistible. Defence ministers would be photographed smiling so enthusiastically that they might sustain facial injuries and wearing camo so hard their elbows hurt.
The first challenge would be deciding who is in charge.
France would naturally assume it was France.
Britain would naturally assume it was Britain.
Germany would naturally commission a study examining alternative leadership models.
Italy would volunteer to mediate. Spain would request clarification. Sweden would go outside for a cigarette, quietly wondering whether everyone involved had suffered a head injury.
Every nation would want assembly work. Every nation would want software work. Every nation would want the interesting bits. Nobody would want responsibility for the boring bits until they discovered that the boring bits contained most of the money.
By year three, the governance structure would reach the level of complexity previously encountered only within the inner workings of a Facebook business page; first-flight dates would slip with the seasons. By year five, nobody would be entirely certain who was dating whom. Yet one cannot entirely dismiss the fantasy.
A united European programme would possess extraordinary strengths. It could concentrate resources, eliminate duplication, save (and make) a bunch of cash, and create a genuinely world-class aerospace capability.
The problem is that defence-industrial collaborations are difficult enough when three countries are involved. This proposal would make polyamorous relationships (which are rarely fractured by nationalism, workshare squabbles and mission creep) look refreshingly straightforward.
Still, there is something undeniably attractive about it.
A vast European aerospace megaproject. Shared costs. Shared expertise. Shared ambitions. Someone would always buy the milk.
Though the bed would get very hot, and there would always be a queue for the toilet.
Would it work?
Almost certainly not.
Would it be spectacular to watch?
Absolutely.
And in the fighter dating game, sometimes that’s enough.
Compatibility Rating: 3/10
Odds of Getting It On: 50/1
Odds of Everybody Regretting It Later: 1/5
The real shift is that nobody is actually looking for marriage anymore, just overlapping arrangements with clearly defined weekend custody of subsystems and sensors. The fighter itself is becoming less a partner and more the centre of a sprawling, slightly dysfunctional social network that nobody fully controls. But I’m not one to gossip.
Tune in to season 3 for the exciting finale.
Follow Joe Coles and his thrilling Hush-Kit aviation world on Substack, Twitter X or Blue Sky. His superb Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes is available here while stocks last.
Next time you’re eating a lasagne on your holiday flight, pause to consider the aircraft type you are flying in may have well have gone to war, spied or tested deadly laser weapons or even hunted submarines! Here are 11 airliners that got ‘drafted’ into wild military roles
Short SC.7 Skyvan ‘Death Cab That’s a Cutie’OK, so the Short SC.7 Skyvan is not strictly speaking an airliner, nor the role strictly military, but this story is so bleak it must be included. The Skyvan is a small, twin-turboprop utility aircraft designed in the 1960s for short takeoff and landing operations. Cute and boxy, the Short Skyvan is the least sinister aeroplane you could imagine. Yet it became an unsettling symbol of state terror in South America during the 1970s and early 1980s. Under Argentina’s military dictatorship (1976–1983), Skyvans were used in what became known as the “death flights.”During the Dirty War, thousands of suspected dissidents were abducted, detained, and many were never seen again. In some documented cases, prisoners were sedated, loaded onto aircraft, and flown out over the Río de la Plata or the Atlantic Ocean, where they were thrown into the sea. The method was designed not only to kill but to eliminate evidence, deepening the anguish of families who were left without answers.These flights were carried out by Argentine state security forces operating under the dictatorship’s command structure, rather than the Air Force in a conventional sense. The Skyvans specifically are most closely linked to Prefectura Naval Argentina (the Argentine Coast Guard), abetted by other elements of the military and security apparatus. In 2023, one of the death-flight Skyvans was recovered and preserved as a historical artefact, and it is now linked to ongoing investigations and remembrance efforts. As El País reported, its return generated “mixed emotions for victims’ families,”.
10: Boeing 747 ‘Orange Aide’
The 747, popularly known as the “Jumbo Jet,” is an iconic wide-body commercial airliner that first flew in 1969. Designed by Boeing, it was the largest passenger aircraft for decades, revolutionising air travel with its massive capacity and long-range capabilities.
The 747 features a distinctive hump on its upper deck, housing the cockpit and premium seating. Powered by four jet engines, it can carry up to 660 passengers (though it carried over 1,070 in an emergency evacuation in 1991) and fly over 8,000 miles. When not taking passengers on holidays to distant locations, the 747 has some far darker roles, one being as the ‘Doomsday Plane’.
The “Doomsday Plane” is a nickname for the E-4B Advanced Airborne Command Post (AACP) designed to serve during catastrophic events like nuclear war or major disasters that threaten critical military and government infrastructure. These planes are militarised Boeing 747-200s operated by the US Air Force.
They enable leaders, such as the President and Secretary of Defense, to issue commands from the sky. Equipped with advanced communications, electromagnetic pulse resistance, and analogue instruments to counter cyberattacks, they ensure survivable command and control. Another role of the 747 is as VC-25, ‘Air Force One’, a presidential transport. As YAL-1, the 747 tested an airborne laser designed to destroy tactical ballistic missiles.
9: Focke-Wulf Fw 200 Condor ‘Three Lives of the Condor’
Germany produced three outstanding modern airliners in the interwar period: the Junkers Ju 52, the Junkers Ju 86, and the Focke-Wulf Fw 200. The Ju 52 was boxy, corrugated and lacked elegance. The Ju 86 (at least in airliner form, not military variants) was rather lovely, but the most aesthetically sublime was the Fw 200.
The Condor was designed to replace the Ju 52 and counter the commercial threat of US aircraft, especially the Douglas DC-3. The Fw 200 was an elegant low-wing aircraft with four engines and built entirely of metal. It first flew in 1937.
Its range was impressive. The prototype, dubbed ‘Brandenburg’, flew directly from Berlin to New York, a distance of 4000 miles (6437 kilometres). The journey took 55 minutes more than a day at an average speed of 164 mph (264km/h). This mastery of the Atlantic would later be used for far less civil reasons.
It would take a much darker role in the Second World War, being described by Churchill (perhaps apocryphally) as the ‘scourge of the Atlantic’; it did much to disrupt vital supplies to the Allies. In what was essentially a hastily converted airliner, the Germans sank over 300,000 tons of shipping in less than a year. This modern but fragile machine proved alarmingly effective thanks to its excellent range.
8: Douglas C-47/DC-3 ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’
The most successful and longest-lived tactical transport aircraft began as an airliner, the DC-3, developed in the mid-1930s. At the beginning of the Second World War, it was adapted (with minor modifications) into a military transport aircraft and (predominantly) designated the C-47. Over 95% of the airframes built were these military versions.
During the decade of C-47 production, several engine variants were used without significant changes to the type or size of the engine. The original DC-3 was powered by the 9-cylinder Wright R-1820 Cyclone 9, which produced 1,000 horsepower. The C-47 was primarily powered by the 14-cylinder Pratt & Whitney R-1830 Twin Wasp, which produced 1,200 horsepower.
Roughly one-third of the US-built aircraft were C-47B variants. This aircraft used Pratt & Whitney R-1830-90 engines with a high-altitude two-speed supercharger. This 1942 modification was critical for the China-Burma-India supply routes and allowed the aircraft to carry a full payload over the 15,000-foot mountain passes.
The AC-47 Spooky, a ferocious gunship born from the C-47, unleashed hellfire during the Vietnam War. Bristling with guns, this airborne beast roared through the night, raining thousands of rounds per minute on unlucky enemy positions. It struck fear into those facing its withering precision firepower.
7: Airbus A330 MRTT ‘Mr T’ or ‘Toulouse Yourself’
The European Airbus A330 is a dependable wide-bodied airliner that first flew in 1992. It’s a large twin-engine machine weighing up to 242,000 kg (534,000 lb). It proved a smash hit with airliners and has proved equally adept as a military transport and refuelling tanker.
Though often overlooked, the tanker or refuelling aircraft is vital to every major air force. Topping up fuel while on the wing massively increases the reach and effectiveness of an air force. The most capable of these ‘flying gas stations’ is the European Airbus A330 MRTT.
Airbus A330 MRTT (Multi-Role Tanker Transport) lives up to its designation; it is probably the best air-to-air refuelling aircraft in the world, and so much more. It can refuel anything thanks to both drogue pods and a boom (the two systems used to refuel aircraft), can do it anywhere thanks to a robust defensive countermeasures suite, and can do it while carrying cargo and/or passengers.
The A330 MRTT can carry an impressive 111 tons of fuel in the tanker role. In the medevac role, it can carry 130 patients in stretchers. In the transport role, it can carry 300 soldiers. It is operated by the air forces of Australia, Brazil, Canada, France, the Netherlands, the United Arab Emirates, the United Kingdom, Italy, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Spain and South Korea.
6: Boeing 737 ‘Jack Steiner’s Jack of All Trades’
The Boeing 737 is a familiar sight to almost anyone who has travelled by air. The 737 first flew in 1967 and has since become the most successful jet airliner in history.It is the world’s best-selling commercial jetliner, with over 12,486 delivered, with nearly 450 aircraft delivered in 2025 alone
At any given time, there are an estimated 1,250 737s in the air, and a 737 takes off roughly every 5 seconds somewhere in the world. The fleet has accumulated over 119 billion miles and carried nearly 17 billion passengers. But despite its reputation for jolly air travel, it also performs several deadly roles, armed and kitted out for the fight.
The most potently armed member of the 737 family is the P-8 Poseidon. The Poseidon, named for the Greek god of the seas, is a maritime patrol and reconnaissance aircraft. It is used by the United States Navy, Indian Navy, Royal Norwegian Air Force, Royal Australian Air Force, Royal New Zealand Air Force, Republic of Korea Navy and Britain’s Royal Air Force.
It is equipped with special sensors, some of which can hunt down submarines. It can be armed with a bewildering array of weapons, including torpedoes, cruise missiles, mines and depth charges. Other military 737s include the Boeing E-7 Wedgetail, which carries a giant radar for the airborne early warning and control role.
6: de Havilland Comet/Nimrod ‘Kin-loss of Innocence’
The UK is largely surrounded by water: to the south by the English Channel, to the east by the North Sea, to the west by the Irish Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. Defending submarines, saving drowning sailors, reconnaissance, tracking hostile vessels, and protecting resources all require a maritime patrol aircraft, and the UK had one of the best, based on the world’s first
jet airliner, the de Havilland Comet, the Nimrod.
In 1982 Nimrods escorted the British Task Force as it sailed towards the Falklands, providing search and rescue as well as acting as a communications relay in support of the Operation Black Buck Vulcan raids. Nimrod MR2s stood guard against attacks from Argentinian subs. Equipped with AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles to hunt Argentinian reconnaissance aircraft, they also became perhaps the largest and heaviest ‘fighter’ ever built.
Nimrods carried out long reconnaissance missions, including a 19-hour patrol which passed within 60 miles (97 km) of the Argentine coast to check that Argentine ships were not at sea. On the night of 20/21 May, one mission took a Nimrod 8,453 miles (13,604 km), the longest distance flown during the Falklands War.
The Comet itself was also vitally important for both its military transport role and its shadowy work for No. 51 Squadron (as both the Comet and the Nimrod). According to one anonymous defence source we spoke to, ‘I’d consider the Comet and Nimrod aircraft of 51 Sqn to be the most important RAF Cold War reconnaissance asset, and I’m not at liberty to discuss why.’
5: HFB 320 Hansa Jet ‘The Funkadelic Hamburglar’
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Ranting against the aviation bores you’ve had to endure for so many years
Two leading military historians (Al Murray and James Holland), a former Sea Harrier pilot (Paul Tremelling), a former Lynx Observer (Bing Chandler), and two of Hush-Kit’s drunkest writers (Joe Coles and Edward Ward) walk into a pub. Together, they vent their spleens (and hydraulic systems) about the Top 10 aircraft beloved by boring bastards. No punches are pulled.
Before we start, I must make it very clear: we are NOT saying the aeroplanes mentioned are boring. The aircraft are not the villains of this piece, nor is the appreciation of these machines. What we wish to attack is the boring way in which certain aircraft are loved. No aeroplanes were hurt in the making of this article.
“Whilst I do find the BRRRTTT-beige bunch teeth -extractingly painful, I do have a soft spot for the A-10 drivers. They have always been first-class and are actually what makes the aircraft cool. Them. Not the cannon or bathtub. Brave, brave boys and girls at the top of their game. And I can attest…that they throw one of the best beer calls you are ever likely to see. That schizz got completely out of hand!”
10: TSR-2
Dolorira dolor (pain) + ira (anger)
Memory coloured equally by hurt and rage.
If you are reading this, you know the story: a wicked, penny-pinching Labour government killed a world-beating aircraft in 1964. This was part of the wider destruction of the British aircraft industry as a major global player and the winding down of the nation’s military might. Several books stoked the fire, notably Derek Wood’s Project Cancelled (1978). British children learned it in an Eagle annual in the 1980s, a message reiterated in the brilliant Take-Off magazines of the late ’80s. Then, more books and the internet brought an explosion in the story’s popularity.
Framing a nuclear strike aircraft—a machine designed for wholesale genocide—as a victim is weird. But declinists are weird: never quite sure whether their own country is great or weak, and a bit vague about why it is so deserving of a return to greater power. The TSR-2 Myth is the James Bond of plane myths; the success of the Bond films speaks to the insecurity of British men in a changing world, when Britain wasn’t quite so powerful (and, as the Irish comedian Hubert McIntyre observed, James Bond is also about how great it is to go on holiday and have a nice drink). The creation of a martyr of the TSR-2 is part of the same phenomenon.
It’s a bit unfair that aviation fans remember the Wilson government for cancelling the TSR-2 rather than for achieving Britain’s greatest military success of the entire Cold War: avoidance of the disastrous Vietnam War. While Britain’s non-involvement in Vietnam didn’t directly create the Beatles or Carnaby Street, it helped foster the environment in which this cultural explosion could thrive. Britain enjoyed a period of economic stability and cultural confidence. Pretty great result. Whereas spending billions on a bomber that would likely have taken years to become fully functional and then played only a small role in the Falklands (proving even harder to get there than the Vulcan) and Granby, probably not such a great result.
TSR-2 would likely have had some brilliant technology (eventually), but the timing was terrible; much of its pioneering electronics risked becoming obsolete almost immediately due to the microchip revolution. The TSR-2 would have been the last “pure analogue” advanced warplane. But the details do not really matter; what matters here is that you are likely to hear this same story (in the same words) repeated a gazillion times, and we’re all bored shitless. Change the record, mate.
If you want to get angry about a cancelled British engineering project that was capable of fucking shit up, how about the London Ringways? An ambitious but highly controversial 1960s plan to build a network of high-speed ring roads (motorways) encircling London. The dream was to drag the city into the modern, car-dominated age, cutting congestion in the centre and letting traffic flow smoothly around it, rather than choking its streets. In practice, it was a terrible idea. The scheme would have carved wide, often elevated motorways straight through established neighbourhoods, demolishing thousands of homes and splitting communities in two. I would be much more interested if someone started ranting in favour of that.
Southwyck House in Brixton was designed to shield the housing estate behind it from the horrible noise of Ringway 1
If it has to be atomic, a more interesting nuclear project to mourn might be the British fast breeder reactor programme? If we have to stay vehicular, then there’s the leaning Advanced Passenger Train (APT), though this may be the TSR-2 of train-people, which leaves us back at square one.
The world’s least-ignored ‘ignored’ aircraft was OK. It was available and OK (at least for the first couple of years of the war). By 1942, the RAF looked into what was in the fridge for a quick, improvised meal for unwanted guests and said that would do (while serving itself a delicious Spitfire steak for home defence).
They will tell you, “In the Battle of Britain, it scored the most kills,” though in their heart of hearts they know it’s the ratios that matter, and there was a fuck ton more Hurricanes. They were tasked with the bombers as they weren’t able to scrap on even terms with the fighters. A back-of-the-envelope exchange rate shows a 1.8:1 loss rate in favour of the Bf 109 when Camm’s finest had the bad luck to have to be a fighter.
Hundreds of books, 20 million Google search results. Overshadowed, my arse.
8: Broken Arrowheads
The Overton Window has become so far skewed in recent years that it could be used on the Rutan Model 202 Boomerang—while also enabling straight-faced commentators to describe the former head of the Bank of England, turned Canadian Prime Minister, as a ‘woke communist.’ We love Canada right now, standing up to tyranny, speaking smack to Trump, and looking relatively decent in this piggish age, but that does not excuse Arrow fans. If you’ve managed to live so far free from the Arrow story: In the late 1950s, Canada designed a brilliant, top-of-the-range interceptor, the CF-105 Arrow. But the project was too costly, and it became apparent it wouldn’t be able to stop ICBMs. It was cancelled, which was a bummer for the Canadian aviation industry. But it was cancelled 67 years ago, and the USSR never did try to attack Canada. But the mourning goes on, and on, on. At least TSR-2 fans know the jig is over, whereas you still hear Arrow fans say, “Never mind the F-35, why not just replace and redesign every last rivet on the Arrow and make that instead—that would be better.” Because reality, that’s why.
“You’re so vain you probably think this song is about you.”
Credit: Thornfield Hall
This is not about you, OK. The fact that you think it is only proves my point. I have encountered this many times, so sit down; this is not about you and your sordid love of the Douglas B-23 Dragon.
An obsessive’s relationship with the object of his attention is intense, complex, and personal. His aircraft may exist in his dreams as an extension of himself. So when someone takes a quick online poke at his holy machine, his response can be febrile. But you don’t get to nastily gatekeep a subject even if you have read three (or three thousand) books on it (having said that, when my friend’s dad tried to incorrectly plane-splain to me in a pub quiz, I may have ‘accidentally’ kicked him in the shin). Someone who may normally have a sense of humour and perspective can totally lose his rag when someone suggests that the Avions Fairey Belfair didn’t single-handedly win the war. A plane (this is where a bore will respond with a comment about woodworking tools), especially a military aircraft, is built to kill and survive a war, and isn’t even sentient; it can take a couple of jibes about its high wing loading.
Getting nasty with someone because they’ve been critical about a plane you like is not cool.
6: Boring B-17
Is the Mustang or the Flying Fortress the most famous American aircraft of the Second World War? Both are adored by the dull and tedious. The B-17 is a particularly odd aircraft to love, though, as—unlike the P-51—it was a failure: it could not perform the mission for which it was explicitly designed.
Like many aircraft that are liked in a boring way by boring people—such as the Tomcat and the Spitfire—the B-17’s fame is due in no small part to film and television. This process began early and at the expense of the superior B-24 Liberator, which was sidelined by the Fortress in the popular imagination both at the time and ever since. William Wyler’s “The Memphis Belle: A Story of a Flying Fortress” was released in 1944 and supposedly depicts the first US bomber in Europe to complete 25 missions and return home. In reality, of course, it doesn’t: a B-24 named ‘Hot Stuff’ completed 25 missions three months earlier, but no one had realised the propaganda value of the achievement at that time, so it remained unpublicised.
“The Memphis Belle” is, to be fair, an incredible film. Shot in colour on genuine missions over Europe in 1943, it depicts actual combat with German fighters and is an astonishing, occasionally shocking, record of early USAAF strategic raids. Curiously, however, it explicitly depicts two of the B-17’s major failings: namely that it wasn’t very accurate and it was appallingly vulnerable to fighters. The aircraft’s very name implied its supposed invulnerability and the Eighth Air Force’s bombing doctrine was one of surgical precision bombing: this was the whole justification for undertaking missions by day, which was necessarily more dangerous than flying by night. But the bombs shown exploding in the film have clearly missed their target (most fall in the sea, others on farmland).
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May 2026: The U-2 Over the Soviet Union, Secrets of the Spitfire, Sky Daddy, Beaufighter vs Flak Ships, Junkers Ju 88C, S.E. 210 Caravelle, Lavotchkin La-5, Polish Military Aircraft 1918-1939
With so many fantastic books to review, I was spoilt for choice. Here are some recent and not-so-recent books worthy of your time. This article is free to read, so please do share it.If you’re not following our Substack blog yet, you are missing out; it’s here.
Books mentioned: The U-2 Over the Soviet Union, Secrets of the Spitfire, Sky Daddy, Beaufighter vs German Flak Ships, Junkers Ju 88C Day and Nightfighters, S.E. 210 Caravelle: A Legends of Flight Illustrated History, Lavotchkin La-5 Vol. I, Polish Military Aircraft 1918-1939, The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes.
The U-2 Over the Soviet Union (Hardback)
America’s Famous Cold War Spy Plane from a Soviet Perspective
When I spoke to SR-71 pilot BC Thomas, he noted that you should never refer to reconnaissance pilots as spies, as this classification puts them in far greater danger and offers fewer protections under international law if they are captured. The most famous reconnaissance pilot to be captured was Gary Powers. While flying for the CIA, he was a civilian, meaning he could be treated as a spy regardless of the terminology. When his CIA U-2 was shot down over the USSR in 1960, the event proved useful to the Soviet government. spun as evidence of the USA’s villainy, at a useful point during international conferences. As this book shows, the shootdown and the rather unbelievable cover story were both points of pride and mirth for the Soviet people.
“Small arms and edged weapons, money, precious metals…it is unlikely that the pilot needed it, as the US state department is trying to claim, to explore the upper atmosphere.”
Soviets found the cover story ridiculous. Powers’ belongings, notably including a silenced pistol with 200 rounds and ladies’ rings and watches, made it abundantly clear he was a spy. The book is full of fascinating details on the Soviet perspective. It quotes Pravda (back when official propaganda channels were called Truth), which published a cartoon with the following poem:
Winged predator full of arrogance
Circled in the Soviet sky
I had to calm him down! We knocked him down
In the future, do not climb into someone else’s sky!
This is a thrilling book, showing that not all is as popularly imagined in the West of Soviet-US relations of the time. With certain early aspects of the Cuban crisis far more incendiary than the U-2 shootdown. Essential reading for Cold War readers.
The Story of Beverley Shenstone, The Man Who Perfected the Elliptical Wing
Forget the CF-105 Arrow; Canada’s greatest contribution to aviation was Beverley Shenstone’s design of the Spitfire’s elliptical wing. Lance Cole notes, “To Shenstone, the rate of turn advantage from a lower wing loading outweighed the quest for ultimate top speed, yet the ellipse provided both…” – the thin wing was handily decent for transonic flight and, along with the engine, a key contributor to the Spitfire’s success. Cole is bullish, verging on angry at two myths in particular: that the elliptical shape was copied or directly influenced by German designs (it is very different in concept, and Mitchell’s interest likely predates public awareness of the Heinkel) and that the wing form was chosen to cover the eight guns (it was already there when the concept had four guns, if I recall correctly). I like this anger, a welcome human touch in an engineering subject. Very enjoyable, insightful book.
I noticed other reviews noting the book’s weirdness, but it was not weird. If this book were an aircraft, it would not be something insane from Convair or Republic; it would be something altogether more balanced, something of sound design, its structure understated and smoothly functional. It may have a provocative paint scheme, but don’t let me mislead; reviews that have described it as weird or insane are not right (though perhaps it’s weird because of the combination of Linda’s unusual desires, combined with the unpretentiousness of its prose). Though Crash, with its similar auto distraught machine lust, might be a comparison to reach for, this delivers more enjoyable titillation than shock. The universe of the book is sensible, if Linda’s isn’t. Lust is a driver, but friendship and finding a family in the world are at the core of a story that has much heart despite the seeming antisocial nature of her needs. This friendship-and-family element gives it an American feel, and it is an American novel. And Linda is not a psychopath; she is torn by her compassion and is often considerate, but her initial lack of ego and self-esteem deprives her of getting what she wants. She is a three-dimensional and likeable character. The monomania, or pathological obsession with a class of object, is typically seen as male or autistic, and the social shame Linda feels associated with her fixation (albeit one with a self-destructive erotic core) is comical to a real-life aeroplane obsessive. The origin story of her fetish is consistent with my existing understanding of this topic (I listened to one Savage Love podcast on the subject, so I’m no expert) – a formative sexual experience during heavy turbulence.
Aviation enthusiasts’ curse of bringing an aggressive (very literal) pedantic eye to any art form they encounter, I tried to avoid inflicting on my reading. The “I know a thing” thrill of noticing someone else’s alleged factual error is nothing to be proud of. Having said that, two things stood out when Linda, an airliner fan, said she loved the sound of turbojets. Was this a sophisticated love of vintage planes, or an ignorance of the character (which seems unlikely) or an error of the author? Likewise, was an airliner fan happy to use the designation A220 without noting its old name? In this case, I would say Linda’s largely respectful reverie for airliners may mean she was happy to accept the current name. Her love of some aircraft types over others is very satisfying, and she finds the Learjet 35 too small and pointy. There are precious few convincing arguments against the idea that everything has consciousness. With this in mind, perhaps her love is less mad than religion or soulless materialism. As a very slow, easily distracted reader, I was delighted by the almost complete lack of characters popping up after a 100-page absence, and my having no idea who they were. This didn’t happen. It was generous with its clarity, and I read and enjoyed many chapters in each session, far faster than with my normal books.
Were the crashes that obsessed her real? I will need to Google that.
The seeming one-way nature of Linda’s love seems like madness, but is it completely different to those who are not truly ‘seen’ by their partners? I would argue it’s not, and she at least at times entertains a more mundane explanation. A fun, well-written pervy book with planes, perfect as a holiday read.
Author Matthew Willis seems to have a good style-radar for what is en vogue in aviation history. Last year, he tackled the Swordfish, which is certainly enjoying a well-deserved renaissance. This year, he takes on the Beaufighter, another wartime name enjoying a comeback (with the much-anticipated Edward Rippith book on the subject out this year). This book describes the Beaufighters’ messy relationship with German flak ships. A tough bruiser of a plane, in the cold, rough North Sea, facing the ships tasked with protecting the German convoys from aircraft attack. One can only imagine the terror of a being on a flak ship facing fast, low-level attacks by Beaufighters, or being in a Beaufighter screaming towards the ship guns.
Well-researched, generously illustrated with tons of fascinating, brilliant diagrams, photographs, and other visuals, this is a worthy book well worth a read. This is number 151 in the excellent Osprey Duel series, which describes the action, tactics, and technologies of military machines facing their nemeses. I’m not totally in love with the use of drop-shadow on a three-view artwork (it is a fantastic three-view too), or it being put on a coloured background, but I also appreciate that you can be left with a lot of white hard-to-fill space with a nicely sized aircraft three-view, but this is a trifling point in what is an excellent guide and an must-have in your Beaufighter (or flak ship) collection. Strongly recommend.
‘We were quickly brought to our senses by the sound of shouting from the nearby village. A mob of screaming women and children were rushing towards us. Terror gave us the power to run towards a river some kilometres away, but the Russians closed the gap. Guth fell behind and was beaten to death by the mob…living on bark, berries and frogs, we slowly made our way west, but the strain became so great that Wirth began to go out of his mind, and on the seventh day tried to shoot me. Just as I wrestled the Luger from Wirth’s demented grip, a man emerged from a nearby wood.’
You can’t turn a bomber into a fighter. Well, apart from the Bristol Beaufighter. Oh, and the Douglas A-20 Havoc. The Osprey book dives into yet another fascinating exception to this rule: the Ju 88C. Author Chris Goss shows how the Junkers Ju 88C evolved from a speedy, adaptable bomber into a tough Zerstörer and nightfighter. Its large fuselage accommodated radar, plenty of guns and ammunition, and its 300+ mph speed kept it competitive. The book’s stories and pilot accounts really bring this transformation to life, as seen in the hair-raising extract above.
The Junkers Ju 88C night fighter was heavily armed and radar-equipped, carrying forward-firing cannon and, in later versions, upward-firing Schräge Musik guns. Its closest British rival in 1943 was the night-fighter version of the de Havilland Mosquito, the NF Mk XIII. The Ju 88C-6 was the larger and heavier aircraft. The Mosquito NF, by contrast, was lighter and significantly faster in service. Both fielded similar engine power, but the Mosquito’s lighter weight turned that power into speed and climb, while the Ju 88C prioritised equipment and endurance. In combat, those differences shaped tactics: Mosquito crews relied on speed and surprise, while Ju 88C crews operated more methodically in radar-led night defence over Germany.
The book is thoroughly researched and highly readable, with superb artworks throughout. Seen from 2026, when radicalised populist nationalism is again on the rise in many countries, this book is a sobering reminder—not just of the hell such regimes inflict on their enemies, but of the pointless pain and death they also bring to their ‘own’ people.
S.E. 210 Caravelle: A Legends of Flight Illustrated History by Wolfgang Borgmann
Schiffer Military Books
Lavishly illustrated with gorgeous memorabilia, this is a lovely hagiography of that most elegant of airliners, the French Caravelle. It may feature the ‘looks right, flies right’ cliche in the second paragraph, but we can forgive that, as this is a handsome book researched and made with great care. Marvel at gaudily colourful menu cards offering rich French fare, including Mignottes Caravelles and Brioche à la jet (I made neither up), sigh at period photos of this beautiful jet, and fall in love with Finnair art. The mind boggles at the work they must have done to source the images and then clear the photo rights. Clearly a labour of love, author Wolfgang Borgmann and designer Christopher Bower have done a superb job and reading this was a welcome break from my normal military reading. Here is a cool enough jet to even entice fighter fans. Sublime. Other aircraft covered in this excellent series include the P-39 and Black Widow.
We have been writing a series of articles presenting the case for aircraft X or Y being the greatest fighter of the Second World War. Of course, there is no real definitive answer, but each case presents different reasoning, a chance to explore a different angle. We have covered the Hellcat, Bf 109, Whirlwind, P-47, Corsair and Spitfire, among others. Each time I’ve done one, it’s been an opportunity to spend time immersing myself in the story of a particular aircraft and to pressure-test what I think I know and the common myths. Recently, I made the case for the La-5FN and quickly fell in love with this aircraft. As with most Soviet aircraft, research is a bloody nightmare of contradicting reports, information vacuums and terrible photos that look like they’ve been photocopied under the tracks of a T-34. I wish I had had this book during my research. Paduch has done a brilliant job of making sense of the story of this insanely agile fighter, the king of low-level air combat. Of course, many photos are grubby and grainy; this is par for the course with Soviet war stuff, but many of these grainy photos are gold dust, rare glimpses into the development, production and deployment of these amazing machines. Perhaps it’s apt that they are not monkeyed around with and coloured, and instead retain their flavour. A welcome splash of colour comes with the ten large, high-quality colour artwork profiles and many excellent line drawings. With technical depth and an intriguing development story in truly desperate times, this is a welcome book on an important aircraft that is often overlooked outside Russia.
Polish Military Aircraft 1918-1939
From Regaining Independence to Hitler’s Blitzkrieg
That Poland achieved anything in the 20th century, let alone designing brilliant, innovative aircraft, is remarkable given the tough times it had. As we noted in our article on the top 10 Polish aircraft, “The Independent nation of Poland is younger than the aeroplane itself, and spent its formative years in bloody wars with Ukraine and the Soviet Union, before invasion by Germany..” P.24s were exported to Bulgaria, Greece, Romania and Turkey, and the airliner production was put ahead of the PZL.50 Jastrzab
The dearth of English-language books on Polish subjects makes this all the more appealing. The book notes that in the early 1930s, Polish fighters were among the best in the world, but despite excellent designers, some unfortunate decisions were made.
An aside comes to mind: after the heroic help of Polish airmen in the Battle of Britain, the Western abandonment of Polish independence in exchange for a chance of post-war stability was a heartbreaking outcome for many. Today, despite a healthy Polish population in the UK, there is a strange absence of Polish characters on British TV. All I can think of is Zosia March (Holby City) and the two cafe workers from a Harry Enfield sketch.
Rowland White reviews The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes
I absolutely love this book. Seriously well-informed, seriously funny, authoritative and full of passion for its subject. The care lavished on aeroplanes that never even existed beyond the drawing board is worth the price of admission alone. Joe Coles always finds a fresh angle on a familiar subject, but he’s even better at bringing to life an unfamiliar one. Or just letting imagination run riot with unlikely flights of fancy that still somehow manage to ring true. Every word and every picture in The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes has been chosen with a knowledge, enthusiasm and attention to detail that’s irresistible. No one writes about aviation like Joe Coles. We’re lucky to have him. The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes is my aviation book of the year.
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Steel is a strong metal alloy made by combining iron with a small amount of carbon, and it was first produced in usable form thousands of years ago, with early steel production dating back to around 1300 BCE. Heavy and difficult to form into complex shapes, steel seems an unlikely material for aircraft construction. While it is commonly used in small amounts in high-stress areas like undercarriages, using large quantities of steel is extremely unusual. However, there have been times when protection from heat, bullets, or aluminium scarcity (or fear of) forced manufacturers to turn to this heavy yet strong metal. The following brutes were built with more than 10% steel by weight—some significantly more. This list is by no means exhaustive, but we look forward to revisiting this fascinating subject in the future. Here are 10 Steel Marvels of Aviation.
The Henschel Hs 129, a pugnacious-looking, rather ugly, German ground-attack aircraft of the Second World War, was notable for its extensive use of steel in its structure, primarily driven by its armoured design. Designed to operate at low altitudes in close support of ground troops, the Hs 129 needed substantial protection for the crew and critical components against small-arms and anti-aircraft fire.
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To achieve this, the aircraft incorporated a steel “armoured bathtub” around the cockpit, engine, and forward fuselage. This armoured shell, made from welded steel plates, accounted for a significant portion of the aircraft’s structural weight.
In addition to the armoured sections, steel was used in high-stress structural members, landing gear components, engine mounts, and various fittings. The rest of the airframe utilised aluminium alloys for the fuselage, wings, and control surfaces to offset the weight of the steel armour. Overall, steel comprised roughly 10–15% of the Hs 129’s total structural weight, which is unusually high for an aircraft of its era.
This heavy reliance on steel provided the pilot and vital systems with a degree of protection, allowing the Hs 129 to survive in high-threat environments. However, the steel armour significantly increased the aircraft’s weight, reducing speed, manoeuvrability, and operational range. This trade-off between protection and performance was a defining characteristic of the Hs 129’s design philosophy.
Other wartime German aircraft that used a surprisingly high amount of steel included the Ju 87 and, to a lesser extent, the Me 262.
9: Ilyushin Il-2 ‘Sturmovik’
MattiPaavola
Another ground attack aircraft that turned to steel for protection, the Ilyushin Il-2 “Sturmovik,” the most-produced combat aircraft of all time, was remarkable for its extensive use of steel compared to most aircraft of its era. At the heart of the design was an armoured load-bearing shell, often referred to as an “armoured bathtub,” which enclosed the cockpit, engine, fuel tanks, and part of the cooling system.
This shell was made of (often crudely) welded steel plates ranging from 4 to 12 mm in thickness. Unlike conventional aircraft,
where armour was added as non-structural plating, in the Il-2, the steel armour was fully integrated into the aircraft’s structure, carrying loads normally handled by aluminium frames.
As a result, steel accounted for a much larger share of the Il-2’s structural weight than in most contemporaries. Estimates vary, but generally about 15% of the total structural weight was made up of steel, significantly higher than the 2–5% typical in fighters like the Bf 109 or Spitfire.
This heavy reliance on steel allowed the Il-2 to withstand intense ground fire and remain flyable after sustaining damage. The penalty was reduced manoeuvrability and performance, but Soviet doctrine prioritised survivability over agility, making the Il-2’s high steel content a defining feature of its design. (Perhaps the biggest Soviet steel monster was the ill-fated Kalinin K-7.)
8: Fieseler Fi 103R ‘Reichenburg’
Desperate times call for desperate measures, but few measures were ever as desperate as the Fieseler Fi 103R. Consisting of a V-1 cruise missile with a cockpit crammed in behind the 900kg warhead, the pilot was expected to point the aircraft at its target before bailing out.
The standard V-1 was fast and cheap, but woefully inaccurate, proving able to (sometimes) hit a city-sized target but not much good against anything smaller. The addition of a pilot was hoped to make the weapon viable for attacking ships or other tactical targets.
Fieseler Fi 103R ‘Reichenburg’
Despite appearances, the Fi 103R was not intended as a suicide weapon. However, the prospect of survival was rated as “most unlikely.” The Fieseler Fi 103, or V-1 flying bomb, was primarily constructed from steel because aluminium and advanced alloys were scarce in wartime Germany. Steel was widely available, inexpensive, and easily formed into pressed or welded parts. This made mass production fast and possible with minimally skilled, and often forced, labour.
Steel also withstood the vibration and heat from the Argus pulsejet, while providing enough strength for catapult launches or bomber drops. Since the V-1 was a disposable weapon, lightweight alloys weren’t necessary. Its steel structure allowed durability, affordability, and simplicity—ideal for a one-way weapon designed for large-scale deployment.
7: Armstrong Whitworth A.W.41 Albemarle
The Armstrong Whitworth A.W.41 Albemarle had its roots in a far-sighted specification for an aircraft that could be easily manufactured by non-aerospace manufacturers. Conceived as a medium bomber but ultimately relegated to transport and glider-tug roles, its most distinctive quality lay in its construction. Unlike many contemporaries, the Albemarle was built with extensive use of steel tubing.
This decision was born of necessity, as aluminium was prioritised for frontline fighters. The Albemarle’s fuselage employed a welded steel-tube framework, over which metal and plywood panels were affixed. The approach reflected a pragmatic balance of resource management and industrial adaptability, ensuring production could be undertaken by firms with limited aeronautical experience.
In service, the Albemarle proved workmanlike rather than inspiring (though it notably featured a tricycle undercarriage). Its steel skeleton granted robustness, but it came at the cost of additional weight and complexity. Performance as a bomber was modest, yet its utility as a glider tug and transport was quietly invaluable, particularly during airborne operations in Europe.
The Albemarle thus occupies a peculiar niche in aviation history. While overshadowed by sleeker, faster contemporaries, its steel-based design underscores wartime Britain’s capacity to adapt materials and methods. Not glamorous, but steadfast, it symbolised the wartime ethos: functional engineering shaped by constraint, and endurance achieved through ingenuity. It is likely the Albemarle would have been a far bigger deal if they hadn’t got it so right with Mosquito.
6: Sopwith Salamander
The Sopwith Salamander was developed in 1918 as a ground-attack derivative of the successful Sopwith Snipe fighter and was notable for its use of steel armour. Sopwith Camel fighters had been used with great success as ‘trench fighters’ since late 1917, but losses, mainly to ground fire, had been heavy.
The Salamander was therefore designed to survive sustained small-arms fire while attacking enemy trenches. Utilising the wings and tail of the Snipe, the Salamander featured an armoured box made from a steel plate between 6 mm and 11 mm thick, containing the pilot and forming an integral load-bearing part of the forward fuselage.
The armoured steel box itself weighed 275kg, and steel accounted for more than 35% of the overall aircraft weight—an extraordinarily high percentage for the era. By comparison, most contemporary fighters used less than 5% steel. Initial plans to include forward- and downward-firing machine guns were abandoned due to the difficulty of aiming them.
Unfortunately, problems encountered with armour becoming distorted during the hardening process delayed production, and of the 1400 ordered, only 37 Salamanders had been built by the Armistice. Ultimately, a credible total of 497 examples were built, and some served into the early 1920s.
5: Budd RB-1 Conestoga
The Budd RB-1 Conestoga was conceived in the exigencies of wartime, when America’s demand for transport aircraft strained aluminium supplies. In response, the Budd Company, better known for railway carriages, ventured into aviation. Their proposition was audacious: to construct an all-steel cargo aeroplane, in defiance of conventional material practice.
The fuselage, fabricated from stainless steel panels, embodied the firm’s metallurgical expertise. Welding largely replaced riveting, a technique adapted from railway engineering. This gave the Conestoga a singularly robust, but very heavy, frame. The emphasis on steel symbolised industrial ingenuity under resource constraints.
Budd RB-1 Conestoga
Operational assessments, however, revealed limitations. The steel made the aeroplane markedly heavier than its aluminium contemporaries, reducing payload efficiency and complicating handling. Nevertheless, the Conestoga’s high-set tail and capacious rear-loading ramp provided innovations later echoed in post-war transport types. Though only a modest number were built, its design choices proved instructive. But by the time the RB-1 flew in late 1943, aluminium supplies had improved, making the steel design unnecessary.
The Budd RB-1 remains a fascinating episode in aeronautical history. It demonstrates how wartime necessity could redirect entire industries, and how steel—so central to shipbuilding and locomotion—briefly entered the skies. Though not a success in service, the Conestoga embodied bold experimentation in metal and method alike.
4: Bristol 188
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Mullets, stealth and which other Second World War Fighters Achieved This Holy Grail?
The P-51 Mustang has been described as the most decisive combat aircraft in history. Its ability to escort bombers deep into Germany conferred air superiority on the Allies ahead of D-Day. Two factors contributed to the Mustang’s success: it was relatively easy to manufacture and had an exceptionally clean aerodynamic design, famously including a highly efficient ‘laminar flow’ wing. But did the P-51 or any other combat aircraft truly find the holy grail of laminar flow, and did it even matter? And what does the story tell us about the unique nature of American warplanes to this day?
Laminar flow is elusive, difficult to achieve in practice, and often misunderstood, yet the concept is simple. Imagine water flowing over a smooth rock in a stream. If the water glides quietly in neat layers, that is laminar flow—calm, ordered, and efficient. Strike a jagged edge, and the water breaks into turbulent, swirling eddies. Air behaves similarly over a wing. Laminar flow is a state of calm.
Laminar flow reduces drag—the invisible resistance slowing an aircraft—resulting in higher speed, greater range, and lower fuel consumption. From the earliest days of aviation, engineers understood the concept. In practice, achieving laminar flow over a significant portion of a wing was extraordinarily difficult.
In aerodynamic terms, the goal was to keep smooth flow over a substantial portion of the wing’s chord. The wing chord is the distance from the leading edge or front of the wing to the trailing edge (the back of the wing). If you can keep forty per cent or more of the chord remaining laminar before transition to turbulence, you get pretty magical effects. In wind-tunnel experiments, laminar wings promised dramatic reductions in drag. By the late 1930s, laminar flow had become one of the most alluring ideas in aerodynamics, especially as aircraft speeds approached the limits of conventional design.
Business at the front, party at the back
The front of this man’s hairstyle is smooth and orderly, like laminar flow air; the back is turbulent. A laminar flow wing is akin to a classic mullet in which the orderly section goes as far back as possible.
Aircraft generate lift because air moves faster over the upper surface than beneath it, creating a pressure difference (some contrarians will argue with this, but let’s leave that debate for another day). Early-20th-century wings had maximum thickness near the leading edge, producing strong pressure gradients that quickly tripped the boundary layer into turbulence (as in the Curly Mullet above). While turbulence aids predictable handling and prevents flow separation, it increases skin-friction drag.
Laminar-flow airfoils managed this by moving maximum thickness further aft—sometimes forty or fifty per cent of the chord. This allowed smoother pressure recovery (i.e., air pressure rises more gradually along the wing, thereby keeping the airflow smooth rather than breaking into turbulence) and extended laminar flow.
In ideal conditions, the P-51’s wing was like Hulk Hogan’s hairstyle.
Wind-tunnel experiments confirmed the benefits under ideal conditions: smooth surfaces, precise shapes, and undisturbed airflow. However, many wondered whether real operational aircraft could support such a clean, smooth wing . Military flying exposed wings to exhaust residue, dirt, rain, and maintenance imperfections, never mind guns.
Research establishments in Britain, Germany, the United States, and Japan studied laminar flow. In Britain, the National Physical Laboratory and Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough tested airfoil sections, boundary-layer behaviour, and pressure distributions. Germany experimented with laminar-flow flying wings, such as the Horten H.VIII. The United States developed the NACA 6-series airfoils, which would underpin the P-51 Mustang. Japan pursued laminar-inspired designs through Nakajima and Kawanishi, producing some of the most aerodynamically sophisticated piston aircraft of the war.
The United Flow States
Among operational fighters, the P-51 Mustang exemplified laminar-flow wing theory. Its wings used NACA 6-series airfoils with maximum thickness around 40–45% of chord. This delayed boundary-layer transition, reducing drag at high speed.
The Bell P-63 Kingcobra also employed laminar-inspired airfoils. The jet-powered P-59’s laminar wing, however, remained mostly theoretical; surface imperfections, intake interference, and early jet installation issues caused laminar flow to break down quickly. Despite these limitations, the Mustang realised significant aerodynamic benefits, particularly at high altitude and cruise, directly contributing to its long-range escort capabilities.
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Flight tests on a P-63A in 1945 highlighted the fragility of laminar flow. Boundary-layer transition occurred near the leading edge, limiting laminar extent. Reducing surface roughness—careful sanding, priming, and painting—extended laminar flow to 60% of chord in controlled conditions, illustrating the extreme precision required to achieve operational laminar wings.
Other American aircraft, like the B-24 Liberator with its Davis wing, showed laminar-like characteristics in wind tunnels, but real operational benefits were minimal. True laminar-flow performance remained rare outside of purpose-built designs like the Mustang.
The P-51’s success was the result of holistic thinking. Its entire airframe—thin, lightly loaded wing, flush riveting, smooth surface finish, and efficient fuselage—was optimised to support laminar flow. Brilliant drop tanks further increased range, enabling the Mustang to dominate long-range escort missions.
Britain, the Tempest and the Spiteful
Before we look into this, I must say I have a pet hate of.. READ THE REST OF THIS FASCINATING ARTICLE OVER ON OUR LOVELY SUBSTACK HERE.
A year (and a gazillion maiden flights of new Chinese aircraft types) has passed.
2025 was a bugger for many, but it also had some cool moments in the world of aviation. Experimental aircraft are weird again, which is wonderful. Three engines is fashionable. Which is pleasingly mental. After years of aircraft looking similar and more or less F-35-esque, a new era of wild X-planes and oddities across all categories is upon us, and it is pleasingly ’50s in aesthetic. I wish you all a lovely 2026 full of optimism and giggles (though please don’t do that horrible snorting laugh you do).
As ever, I thank you for making this mad effort worthwhile, your kind words, fascinating insights and unbridled monomania make this a joy. I’m tapping away until 2 AM most days to give you great slabs of aviation news, history, interviews and general silliness. I’ve been low-profile in communication on the book, as much depended on factors beyond my control, which I’ll explain. I tried to avoid vague updates (though there will be some vagueries in this post and the use of the opaque word ‘soon’). Ok, let’s see what’s going on behind the rusty hangar door at the Hush-House…
This site
This site is being revamped! As you probably know, a lot is happening on the Hush-Kit Substack (do subscribe if you haven’t yet), and I’m planning for this site (hushkit.net) to get just as busy soon. It will have a fresh lick of paint and a hearty series of upgrades. You will be smothered in a ton of new articles here soon.
Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes Vol 2
I will be contacting supporters of The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes Vol 2 soon with an update. Please do not contact me directly via the comments section or social channels. I would love to respond to everyone individually, but replying to a high volume of messages across multiple platforms is impossible and will slow the project (this is essentially a one-man operation). A huge amount of work is taking place to get the next Hush-Kit book out, and you will be contacted directly at the next stage. I’ve kept updates to a minimum because I don’t want to overpromise and would rather wait until I can provide concrete information (do keep an eye on old e-mail accounts if you have recently changed, I’ll put Hush-Kit in the subject title if you wish to tell your spam filter). If you did miss the last email, you have not missed anything important. I won’t bore you with the details, but know that cool stuff is happening, and you will be the first to know. What I will be doing soon is setting up a Vol 2 mailing list, as I know the lack of comms is annoying.
YouTube
Hush-Kit’s new brilliant video guy, The Wrench, and I have been working on a new YouTube video, and The Wrench is bringing slick editing skills, combined with mouthwatering historical footage. It’s very close now. So stay tuned to the YouTube channel.
Live events 2026
There will be more than this! But I’ll just stick this one down for now.
21st May 2026 Bristol Central Library 12.30-1.30pm
Joe Coles talk
How Bristol Aircraft Helped Defeat Fascism:
Forged in Bristol: Aircraft That Helped Crush Fascism
This witty, well-informed (well, I would say that) talk explores the pivotal role of Bristol Aircraft in the fight against fascism during the Second World War. From the factory floors of Bristol to the skies over Europe, Bristol’s engineers, designers, and pilots collaborated to create aircraft that would turn the tide of the conflict. We will trace the ferocious fighting of the outmatched Bristol Blenheim and the thumping thuggery of the Bristol Beaufighter, examining what made Bristol aircraft so special and their remarkable wartime exploits.
Through stories of daring missions, technical breakthroughs, and the sheer scale of wartime production, the talk highlights how a single city and its industrial ingenuity contributed to defeating tyranny. Attendees will gain insight into the engineering challenges, strategic importance, and human stories behind Bristol Aircraft, seeing how these machines were not just tools of war, but instruments of freedom.
![Indecent Proposal [VHS] [1993]: Amazon.co.uk: Robert Redford, Demi Moore, Woody Harrelson, Seymour Cassel, Oliver Platt, Billy Bob Thornton, Rip Taylor, Billy Connolly, Joel Brooks, Pierre Epstein, Adrian Lyne, Sherry Lansing, Amy Holden](https://i0.wp.com/substackcdn.com/image/fetch/%24s_%215KD4%21%2Cf_auto%2Cq_auto%3Agood%2Cfl_progressive%3Asteep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F3ebe2bc6-7316-40c4-8376-d96c1665ef7b_617x1000.jpeg?ssl=1 "Indecent Proposal [VHS] [1993]: Amazon.co.uk: Robert Redford, Demi Moore, Woody Harrelson, Seymour Cassel, Oliver Platt, Billy Bob Thornton, Rip Taylor, Billy Connolly, Joel Brooks, Pierre Epstein, Adrian Lyne, Sherry Lansing, Amy Holden")
