Today's extract is from the Wings of Pegasus by Brigadier George Chatterton. Chatterton

was one of the founding fathers of British airborne forces and raised the Glider Pilot

Regiment. Here's his account of landing in Sicily in 1943.

I drove down to the strip in my Jeep with my Batman, Alec Gull, accompanied by the Brigade

Commander Pip Hicks, the Senior Medical Officer and various staff officers. Silver Wings

glinting in the sun, thirty decoters and wake-o-gliders were waiting the signal to take off.

Mine was the leading glider, and as I climbed into the cockpit with Peter Harding, my

adjutant and second pilot, I looked down at the face of Alec Gull for what I thought might

be the last time. It was a tense moment. There was a strong wind blowing, the light was

hard and brittle, and great waves seemed to leap into the air at the far end of the runway.

As the signal to take off was given, the propellers of the decoters started up with a

whirl, dust flew off the runway and whipped into the air, and the tug slowly moved into

position.

Gripping the controls, I gave the thumbs up signal, the rope taught and, and I heard over

the intercom, the faint sound of the decoter pilot's voice. But the crackling and interference

was so bad from the beginning to end of the trip that we were never able to hear each

other clearly.

We moved slowly forward, then faster and faster across the dusty strip until suddenly

the decoter disappeared in the dust, and I was forced to hold the glider in position

by the tow-rope's angle. Then, still gathering speed, we were out of the dust and in the

clear, and there, below, was the silver decoter tug, and below her again the sea smothered

in foam. It was extremely rough. The glider jumping up and down from side to side, and

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