May the 10th, 1941. We're at an airfield in Bavaria, southern Germany. In the evening

light a lone man walks across the runway. He does his best to appear confident, natural,

unremarkable, but he's a bag of nerves. He's about to embark on one of the most extraordinary adventures of World War II, one that

will break all the rules.

He boards the Messia-Smith 1mit one ten with twin engines this fighter has a longer range than most

Just to be sure extra fuel tanks have been fitted A special radar set has been adapted to aid navigation.

Leather flying suits are in short supply these days.

This pilot, pulling Nazi rank, has managed to procure one. It's a two-seater aircraft,

but this man will be flying solo. His thousand-mile mission is top secret. So secret, but no one else knows about it. No one.

At 5.45 p.m.

the Messerschosmit takes off.

The pilot checks his flight plan against the weather station in Hamburg.

All is good. Within a couple of hours he's eased his plane over the

Friesian islands heading out over the North Sea. Later with night falling and a mist swirling, he crosses Bambra head in northeast England.

German fighters are rare this far north.

Three spitfires are scrambled. German fighters are rare this far north.

Three spitfires are scrambled.

He avoids them skillfully, swooping down low,

jacked up on dexidron to keep him alert. From here he hedge hops, never more than 50 feet from the ground,

skimming the fur trees of the Scottish borders at 250 miles an hour. In the dark this is quite some feet.

Around 1030 p.m. he sees moonlight Clint on water. It's a recognizable reservoir as a country house beneath him.

Dungaville, Castle. Running on empty now, the pilot climbs to 6,000 feet and flips the plane over.

...