Piloting a lurching bomb‑loaded Lancaster through the flame‑lit, shell‑torn night skies of Germany needed nerves of steel. Bomber pilots were a tough, cheery bunch.

They had to be.

Then into a squadron came the strange, young pilot with pure white hair and burning, bitter eyes, and raids began to go wrong. Bombs were wasted on grass fields. Nazi Ack‑Ack guns and fighters were ready and waiting for our bombers, even on surprise raids. Plane after vulnerable plane was lost without trace.

The time came when questions had to be asked — and the answers given by the white-haired pilot started up the whisper of “Traitor!”

Story: Gardener

Art: Peter Ford

Cover: Ken Barr