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This is Arthur Aldridge's story of being an RAF torpedo bomber pilot during the Second World War, of being sent on missions so dangerous that you're later likened to the Kamikaze
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December 9, 1941 was a day I wouldn't forget. Flight Lieutenant Ginger Finch had already done plenty of damage to the SS Madrid by putting a bomb into her boilers. The Germans responded with deadly accuracy and one of our planes hit the sea burning. I was determined to finish off the enemy ship, as I pulled up over the bows to dump four 500lb bombs into her. I hit home, and pretty soon she was ablaze. But I pulled up a fraction too late, and the bracing wires attached to her mast didn't allow my Beaufort to escape intact. My wing-tip was sliced off in a split second. I felt the judder - and then came the realisation that we didn't have two full wings to fly home with.