He promptly forgot his resolve to go down with the Mustang. Pawing the hatch cover open he heaved himself out of the cockpit and tumbled into the water. A big wave rolled over him and the suction from the sinking Mustang dragged him down. Savagely he battled his way to the surface. He was pawing and sputtering but able to swim strongly.
Looking up he saw that he was close beside the destroyer or her sister ship, he did not know which. Something white came sailing down toward him and he heard a voice shout to him:
“Blimey, old man! Grab the preserver!”
Then Stan saw that two other life preservers had been tossed to him. He swam to the nearest one and grabbed it. He was shaking from the cold water but he laughed. The destroyer was flying the ensign of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.
A few minutes later a boat picked him up and he was rowed to the destroyer. Climbing aboard he was met by the commander. Stan saluted the officer.
“Lieutenant Stan Wilson, Eighth Air Force, reporting, sir,” he said.
The commander looked at Stan’s clothes, then smiled. “Where were you going with that Mustang, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“I was headed for home, sir. You mistook me for a Jerry and started shooting.”
“No, we knew what you were. We just bagged two Focke-Wulf fighters off your tail. But you can report in detail after we get you into some dry clothing.”
Stan followed the commander to the officer’s quarters. After climbing into a navy blanket and swallowing hot tea, Stan told the commander his story. He did not keep anything back. When he had finished, the commander said: