It was May 1945, and the war in the European Theater had just ended. Yet, over the borderlands of the Netherlands and Germany, a lonesome Focke-Wulf Fw 190 bearing the swastika insignia roared through the sky.

At the controls sat American pilot Bob Hoover, executing an audacious escape from captivity.

His hands, steady despite the turmoil, gripped the controls of the enemy aircraft with instructions all in German. With no parachute and deep within Allied territory, Hoover faced a storm of doubt and determination. He thought to himself: [QUOTE]

“You are the dumbest aviator that ever flew. What the hell are you accomplishing?”

The relief of leaving his captors behind now turned into the fear of what lay ahead. He was flying the wrong colors. The image of anti-aircraft batteries flashed through his mind while looking for a suitable stretch among the friendly sight of windmills. As he prepared for an emergency landing in a field, the uncertainty of his reception on the ground loomed large.

For a long time, Hoover kept this breathtaking escape to himself, believing it to be more foolhardy than heroic. Yet, as word of his daring adventure spread, his reputation soared.

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