As if taking the piss out of the number of different publishers for whom he's done much the same sort of war comic, Garth Ennis' latest comes from the Naval Institute Press – not a name one generally expects to see listed alongside Marvel and DC. But, as always (well, bar some iffy art on the Avatar run of War Stories), it's a belter. The subject this time is the Fairey Swordfish, a plane out of time – one thinks of biplanes as quintessentially First World War, but this one was a torpedo bomber flown by the Royal Navy's aviators in the Second. It was fragile, its armament was a joke...and still they managed to do remarkable things. The book is divided into three sections, each of which combines passages of what's pretty much an illustrated history lesson with narrative sections following the (mis)adventures of one particular Swordfish crew – though of course it does help that, in mission briefings, there's a perfect excuse to drop in more exposition and maps than fiction can normally accommodate without creaking. The first follows the crippling of the Italian navy at Taranto, about which I didn't know at all; apart from changing the balance of power in the Mediterranean war, there's an implication that it may also have influenced the Japanese tactics at Pearl Harbor. The second rejoins the protagonists while they're flying recon missions from Twatt (and yes, I checked – because Ennis knows his history, but does also have a weakness for puerile humour. This was indeed a real airbase, though he's tweaked the location), then follows them to the sinking of the Nazis' own Death Star, the Bismarck.
Each time, the very factors which should render the Swordfish a liability prove its salvation – it flies so low, or so slow, as to completely fox the adversary's expectations. Still, a plane is nothing without people, and as ever, catching the fighting men is where Ennis really excels. Where most war comics tend either to follow the gung-ho Commando line, or the illustrated Wilfred Owen mode of Charley's War, Ennis always has the sense and the decency to know that neither is true, and both are. War is a horrible, ugly business, a terrible waste – in which glorious deeds are done; a thing that shouldn't ever happen, but sometimes the alternative is even worse. Accordingly, our protagonist aircrew are three somewhat hapless regular types, more or less accidental heroes as much out of wounded pride as anything, but still good men. Significantly, their role is always somehow to assist, rather than striking the magnificent killing blow; an afterword confirms that this is done out of respect, to avoid stealing the glory from real fliers; it's also a great way to show the importance of collective effort as against Hollywood bullshit. This also makes PJ Holden the perfect choice of collaborator; his faces always teeter on the edge of comedy, with British types straight out of an Ealing film, but then he can also handle the sudden flips into heroism or horror, the harrowing scenes of burning and drowning or the collective grief after the loss of the Hood.
And then there's the third story. Perhaps just because Netgalley has the ARC of this months ahead of the release, it's presented uncoloured, but that also serves to lend a sense of foreboding, an idea that this history is ready to catch up with this plane out of time. And where the first two stories follow brilliantly-executed and successful British ops, the last covers the Channel Dash, which was neither. I'm not sure if this counts as a spoiler when one is addressing historical fact, but good heavens, heroism is no less heroic when it's doomed, and this one really got me. Even without that, though, it would have been a powerful read. Despite it turning up, unheralded, in a week when I feel the least patriotic I have in my life, I loved this to bits.