Force 10 from Navarone. Alistair MacLean
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mention –’
‘We’ve been working on this for almost two months. You three were supposed to have come here some days ago. But – ah – well, you know.’
‘We know.’ The threatened withholding of his DCM had left Miller unmoved. ‘Something else came up. Look, sir, why us? We’re saboteurs, explosives experts, combat troops – this is a job for undercover espionage agents who speak Serbo-Croat or whatever.’
‘You must allow me to be the best judge of that,’ Jensen gave them another flash of his sabre-toothed smile. ‘Besides, you’re lucky.’
‘Luck deserts tired men,’ Andrea said. ‘And we are very tired.’
‘Tired or not, I can’t find another team in Southern Europe to match you for resource, experience and skill.’ Jensen smiled again. ‘And luck. I have to be ruthless, Andrea. I don’t like it, but I have to. But I take the point about your exhaustion. That’s why I have decided to send a back-up team with you.’
Mallory looked at the three young soldiers standing by the hearth, then back to Jensen, who nodded.
‘They’re young, fresh and just raring to go. Marine Commandos, the most highly trained combat troops we have today. Remarkable variety of skills, I assure you. Take Reynolds, here.’ Jensen nodded to a very tall, dark sergeant in his late twenties, a man with a deeply-tanned aquiline face. ‘He can do anything from underwater demolition to flying a plane. And he will be flying a plane tonight. And, as you can see, he’ll come in handy for carrying any heavy cases you have.’
Mallory said mildly: ‘I’ve always found that Andrea makes a pretty fair porter, sir.’
Jensen turned to Reynolds. ‘They have their doubts. Show them you can be of some use.’
Reynolds hesitated, then stooped, picked up a heavy brass poker and proceeded to bend it between his hands. Obviously, it wasn’t an easy poker to bend. His face turned red, the veins stood out on his forehead and the tendons in his neck, his arms quivered with the strain, but slowly, inexorably, the poker was bent into a figure ‘U’. Smiling almost apologetically, Reynolds handed the poker over to Andrea. Andrea took it reluctantly. He hunched his shoulders, his knuckles gleamed white but the poker remained in its ‘U’ shape. Andrea looked up at Reynolds, his expression thoughtful, then quietly laid the poker down.
‘See what I mean?’ Jensen said. ‘Tired. Or Sergeant Groves here. Hot-foot from London, via the Middle East. Ex-air navigator, with all the latest in sabotage, explosives and electrics. For booby-traps, time-bombs and concealed microphones, a human mine-detector. And Sergeant Saunders here – a top-flight radio operator.’
Miller said morosely to Mallory: ‘You’re a toothless old lion and you’re over the hill.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Corporal!’ Jensen’s voice was sharp. ‘Six is the ideal number. You’ll be duplicated in every department, and those men are good. They’ll be invaluable. If it’s any salve to your pride, they weren’t originally picked to go with you: they were picked as a reserve team in case you – um – well –’
‘I see.’ The lack of conviction in Miller’s voice was total.
‘All clear then?’
‘Not quite,’ Mallory said. ‘Who’s in charge?’
Jensen said in genuine surprise: ‘You are, of course.’
‘So.’ Mallory spoke quietly and pleasantly. ‘I understand the training emphasis today – especially in the Marine Commandos – is on initiative, self-reliance, independence in thought and action. Fine – if they happen to be caught out on their own.’ He smiled, almost deprecatingly. ‘Otherwise I shall expect immediate, unquestioning and total compliance with orders. My orders. Instant and total.’
‘And if not?’ Reynolds asked.
‘A superfluous question, Sergeant. You know the wartime penalty for disobeying an officer in the field.’
‘Does that apply to your friends, too?’
‘No.’
Reynolds turned to Jensen. ‘I don’t think I like that, sir.’
Mallory sank wearily into a chair, lit a cigarette, nodded at Reynolds and said, ‘Replace him.’
‘What!’ Jensen was incredulous.
‘Replace him, I said. We haven’t even left and already he’s questioning my judgement. What’s it going to be like in action? He’s dangerous. I’d rather carry a ticking time-bomb with me.’
‘Now, look here, Mallory –’
‘Replace him or replace me.’
‘And me,’ Andrea said quietly.
‘And me,’ Miller added.
There was a brief and far from companionable silence in the room, then Reynolds approached Mallory’s chair.
‘Sir.’
Mallory looked at him without encouragement.
‘I’m sorry,’ Reynolds went on. ‘I stepped out of line. I will never make the same mistake twice. I want to go on this trip, sir.’
Mallory glanced at Andrea and Miller. Miller’s face registered only his shock at Reynolds’s incredibly foolhardy enthusiasm for action. Andrea, impassive as ever, nodded almost imperceptibly. Mallory smiled and said: ‘As Captain Jensen said, I’m sure you’ll be a great asset.’
‘Well, that’s it, then.’ Jensen affected not to notice the almost palpable relaxation of tension in the room. ‘Sleep’s the thing now. But first I’d like a few minutes – report on Navarone, you know.’ He looked at the three sergeants. ‘Confidential, I’m afraid.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Reynolds said. ‘Shall we go down to the field, check flight plans, weather, parachutes and supplies?’
Jensen nodded. As the three sergeants closed the double doors behind them, Jensen crossed to a side door, opened it and said: ‘Come in, General.’
The man who entered was very tall, very gaunt. He was probably about thirty-five, but looked a great deal older. The care, the exhaustion, the endless privations inseparable from too many years’ ceaseless struggle for survival had heavily silvered the once-black hair and deeply etched into the swarthy, sunburnt face the lines of physical and mental suffering. The eyes were dark and glowing and intense, the hypnotic eyes of a man inspired by a fanatical dedication to some as yet unrealized ideal. He was dressed in a British Army officer’s uniform, bereft of insignia and badges.
Jensen said: ‘Gentlemen, General Vukalovic. The general is second-in-command of the Partisan forces in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The RAF flew him out yesterday. He is here as a Partisan doctor seeking medical supplies. His true identity is known only to us. General, those are your men.’
Vukalovic looked them over severally and steadily, his face expressionless. He said: ‘Those are tired men, Captain Jensen. So much depends … too tired to do what has to be done.’
‘He’s right, you know,’ Miller said earnestly. ‘There’s maybe a little mileage left in them yet,’ Jensen said mildly. ‘It’s a long haul from Navarone. Now then –’
‘Navarone?’ Vukalovic interrupted. ‘These – these are the men –’
‘An unlikely-looking lot, I agree.’
‘Perhaps I was wrong about them.’
‘No, you weren’t, General,’ Miller said. ‘We’re exhausted. We’re completely –’
‘Do you mind?’ Jensen said acidly. ‘Captain Mallory, with two exceptions the General will be the only person in Bosnia who knows who you are and what you are doing. Whether the General reveals the identity of the others is entirely up to him. General