The furniture consisted of some battered wall-maps and charts, a score or so of equally scuffed chairs and an unvarnished deal table. The interrogation room, harshly lit by two powerful, unshaded lights, was uncomfortable and airless. "Too bloody right, I don't!" Torrance growled. And McIlveen ditched just north of Alex?" "I know, I know." The commodore, nodded heavily.
Bill, these gentlemen here-Captain Jensen of the Royal Navy, Captain Mallory of the Long Range Desert Group-have a very special interest in Navarone. Squadron Leader Torrance," he added unnecessarily, "is an Australian." Mallory had the impression that the commodore rather hoped this would explain some things, Squadron Leader Torrance among them. "Gentlemen, this is Squadron Leader Torrance. I'm beginning to think that you can count yourself damn' lucky to have had even that much." "Four hours' sleep, Captain Mallory," he said quietly. The commodore nodded again, and Jensen touched his sleeve. "May I have a word with the Squadron Leader?"
The cabin perspex was shattered and starred in a dozen places. The grey camouflage paint of the after fuselage and tailplanes was riddled with bullet and cannon shells, an aileron was shredded and the port outer engine out of commission, saturated in oil. In less than a minute the first bomber was down, heavily, awkwardly, taxi-ing to a standstill just beside them. Because I'm not God and I can't do the impossible." There was a flat finality in Torrance's voice that carried conviction, that brooked no argument.īoth men screwed up their eyes in automatic reflex as the fierce glare of the landing lights struck at them, the flare path arrowing off into the outer darkness. Because I don't believe in sacrificing good blokes for nothing. "To total four hours' sleep in three days is not," Mallory said feelingly. "It is impossible, you say?" Jensen persisted. office were about as right as they usually are." First off, the weather was against us- the jokers in the Met. "Thanks." Jensen looked across at the burly Australian and smiled faintly. The old crate was still awash when we passed over, the big dinghy was out and it was as smooth as a millpond. They never had a chance."įor a long time Jensen stared at the holes and scars of the damaged machine, then shook his head and looked away. Didn't even get half-way towards the harbour. Russ and Conroy were belted good and proper on the way in. gun in the south of Europe concentrated along this narrow 50-degree vector-the only way you can approach the target, or anywhere near the target.
Might as well have dropped a shower of leaflets asking them to spike their own bloody guns. We would have to have gone down lower than that anyway-about three thousand feet below sea-level, then fly up the way: that cliff overhang shuts the target clean off. It was ten-tenths over the target," Torrance said bitterly. He realised that Torrance was speaking, the slow drawl heavy with controlied anger. So did everyone who had served any time at all in the Eastern Mediterranean: a grim, impregnable iron fortress off the coast of Turkey, heavily defended by-it was thought-a mixed garrison of Germans and Italians, one of the few Aegean islands on which the Allies had been unable to establish a mission, far less recapture, at some period of the war. Navarone! So that's why I'm here to-night, Mallory thought.
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