Captain Jensen straightened, smiled his magnificent sabre-toothed tiger's smile and strode forward to greet them, his hand outstretched.
'Mallory! Andrea! Miller!' There was a dramatic five-second pause between the words. 'I don't know what to say! I just don't know what to say! A magnificent job, a magnificent — ' He broke off and regarded them thoughtfully. 'You — um — don't seem at all surprised to see me, Captain Mallory?'
'I'm not. With respect, sir, whenever and wherever there's dirty work afoot, one looks to find — '
'Yes, yes, yes. Quite, quite. And how are you all?'
'Tired,' Miller said firmly. 'Terribly tired. We need a rest. At least, I do.'
Jensen said earnestly: 'And that's exactly what you're going to have, my boy. A rest. A long one. A very long one.'
'A very long one?' Miller looked at him in frank incredulity.
'You have my word.' Jensen stroked his beard in momentary diffidence. 'Just as soon, that is, as you get back from Yugoslavia.'
'Yugoslavia!' Miller stared at him.
'Tonight.'
'Tonight!'
'By parachute.'
'By parachute!'
Jensen said with forbearance: 'I am aware, Corporal Miller, that you have had a classical education and are, moreover, just returned from the Isles of Greece. But we'll do without the Ancient Greek Chorus bit, if you don't mind.'
Miller looked moodily at Andrea. 'Bang goes your honeymoon.'
'What was that?' Jensen asked sharply.
'Just a private joke, sir.'
Mallory said in mild protest: 'You're forgetting, sir, that none of us has ever made a parachute jump.'
'I'm forgetting nothing. There's a first time for everything. What do you gentlemen know about the war in Yugoslavia?'
'What war?' Andrea asked warily.
'Precisely.' There was satisfaction in Jensen's voice.
'I heard about it,' Miller volunteered. There's a bunch of what-do-you-call-'em — Partisans, isn't it — offering some kind of underground resistance to the German occupation troops.'
'It is probably as well for you,' Jensen said heavily, 'that the Partisans cannot hear you. They're not underground, they're very much over ground and at the last count there were 350,000 of them tying down twenty-eight German and Bulgarian divisions in Yugoslavia.' He paused briefly. 'More, in fact, than the combined Allied armies are tying down here in Italy.'
'Somebody should have told me,' Miller complained. He brightened. 'If there's 350,000 of them around, what would they want us for?'
Jensen said acidly: 'You must learn to curb your enthusiasm, Corporal. The fighting part of it you may leave to the Partisans — and they're fighting the cruellest, hardest, most brutal war in Europe today. A ruthless, vicious war with no quarter and no surrender on either side. Arms, munitions, food, clothes — the Partisans are desperately short of all of those. But they have those twenty-eight divisions pinned down.'
'I don't want any part of that,' Miller muttered.
Mallory said hastily: 'What do you want us to do, sir?'
'This.' Jensen removed his glacial stare from Miller. 'Nobody appreciates it yet, but the Yugoslavs are our most important Allies in Southern Europe. Their war is our war. And they're fighting a war they can never hope to win. Unless — '
Mallory nodded. 'The tools to finish the job.'
'Hardly original, but true. The tools to finish the job. We are the only people who are at present supplying them with rifles, machine-guns, ammunition, clothing and medical supplies. And those are not getting through.' He broke off, picking up a cane, walked almost angrily across the room to a large wall-map hanging between a couple of Old Masters and rapped the tip of the bamboo against it. 'Bosnia-Herzegovina, gentlemen. West-Central Yugoslavia. We've sent in four British Military Missions in the past two months to liaise with the Yugoslavs — the Partisan Yugoslavs. The leaders of all four missions have disappeared without trace. Ninety per cent of our recent airlift supplies have fallen into German hands. They have broken all our radio codes and have established a network of agents in Southern Italy here with whom they are apparently able to communicate as and when they wish. Perplexing questions, gentlemen. Vital questions. I want the answers. Force 10 will get me the answers.'
'Force 10?' Mallory said politely. 'The code name for your operation.' 'Why that particular name?' Andrea said. 'Why not? Ever heard of any code name that had any bearing on the operation on hand? It's the whole essence of it, man.'
'It wouldn't, of course,' Mallory said woodenly, 'have anything to do with a frontal attack on something, a storming of some vital place.' He observed Jensen's total lack of reaction and went on in the same tone: 'On the Beaufort Scale, Force 10 means a storm.'
'A storm!' It is very difficult to combine an exclamation and a moan of anguish in the same word, but Miller managed it without any difficulty. 'Oh, my God, and all I want is a flat calm, and that for the rest of my life.' 'There are limits to my patience, Corporal Miller,' Jensen said. 'I may — I say may — have to change my mind about a recommendation I made on your behalf this morning.'
'On my behalf?' Miller said guardedly. 'For the Distinguished Conduct Medal.' 'That should look nice on the lid of my coffin,' Miller muttered.
'What was that?'
'Corporal Miller was just expressing his appreciation.' Mallory moved closer to the wall-map and studied it briefly. 'Bosnia-Herzegovina — well, it's a fairs sized area, sir.'
'Agreed. But we can pinpoint the spot — the approximate location of the disappearances — to within twenty miles.'
Mallory turned from the map and said slowly: 'There's been a lot of homework on this one. That raid this morning on Navarone. The Wellington standing by to take us here. All preparations -1 infer this from what you've said — laid on for tonight. Not to 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 were 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 lend 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 though
tful, 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 electric's. 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 very 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, dependence 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 licking 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 wen dark and glowing and intense, the hypnotic eyes of a man inspired by a fanatical dedication to some as 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 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 Vukalovic will be accompanying you to Yugoslavia, but not in the same plane.'
'Why not?' Mallory asked.
'Because his plane will be returning. Yours won't.' 'Ah!' Mallory said. There was a brief silence while he, Andrea and Miller absorbed the significance behind Jensen's words. Abstractedly, Andrea threw some more wood on the sinking fire and looked around for a poker: but the only poker was the one that Reynolds had already bent into a 'U'-shape. Andrea picked it up. Absent-mindedly, effortlessly, Andrea straightened it out, poked the fire into a blaze and laid the poker down, a performance Vukalovic watched with a very thoughtful expression his face.
Jensen went on: 'Your plane, Captain Mallory, will not be returning because your plane is expendable in the interests of authenticity.' 'Us, too?' Miller asked.
'You won't be able to accomplish very much, Corporal Miller, without actually putting your feet on the ground. Where you're going, no plane can possibly land: so you jump — and the plane crashes.' 'That sounds very authentic,' Miller muttered. Jensen ignored him. 'The realities of total war are harsh beyond belief. Which is why I sent those three youngsters on their way — I don't want to dampen their enthusiasm.'
'Mine's water-logged,' Miller said dolefully. 'Oh, do be quiet. Now, it would be fine if, by way of a bonus, you could discover why eighty per cent of our air-drops fall into German hands, fine if you could locate and rescue our captured mission leaders. But not important. Those supplies, those agents are militarily expendable. What are not expendable are the seven thousand men under the command of General Vukalovic here, seven thousand men trapped in an area called the Zenica Cage, seven thousand starving men with almost no ammunition left, seven thousand men with no future.'
'We can help them?' Andrea asked heavily. 'Six men?'
Jensen said candidly: 'I don't know.' 'But you have a plan?'
'Not yet. Not as such. The glimmerings of an lea. No more.' Jensen rubbed his forehead wearily. I myself arrived from Alexandria only six hours ago.' He hesitated, then shrugged. 'By tonight, who knows a few hours' sleep this afternoon might transform us!. But, first, the report on Navarone. It would be pointless for you three other gentlemen to wait — there sleeping quarters down the hall. I daresay Captain Mallory can tell me all I want to know.' Mallory waited till the door closed behind Andrea, Miller and Vukalovic and said: 'Where shall I begin my report, sir?' 'What report?' 'Navarone, of course.'
'The hell with Navarone. That's over and done with.' He picked up his cane, crossed to the wall, and rolled down two more maps. 'Now, then.' 'You — you have a plan,' Mallory said carefully. 'Of course I have a plan,' Jensen said coldly. He tapped the map in front of him. 'Ten miles north here. The Gustav Line. Right across Italy along the the of the Sangro and Liri rivers. Here the Germans have the most impregnable defensive positions in the history of modern warfare. Monte Cassino here — our best Allied divisions have broken on it, some forever. And here — the Anzio beachhead. Fifty thousand Americans fighting for their lives. For five solid months we've been battering our heads against the Gustav line and the Anzio perimeter. Our losses in men and machines — incalculable. Our gains — not one solitary inch.'
M
allory said diffidently: 'You mentioned something about Yugoslavia, sir.'
'I'm coming to that,' Jensen said with restraint. Now, our only hope of breaching the Gustav Line is by weakening the German defensive forces and the only way we can do that is by persuading them to withdraw some of their front-line divisions. So we practise the Allenby technique.'
'I see.'
'You don't see at all. General Allenby, Palestine, 1918. He had an east-west line from the Jordan to the Mediterranean. He planned to attack from the west — so he convinced the Turks the attack was coming from the east. He did this by building up in the east a huge city of army tents occupied by only a few hundred men who came out and dashed around like beavers whenever enemy planes came over on reconnaissance. He did this by letting the same planes see large army truck convoys pouring to the east all day long — what the Turks didn't know was that the same convoys poured back to the west all night long. He even had fifteen thousand canvas dummies of horses built. Well, we're doing the same.'
'Fifteen thousand canvas horses?'
'Very, very amusing.' Jensen rapped the map again 'Every airfield between here and Bari is jammed with dummy bombers and gliders. Outside Foggia is the biggest military encampment in Italy — occupied by two hundred men. The harbours of Bari and Taranto are crowded with assault landing craft, the whole lot made of plywood. All day long columns of trucks and tanks converge on the Adriatic coast. If you, Mallory, were in the German High Command, what would you make of this?'
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