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 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 on 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
