Mallory looked furtively at the commodore. Scowling, wordlessly and without permission, he sat down in front of them, produced a pack of cigaottes and rasped a match across the surface of the table. He had an Anzac bush helmet crushed on the back of his head, and the word 'Australia' emblazoned in white across each khaki shoulder. The commodore, flanked by Jensen and Mallory, was sitting behind this when the door opened abruptly and the first of the flying crews entered, blinking rapidly in the fierceness of the unaccustomed light They were led by a dark-haired, thick-set pilot, trailing helmet and flying-suit in his left hand. 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. 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. To wait, and to keep on waiting-that is to be of the East.' 'Patience, laddie, patience-as our worthy commodore has just advocated. 'We'd like to take with us the joker who thought this one up and shove him out at ten thousand over Navarone, without benefit of parachute.' We were talking about it on the way home.' Mallory caught the deep murmur of voices in the background, a growl of agreement. 'But we'd like to go back again,' he went on. A fair cow, it was, a real suicide do.' He broke off abruptly, stared moodily with compressed lips through his own drifting tobacco smoke. 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. 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. Because I don't believe in sacrificing good blokes for nothing.

For a long time Jensen stared at the holes and scars of the damaged machine, then shook his head and looked away.

Spotify plans join collectibles craze