Take or Destroy! Read Online Free PDF Page A

apparently not connected at all with the war in the desert.
    ‘Is it going to be difficult?’ she asked.
    ‘Well, it’s not going to be easy and I have a suspicion it’s already become bigger than I originally intended.’ Hockold paused and finished his drink. ‘Suppose we ought really to be getting back now,’ he said. ‘Time’s up.’ He hesitated, then went on in a breathless, stumbling rush. ‘Any chance of buying you another drink sometime?’
    She looked up at him. His skin seemed to be burned to the eyebrows so that it looked beaten and raw, and his eyes were tired. He was a severe individual, meditative and brooding, a pensive, lonely, quiet man, but she suspected that he was also uncompromising, unflinching and honourable.
    She deliberately put on her best smile to encourage him. ‘I’d like that,’ she said.
     
    When they got back to Murray’s office, he was on the telephone. He waved at Hockold and went on talking.
    ‘No,’ he was saying loudly. ‘The bloody man can’t take compassionate leave! Every other poor bugger’s having to work his guts out and a few of ‘em are going to end up dead, so why should he get away with it?’ He slammed the telephone down and closed the file in front of him; as he smiled at Hockold his whole face changed. ‘Take a pew,’ he said. ‘I’ve laid on a meeting with the navy and the RAF. We’ll go straight along. I’ve also got a few facts for you. None of ‘em very encouraging, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Better tell me the worst, sir.’
    ‘Right. Bad news first: there’ll be no warships. That’s a dead cert. According to a staff appreciation made only a week ago there’s nothing anywhere until Monty’s battle’s over. The navy’s had a rough time in the last two years and everything they’ve still got at this end of the Med’s earmarked for the advance. That means there’ll be no naval support fire. One other thing: Freddie de Guingand says Monty can contribute nothing either. He says he needs everybody he’s got and I expect he does because he’s determined that when he punches his hole in Rommel’s line he’ll have enough men for the follow-through.’ He glanced at Hockold’s taut face and his cheerful smile appeared again. ‘But don’t worry, my boy. We’ll find your men even if we have to turn out storekeepers, clerks, cooks, elderly staff officers like me, and the man who fought the monkey in the dustbin.’
     
    Murray’s meeting took place at RAF Bir Farouk. It was the usual flat expanse of nothing alongside the road, with a few tents, huts and screens where aeroplanes were serviced. The station commander had laid on a large empty marquee with a table and chairs and maps of the desert and the coast.
    Murray took his place with Hockold. ‘Who’s coming for the RAF?’ he demanded.
    An RAF officer by the maps looked up. ‘Air Vice-Marshal de Berry, sir.’
    ‘And the naval adviser?’
    The airman coughed. ‘Rear-Admiral Bryant, sir.’
    Murray pulled a face. ‘Damn,’ he said as he spread his papers. ‘Those two detest each other and they can foul anything up if they’re in the mood.’
    The two men - the airman tall, slim and elegant and wearing a string of decorations dating from the days when he’d been a fighter ace over the Western Front, and the admiral, short, square, stocky, every inch of him a saltwater sailor -- began to eye each other warily the minute they arrived. Hockold pushed forward the plan he’d made of Qaba and began to outline his idea, aware of a deep distrust from the other side of the table at once. He described Qaba with its long mole and beaches and the positions of the petrol depot, the ships and the warehouses full of spare parts.
    ‘How did you arrive at these distances?’ Bryant demanded sharply.
    ‘I walked them.’
    ‘Under the eyes of the Germans?’ Bryant sounded as though he didn’t believe it.
    ‘I worked for seven days with a labouring gang shovelling concrete. I walked along the