The Ian Fleming Files Read Online Free PDF

you what you thought, Lieutenant!”
    Bruno shriveled
back into his uniform.
    Darlan put the
chum bucket down. “What do you propose we do, Rear Admiral?” he asked
Lafayette.
    “We should present
the ships to King George.”
    Darlan scowled.
“Surrender my fleet to a rival nation? Why would I do that?”
    “Because that
nation would rather sink us than see our vessels end up in the hands of the
Third Reich. Winston Churchill will not negotiate peace. The British will never
surrender and they will do anything to ensure a victory. Including murder
French sailors by torpedoing our ships into oblivion.”
    Darlan was peeved.
He knew deep down that Lafayette was right but refused to face this blunt
reality which put a definite damper on his plans for post-war pan-European
domination. He booted the bucket of chum over the gunwale into the sea. There
was a furious slapping of cartilage as two hammerheads fought for it.
    “The British,”
said Darlan. “You’re worried about them locating us? Those imbeciles couldn’t
find the Eiffel Tower!”
    There suddenly
came a loud roar from above as the Mosquito blasted by and nearly lopped
Darlan’s head off. The Admiral was incensed and bellowed at his officers. “Open
fire! Immediately!”
     
    On the flight
deck, a black Loire 120 single-seat fighter seaplane with menacing swirls of
green and retractable wings was launched into the air by catapult, shrieking as
it took off, extending to full lethal length in mid-air. A fast, heavily armed
interceptor, the Loire was a floatplane to be reckoned with. It was fitted with
four wing-mounted Darne machine guns and was powered by a single nose-mounted
Hispano Suiza 9Vbs radial engine.
    A second Loire
scrambled, wings folded. The catapult pulley attached and the plane was flung
into flight. The Loires screamed as they twisted and spun, arcing through the
clouds.
    A few thousand
feet away, Fleming hauled up a brandy canteen kept warm by the engines and
poured himself a capful when...
    RATATATATATATATAT!!!
Sizzling flak crackled at him from behind, cascading off the tail and fuselage
in showering sparks.
    He looked aft to
see the Loires corkscrewing at them, sending rounds into their tail. Tracers
streaked the air in yellow, red and green and more flak burst up, trailing
streamers of smoke over the planes before bursting into black puffs, sparkling
with shrapnel.
    “Loire 210s at six
o’clock!” he hollered to Cotton who pulled on the wheel as the steaming streams
of burning metal strafed past. “Take her up two hundred feet!”
    Cotton strained,
wrestling with the yoke. “I’m at full rudder, she won’t climb any faster!”
    Fleming hunched
forward and eyed the instrument panel, quickly calculated. “Reduce speed to one
thousand!”
    Shrapnel battered
the bodywork as Cotton soared through howling air currents and Fleming
navigated. “Climb five hundred, heading due west four-five. Wait for my word,
then cut back.”
    The 120s screeched
at them.
    “Steady,” said
Fleming. “Wait for it... now!”
    Cotton jerked the
wheel and turned them near vertical.
    The Loires shot past in a thunderous blur. Fleming
engaged the guns and fired off a warning volley before they ascended higher and
soared off into a massive sun. The limited range seaplanes looped up and
circled back to the Teste as the Mosquito fast became a dot on the
horizon.
     
    Ten hours later,
at seven o’clock in the morning, Cotton’s Bedford OX pulled up outside 22B
Ebury Street with nary a rattle or a squeak.
    Fleming clambered
out and shut the passenger door after him. “Smashing job, Sydney, I can’t wait
to develop the film.”
    “Wanna grab a
beer, mate? Need to unwind after that. Bastards nearly took my ear off.”
    “I would love to
Sydney but I have a blasted wedding rehearsal in Oxford to attend. Actually,
it’s a renewal of vows not a wedding.”
    “A what?”
    “The couple’s been
married for five years and they want to do it again.”
    “I’ve