Win, Lose or Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked unhappy. Quietly he said, “There’s another problem.”
    “What?”
    “We’ve lost an aircraft.”
    “Who?”
    “Captain Pantano. The Spanish officer. He was second away, bombed on time then went off the radar during his climb out.
    Nobody’s reported seeing him go down and we’ve got S and R out looking for him, or wreckage.”
    “Perhaps a Sidewinder popped him.” There was a large segment of sarcasm in Bond’s voice.
    “There were no missile-carrying aircraft around, sir, as I’ve already told you.”
    “Well, what do you think the one up my backside was, Wings?
    A Scotch mist?” Now, quite angry, James Bond turned on his heel and left.
    In the wardroom bar that night before dinner, the atmosphere was only slightly subdued. It was always a bit of a shaker losing a pilot, but the strange circumstances surrounding this loss, coupled with the fact that the Spanish pilot had not been a natural mixer, helped to calm what often causes a slight twitch among young pilots.
    So, when Bond entered the wardroom, the bar hummed with near enough the usual high-spirited pre-dinner chatter. He was about to go over and join two of the other Navy pilots from the course, when his eyes landed on someone he had been watching from afar since reporting to RNAS Yeovilton. She was tall and very slim; a WRNS First Officer (Women’s Royal Naval Service - “Wrens” as they were referred to) who was always much in demand, as she had the kind of looks and figure that make middle-aged men regret their lost youth: a sloe-eyed combination of self-confidence, together with a hint of complete indifference to the many officers who paid court to her, “Like hornets around a honeypot,” as one crusty old visiting Admiral commented. Her name was Clover Pennington, though she was known to many, in spite of her upbringing in the bosom of a well-connected west country family, as “Irish Penny”.
    Now this dark-haired, black-eyed beauty had the usual quota of three young Lieutenants toasting her, but, on seeing Bond, she stepped away from the bar towards him. “I hear you had a near-miss today, sir.” Her smile lacked the cautious deference her rank demanded when approaching a much senior officer.
    “Not as close as our Spanish pilot it would seem, Miss er, First Officer Bond let it trail off. Recently, he had not been given the chance of spending much of his time with women, a fact which would have gladdened M’s heart.
    “First Officer Pennington, sir. Clover Pennington.”
    “Well, Miss Pennington, how about joining me for dinner?
    The name’s Bond, by the way, James Bond.”
    “Delighted, sir.” She gave him a dazzling smile and turned towards the wardroom. Daggers were invisibly hurled in Bond’s direction from the eyes of the three young officers still at the bar.
    Tonight was not a formal wardroom dinner, so Bond seized the chance while it was on offer. “Not here, First Officer Pennington.”
    His hand brushed her uniformed arm with the three blue stripes, denoting her rank, low on the sleeve. “I know a reasonable restaurant about a quarter of an hour’s drive away, near Wedmore. Give you ten minutes to change.” Another smile which spoke of a more than usually pleasant evening, “Oh, good, sir. I always feel better out of uniform.”
    Bond thought unpardonable thoughts and followed her from the bar.
    He gave her twenty minutes, knowing the ways of women when changing for an evening out. In any case, Bond also wanted to get into civilian clothes, even though it would have to be almost another kind of uniform, Dunhill slacks and blazer complete with RN crest on the breast pocket.
    Before taking up his new duties, M had advised, “Shouldn’t take that damned great Bentley with you, 007.”
    “How am I supposed to get around, sir?” he had asked.
    “Oh, take something upmarket from the car pool - they’ve a nice little BMW 520i, in an unobtrusive dark-blue, free at the moment. Use that as your runabout until