Free Force 10 from Navarone by Alistair MacLean

surprise: ‘You have a direct line to the outside world? From
this
place?’
    ‘I have a direct line to a hut fifty yards away where we have a very powerful radio transmitter. So. You further claim that you were caught, court – martialled and were awaiting the confirmation of your death sentence. Right?’
    ‘If your espionage system in Italy is all we hear it is, you’ll know about it tomorrow,’ Mallory said drily.
    ‘Quite, quite. You then broke free, killed your guards and overheard agents in the briefing room being briefed on a mission to Bosnia.’ He did some more finger-steepling. ‘You may be telling the truth at that. What did you say their mission was?’
    ‘I didn’t say. I didn’t really pay attention. It had something to do with locating missing British mission leaders and trying to break your espionage set-up. I’m not sure. We had more important things to think about.’
    ‘I’m sure you had,’ Neufeld said distastefully. ‘Such as your skins. What happened to your epaulettes, Captain? The medal ribbons? The buttons?’
    ‘You’ve obviously never attended a British court-martial, Hauptmann Neufeld.’
    Neufeld said mildly: ‘You could have ripped them off yourself.’
    ‘And then, I suppose, emptied three-quarters of the fuel from the tanks before we stole the plane?’
    ‘Your tanks were only a quarter full?’ Mallory nodded. ‘And your plane crashed without catching fire?’
    ‘We didn’t mean to crash,’ Mallory said in a weary patience. ‘We meant to land. But we were out of fuel – and, as we know now, at the wrong place.’
    Neufeld said absently: ‘Whenever the Partisans put up landing flares we try a few ourselves –
and
we knew that you – or someone – were coming. No petrol, eh?’ Again Neufeld spoke briefly on the telephone, then turned back to Mallory. ‘All very satisfactory – if true. There just remains to explain the death of Captain Droshny’s man here.’
    ‘I’m sorry about that. It was a ghastly blunder.But surely you can understand. The last thing we wanted was to land among you, to make direct contact with you. We’ve heard what happens to British parachutists dropping over German territory.’
    Neufeld steepled his fingers again. ‘There is a state of war. Proceed.’
    ‘Our intention was to land in Partisan territory, slip across the lines and give ourselves up. When Droshny turned his guns on us we thought the Partisans were on to us, that they had been notified that we’d stolen the plane. And that could mean only one thing for us.’
    ‘Wait outside. Captain Droshny and I will join you in a moment.’
    Mallory left. Andrea, Miller and the three sergeants were sitting patiently on their rucksacks. From the distance there still came the sound of distant music. For a moment Mallory cocked his head to listen to it, then walked across to join the others. Miller patted his lips delicately with his napkin and looked up at Mallory.
    ‘Had a cosy chat?’
    ‘I spun him a yarn. The one we talked about in the plane.’ He looked at the three sergeants. ‘Any of you speak German?’
    All three shook their heads.
    ‘Fine. Forget you speak English too. If you’re questioned you know nothing.’
    ‘If I’m not questioned,’ Reynolds said bitterly, ‘I still don’t know anything.’
    ‘All the better,’ Mallory said encouragingly. ‘Then you can never tell anything, can you?’
    He broke off and turned round as Neufeld and Droshny appeared in the doorway. Neufeld advanced and said: ‘While we’re waiting for some confirmation, a little food and wine, perhaps.’ As Mallory had done, he cocked his head and listened to the singing. ‘But first of all, you must meet our minstrel boy.’
    ‘We’ll settle for just the food and wine,’ Andrea said.
    ‘Your priorities are wrong. You’ll see. Come.’
    The dining-hall, if it could be dignified by such a name, was about forty yards away. Neufeld opened the door to reveal a crude and makeshift