Free A Dawn Like Thunder by Douglas Reeman Page A

relied on the Italians. They had fought back with artillery and tanks, and an entirely new weapon, a radio-guided rocket which could be homed on to a ship from the air, had made its first appearance. Several major warships had beendamaged, including the veteran flagship
Warspite
,the darling of the Mediterranean, and others had been even less fortunate. But despite some misunderstandings between the allied commanders, the attacks had been forced through. Operation
Avalanche
had succeeded.
    Pryce’s chariot crews, used to the bitter waters of Scottish lochs and the North Sea, were amazed by the beauty and warmth of the coast where they exercised in an underwater world of red and white coral, passages through dark rocks and swaying flowers so exotic and ornate that it was often hard to concentrate on the rules of attack.
    There were six chariots altogether, with crews and spare hands and a considerable back-up of ‘experts’, who ranged from explosives instructors and survival teams to a lecturer on tropical diseases.
    On this hot evening, Lieutenant-Commander James Ross walked into a pool of light outside the door marked
Captain-in-Charge
and then hesitated. Pryce had asked him to ‘pop in’, but he obviously had somebody with him: Ross could hear his short, barking laugh. What did he want this time? He thought suddenly of Villiers. His passage to Ceylon had been further delayed, and Ross sometimes wondered if that meant all this had been for nothing; that somebody on high had decided there was no need to proceed with a further expansion of this or any other Special Operations group.
    A seaman who was sitting beside a small table with a telephone said formally, ‘The captain is with a senior Army officer, sir. Shall I call him?’
    Ross shook his head. ‘No, but thanks. Is there anyone in Operations?’
    â€˜Only the duty P.O., sir. Ops at Base are still handling the main traffic’
    Ross walked away and along one of the newly constructedcorridors that had been built to link the various offices and storerooms. The operations room had once been an ordinary bungalow, but had been completely transformed by all the usual hanging maps and signals information. A few Wrens worked here during the day but, unless there was a flap on, it was very much a nine-to-five Navy.
    A signal flimsy had been left under a polished piece of stone and he paused to glance at it. It was not vital: it merely warned someone about a forthcoming squash tournament.
    â€˜Can I help –’ the smallest hesitation. ‘Sir?’
    Ross realized that there was a Wren seated at the biggest desk marked S.O.O. She was hardly a staff officer; Ross was not even certain that the Force rated one at this early stage. On one sleeve she wore a petty officer’s rank, like Tucker’s but for the colour, and on the other the crossed flags and letter of a coder. She had a pencil in one hand and he saw a half-completed crossword puzzle under her elbow.
    â€˜Are you in charge here?’
    She regarded him calmly, her eyes almost tawny in the hard glare from the lights. ‘Yes, sir. Petty Officer Mackenzie.’
    Her cool manner made him unnecessarily angry. ‘I’m Lieutenant-Commander . . .’
    She stood up in one easy movement. ‘I know who
you
are, sir. We all do.’
    It was not exactly insolent. Nor was it respectful.
    He said curtly, ‘The signals file – Immediate.’ When she showed no response, he added, ‘Today’s. I’d like to see it.’
    She smiled; it made her look very attractive. ‘Not possible, sir.’
    â€˜I’ll sign for it, if that’s what’s bothering you!’
    â€˜It’s not bothering me, sir. Captain Pryce has ordered that it can only be done with his consent. I would be in trouble if I broke the rules.’
    Ross said, ‘I need to see something.’ It was useless. He had the feeling that she was enjoying it. She had