Force 10 from Navarone by Alistair MacLean Page B

Vukalovic shook his head in slow disbelief. ‘No medical help whatsoever for them. Ammunition almost gone. No food. No shelter. And they won’t leave. Are they insane, too?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘I’m going down to the river,’ Vukalovic said. ‘To see Colonel Lazlo at HQ.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Stephan smiled faintly. ‘I doubt if you’ll find his mental equilibrium any better than mine.’
    ‘I don’t suppose I will,’ Vukalovic said.
    Stephan saluted and turned away, mopping blood from his face, walked a few short swaying steps then knelt down to comfort a badly wounded man. Vukalovic looked after him expressionlessly, shaking his head: then he, too, turned and left.
    Mallory finished his meal and lit a cigarette. He said, ‘So what’s going to happen to the Partisans in the Zenica Cage, as you call it?’
    ‘They’re going to break out,’ Neufeld said. ‘At least, they’re going to try to.’
    ‘But you’ve said yourself that’s impossible.’
    ‘Nothing is too impossible for those mad Partisans to try. I wish to heaven,’ Neufeld said bitterly, ‘that we were fighting a normal war against normal people, like the British or Americans. Anyway, we’ve had information – reliable information – that an attempted break-out is imminent. Trouble is, there are those two passes – they might eventry to force the bridge at Neretva – and we don’t know where the break-out is coming.’
    ‘This is very interesting.’ Andrea looked sourly at the blind musician who was still giving his rendering of the same old Bosnian love-song. ‘Can we get some sleep now?’
    ‘Not tonight, I’m afraid.’ Neufeld exchanged a smile with Droshny.
‘You
are going to find out for us where this break-out is coming.’
    ‘We are?’ Miller drained his glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Infectious stuff, this insanity.’
    Neufeld might not have heard him. ‘Partisan HQ is about ten kilometres from here. You are going to report there as the bona-fide British mission that has lost its way. Then, when you’ve found out their plans, you tell them that you are going to their main HQ at Drvar, which of course, you don’t. You come back here instead. What could be simpler?’
    ‘Miller’s right,’ Mallory said with conviction. ‘You
are
mad.’
    ‘I’m beginning to think there’s altogether too much talk of this madness.’ Neufeld smiled. ‘You would prefer, perhaps, that Captain Droshny here turned you over to his men. I assure you, they are most unhappy about their – ah – late comrade.’
    ‘You can’t ask us to do this!’ Mallory was hard-faced in anger. ‘The Partisans are bound to get a radio message about us. Sooner or later. And then – well, you know what then. You just can’t ask this of us.’
    ‘I can and I will.’ Neufeld looked at Mallory and his five companions without enthusiasm. ‘It so happens that I don’t care for dope-peddlers and drug-runners.’
    ‘I don’t think your opinion will carry much weight in certain circles,’ Mallory said.
    ‘And that means?’
    ‘Kesselring’s Director of Military Intelligence isn’t going to like this at all.’
    ‘If you don’t come back, they’ll never know. If you do –’ Neufeld smiled and touched the Iron Cross at his throat – ‘they’ll probably give me an oak leaf to this.’
    ‘Likeable type, isn’t he?’ Miller said to no one in particular.
    ‘Come then.’ Neufeld rose from the table. ‘Petar?’
    The blind singer nodded, slung his guitar over his shoulder and rose to his feet, his sister rising with him.
    ‘What’s this, then?’ Mallory asked.
    ‘Guides.’
    ‘Those
two?’
    ‘Well,’ Neufeld said reasonably, ‘you can’t very well find your own way there, can you? Petar and his sister – well, his sister – know Bosnia better than the foxes.’
    ‘But won’t the Partisans –’ Mallory began, but Neufeld interrupted.
    ‘You don’t know your Bosnia. These two wander wherever they like and no one will