No marcy he 'l show unto me, I know,

was crouched in the shelter of the wheelhouse, a waterproof bag with grenades and a revolver strapped to his back. "Right!" Mallory said crisply. "Now's your big chance for your Oscar. Let's make this as convincing as we can." He bent forward, jabbed his finger into Miller's chest and shouted angrily at him. Miller shouted back. For a few moments they sat there, gesticulating angrily and, to all appearances, quarrelling furiously with each other. Then Miller was on his feet, swaying in drunken imbalance as he leaned threateningly over Mallory, clenched fists ready to strike. He stood back as Mallory struggled to his feet, and in a moment they were fighting fiercely, raining apparently heavy blows on each other. Then a haymaker from the American sent Mallory reeling back to crash convincingly against the wheelhouse. "Right, Andrea." He spoke quietly, without looking round. "This is it. Five seconds. Good luck." He scrambled to his feet, picked up a bottle by the neck and rushed at Miller, upraised arm and bludgeon swinging fiercely down. Miller dodged, swung a vicious foot, and Mallory roared in pain as his shins caught on the edge of the bulwarks. Silhouetted against the pale gleam of the creek, he stood poised for a second, arms flailing wildly, then plunged heavily, with a loud splash, into the waters of the creek. For the next half-minuteit would take about that time for Andrea to swim under water round the next upstream corner of the creek everything was a confusion and a bedlam of noise. Mallory trod water as he tried to pull himself aboard: Miller had, seized a boathook and was trying to smash it down on his head: and the others, on their feet now, had flung their arms round Miller, trying to restrain him: finally they managed to knock him off his feet, pin him to the deck and help the dripping Mallory aboard. A minute later, after the immemorial fashion of drunken men, the two combatants had shaken hands with one another and were sitting on the engine-room hatch, arms round each other's shoulders and drinking in perfect amity from the same freshly-opened bottle of wine. "Very nicely done," Mallory said approvingly. "Very nicely indeed. An Oscar, definitely, for Corporal Miller." Dusty Miller said nothing. Taciturn and depressed, he looked moodily at the bottle in his hand. At last he stirred. "I don't like it, boss," he muttered unhappily. "I don't like the set-up one little bit. You shoulda let me go with Andrea., It's three to one up there, and they're waiting and ready." He looked accusingly at general electric a730 digital camera review Mallory. "Dammit to hell, boss, you're always telling us how desperately important this mission is!" "I know," Mallory said quietly. "That's why I didn't send you with him. That's why none of us has gone with him. We'd only be a liability to him, get in his way." Mallory shook his head. "You don't know Andrea, Dusty." It was the first time Mallory had called him that: Miller was warmed by the unexpected familiarity, secretly pleased. "None of yoU know him. But I know him." He gestured towards the watch-tower, its squarecut lines in sharp silhouette against the darkening sky. "Just a big, fat, good-natured chap, always laughing and joking." Mallory paused, shook his head again, went on slowly. "He's up there now, padding through that forest like a cat, the biggest and most dangerous cat you'll ever see. Unless they offer no resistanceAndrea never kills unnecessarilywhen I send him up there after these three poor bastards I'm executing them just as surely as if they were in the electric chair and I was pulling the switch." In spite of himself Miller was impressed, profoundly so. "Known him a long time, boss, huh?" It was half question, half statement. "A long time. Andrea was in the Albanian warhe was in the regular army. They tell me the Italians went in terror of himhis long-range patrols against the 'Iulia division, the Wolves of Tuscany, did more to wreck the Italian morale in Albania than any other single factor. Fve heard a good many stories about themnot from Andreaand they're all incredible. And they're all true. But it was afterwards I met him, when we were trying to hold the Servia Pass. I was a very junior liaison lieutenant in the Anzac brigade at the time. Andrea"he paused deliberately for effect"Andrea was a lieutenant-colonel in the 19th Greek Motorised Division." "A what?" Miller demanded in astonishment. Stevens and Brown were equally incredulous. "You heard me. Lieutenant-colonel. Outranks me by a fairish bit, you might say." He smiled at them quizzically. 'Puts Andrea In rather a different light, doesn't it?" They nodded silently but said nothing. The genial, hail-fellow Andreaa good-natured, almost simpleminded buffoona senior army officer. The idea had come too suddenly, was too incongruous for easy assimilation and immediate comprehension. But, gradually, it began to make sense to them. It