Thank you for the gift you are! Thank you for the Bread of Life and the Blessing Cup. Thank you for the Bread of Life and the Blessing Cup. "This is terribly important.Refrain We praise you, we bless you, we give you thanks, O Lord! We praise you, we bless you, we give you thanks, O Lord! Lord!1. "It is impossible, you say?" Jensen persisted. Mallory looked furtively at the commodore. Scowling, wordlessly and without permission, he sat down in front of them, produced a pack of cigaottes and rasped a match across the surface of the table. He had an Anzac bush helmet crushed on the back of his head, and the word "Australia" emblazoned in white across each khaki shoulder. The commodore, flanked by Jensen and Mallory, was sitting behind this when the door opened abruptly and the first of the flying crews entered, blinking rapidly in the fierceness of the unaccustomed light They were led by a dark-haired, thick-set pilot, trailing helmet and flying-suit in his left hand. The furniture consisted of some battered wall-maps and charts, a score or so of equally scuffed chairs and an unvarnished deal table. The interrogation room, harshly lit by two powerful, unshaded lights, was uncomfortable and airless. "Just one little question, Squadron Leader. office were about as right as they usually are." First off, the weather was against us- the jokers in the Met. and order one of us to crash-dive it at four hundred into the mouth of the gun cave.
#LYRICS TO REMEMBER THAT NIGHT FULL#
Not," he added bitterly, "unless you cram a Mosquito full of T.N.T. But I do know that nothing we've got has a snowball's chance in hell. "Maybe a Dornier flyingboat with one of these new-fangled radio-controlled glider-bombs might do it and get off with it. At least, it's impossible for us." He drew a weary hand down his face. So are the lives of all these jokers." Torrance jerked a big thumb over his shoulder. "Too bloody right, I don't!" Torrance growled. Because I'm not God and I can't do the impossible." There was a flat finality in Torrance's voice that carried conviction, that brooked no argument.įor a long time Jensen stared at the holes and scars of the damaged machine, then shook his head and looked away. Because I don't believe in sacrificing good blokes for nothing.
"Thanks." Jensen looked across at the burly Australian and smiled faintly. To wait, and to keep on waiting-that is to be of the East."
"Patience, laddie, patience-as our worthy commodore has just advocated. I'm beginning to think that you can count yourself damn' lucky to have had even that much." "Four hours' sleep, Captain Mallory," he said quietly. And McIlveen ditched just north of Alex?" "I know, I know." The commodore, nodded heavily.
The commodore nodded again, and Jensen touched his sleeve. He realised that Torrance was speaking, the slow drawl heavy with controlied anger. So did everyone who had served any time at all in the Eastern Mediterranean: a grim, impregnable iron fortress off the coast of Turkey, heavily defended by-it was thought-a mixed garrison of Germans and Italians, one of the few Aegean islands on which the Allies had been unable to establish a mission, far less recapture, at some period of the war. Navarone! So that's why I'm here to-night, Mallory thought.
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