Lockhart hoped he sounded convincing. As they discussed the details of their plan, he felt an unusual nervousness creep up on him. It wasn’t the same fear he had when he landed, but a deeper dread that made him think this was his last day. By tonight, he’d be strung up in a town center and left to rot. His hand shook slightly as he drew a plan in the grit at their feet. He knew Manoli had noticed it.

It was half past two in the morning—half an hour before they were due to attack. The eight men crouched in the ditch, repeatedly checking their weapons. Lockhart instructed them to put some mud on their faces, and in the moonlight the whiteness of their eyes and teeth made them look almost demonic.

Lockhart crawled up to the lip of the ditch and surveyed the perimeter fence. He watched the patrol make its way along the fence’s near side, the breath of the men and their Alsatian swirling around them. The interior of the compound was well lit but quiet, although Lockhart could just hear the crackling sound of a badly tuned radio coming from the guardhouse near the gate.

The first part of the plan was to eliminate the patrol, which made a circuit every fifteen minutes. Lockhart and two others would lie behind some scratchy bushes near the corner of the compound, and as the guards passed, leap out and slit their throats. Lockhart and the murderous-looking Christos were assigned to the two guards, and the other andarte, Niko, would kill the dog. As the corner was a good five to six minutes’ walk away from the main gate, the guards there would not notice the absence of their colleagues for that period of time.

According to Lockhart, that should give them enough time to cut through the wire, toss some grenades in among the fuel drums near the gate, set the plastic explosive in the storehouse and then get the hell out for a five-hour route march back to the previous night’s cave. If there was any problem with the storehouse, then Lockhart had ordered the men to leave it alone and hope the fire from the burning fuel drums would take care of the ammunition. He doubted that Arisaig would have approved of the crude tactics, but he was certainly going to set his part of Europe ablaze.

Lockhart made his way back to the group.

“Everything looks as it should be,” he whispered.

“So no guards and a Red Cross parcel each,” Manoli whispered back.

“That’s right, and Betty Grable says she is getting a little bored of waiting.”

They smiled in the darkness, both men knowing their banter was a scanty covering for fear.

Lockhart beckoned to Niko and Christos. Their breath stank of raki. Lockhart thought of reprimanding them, but there seemed little point. Besides, he could have done with some himself.