“But it’s not just about saving my skin. It’s about saving all our skins, doing something that will make each of us feel proud.”

“What did you have in mind?” said Catchpole.

“Yes, sir, what is it, sir?” asked Malcolm.

“Patience,” said Lockhart with a smile. “I’m coming to it. What I’m offering you is a way out that doesn’t involve shame. A way out that will make a difference to many; that involves doing something decent, something that you’ll be proud of for the rest of your lives, because as things stand, I’m not proud to be a member of this unit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to lead you, but I’d rather lead you all somewhere better than an ignominious death.

“My way involves risk, but bearing in mind the alternatives open to us, it’s a risk worth taking. If it works, then we will have saved the lives of many innocent people, people who stand to die for no reason at all.”

Lockhart could see that the men were all staring at him, hanging on to his every word.

“What I have in mind is very simple. Not far from us here is a mountain called Kohnstein. Buried in it is a concentration camp, not an ordinary concentration camp, but a huge underground factory called Mittelbau. In this factory they make rockets that the Germans intend to arm with a nerve gas called sarin, a gas so deadly that it can kill—”

“Rubbish!” shouted Maclaren. “The Germans would never use gas!”

“Is that so?” asked Lockhart. “What makes you such an authority?”

Maclaren didn’t reply.

“Come on, Maclaren. Why don’t you tell me?”

The men all turned to look at Maclaren, but he kept his gaze fixed to the ground.

“I’m sure,” Lockhart continued, “that the Nazis are perfectly capable of using gas. A regime that wants to eradicate an entire race is hardly a regime that will have any qualms about destroying a few more millions of people.”

“Did you say millions?” asked Allan, incredulous.

“Yes, Allan, yes I did.”

“But…but where are these rockets going?”

“London.”

The men gasped, momentarily struck dumb. After a few seconds, most of them started to speak as one, firing questions and comments at Lockhart.

“What do you intend to do about it?” asked Catchpole, his voice riding over the babble.

“It is my intention to go to Mittelbau, and destroy the sarin.”

“Are you joking?” asked Simpkin.

“You’ll get us all killed!” shouted Hull.

“Yes, Hull, that’s entirely possible. But wouldn’t you rather die trying to stop something this evil than live to see it being executed? Would you be happy to carry on in the knowledge that you stood by and let millions of people die? I know I wouldn’t. It would be shameful, despicable, odious; in fact, it would be evil in itself to do nothing.”