Read Online Pride and the Anguish by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online

mind became suddenly clear. “Right. Have you sent out a recall?”
    Mallory sounded strained. “As best I can. I sent a messenger to fetch Corbett.”
    Trewin reached for his underpants. “Clear away the anti-aircraft guns and make sure that you’ve blacked out the whole ship.” He dropped the telephone and began to pull on his clothes. Through the window nothing had changed, and the sky was shining with a million coloured reflections. Perhaps it was yet another false alarm.
    He swept his razor and scanty belongings into his pockets and hurried for the door. At the end of the corridor he almost ran into a pair of shadowed figures who were half lying against one of the windows. The girl was in a long evening dress, and even in the half-light Trewin could see that her breasts were bare and her eyes were closed as her eager companion sought to complete his conquest.
    Trewin hurried by and heard the man shout, “Bloody fool! Must be stoned!” The girl laughed, but the laugh was cut short as the floor seemed to buck beneath Trewin’s feet and the whole corridor rang to the maniac sound of shattering glass. Then came the explosions, hard, nearby detonations which rocked the hotel like a ship in a sudden storm, and which filled the warm air with clouds of choking dust.
    Trewin thought of the aircraft noises and reeled down the deserted stairway, his ears deaf to the shouts and shrill screams from the rooms behind him. As he reached the ground floor he had to fight his way through stampeding figures, mostly in night attire, and a handful of hotel servants who seemed too stricken to move.
    Another pattern of loud explosions rocked the building, and glass spewed inwards across the reception desk and splintered against the floor.
    A thickset man with a white moustache, dressed in a purple bathrobe, pulled at Trewin’s arm and shouted into his face,“What the hell is going on?” When Trewin pushed him aside he yelled wildly, “That’s right, run, you bastard! That’s about all you’re fit for!”
    In the crowded street it was even worse. Screaming crowds surged in every direction. Above the din of aircraft engines and the shrill whistle of bombs Trewin heard the tell-tale rumble of falling masonry, the exploring crackle of fire.
    It was all the more frightful because the whole city still blazed with lights. As he ran along the road he saw the same cardboard Father Christmas standing in one big window, his painted grin all the more grotesque because of the broken glass and twisted steel in the shell beyond.
    Police whistles called above the cries, and Trewin saw an ambulance trying to force its way through a throng of shouting Europeans in dinner jackets and gay evening dresses who had just emerged from one of the nearby clubs.
    A man shouted, “They’ve hit Raffles place! Guthrie’s has been knocked for six!” He sounded both angry and incredulous.
    There were searchlights now, pale and slender across the bright sky, and once when Trewin looked up he thought he could see the dancing silver shapes of slow-moving aircraft.
    He heard a woman sobbing hysterically, “What is it? What are they doing?”
    A man’s voice, harsh and desperate. “It’s all right, dear. It’s only a practice of some kind.”
    An Australian soldier, hatless and clasping a bottle in each hand, shouted, “Some bleeding practice, mate!”
    Trewin found a taxi parked in a sidestreet, a grave-faced Indian driver sitting behind the wheel. He snapped, “Take me to the base!”
    The Indian eyed him thoughtfully. “It’s thirteen miles, boss.” He peered up at a tall column of smoke beyond the street. “It could be dangerous!”
    Trewin wrenched open the door. “Move!” He stared at the man’s turbaned head. “Or I’ll drive the bloody thing myself!”
    The taxi jerked into motion and Trewin heard the tyres