Malta Story Page #2

It's a mighty good job

they got here all right...

or we should have been

in a jam for petrol. - Yes.

I've got a bit of tough

news for you, Frank.

I'm afraid this is their

last trip for a time.

The bases were bombed again last

night and one of the subs was hit.

The others are leaving this afternoon.

For good?

Well, until the raids slacken off a bit.

Pity.

They were the last naval ships in Malta.

Except for a few MTBs.

Yes, it's getting a bit lonely.

I'm damned sorry. You know, if I could,

I'd swim and get the bloody stuff for you.

I know you would, Willy.

But you haven't got any water wings.

8,000 tons.

Fully loaded.

All you have to do

is to get me some more like it.

Of course, you realise Frank's Fleet Air Arm

boys can only deal with very easy targets,

ships that are sinking

practically of their own accord and so on.

If anything has to be really seriously

attacked, then it's a job for me.

I'm afraid I don't know much

about recce over the sea.

My speciality is marshalling yards.

- Hm?

I beg your pardon?

''Marshalling yards.'' You know, trains.

I see.

Of course, the only thing that limits a

marshalling-yard specialist here is the er..

Iack of marshalling yards.

- Pity.

I was just developing a rather interesting

technique with marshalling yards.

Still, even if you can't have

your puff-puffs,

you still have your little camera.

Views of great interest abound.

I went on a train once.

That was many years ago.

I seem to remember it ran on shiny things

called ''rails''.

No, that may not have been a train.

That may have been a tram,

bouncing along the Embankment at night,

with the river on one side

and the road on the other, going,

''rrrr-yang-yang

yang-yong ying-yang-yong yong

ying-ying.''

That was a Chinese tram,

but you get the idea.

Never mind about the trams.

I've got a job for you right away.

I'd have liked you to have

been able to stooge

around a bit more and get the

feel of things, but this is urgent.

Fly to Brindisi, get the pictures of the

docks and fly straight back here. Got it?

I still take the same photographs

even if the convoy's not there?

Yes.

You've got long-range tanks,

but go easy

on the juice. There's a mighty

shortage on the island.

And remember what I told you

about radio silence.

If you talk while you're up in the air,

the enemy fighters will jump

on you like a pile of bricks.

Never talk to the ground here, OK?

Right.

- Good luck, sir.

- Thank you.

Picture One airborne.

(Atack gunfire)

Your initiative?

Who the devil do you think you are,

messing about taking blasted

pictures 90 miles off your course?

Hasn't it got through to that alleged mind

of yours that we're short of petrol?

Don't you realise that men and ships

are being lost every month

trying to bring the stuff to us?

For what?

So that you can joyride about the sky

looking for ruddy railway stations?

We've got no time for line-shooting amateurs

in this setup, Ross.

Get the transport to Valletta.

The AOC wants to see you at nine.

- Nine?

- Oh, lose yourself.

- Gharry, sir?

- What?

Gharry. You like ride in my gharry?

Not now.

(Children laughing)

- You know this place?

- Been here all my life.

Well, can you tell me

where I can get a decent meal?

- Meal?

- Mangiare.

Mangiare? (Laughs)

(Air-raid siren)

(Children shout playfully)

I'm so sorry.

(Distant explosions)

Maria!

It's not safe to go outside.

- But I'm late, Father.

- They will understand.

(Explosion)

I'll go.

(Bomb whistles)

Flight Lieutenant Ross, sir.

- Ross, you disobeyed orders.

- Yes, sir.

Why?

- I'm sorry, sir.

- Answer my question. Why?

Well, the freight on that train

looked interesting, sir.

I wondered where it came from,

and if there was any more waiting

at the junction further north.

- There was, sir.

- I see.

So you flew 90 miles off

course to prove it?

This isn't the desert or the Russian front

or even England.

We can't get extra supplies of petrol just

by lifting the phone and asking for them.

- Is that clear?

- Yes, sir.

And we can't waste valuable time

court-martialling flight lieutenants.

From now on, you will fly

strictly to orders.

- Understand?

- Yes, sir.

Right. At first light tomorrow,

you will find those trucks of yours again

and you will go on photographing them

until someone tells you to stop.

Well, any questions?

No, sir.

No, unless those trucks...

Precisely. Those trucks.

Come here, Ross, Bartlett.

You see those crates?

They've got gliders inside them.

And they're moving south.

There's only one place

where they could be going, Sicily,

and once they're assembled there, there's

only one purpose they could be used for.

An airborne invasion of this island.

You will photograph those trucks

wherever they go, Ross.

By the time they've unloaded their freight,

you'll never want to see one of them again.

Yes, sir.

- You see that he does it.

- I will, sir.

- All right, Ross.

- Thank you, sir.

- Bartlett.

- Sir?

(Door closes)

All this is top-secret, understand?

Make sure Ross realises it.

Very good, sir.

- When are we getting more Spitfires, sir?

- They're supposed to be on their way.

But if this lot arrives before they do...

Malta...

Yes, sir.

MAN:
..are all your guns OK?

Hello.

Hello.

So you weren't killed.

No.

- I hardly ever am.

- You deserve to be.

I was late for my watch here.

- Do you make that journey every evening?

- Of course. I have to come and go home.

I don't think you should do it by yourself.

Perhaps... Perhaps I might have the pleasure

of seeing you home safely.

That would be very kind.

If you were to bring an umbrella...

What for?

To keep the bombs off.

What time do you get away?

Ten o'clock.

All right.

I'll wait for you.

A liaison with the plotters, eh?

Well, it's not a bad thing, up to a point.

I'm only seeing her home.

She's very reckless.

All right, all right. Are you married?

- Certainly not.

- Good.

- Like to try a Maltese beer?

- Thanks.

I'll have you back by ten.

I've got something doing here myself then.

Thank you, sinjur.

I gave him four shillings. Is that

about right?

Three would have been enough, really.

- Do you see where you are?

- More or less.

This must have been very beautiful once.

This is our house.

It is rather a funny little

place, I'm afraid.

My father used to build houses.

He built this for us when we lost our home.

He was killed last year.

In a raid.

It's awfully well done.

Please...

Would you like to come in?

Thank you. Yes.

Mother, this is Flight Lieutenant Ross.

- Welcome to our home, Mr Ross.

- Thank you, Mrs Gonzar.

Forgive me if I go on doing this.

It is powdered milk for my grandson Ninu.

This is his father, my son, Paolo,

and his wife Carmela.

- How do you do?

- How do you do?

Are you a fighter pilot?

No, I just take photographs.

You take photographs of enemy targets

for our bombers, Mr Ross?

- Yes.

- Ah, yes. I'm anti-aircraft.

- Oh, really?

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