"Quite," Freddy nodded. "And once again I agree with you. If you want my opinion, I think British Middle East Command is jolly well sure that Hitler is going to do something about it. In fact, he already has."
"Yeah?" Dave breathed and widened his eyes in interest. "What? And how did you know, or do you?"
"As you would say," Freddy replied with a grin, "I get around, pal. I was talking with Group Captain Spencer on the Victory yesterday. He said that there were reports the Germans were flying troops and supplies from Sicily across to the main Italian base at Tripoli. He also said he was sure that there would be an Axis drive against Wavell's troops very shortly."
"Flying stuff from Sicily to Tripoli?" Dave exclaimed. "Then what are we doing way over toward the eastern end of the Mediterranean? We should be off Sicily knocking them down as they start over."
"That's the way I feel," Freddy said with a shrug. "However, I fancy Admiral Cunningham, of the Mediterranean Fleet, knows what he's doing. There's probably a bigger job to do first. Don't worry, if things get hot in Libya, I fancy the Fleet Air Arm will be called on to do double duty. The first job, though, is to find the rest of Mussolini's navy and put it out of action for keeps."
"There's a guy for you!" Dave snorted disgustedly. "Mussolini! Will he give our grandchildren a lot of laughs! What a big bag of wind."
"And I'd rather like to puncture it," Freddy added. "I feel sorry for the Italian people. I've always liked them. But Mussolini! What a rotter!"
"What a dope!" Dave echoed. "He and that Ciano are a couple of first class—"
Dave didn't have a chance to say what Mussolini and Count Ciano were, for at that moment he heard the brisk voice of the operations officer aboard the Victory in his earphones.
"Crimson to Patrol! Crimson to Patrol! Over!"