“The rain had eased but the wind had strengthened. For the last week there had been gales with heavy showers, but this Sunday evening at the start of autumn it was blustery, leaves blowing around him, as he went into the wide square. He felt at ease. Danny Curnow enjoyed his solitary meals on the evening before a trip began. He walked purposefully across the wide space, hair tugged, trousers flat against his legs and the tang of the sea in his face. He always went to the same place for his meal ...and the canvas covers over the outside seating rippled noisily. He glanced up – always did – at the high plinth in the centre of the square, topped by the statue of Jean Bart, a seventeen-century admiral, who’d scrapped with everybody who’d had a ship afloat in those times. In the town he was revered, but elsewhere he was regarded as coarse and ill-educated, if a skilled commander. He knew such men. His career in the Force Reconnaissance Unit had brought him face to face, in conflict terms, with guerrilla leaders of quality.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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