It could have been screams and the sounds of a revving chainsaw, but I still would have gone for a look, though only to carry out my requisite duties as office manager, (You know, too ensure that psychopath was correctly trained and licensed in the use of a chainsaw, that the fire marshal was warned of the presence of combustible two stroke fuel and that no animals or potted plants would be harmed). I threaded my way around desks and partitions, following the occasional giggle. Somebody was having fun. Not bloody allowed in this bloody office, or at least not unless I was invited. I walked around a partition and my life went the way of a Windows program. It froze, and then crashed. Somebody pressed the three-fingered salute and whilst my head went through the process of brain disc, I stepped back out of sight in safe mode. Looking back, had it been an American film, I would probably have joined in. As it was, this was reality and England. What my poor mark 1 eyeballs had just. These Commies they can't put together a decent bomb, not like the Jerries could, so its probably a dud."Cutting through St James Park David reached the mall. To his right, the remains of Buckingham Palace, to his immediate left Admiralty Arch and visible through it "The Citadel" or better known to those who worked in her "The Gingerbread". David couldn't see the connection. It was a large brown concrete box — but gingerbread? He shook his head and walked through the arch and on into the building. This was the operational heart of the Royal Navy. Somewhere below him officers were juggling with markers and charts and sent fleets to sea or tracked UBoats as they converged on some convoy.As he made his way inside the entrance a querulous voice asked "And what is your business young man?" David turned and explained his business to the ancient messenger sitting in a small both. "Ah, yes, you'd be wanting Captain Watts. Now if you'd just fill out this form, I'll get someone to come and.
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