Passage to Marseille

Navigator to pilot.

Five minutes to target area.

Bombs away, sir.

There's another load, you...

- Bombs all away, sir.

- Good work, men. Let's get out of here.

Matrac, we are approaching

the town of Romilly.

Thank you.

- Mama?

- Yes, darling.

- Is it Dad?

- I'm not sure. You be quiet, darling.

- Mother will be right back.

- All right.

Pilot to bombardier.

Open bomb bay doors.

Oh, Jean, darling. Till we meet again.

You were to have gone

with the Wing Commander, Mr. Manning,

but I happen to be rejoining my outfit

not far from your own destination,

so they asked me

to bring you down from London.

- And what is my...

- Your what, sir?

Oh, nothing, I was about to ask

what is my destination.

- A military secret, no doubt.

- Sorry, sir.

I'm lost, and I admit it.

Haven't the slightest idea where we are.

Not a signpost, not a marked road.

We're somewhere near the Channel,

unless I miss my guess.

Even for a war correspondent,

this is pretty darned mysterious.

Interesting, though.

- Here we are, sir.

- Really?

- Yes, sir.

- We're at an airdrome?

Yes, sir,

the base of the famous squad Victoire.

I can't believe it.

Where are the barracks,

the wind sleeves, the tarmac runs?

How do they operate here?

Surprising, isn't it?

The French make out quite nicely.

They're an intensely practical people, sir.

- Will you get out, sir?

- Right.

- This is headquarters.

- I'll stow your bag, sir.

- Thank you. Do you mind if I take a look?

- Not at all, sir.

Well, I must say I'm surprised.

This is something new

in my experience of military airdromes.

To think that all these incredible bombings

come from a quiet place like this.

I suppose

those cows are squadron mascots.

Yes, sir.

They've brought us any amount of luck.

They're English, of course,

merely on loan to the Frenchmen,

as they couldn't very well bring

their own cows with them.

Jerseys, sir.

The milk is excellent, if you care for milk.

It seems a strange environment for one

of the deadliest squadrons in the service.

- The quiet, you mean?

- Yeah.

Oh, the French don't mind it.

As a matter of fact, they rather enjoy it.

It has a way of livening up a bit

from time to time.

And now, if I may, sir,

I'll take you to the liaison officer

between the Free French squadron

and our own Captain Freycinet.

Come in.

- Glad to see you, Hastings.

- I've brought Mr. Manning.

Mr. Manning, Captain Freycinet.

- You're very welcome, Mr. Manning.

- Thank you.

Well, I'll leave you

in each other's good hands.

What? You must stay to dinner.

There's a place laid for you.

Sorry, sir. Have to push on. Orders.

Well, goodbye, sir.

I'll have your bag put in your bunk.

- Thank you. Good night.

- Thank you, Hastings.

- Au revoir, Captain.

- Good luck to you.

- Would you like to take your coat off?

- I would, thanks.

Apritifs will be in.

- Or would you prefer a cocktail?

- Oh, no, that's all right. Thanks.

- Sit down.

- Thank you.

Captain Freycinet,

the purpose of my visit here...

Oh, I know the purpose of your visit.

Word came this afternoon

from the Air Ministry.

You've come to see some French traitors,

as Monsieur Laval would call us.

No, Captain,

I've come to see some Free Frenchmen.

To get to know them and to write

about them for my news syndicate.

I think we can do with all

the understanding we can scrape together

in these touchy times.

Well, you can see a few of us here.

As for anything more...

Thank you.

Do you think that

Marshal Ptain considers you as traitors,

as well as Pierre Laval?

Evidently.

And yet I try to be charitable

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