Sublime

George Melville would serve as the Jeannette’s engineer. Said to be distantly related to the great author, Melville was an improvisational genius with machines—a greasy-fingered savant who seemed most at home among thumping boilers and sharp blasts of steam. The engineer, thirty-eight years old, had a booming voice, a stout physique, and an

The third man was the Secretary for Expatriation. He had a presence as mild as salad and the beautiful crow’s feet of someone who could afford to age attractively.

Wavell had a gift for picking good people. One was Major Ralph Bagnold, an officer in the Royal Signals, one of a select band who knew and respected the great desert that lay behind the cultivated coasts of North Africa. Bagnold had been exploring the Sahara since 1926. He had improved the sun compass for desert navigation, discovered the best way

“In recognition of your creative and original work on sophisticated rocket systems, for your contributions to the advancement of technology and ability to transform ideas into reality, and especially for your demonstrated courage and integrity for always standing on principles you know to be right and just.”