The Eagle's Cry

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  He had been more frightened by the 109s’ attack this morning than by any of the hair-raising mishaps that had preceded it. Being forced down in the desert and on the sea had been much less dreadful than being shot down by cannon-firing fighters and having to bale out knowing that he would be fired at from the ground on the way down. It was not only the Germans who fired at parachuting airmen, he knew. The Allies and the Cretan partisans blazed away too, just in case the man under the open ’chute happened to be a Jerry. They were all raw-nerved and trigger-happy.

  He was dead weary and his nerves were as taut as bowstrings as well, by now. What had been rather exciting a few months ago was now terrifying.

  He could see Butler coming down not far from him. He watched the Blenheim fly on, spinning down, and held his breath as he waited for Denton to jump out. The aircraft had gone a long way before he saw Denton’s figure detach itself and his parachute presently open. Then he saw the tracer fire going up at him and a few seconds later he realised that he himself and Butler were also targets. A fierce pain surged through his body and he screamed. A few seconds later he fainted and was unconscious when he hit the ground.

  *

  Butler had been even more reluctant to leave Denton than had Critchley. He told himself it was not the kind of act a tough type like himself was expected to commit. He looked on both Denton and Critchley with a certain amount of patronising amusement and faint contempt. They came from different worlds, even though there were great disparities between the two officers. He knew that Denton was a good boxer with a strong physique and he respected him for it. But he doubted that Denton could have stuck the long, back-breaking hours down the pit that he had endured and he — mistakenly — thought that Denton’s public school rugger was sissy stuff compared with his own Rugby League game.

  Denton had been decent enough to him. He had insisted on having him in the same hospital room as himself and Critchley. In other ways, too, Denton had been concerned about his welfare and wellbeing and mixed with him as much as he could in off-duty time. But all that was far from enough to bridge the gap between him, from a family which had voted Labour for as long as there had been a Labour Party to vote for, and Denton who undoubtedly came from a long line of Conservatives. He supposed Critchley would declare himself a Tory too, but you couldn’t take Critchley seriously over anything. Critchley was the sort who would never bother to vote in an election. He liked Critchley and envied his success with women. But he was well aware of the broad streak of cowardice in him. He had almost smelt the funk in Critchley every time the crew had been in a bad spot. As soon as he saw flak, Critchley almost wet himself. He pretended to be maleesh about the Eytie fighters but they frightened the shit out of him in reality. He had thought, this morning, that he would have to drag him out of the aircraft.

  He didn’t expect to see the skipper again. He’d had it. Bloody Blenheim was spinning like a top. He’d never get out. Stubborn sod, too: he’d very likely fight the damn thing, trying to get it straight and level, until it was too late.

  Bugger! Here came the bloody tracer, straight at him. Sodding Jerries: he could see it was them, down there, among those f-ing rocks.

  He shouted with pain as bullets hit him and was yelling swear words at the enemy when he slammed onto the hillside.

  *

  Denton had not expected gentle handling from the Germans but the hefty kicks he had been given immediately he fell into their hands had been only a forerunner of the callous treatment given to him and the wounded New Zealanders.

  After the angry paratrooper had booted him, they had glowered at one another with hatred and, on Denton’s part, defiance.

  The German raised the butt of his machine pistol threateningly and made as if to smash it down on Denton’s head.

  “Feigling ... Scheissenkerl.”

  Denton, who understood the German character well, shouted the insults. His voice, enfeebled by weakness and pain, was not very loud but it sufficed. The German looked furious at being called a coward and skunk: literally, a lump of ordure. But he held his hand although the weapon was still upraised.

  Denton looked at him with contempt. “You’re very brave against a wounded man who can’t even stand up. Given an even chance, I’d kill you with my bare hands. Now get out of here. I’m an officer. Clear off and send one of your officers to me.”

  The New Zealanders were looking at him with amazement.

  A voice said, indignantly, “Here! You a bloody Jerry? We thought you were R.A.F.”

  “I’m no bloody Jerry. I’ve just told this bastard he’s a coward. I told him to f- off and send an officer here.”

  The New Zealanders laughed — those who were not half-dead of their wounds — and called out their approval.

  The other Germans around them looked as astonished as they were. But hectoring always worked with Germans and an officer had to be respected even if he was an enemy. They moved away muttering angrily and presently a lieutenant appeared.

  “Who speaks German?”

  “I told one of your ill-disciplined men, who had just kicked me in the ribs, twice, to send an officer here. I trust you’ll deal with him suitably.”

  “You have too much to say for yourself for a prisoner.”

  “Say ‘sir’ when you speak to me.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Flying Officer Denton: that’s equivalent to a first lieutenant. You’re only a second lieutenant. Don’t they teach you anything in your rabble?”

  Now the German officer began to rant and Denton broke into a grin. The New Zealanders jeered. The German grew red-faced and stamped away.

  Ten minutes later one of the Kiwis said “I don’t think you did us much good by all that.”

  “Wait and see.”

  In another ten minutes a medical captain appeared with two medical orderlies. He looked at Denton.

  “Are you the one who speaks German?”

  “That’s right. What kept you? There are a lot of men here who need medical attention.”

  “You’ve got the cheek of the devil. You’d better be more discreet. The lieutenant you were so sharp with has already got you marked down as a spy. He says you speak German much too well to be what you claim to be.”

  “Then he’s as stupid as he looks. I’m a bomber pilot. And I wasn’t wounded up there.” He pointed to the sky. “It was those bastard ground troops of yours who shot me on my way down by parachute. I suppose the Geneva Convention means nothing to you? You’re all a bunch of barbarians ...”

  “Shut up! For your own good, keep your mouth shut if you can think of nothing more tactful to say than that. I’m not concerned with how you got wounded. My duty is only to help friend and enemy alike.”

  “Get on with it then.”

  “I intend to. And we’ll leave you until last, my friend.”

  “You can get stuffed. I’ll wait until one of our own doctors turns up.”

  “Well, we’ve captured enough of them!”

  “My observer and air gunner baled out safely before me. I want to know if they’ve been picked up unharmed.”

  “You’re behaving as if you were winning this battle. You really have got a nerve. You lot have been well and truly beaten. If your crew survived you’ll see them soon enough in a prisoner of war cage.”

  “I have the right to know ...”

  “No you haven’t. And I have no more time to waste.”

  Within an hour the wounded had been attended to and the lorries were lumbering back the way they had come. Denton had indeed been the last to have his wounds taken care of. He was in considerable agony and weak from loss of blood and shock. The euphoria of hitting back at the enemy, even if only with words, had worn off. He felt more unhappy than since the day of his mother’s death. There seemed nothing to look forward to but years in a prison camp. He dozed off, exhausted.

  For three days they lay in a barn with other British, New Zealand and Australian wounded. Their own doctors and medica
l orderlies attended them but there were not enough drugs. There was no minute of the day or night when men were not groaning, sobbing or calling out. There was not an hour when a man did not die. Voices rambled in delirium, others monotonously recited obscenities against their captors and against their own injuries. There was a stink of dirty bodies, urine and excreta, vomit and gangrene, soiled clothes and suppurating wounds.

  There was little food. Hunger added to their dejection. All his waking hours Denton was on the lookout for Critchley or Butler but he could not even get any news of them. He was the only airman there.

  On the fourth day they were taken from the farm in the same lorries and put on board a small Greek steamer at anchor in Suda Bay. One of the medical orderlies had fashioned a crude crutch for Denton from the branch of a tree and he was able to hobble aboard instead of being carried on a stretcher.

  He was limping along the deck, past a row of wounded men on stretchers, when a voice feebly hailed him.

  “Skipper!”

  He stopped at the first welcome sound he had heard since the 109s opened fire. Butler, pale and sunken-cheeked, was looking up at him with fever-brightened eyes.

  “What happened to you, Happy?”

  “Spandau got me in the leg and arm. Ian ... Mr. Critchley ...”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “We’ve been together. He got it badly in the body and he got a head wound.”

  “Is he very bad? Where is he?”

  “He’s on board. They took him down to a cabin.”

  “I’ll go and find him. Anything I can do for you?”

  “Work out how we can escape and get back to the squadron!”

  “That’s the way to think, Happy. Have you seen anyone else from the squadron?”

  Butler shook his head.

  Denton found Critchley in the saloon. His head was bandaged and he looked as bloodless and wizened as Butler.

  “Never thought I’d see you again, Geoffrey.”

  “Didn’t you see me bale out?”

  “I didn’t think I’d live through the last three days, old boy.”

  “They patched you up all right?”

  “Luckily one of our own field hospitals wasn’t far. They got me in there and operated straight away.”

  “I’ve seen Butler. He told me you were on board. He looks pretty bad but there’s nothing wrong with his morale. He asked me to think of a way to escape.”

  “Don’t go without me. After what those bloody Jerries did to me, all I want is to get back to bombing the bastards. D’you really think we might have a chance?”

  Critchley’s brave words did not convince Denton, but he said “Conditions will probably be chaotic for a while. The Huns have a hell of a lot of prisoners to cope with. And we’ll get every possible help from the Greeks.”

  A wan smile appeared on Critchley’s face. “I’m on for anything except tunnelling. Too damn claustrophobic.”

  “There won’t be time for digging a tunnel. If we’re going to get away, we’ll have to be quick; before the Jerries sort themselves out.”

  “I don’t think either Butler or I’ll be mobile very quickly.”

  “You’ll have to be.”

  Critchley’s smile faded and his expression turned sulky.

  No, thought Denton, his bold declaration did not ring true.

  *

  When they arrived at Piraeus, the port of Athens, a few hours later, the Italian troops who were waiting on the quay to give a hand with the disembarkation of the wounded jeered at them and many of them spat at the men on the stretchers they were carrying. Several stretchers were deliberately dropped on the gangway or the quay, while the Italians roared with laughter. A squad of German soldiers waded into them with fists, boots and rifle butts. The British and Commonwealth troops cheered. There was no more jeering, spitting or dropping of stretchers. The Italians went about their task scowling and swearing at both their allies and their enemies.

  The prisoners were taken to a school in an Athens suburb which had been converted into a hospital for their wounded. Close by, a Greek Army barracks had been commandeered as a prison for sick but unwounded prisoners of war. Denton, Critchley and Butler went to the first of these and Denton made sure that they had adjacent beds.

  The food was atrocious but there were enough medicines and the treatment was given by British and Commonwealth staff under German command. Immediately after their arrival some of the least badly wounded prisoners began attempts to escape. The wire around the hospital was not too difficult to crawl through or under. Instead of coils, there was a double row of horizontal and vertical strands. But at first men tried to get away by hiding in garbage bins or laundry vans that were removed by lorries. Then two men made a successful escape through the wire. This greatly encouraged Denton and his two colleagues. He was making the quickest progress and did not want to be sent away before the others were fit to try to get out. He shammed being worse than he really felt and the doctors connived at it.

  Coupled with escaping, his thoughts were dominated by Kathia. After having given up hope of ever being reunited with her, here he was only a few miles from her home. Had she been locked up by the Germans too, because she worked for the British Government? He determined to find this out before leaving Athens.

  The poor food and crowded conditions, which would surely be worse in a prison camp in Germany, converted Critchley’s professed determination to escape into a real intention to do so. He began urging Denton as strongly as Butler had been from the first to hurry their departure. Denton insisted that they must wait until all three of them were stronger.

  Late in June, after they had been in Athens for some three weeks, the prisoners were told that a concert by some Greek amateur dramatic club was to be held for the entertainment of both the German staff and their prisoners. Any variation in their boring existence was welcome although they did not expect much from this event. Denton and Butler were well enough to attend and Critchley watched enviously when they limped away to the dining hall where a stage had been improvised. They went early to get the best seats. Among Australians and New-Zealanders there were few privileges for rank and the seating was first-come-first-served.

  An orchestra assembled at the foot of the stage and began tuning its instruments. The Senior Medical Officer rose from the front row and turned to address the audience. They were lucky to have, he said, a beautiful young lady to commère the show for them in fluent English and to explain anything they didn’t understand. He announced her name but it was lost in the storm of clapping, stamping and cheers that broke out before he got to it.

  The band struck up, the curtains parted and, smiling, elegant, lovely, looking as serene as Denton had ever seen her, Kathia stepped into the spotlight, her eyes already searching the audience. In a few seconds they had found Denton and settled on him. The current that ran through him surged into the certainty that there was now no doubt about their escape.

  *

  The next morning the elderly caretaker who had been employed by the school and kept on by the Germans came through the wards pushing a trolley with urns of mint tea, as usual. When he paused by Denton’s bed he gave him a shrewd look and when he handed him a cup rather awkwardly Denton found a slip of paper under it. He almost spilled the tea in his excitement. He hid the note until he had drunk, then went to the lavatory to read it secretly.

  He had twice had brief letters from Kathia and recognised her writing.

  “It was wonderful to find you, as I had hoped I would ... somewhere, in some prison. The bearer of this can be trusted and will be my messenger. As soon as you and the other two are well enough, we will arrange your escape.”

  She had seen Butler, but how had she known that Critchley was also an inmate? Her informant was presumably the caretaker. And who were “we”? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they would be helped to get away.

  Denton whispered the news to the others. Butler smiled with the delight of a religious
devotee who has been granted a vision. Critchley looked apathetic, turned on his side and closed his eyes.

  He muttered, after a while, “You’ll have to go without me. I can’t hold you back ... not fair.”

  Denton leaned over him. “It’s all or none. We won’t go without you.”

  “The longer you delay, the worse your chances.”

  “Butler’s not fit yet, anyway. And nor am I.”

  “You could both make it. Don’t worry about me.”

  Two more weeks dragged on. Denton’s leg was working well and his wounded shoulder had healed. Butler was decently mobile. Critchley was able to take short walks.

  Kathia sent a note to say that the news from North Africa was had. Wavell had attacked in mid-June and Rommel had repulsed him. It was said that he had lost 90 tanks and failed to regain Tobruk. She ended “I wish I could arrange for everyone in the hospital to escape. You are all badly needed in Egypt.”

  This stoked up Denton’s and Butler’s determination to escape but seemed to leave Critchley even more reluctant to handicap them by going with them.

  A week after that, Denton sent word to Kathia that they were ready to break out. By then the three of them were passing sleepless nights and trying to conceal their anxiety during the days. Various other prisoners came to them with escape plans and looked askance at their apparent lack of interest.

  Denton tried urging Critchley with the temptation of the comfort he could enjoy outside the prison. “You need good, nourishing food, Ian. And something stronger to drink than mint tea and milk.”