The guns of Navaronne

by Alistair MacLean

  «I do not believe it,» Andrea said flatly. «You couldn't make a mistake like that, my Captain.»

  «Not only could, but did, I'm afraid. But we'll worry about that afterwards.» The middle of the ragged line of advancing soldiers, slipping and stumbling on the treacherous scree, had almost reached the lower limits of the blackened, stunted remains of the copse. «They've come far enough. I'll take the white helmet in the middle, Louki.» Even as he spoke he could hear the soft scrape as the three others slid their automatic barrels across and between the protective rocks in front of them, could feel the wave of revulsion that washed through his mind. But his voice was steady enough as he spoke, relaxed and almost casual. «Right. Let them have it now!»

  His last words were caught up and drowned in the tearing, rapid-fire crash of the automatic carbines. With four machine-guns in their hands — two Brens and two 9 mm. Schmeissers — it was no war, as he had said, but sheer, pitiful massacre, with the defenceless figures on the slope below, figures still stunned and uncomprehending, jerking, spinning round and collapsing like marionettes in the hands of a mad puppeteer, some to lie where they fell, others to roll down the steep slope, legs and arms flailing in the grotesque disjointedness of death. Only a couple stood still where they had been hit, vacant surprise mirrored in their lifeless faces, then slipped down tiredly to the stony ground at their feet. Almost three seconds had passed before the handful of those who still lived — about a quarter of the way in from either end of the line where converging streams of fire had not yet met — realised what was happening and flung themselves desperately to the ground in search of the cover that didn't exist.

  The frenetic stammering of the machine-guns stopped abruptly and in unison, the sound sheared off as by a guillotine. The sudden silence was curiously oppressive, louder, more obtrusive than the clamour that had gone before. The gravelly earth beneath his elbows grated harshly as Mallory shifted his weight slightly, looked at the two men to his right, Andrea with his impassive face empty of all expression, Louki with the sheen of tears in his eyes. Then he became aware of the low murmuring to his left, shifted round again. Bitter-mouthed, savage, the American was swearing softly and continuously, oblivious to the pain as he pounded his fist time and again into the sharp-edged gravel before him.

  «Just one more, Gawd.» The quiet voice was almost a prayer. «That's all I ask. Just one more.»

  Mallory touched his arm. «What is it, Dusty?»

  Miller looked round at him, eyes cold and still and empty of all recognition, then he blinked several times and grinned, a cut and bruised hand automatically reaching for his cigarettes.

  «Jus' daydreamin', boss» he said easily. «Jus' daydreamin'.» He shook out his pack of cigarettes. «Have one?»

  «That inhuman bastard that sent these poor devils up that hill,» Mallory said quietly. «Make a wonderful pietare seen over the sights of your rifle, wouldn't he?»

  Abruptly Miller's smile vanished and he nodded.

  «It would be all of that.» He risked a quick peep round one of the boulders, eased himself back again. «Eight, mebbe ten of them still down there, boss,» he reported. «The poor bastards are like ostriches — trying to take cover behind stones the size of an orange… . We leave them be?»

  «We leave them be!» Mallory echoed emphaticaliy. The thought of any more slaughter made him feel almost physically sick. «They won't try again.» He broke off suddenly, flattened himself in reflex instinct as a burst of machine-gun bullets struck the steep-walled rock above their beads and whined up the gorge in vicious ricochet.

  «Won't try again, huh?» Miller was already sliding his gun around the rock in front of him when Mallory caught his arm and pulled him back.

  «Not them? Listen!» Another burst of fire, then another, and now they could hear the savage chatter of the machine-gun, a chatter rhythmically interrupted by a weird, half-human sighing as its belt passed through the breech. Mallory could feel the prickling of the hairs on the nape of his neck.

  «A Spandau. Once you've heard a Spandau you can never forget it. Leave it alone — it's probably fixed on the back of one of the trucks and can't do us any harm… . I'm more worried about these damned mortars down there.»

  «I'm not,» Miller said promptly. «They're not firing at us.»

  «That's why I'm worried… . What do you think, Andrea?»

  «The same as you, my Captain. They are waiting. This Devil's Playground, as Louki calls it, is a madman's maze, and they can only fire as blind men—»

  «They won't be waiting much longer,» Mallory interrupted grimly. He pointed to the north. «Here come their eyes.»

  At first only specks above the promontory of Cape Demirci, the planes were soon recognisable for what they were, droning in slowly over the Aegean at about fifteen hundred feet. Mallory looked at them in astonishment, then turned to Andrea.

  «Am I seeing things, Andrea?» He gestured at the first of the two planes, a high-winged little monoplane fighter. «That can't be a PZL?»

  «It can be and it is,» Andrea zuuuunred. «An old Polish plane we had before the war,» he explained to Miller. «And the other is an old Belginn plane — Breguets, we called them.» Andrea shaded his eyes to look again at the two planes, now almost directly overhead. «I thought they had all been lost during the invasion.»

  «Me too,» Mallory said. «Must have patched up some bits and pieces. Ah, they've seen us — beginning to circle. But why on earth they use these obsolete death trap»

  «I don't know and I don't care,» Miller said rapidly. He had just taken a quick look round the boulder in front of him. «These damned guns down there are just linin' up on us, and muzzle-on they look a considerable sight bigger than telegraph poles. Fragmentation bombs, you said! Come on, boss, let's get the hell outa here!»

  Thus the pattern was set for the remainder of that brief November afternoon, for the grim game of tipand-run, hide-and-seek among the ravines and shattered rocks of the Devil's Playground. The planes held the key to the game, cruised high overhead observing every move of the hunted group below, relaying the information to the guns on the coast road and the company of Alpenkorps that had moved up through the ravine above the carob grove soon after the planes reported that the positions there had been abandoned. The two ancient planes were soon replaced by a couple of modern Henschels — Andrea said that the PZL couldn't remain airborne for more than an hour anyway.

  Mallory was between the devil and the deep sea. Inaccurate though the mortars were, some of the deadly fragmentation bombs found their way into the deep ravines where they took temporary shelter, the blast of metal lethal In the confined space between the sheering walls. Occasionally they came so close that Mallory was forced to take refuge in some of the deep caves that honeycombed the walls of the canyons. In these they werу safe enough, but the safety was an illusion that could lead only to ultimate defeat and capture; in the lulls, the Alpenkorps, whom they had fought off in a series of brief, skirmishing rearguard actions during the afternoon, could approach closely enough to trap them Inside. Time and time again Mallory and his men were forced to move to widen the gap between themselves and their pursuers, following the indomitable Louki wherever he chose to lead them, and taking their chance, often a very slender and desperate chance, with the mortar bombs. One bomb arced into a ravine that led into the interior, burying itself in the gravelly ground not twenty yards ahead of them, by far the nearest anything had come during the afternoon. By one chance in a thousand, it didn't explode. They gave it as wide a berth as possible, almost holding their breaths until they were safely beyond.

  About half an hour before sunset they struggled up the last few boulder-strewn yards of a steeply-shelving ravine floor, halted just beyond the shelter of the projecting wall where the ravine dipped again and turned sharply to the right and the north. There had been no more mortar bombs since the one that had failed to explode. The six-inch and the weirdly-howling Nebeiwerfer bad only a limited range, Mallory knew, and though
the planes still cruised overhead, they cruised uselessly; the sun was dipping towards the horizon and the floors of the ravines were already deep-sunk in shadowed gloom, invisible from above. But the Alpenkorps, tough, dogged, skilful soldiers, soldiers living only for the revenge of their massacred comrades, were very close behind. And they were highly-trained mountain troops, fresh, resilient, the reservoir of their energies barely tapped: whereas his own tiny band, worn out from continuous days and sleepless nights of labour and action… .

  Mallory sank to the ground near the angled turn of the ravine where he could keep look out, glanced at the others with a deceptive casualness that marked his cheerless assessment of what he saw. As a fighting unit they were in a pretty bad way. Both Panayis and Brown were badly crippled, the latter's face grey with pain. For the first time since leaving Alexandria, Casey Brown was apathetic, listless and quite indifferent to everything: this Mallory took as a very bad sign. Nor was Brown helped by the heavy transmitter still strapped to his back — with point-blank truculence he had ignored Mallory's categorical order to abandon it. Louki was tired, and looked it: his physique, Mallory realised now, was no match for his spirit, for the infectious smile that never left his face, for the panache of that magnificently upswept moustache that contrasted so oddly with the sad, tired eyes above. Miller, like himself, was tired, but, like himself, could keep on being tired for a long time yet. And Stevens was still conscious, but even in the twilit gloom of the canyon floor his face looked curiously transparent, while the nails, lips and eyelids were drained of blood. And Andrea, who had carried him up and down all these killing canyon tracks — where there had been tracks — for almost two interminable hours, looked as he always did: immutable, indestructible.

  Mallory shook his head, fished out a cigarette, made to strike a light, remembered the planes still cruising overhead and threw the match away. Idly his gaze travelled north along the canyon and he slowly stiffened, the unlit cigarette crumpling and shredding between his fingers. This ravine bore no resemblance to any of the others through which they had so far passed — it was broader, dead straight, at least' three times as long-- and, as far as he could see in the twilight, the far end was blocked off by an almost vertical wall.

  «Louki!» Mallory was on his feet now, all weariness forgotten. «Do you know where you are. Do you know this place?»

  «But certainly, Major!» Louki was hurt. «Have I not told you that Panayis and I, in the days of our youth—»

  «But this is a cul-de-sac, a dead-end!» Mallory protested. «We're boxed in, man, we're trapped!»

  «So? The Major does not trust Louki, is that it?» He grinned again, relented, patted the wall by his side. «Panayis and I, we have been working this way all afternoon. Along this wall there are many caves. One of them leads through to another valley that leads down to the coast road.»

  «I see, I see.» Relief washing through his mind, Mallory sank down on the ground again. «And where does this other valley come out?»

  «Just across the strait from Maidos.»

  «How far from the town?»

  «About five miles, Major, maybe six. Not more.»

  «Fine, fine! And you're sure you can find this cave?»

  «A hundred years from now and my head in a goatskin bag!» Louki boasted.

  «Fair enough!» Even as he spoke, Mallory catapulted himself violently to one side, twisted in midair to avoid falling across Stevens and crashed heavily into the wall between Andrea and Miller. In a moment of unthinking carelessness he had exposed himself to view from the ravine they had just combed: the burst of machine-gun fire from its lower end — a hundred and fifty yards away at the most — had almost blown his head off. Even as it was, the left shoulder of his jacket had been torn away, the shell just grazing his shoulder. Miller was already kneeling by his side, fingering the gash, running a gently exploratory band across his back.

  «Careless, damn careless,» Mallory murmured. «But I didn't think they were so close.» He didn't feel as calm as he sounded. If the mouth of that Schineisser had been another sixteenth of an inch to the right, he'd have had no head left now.

  «Are you all right, boss?» Miller was puzzled. «Did they—»

  «Terrible shots,» Mallory assured him cheerfully. «Couldn't hit a barn.» He twisted round to look at his shoulder. «I hate to sound heroic, but this really is just a scratch… .» He rose easily to his feet, and picked up his gun. «Sorry and all that, gentlemen, but it's time we were on our way again. How far along is this cave, Louki?»

  Louki rubbed his bristly chin, the smile suddenly gone. He looked quickly at Mallory, then away again.

  «Louki!»

  «Yes, yes, Major. The cave.» Louki rubbed his chin again. «Well, it is a good way along. In fact, it is at the end,» he finished uncomfortably.

  «The very end?» asked Mallory quietly.

  Louki nodded miserably, stared down at the ground at his feet. Even the ends of his moustache seemed to droop.

  «That's handy,» Mallory said heavily. «Oh, that's very handy!» He sank down to the ground again. «Helps us no end, that does.»

  He bowed his head in thought and didn't even lift it as Andrea poked a Bren round the angle of the rock, and fired a short downhill burst more in token of discouragement than in any hope of hitting anything. Another ten seconds passed, then Louki spoke again, his voice barely audible.

  «I am very, very sorry. This is a terrible thing. Before God, Major, I would not have done it but that I thought they were still far behind.»

  «It's not your fault, Louki.» Mallory was touched by the little man's obvious distress. He touched his ripped shoulder jacket. «I thought the same thing.»

  «Please!» Stevens put his hand on Mallory's arm. «What's wrong? I don't understand.»

  «Everybody else does, I'm afraid, Andy. It's very, very simple. We have half a mile to go along this valley here — and not a shred of cover. The Alpenkorps have less than two hundred yards to come up that ravine we've just left.» He paused while Andrea fired another retaliatory short burst, then continued. «They'll do what they're doing now — keep probing to see if we're still here. The minute they judge we're gone, they'll be up here in a flash. They'll nail us before we're halfway, quarter way to the cave — you know we can't travel fast. And they're carrying a couple of Spandaus — they'll cut us to ribbons.»

  «I see,» Stevens murmured. «You put it all so nicely, sir.»

  «Sorry, Andy, but that's how it is.»

  «But could you not leave two men as a rearguard, while the rest—»

  «And what happens to the rearguard?» Mallory interrupted dryly.

  «I see what you mean,» he said in a low voice. «I hadn't thought of that.»

  «No, but the rearguard would. Quite a problem, isn't it?»

  «There is no problem at all,» Louki announced. «The Major is kind, but this is all my fault. I will—»

  «You'll do damn all of the kind!» Miller said savagely. He tore Louki's Bren from his hand and laid it on the ground. «You heard what the boss said — it wasn't your fault.» For a moment Louki stared at him in anger, then turned dejectedly away. He looked as if he were going to cry. Mallory, too, stared at the American, astonished at the sudden vehemence, so completely out of character. Now that he came to think of it, Dusty had been strangely taciturn and thoughtful during the past hour or so — Mallory couldn't recall his saying a word during all that time. But time enough to worry about that later on… .

  Casey Brown eased his injured leg, looking hopefully at Mallory. «Couldn't we stay here till it's dark — real dark — then make our way—»

  «No good. The moon's almost full to-night — and not a cloud in the sky. They'd get us. Even more important, we have to get into the town between sunset and curfew to-night. Our last chance. Sorry, Casey, but it's no go.»

  Fifteen seconds, half a minute passed, and passed in silence, then they all started abruptly as Andy Stevens spoke.

  «Louki was right, yo
u know,» he said pleasantly. The voice was weak, but filled with a calm certainty that jerked every eye towards him. He was propped up on one elbow, Louki's Bren cradled in his hands. It was a measure of their concentration on the problem on hand that no one had heard or seen him reach out for the machine-gun. «It's all very simple,» Stevens went on quietly. «Just let's use our heads, that's all… . The gangrene's right up past the knee, isn't it, sir?»

  Mallory said nothing: he didn't know what to say, the complete unexpectedness had knocked him off balance. He was vaguely aware that Miller was looking at him, his eyes begging him to say «No.»

  «Is it or isn't it?» There was patience, a curious understanding in the voice, and all of a sudden Mallory knew what to say.

  «Yes,» he nodded. «It is.» Miller was looking at him in horror.

  «Thank you, sir.» Stevens was smiling in satisfaction. «Thank you very much indeed. There's no need to point out all the advantages of my staying here.» There was an assurance in his voice no one had ever heard before. The unthinking authority of a man completely in charge of a situation. «Tune I did something for my living anyway. No fond farewells, please. Just leave me a couple of boxes of ammo, two or three thirty-six grenades and away you go.»

  «I'll be damned if we will!» Miller was on his feet, making for the boy, then brought up abruptly as the Bren centered on his chest.

  «One step nearer and I'll shoot you,» Stevens said calmly. Miller looked at him in long silence, sank slowly back to the ground.

  «I would, you know,» Stevens assured him. «Well, good-bye, gentlemen. Thank you for all you'vу done for me.»

  Twenty seconds, thirty, a whole minute passed In a queer, trance-like silence, then Miller heaved himself to his feet again, a tall, rangy figure with tattered clothes and a face curiously haggard in the gathering gloom.

  «So long kid. I guess — waal, mebbe I'm not so smart after all.» He took Stevens's hand, looked down at the wasted face for a long moment, made to say something else, then changed his mind. «Be seein' you,» he said abruptly, turned and walked off heavily down the valley. One by one the others followed him, wordlessly, except for Andrea who stopped and whispered in the boy's ear, a whisper that brought a smile and a nod of complete understanding, and then there was only Mallory left. Stevens grinned up at him.