‘There, to the right of the cloud . . . See?’
‘Yes,’ Iatridis muttered. ‘Got it.’
‘What do you think, sir?’
Iatridis did not hesitate. ‘The enemy. Italian most like.’
Pilotis lowered his hand and turned to his captain. ‘What shall we do, sir?’
‘Nothing we can do. Apart from praying that we do not attract his attention. With luck he’s high enough not to see through our camouflage netting. Best get the men under cover and not make any unnecessary movement.’
Pilotis turned to the sailors emerging from the tents under the trees to join their comrades watching the approaching aircraft. ‘Get back under the trees! Now!’
The men scrambled back into cover and continued to watch from between the branches while the three officers calmly made their way back to the captain’s tent. They had almost reached it when a sharp rattle of machine-gun fire blasted across the bay.
Iatridis spun round. ‘What the devil?’
All three officers turned to stare up at the lookout post nearest the entrance to the bay. They picked out the sailor standing behind the mounted machine gun. As they watched, a fresh arc of tracer reached up towards the approaching plane and the rattle of the gun followed an instant later.
‘Cease firing!’ Iatridis bellowed, then drew another breath and cupped his hands to his mouth and repeated the order. Andreas saw a pile of small-arms ammunition crates at the end of the pier, and the speaking trumpet resting on top of it. The captain strode swiftly in the direction of the lookout, still shouting towards the man as a fresh burst of tracer leaped up into the sky, falling well short of the plane. Andreas ran to the pier and snatched up the speaking trumpet and hurried after Iatridis and shouted through the mouthpiece, echoing the order to cease fire. There was a final burst before the sailor paused, then looked down towards them. He froze for a moment and then released his grip on the weapon and stepped away, letting the barrel point directly up.
‘Who is that fool?’ Iatridis demanded.
The distance was too great to identify the man but Andreas had been responsible for the lookout rosta that day and hurriedly recalled the names and positions of the men assigned to the afternoon watch.
‘It’s Appellios, sir.’
‘One of the new recruits?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Iatridis swore bitterly. ‘Be a bloody miracle if the young fool hasn’t given away our position.’
‘Want me to place him on a charge, sir?’
‘What’s the point? The damage is done . . . All we can do is hope the pilot of that plane is just as inexperienced as young Appellios.’
The officers stood and watched as the plane seemed to crawl across the sky until it was directly above the bay. For a moment Andreas was sure that it would continue on its leisurely course, but then it began to circle.
‘Damn,’ Iatridis muttered. ‘He must have seen the tracer.’
‘Should we try to shoot him down, sir? Concentrate the fire of the other lookout posts?’
The captain considered his options quickly and shook his head. ‘No more shooting unless I give the order. Have the anti-aircraft gun crew go to their station and then we’ll wait and see what our friend up there does.’
While the captain stood and watched the plane, Andreas ran to the crew tents and called out the gun crew and then ran with them back to the submarine. They climbed on to the wide platform at the aft of the conning tower and began to load the heavy ammunition cartridges on to the Oerlikon. The gunner pressed himself into the padded shoulder braces and swung the heavy weapon on its mounting as he took aim at the aircraft. Although it was beyond the range of the machine guns it was within reach of the Oerlikon and Andreas addressed the man quickly.
‘Do not open fire unless the captain gives the order.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Andreas crossed to the nearest locker and took out a pair of binoculars and rejoined the others as they stood, straining their eyes to keep track of the plane through the netting. He looked up through the gap in the netting directly above the anti-aircrafts cannon, adjusted the diopter on the binoculars and tracked on to the aircraft, controlling his breathing as he tried to steady the image.
‘Italian markings . . .’
‘And now they’ve seen us,’ a voice muttered. ‘Thanks to that fucking green fool on the hill. I’ll knock his teeth out the moment I get the chance.’
‘Quiet there!’ Andreas snapped.
The bay was still and the only movement came from the fishing village where several figures had emerged to gaze up at the aircraft flying overhead. Andreas briefly considered ordering them to take cover but decided there was little risk from an enemy reconnaissance plane. The tension began to build as they waited and sweated. The Italian pilot continued his inspection of the bay from a high altitude for nearly a quarter of an hour before he returned to his old course and continued to the east, slowly losing altitude until he had passed out of sight over the hills surrounding the bay.
Andreas lowered the binoculars and breathed with relief. ‘Gun crew, stand down.’
He leaned on the coaming as the gun crew left their stations by the weapon and sat down around it, in the shade. The captain came striding down the pier and called out, ‘Did you see the markings?’
‘Yes, sir. Italian.’
‘As I thought. They’ll be reporting that they were fired on. With luck they did not see anything else and that’s why they continued on course. It’s time we left Sivota. Get on the road to Preveza as soon as you can, Lieutenant.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The engineer’s over by the crew tents. Get him and his boys to heave the prop on to the truck then you can be on your way.’
Andreas nodded, returned the binoculars to the locker and swung himself under the railing and climbed down the rungs on to the main deck. He had just joined the captain on the jetty when the latter froze and cocked his head to one side.
‘Sir?’
‘Shhh! Listen . . .’
At first Andreas could discern nothing out of the ordinary, then there was a brief snatch of noise, the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine. It faded in and out, muffled, and it was impossible to decide which direction it came from. Both officers were looking around as the gun crew rose to their feet and looked up. It came again, louder this time, and seemed to echo on the slopes of the hill closest to the jetty.
‘Gun crew, action stations!’ Andreas yelled, an instant before the sound of the aircraft swelled and it flashed into view round the headland, flying low up the bay towards them, no more than fifty feet from the surface of the water. It was a twin-engined light bomber and as it banked to line up with the jetty, Andreas saw the muzzle of the forward machine gun flash. Spouts of water leaped up from the surface of the bay, racing towards the submarine. An instant later they struck the hull and conning tower with a deafening ringing clatter. The crewmen ducked down and the air filled with the throbbing roar of the bomber’s engines. Andreas stood his ground, more through surprise than courage, and saw the plane racing towards him. He could see the pilot staring grimly through his cockpit windshield and then the machine swept overhead in a gigantic blur of motion as the pilot opened the throttle and clawed for altitude as he climbed out of the bay. There was a shrill whistle and flash of flame and an instant cloud of smoke and dust a moment before the concussion struck those on the conning tower and sent them reeling. At once Andreas staggered back to his feet, shaking his head to try and clear the ringing in his ears. The bomber had already climbed out of the bay and was banking away. In its wake small stones and earth were still pattering down amid the swirling dust above the craters where the two bombs had struck.
It had happened so fast that not one shot had been fired back at the enemy. One bomb had landed close to the sailors’ tents, the shockwave flattening the nearest and leaving several men sitting on the ground stunned and unable to move. The second had hit one of the trucks whic
h was now on fire, fierce red flames roaring about the wreckage. Andreas saw the captain lying face down on the jetty and felt a surge of panic before Iatridis began to move, drawing himself up and struggling to his feet unsteadily. He shook his head and looked round quickly as Andreas came running up to him.
‘Sir, are you all right?’
There was blood dripping from the captain’s nose and he cuffed it away on the back of his hand and nodded. ‘Yes. Yes. All right. I’m fine.’
Iatridis took in the scene and quickly issued his orders. ‘Get the wounded seen to. I’ll deal with the fire . . . Where’s Pilotis?’
Andreas looked and could not see him anywhere. He recalled that the last he had seen of him was shortly after the plane had been sighted. Close to the truck . . . He felt a cold fist clench around his stomach. He looked round the tented area quickly but there was no sign of the other officer. The captain recalled the position at the same time and also stared towards the blazing vehicle. Both watched in silence for a moment before Iatridis cleared his throat.
‘Too bad for Pilotis . . .’
Andreas nodded mutely.
‘He’s gone, Katarides,’ the captain said flatly. ‘That makes you the new first officer. I need you, the crew needs you now. We’ll grieve later. Understand?’
‘He might have been somewhere . . .’
‘He was there. I saw him a moment before the bombs fell. He’s dead. Now carry on, Lieutenant!’ The captain pushed him towards the men lying and stumbling amid the flattened tents. Andreas ran across the open ground towards the crew tents, calling on the nearest men to assist him. One man lay still on the ground, his head close to a rock, a pool of blood spreading out around his shattered skull. The rest had lesser injuries or were just dazed. By the time Andreas had seen to them all, the captain and some of the other men had extinguished the flames that had engulfed the truck and were standing close to the charred remains of a torso. If it had ever been the man once known as Pilotis then Andreas could see no resemblance to him any more.
‘Cover that up,’ the captain ordered one of his men. ‘And see if you can find any more pieces. Before the other men see anything.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Iatridis turned to his surviving officer. ‘Report.’
Andreas cleared his throat. ‘One dead. One with a broken arm. Otherwise minor flesh wounds and some of the men are suffering concussion, sir.’
Iatridis nodded slowly. ‘We were fortunate. It could have been much worse . . .’ He glanced across the bay, then up the steep slope the bomber had had to negotiate to get clear of Sivota. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Who would have thought an Italian would have the balls to do that?’
Andreas said nothing. He was looking around at the aftermath of the sudden attack. The plane had come and gone so quickly. It was hard to believe that moments before the bay had been a peaceful haven. Now a thick pall of black smoke hung in the air and an acrid stench of burned rubber filled his nostrils.
‘Sir, I’ll have to use another of the trucks to get to Preveza. With your permission?’
The captain shook his head. ‘There’s no time for that. Even now I expect our presence is being reported. We have to leave, before they send more planes to bomb Sivota. We have to get out of here as soon as we can. Not just for our sakes.’ He gestured across the bay to the small cluster of houses and fishing boats on the far side. ‘If they see that the Papanikolis is still here then they’ll hit the village as well.’
For a moment the decision weighed heavily on Andreas as it meant that there would no longer be any chance of seeing Eleni before he was forced to leave Lefkas. Then he pushed the thought aside. He was a naval officer. He had greater responsibilities to take care of. Neither he nor his country could afford the luxury of personal indulgences at this moment.
‘We must leave,’ the captain repeated. ‘Start getting the men on board, then all the supplies of food we can carry. The same goes for the fuel. Everything else must be destroyed.’
‘What are your plans then, sir?’ asked Andreas. ‘If we have only one propeller we won’t be able to go into action.’
If he was surprised or angered by the effrontery of his subordinate then Iatridis did not show it. Instead his expression hardened into a look of determination before he replied.
‘If we can’t fight, then so be it. I will not surrender the boat. We’ll make for Crete. If we’re lucky we’ll reach a shipyard where the propeller can be repaired, and I will take us back to war to fight the Germans. And if we are cornered by the enemy then I will not hesitate to scuttle her.’ He stared into the young officer’s eyes. ‘If anything should happen to me, it will be your duty to see my wishes are carried out. Is that clear, Katarides?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In the meantime I shall want good, reliable men manning the lookout positions. I do not want a repeat of what happened earlier.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ Andreas said mildly. He could see that Iatridis seemed shaken by the near miss, and blood was still seeping from his nose. It began to drip down the front of his white shirt.
‘Carry on, Number One . . . That is your position for the present. Better get used to it.’
‘Yes, sir. You can rely on me, sir.’
The clop of hoofs interrupted their exchange and both officers turned to see an elderly man approaching on a donkey. He wore a suit and the long trousers of those more used to living in towns, or at least affecting urban pretensions. He had emerged from the trees where the track began its climb up and out of the bay. He glanced anxiously at the smouldering ruin of the truck and the flattened tents before he clicked his tongue and steered his small mount towards Andreas and his captain. He addressed Iatridis.
‘Are you the captain of the submarine?’
‘I am. Who wishes to know?’
The man eased his leg over the saddle and stood beside his donkey. Standing as stiffly as he could in front of the captain of the Papanikolis, he bowed his head and explained his presence.
‘I am Stephanos Mercudios, mayor of Nidyri. I have been asked to bring the captain a message from Inspector Thesskoudis of Lefkada. The inspector called me before noon to give you a warning.’
‘Warning?’ Iatridis frowned. ‘What warning? What for? Speak up, fellow.’
‘If it please you, sir, the inspector wishes to inform you that German troops were seen advancing along the causeway that links the island to the mainland this morning. There were hundreds of them, supported by armoured cars and artillery. The inspector suggests that you quit Sivota as soon as possible while you are still able to save your vessel.’
‘The Germans are on the island already?’ Iatridis shot an anxious glance at Andreas. ‘How long ago was this?’
The old man stroked his jaw as he recollected. ‘I was called in my office at ten this morning and immediately set out to warn you, sir.’
‘Ten! That was nearly three hours ago. Lefkada is, what, thirty kilometres from here by road? Holy mother of God, they could be here by the end of the day Assuming they know about this base. Let’s hope they’re content to take Lefkada and stop there before they spread out across the island.’
A tight ball of fear clenched in the pit of Andreas’s stomach. ‘The plane! The Italians will report our presence to them. If they haven’t already.’
‘You’re right. Even if we allow for the delay while the Italians inform their allies through the usual channels it won’t be long before the Germans know about us. And being Germans, they’ll come for us at once. We have to get ready to leave as soon as possible.’ Iatridis thought quickly. ‘That will take some time, and if the Germans are near it would be best to leave under cover of darkness anyway . . . All right then,’ he concluded steadily. ‘I’ll take charge here. But if the Germans come then we’ll need to delay them. That’ll be your job, Katarides.’
‘Sir?’
‘I want you to take the last two trucks and ten men and guard the approaches to the bay. You can
have the machine guns from the lookout posts, and some grenades. There are plenty of choke points on the road to Nidhri. Set up your defences and wait. I’ll send word when it’s time for you to pull back to Sivota. With luck we’ll abandon the base and be far out to sea before the first of the enemy arrive.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘One thing more.’ Iatridis turned to the old man standing by his donkey. ‘I want you to go back to Nidhri at once. One of the lieutenant’s trucks will drive you there. Stay in touch with Thesskoudis. The moment he reports the Germans are heading this way, you let us know. Have a signal fire ready. Something that makes plenty of smoke. Light it the moment you see the first Germans approaching. Is that clear?’
The old man nodded and then looked anxious. ‘And what about my donkey?’
‘What?’
‘Who will take care of him?’
‘That doesn’t matter! There’s a war on,’ the captain said angrily.
But Andreas knew the islanders well enough to know the value placed on a good animal – unlike his mainlander captain, who had been born and raised in Athens. Andreas cleared his throat and intervened.
‘Your donkey will be taken care of. I’ll have one of the fishermen look after it until you return. All right, sir?’
The islander narrowed his eyes as he stared across the water to the village. ‘I don’t know . . . Some of those men are rogues. We’ve had trouble with them for many years.’
‘We are all Greeks,’ the captain fumed. ‘This is no time for petty feuds. Put your country first and deal with the real enemy. Now tie your bloody beast up and get on that truck.’
The local man scowled, then replied, ‘I’ll do as you say. For Greece. But be warned, this matter will be settled between us when the invaders have gone. You’ll see.’ He jutted out his stubbly chin in a gesture of defiance and then flicked the reins of his donkey and led it across to the nearest clump of trees.
Iatridis glared after him in frustration before he turned back to his subordinate. ‘You have your orders, Lieutenant. Now pick your men, collect your weapons and go.’ He paused and then grasped Andreas’s hand. ‘And Holy God watch over and protect you.’
Hearts of Stone Page 15
