‘Good,’ said Tanner. ‘This one’s still got his weapon. Have a look at the other one, Stan.’ Tanner picked up the dead man’s sub-machine-gun, and admired it. It was light, with a comfortable grip, and beautifully engineered. He looked at the safety catch, the cocking handle and the magazine, which he removed and replaced easily and smoothly. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, he squatted down to strip the man of his spare magazines.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Liddell, beside him.
‘Taking his weapon, sir. Say what you like about Jerry, they make beautiful kit.’
‘Put it back, CSM.’
‘What?’ said Tanner. He stared at Liddell incredulously.
‘Put it back. We’re on a patrol, CSM, not a booty hunt.’
‘Sir, this is a good weapon. We don’t have anything as good as this.’
‘Nor are you trained to use it.’
‘Trained? I don’t need training in how to use this.’ He picked it up and pulled back the cock. ‘Aim, fire. Sir.’
‘Put it down, Tanner. That’s an order.’
Tanner glared at him. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, flinging the weapon onto the ground.
‘Right,’ said Liddell. ‘Now let’s get back to the patrol.’
‘Look at this beauty,’ grinned Sykes, as he rejoined them, clutching an MP38 of his own.
‘Put it down, Sergeant,’ said Liddell.
‘Down, sir? Why?’ Sykes glanced at Tanner.
‘Mr Liddell doesn’t want us booty hunting,’ said Tanner. ‘He’s worried we’re not trained to use them either.’
Sykes laughed.
The subaltern had turned red. ‘I’ll not have any more insolence from either of you,’ he snapped. ‘Put the gun down, Sergeant, and let’s get on with what we’re supposed to be doing.’
‘Give me strength,’ muttered Tanner, then turned back in the direction of the track.
Chambers arrived soon after. There were more olive groves and vineyards, he reported, then a series of maize fields that led all the way to the Rethymno road. They had found tracks easily. There was also a downed aircraft up ahead, about five hundred yards away. Smoke was still billowing up from it.
‘That settles it, then,’ said Tanner. ‘Back in patrol formation, and let’s see if we can’t surprise a few Jerries. Bet they reckon they’re safe behind that smokescreen.’ He grinned. ‘Sergeant Sykes and I will head back with Lance Corporal Chambers, the rest follow as before. And keep your bloody eyes out and on me.’
Liddell now cleared his throat. ‘Hold on a minute, CSM,’ he said. ‘What exactly have you got in mind?’
Tanner took a deep breath. ‘Whatever Jerries landed round here have clearly moved on, sir, to the north. My guess is they’re mustering somewhere up ahead.’
‘A guess?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m not a Jerry, so I can’t say for certain, but they’re not here any more, are they? If we follow their tracks we might be able to find out a bit more. We’re reconnoitring, sir.’
Liddell bit his bottom lip. ‘Very well,’ he said at length. ‘But we’re now quite a long way from our lines and I don’t want any shooting, all right? Observation only.’
Without answering, Tanner turned and strode on ahead. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, as Sykes and Chambers hurried beside him.
They found Bell, with Bonner and Sherston, lying at the edge of the vineyard. Tanner got down beside them. Directly ahead was the aircraft, still smoking furiously, the plumes swirling towards the coast. The low ridge continued, gently flattening out to the west of Heraklion. From where they lay, the walls of the town could not be seen, but beyond were more olive groves, which gave way to a series of maize fields. The crop was still young, but tall enough for a man to crawl through.
‘Have you spotted any movement, Tinker?’ Tanner asked Bell.
‘I’m not sure. I might have done. Maybe movement through the maize, but I couldn’t swear to it.’
‘Should have lent you these,’ said Tanner, pulling out his binoculars. He peered through them. The maize and the bushes and trees at the end of each field were too dense for him to see anything; perspective seemed to condense through the lenses. But beyond, perhaps as much as three-quarters of a mile away, he could now see men moving through the groves and around a small cluster of buildings. Then, suddenly, movement caught his eye, movement that was closer, somewhere before the buildings. Quickly he adjusted the focus. Yes, there they were, now in his line of vision, quite clear: a column of men crossing a track between the fields – not crouching, but openly walking, no more than three hundred yards ahead, the smoke of the aircraft their shield.
Tanner smiled. ‘Will you have a dekko at that! Can you see what I see, boys?’
‘Jerry, sir,’ said Bell.
‘Where are those tracks through the maize, Tinker?’
‘A bit further down, sir. We found two lots.’
Tanner saw a second line of Germans come into view, further across the field and behind the lead column. ‘Sergeant, give me a head count, will you?’ he said, as he put the binoculars to his eyes once more. He noticed one man at the front of the two columns had an MG34 slung over his shoulder, but that the others seemed to have only sub-machine-guns.
‘Nine in the first, eight in the second, sir,’ said Sykes.
‘Good. Sergeant, you and Tinker follow the right. The rest, follow me. Let’s get a move on.’
Scampering down through the vines, they found the tracks through the maize and, half crouching, hurried on. Reaching the end of the first field, Tanner led them as they crawled on their stomachs across a track – a path, Tanner realized, that led back up onto the shallow ridgeline. Some smoke had drifted across there too, not thickly but it was something. Sykes and Bell were crossing the track and he signalled to them, Lieutenant Liddell and the others following to halt, because he had just remembered the cart. A plan had seeded in his mind. Where the hell was the cart? He had seen several trees a short way down the track to his left, and told Chambers, Bonner and Sherston to wait, then ran over to the trees and, carefully raising himself, peered around.
‘Got you,’ he mouthed. Less than two hundred yards away, working its way through the groves beyond the maize fields, was the cart. Tanner counted three men. Hurrying back to Chambers and the other two, he signalled to Sykes to join him.
‘What’s up, sir?’ whispered Sykes.
‘That cart,’ he said, gesturing in its direction. ‘There are three men with it. My guess is their supplies are on it. I want you and Tinker to head up this track to the right. It rises slightly, so you should be able to get a good view down towards those two Jerry columns. There’s a bit of smoke, so that’ll give you cover. I want you to take out the two leading men. They’ve got MGs, so make sure you hit them. Fire off a couple more rounds, then get back. Most of them only have sub-machine-guns, so they won’t be able to hit you from that range.’
‘And in the confusion, you take out the cart.’ Sykes grinned.
‘Me and the boys here, yes.’
‘What about Mr Liddell?’
He glanced back. The lieutenant and the rest were still waiting. Tanner again held up his hand – stay where you are. But he could see Liddell moving forward, coming towards him.
‘Quick,’ he said, with a glance at his watch. ‘I make it eighteen twenty-two. In three minutes – no, make that four – open fire. Do the job, then peg it. Now, iggery.’ He slapped Chambers and Sherston on the back. ‘Come on, let’s hurry.’
They were off before Liddell could reach them, half crouching, half running down the track, and in moments were out of sight of the lieutenant. They easily found the route the cart had taken. At the far end of the maize field there was another long, narrow olive grove: the trees, combined with the smoke between them and the town, provided all the cover they needed. The cart was a couple of hundred yards ahead and, looking at his watch again, Tanner realized he had cut the timing a bit fine. Making sure they ran with a line of olives ma
sking their approach, he delved into his haversack and felt for his scope, then thought better of it. You don’t need it, he told himself. Six twenty-five. Just one minute to go. They were making ground on the cart, which was trundling through the rough grass at a slow pace.
‘Rifles ready, boys,’ whispered Tanner. ‘I’ll take the lead. Punter, you go for the one on the left, Bonner and Sherston, the third fellow, on the right.’ They continued to run forward, now moving from tree to tree. Still none of the men by the cart had looked round. Any moment now, thought Tanner, and he prayed Sykes and Bell would hit the men with the MGs.
A rifle crack from the ridge and then another, and now the men by the cart flinched and looked around – not behind them but to their right, the flank they must have known was their most vulnerable. On cue, Tanner leaned against an olive tree, his rifle to his shoulder. A little under a hundred yards, he reckoned. Aiming low in case his target suddenly crouched, he breathed out, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The German was hit in the stomach and cried out as the other three fired almost simultaneously. Tanner saw that Chambers had hit his man, who had collapsed on the ground, but the other two had missed. Maintaining his aim, Tanner pulled back the bolt and fired again, this time at the third man, who had been looking wildly in their direction and trying to bring his sub-machine-gun up when the bullet slammed into his chest. Tanner pulled back the bolt again, fired a second time at his first target, then ran forward, sprinting through the long, lush May grass.
Short bursts of sub-machine-gun fire rang out, but not the lethal brurp of the MG. Good, thought Tanner, as they reached the cart. The mule was calmly eating grass as though nothing untoward had happened, but Chambers’s German was gurgling softly. Tanner saw now that the man had been hit in the neck, bubbles of blood foaming at his mouth, his eyes wide. Damn it, damn it, thought Tanner, taking out his Webley from its canvas holster. Christ, but he hated to do this. Pointing the pistol at the man’s head, he closed his eyes briefly and fired.
He turned and saw Chambers staring at him.
‘He couldn’t have lived,’ Tanner snarled. ‘Aim a bit better next time, Punter.’
Chambers nodded mutely, but Tanner was now looking at the cart. There were a number of canisters, but also a stash of rifles. He wondered what was in them, but then a rifle shot cracked and a bullet fizzed nearby. No time, he thought.
‘Quick,’ he said to them, ‘move back. Run!’ More shots rang out, a bullet struck the side of the cart and another hissed over Tanner’s head. His heart pumping, he felt in his haversack for his grenades and took out two. He had intended to set the mule free but there was no time for that now. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said to the mule, pulled out the pins of the grenades, lobbed them into the cart, then sprinted. Bursts of sub-machine-gun fire – too far, but getting closer. Another rifle bullet whistled by, and then the grenades exploded in quick succession and Tanner could not help but look back. The mule and cart had disappeared among a ball of flame and smoke, and then there was a second explosion as ammunition in the canisters detonated. Rounds were pinging as they caught fire, but then he heard the tell-tale burst of MG fire raking the olive grove, and cursed Sykes and Bell.
Reaching the track, he saw Chambers urging Bonner and Sherston to head straight into the maize field. More MG fire, this time only just behind him, and now Tanner was among the maize too, crouch-running as quickly as he could. He knew they had nothing to fear except the enemy machine-gun but so long as the men lay flat on the ground, they would be all right. Were they doing so? He knew he should have told the lieutenant what he was planning, but there hadn’t been time. No, that wasn’t it: he’d said nothing because he’d feared Liddell would put a halt to it. He cursed as another burst of MG fire peppered the ground around him and he dived down into the maize, his face pressed into the sweet-smelling soil as bullets snipped through the stalks above his head.
Silence, a few muffled shouts behind him, and then he got up again, pushing on through the maize, his heavy breathing amplified among the dense stalks, until he reached the path along which they had come. Glancing back, he saw a German near the edge of the track, scanning the field. Crouching still, Tanner brought his rifle to his shoulder but he must have caused movement in the maize because the German was now raising his weapon to his shoulder. A moment later, two bullets sliced perilously close, thumping into the soil nearby. Tanner fell flat on his face as a third whined a hair’s breadth from his head. Turning his face slightly he could just see the German reaching for his ammunition pouch and Tanner smiled. Quickly lifting himself onto his haunches, he brought his own rifle to his shoulder and slowly rose until he was standing there, no more than fifty yards away. The German now saw him, too late, but instead of diving for cover or fumbling at his breech, he just stood there, staring at Tanner.
Pressing the butt into his shoulder, Tanner felt his index finger squeeze against the trigger, but then something made him stop. He had long since come to the conclusion that the only useful German was a dead one, but to kill the man in cold blood like that, even in the middle of a war, felt like an execution rather than a combat killing. Why it was different from shooting a man in the back as he sat on a cart, he could not say, but he knew he could not kill the man. Instead, he began to walk backwards, keeping his aim, and stepping carefully through the maize, until at last the German turned and ran back towards his men.
Tanner turned too, running through the field until ahead he saw several Rangers crawling on their hands and knees. Recognizing Chambers, he hurried on, hoping Sykes and Bell had got away safely, and then it occurred to him that the enemy machine-gun must have run out of ammunition. And thank God for that. Now that he thought about it, he’d seen the cylindrical magazines on the weapons, not belts. Smiling to himself, he soon caught up with the others. Mr Liddell could go to hell. They had just destroyed eight Jerry supply canisters and, with them, a stash of arms and ammunition – weapons and bullets that those Jerry paratroopers could no longer use. And, as he knew from bitter experience, a soldier without weapons was no good to anyone.
6
Oberleutnant Balthasar was furious. Four men dead and one more seriously wounded was bad enough, but to lose the supplies like that was an added blow. More than that, it was a humiliation. And then to be caught out by that Tommy. He wondered why the soldier had not fired when he had had the chance. He knew he would have done, but it had confirmed what he had long ago come to believe: that somehow he was invincible, destined to survive this war. It had given him a chance to study the Englander and he promised himself that, should he ever see him again, he would kill him.
He stopped and angrily kicked the ground. The men were tough, motivated and well trained, but he knew their confidence had taken a beating so far that day. Damn it all, so had his. All that waiting around, the anticipation and nerves gnawing away at them, and when they had finally made their jumps, they had been shot to pieces. Now this. Tommies, not Greeks. He’d fleetingly seen a helmeted figure by the cart, then flashing through the olive groves, but there was no tell-tale sign of blood or, better still, a body. Those Tommies had crept up behind them – stalked them! – blown up their supplies, then disappeared again.
Balthasar had seen the shock and disappointment on the faces of the men; after what had come earlier that day, it had been hard to hide. Most had lost friends in the jump. Casualties were expected, but that did not mean men were unaffected when they saw their comrades on fire, screaming, as they plunged to the ground, or trussed up in the branches of a tree with half their guts hanging out. It was at times like this that strong, decisive leadership was needed. His men trusted him, looked up to him, yet he’d allowed himself to be outfoxed – too busy watching his flank to protect his arse. Briefly, he took off his helmet, rubbed his eyes, wiped his brow, then placed it back on his head. He turned and went to rejoin the others. Time was marching on; they needed to find Major Schulz and what remained of the battalion.
A quarter of an hour later,
having followed the river that flowed through the mouth of the valley, they finally caught up with most of the survivors from the battalion’s jump, a couple of kilometres to the west of Heraklion town. The land before the Rethymno road rose briefly, so that the river had cut a shallow gully. To either side of the river there were olives and plentiful orange and lemon groves; among them and along the gully, paratroopers now took cover. Above, another flight of Tante Jus thundered over, parachutes blooming and drifting down. The Tommy flak guns continued to boom, so that the ground trembled, the reports of the guns resounding across the mouth of the valley. Small-arms fire crackled, sharp and tinny beside the guns, and mostly from the defenders, firing at the unfortunates still drifting towards the ground.
To his relief Balthasar spotted several more of his men, and after ordering the remnants of his company to find cover together, clear of any direct enemy fire, he hurried off to find Major Schulz.
The battalion commander was not in the house he had initially indicated, which lay among tall palms and plane trees just before the river, but beneath a small two-metre cliff on a bend in the river.
‘Ah, Balthasar, at last,’ he said, as the oberleutnant reached him and saluted. ‘Not quite what we were expecting, eh?’
‘The Tommies seem to have plenty more guns than I’d thought, Herr Major,’ Balthasar replied. ‘Men too, for that matter. Where are the other company commanders?’ It was cool now, and around them mosquitoes and other insects swarmed beside the river.
‘Von der Schulenburg made it but the other two have been killed,’ Schulz replied, brushing a bug away from his face. ‘Thank God I jumped first from my plane, because it was hit immediately after. Everyone else was killed.’
‘How many men have we lost?’
Schulz lit a cigarette. ‘It’s hard to say. We have a few more than two hundred at the moment. Major Schirmer dropped several kilometres west of here with his men. I’ve made radio contact with him but he’s blocking the road and fighting off local bandits. I shouldn’t say this, but Generalmajor Student wants his arse kicking.’
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