Blood of Honour sjt-3

by James Holland

  Tanner scratched his forehead. ‘It’s their machine-guns that are the problem. We need to pin those down.’ He thought a moment, then said, ‘Sir, I’ve had an idea. Send Sykes over here – he’s got more ammo than anyone else – then pull the rest of the men back. When you’re nearing the cliff over the beach, fire off a couple of shots. That way, Jerry will think we’ve all pulled back. Then, when they start moving forward again, Stan and I will set off the rest of the Jelly Surprises, spray the bastards with MP fire and grenades, then make a dash for it. We’ve a cracking little redoubt here – we can see any Jerry that moves forward or either side of us.’

  Peploe thought a moment, rubbing his chin. ‘Seems awfully risky for you two. I’m not sure, Jack.’

  ‘Have you got a better idea, sir?’

  ‘Well, no, I can’t say I have.’

  ‘Sir, this way we might just get rid of nearly the whole bloody lot of ’em. One thing’s for sure, though: we won’t be able to get away while those MGs are still operating and I doubt we’ll be able to hold them until nightfall either. This just might give us a chance.’

  Peploe sighed. ‘All right. You’re a brave man, Jack. I’m not sure Sykes will thank you for this.’

  ‘His fault for nabbing all that ammo.’

  Reluctantly, Alopex now agreed to fall back with his men and the others, swapping places with Sykes, who had deftly darted between the rocks to join Tanner. ‘I’ll wait for you at the cliff,’ Alopex told Tanner. ‘Good luck, my friend.’

  Tanner watched him go, then turned to look for any movement up ahead. An occasional shot rang out, a glimpse of the enemy among the rock and gorse, but that was it. A lull had settled on the fighting, but further down towards the sea, he saw figures moving, and then, as several Germans opened fire, a single crack of a rifle responded. Just the one – that’ll do, thought Tanner. Good lads.

  A short distance ahead he saw movement and then a machinegun opened fire. So the enemy was moving forward, just as he’d hoped. Peering through a crevice in the rock Tanner could see the Spandau, and two men crouched amid the gorse only fifteen yards or so from another block of TNT. That was close enough, he reckoned.

  ‘They’re starting to move up!’ whispered Sykes.

  ‘And I’ve got an MG team in my sights. Get everything ready, Stan – grenades out, the lot.’

  Tanner pulled out his four grenades from his pack, and although his heart was hammering, his hands were no longer shaking. Really, he felt quite calm. Aiming through the crevice, he sighted the block of TNT, then said to Sykes, ‘I’m about to fire, Stan, all right?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ came the reply. ‘I’m ready.’

  Quickly checking that the MG team was still in the same place, Tanner focused on the explosives and fired. A deafening boom – more flame and debris erupted into the air, then bits of rock and earth were pattering back around them, but Tanner had pulled the pins from two grenades and had hurled them towards the rustle and movement ahead of him. Bullets smacked into the rock in reply, but then a further explosion erupted from his left, followed by another grenade blast. Good lad, Stan, thought Tanner. His ears were ringing shrilly, the stench of cordite and smoke was thick in the air, but he now brought his Schmeisser into his shoulder and, moving around the rock, sprayed an entire magazine in a wide arc in front and to the right of him. More men cried out as Tanner brought his rifle back to his shoulder, watching for any movement to the right of their position. A figure was running a hundred yards away, but Tanner quickly drew a bead, picked out the man through his scope, fired and saw the paratrooper drop. Bullets continued to zip and whiz off the rock to the front of them, but although a splinter of stone pinged off his helmet, Tanner was unscathed.

  ‘How are you doing, Stan?’ he asked.

  ‘All right. I got a machine-gun.’

  ‘So did I.’ He glanced back briefly and saw what looked like a canoe moving towards the waiting submarine. ‘Go on,’ muttered Tanner, then further movement away to his right caught his eye. Two Germans were hurrying forward. He aimed and fired in quick succession and saw one knocked over for sure. He glanced back at the canoe and saw it had now nearly reached the submarine. How far was it to that sub? he wondered. Six hundred yards? Seven hundred? A machine-gun could hit it, he knew, but still none was firing. Perhaps they really had got them all. Now his spirits began to rise. He took out the empty magazine from his Schmeisser, replaced it, then called to Sykes, ‘If those lads get to the sub, we make a run for it. What do you say?’

  ‘They just have, sir – have a dekko.’

  Tanner looked back as two men were helped out of the canoe and onto the back of the sub. Liddell and Vaughan?

  ‘Hold on,’ said Tanner. He looked out, using his scope. There were three more blocks of TNT to explode, one further away to the right, one away to the left and another not far from Sykes. Spotting the first through his scope, he aimed, fired, and immediately the block exploded with another deafening blast of flame, rock and smoke. He shuffled around to Sykes. ‘Stan, cover the right flank, will you, while I get these Jellies?’

  He had carefully memorized their location earlier and soon spotted them. The furthest was more than a hundred yards away and only just in his line of fire. A single shot and the block exploded. It was the shards of rock, many of them razor sharp, that were so lethal, he realized, the blast sending them in a wide radius. He heard more men cry out, but was already drawing a bead on the last block, no more than thirty yards to his left and slightly forward. Good, he thought, as he saw movement in the thicket nearby. Again, his aim was true and this time he saw a paratrooper flung into the air by the blast. The slopes were thick with smoke and he grabbed Sykes.

  ‘Right, iggery, then, Stan,’ he said. He took another grenade, pulled the pin and hurled it, then clambered from his perch, and slid down a steep rockface.

  Sykes was already there, crouching at the base of the outcrop. ‘Ready?’ he said.

  ‘After you.’ Tanner grinned. Crouching, they scurried between the rocks and gorse, using the broken ground to mask their withdrawal, so that it was not until they had made more than a hundred yards of ground that a single bullet whistled near them. Tanner hurried on, following Sykes and sliding down over the lip of the cliff.

  Peploe was there, with Alopex and his andartes.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you two,’ he said. ‘That sounded like a pasting you gave them.’

  ‘I think we’ve nailed those MGs,’ Tanner said.

  ‘Liddell and Vaughan are aboard.’

  ‘Good. I thought it was them. What about Commander Pool?’

  Peploe smiled. ‘He’s coming back with us to Alex. Feels his mission has been compromised. He says he’ll try again in a few weeks.’

  ‘I suppose it has. Can’t say I blame him.’

  ‘How many do you think are left – up there, I mean?’ Peploe nodded in the direction of the rocky slopes above.

  ‘God knows, but not that many, I’d have thought. We’ve certainly pinned them down. I think those that are still up there are lying low. I suppose it must be unnerving to think a big block of TNT might go off in your face at any moment. A bit like walking through a minefield – no one wants to do it if they don’t have to.’

  ‘Have you seen that bastard Balthasar?’ said Alopex.

  ‘No – not since the trip wire blew. Maybe he was killed then. Maybe that’s why they’re not exactly hurrying forward.’

  ‘In any case, let’s get the rest of these men on board,’ said Peploe. He waved down to Lieutenant McDonald on the beach below and indicated to him to get the men to start swimming. Tanner watched as Hepworth, Bonner, Hill and Lieutenant Timmins stripped off their webbing, packs and helmets, then saw Hepworth wade into the sea and begin to swim.

  An occasional bullet fizzed near, but otherwise it was now quiet. One by one, the men clambered down onto the beach, stripped off their equipment and headed into the water, until, apart from Alopex and his men, only Tanner, Sykes and
Peploe remained.

  ‘Go on, Jack,’ said Peploe, ‘your turn.’

  ‘No, sir, it’s all right,’ said Tanner. ‘You go.’

  ‘Very well.’ He turned to Alopex. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything. And good luck.’

  ‘Long live Crete.’ Alopex grinned. They watched Peploe slide down the cliff, then dash across the beach to the water’s edge.

  ‘And now it’s your turn,’ said Alopex, to Tanner and Sykes. He shifted his position and then raised himself slightly above the lip. ‘It still seems quiet enough,’ he said. ‘I told you, get them all and you’ll get away. I think maybe you have killed more than you think.’ He turned – but in that moment his expression changed. ‘Balthasar,’ he muttered, and a split second later a single rifle shot cracked out, blood spat from his neck and he slumped beside them on the edge of the cliff. Blood was gushing from his neck, thick and dark, and running from his mouth.

  ‘Christ, no!’ muttered Tanner. Another shot cracked out and this time the shot was aimed at Peploe now swimming out to sea. Tanner saw him dive then emerge again. ‘Damn! Damn!’ The andartes were now crowding around him and he pushed them away. ‘Stan!’ he hissed. ‘Have you got any grenades left?’

  ‘No, but I’ve got a stick of Polar.’

  Grimacing and cursing, he looked back down at Alopex.

  ‘Get him,’ Alopex gurgled. ‘Promise me.’

  His teeth clenched, Tanner said, ‘Yes. I promise you I’ll get that bastard.’ He gripped Alopex’s shoulders, then saw the Cretan’s eyes flicker and his head loll limply to one side.

  ‘No! No! No!’ said Tanner, then turned to Sykes. ‘You got that stick, Stan?’ he said, pulling his last grenade from his pack.

  ‘Right here.’

  ‘Then light it and when it’s almost ready to blow, hurl it as hard as you can in the direction of those shots.’

  Moving forward under the brow of the cliff, Tanner inched forward, then glanced back at Sykes, who hurled his stick of dynamite. At the same time, Tanner had pulled the pin on the grenade and threw that too. One explosion then another, and now Tanner was up, cresting the lip of the cliff and running forward, blindly firing his Schmeisser, emptying the magazine through the haze of smoke and dust. He heard several men cry out and then, leaping through the smoke, glimpsed the man he was after, shaking his head and staggering. Seeing Tanner, Balthasar reached down to grab his rifle but he was not quick enough and Tanner charged into him, flinging him to the ground. He punched his face once, then again, and then closed his hands around the German’s neck.

  Balthasar gasped, flailing for his rifle, but then his fingertips closed around the breech and now he had it firmly in his hand. He swung it round onto Tanner’s back, knocking him sideways, but Tanner did not loosen his grip, so that as he fell he pulled Balthasar with him, over the edge of the cliff, the two men tumbling towards the beach. Both men gasped as they rolled to a halt on the shingle, Balthasar now free of Tanner’s grip.

  It was Balthasar who was on his feet first. ‘You,’ he said in English. He could not believe his plan had gone so wrong, that so many of his men were either dead or wounded. Even his attempt to outflank them had failed. He had killed the Cretan kapitan, but most of the Tommies had got away, and now Tanner had killed even the half-dozen men he had had with him. Well, no more. As Tanner got to his feet, Balthasar pulled out his pistol.

  ‘You,’ he said again, as he pointed the Sauer at Tanner, ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tanner, ‘I reckon I should.’

  A rifle crack rang out behind them, further along the beach, and Balthasar instinctively ducked. In that same moment Tanner swung his arm, knocking the German’s hand clear so that the shot fired harmlessly into the shingle. At the same moment, he drove his boot into Balthasar’s crotch, then swung with his left fist. Balthasar cried out in pain, his pistol fell from his hand and Tanner drew out his German knife and thrust it hard into the man’s chest.

  ‘But I’ll not make that mistake again,’ he said. Balthasar staggered back a few steps, a look of astonishment on his face. He glanced up at Tanner, blood already running from the side of his mouth, took another step, then fell.

  Tanner walked over, pulled the knife from Balthasar’s chest, wiped it against his trouser leg, then stumbled towards Sykes, who was waiting for him at the shore’s edge.

  ‘Cheers, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘Reckon you saved me there.’

  ‘Couldn’t have him shoot you, sir.’ Sykes grinned.

  ‘You might have hit him, though.’

  ‘I didn’t want to deny you the pleasure.’

  Tanner looked back towards the cliff and saw the three andartes carefully bringing Alopex’s body down to the beach. He raised his hand to them, saw them wave their rifles in return, then turned and stepped into the water.

  ‘Leaving your boots on, are you?’ said Sykes.

  ‘Yes, Stan, I bloody well am. And I’m keeping my rifle on my back as well.’

  Not a single shot rang out as they swam to the waiting submarine. When they reached the hull, waiting crew heaved them aboard, and then, dripping, their clothes clinging to their bodies, they climbed the conning tower. Sykes entered the hatch first, and Tanner followed, but as he was about to duck down, he paused and looked back towards the shore and the mountains beyond. He was leaving the island that had entranced him with not a few regrets, and yet his conscience, at least, was clear.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Tanner had good reason to feel let down by the British commanders on Crete, a failure one year on from Dunkirk that should have never happened. The German Fallschirmjäger units dropped on Crete on 20 May 1941 were absolutely slaughtered, most units suffering between 50 and 70 per cent casualties and some even higher than that. There is no way a defending force of superior numbers, armed with rifles and machine-guns with an effective range of four hundred yards or more, should have lost ground to an attacking force, hideously mauled in its first moments, armed principally with sub-machine-guns with an effective range of twenty–forty yards. For that to happen, some monumentally bad judgements and decisions had to have been made.

  A lot of the blame lies with Major General Freyberg. Although he did not know it, Freyberg was being fed Ultra, the decrypts from the German Enigma machines, but he became so concerned by his instructions to preserve the secrecy of what he knew that he was unable to act upon them. Even worse, he developed a strange obsession that the main threat would come from a seaborne invasion. A cool head and some logical thinking would have shown the unlikelihood of this, not least because the Germans had almost no surface fleet, and no ships within the Mediterranean. Furthermore, he misread the decrypts, clinging to any mention of a seaborne invasion and overlooking the greater threat – namely an attack on Maleme airfield. Thus he failed to move troops to reinforce that vital airfield when he had the chance. The extraordinary conversation he had with Monty Woodhouse on the morning of the invasion occurred in much the same way as depicted in the book. Such sangfroid was not the sign of a commander with a full grasp of the situation.

  Freyberg was, by all accounts, a thoroughly decent fellow, but he was no great intellect and had been promoted well above his capabilities. His reputation for bravery and his status as New Zealand’s most famous soldier had seen to that. But this also made him very difficult to sack – Britain depended on New Zealand’s not inconsiderable contribution and could not afford to threaten her co-operation by getting rid of someone as well known and decorated as Freyberg. Sadly, the Crete fiasco would not be the last time Freyberg messed things up. Three years on, after an undistinguished period of command in North Africa, he oversaw one of the worst-planned battles of the entire war – the Second Battle of Cassino.

  At Heraklion, Brigadier Chappel, despite clever deployment of his forces, was overly cautious. Perhaps he was undone by the formidable, all-conquering reputation German – and especially Fallschirmjäger – troops had a
cquired by this stage. British confidence was low, but again, cool logic should have told Chappel and his commanders that a quick, decisive counter-attack could and should have seen off the German invasion efforts in that part of the island in one neat blow. Tanner’s exasperation was understandable.

  The British forces on Crete also suffered from the appalling shortage of wireless radio sets. The perils of any over-dependence on easily broken land lines had been demonstrated all too clearly in France the previous year, but this was a lesson, it seems, that had not been learned. It is true that an army lacking radios cannot become equipped and trained with them overnight, but the battle for Crete was a whole year on, and the provision of ample radio sets should have been a priority, as Pendlebury had correctly recognized.

  Most of the events depicted occurred pretty much as is written here, although it is often hard to piece together the precise details. On the British side, battalion war diaries were often written up some days after the events, or even only once evacuated, and personal testimonies are frequently contradictory. German records are even less reliable. Paratroopers carried little with them into battle – typewriters, paper and pencils were not a top priority – and again, events were often recorded some days, or even weeks afterwards, and in the case of personal accounts, sometimes years later. It was, for example, very hard to piece together the nature of the III Battalion, 1st Fallschirmjäger Regiment’s attack on Heraklion following their landing. Major Schulz’s men (he was very much a real person) did land west of the town and did attack Heraklion but were eventually forced back. However, no single account that I have read agrees with another as to when this took place. Some suggest it was that first night, others after the bombing attack the next morning. Several accounts claim the fighting continued well into the following day and that the town mayor had already surrendered when a British, Greek and civilian counter-attack forced them back again.

  I have opted for what I think is most likely. An attack would probably have been launched at dusk or first light, when the light was changing quickest, making it hard for the defender to adjust and pick out figures and shadows, but allowing enough light for the attacker to see what he was doing. Since Schulz would probably have known the Luftwaffe would be over in the morning, but with no way of contacting them himself, it seems likely that he would have opted for a dusk attack so as not to get caught out by his own side’s bombs.