Blood of Honour

by James Holland

  It was a little after five in the afternoon, and although it was cool enough in their quarry headquarters and still oppressively hot outside, he felt compelled to step out of the cavern hewn from the side of the hill. There were simply too many staff officers in there – men with drawn, taut faces, waiting anxiously for the arrival of runners with news, but who clearly already feared the worst. The whiff of failure hung heavy in the air, more pungent than body odour. Never had he felt the eyes of his staff so keenly upon him. There was no discernible sign that they blamed him; rather, he sensed they were looking to him, their brave, decorated leader, to somehow pull something magical out of the bag and resolve the situation.

  The truth was, however, that he wished there was someone he could turn to. When he had been younger, command had come so easily. All he had had to do was make sure his men were in good spirits, then fight with reckless bravery and they all followed. Being personally fearless had somehow been enough. And he could honestly say that he had never felt scared before – rather, he had been overcome by an overwhelming wave of exhilaration, his body and mind whirring with adrenalin and vitality.

  But he was not fighting any more, not personally. He was in the grandstand, moving the kind of soldiers he had once been among on the battlefield, and for the first time in his life he did feel scared – not for himself, but over what to do. Climbing across the rocky ground, he felt the sweat from his brow running down the side of his face. Everyone was sweating a great deal – the quarry reeked of it, great dark patches staining their cotton uniforms – but they were used to it. They were getting used to defeat as well. Perhaps that’s it. They had developed a losing habit; perhaps it was affecting their judgement, which was being eaten away by a lack of confidence, an expectation of failure that shadowed all they did. Pausing by a smooth-surfaced rock, he saw a lizard dart away and sat down, breathed heavily in and out a few times, then took out a cigarette from an old, darkening silver case, and lit it.

  It had only dawned on him that afternoon what a catastrophic mistake he had made. All morning, he had misread the situation. The counter-attack had gone in late, but Hargest had told Puttick that although there had been a steady flow of enemy planes coming into Maleme they were taking troops off the island, not bringing them in. Initially, he had believed this too, but then suddenly, as he had been watching and listening to the continued fighting from the OP, the penny had dropped. Moments later, news had arrived of the heavy fighting by the Maori and 20th Battalions as they had continued to claw their way up the coast. They had still not even reached the airfield, let alone won it back. He had believed the reports because he had wanted to believe them – but, of course, the Huns weren’t evacuating. Why on earth would they be, when the airfield was still theirs? No, they had been bringing in more and more troops, ammunition and supplies all day.

  Freyberg took off his tin helmet and rubbed his hands across his face. He had been a fool – a damned, bloody-minded fool. He had been so focused on the threat of a seaborne invasion – and, yes, he had lacked sufficient confidence in the navy and his own defences that an invasion could be repulsed – that he had failed to recognize the real danger even though it had been unfolding right under his nose. If only he had released 20th Battalion when he had had the chance! Then both they and the Maori could have attacked at dusk, with the rest of 5th Brigade, and sent the Germans packing.

  Perhaps it was still not too late, but to mass his forces now in one big counter-attack was fraught with danger. If it failed, it would be the end of the New Zealand Division. He was the country’s most senior commander, and the division New Zealand’s biggest contribution to the land war. If it was wiped out, the repercussions would be far-reaching. Freyberg had seen enough blood in the Great War to last him a lifetime and more; he knew how much the country mourned the loss of so many of her young men. He did not want to go down in history as a butcher. I am not confident enough of success, he told himself. There, he had admitted it. Yet lack of confidence had never plagued him as a younger man.

  He pushed himself back up onto his feet, and continued up the hill to the signals station, a small bunker lined with sandbags, whose radio mast stuck up high into the air.

  ‘Evening, sir,’ said Captain Sandford, as Freyberg appeared at the steps.

  ‘Sandford, I need some good news. Have you any for me?’

  Already, from Sandford’s grim expression, he knew he could expect little.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Sandford. ‘Another caique and an enemy steamer, but a second enemy invasion force was not intercepted due to shortage of ammunition. And I’m afraid the Mediterranean Fleet has taken a pounding today. Too many ships are within range of enemy aircraft.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ muttered Freyberg.

  ‘Two cruisers sunk, sir.’

  ‘No! Which ones?’

  ‘Fiji and Gloucester, sir. A destroyer, Warspite and Valiant damaged, along with a number of other destroyers. It’s been a bad day. I’m sorry, sir.’

  Freyberg sighed. ‘No – thank you, Sandford. One must face up to these things.’ He turned and left. So that’s it, then. His decision had been made. It meant the island would most likely now be lost, but lives would, he hoped, be saved.

  Reaching the quarry once more, he found Brigadier Stewart. ‘Keith, I’ve made a decision,’ he said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘We’re going to abandon Maleme. I want you to issue orders for a general withdrawal to Galatas.’

  His chief of staff looked at him keenly, then placed both hands on the trestle table in front of him. ‘If we withdraw, General, Jerry will be able to bring in supplies almost at will. His build-up of forces will become so great we’ll be unable to hold him. We’ll lose the island.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Freyberg snapped. ‘Christ, man, do you think I haven’t thought of it?’ Then, in a quieter voice, he added, ‘Keith, I don’t like it any more than you. But at least most of the men might live to fight another day.’

  By morning, German paratroopers from Prison Valley had linked up with mountain troops from Maleme. Little did those at Heraklion know it, but in just three days, Crete’s fate had been sealed.

  13

  Saturday, 24 May, a little after 9 p.m. Captain Alex Vaughan walked back through the quiet streets of Heraklion after a fruitless visit to Brigade Headquarters. Here and there he saw signs of bomb damage, particularly the closer he got to the harbour – one shattered house had spewed rubble and blocks of stone almost right across the street. At last he reached the entrance to the house he had shared with Pendlebury since 50 Middle East Commando had returned to Egypt: a short flight of steps leading to a wooden doorway in a wall, and through into a small courtyard, across which stood the house. He was tired, frustrated, and not a little disturbed by what he had encountered at HQ.

  News from Canea was not good, but instead of instilling some fight into 14th Brigade, it seemed that the rapidly unravelling situation in the north-west of the island was making Brigadier Chappel even more determined to sit tight rather than take the attack to the enemy. A stalemate had developed, but Vaughan feared this would not last long. Several hundred more Jerry paratroopers had landed to the south earlier that day. Perhaps more would arrive tomorrow, along with more supplies, more arms, more ammunition. On the other hand their own supplies were slowly being drained away. Jesus, it didn’t take a genius to work out which way the balance was shifting.

  Crossing the courtyard, he was surprised to see a light on in Pendlebury’s office and that the front door was ajar. Taking out his revolver, he went to it and carefully pushed it open. Slipping soundlessly into the hallway, he stood by the door to the office, his pistol cocked, listening. He waited a moment, then kicked back the door and stepped into the room, his revolver at the ready.

  ‘I surrender,’ chuckled Alopex, holding up his arms. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, just as he had three days earlier before leaving the town.

  ‘Alopex!’ e
xclaimed Vaughan. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘It’s easy enough at dusk when you know the way.’ He raised a small glass. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I helped myself to a little raki.’

  Vaughan put down his revolver, went to the small sideboard and poured himself a shot. Then, sitting at Pendlebury’s desk, he raised his glass. ‘It’s very good to see you alive and well.’

  ‘We’re all mourning Pendlebury,’ said Alopex.

  ‘So you heard?’

  ‘Executed by the Nazis.’

  ‘Not executed exactly – he was killed in a fire-fight trying to cross the lines. I told the bloody fool not to do it.’

  ‘No, that’s not what happened,’ said Alopex.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was shot then, but not killed. They took him away – he would have lived. They interrogated him, but when he told them nothing, they shot him.’

  Vaughan stared at Alopex. ‘But how on earth do you know this?’

  ‘They took him to the house of an old couple down in the valley. After Pendlebury was murdered the Germans left the house and the man and woman fled to the mountains. They heard it all and saw the Germans bury him. Tossed him into a shallow pit as though he were a dog.’ He spat the words.

  Vaughan put his head in his hands. ‘Poor John,’ he said.

  Alopex lit a small cheroot. ‘So, what can I say? We have been attacking the enemy every night, but still the British stay put.’

  ‘Believe me, if I was commanding here, that would not be the case.’ Vaughan stood up and went to the sideboard, took the bottle of raki and poured them both another shot. ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘Satanas asked me to come. He is seeing Hanford tonight. There are rumours about the fighting in the west of the island – that the British are falling back. Satanas thinks that if you are defeated in the west, you will have to leave Heraklion and Rethymno too. He thinks you will abandon us, just as you did on the mainland. And in France and Norway.’ He smiled without humour. ‘I know you and Pendlebury have tried to get us as many arms as possible, but it is not enough. We will fight on – of course we will – but if you leave, we want your weapons.’

  ‘What can I do, though? I am not the commander here. A captain doesn’t count for much, you know.’

  ‘You can talk to the brigadier.’

  Vaughan nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can. But I can’t do that unless we get the order to evacuate.’

  ‘You can start sowing the seed.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s true.’ He leaned forward, hands together, thinking. The room was bathed in a dim orange light. Sitting across from him, Alopex’s features were in shadow, but there was no denying the menacing impression he gave: the thick moustache and twoday growth of beard, the knitted heavy eyebrows and dark eyes that stared hard at him. Around his waist were two bandoliers, while a rifle rested across his lap.

  ‘And there’s another thing,’ said Alopex. ‘The stores here in Heraklion that we brought from Suda Island. They are still safe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We need to plan for them. We must get them out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We are going to organize a boat. It will arrive tomorrow night. You must arrange for men to help carry everything down to the harbour.’

  ‘And you plan to sail back to safety before daylight?’

  ‘What else can we do? The town is now almost surrounded. A man can creep through, but not a truck or a cart. We have no choice. Better that it should end up at the bottom of the sea than in the hands of those scum.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’

  ‘You must warn the port that the boat is coming. There must be no trouble. It will reach you when the German fliers have gone home, and the stores must be ready.’

  ‘What if it’s late? I don’t want to have to wait on the quayside with a large stash of arms and explosives. You remember the trouble we had getting it in the first place. If Brigade gets a whiff of it they’ll take it all back in a trice. Look, I’ll have men and a cart ready, but the boat has to be here before I move it from its safe place.’

  Alopex stroked his moustache a moment. ‘All right. So long as you are ready and waiting.’ He finished his raki, then stood up. ‘You are a good fellow, Alex. I know I can count on you. And you will talk to your brigadier?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do all I can.’

  Alopex embraced Vaughan, picked up his rifle and stepped out into the dark of the night.

  The men of the 2nd Battalion, the King’s Own Yorkshire Rangers, had also seen the paratroop drop to the south that afternoon. Tanner had wasted no time in hurrying to his rocky perch above their positions and, with his rifle and scope, taking shots as they descended, while the rest of the company had also fired furiously as this latest batch of invaders drifted down. Most had fallen a good four or five hundred yards away and more. How many had been killed or wounded was anyone’s guess, but there was no doubting this had been the heaviest drop since that first day. Tanner was not alone in thinking the stranglehold they had had over the enemy was slipping away.

  ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he had heard McAllister grumble. ‘We could have finished this lot off for good the other day but we let ’em get away with it. And now look.’

  Tanner had watched the other men in the section gaze up at the sky to the south, filled with falling parachutes. ‘Defeatist talk, Mac?’ Tanner had asked.

  ‘No, sir. Just pissed-off talk, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, perhaps tonight we can go after them,’ Tanner had said. ‘Jerry doesn’t much like the dark. Stir up a bit of trouble for all those disoriented paratroopers. Mac, we could get you a lovely pair of boots like mine.’ The men had laughed at that, but when Tanner had gone to talk to Captain Peploe about sending out several fighting patrols, he had been told that orders had just arrived from the colonel, who in turn was passing on instructions from Brigade, that it was essential ammunition be preserved as far as possible and that any counter-attacks or active patrol work was to be forbidden. For what possible reason were they to preserve ammunition? That was what Tanner wanted to know. It seemed crazy, completely illogical. What was the brigadier thinking? That it was better to let the enemy slowly but surely build up his strength while they sat back and watched?

  Incensed, Tanner had gone to find Sykes, a man to whom he knew he could always gripe and groan about the brass.

  ‘We could send out a few forward pickets, Jack,’ Sykes suggested, as they sat beneath a large plane tree brewing char.

  ‘Quite a long way forward.’ Tanner grinned.

  ‘And if they happened to bump into the enemy – well, a man’s got to defend himself, hasn’t he?’

  ‘He has, really,’ chuckled Tanner.

  So, Tanner had later suggested this to Peploe. ‘I know we’re not allowed to actively engage the enemy, sir,’ he said, as he stood in the doorway of Company Headquarters, ‘but I’d like to set up some forward pickets.’

  ‘Just how far forward were you thinking?’ Peploe asked.

  ‘Four hundred yards or so. There are a few wells and old buildings I marked up before the invasion. I was going to take the men there. Good cover.’

  ‘And precisely the place disoriented paratroopers would head for.’

  Tanner smiled. ‘Well, yes, there is that, sir.’

  Peploe agreed, so Tanner took Hepworth’s section and Sykes.

  ‘But, sir,’ complained Hepworth, ‘we’re not on duty tonight. We’re supposed to be getting our heads down.’

  ‘What do you think this is, Hep?’ Tanner retorted. ‘A summer camp? A whole load of Jerries dropped down over there in case you hadn’t noticed. Now shift your arse and stop complaining.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Hepworth.

  Tanner had known him for more than a year now and they had served together almost continually, apart from the couple of months after Hepworth had been wounded at Dunkirk. A lean-faced lad from Bradford, with a slightly hunched look ab
out him, Hepworth had been a Territorial before the war, as a means of eking out a few extra pennies every week. But the Territorial 5th Battalion had been destroyed in Norway. Hepworth, along with Sykes, McAllister, Chambers and Bell, had followed Tanner into the 1st Battalion and had been sent to France, and then, when France had been lost, overseas to join the 2nd Battalion – the unit of the Yorks Rangers Tanner had first joined as a boy soldier all those years before in India. Tanner trusted these men although, in truth, most were barely out of their teens – hardly men at all, and even though, Hepworth especially, they grumbled and complained whenever there was the opportunity. It was why, given the choice, he preferred to have them beside him whenever there was a fight rather than others in the company whom he knew less well.

  As they reached their forward positions, Tanner was met by Lieutenant Liddell. The two had been largely successful in avoiding each other the past two days, but now Tanner looked up at him, a challenging expression on his face.

  ‘Where do you think you’re all going?’

  ‘Forward pickets,’ growled Tanner.

  ‘But these men are off watch.’

  ‘That’s what I told him, sir,’ said Hepworth.

  ‘Shut it, Hep,’ snapped Tanner. ‘Captain Peploe’s orders, sir.’

  Liddell looked at the men and then at Tanner. ‘Very well, then.’

  ‘Password is “yorker”,’ said Tanner. ‘Perhaps you’d tell the rest of the men, sir.’

  Liddell nodded, and Tanner slung his rifle onto his shoulder, his MP40 clutched in his hand. ‘Iggery, then, lads. Follow me.’

  He led them forward, walking freely at first and then, as they moved further, crouching through the fields and groves. The light was fading fast. Occasional shots rang out, a dog barked, while from the trees came the ever-present sound of cicadas and crickets. Reaching an old goat shed, Tanner gathered the men around him. ‘Hep, you and two others stay here.’ He pointed to a well, around seventy yards to their right. ‘Three more over there by that well, and the rest, I want you to make your way to that stone wall over there.’ He pointed to a crumbled barn and a drystone wall around a hundred yards further to the west. ‘Get behind that and keep a watch out to the south. There’s still some moon and it’s another clear night so there’ll be light from the stars. As it gets dark, your eyes should adjust. But use your ears too. My guess is some Jerries might just come looking for shelter and water. If they do, give it to ’em.’