Blood of Honour

by James Holland

  ‘Charlie’s been hit!’ Mercer called.

  ‘Someone take over the Bren!’ shouted McAllister, but Tanner had already grabbed it, firing off another burst, then clicking out the magazine and ramming another in its place.

  He knew that the Germans by the road would have to make a dash for it or surrender. Handing the Bren to McAllister, he glanced around him, then saw Lieutenant Liddell bent over the wounded Donnelly, his hands clasped to his head in despair.

  Jesus, he thought. Then, moving between the men, he saw Sykes.

  ‘Stan,’ he said, his voice urgent, ‘we need to keep the men here for a moment. Look for some place where we can enfilade down towards the road. I’m going to find the captain.’

  Tanner scurried through the vines, shouting for the captain so as not to be mistaken. The firing had lessened again, but just as suddenly the din of battle opened up away to their left, at the far side of the road beyond the ruins. D Company, thought Tanner. Good.

  He hurried on, his breathing heavy. ‘Captain!’ he called again.

  ‘Here!’ from just a few yards ahead.

  ‘We should block the road, sir – try and wheel round. We can set up McAllister’s section at right angles to the road on the southern edge of the Villa Ariadne and pour enfilade fire at anyone trying to cross it. The escarpment Alopex told us about runs south-west from there. If we move round behind it, we can trap whatever Jerry troops are there.’

  ‘Yes, but we need to watch out behind us in case there are any more coming through from the west.’

  ‘Send another section back to cover the track below the ridge.’

  ‘Yes – good plan.’

  Tanner ran back towards Sykes. The platoon was still holding a rough line extending through the vines from the corner of the Villa Ariadne grounds, but McAllister’s section had moved, as had Hepworth’s Bren. Ahead, one spat out a short burst, and following the sound, Tanner found Sykes and the others crouched behind a wall that marked the southern edge of the villa’s grounds and which overlooked the track leading to the road. Perfect, he thought. And Sykes had positioned the two Brens of McAllister’s and Hepworth’s sections well: covered by the wall but with an interlocking line of fire down the road and across the open ground that led to the ancient palace of Knossos.

  ‘Good work, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘Make sure no one fires behind the flare line.’

  ‘Where are you going, sir?’

  ‘Back to the captain.’

  Tanner rejoined Peploe, who fired another flare, then moved the men forward again. On his way down the shallow escarpment, Tanner saw shadowy figures flitting through the groves and fired a burst from his Schmeisser. Spandau fire erupted again, like a loud drumroll, rifles cracked and several muzzle flashes of sub-machinegun fire shone through the trees. Someone to his right cried out, another man swore. Tanner hurled two more grenades, and as they exploded a man screamed. ‘Keep moving forward!’ he shouted. The firing ahead of them died – the enemy’s running – and Peploe sent another flare into the sky, this time towards the road. McAllister’s and Hepworth’s Brens chattered, their bursts rattling over each other, then a short pause and one opened up again.

  They reached the road soon after. Peploe fired a red flare and, as it lit up above them, shouted for his men to cease fire. Ahead, on Apex Hill beyond, fighting continued, but in their part of the valley, the shooting had stopped.

  ‘There it is,’ said Peploe, gazing towards the ruins, the columns and walls just discernible against the backdrop of the ridge beyond.

  ‘You’re getting closer, sir,’ said Tanner, beside him. Beads of sweat were running down his face, his heart was pounding and his ears were ringing. The air was so still again, every sound amplified, and despite the incredible cacophony of noise just minutes before, the cicadas and crickets were still chirruping.

  ‘I feel like Tantalus,’ Peploe muttered. ‘Every time I get near the place, something stops me reaching it.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘We should get the wounded back, then hold a line from here up to the ridge, don’t you think? There might be more still trying to work their way round.’

  Both men had just turned when there was a sudden rustle nearby and a figure got up and began to run away from them through the olives.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Peploe called. He held out his revolver at arm’s length, fired a single shot, but the bullet and the figure were lost to the trees. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Can’t get ’em all. Good luck to him.’ A minute or so later, they heard a scream from the darkness to the south.

  ‘The Cretans don’t share your forgiving nature, sir,’ muttered Tanner.

  B Company had done all they could. Beyond, over Apex Hill, was D Company’s area of operations, so Peploe sent Lieutenant Liddell back with the wounded, and organized the rest of the men into a rough line extending from the Bren position overlooking the road back up to the ridge, watching for any further enemy approach from the west.

  None came. Six hours later, Tanner sat with Peploe at the edge of a vineyard near the ridge, watching the first streaks of light appear behind Apex Hill, the long ridge that extended south and overlooked the Knossos valley.

  ‘Sir?’ said Tanner. ‘I’ve got an idea.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Come on, sir.’

  Peploe followed as Tanner led them back down the line, past shredded vines and trampled grass, and by the bodies of German paratroopers killed in the night. There was a stillness over the battlefield, an eerie calm. As they reached the road, they waved to Sykes and McAllister, smoking cigarettes and still manning one of the Brens. Like all the men, they looked exhausted, shirts and jackets filthy, their faces caked in dust, oil and streaks of blood.

  Tanner paused and nodded in the direction of the palace. ‘What could be a better way to see it, sir, than at dawn?’

  Peploe smiled. ‘You know what? You’re right.’

  They crossed the dusty road and took the track through the trees to the ruins. Painted columns, supporting great slabs of flat roof in places, rose from the ground. They stepped between half-ruined walls, across what had once been the rooms of a giant palace – Peploe was entranced – and then a large open courtyard spread before them. Leading from this was a set of wide steps, which Tanner climbed. At the top, he stopped, sat down and gazed up at Apex Hill. Birds were singing their dawn chorus, a mixture of melodious song and strange whistling calls; the air was crisp and clear, the smell of cordite, blood and sweat replaced by something purer and softer. Around the site, a blanket of firs and olives stretched up towards the ridge, and Tanner breathed in deeply, fatigue sweeping over him like a draped cloak.

  He lit a cigarette as Peploe joined him at the top of the steps. An orange glimmer appeared over the crest of Apex Hill, gradually rising before their eyes and bathing first the ridge and then the whole valley in a wash of glorious, uplifting light. Tanner closed his eyes, letting the morning sun’s rays warm his face.

  ‘You were right, Jack,’ said Peploe. ‘This is the perfect way to see it.’ He took out his hip flask, had a swig, then passed it to Tanner. They were silent for a moment, then Peploe said, ‘Do you think we did enough last night?’

  Tanner shrugged. ‘God knows.’ He drew on his cigarette, not wishing to say what he really believed – what he hardly dared admit to himself: that it had been too little too late. That, once again, they were going to lose.

  15

  Captain Peploe broke the news shortly after midday on Wednesday, 28 May, having just returned from Battalion Headquarters. He had called Lieutenant McDonald, Tanner and Woodman into the office at Company HQ, poured four shots of brandy, then said, ‘It’s all over. I’m afraid we’re being evacuated tonight.’ He stood, his chipped shot glass in his hand, brows knotted.

  Tanner slapped the wall. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’ he said, his voice rising in anger. ‘We’ve barely even bloody tried here!’

  ‘It’s not us,’ said Peploe. ‘It’s the main force in the west, around Canea. The counter-attac
k at Galatas failed, they had to fall back and yesterday the C-in-C gave the order for them to withdraw to Sfakia.’

  ‘Where the bloody hell’s Sfakia?’ demanded Tanner.

  ‘On the south coast somewhere. Apparently there was little chance of the navy getting the boys out from Suda, so they’re crossing country.’

  ‘And now it’s our turn,’ said McDonald.

  ‘Well, we can’t very well stay here if the main force goes.’

  ‘So what’s the plan, sir?’ asked Woodman.

  ‘We tell the rest of the men at eight p.m. Secrecy is to be maintained – we don’t want Jerry getting wind of it until we’re safely away. A naval evacuation force will arrive tonight, at around eleven o’clock. We and the Black Watch are going to be the last to leave.’

  ‘Jesus, what a balls-up,’ muttered Tanner.

  Peploe looked down at his glass. ‘Yes. A lot of wasted effort. A lot of wasted lives. Christ knows what the Greeks will think of us now – I’m afraid they’re being left here. We’ve told them there’s no room for them.’ There was silence in the room, except for a lone fly buzzing lazily. ‘Anyway,’ said Peploe, at length, and raised his glass, ‘there it is. Here’s to our safe return to Egypt, and as Old Man Vigar said, at least we can be proud of what we did here. The battalion – and B Company in particular – has done well. Very well.’

  Fourteen hours later, Tanner and the rest of the men of the 2nd Battalion were milling around the inner harbour, awaiting their turn to be lifted. The news, when Peploe had told them earlier that evening, had been greeted with stunned silence, although Tanner, who had been watching Lieutenant Liddell, had noticed the expression on the subaltern’s face: eyes closed, a heavy breath – thank God – and then a glance up that had caught Tanner’s steely gaze. Liddell had quickly looked away.

  In truth, the men had had time to get used to the idea and the prospect of improved rations, fresh supplies of kit and the inevitable leave in Cairo had lifted their spirits considerably. From the harbour walls they watched the two big cruisers, Orion and Dido, set sail, followed by three of the accompanying destroyers, all now crammed with troops. Along the mole extending out from the Venetian fort, men of the Black Watch were boarding two more destroyers; next, and finally, it would be the turn of the Yorks Rangers.

  So far the evacuation had gone entirely to plan. The Germans did not appear to have realized what was going on. Guns had earlier been destroyed, and stores booby-trapped; the night had been quiet, barely a shot to be heard. The biggest noise had been the singing and shouting of some of the Australians, already drunk as they lined the mole. Around 2.15 a.m., as the Black Watch’s ship inched away from the outer harbour, two more destroyers sailed in to take its place.

  The battalion was ordered to move down, past the fort and out onto the mole, with B, C and D Companies directed to board HMS Karachi, while Headquarters and A Companies were put onto HMS Kimberley. Once again, the men were directed onto the lower decks, except for 1 Platoon, whom Tanner volunteered to help with fire duties. It had been a self-interested decision: for once he felt in the mood for company and wanted Sykes nearby. He and Sykes watched as the brigadier and his staff boarded Kimberley.

  ‘I thought he was going to be good,’ said Tanner. ‘The way he hid those guns before the invasion – that was a canny move. But he damn well blew it here.’

  ‘D’you think he knows it?’

  ‘I really have no idea at all how these blokes work.’

  By 2.45 a.m. the evacuation was complete. Not a single man remained on the harbour. Tanner, standing at the stern of the ship with Sykes, leaned on the railings smoking a cigarette and looking back at the town silhouetted against the night sky. He could not stop thinking about Alopex and how he had chided them during that first meeting in the café. Running away again. Bloody hell.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, sir,’ said Sykes, ‘but you’ve got to forget about it. Maybe one day, when the war’s over, you can come back and give him a good kicking then.’

  ‘He was right, though, wasn’t he?’ He exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘I’m absolutely bloody sick of sodding evacuations.’

  ‘So am I, but I can’t feel too sorry to be leaving. Not if I’m honest. I don’t think islands are my natural habitat. I feel too cooped up, penned in. And that bloody smell.’ He whistled. ‘You’ve got to admit it was bad walking down to the harbour.’ Little of the rubble had been cleared away since the bombing of the town. Those left trapped among the debris had soon begun to rot in the heat. Sewers had also been broken, and the combined stench of decomposing flesh and sewage had been overpowering. Most of the men had marched through the town with handkerchiefs around their faces.

  ‘It was a bit ripe,’ agreed Tanner.

  Sykes breathed in deeply. ‘Sea air – that’s better.’

  ‘But I still feel bloody terrible about leaving those poor bastards. It was a half-decent place when we got here, but now …’ He let the sentence trail.

  ‘And they’ve got the Jerries to deal with.’

  Tanner saw the ropes being cast off from the other destroyer with Headquarters and A Companies on board. Moments later, it began moving away from the mole.

  ‘Why aren’t we moving?’ Sykes asked.

  ‘God knows,’ said Tanner. He looked around and saw that some of the crew seemed restless, then noticed a caique leave the inner harbour and chug past them slowly. He wondered who it was, and took out his binoculars for a better look, but it was too dark to pick out any of the features on the men’s faces. He watched it leave the harbour, its masts silhouetted against the sky.

  The minutes passed but still there was no sign of any movement. Peploe appeared beside them. ‘We should be off soon,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on, sir?’

  ‘It seems they were attacked as they left Alexandria. They would have had another cruiser, but it was hit and had to turn back. A couple of the destroyers also suffered near misses, including this one. There’s something up with one of the engines – I’m not quite sure what – and they’ve decided to try and fix it.’

  Tanner looked at his watch again. It was now a quarter past three. ‘Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t they? It’ll be first light in just over an hour.’

  ‘I said the same to the lieutenant I’ve just been talking to. Apparently they very nearly put us onto Kimberley, but they reckoned that whatever the problem was could be quickly resolved so didn’t in the end. Only now, of course, it’s taking longer than they thought.’

  Suddenly, out at sea, away to the north-east, they heard a dull boom.

  ‘What was that?’ said Sykes. ‘A mine? Or a torpedo?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to say,’ said Peploe. ‘Let me try and find out.’

  He returned a short while later. ‘It was Imperial,’ he said. ‘The other ship damaged coming from Alexandria. Her steering gear had jammed so they had to get everyone off, then torpedoed her.’

  ‘That’s a comfort,’ said Tanner. ‘Bloody hell.’

  As the minutes continued to pass with no apparent sign of any movement, Tanner began to feel increasingly agitated. He was not alone – as he and Sykes discovered, as they impatiently moved around the stern.

  ‘Hope you lads have still got some ammo left,’ said one of the Y Gun crew.

  ‘I hope your aim’s good, mate,’ Sykes replied.

  ‘Jesus,’ said another in the gun crew. ‘What a sodding dog’s breakfast. The others’ll be halfway back to bleedin’ Alex by now, and we’re still bloody well stuck in this dump.’

  ‘Get a bloody move on!’ shouted another, leaning away from the gun and looking down towards the deck.

  It was well after four when they finally got going, which produced a loud, ironic cheer from the men on deck. Already, however, the first faint lightening of the horizon was discernible to the east, and by the time they were clear of the harbour, day was dawning rapidly. As they passed the island of Dia, just to the north-east of Heraklion, the tip
of the sun had appeared, casting golden streaks across the sea.

  No one said much; the grousing had stopped. It was a waiting game, as every man knew. If they were lucky, they still might not be picked up – it was early after all. And if they were spotted, at least there was only one of them – a single small destroyer, weaving at more than thirty knots, was a difficult target to hit.

  But it was not to be. Just after five, Stukas appeared from the east, faint dots at first, quickly becoming angry wasps, and then, moments later, they were over them, diving down, sirens screaming, engines straining, and the pompom and twin cannons pumping out shells towards them. While the gunners tried to train their guns, the men on deck ducked – all except Tanner, who, with his anger rising, had unslung his rifle and begun firing as the first Stuka came out of its dive. It was too far away, he knew, but it looked bloody close, so he aimed and fired all the same. The first bombs fell well short, huge plumes of water erupting into the sky, and so did the second batch as Karachi veered dramatically. More bombs tumbled around them, the spray lashing across the deck. Suddenly a Stuka was hit, smoke and flame erupting from the engine. Screaming, it plunged into the sea. The men cheered again but then two more bombs were falling towards them.

  ‘Christ!’ said Tanner, as he realized they were going to hit. The first disappeared straight down the funnel, while the second seemed to hit the bridge. The two explosions were almost simultaneous, one a dull, muffled roar, the other a deafening crash. The ship jolted, and Tanner clutched at the railings to steady himself. A ball of angry flame and smoke engulfed the bridge and then there was a second explosion. Flame erupted out of the funnel and the ship shuddered again, more violently this time, and, with a creaking and groaning of tearing, grinding metal, the deck started to move. Men were shouting as bombs continued falling around them, Stukas diving and whirling like a swarm of bees. For a moment Tanner was too stunned to move, the noise overwhelming.