Blood of Honour

by James Holland

‘I don’t fancy our chances on that boat,’ said McDonald. ‘The skies will be full of Jerries and running adrift halfway to Alex doesn’t sound like fun.’

  ‘I must say it doesn’t appeal to me much, either,’ said Timmins.

  ‘Jack?’ asked Peploe.

  ‘The more men on that boat, the less chance she’s got of making it, and that’s only if they scrounge enough oil. And a cracked cylinder head means it’ll burn the stuff like there’s no tomorrow. But the colonel’s right – there shouldn’t be too many Jerries around inland for a day or so. That boat might pack up at any moment, but I know for certain how fast I can walk. And if I’m honest, sir, I’ve always been a bit of a landlubber. But we should split up. No disrespect, but I don’t want lots of unarmed navy boys following me across the island. Small groups have got a better chance of moving without detection.’

  Peploe nodded. ‘Good point.’

  ‘And we’ve got an even better chance if we stick with Captain Vaughan and the andartes. They know the island and we don’t. Also, they’ve got a cartload of arms and explosives.’

  ‘I’m with Tanner, sir,’ said McDonald.

  ‘Timmins?’ said Peploe.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘And I’d like to get going now, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘I don’t want to wait a day here. What if Jerry does turn up?’

  Peploe smiled ruefully. ‘Let me talk to Captain Vaughan.’

  Twenty-two Rangers had survived the sinking of Karachi. The sixteen who had kept their boots on in the sea would go with Vaughan and the Cretan guerrillas, and that included Lieutenant Liddell. Neither Captain Peploe nor Tanner would allow him to remain with the caique.

  ‘We can’t abandon him,’ Peploe said, ‘not when he’s unable to make the choice.’ But he knew that for Tanner there was more to it than that. Everyone else chose to stay with the boat.

  As they climbed out of the village, Tanner paused and looked back. Men were still dotted around the quayside, a long day’s wait ahead of them. He glanced at the mountains away to the south and the giant Ida range looming in the distance, and wondered briefly whether they had made the right decision.

  But then he thought of Alopex and the humiliation of this latest defeat. There was still a score to settle, and now, back on Crete, he had a chance to put that right.

  16

  A little after ten that morning, Oberleutnant Kurt Balthasar stood with the rest of the men of the 3rd Battalion on the edge of the airfield at Heraklion, watching the first Luftwaffe transports come in to land. The men all cheered and waved, raising their rifles and MP40s above their heads.

  Balthasar could still barely get used to the idea. What an incredible turnaround it had been! Just a week earlier, he had been plunged into deep despair, racked with illness and facing defeat. But in seven days their fortunes had been transformed. The battle was won, and the whole of the Orion sector was theirs. He looked out at the sea, twinkling in the late May heat beyond the airfield, then watched the Tante Jus, propellers whirling, as they taxied away from the runway, orange dust swirling. As the first switched off its engines, the paratroopers hurried towards it, ready to help unload. On board there were more arms, ammunition, rations and medical supplies, while also due to arrive that day were much-needed reinforcements of men: the building blocks that would enable them to establish a new garrison in the centre of the island.

  Later Major Schulz led them to Heraklion, the town in which they had fought such a bitter battle. On the way, they crossed the former British lines, littered with ammunition boxes, uneaten rations and other items of kit. The men took what they could, then continued on their way, singing as they went.

  Sullen faces and rubble greeted them; and so did the stench of death. Balthasar spent much of the day with his dampened handkerchief over his face. There was much to be done, not least the disarming of the many Greek troops in the town, who had formally surrendered and were then put to work clearing the rubble, so that paths at least could be made through the tight web of roads that ran through the town. Later, they were to be corralled in the bastions until they could be shipped to the mainland, then on to the Reich.

  Aircraft were still regularly flying in as Balthasar received a message to join Major Schulz at Oberst Bräuer’s new headquarters in the Megaron, a large and imposing building overlooking the harbour and the Sabbionera Bastion. Already flying over the building – albeit hanging limply in the sultry late-afternoon air – was the red, white and black of the swastika.

  Balthasar walked up the steps to the entrance. Guards were standing sentinel outside, and clicked impressively in salute as he went past them and into the hallway. Hauptmann von der Schulenberg was also waiting there, and rose as Balthasar entered. ‘Kurt,’ he said, ‘our colonel has chosen well, has he not?’

  Balthasar smiled. ‘But of course. And even the stench is not so bad.’

  A staff officer appeared and ushered them up the staircase to the first floor where, in a large balconied room, Oberst Bräuer already sat behind a large marble desk. Before it, sitting on an elegant Italianate chair, was Major Schulz.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Bräuer, ‘let me get you a drink. Brandy?’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar. Like von der Schulenberg, he stood to attention.

  Bräuer waved a hand at them, in which he held a cigarette in a holder. ‘Relax, and, please, help yourselves to cigars. They’re on the desk. I prefer my own cigarettes but I do so enjoy the smell of cigar smoke.’

  They thanked him again and did as they were bidden. Balthasar clipped the end of his with his gravity knife and lit von der Schulenberg’s, then his own. Puffs of smoke wafted into the air.

  ‘See? A lot better than rotting corpses and open sewers, is it not?’ grinned Bräuer, passing them both glass balloons of brandy. He raised his own. ‘To victory, gentlemen!’ The colonel was in his late forties, short but immaculate, even after nine long days of intense combat. Somehow, since reaching the Megaron, he had washed, shaved and had his uniform pressed. His hair was close-cropped and silvery, his face lined but smooth, while his eyes were pale grey and hawkish. He was something of a legendary figure within the Fallschirmjäger – a veteran of the last war, the first German to make a parachute jump, and the first and only commander of the 1st Division.

  ‘This place, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar, ‘it is incredible. And amid all this destruction too.’

  ‘I know. It was built only a few years ago by some wealthy citrus traders, but they did a good job. For the past few years it has been the heart of the town. Our pilots must have known we would want it, for they have very generously dropped their bombs all around but not here.’ He wandered over to one of the large windows. ‘And what views, too. You see our flag flying proudly over the fortress?’

  ‘And over this building too, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar.

  ‘It’s important to do these things straight away. To stamp a mark immediately. That is why I have set up my headquarters here, in the most important building in the town. We have to show the Cretans that we are now in charge – not their own government or king and not the British. Crete is now German.’ He sipped his brandy, then turned back to them. ‘It has been a hard time, these past nine days. The resistance from the local population has been surprising and shocking, but there can be no more attacks on our men. I remind you of the Ten Commandments of the Fallschirmjäger.’

  ‘Number nine, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar. ‘Against a regular enemy, fight with chivalry, but give no quarter to guerrillas.’

  Bräuer smiled. ‘Yes, Oberleutnant. Exactly. We give no quarter to guerrillas. And yet they have already given us quite a headache and no doubt will continue to do so if we do not crush them immediately. Earlier today I spoke to General Student, who has already spoken to the Reichsmarschall about the outrages these bandits have carried out on our troops. Göring has already insisted on an immediate judicial inquiry and given us the authority to carry out reprisals.’

  ‘T
his will be wonderful news for Oberleutnant Balthasar, Herr Oberst,’ said Schulz. ‘He is particularly anxious, I know, to avenge what happened to a number of men in his company.’

  Bräuer raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘There were many atrocities and mutilations, Herr Oberst, but three of my men were beheaded – with knives.’

  ‘I feel your outrage, Oberleutnant, believe me I do. General Student will shortly be issuing orders to every paratrooper on the island, but he is fully aware that certain members of the civilian population have been actively involved as franc-tireurs, including women and even young boys. He wants us to carry out the harshest of measures.’

  ‘What does that imply exactly, Herr Oberst?’ asked Balthasar.

  ‘It means that we will shoot anyone known to have committed such crimes, and burn entire villages where necessary. The people need to know that if they carry out such atrocities – or, indeed, even support such actions – we will respond with the utmost severity.’ He sipped his brandy. ‘Personally, I dislike such actions. We are soldiers, not policemen. However, it’s clear that we must show we will not stand for such behaviour. General Student,’ he added, ‘told me today that he wishes those units who have suffered the worst such atrocities to be the ones to undertake reprisals and punitive operations.’ He sat down at his desk. ‘And that means you, gentlemen.’

  ‘We know franc-tireurs were operating here in Heraklion,’ Schulz said to Bräuer, ‘and we also know that the townspeople have strong connections with the peasant villages in the Ida Mountains.’

  ‘We should question some of the townspeople and the Greek soldiers who fought near the Canea Gate,’ said Balthasar. ‘We need names. The men who were with Pendlebury.’

  ‘Pendlebury?’ said Bräuer.

  ‘Yes, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar. ‘A British agent we captured who had been working with the Cretans. He was also implicated in the beheading of my men.’

  ‘And where is Pendlebury now?’

  ‘We had him shot. He deserved worse.’

  Bräuer took out a gold case and fitted another cigarette into his holder. ‘More reinforcements are due in tomorrow and shortly some Gebirgsjäger troops will be joining us here in Heraklion. I want you to crush these guerrillas, gentlemen. Use whatever means you see fit. You will have my support in this.’

  The three men, recognizing this was the signal for them to leave, finished their drinks and, their cigars still between their fingers, saluted and turned to leave.

  ‘Gentlemen?’ said Bräuer. ‘Find the leaders. Cut off the head, as you well know, and the body cannot function.’

  It was late in the afternoon that they came across the wrecked plane. Since leaving Limenas, they had headed south-west, away from the coast and into the vast, wide stretch between the Dikti range in the east and the Ida Mountains to the west, a part of the island criss-crossed with valleys, narrow rivers and low ridges, most, it seemed, covered with endless olive groves, dense in places, young in others. They had passed few villages in this corner of the island, just the occasional isolated house and farmstead. They had seen few people as they tramped along the myriad dusty tracks that wove through the soft, undulating hills and valleys. Central Crete had been quiet; there had been little to suggest the calamity that had just befallen the island.

  But as they had dropped down towards a wooded river valley they had smelt the familiar stench of decomposing flesh. While the Cretans had remained with the cart, Tanner and Sykes had pushed on ahead and there, across the river among the trees, they had seen the Junkers. The wings had been ripped off and lay jaggedly torn a short distance behind, but when they picked their way towards the cockpit, they saw that a row of bullets had raked the metal and windscreen. The propeller at the front had shattered and, inside, the decomposing body of the pilot was still strapped into his seat, his face a deep purple where it had not already been eaten to the bone. As they neared, a thick swarm of flies rose out through the shattered perspex making both men jump.

  ‘Argh, that’s bloody disgustin’!’ said Sykes, shielding his eyes.

  The wreck showed no sign of having caught fire, and they went to the open door along the corrugated fuselage, Tanner poking his head through cautiously, fearing what he might find. But there were no other bodies – the crew had clearly jumped free in time. There were, though, half a dozen canisters.

  He turned back to Sykes, grinning. ‘It’s bloody Father Christmas up there in the cockpit. Have a look at this.’ He jumped up and moved down the fuselage.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Sykes. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’

  They had already begun dragging out the canisters when the rest of the men joined them, and soon they had all six clear of the wreckage and back by the track where the cart and mule now stood. One of the boxes was full of rations and medical supplies and Tanner was relieved to get his hands on some more cigarettes; his supplies were not only very low but still damp with seawater. But the others were all filled with arms. In one there were two MG34s and a number of boxes of ammunition. In two others there were rifles. The last contained a dozen MP40s and boxes of magazines.

  The machine-guns were placed in the cart beside Lieutenant Liddell, and much of the rest was divided between the men, to the annoyance of the Cretans, who remonstrated with Vaughan.

  ‘They think their own men should have the weapons,’ Vaughan explained to Peploe.

  ‘But we need to defend ourselves too,’ Peploe replied. ‘Finders keepers.’

  ‘That’s what I told them,’ said Vaughan. ‘They can have what you don’t need, but they’re particularly anxious to have the Schmeissers.’

  ‘Tell them they can have six – half of them. I don’t know why they’re so annoyed. It’s an entirely unexpected cache.’

  As the men slung rifles and sub-machine-guns over their shoulders, they began moving again, the Cretans slapping the rump of the mule and the wooden wheels squeaking.

  ‘I have some sympathy for them, actually,’ said Vaughan. ‘Cairo told us to arm and prepare these men, but we’ve had very little help. This arms stash we’ve been trying to move – Pendlebury built it up over months. We could only get it in the first place by saying it was for 50 ME Commando. So then it was stored on Suda Island, and over the past few months we’ve been bringing it down and distributing it bit by bit.’

  ‘And Commander Cumberlege has been helping you?’

  ‘Yes – in those bloody useless ancient caiques. We’ve asked repeatedly for a couple of MTBs, but needless to say we were sent nothing of the sort.’ He slapped the back of his neck as a fly buzzed around him. ‘These people are still woefully underarmed. They’re full of fire and determination to keep up the fight but, really, I’m not at all sure how they’re going to be able to manage it.’

  ‘I don’t blame them for being angry with us, sir,’ said Tanner, now walking alongside them. ‘I reckon I would be too if I’d been left in the lurch by my ally.’

  ‘Yesterday evening Satanas came to see me in Heraklion,’ said Vaughan. ‘Suddenly there he was, bandoliers crossed over his chest. He guessed about the evacuation – he’d seen some of the men packing up and destroying their guns, and so he came to me to ask me when it would be. It pained him to see us destroying equipment and he suggested we might leave our weapons and any ammunition we had. Well, I couldn’t help him, so I took him to Brigade HQ. They were still frantically packing up when we got there, but we found the brigadier.’

  ‘How was he?’ asked Peploe.

  ‘A bit sheepish, as you can imagine. But Satanas just put his hand on Chappel’s shoulder and said, “I know you are leaving tonight. It is all right. You will come back when you can. But, please, leave us as many rifles and weapons as you can so that we might continue the fight until you return.” I thought the brigadier was going to start blubbing – he was really moved, and told everyone to hand over all they had there. It was quite a stash, in fact. We got a cart and then Satanas and his men left. His magnanimit
y was quite astonishing.’

  ‘It’s always more effective than hurling insults,’ said Peploe.

  Vaughan chuckled. ‘If you’re thinking of Alopex, remember, he’s a lot younger. Satanas has lived for ever. Age has made him wise. But Alopex is a wily operator. He’s not called Alopex for nothing.’

  ‘Why, sir? What does it mean?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘The Fox,’ said Vaughan. ‘His real name is Giorgis Kristannos.’

  ‘The Fox.’ Tanner smiled. ‘Well, well.’

  Not long after that they stopped for a rest, lying up in a sheltered grove by a stream. They would soon be nearing the main road that led from Heraklion, past Knossos and down towards the south of the island. Around eight miles beyond that there was another of the island’s main roads, which linked the north to the south. Any of these, it was agreed, would be better crossed at night. Rations were passed around, watches posted and then the rest settled down to sleep.

  Tanner found a patch of soft grass at the foot of an olive tree and, with a lit cigarette between his lips, got to work on his rifle. His oiler and small phial of gin had survived his time in the sea, and he soon had his trusted Lee Enfield cleaned, oiled and working in perfect condition. He also stripped and cleaned his MP40 and, satisfied that he was once again armed and able to defend himself properly, lay down. Cicadas were clicking and chirruping loudly, and for a minute he watched a small lizard scuttle up the bark of the tree. He never liked to think too far ahead, but he realized he had no idea at all of what now lay in store. He was still wondering whether they would ever get off the island when he fell into a deep and restful sleep.

  Oberleutnant Balthasar was beginning to think he would not even have to interrogate any of the Greek soldiers now being held as prisoners of war. At first light, with two dozen of his men and a Greek officer coerced into the role of interpreter, he had led them up towards the Canea Gate, then chosen a set of apartments that appeared to be inhabited. Forcing down the door, they had hurried inside, gone up the staircase and rapped hard on the first door they had come to.