Marine L SBS

by Ian Blake

  ‘What will they do with the Merc?’ Ayton asked.

  ‘Leave it on a beach farther west. With any luck the Krauts will assume we’ve rendezvoused with a sub and won’t bother looking for us. Not much hope of that, but it’s worth a try.’

  ‘Are they staying on the island?’ Ayton asked Paddy.

  ‘They’ll replace Dennis and Tim, who are due some leave. Assuming Dennis and Tim have managed to break out of the German cordon, they’ll meet us at the rendezvous.’

  It was, Ayton thought, going to be a crowded trip back in the submarine. He handed the General his cap, and the German thanked him in English and fitted it carefully on to his head. He had obviously felt undressed without it.

  For a while they walked along the road, but when it swung inland again they left it for a goat path which ran parallel with the coast. The ground was not steep, but it was uneven and rocky, and the General, who was middle-aged and none too fit, frequently stumbled and kept asking if they could rest. Paddy gave him ten minutes every hour, which, with the occasional swig of raki, was just enough to keep the prisoner on his feet, though he kept grumbling to himself under his breath.

  Dawn broke fresh and sparkling in front of them and, just as the sun cleared the horizon, they came to a shepherd’s hut with three mules tied to a nearby tree. Flies were already pestering the animals, which were swishing their tails and stamping in irritation.

  As the little group approached the hut, a sack covering its entrance was pulled to one side and out stepped a middle-aged man. Under his capota, the sheepskin cloak all shepherds wore, his clothes were ragged and his beard unkempt. He cried out a greeting to Paddy. The two clasped each other’s hands and then gave the traditional Cretan greeting of a kiss on each cheek before slapping each other lightly on the face.

  ‘My friend Nikko,’ said Paddy to Ayton.

  Nikko seized the SBS officer’s hand and said something in Greek.

  ‘He says welcome,’ explained Paddy.

  Nikko indicated that they should sit down, and brought from his hut a bottle of wine and a wooden bowl steaming with potatoes, onions and boiled eggs, all mashed together. He studiously ignored the General, who had sat down apart from them on a slab of rock, and Paddy had to tell the Cretan to give him some food, too. They ate ravenously. When they’d finished, Nikko untethered the mules and led them over to the three men. Ayton’s experience of riding had been confined to a donkey on Margate beach when he was a child, but this proved sufficient, for his mule was placid and unhurried, and though there were no saddles each animal had a rope halter.

  They said goodbye to Nikko, who embraced them both. Paddy dug out three gold sovereigns from the belt he carried around his waist and pressed them on the Cretan, who made a great show of being reluctant to accept them. He handed Paddy a sakuli, a cloth holdall, containing food and wine, which Paddy slung on his back.

  Paddy led the way and Ayton took up the rear. The German looked uncomfortable and had trouble keeping his seat, but by midday when they stopped to rest, Paddy said they had made good time and would be at the rendezvous by the following afternoon.

  Under a rocky outcrop they found some shade, and rested until the sun had lost the worst of its heat. When they started out again the ground became steeper, for the mountains on this part of the island almost reached the shoreline. The sun cast long shadows ahead of them, before dipping behind the mountains, but even in the dark the goat path was easy to follow.

  They kept going until the moon had risen, then camped for the night under a cluster of trees. Paddy unslung the sakuli and passed round the food and wine. They ate without speaking, though the German continued to mutter to himself. As they rolled themselves in their blankets Ayton wondered aloud if the General was going off his head, but Paddy said he was just having a hard time of it.

  They were up at dawn, and after finishing the last of the food and wine, remounted their mules. An hour later Ayton, hearing the faint sound of an aero engine behind him, shouted a warning to Paddy. They dismounted and led the mules into some thick undergrowth.

  ‘There it is!’ Ayton pointed upwards.

  The aircraft was tiny. Skimming down the coast towards them, it was wobbling slightly. Once it deviated from its path and circled inland.

  ‘A Fieseler-Storch,’ Paddy announced when it was still some way off. ‘High-winged monoplane, single engine – no doubt about it. The Krauts use them for gunnery spotting and general reconnaissance.’

  It cruised slowly towards them, then swung away towards the coast, but it had come close enough for Ayton to be able to see the passenger scouring the ground with binoculars. The plane flew so slowly it seemed to hang in the air like a hovering sparrowhawk.

  ‘The hunt’s on,’ said Paddy as he watched it fly slowly along the coast. ‘They obviously weren’t taken in by our little ruse. The whole island will be swarming with Krauts today.’

  They waited until the plane was reduced to a speck before remounting, and kept a wary eye on the sky ahead in case it doubled back. The General, who had seemed enormously heartened by its appearance, relapsed into a muttering gloom again. They kept going through the heat of the day, climbing steadily all the time.

  Once they came across a flock of sheep and a young shepherd who told them that two lorries full of Germans had arrived at the nearest village early that morning. They had searched every house before moving on northwards and had left behind hurriedly printed pamphlets which said that the General had been abducted ‘by bandits’ and that if he was not handed back within three days they would carry out reprisals until he was released.

  The Cretans were used to the Germans’ threats. When it looked as if they would be carried out, all the villagers took to the mountains, but it worried Paddy that they were inevitably going to suffer. He asked the young shepherd whether Manali and his party were on their way, but the boy didn’t know.

  They arrived at the rendezvous just after the sun had set and were greeted enthusiastically by the andartes, who had heard about the success of the operation. Dennis and Tim had already arrived, having managed to slip through the cordon around their headquarters when Germans had been withdrawn from it to hunt for the General’s kidnappers. In the confusion which had followed the kidnapping they had easily eluded enemy patrols and found their way to the rendezvous.

  At dawn the next morning Manali arrived with Maitland and soon afterwards the andartes in Manali’s band straggled in. The group, Maitland told Ayton, had had to break up into twos and threes in order to slip undetected through the cordon the Germans had thrown around the approaches to the southern coastline. Neither the General’s chauffeur nor the staff officer who had been in the back of the Mercedes was with the andartes, and when Manali was asked where they were he simply shrugged.

  Ayton and Paddy took Maitland to one side. ‘What happened?’ Paddy asked.

  Maitland looked uncomfortable. ‘They just vanished. Manali said that the chauffeur died in the night and that the officer fell and broke his neck.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘I did not, sir,’ the sergeant answered indignantly. ‘But what could I do? That lot would slit their grandmothers’ throats if it suited them. I thought the Gorbals were tough, sir, but these andartes beat anything I’ve seen.’

  ‘We’d better take it in turns to guard the General,’ said Paddy, ‘or he’ll be the next one.’

  The next day a goatherd from a nearby village brought them news that the Germans had set up a command post there and that the rumour was that they were going to send out patrols along all the southern beaches. If they weren’t careful, the messenger warned, the party would be cut off from the coast.

  ‘When is the sub due?’ Paddy asked Ayton.

  ‘Tomorrow night.’

  ‘Too long a time to stay here. We must move down to the bay tonight and take the chance that we can find somewhere to hide tomorrow.’

  At nightfall, after bidding a long and warm farewell to Manali and
his andartes, they started off down the goat path up which they had scrambled the previous week.

  12

  Ayton found the rock-strewn path even more difficult to go down than it had been to ascend. His boots slid on the screed and more than once he thought he would pitch forward but just managed to retain a foothold.

  Paddy, who was in the lead, set up a brisk pace. He was followed by Dennis and Tim, who had the General between them on a mule, while Maitland and Ayton took turns to take up the rear. They reached the beach well before dawn and skirted round it to find a convenient place to spend the day. Once it was dark, they planned to go down to the shore to unearth the hidden folbots and await the submarine.

  In the undergrowth behind the beach they found the remains of a fisherman’s stone hut which would give them some protection from the sun. It stood in the middle of a patch of bare ground, so that it was both hidden by the surrounding undergrowth and fairly easy to defend. By daybreak they had eaten, tied up the mule at the back of the hut and divided the day between them into two-hour watches.

  The sun rose hot and burning, and the flies gathered in clusters on them as they rested. The General mumbled in his sleep; the mule stamped its feet. Around the middle of the afternoon Ayton, who was on watch, heard the Fieseler-Storch again, but it was well inland of their hiding-place and he did not see it.

  After the sun had set they ate again and then, before the moon rose, made their way cautiously to the end of the beach, where the folbots were hidden. As they lifted them out from between the rocks, the General muttered something to Paddy, who said to Ayton: ‘He hopes he doesn’t have to go in one of those things. He can’t swim.’

  ‘Then he’s going to have to keep bloody still and behave himself,’ said Ayton. ‘I’ll take him out to the sub when it arrives. Jim can take Dennis.’

  They lay in the sand at the back of the beach. Ayton studied his luminous watch impatiently and promptly at eleven o’clock began flashing the agreed letter out to sea at regular intervals. The minutes passed, but there was no response. After half an hour Paddy whispered: ‘What could have happened?’

  Ayton lifted the torch and flashed it again. Anything could have happened. Paddy knew that as well as he did. The sub could have been sunk, or delayed, or could simply have been ordered elsewhere for another operation. It was only the first of three rendezvous. The second was scheduled for the following night and the third for seven nights later, but Ayton doubted if they could remain undetected for another twenty-four hours, much less another week.

  He swept the bay with his binoculars. The waning moon came out from behind a bank of cloud, making the water shimmer in his lenses. For a moment he thought he saw the hull of the submarine, but the shadow on the sea dissolved.

  Then Paddy, with his binoculars still raised to his eyes, grabbed Ayton’s arm. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Ten o’clock.’

  Ayton trained his binoculars to the left, but he knew Paddy must be mistaken, for nothing broke the calm surface of the sea.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There! Right in front of you!’

  The urgency in Paddy’s voice made Ayton lower his binoculars from near the horizon into the shallows. Christ! The sub looked as if it was about to beach itself, it was so close in. Only the upper part of the conning tower had broken the water. At first he thought it was stationary, but then he saw it was moving parallel with the beach from left to right, and moving so slowly that the tower caused hardly a ripple on the surface.

  As he watched, two figures appeared on the bridge. In his excitement Ayton fumbled with his torch and dropped it in the sand. He picked it up, shook the sand off it, made sure the blue filter was still in place, then sent the recognition signal. Those on the submarine must have seen his signal immediately, for it swung slowly towards them and stopped.

  Timber Woods, Ayton noted with approval, still used the bows-on approach, preferring to give those ashore the maximum protection of his guns.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Ayton whispered to Maitland, who had the General next to him. They picked up the folbots and ran to the water’s edge. Paddy and Tim stood guard as Ayton and Maitland carried one of the folbots into the water and held it steady while the General clambered nervously into the front cockpit. Ayton swung himself into the rear cockpit while Maitland held the folbot’s stern. Maitland gave the folbot a push and Ayton struck deep into the water with his double paddles.

  The folbot’s bow climbed and hung on a wave. The wave broke, cascading them with foam. The General cursed loudly in German. Ayton kept the bow at right angles to the incoming waves and the next one swept harmlessly under them. Then they were out beyond the breakers into calm water.

  The submarine was still hull down, but most of the conning tower was now clear of the water and Ayton could see the barrel and part of the mounting of the three-inch gun in front of the bridge. As the folbot neared it, the submarine blew the last of its internal ballast and surfaced completely, emerging like a great black whale.

  As Ayton came alongside, two seamen in their white sweaters leant over and grabbed the bow and stern of the folbot while a third reached for the General and hauled him on to the forecasing.

  ‘A prisoner,’ said Ayton. ‘But he’s a general, so treat him gently.’

  The seaman’s teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness. ‘If you say so, sir.’

  Then Maitland came alongside and Dennis was hauled unceremoniously on to the forecasing. Ayton called out to Woods, who was leaning over the bridge. ‘No more prisoners, Timber, but there are still two to be picked up.’

  Woods lifted his hand in acknowledgement. ‘Make it snappy, there’s a good fellow,’ he said.

  The seamen released both folbots and the two SBS men turned them for the shore. A feeling of elation began to flow through Ayton as he paddled, and the exhaustion of the previous days lifted from him. They were home and dry now.

  ‘We’ve done it,’ he said to Paddy when he reached the beach. ‘We’ve actually fucking done it.’

  As he spoke there was a shout from the far end of the beach, followed by a burst of automatic fire. Bullets scattered sand and whined above their heads.

  ‘Krauts!’ shouted Paddy. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  The next enemy burst of fire was more accurate, the bullets ripping across the water and making them duck instinctively. Ayton saw several figures running along the back of the beach and Maitland turned and fired a burst at them with his tommy-gun. More bullets kicked up the sand. Suddenly Maitland gave a grunt and slumped down.

  ‘Shit!’ said Ayton. He felt transfixed.

  ‘Get going!’ yelled Paddy at him as he dodged into the rocks. ‘I’ll cover you.’

  Ayton ignored him and scrambled over to Maitland while Tim dragged one of the folbots into the water. Even before he touched him, Ayton knew Maitland was dead. He felt for his pulse; there was nothing. He rolled him over. Sand covered his eyelashes. Instinctively, Ayton brushed his fingers over the eyelids, closing the Scot’s sightless, staring eyes. It was the least he could do.

  Under Paddy’s covering fire, Ayton ran into the water and thrust hard on the stern of the folbot, then shouted at Tim to get in and use his paddles. Behind him as he clambered into the rear cockpit he heard Paddy firing in short, steady bursts. Ayton hoped he had plenty of ammunition. He would need it.

  He thrust his paddle into the water and the folbot gathered way. There was an outside chance that the Germans had not yet seen the submarine, but as the folbot reached it a Very light arched into the sky, illuminating the beach.

  ‘There’s still one of us ashore,’ Ayton shouted to Woods as Tim was hauled on to the forecasing. ‘In the rocks on the right. They may not have seen you yet.’

  ‘They will,’ Woods replied grimly. ‘I’ll make sure of that. Close up, gun crews,’ he said into the voice pipe before shouting down to Ayton: ‘I’ll give you covering fire while you fetch your friend. But for Christ’s sake don’t hang about.’ He turned back to
the voice pipe. ‘I want the Bren up here, too. Pronto!’

  Another Very light burst over the beach and in the brightness Ayton could see more figures moving along the back edge. He would have to be quick, for the Germans were obviously moving to outflank Paddy, who was hiding in the rocks. As he moved the folbot away from the submarine he saw the barrel of the three-inch gun begin to traverse towards the shore, and heard the gun layer shout instructions. Seconds later the weapon fired behind him with an ear-splitting crack. The shell screamed over his head and exploded with a blinding flash behind the beach. The figures there scattered, and Ayton heard himself cheering.

  If the first shell was slightly high, the second was rather too low, for it exploded on the beach close to the edge of the water, throwing up a great gout of sand and shale; but the third dropped right on the back fringes of the beach. Then the Bren gun opened up. One in five bullets was tracer and Ayton could see the flickering line of lead seeking out the range of the German patrol. Then he had to concentrate on beaching the craft.

  The sea was rougher now and one of the breaking waves nearly spun the folbot out of his control. But a moment later he was through the breakers and almost aground. As he leapt out, Paddy, crouched down low, came running out of the rocks. One determined German started to fire at him and bullets ricocheted off the rocks and whined into the night. But he did not fire for long, for the Bren gunner on the bridge of the submarine soon zeroed in on him.

  The two men scrambled into the folbot as a third Very light blossomed into the sky, but there was no more firing.

  ‘Thanks,’ Paddy breathed.

  Extra seamen waited for them on the submarine’s forecasing as they came alongside, and the folbot was fed hastily down the torpedo hatch. Woods was the only one on the bridge when they climbed up to it. He motioned them down the conning tower’s ladder and pressed the button to start the klaxon, whose raucous blare was supplemented by Woods shouting: ‘Dive, dive, dive!’ down the conning tower.