Jackals' Revenge

by Iain Gale

  He paused for breath. ‘If London would only send me 10,000 rifles we could hold this bloody island. A few guns and that division of top-notch Cretan soldiers that they had the brilliance of forethought to abandon in Albania.’

  Lamb thought he should say something. ‘Yes, I heard that their general was assassinated here a few weeks ago, in the street, after leaving them there.’

  Pendlebury nodded. ‘He knew it would happen. It was the only honourable thing to do. Well, what would you do?’

  He stared at Lamb and his face changed from the jovial man who had walked into their midst to that of someone quite different. A fighter.

  ‘The Germans are coming, Lamb, and we’re going to be ready for them. And if the High Command decide that we have to evacuate, do you know what we’re going to do on this island? We’re going to hold out. Whatever happens.’

  He was almost oratorical now, playing to his audience.

  ‘I know this land. We will take to the high ground. To the Nidha plateau, high on the slopes of Mount Ida. Thousands of sheep, inaccessible by road and riddled with caves. Do you know the locals believe that Zeus was born in one of them? Place can only be reached through the village of Krousonas. And that place, my friend, is held by Kapitan Satanas.’

  There was a murmur among the troops as they heard the nickname of Antonis Grigorakis. ‘You have to go through Krousonas and through Anoyia too. Anoyia is the stronghold of my two friends Stephanoyianni Dramoudanis and Mihali Xylouris. And with their men, armed with new weapons from me, I tell you, Lamb, we will hold out for as long as it takes. Until this scourge is wiped from the face of the earth.’ The Greeks applauded, although Lamb was not sure that they had understood.

  His speech finished, Pendlebury turned back to Bandouvas and began to talk very quickly.

  Hathaway shook Lamb’s hand. ‘It’s been good to meet you, Lamb. Always good to know who you’ll be fighting alongside when the balloon goes up. I say, would you join us for dinner this evening? It won’t be much. At the Prince’s villa. He’s dying to meet you again, to say thank you properly. You helped him out of a hole. He’s hugely grateful, you know.’

  ‘It was nothing, really. Anyone would have done the same.’

  ‘Nevertheless, come and dine with us this evening.’ Lamb remembered Anna’s party for her brother.

  ‘Of course. But I’m afraid I might have to leave early.’

  Hathaway laughed. ‘Oh, we shan’t keep you late. We eat early. Shall we say 7 p.m.? It’s just south of Perivolia. I’ll send a man to show you the way. Do please come. You won’t regret it. Oh, and I should be on your best behaviour; there’s every chance that the King might drop in. He’s moved from that house near your camp that he was in, but I think he prefers Marcos’ cooking. Dare say you’ll know a few others there too. The Hartleys and their hangers-on. Should be a jolly party.’

  8

  It was with a sense of some unreality and no little annoyance that Lamb wandered down to the company lines on Pink Hill. A jolly party? It hardly seemed likely, with Miranda Hartley making eyes at him all night and Comberwell cracking lewd jokes. It struck him, though, that it was a very British thing to do, to gather for a dinner party when the enemy were damn nearly at the gates. His thoughts turned to Hathaway, Bandouvas and Pendlebury. There were some very curious people on this island. Perhaps Valentine was right after all: it was a little like The Tempest, filled with strange noises. At least, he thought, there was the prospect of making contact with the King and it appeared that, with all the talk of a forthcoming attack, that was hardly soon enough.

  Lamb reached the camp and walked up to his HQ tent to find Valentine sitting on an ammunition box close by, cleaning his Thompson gun. He sat down at his desk, a table liberated from the village, which had been laid with maps and a pair of binoculars.

  ‘Busy morning, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I met some very interesting people, Valentine. Have you heard of Captain Pendlebury?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. The one-man army, they call him. Old man Levandakis has told me all about him and his glass eye. Takes it out all the time. Sort of a bit like a Cyclops. One-eyed and making weapons. You remember, sir. They made thunderbolts for Zeus’ and Apollo’s bows and arrows. You could say Captain Pendlebury’s doing the same for the Cretans, couldn’t you, sir? I mean, trying to arm them. He’s apparently about as stubborn as the Cyclops were meant to be, too.’

  He clicked back the bolt of the gun and slid it back into position with perfect precision.

  ‘You know too much, Valentine – far too much for a soldier.’

  ‘I thought soldiers were meant to know everything, sir.’

  ‘Officers, Valentine. Only officers know everything. You’re still an NCO. At the moment.’

  Valentine swiftly diverted the subject away from the bugbear of his commission. ‘Did you hear about those poor Kiwis from 19 Battalion, sir? Went for a swim at Kalamaki and got strafed by some 109s. All dead.’ He carried on cleaning the gun.

  It was happening almost every day now. The holiday atmosphere of the island had induced a false sense of security. General orders were supposed to have put an end to the practice of taking yourself off for a swim, as the Luftwaffe’s presence in the skies had escalated, but still men stole away to take a dip in the Med, as they had become accustomed to doing for the last month. It was an ignominious way to go, he thought, and a bloody waste of precious resources.

  Lamb ignored the comment. It invited no reply. ‘Have you seen the Sarnt-Major?’

  ‘He’s down in the forward positions, sir.’

  ‘Will you kindly tell him that Mr Wentworth will be officer of the watch tonight, and his platoon on first stag. I’ve got myself embroiled in an official dinner at Platanas.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. All brass hats and brouhaha. The Hartleys will be there.’

  ‘Fascinating man, Mr Hartley, don’t you think, sir?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Very good on the sites here. He got a first in Classics at Oxford.’

  ‘I’m sure the two of you get along very well, Valentine.’

  ‘As a matter of fact we do, sir.’

  Lamb shook his head, ‘I’ll leave the address of where I’m going. Just in case the Jerries decide to pay us a visit.’

  There were no raids that night, and no unwanted visitors. At 7 o’clock precisely Lamb found himself at the bougainvillaea-shaded entrance to the villa where the Prince was staying.

  As Hathaway had promised, the dinner party was prompt and mercifully short, although the food itself, of fresh fish, concussed that morning by the German raiders, proved as delicious as anticipated. Of course there was no mess kit or dinner jackets, but the ladies had made an effort and for an instant the war seemed very far away.

  Pendlebury’s very presence, with his extraordinary blend of erudition and ribald humour, had spread a feeling of optimism and raised drooping morale. It also helped that someone, he never did find out who, had discovered a wind-up gramophone and a stack of dance band records ranging from Al Bowlly and Ambrose to Ray Noble, so they had dined to the strains of ‘Goodnight Sweetheart’, ‘Dancing in the Dark’ and ‘The Very Thought of You’. And as the music played Miranda Hartley had been as irritatingly flirtatious as ever, flashing him knowing looks that played on the lyrics. Her conversation was different now, though – similar observations but tainted with a sense of ennui.

  ‘Do you suppose the Germans will attack? Julia says your man Valentine told him they would.’

  ‘I have no idea, I’m afraid, and I suppose Sergeant Valentine has even less.’

  ‘Oh no. Julian says he’s most knowledgeable. He’s been very grateful, actually, to find such a kindred spirit here on the island. Of course, Captain Pendlebury is encyclopaedic, but he’s so very busy. Valentine seems to have all the time in the world to talk about the Minoans. Just the sort of stuff Julian loves. I must say, how I long for someone to offer t
he same sort of companionship. Someone I can really talk to.’

  She went on.

  ‘I do so hope that they get us all away to Cairo soon. Or Alexandria. Anywhere but here. Do you ever feel that we’re trapped in paradise? I wake every day to the same blue sky and wonder what on earth I’m going to do. I can’t think what Il Duce thought he was doing when he invaded Greece if it was going to end up stranding us here.’

  And so she continued. Lamb was thankful when after dinner she and the two ladies who accompanied the Prince – the wife of the prime minister and a former lady in waiting – had reluctantly retired, leaving him with the men. The port, a Croft 1912, was surprisingly good and it had been annoying to have to hold back, but he had done so, partly because he needed to be alert and partly because he did not want to miss Anna’s party.

  The Prince had spoken volubly about the state of the island’s defences and the general state of the garrison. There had apparently been a few courts martial since the curfew had been introduced two weeks ago – less, though, than in the first week.

  ‘I would say it’s been a bit of a success,’ said the Prince. ‘They finally seem to be under control. Better, certainly, than when Captain Lamb had to rescue me.’

  Hathaway shook his head. ‘We may be better able to control them, Your Highness, but I don’t know how long Creforce as a whole can remain in good spirits. It’s all this damn waiting.’

  Pendlebury smiled. ‘It may not be an issue very much longer.’

  ‘What, you mean you have an idea of when they’ll come?’

  ‘Well, think about it, dear chap. How long have we been here now?’

  ‘Well, clearly, John, you’ve been here since time immemorial.’

  They all laughed. ‘Thank you for that. Sometimes it does feel as if I have. No, I meant how long has the garrison been here?’

  ‘Since last September.’

  ‘So effectively we’ve been expecting an attack for the past eight months. Hitler’s had his hands on Greece since the end of last month, and we know he’s not a man for hanging about. Take my word for it. It will be any day now.’

  ‘Do you know something that we don’t, John?’

  ‘Perhaps. Let’s just say I have connections. That’s the principal advantage of being attached to the GOC at Heraklion. In fact I should really be there now. But the coast road is a bloody shambles, so why not enjoy this splendid wine while we can?’

  Eschewing the port, he poured Lamb a glass of one of the better wines they had liberated from the cellar of the new prime minister, whose house, Bella Campagna, this happened to be.

  As the wine flowed the Prince became more talkative. He turned to Lamb. ‘My cousin the King is on the island, you know. In fact I’m surprised he isn’t here tonight. I’ve told him about you, Captain Lamb. He’s very grateful. It’s very difficult for him here. The Cretans do not like us very much, so he has appointed a Cretan as prime minister, a banker. Mr Tsouderos. This house belongs to him. He’s with my cousin now. Of course we sent Maniadakis off to Egypt with all his damned secret police. He would have been killed here if he had stayed.’

  Lamb nodded. ‘Like General Papastergiou. Shot dead in the street.’

  ‘Well, it was bound to happen. For a Cretan general to abandon his division in Albania and save his own skin, then to return to his homeland – he must have known what would happen.’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted it.’

  ‘Perhaps. It was an honourable way out.’

  Pendlebury chimed in. ‘It was an excellent sign, actually, Your Highness. Don’t you think? I think something would have been very wrong indeed with the morale of the Cretan people if Papastergiou had not been promptly shot.’

  They stared at him, but Lamb for one realised he was absolutely right.

  The Prince nodded. ‘Yes. But it was a pity. It’s bad for any man to be shot by his own people.’

  Comberwell poured himself another glass of port. ‘Where did you say your cousin was, Your Highness? Is he quite safe?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Comberwell. He’s in a little villa quite near here. Closer to Perivolia. He was at a bank in Suda for the first day or so, and then at the Villa Ariadne for a few days. You know, Pendlebury, Arthur Evans’ house.’

  Pendlebury nodded.

  ‘Then he was with the general for a while at Heraklion, but the continual bombing unsettled his nerves. So then they came here, he and the government. He has a guard too, a platoon of Kiwis with a highly entertaining young chap in charge of them. Lieutenant Ryan. You know, Michael, we must ask him to come for dinner some evening, and a swim.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, Your Highness.’

  Lamb had listened with interest. ‘Just one platoon? Do you really think that’s enough?’

  Hathaway nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t think we’ll need to reinforce. Mr Tsouderos is going to get together an escort of armed locals. Everything’s been arranged with Colonel Blount, the military attaché to the Embassy. He’s got some secret up his sleeve, apparently. Probably one of these new “elite force” chaps. If the Jerries attack we’ll have the King and his chums off to Egypt faster than you can blink. That rather brings me to an important point. Comberwell, Mr Hartley. It has been suggested that you and the other British civilians might accompany the King, in the event of an attack.’

  Julian Hartley said nothing as Hathaway began to explain, but nodded and turned to Lamb. ‘It’s frightfully good material, you know, all this. Couldn’t have wanted anything better. To tell you the truth I was having a bit of a block. Sometimes gets you that way. I thought this trip might provide the kick to get me started again. Can’t really believe my luck.’

  ‘What sort of books do you write? I mean, I’m terribly sorry, I’ve never read any of your novels.’

  Hartley laughed. ‘Well, no, I don’t expect you have. Let me see, how can I define the indefinable? They’re sort of social satires, really. You know the kind of thing: a group of people, our sort of people, in a house or in a situation which accentuates their relationships. Archetypes. Lots of tension. It’s nothing new, of course. Aristophanes was doing the same thing here 2,000 years ago. I’m sort of the same without the wasps and frogs.’

  Lamb smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I see.’

  Hartley went on, ‘Read any Huxley?’

  ‘No, can’t say I have.’

  ‘Thought not. Some of the critics have drawn comparisons. Of course others say I have more in common with Waugh, but I think they’re missing the point. I’m not that lightweight.’ He inhaled from his cigarette and blew a large smoke ring. ‘I feel like an observer on the periphery of a society which has accepted me as one of its own, but to which I’ve never really belonged. Do you understand?’

  Lamb nodded. Of course he understood. Perfectly. It was exactly the way he had felt at university and among his ex-wife’s friends. Always on the edge, looking in. He felt a strange affinity for Hartley suddenly, for all his pretensions and bohemian attitudes. And Lamb knew that was why he felt so at home in the army. He said, ‘Yes. I know how you feel. I think I was like that. Once.’

  Hartley nodded. ‘Thought so. I pride myself on being able to read people. All part of the novelist’s art, you see. I knew you and I had something in common. Outsiders. That’s what we are. Looking in on the world.’

  Lamb smiled. ‘I’m not sure I still feel that way.’

  ‘Really? I wouldn’t be so sure. Sometimes these things are bred in the bone. We’re all a cast of characters. Look at us, for instance. Here, like this. It’s perfect. Just perfect for a plot.’ He laughed. ‘You never know, Captain, you might find yourself one of my characters.’

  ‘I shall have to be very careful what I say then.’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t do that. What you say is exactly what I need.’

  Lamb nodded, but he had one ear on Hathaway who was still talking about their impending evacuation. Comberwell, flushed with the port, shook his head. ‘I’m damned if I’m running away. Can’t we make o
urselves useful here? I’m not a bad shot, you know. Well, I’ve accounted for a good few pheasants in my time. Guest of the Devonshires, mostly.’ He turned to Lamb. ‘Ever shot there? Chatsworth?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid I’m not that well connected.’

  It silenced Comberwell, temporarily, as if he knew he had spoken out of turn. Hathaway spoke again. ‘I’m sorry, that’s just not going to be possible. Besides, this island is a real fortress now. The Jerries still believe we’re only about 10,000 strong. At least that’s what the intercepts are saying. Do you know how many men we really have, combat ready? 28,000. They’ll get a bit of a shock when they do come. And we’ve tanks, albeit just a few of the light ones, but at least we have them. And those AA batteries at Heraklion and Canea – they haven’t spotted all of them. They’re in for a surprise. We’ll give them a bloody nose.’ Knowing perhaps he had said too much, he reverted to form. ‘As civilians, you do realise you’d be shot if you were captured with weapons. We have it on good authority that the Germans have been ordered to give no quarter to francs-tireurs. You must get away. It won’t be easy, but those are our orders from Whitehall.’

  Prince Peter spoke again. ‘It’s a real problem for His Majesty. If he stays until we are attacked and then goes, he will be accused of cowardice, but if he goes before the Germans come he will perhaps seem an even greater coward. The King is of the opinion that to leave before would seem less cowardly, but your General Wavell in Cairo has told him to stay, for the sake of morale.’

  Pendlebury was the first to leave, suddenly impatient to get back to Heraklion, and when he rose from the table Comberwell somewhat predictably said, ‘Do show us your swordstick!’ Pendlebury drew it from its leather scabbard with comic drama and flashed it round with a twist of the wrist before slipping it deftly back.

  They applauded and Lamb had a fleeting vision of Pendlebury using the thin blade in battle against the Germans, whirling it round his head like some officer from the time of Marlborough leading a headlong charge of his Greeks. Pendlebury bade them all farewell, bowing to the Prince, and as the door closed behind him Lamb heard him start to whistle a tune. Unmistakably it was ‘Lillibulero’.