by Iain Gale
Hathaway explained. ‘He sings it everywhere, or whistles it. No idea why. You can always hear him coming. How are your Greeks?’
‘Fine. They’ve really come on. They’re good fighters, you know. Gave my men a real run for their money.’
‘What did I tell you?’ He paused and took a drink of wine. ‘What d’you make of John Pendlebury?’
‘He’s quite a comic turn, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. But he’s actually rather good news. And I’m damned glad he’s on our side. You saw his left eye?’
Lamb nodded.
‘Lost it in an accident at the age of two. Stuck a pen into it, I heard. He’s worn a glass one ever since. When he leaves his office to go on a mission he leaves the glass eye on his table to show that he’ll be back soon.’
‘What was all that about being here all his life?’
‘He’s an archaeologist. Been in Greece since God knows when. Did some of the excavations at Knossos. Then our government got hold of him and made him Vice Consul, although really he was doing undercover stuff with the Cretans.’
‘They obviously respect him. Especially Bandouvas.’
‘You could do worse than getting some help from Manoli Bandouvas, you know. And you’d earn his respect.’
‘Is that important?’
‘It’ll be vital when the Jerries get here.’
‘I thought we’d hit it off quite well this morning.’
Hathaway laughed. ‘Don’t be too sure. These chaps are grudging in their praise. And they’re tougher than they look. I’m quite serious, Peter. Manoli Bandouvas is one of the most powerful chiefs on Crete, perhaps second only to the one they called Satanas. According to Pendlebury Bandouvas is as unreliable as he is brave. He’s also arrogant, self-important and hugely influential. Oh, and Pendlebury’s convinced he’s a Communist. Probably curses you for saving the Prince.’
‘And I thought we were all on the same side.’
Hathaway shook his head. ‘First thing to learn on Crete: they’re not Greeks, they’re Cretans, and when they’ve defeated the Germans they’ll still be fighting, whoever wins.’
The words came back to Lamb as he walked from Tsouderos’ villa to the Levandakis’ kafeneio through the warm, fragrant night. Cicadas chirruped in the trees and from the encampments dotted around the olive groves came voices and the occasional burst of song. He climbed the street as it snaked up the hill and had almost reached the centre of Galatas when another thought struck him, another troubling snatch of their conversation. It was when Pendlebury had made his comment about the imminent attack. It was almost, thought Lamb, as if he knew. As if he had a date in his mind. It seemed to him now that his sudden departure might have been because he had realised he might have said too much and that he must get back to Heraklion as soon as he could.
Lamb recalled the look on his face: the expression of supreme smugness. But if Pendlebury did know the exact timing of when the attack would come then why had General Freyberg not taken others into his confidence? Surely if Creforce, or at least its officers, knew when the Germans would attack they would be defeated with ease? And then it struck him.
The only answer was surely that the British had some means of gathering intelligence that would reveal Hitler’s plans. And of course, if that were known to be the case, if our forces were seen by the enemy to have been too well prepared, the game would be up. The Jerries would change their signals, their codes and all the rest, and the Allies would lose whatever advantage they enjoyed.
Once again, as had been the case in France, he was aware of wheels spinning within wheels, of the dilemmas that faced not just field officers but the High Command itself. For a horrible moment it occurred to him that Whitehall must consider preserving the integrity of its intelligence advantage more important than the lives of several thousand men. This thought sent a shiver through him. He realised he was one of those men.
By 10.30 Lamb was sitting at a table in the little kafeneio, drinking a glass of the good raki and trying to make it last. He had taken John Pendlebury’s advice and poured himself a generous glass of bottled water to match it. Valentine was not with him, of course, but Charles Eadie had asked if he might come along and Lamb had not seen why he shouldn’t, for an hour or so, and was keeping an eye on how much he drank, like some watchful father over a teenage son.
The men were happy enough in their trenches in the groves on Pink Hill just to the south of the village. Lamb knew he could be with them in a matter of a few minutes. Besides, he knew too that Anna would be there, and there was something about her that bewitched him. She was utterly feminine but at the same time exuded a fieriness of spirit that was close to his own. He half thought she was his female counterpart, and he was certain that when the invasion came she would be out in the fields with a rifle killing Germans with the best of them. He was watching her dance now as he sipped at the raki, admiring the way she moved her body, sinuous, even to the masculine rhythm of the bouzouki. The raki and the music had dispelled Lamb’s morbid thoughts. But a better antidote than either of those things had been the sight of Anna’s face.
Even though the door was open and the party had spilled out into the village square, the music filled the room, catching him up in its infectious beat. Suddenly she caught his eye and smiled, and he knew that what he had thought might be the spark of something between them was certainly something more.
He was glad he had come. It was good to see the local people enjoying themselves, despite the ever-present threat of invasion and the daily air-raids. For all his lack of Greek he felt he had somehow been assimilated into their company. There were not many British officers present. A couple of New Zealand NCOs he vaguely recognised had obviously been given leave to attend but kept themselves to themselves and away from the officers. Captain Page was there, but for the most part he seemed to prefer to sit alone. A few of Lamb’s Greek officers had turned up and were dancing in the square. But Anna was the real reason he was there, and as he sipped at his raki and watched her as she whirled across the floor, dancing with her younger brother, he felt somehow complete.
She stopped in front of him. ‘Peter. This is my brother. My little brother, Andreas.’
The boy, who was about fifteen and slightly shorter than Lamb, smiled and said hello before turning to find another dance partner. Anna looked at Lamb. ‘Thank you for coming. I did not know if you would.’
‘I left a very important dinner to come here. With the King’s cousin.’
She shrugged. ‘Should I be impressed?’
‘No. I was joking. But I would have come anyway. To see you.’
She laughed and tossed her hair, then grabbed at his hand and dragged him to his feet. ‘And now I will make you sorry you came. I will teach you how to dance.’
He protested, but it was too late. Anna pulled him into the middle of the floor, pushing the other dancers aside. They carried on, but looked at the couple as they danced, asking each other why Anna Levandakis was dancing with the handsome British captain.
Lamb had never been a great dancer. His wife had told him on their first walk-out to the Café de Paris that he had two left feet. But if he had thought a waltz or a foxtrot difficult, this was something altogether different.
And so the bouzoukis played and Anna swayed and turned in front of him, pushing him around the floor and inviting him to mimic her movements. Lamb tried his best but could not help but feel he was out of time. He was sweating now, hot and confused as he felt the raki and her perfume filling his senses. At last the music stopped and, panting, she pulled him close to her and kissed him on the cheek. Then she walked to his table and in one swift movement drained the half glass of raki he had left in his place. She placed the empty glass down before him and offered him the glass of water, which he drank. She spoke softly.
‘You dance well. For an Englishman.’
‘Nonsense. I can’t dance. Not like you.’
‘Perhaps not. But I know you can fight, like us.
I saw you in the kafeneio. I can fight for myself. This place is used to war. Everyone wants this place: Turks, Italians, Greeks. Now the Germans. We have only been part of Greece for thirty years. I am a Cretan. I’m not a Greek.’
‘I’m sorry. Of course.’
She hadn’t finished. ‘And we don’t like the King. Or his cousin. The one you saved.’
‘I didn’t know you knew that.’
‘Of course I knew. But you saved me too, and my father.’
‘I would have done the same for anyone.’
‘I know. That’s why I like you. So, please, none of this nonsense about the King. My father and his friends fought here after the last war. In 1935 they fought for Venizelos, against the King. Then in the summer of 1938 we fought again, against Metaxas. They beat us and took our guns away. But my father hid his gun. He will get it when the Germans come. And then we shall see what happens.’
‘Why do you hate the Greeks so much?’
‘This is my family. You met my little brother, but my big brother is not here. Metaxas took our men for his army. Your army came and he took my brother to fight the Germans.’
She was becoming angry now.
‘Tell me why we should welcome you. Why? You British. If you hadn’t come here to defend us, then our boys wouldn’t have been taken to Albania. My brother would still be here. I should hate you, Peter Lamb, and all your comrades.’ She paused and looked down. ‘But how can I hate you?’
She looked up at him and he could see tears forming in her eyes. She shook her head and stared into his eyes, and for a moment for both of them the war ceased to exist. Then, without another word, she took his hand and silently, together, they walked away from the music and the dancing.
At that moment, in a villa just a few miles away, a pair of careful hands uncovered the wireless set kept hidden in the back of a wardrobe and, sitting down at the dressing table, began to tap out a message. And soon the Germans were in no doubt as to the real strength of the enemy they would face when they invaded. They had final confirmation, too, that the King of Greece was at Perivolia. They knew about the tanks and about the hidden anti-aircraft guns at Canea and Heraklion and about the massive underestimation they had made about the readiness of Crete’s defenders. The hands tapped away in the code that the Germans still believed the Allies could not break, and the message concluded with the suggestion that they might perhaps choose to postpone the attack. But even as the hands typed out their advice their owner knew that it was now too late to stop it and that when it came the fight would be bigger and bloodier than they had been told to expect or could begin to imagine. Now all they could do was hope and pray.
9
Lamb stirred and pulled the blanket closer around him in the chill morning air. He opened one eye and then remembered. The girl lay close beside him on the tiny wooden sleeping platform in the back room of the house, and he drank in her scent along with the morning. He wondered what had awoken him, and then, before his eyes were open, he knew. The earth shook and glasses fell from the shelves, where they had been left the night before, to smash on the earth floor. Lamb sat upright. ‘Christ, we’re being bombed.’ He shook the girl to life and then with a few movements pulled on pants, shirt, trousers and battledress top.
‘Anna, come on, quick, they’re bombing us.’
He had grown used to the daily early-morning raids, the ‘daily hate’ as the men called it. But that was no reason to think you were immortal. Bombs were not picky about whom they sent to kingdom come. Anna stirred languorously, and stretched. For a moment he stared at her. ‘Come on, Anna.’ He repeated it, shook her again. ‘We’re being bombed. Get dressed.’ She opened her eyes and was suddenly awake and aware. She swung her naked body on to the edge of the bed and grabbed at her clothes while Lamb pulled on his boots and strapped on his webbing and watch.
‘I’ve got to find the men. I’ll see you after this is over.’ He bent to kiss her, and as their lips met he caught her smell again, musky, infused with alcohol and honey and warm with sleep.
‘Yes, Peter. Later. Be careful.’
Lamb smiled at her, pushed open the door and walked into the morning. The air was clear and fresh, the sky a peerless blue. Another perfect summer day. Apart from the fact that due east and west of where he stood some poor bastard was copping it.
He flipped open the leather cover of his wristwatch. It was 6 a.m. Jerry was a little early with his wake-up call this morning. The village was coming to life. Apparently oblivious to the bombs falling over to the west on Maleme and close to Canea in the east, a peasant was pulling a reluctant mule up the main street, goading it with a stick. The single bell was tolling on the church roof and the bombs seemed to have set all the village dogs barking at once. Looking west he saw the powder-puff balls of smoke from the Bofors guns as they strained to hit the bombers. Lamb rubbed at his eyes. Bombers. It seemed the whole sky was filled with them, sticks of bombs raining down on Maleme. Even here, some seven miles distant, he felt the earth shake as they hit home. Christ, he thought, what must it be like to be under that lot?
Smart appeared. ‘Morning, sir. Cup of char?’ He handed Lamb a mug of tea. ‘Daily hate’s a bit noisy this morning, sir.’
‘A bit noisy, Smart, yes. Bit early too. Thank you.’ He had no idea how Smart had found him in Galatas and did not like to ask. He presumed there was simply nothing Corporal Valentine did not make it his business to know, including the details of his commanding officer’s private life.
Lamb took a long drink and thought about it. A bit early. That was unlike the Germans. This was more than the ‘daily hate’, he thought. This was something new. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps this was the prelude to the attack that he felt certain must come.
He looked at the planes as they came in. Stukas with fighter cover, wave after wave of them, circling round to drop their bombs and depart. Then another wave came in, and they kept coming.
Smart spoke. ‘I think they’re headed for us, sir.’
The man was right. They were making directly for Galatas.
‘I think you may be right.’ As he spoke a squadron of Stukas appeared almost over their heads. ‘Christ, take cover.’ Lamb threw down the tea and ran past the house towards where he knew there was a drainage ditch. Smart dived towards the opposite side of the road, into a culvert. Lamb was about to throw himself into the ditch when he remembered Anna. He rushed back into the house. He could hear the engines above them now; almost feel them. He opened the door. The house was shaking with the vibration of the planes. He shouted, ‘Come on.’ He found her still sitting on the bed, dressed now but clearly dazed by the noise. Quickly, Lamb dragged her out of the house by the arm and together they ran towards the ditch. She screamed, ‘My father. Andreas.’ Paying her no heed, he threw her in and followed, just as the first of the bombs came down.
It did not hit the village itself but an area just to the north of Galatas, near the beach at Kato Stalos. Nevertheless the earth heaved beneath them as the shock waves ran through it. She gripped him tightly.
He was aware of earth and grit pattering on top of them, clogging their noses and ears and making them cough. The noise was almost unbearable, from the deep sucking drone of the bombers to the whine of the falling bombs and the massive boom of the explosions. Then it stopped, just stopped. His ears ringing, all that Lamb could hear was the receding drone of the engines and then, to his amazement, birdsong.
Pulling himself up, he brushed the earth from Anna’s face and clothes and together they climbed from the ditch into a scene of destruction. At least four of the village houses were blazing, and another was now no more than a shell. The church was still standing, but lying in the middle of the road a little further on was all that remained of the old man and his mule.
He saw Smart climb from his culvert and cross the road.
‘That was a bit close for comfort, sir.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘All done now, though, sir. Shame about your t
ea. I’ll get you another, shall I?’
Lamb shook his head. ‘Don’t bother about that. We’d better get to the men.’
He could not help but think of the fact that the raid had come so early. He turned to Anna and, conscious that his batman was watching, waved at her. ‘Until later.’
She smiled and turned. Lamb did likewise and watched as four villagers carried the body of the peasant into a house. He had walked a few paces along the road and was about to say something to Smart when he stopped, aware of another noise: a throbbing hum. Still with ringing in his head from the raid, he rubbed at his left ear but only came away with some grit. The noise could be in his head, he thought. Or it could be … more engines. Not the whine of the Stukas now, but a heavy, rhythmic throb.
Smart looked at him. ‘You all right, sir?’
Lamb gazed up at the sky, and what he saw filled him with both wonder and horror. More planes were drifting over them. Great banks of them. Dornier 17s and Ju 88s, twin-engine heavy bombers. He pointed. ‘Look.’
He turned quickly and saw Anna, still walking away. He turned to Smart. ‘Go on to the company. Tell them I’m on my way. Lieutenant Eadie’s in charge.’
Running as fast as he could, Lamb chased after the girl, calling out her name as he did. She turned just as he reached her. He grabbed at her arm and pointed to the sky. ‘Quick, back in the ditch.’
Together they ran back and threw themselves flat on the ground. It was not a second too soon. They heard the staccato patter of machine-guns as the Messerschmitt escort planes dived down on the town, strafing the streets with the guns in their wings, sending lethal shards of whitewashed masonry spinning through the air. Directly beside the ditch he could hear the rounds tearing into the dusty road surface. He pushed her head further into the earth floor.
