by Iain Gale
‘Sir. I’ve got our Greeks, sir. Found them back in the village, looking a bit lost. But they’re fine now. What shall I do with them?’
‘Split them up as they were before. One platoon to go with Lieutenant Eadie, another with Mr Wentworth, the third with me. That will give us each an extra twenty or so men, almost up to strength. If someone can get back the Greeks from the 6th, if we can get them re-armed, then we’ll have almost 500.’
There was a sudden whoosh in the air above them, followed by a crump about ten yards away to the left.
‘Mortars,’ Lamb shouted and they all went to ground.
He looked up as another round came in. ‘Where the devil are they coming from?’
Bennett looked up and tried to fix them. ‘Looks like Prison Valley, sir. Up by the cemetery. They’ve almost got us zeroed in.’
‘I knew that bloody prison should have been garrisoned.’ Another mortar bomb landed five yards to their right. There was a scream. ‘Christ, that was close. These are the heavy jobs. Right. Just tell everyone to keep down. There’s nothing we can do.’
Another crump and then another. They were falling marginally short, he thought. But he wondered how long it might take for the Germans to find their range. There was a shout from the front. ‘They’re coming, sir. They’re coming up the hill.’
There was a burst of automatic fire from their front. Too wild, it hit nothing but a few plane trees. Lamb yelled across to Mays. ‘Get the Lewis working. Cut them down.’
Within seconds the Lewis gun was pumping out fire in the direction of the oncoming paratroops. More machine-guns opened up as the Petrol Company joined in the defence. There were shouts and screams from the forward slopes as the Lewis gun chopped its way through the advancing enemy. More mortar rounds came in. They could hear German voices shouting words of command.
A New Zealand officer appeared in a tin hat, wearing a broad smile: Macdonagh. ‘Hi there, Lamb. Good shooting now, eh? Duck season’s a bit late. Just doing the rounds of my boys. Great shooting.’ Then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.
Mays arrived at a trot. ‘Sir, we’ve beaten them back but Lieutenant Eadie says there’s a gap on the right by the Petrol Company where the Greeks were and some Jerries look like they’re pushing through.’
Lamb stood up. ‘Right, my platoon, come with me. Sarnt-Major, bring the Greeks.’
They wound their way down the hill across the terraces and over the dead bodies of what seemed to be scores of Germans. Others, badly wounded, held their hands up for help.
Mays whistled. ‘Blimey, it is like a bloody duck shoot.’
There was the occasional random round, but the mortars were silent now. Lamb stopped. ‘Look, down there, Sarnt-Major.’
‘Jerries, sir. A good dozen of them. More now.’
He was right. The paratroops had spotted the gap between the units and were moving as fast as they could through the vines to penetrate it. Lamb crouched. ‘Come on, with me.’
Together they moved forward, their guns at the ready. Lamb was about to raise his hand to stop them when there was a cry from their left. As he watched a crowd of khaki-clad men erupted screaming from the undergrowth, their rifles with fixed bayonets, and hurled themselves shouting down the hill towards the advancing paratroops. At their head ran Michael Hathaway, his blond hair, without its customary oil, blowing behind him now. Wearing no form of headgear, not even a service cap, he presented a strange figure. His long yellow army jersey almost reached the bottom of his shorts, worn above long socks and ammunition boots. The brass on his canvas belt and his shoulder pips had been polished by his batman to such a sheen that it reflected the sun. He looked to Lamb like a character from P.G. Wodehouse heading purposefully towards a tennis court. To cap it all he held to his mouth a bright tin whistle – service issue – and it was on this that he now gave the command signals. He was carried down the hillside by his own impetus, revolver in his hand, whistle in his mouth, blowing commands. Sporadic small-arms fire crashed out from the trees, and four of the men with Hathaway fell. Lamb watched as Hathaway reached the Germans ahead of his men and saw him, without taking aim, raise his gun and fire, hitting the first German in the forehead. His men were up with him now, and they could see that they were a body of Greek soldiers armed with rifles, bayonets and swords. They crashed into the astonished Germans, and their work was quick and deadly. A few seconds later ten of the paratroops lay dead on the ground, most of them bayoneted, while Lamb and Bennett watched the others streaming back down the hill. As they went, one of the Greeks dropped to one knee and, bringing up his rifle to his shoulder, shot at the man. The German fell forward.
Hathaway saw Lamb. ‘Peter. What ho! Saw those Jerries had spotted the gap and knew we had to be quick. Imagine you did the same.’
‘Yes, I was planning to surprise them. Well done.’ He scrutinised Hathaway’s men.
‘They’re the 6th Greeks. Managed to rally them in the village. Knew they’d do well. Did you see that last man fall?’ Hathaway was catching his breath. ‘I’d like to think they could stand and plug the gap, but truth to tell I think they’re really only an effective force in that sort of attack. They’ve got nothing to defend themselves with. No bullets yet. We’ll do it somehow, though. Pendlebury might find some ammo, and I’ve heard we’ve got a few tanks coming up. You know, the Divisional Cavalry.’
Lamb nodded and pointed to the dense olive groves. ‘Useful in the towns and on the roads, but not much bloody good in this lot. What are you going to do now?’
‘I’ll take the Greeks back up to the top and hold them there as a sort of mobile reserve. That’s about all we can do until we get any ammo. If you need us, send a runner.’
Lamb watched them go and turned back to the front. ‘We’d better go to ground, Sarnt-Major. They’re sure to attack again.’ The men slipped back into their trenches and waited. The shelling had stopped, and although they could hear the battle raging to their forward left and right, directly to their front nothing seemed to be happening.
It was close to midday when an officer appeared at Lamb’s trench.
‘You Lamb?’
‘Sir.’
‘Major Bassett. We met at Colonel Kippenberger’s. The colonel’s set up brigade HQ on the little ridge directly to your rear. It’s a bloody mess out there. Petrol Company’s been shot to blazes. Macdonagh’s dead and all their other officers are out of action. You seem to be holding on.’
‘Yes, we had a bit of trouble but they seem to have dug in. Expect we’ll get it soon enough.’
‘Well, actually we’ve other plans for you. We’re expecting the Divisional Cavalry to turn up here any moment. Light tanks. We want you to counter-attack down the hill with the tanks and carriers on your left flank along the road. We must clear the prison area of the enemy.’
Lamb looked at him for a moment.
The order had been clear enough. With classic military brevity, he was being ordered to mount a counter-attack against unknown enemy forces, which would doubtless include mortars and other heavy weapons.
‘Sorry, sir. You want us to attack a heavily defended position? A fortified position, with small arms and a few light tanks?’
‘That’s about it. And once you’ve cleared the area you need to hold a position over on the left. Roughly where the 6th Greek Regiment was until Captain Hathaway took them to the rear. Covering the Canea–Alykianou road.’
Lamb nodded. ‘I see. Fine. Of course, sir.’
It seemed to sum up the desperation of their situation, for in any other circumstances such an order would have been interpreted as suicide.
‘Be sure to wait for the tanks, Lamb. No point going in without support. Good luck. Wish I was going with you. Better get back to the Old Man.’
Lamb rubbed his head with his hands and tried to ease the pounding in his temples.
Smart was standing beside him. ‘I’d offer to make you a cup of char, sir, if I thought we was staying ’ere for a bit.�
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‘Well, we’re not. But thank you. We’re going to attack. See if you can find the Sarnt-Major for me.’
Bennett came at a trot, sweating in temperatures that were fast rising to the thirties. ‘Sir.’
‘We’ve been ordered to advance, Sarnt-Major. To take the prison.’
‘What, sir? But we’ve no artillery. And no mortars neither.’
‘Nevertheless, those are the orders.’
‘That’s madness, sir. We’ll be cut to bits.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’
He heard a crashing over on his left. Someone was running through the vines. Lamb turned and raised his weapon. Called out, ‘Look to your left.’
He heard a voice, breathless and indistinct, but English, and a second later a man appeared, a British corporal. Lamb recognised him as Hathaway’s batman.
‘Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. I’ve got a message for Captain Lamb.’
‘That’s me.’
The exhausted man tried to stand to attention. ‘Captain Lamb, sir. Captain Hathaway says to tell you that the Jerries have broken through a gap in the lines to the south east, between his men and the 2nd Greeks. At Perivolia. There’s nothing between them and Platanas and the road to Canea. He says he’s taken a company across to try to hold them but he’s got no ammo and the Jerries are heading for the house where you were last night, Bella something, Campany. And the captain says he’s not sure who’s in there now.’ He paused for breath. ‘He asks for your help, sir.’
‘He said that, Corporal? You’re quite sure that’s what he said? The house where we were last night? Bella Campagna?’
‘Yes, sir. That’s it. Those were his words.’
‘Thank you, Corporal. Take a message back to Captain Hathaway and tell him we’re coming.’
He saw Bennett. ‘Sarnt-Major, we’re going back to the camp.’
‘Back to the camp, sir? That’s in the rear. We’re not retreating, are we?’
‘No. There’s no rear any more, Sarnt-Major. These bloody paratroops have dropped all over the shop. Seems the Jerries have broken through at Platanas. They’re almost at Canea. Captain Hathaway’s trying to hold them. We’ll leave Mr Wentworth and his men here.’
He found Wentworth. ‘Hugh, we’re needed up at Perivolia. Captain Hathaway’s in trouble. I’m taking Charles and the spare and leaving your platoon here to plug the gap. You might get a bit of flak from the GOC. We’re under orders from Brigade to mount a counter-attack, waiting for the light tanks to show up. Now listen to me. On no account are you to mount that attack until we return. On no account. Whatever order Major Bassett or the colonel might send.’
‘Yes, sir, I understand. Good luck.’
‘And good luck to you, Hugh.’ He turned to Bennett. ‘Come on.’
Moving off, down through the terraces, Lamb thought for a moment. If the Germans were attacking Bella Campagna they might know the King and Prince Peter had been there. Lamb hoped the Prince had got out before the paratroops had landed and that the King had not returned there from the house where the Prince had told them his cousin had moved the previous day. He wondered whether Hathaway knew about his role as royal bodyguard but decided that he could not and that this must be no more than coincidence occasioned by the events of the previous evening.
The villa lay two miles south west of Canea and about the same distance away from Lamb’s present position. While he knew it might have been safer to get there via Galatas and Karatsos, under cover of the buildings, Lamb decided that, speed being vital, they would go directly along the road which ran up from the prison to Platanas and was likely to form the axis of any German attack from Prison Valley. Assembling his and Eadie’s men and the Greeks attached to their platoons on the south-east slopes of Pink Hill, he led the way down towards the road. He looked down to the right in the direction of the prison and saw activity down by the huge white mass of the building. Clearly the Germans were consolidating their position there. He called to the others and turned left up the road, in the direction of the sea. With the heights above Galatas to their left, the Mediterranean lay before them, beyond Canea, shimmering in the sun, while in the bright blue skies above the swarm of black and green planes still circled. He watched the fighters going in, strafing the positions in Canea and Suda.
As they reached the outskirts of the little village of Karatsos just to the east of Galatas, Lamb noticed the trees up ahead. Most of them had dead paratroops hanging from them, still strung up in their harnesses. As they passed, the Greeks spat up at them and shouted obscenities. Lamb’s men said nothing, not wanting to invite the presence of death in their mockery. German, British, Commonwealth or Greek, there was still something universal about a dead soldier. Someone who must be honoured and respected, whoever he was. They averted their eyes. Before long they passed a troop of British artillery set out before their motorised quad transports on the right-hand side of the road. Lamb stopped and consulted his map.
‘Right, we’ll cut across country here. It’s only about another mile and a half.’ Walking through the fields and vineyards they crossed a small, meandering river and emerged on a road in the centre of Perivolia. Lamb turned to Bennett. ‘As I remember, it’s not far from here. If we keep going straight up this road we should hit it. We’ll leave the Greeks here with Corporal Freeman and Corporal Stubbs.’
Lamb’s instinct was right, and after another 1,000 yards they found themselves at a junction. It was damned lucky, he thought, that he had been here the previous night. He tried to recall the layout of the house and its grounds as best he could. The villa was arranged in the classic Italian fashion, in a curve around a courtyard. He called Eadie, Bennett and Hook towards him.
‘The villa’s up there, but it faces on to a narrow lane. There are two entrances. The main one, with an arch, goes into a yard. The entrance to the garden is through two wrought-iron gates. Careful how you go. They lead to a gravel path down the side of the house.’
He knew, from memory, that anyone in the house would be able to observe the courtyard and the formal gardens to the rear, so they edged around the south side of the villa, shielded from view by the high stone walls which enclosed the formal gardens. He peered around the corner of the villa towards the arch. If the Germans had already taken the place they had not yet posted sentries, and there were none of the enemy in evidence. He stopped suddenly and listened. The noise of gunfire was coming from the garden. Lamb turned and waved the men on past him, Simmonds’ section first and then his own HQ group, with Bennett, Stubbs and Turner, followed by the others, with Eadie’s platoon following on behind. They made it along the road unopposed and reached the gate, outside which a large marble slab set into the wall bore the inscription ‘Bella Campagna’.
Two of Simmonds’ men were first through. There was no gunfire and Lamb moved them all on quickly into the gardens. They fanned out at speed, looking from side to side, as they advanced towards the rear of the house. Lamb looked up and glimpsed a face at one of the windows, topped with a German paratroop helmet. In a second his gun was up and firing into the window, shattering the pane. The man disappeared.
Hook spoke. ‘Christ, that’s torn it. Look out, sir.’ From up ahead in the dark heart of the garden a stick grenade hurtled towards them. The men flung themselves away from it, into flower beds and across the neat lawn. There was a massive explosion followed by submachine-gun fire which raked across the grass and chopped into the trees. Lamb heard two men scream. He recognised Simmonds’ voice. ‘Shit, sir. I’m hit.’ He dropped and began to moan.
Bennett spoke from his position behind a tall cypress tree. ‘They’ve got Marks too, sir. He’s dead.’
Lamb kept his head down as another burst of fire ripped across their path. ‘Right, grenades.’ He took a Mills bomb from his pocket, pulled the pin and held down the lever. A count of four and he hurled it towards the gunfire, seeing it joined in the air by three others. Seconds later the garden exploded in a hail of shrapnel. As the blas
t lit up the foliage he caught sight of men and parts of men blown to pieces. There were screams from the bushes.
Lamb stood up and ran directly towards them. ‘Come on.’ Together the two platoons raced across the lawn towards the french windows at the back of the villa, Lamb and the two sergeants spraying the burning bushes and maimed men with fire from their Tommy guns. Lamb yelled behind him, ‘Charles, clear the garden. Sarnt-Major, Sarnt Hook, with me. Inside.’ Lamb kicked hard against the wood of the french windows and they splintered, shattering the glass panes. The doors fell open, and with Lamb leading the way the sixteen men entered the house. They found themselves, as he had thought they would, in the ground-floor morning room and were moving fast across it when the door on the other side flew open and three German paratroops burst in. In a split second one burst from one of the Germans’ Schmeissers had ripped across Saunders’ chest, with one of the bullets passing through his right arm to hit Griffin in the hand. At the same time Garner fired his Enfield from the hip and shot one of the Germans, a sergeant, in the groin, while Lamb and Bennett, squeezing the triggers of their Thompsons, hit the other two square on – not before one of them, though, had squeezed off a burst which flew across the room. One of the bullets smacked into the now dead body of Private Saunders, while another nicked Lamb on the forehead. He swore and put his hand up, feeling the warm blood. Lamb’s bullets, angled high, got one man in the neck and face and flung him back out of the room while Bennett’s rounds peppered the other man’s chest and the door frame behind him. Instants later the room was a chaos of smoke, cordite, dead bodies and screaming wounded. With no time to deal with his own casualty, Lamb pushed over the dead Germans and moved into the hall, followed by the others. He looked right, Hook left, but there was no one to be seen. Ahead of him was a banister, the same one he had used last night to climb the staircase to the salon for drinks before dinner. It seemed surreal now, as he ran up the stairs.
He called behind, ‘Sarnt-Major, stay down here with Corporal Simmonds’ section. Rothman, Bunce, Grist, you lot, up here with me.’ They took the stairs two at a time and hit the landing at a run. Upstairs the sound of gunfire came from the salon. Lamb turned and ran along the corridor and, without bothering to take cover and unaware of which of his men might be behind him, charged through the doorway into the room. It was all he could do to stop himself squeezing the trigger as he almost ran onto the outstretched bayonets of Michael Hathaway’s batman and three of the Greeks. He pulled up. ‘Don’t shoot. Hathaway.’ Across the room a man turned from where he had been firing from the window into the garden below.
