by Iain Gale
Just outside the port they found themselves suddenly in an Allied position, dug in and sandbagged. Bennett, who had been silent throughout, chimed up now. ‘Blimey, sir. It looks like we’re going to make a stand.’
‘Yes, Sarnt-Major, there does seem to be an element of organisation.’
He looked about for an officer and found a Royal Marines sergeant. ‘Is this the front line?’
‘Yes, sir. You could say that. It’s where we’ve been told to hold, anyway.’
‘Can we get through? I have to get down to Mournies.’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Shouldn’t do that, sir, not if I was you. Jerry’s right over there. See? He’s come through Canea and all. We’re just waiting for the attack. Whenever it comes.’
‘Have you any officers left?’
‘Not in our mob. All dead. But there’s a bunch of Kiwis down the road on the left flank who are in command. You could try them, sir.’
Lamb looked back at the group behind him. He saw his men, as exhausted as any he had seen that day, and beyond them the Greeks and the civilians. Miranda Hartley looked as if she was about to drop. He found Bandouvas.
‘There’s no way through. The Jerries have taken Canea. Mournies too, I’ll bet. What’s to the south of here?’
Bandouvas thought for a moment. ‘A village. Tsikalaria. Then no roads. Just a hill up to Kondopoula. But I don’t know if they’ll manage that.’
‘They’ll have to. I’ll talk to them.’
Lamb turned and called them together.
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush. We’re in a mess. The front’s collapsed. This line here, these men in these trenches, that’s all we have of our rearguard. The problem is we’ve got to get beyond these lines to get down to the road south. They’re going to stand and fight here to try to let the men on the Sfakia road get away. We’ve got one chance. When the Jerries do attack, this place is going to be chaos. The only thing we can do is slip through the lines away to the left. There are no roads, and it’s rough country, so I won’t pretend it’ll be easy. But if we don’t try we have less than any hope.’
He paused, allowing them to take it in. ‘I have to try to get the King away. Those are my orders. I’m afraid that the weak and the wounded, anyone who doesn’t feel they can manage it, you’ll just have to stay here. That’s how it is, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’ He turned to Bennett. ‘Sarnt-Major, see to the men. The light cases can come with us. Any other wounded, even the walking wounded, will have to stay here and take their chances.’
‘Sir.’
Miranda Hartley was at his side now, as he had known she would be. ‘Captain … Peter, please. Is there any way? I’m really quite good on my pins. Quite steady. It’s just that these shoes aren’t the best.’
He smiled. ‘To be frank, I don’t think you’d manage it. Better for everyone if you head back down to Sfakia and try to find transport south that way. I can give you an escort.’
She looked at him. ‘Peter, please. Just let me find other clothes. Other shoes. Boots. I can do it. I know I can.’
He shook his head. ‘How on earth do you think you can find boots your size here? Even if you strip the dead. I’m sorry. No.’
As he turned and walked away Comberwell approached him. ‘I say, Lamb. When d’you suppose they’ll come? The Jerries, I mean?’
Lamb sighed. ‘I’ve no idea, really.’
‘I told you, I’m really quite handy with a gun. You know, the pheasants. And look.’
He was brandishing one of the Lee Enfields that Smart had found in Suda. ‘Cartridges too. Look. Sorry, I mean bullets.’
‘Mr Comberwell, I don’t think there’s any need.’
‘Oh, but there is. There is a need. You need every one of us. And I’m armed and ready.’
‘Thank you so much. I’ll keep you in mind.’
Christ, he thought. That’s all I need: a bloody armed civilian with a death wish.
Lamb was about to tell Bennett of Comberwell’s offer when a New Zealand captain hurried over to him. ‘Crikey. What the hell are you doing here? Who the heck are all these civvies and Greeks? We’re about to get it. You’d better get them out of it, sharpish. We could use your men, though. Better look sharp. They’re moving forward.’
Lamb had started to reply when there was a terrific whoosh over their heads and an artillery shell flew in and crashed behind them, exploding in the rear of the position.
The captain frowned. ‘Christ, that’s it. Come on, if you’re coming.’
Lamb ran over to Bennett. ‘Sarnt-Major, where’s Lieutenant Eadie?’
‘Haven’t seen him, sir. Must be with his men.’
‘Get any man who can fight and come with me, and get the women into cover, and the King, the Prince and the others. I’ll give you a signal when it’s time to move out.’
He found what remained of the company, including Eadie, close to the front-line trenches. ‘Charles, how are you for ammo?’
‘Fine, sir. That cache of Smart’s was a bloody godsend.’
‘Good. Looks like we’re going to need it. Just remember, we’re not here for the big fight. We’re using it to get away. All right?’
‘Sir.’
‘When I judge it’s time to go, I’ll wave at you like this.’ He cut the air three times with his right hand. ‘Or if I can, I’ll whistle. Three short blasts. Got it?’
‘Sir.’
‘Right. On either of those signals you disengage and fall back on the others. Then we get away. Follow Bandouvas if you’re in any doubt.’
Another shell flew in over their heads, and then another, and then the whole place seemed to explode in a frenzy of small-arms fire. The ground to their front was lit up with criss-crossing streams of tracer.
Lamb found Bennett. ‘Establish a line, Sarnt-Major, wherever you can. Let’s take a few with us before we go, shall we?’
The Kiwi captain ran over. ‘OK. We’ve got a plan. We’re going to charge.’
Lamb was incredulous. ‘What? You’re bloody joking.’
‘It’s the only way. We’re going to charge them. It’s all we can do.’
He moved away at a running crouch, and Lamb turned to Bennett. ‘Did you hear that? Charge them? And he’s serious. We can’t do that. We have to get away from here.’
‘But we can give them covering fire, sir.’
‘That’s it. You’re right. Covering fire. Tell the men. I’ll find Eadie and Valentine. Better fix bayonets all the same.’
The word was passed around, and within minutes the Enfields had sprouted their eighteen-inch-long slivers of razor-sharp steel and the men had taken position behind the sandbags to the front of the Kiwis’ slit-trenches. Bandouvas’ Cretans were with them, the new rifles keen in their hands, and among them Anna. Lamb had sought her out.
‘Remember, we must get away from here. You may want to kill Germans, but we have to get away. We have to use the battle.’
‘Yes, Peter. I know. Don’t worry. But first I will kill some of those bastards.’ Then, after a moment’s thought, ‘What will you do about the English woman and Madame Tsouderos?’
‘They can’t come with us. You can see that. Not dressed like that. Besides, Madame Tsouderos is too old to go into the mountains. And I’m not even sure if Mrs Hartley would make the pace anyway.’
‘No? So you think women are weaker than you?’
Lamb smiled. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I do. Not you, of course. But look at her. She’d never manage it.’
There was a burst of fire over to their right and a rush of grey-green uniforms up the hill. At the same instant the entire position seemed to erupt as a mass of men poured out from the trenches that had been named by the men 42nd Street and ran headlong down the hill. Lamb watched them go and was conscious of the glinting, reflected light on hundreds of bayonets as they went. But what held him gripped was nothing that he saw, but what he heard. The sound seemed to come from the very earth itself. A terrible, primeval roar �
� the haka, which for centuries had preceded generations of Maori warriors into battle – came down upon the Germans. Lamb glimpsed the New Zealand captain waving his company forward. The German guns opened up, and that same moment Lamb saw the officer fall, torn by bullets from three directions. But his men moved forward. Forty yards, fifty now, sixty. Lamb and Eadie shouted at the same moment, ‘Covering fire now,’ and their rifles opened up along with the last remaining working Bren.
More men were walking forward now, taking over where the others had gone to ground. More Maoris. Still chanting, they moved on, another twenty, thirty, forty yards, and then after 100 yards they were on the enemy. In the half-light Lamb could see the silhouettes of individual battles, men locked in deadly combat with bayonet, rifle butt, knife and fist. Part of him longed to be in that fight with them, but equally he was aware that he had another duty. He could see the Maoris clearly now, lit up by the firefight. They were pushing in on the German positions, and then he was aware of something else, figures running headlong down the slope. The haka had done its work and achieved the impossible. Where guns had failed the fighting spirit of the New Zealanders had prevailed, and as Lamb looked on the entire German attacking force before the Maoris broke and fled. The Kiwis kept on after them, but Lamb knew he had to act fast. He turned to Eadie. ‘Charles, find the sarnt-major. I’m going to get the King. You stay until the last, then follow us.’
Lamb raced to the rear and found the civilians with the King, Prince Peter and a guard from Ryan’s platoon.
‘Right, Your Majesty. Now’s our chance. Everyone, come with me.’
He led the way back until they were almost level with the original front line. In the distance he could see that isolated groups were still fighting, but the bulk of the attack was far down the hillside now. He found Bandouvas standing by a path which led off to the south and into the village of Tsikalaria. Silently the kapitan showed them where to go, and one by one, led by Ryan and his men, the royal party moved up the trail. Lamb watched them go and was conscious that someone was missing. Two people: Comberwell and Miranda Hartley. He found Hartley. ‘Where the devil’s your wife?’
The writer stammered, ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I only just missed her.’
Lamb looked around them but saw no sign of her. Then further down the slope he caught sight of a familiar figure. Comberwell was standing a little distance down the slope with the rifle at his shoulder, pumping shots into the night. Lamb ran down to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.
‘You bloody fool. I told you to stick together. You’ll get killed.’
Comberwell turned to him, and Lamb saw that his smile was of a man brought alive by the heat of battle. ‘Did you see that? Did you? I got one of the buggers. Hit square on. Big bugger too.’
Lamb pushed him up the slope. ‘Get back to the others. You may not be a soldier but you will obey orders.’
Comberwell muttered something inaudible and moved up the hill, and perhaps ten yards away from the rear of the party he stopped. ‘Wait. In that bush, there. You come out. Hande hoch. Hinaus. Schnell.’
As Lamb watched, a German paratrooper emerged from the bush, his hands on his head, and walked towards them, mumbling as he came. ‘Nicht schiessen, nicht schiessen. Freund.’
There was a crack and the man fell to the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead. Lamb looked at the smoking muzzle of the rifle in Comberwell’s hands.
‘He was surrendering, you idiot. That was bloody murder.’
Comberwell cocked the rifle and shook his head. ‘Was he, old man? Didn’t look like it to me. Anyway, one less of the buggers.’
Lamb snatched the rifle from Comberwell and shoved him towards the group.
Comberwell hesitated. ‘Steady on, old man.’
Lamb pushed him towards them with the butt of the gun. ‘Get on with them. Get away from me.’
He turned towards the rearguard, saw Eadie and Bennett and the others. ‘God help me. Come on. Has anyone seen Mrs Hartley?’
Eadie shook his head. Bennett said, ‘I did, sir. A few minutes ago, with the Greeks.’
Just then two figures appeared from the rear. Anna was running towards him, followed by Miranda Hartley, who to his amazement was clad in a khaki service-issue shirt, shorts and a pair of boots. She was smiling. ‘Told you I could do it. Look. She helped me.’
He looked at Anna. ‘Where did you find this lot, then?’
‘We stripped the dead. The boots came from an Australian boy. The shorts too. He was very small. His body had no wounds at all.’
Lamb found the others. ‘Right, come on, before it’s too late.’
They caught up with the rest of the party who were hurrying away from the battle, down the southern slopes.
As they did so Lamb thought about Comberwell’s actions. He had clearly seen that the German was surrendering. So why had he shot him? To prove something to himself. To Lamb perhaps? And was the shot in the head just luck, or was he really that good? He had thought for some time about the identity of the agent who had revealed him to the colonel back in Athens. Now, absurdly, it seemed as if Comberwell might be the real contender.
Bandouvas was beside him now, urging on his men. ‘He likes killing Germans, your friend.’
‘My friend?’
‘Comberwell. He enjoyed it.’
‘He’s no friend of mine. You think so?’
‘Didn’t you see his face? I tell you, he’s a good man to have on our side.’
‘If you like murderers.’
‘Kapitan Lamb, I like any man who likes to kill Germans. Don’t you?’
They reached the tiny hamlet of Tsikalaria and did not pause but carried on climbing. Then, at 400 metres, Bandouvas called a halt, not for rest but because the road curved round here and was open above the slope down to the sea. Anyone standing on it would be visible from the north east, and he wasn’t taking any chances. Placing his men lying down on the slope facing the enemy, Bandouvas ushered everyone across the road in groups of three until at last he followed on. At Kondopoula they passed the little church and then continued to climb, but on a road now. Lamb found himself walking with the King, who spoke, quietly and more than a little breathless.
‘Captain Lamb, this is a great thing you are doing. Thank you. Not just for me. You see, Hitler has declared me an enemy of my own people and Germany’s number one enemy in Greece. He has deposed me. There is talk that he would like to place my brother Paul on the throne as a puppet. He’s married to a German. It would suit him well. But he has to get rid of me first.’
‘Yes, sir. I know. We were told. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Is it? You don’t strike me as like the other Section D men I’ve met. You’re more of a soldier’s soldier. Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose I am, sir.’
‘I dare say you’d far rather be fighting the Germans down there than up here with me.’
‘To be honest, sir, I have to say I would. But, as you’ve just said, ensuring your safety is vital.’
‘Thank you, Captain, but I really don’t believe you mean that.’
The King walked on and Lamb fell back to where Valentine was treading nimbly over the boulders that lined their way. ‘Valentine, tell me why I’m here.’
‘Because you’re an officer and a gentleman and a born leader of men, sir?’
‘Very funny. Now tell me again.’
‘Because someone in the high command has decided that you’re the man to save the King of Greece, and you’ve agreed, and because someone has to take responsibility.’
‘Thank you. That was what I wanted to hear.’
Lamb pondered. Responsibility. Bloody word. Who was really responsible? he wondered. The one who gave the orders, or the one with the blood on his hands who did the dirty work?
Bennett came running over. ‘Sir, there’s something you should see. Before anyone else does.’
They had come down the road now to Panagia, directly south of Cane
a, and he followed Bennett ahead of the main party on the outskirts of the village. It seemed to be deserted, but then he saw that the shapes he had taken to be rocks were actually bodies. Bennett called him over. ‘Look, sir, Bunce found them.’
There were dead bodies strewn through the streets of the village. And, to a man, they were German. Evidently the fighting here had been heavy, but who exactly had accounted for so many of the enemy, Greeks or Allies, there was no way of knowing. He walked across to one corpse, looked down at it and almost retched, for he found himself staring into two empty eye sockets. The man’s nose, too, seemed to have been ripped apart, through the septum.
‘Christ almighty. What a bloody mess. Who the hell did this?’
Eadie’s platoon were moving through the village now. There was a call from across the road. ‘Same here, sir. No eyes, and the face is a mess.’
‘And here, sir.’
They moved around the dead young men, counting them. Of the thirty-two who had lain out in the sun for at least a day, their bloated bodies stretching their uniforms to bursting, all but two had lost their eyes.
Lamb found Bandouvas staring at them too. He looked for the royal party and the women.
Bandouvas spoke. ‘It’s all right, Kapitan, they are not here. They are behind us. My men will move these cuckolds before they get here.’
‘Is this the doing of your partisans? If it is, then you are even more savage than I thought.’
Bandouvas shrugged. ‘No, this is not our work, although given the chance some of my men might do the same. This, I think, is the work of the crows and the ravens. We have many here on Crete. They like the eyeballs, just as we like to eat the eyes of the sheep. The nose too is a delicacy for them. That I think is how these men lost their sight. And after death.’
Lamb looked around. The stench from the corpses was stomach turning, made all the worse as Bandouvas’ men moved them into the empty houses. The unforgiving heat, he supposed, had helped the decomposition as much as the crows.
Valentine was standing with them. ‘It’s the Cyclops again, sir, isn’t it? D’you see? Losing their eyes. Like Odysseus …’
