The Eagle's Cry

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  Two minutes later he found himself outside the wire and being carried down the street at a trot by two men: one at his shoulders, the other at his feet. Two others ran alongside them, one burdened with Critchley’s belongings.

  One of them was a girl. Critchley could discern that much in the starlight. Her tight little bottom waggled as she ran in the endearing, sexy, knock-kneed way in which girls always run. Her breasts bounced, her hair flowed behind her. Critchley perked up. He was glad they had rescued him.

  He reached out and held her wrist.

  “Pos léyesthe? What is your name?”

  She looked down at him and he could see her smile.

  “Mee drépeste ... don’t be shy.”

  The girl giggled and Critchley suddenly felt very happy. Damn the 109s and 88s. He was glad to be out of there. And it would be a long time yet before he had to fly again. Perhaps he would be grounded, unfit; or unfit for ops: a cushy posting to a communications flight or testing repaired aircraft at a maintenance unit. A ground job, even. He had his wings, so he looked the part of a brave fighting man. He’d done his share of ops. and had his fill of hardships. The future could really be very pleasant. Always supposing he got away from Greece. And, come to think of it, even if he didn’t.

  He was still gripping the pretty girl’s wrists. He managed some more Greek: “Echárica pu sas eedha ... I’m very glad to see you.”

  She and the three men began to laugh. Critchley felt dashing and nonchalant. Ronald Coleman could not have made light of danger and his wounds more gallantly.

  *

  Denton wondered how much of Kathia’s air of glowing pleasure lay to his credit for a good night’s work. There was, he thought, another excitement underlying her obvious contentment.

  The afternoon brought a small, shabby van bearing the name of a firm of sanitary engineers. She and her parents went quickly to a window when they heard it arrive.

  “Come and watch,” she said; and he and Butler joined them.

  The driver and his mate opened the door at the rear of the van and went aboard. They emerged with a companion. At the instant that Denton recognised him, he heard Butler suck his teeth and exclaim “Gawd! Wonders will never cease.”

  They all hurried to the front door. Critchley made a good entrance, smiling with careful insouciance as though he had achieved his escape single-handed.

  His adscititious show of valour made no impression on Butler, who had a firm conviction about what had delayed him the last time. He wondered how they had induced him to run the risk: not only of being shot in attempting to get away but also of having to go back on ops. if the three of them ever managed to reach Egypt.

  Denton’s relief at seeing Critchley was compounded of shame at his past cynicism about him and pleasure at the vindication of his kindlier judgment that he and Butler were free because Critchley had sacrificed his own freedom for them.

  There was, none the less, something irritating about Critchley’s fine, reasonable and modest way of treating the daring escapade, he found. In spirit Critchley was back on a film set, no doubt; giving Kathia and her mother in turn the benefit of his excellent profile, looking manfully grim at the right moments in his conversation with her father, alternately being reticent and adumbrating heroism with his comrades. Again Denton felt guilty for his suspicions.

  It was Butler who first introduced a practical issue. “Now there’s nothing to stop us sailing for Egypt, is there? I suppose this is what we’ve been waiting for: Ian getting out?”

  “Every time something like this happens,” Mr. Pefkos said, “the Germans get very hot under the collar and start rummaging around. You’ll have to lie low for a little longer, I’m afraid.”

  I wonder if the old pansy knows the skipper’s rogering his daughter, Butler wondered. I wonder if he knows the trouble he’s going to have with Ian if he keeps him cooped up much longer; once he gets a bit more strength back. He’ll be after the maids ... or Ma Pefkos! She’s a good-looker and at her age she’d be bloody grateful ...

  “Don’t let me hold things back.” Critchley looked around at them each in turn with a brave display of sincerity. “I’m fit enough to make a move any time you say.”

  A doctor cousin of Mrs. Pefkos’s came to examine Critchley and advocated another few days’ rest and nourishing diet.

  Kathia went nightly to Denton’s room. The time passed agreeably for them all. Butler looked forward to an early leave on their return to the squadron, and a warm welcome from his N.A.A.F.I. girl in Cairo. Critchley was content to feel the vigour returning to his body and to contemplate a possible future in which he would enjoy the best of two worlds. As a pilot with an operational record and desert service, he could continue to show scorn for the base wallahs in Cairo. At the same time, he could become one of them as a staff pilot far from danger, with all the delights of Cairo at hand.

  Denton was awaiting his mistress one night when there was a knock on the door. He sat up, annoyed and apprehensive. He thought she and he had managed to keep their affair secret. If this were Critchley or Butler, coming to talk, and she turned up in a moment ...

  “Come in.”

  He felt more apprehensive and shaken by guilt when her father entered the room.

  “You’ve got to go at once, Geoffrey. Get up quickly and dress.”

  Was the old boy throwing him out? Found out about him and Kathia?

  Apparently not. Pefkos did not look angry, merely grave and bothered. “I’ve woken the other two. They’re getting ready.”

  ‘‘Something wrong, sir?”

  “We’ve been warned that the Germans are carrying out a house-to-house search in this district just before dawn. We have to get you three and Kathia away at once.”

  “Kathia? But ...”

  “Don’t argue, please, Geoffrey. She’s in considerable danger.”

  “What about you and your wife?”

  “We’ll be all right. So will Kathia. The British Ambassador gave her an excellent reference before he left. She wants to work at one of the military Headquarters in Cairo, or perhaps in the High Commissioner’s office. Anything useful involved with the war effort. And you three can vouch for her ...”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s taking ample funds with her and she wants to go. She has to go. Too dangerous for her in Greece now.”

  “When can we get away in the caique?”

  “Immediately. It’s been ready and waiting for days and the other escapers will be aboard by now.”

  Kathia was already in the hall, dressed in dark slacks and shirt, looking confident and competent. The other two joined Denton as he went down the stairs.

  “How are we going to get to Piraeus under the curfew?” Denton asked.

  “The only way,” Kathia replied.

  A police van arrived. Denton and Butler were put into the back, handcuffed to a couple of large policemen. Under the seats that ran along the two sides were compartments in which Critchley and Kathia were hidden. The men all wore dark civilian clothes over their khaki drill uniforms.

  At Piraeus the black maria stopped near the harbour. The four of them crept cautiously from doorway to doorway, dodged behind mounds of freight, fishing nets, cranes, sheds.

  Heavy footsteps warned them, as they neared the water’s edge, of a patrolling sentry. He stood near a flight of steps, gazing across the harbour.

  Denton felt Kathia’s mouth against his ear. “That is where we have to go down to the dinghy to get out to the caique.”

  They waited until the sentry moved on. Denton made the first dash for the steps: they would do it one at a time.

  The sentry turned when he was half-way across the quay. For a moment the German froze with surprise, then began to unsling his rifle. Denton wheeled and rushed at him. Both fists went in, four savage left and right hooks to the midriff and jaw. The German grunted and folded at the knees. Denton dragged him to a patch of deep shadow and knelt across him, squeezing his windpipe hard. When
he was sure that the man was dead he dragged him down the steps, rifle and all, and into the dinghy.

  One at a time the others joined him. With an oar over the stern, resting in a slot in the transom, Kathia sculled them out to a caique that lay at anchor. Denton expected to be picked out by a searchlight, challenged, shot at. But they made it safely in the moonless darkness.

  The two Greek fishermen helped them aboard and dragged the corpse after them. The three other escapers whispered a welcome and showed them below. There was a small cuddy forward, where Kathia would sleep, separate from the hold where the rest of them would live. The boat, Denton reflected, could have been built with just such a contingency in mind. And what a stroke of luck that on the night that they were forced to flee there should be no moon. And what little tide there was, was on the turn at just the right time.

  They weighed anchor silently and the tide bore them out to the harbour mouth. They drifted past a 30-foot sloop with rakish lines. Kathia said quietly “Goodbye Callidice.” She turned her face to Denton. “She’s ours. Father’s pride and joy. We sailed her here from Falmouth.”

  “Thank God there’s one of us, then, beside the fishermen, who knows about sailing.”

  “I wish we were aboard her, but she’s too conspicuous: we’d be picked up at once.”

  They hoisted the sails, the night breeze filled the canvas and the caique bore away to the southward. An hour later they tipped the dead German overboard and started the engine.

  Their course would take them through the Cyclades and the Dodecanese, past the western tip of Crete and then across the open sea. They ran the risk of being seen by German or Italian aircraft or by patrol boats. The closer they were to islands the more traffic they might encounter, but they could always hide in a creek or a hidden cove. They would not excite curiosity, because there was a lot of movement between the islands. Far from land they would be more likely to arouse interest, but there would be many fewer hostile craft to intercept them.

  At first light on their first morning at sea they made for an inlet and lay there until darkness fell. For the next four days and nights they repeated the precaution. It was a strange journey. They were all in good spirits because they were escaping. When they lay at anchor in some sheltered place it was like being on holiday: they swam and sun-bathed although they always posted two lookouts ashore. At night they lived on their nerves, expecting at any moment to hear the engine of an approaching vessel or an order to heave to shouted through a loud hailer. They were ready to fight for their lives. They had two Bren guns, two Stens, four rifles, counting the German’s, ample ammunition and a dozen grenades.

  On the fifth evening, soon after they had sneaked past Crete under sail and engine, a Force Six wind blew up. The choppy sea hissed and slapped loudly against the caique’s hull as she forced her way through the waves. These noises, with the creak of her planks and cordage and the beat of her engine, drowned the engine of a craft of which they became aware only when a bright beam of light shone on them from three or four hundred yards on the starboard quarter.

  They had rehearsed for such an incident. If they hesitated they would be lost. It was essential to take the initiative. For a few moments, whoever had apprehended them would give them the benefit of the doubt.

  Butler opened fire with a Bren, shooting first to each side of the searchlight to hit and scatter anyone around it. Next, he smashed the light. Tracer, fired blindly, curved towards them. They heard the rattle of Spandaus and the thump of 20 mm cannon. The caique’s helmsman swung her bows away from the enemy so that they were on a broad reach, the fastest point of sailing, with the engines giving them added speed. The caique crashed and butted through the heavy seas.

  The gunners aboard the other vessel were shooting at random, traversing high and low. Bullets thudded into mast and hull and ripped the foresail. They hauled it down quickly before it shredded. The deck was awash and slippery, heeling sharply, the canvas thrashed like a snared wildcat. They slid and stumbled in the dark. The sheets and the sail whipped at their bare hands, forearms and faces. They cursed and struggled and all the time tracer bullets were zipping past. Random shooting was always unnerving. Without the big headsail they began to lose speed.

  Their pursuer was circling, for the gunfire came at them from every side, while they put about from tack to task and the heavy boom slammed across the boat with a rumble and a crack. From time to time they heeled so steeply that water rushed over the gunwales and men were thrown off balance. Kathia kept her feet nimbly, laughing and evidently enjoying the excitement. Anyone who tumbled slid across the deck and fetched up painfully against a bulwark or the deckhouse.

  After twenty minutes of veering and dodging, the shooting stopped and the helmsman returned to their proper course.

  The next day, their first daylight run, they ceaselessly scanned both sea and sky for searchers. The wind had risen to gale force, the clouds were low and no air search would be made. At sea, small craft would not be able to catch them in the poor visibility. Butler, Critchley and one of the soldiers were seasick. Kathia and Denton were happy, busy about the boat all day, making love at night in her cosy cuddy in the bows. By the time the storm died down it would not be worth the enemy’s while to expend any effort on hunting them.

  At sunrise three days after the storm a British destroyer challenged them, sent a sub-lieutenant and four ratings aboard, signalled ashore about them and stayed with them for the next two or three hours until an M.T.B. came out from Alexandria to escort them in.

  Kathia’s family had many acquaintances in Alexandria with whom she could have stayed, but she preferred to go to a hotel. Denton, who had been given a room in an R.A.F. mess, joined her there. Critchley was taken to hospital: he had suffered badly from intestinal trouble throughout the voyage. Butler was taken to a sergeants’ mess.

  The next morning, their interrogation began. R.A.F., Army and Navy Intelligence officers questioned them all day and took notes. Senior officers congratulated them. There were hints of decorations for their determination and skill in escaping.

  After another 48 hours Critchley was discharged from hospital and they were all flown to Cairo, for more interviews with senior officers and more questioning.

  Kathia’s family had friends in Cairo, too, and she was taken off by a Greek family to stay with them until she found a flat of her own.

  Denton was surprised when Creon Lefkaris arrived at the first interrogation in Cairo. He was wearing uniform and the insignia of a captain in the Greek Army.

  “I’ve been on the Reserve for many years, Geoffrey. Didn’t mention it, because I was seconded to Intelligence. Sort of under-cover stuff, as it were. Now that my poor old country has had to pack it in, I’m hoping to do something more useful than sit on my bum in Cairo among all the other despised base wallahs, and get out in the field.”

  “I believe you know Kathia already?”

  “Oh, certainly. Our families are old friends. Lovely gal. Glad you two have hit it off so well. Lucky her family have such close connection with the enemy country, what?”

  Twelve

  Hugh Ivens, now a flight lieutenant, brought a Blenheim to Cairo on his own and flew the three of them back to the squadron; which was at another desert base, Landing Ground 44.

  Wing Commander Nash, restored to his Arab head-dress and now smoking a nargileh which rumbled like an overheated water tank every time he drew smoke through its amber mouthpiece and long tube, greeted them with a flourish of his fly whisk and a grin that had become even more tigerish than they remembered.

  “Pity you couldn’t get away from Crete with the rest of us — all four crews! — instead of breaking another of my aeroplanes, Geoffrey.”

  Victor Fry was no less sleek but perhaps a little less chubby. He still gave the impression that he had merely shown up briefly in this Godforsaken spot between Ascot and Goodwood and was liable to have to go and dress for a debutante’s ball or a Buckingham Palace levee at any moment. His s
horts were ironed into an impeccable crease, his suede desert boots looked pristine, his gold watch, gold identity bracelet and large signet ring gave him the same opulent air. His hands still looked like those of an overgrown child prodigy violinist: plump, with tapered fingers lovingly manicured. His affability appeared unruffled despite the flies and the spartan diet.

  “I’m s-sorry to s-say you’ll have to go to Alex for a m-medical b-board, Ian, as soon as the M.O. can arrange it, before w-we can give you a crew of your own. Meanwhile you’ll just have to carry on as Geoffrey’s observer.”

  “Very good, sir,” Critchley sounded crisp and dutiful. He gloated inwardly. He was confident of his ability to make sure that — against his sincere protests, of course — no board would pass him fit for operational flying.

  The crew spent three days refamiliarising themselves with their work, before they were detailed for an op. And all the time, Critchley was praying for news that the date of his medical had been set.

  They had been allowed four days in Cairo after their interrogation. The memory of his last evening there sustained Denton when he felt dejected by the thought that it would be many weeks before he could see Kathia again. They had been out with Creon and Cyrene Lefkaris, the couple with whom Kathia was staying, and Critchley and the hard-wearing Audrey Kinch. He had gone home with Kathia and her host and hostess, who had left the two of them alone and gone up to bed.

  “I want to marry you, Kathia.”

  Her eyes looked searchingly into his and he saw no subterfuge in them. “Why?”

  “Because I love you. Because we’re compatible. Because I want a stake in the future. I see nothing but destruction. I do nothing but destroy. A life with you is something to look forward to and to build on. D’you know your Herrick?”

  “Robert Herrick? Sixth Form English. Yes, I remember. I remember one of his epigrams; so-called. ‘Love, What Is It?’