Fighting for breath, he struck the magazine cover, rammed home another charge, risked a quick peep over the top of the rock and catapulted himself to his feet again, all inside ten seconds. The Mauser held across his body opened up again, firing downhill at vicious random, for Andrea had eyes only for the smoothly-treacherous ground at his feet, for the scree-lined depression so impossibly far ahead. And then the Mauser was empty, useless in his hand, and every gun far below had opened up, the shells whistling above his head or blinding him with spurting gouts of snow as they ricochetted off the solid rock. But twilight was touching the hills, Andrea was only a blur, a swiftly-flitting blur against a ghostly background, and uphill accuracy was notoriously difficult at any time. Even so, the massed fire from below was steadying and converging, and Andrea waited no longer. Unseen hands plucking wickedly at the flying tails of his snow-smock, he flung himself almost horizontally forward and slid the last ten feet face down into the waiting depression.
Stretched full length on his back in the hollow, Andrea fished out a steel mirror from his breast pocket and held it gingerly above his head. At first he could see nothing, for the darkness was deeper below and the mirror misted from the warmth of his body. And then the film vanished in the chill mountain air and he could see two, three and then half a dozen men breaking cover, heading at a clumsy run straight up the face of the hill — and two of them had come from the extreme right of the line. Andrea lowered the mirror and relaxed with a long sigh of relief, eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked up at the sky, blinked as the first feathery flakes of falling snow melted on his eyelids and smiled again. Almost lazily he brought out another charger for the Mauser, fed more shells into the magazine.
«Boss?» Miller's voice was plaintive.
«Yes? What is it?» Mallory brushed some snow off his face and the collar of his smock and peered into the white darkness ahead.
«Boss, when you were in school did you ever read any stories about folks gettin' lost in a snowstorm and wanderin' round and round in circles for days?»
«We had exactly the same book in Queenstown,» Mallory conceded.
«Wanderin' round and round until they died?» Miller persisted.
«Oh, for heaven's sake!» Mallory said impatiently. His feet, even in Stevens's roomy boots, hurt abominably. «How can we be wandering in circles if we're going downhill all the time? What do you think we're on — a bloody spiral staircase?»
Miller walked on in hurt silence, Mallory beside him, both men ankle-deep in the wet, clinging snow that had been falling so silently, so persistently, for the past three hours since Andrea had drawn off the Jaeger search party. Even in mid-winter in the White Mountains in Crete Mallory could recall no snowfall so heavy and continuous. So much for the Isles of Greece and the eternal sunshine that gilds them yet, he thought bitterly. He hadn't reckoned on this when he'd planned on going down to Margaritha for food and fuel, but even so it wouldn't have made any difference in his decision. Although in less pain now, Stevens was becoming steadily weaker, and the need was desperate.
With moon and stars blanketed by the heavy snowclouds — visibility, indeed, was hardly more than ten feet in any direction — the loss of their compasses had assumed a crippling importance. He didn't doubt his ability to find the vifiage — it was simply a matter of walking downhill till they came to the stream that ran through the valley, then following that north till they came to Margaritha — but if the snow didn't let up their chances of locating that tiny cave again in the vast sweep of the hillsides …
Mallory smothered an exclamation as Miller's hand closed round his upper arm, dragged him down to his knees in the snow. Even in that moment of unknown danger he could feel a slow stirring of anger against himself, for his attention had been wandering along with his thoughts… . He lifted his hand as vizor against the snow, peered out narrowly through the wet, velvety curtain of white that swirled and eddied out of the darkness before him. Suddenly he had it — a dark, squat shape only feet away. They had all but walked straight into it.
«It's the hut,» he said softly in Miller's ear. He had seen it early in the afternoon, half-way between their cave and Margaritha, and almost in a line with both. He was conscious of relief, an increase in confidence: they would be in the vifiage in less than half an hour. «Elementary navigation, my dear Corporal,» he murmured. «Lost and wandering in circles, my foot! Just put your faith …»
He broke off as Miller's fingers dug viciously into his arm, as Miller's head came close to his own. -
«I heard voices, boss.» The words wer.e a mere breath of sound.
«Are you sure?» Miller's silenced gun, Mallory noticed, was still in his pocket.
Miller hesitated.
«Dammit to hell, boss, I'm sure of nothin',» he whispered irritably. «I've been imaginin' every damn' thing possible in the past hour!» He pulled the snow hood off his head, the better to listen, bent forward for a few seconds, then sank back again. «Anyway, I'm sure I thought I heard somethin'.»
«Come on. Let's take a look-see.» Mallory was on his feet again. «I think you're mistaken. Can't be the Jaeger boys — they were half-way back across Mount Kostos when we saw them last. And the shepherds only use these places in the summer months.» He slipped the safety catch of his Colt .455, walked slowly, at a halfcrouch, towards the nearest wall of the hut, Miller at his shoulder. -
They reached the hut, put their ears against the frail, tarpaper walls. Then seconds passed, twenty, half a minute, then Mallory relaxed.
«Nobody at home. Or if they are, they're keeping mighty quiet. But no chances, Dusty. You go that way. I'll go this. Meet at the door — that'll be on the opposite side, facing into the valley… . Walk wide at the corners — never fails to baffle the unwary.»
A minute later both men were inside the hut, the door shut behind them. The hooded beam of Mallory's torch probed into every corner of the ramshackle cabin. It was quite empty — an earthen floor, a rough wooden bunk, a dilapidated stove with a rusty lantern standing on it, and that was all. No table, no chair, no chimney, not even a window.
Mallory walked over to the stove, picked up the lamp and sniffed it.
«Hasn't been used for weeks. Still full of kerosene, though. Very useful in that damn' dungeon up there — if we can ever find the place… .»
He froze into a sudden listening Immobility, eyes unfocused and head cocked slightly to one side. Gently, ever so gently, he set the lamp down, walked leisurely across to Miller.
«Remind me to apologise at some future date,» he murmured. «We have company. Give me your gun and keep talking.»
«Castelrosso again,» Miller complained loudly. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow. «This is downright monotonous. A Chinaman — I'll bet it's a Chinaman this time.» But he was already talking to himself.
The silenced automatic balanced at his waist, Mallory walked noiselessly round the hut, four feet out from the walls. He had passed two corners, was just rounding the third when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a vague figure behind him rising up swiftly from the ground and lunging out with upraised arm. Mallory stepped back quickly under the blow, spun round, swung his balled fist viciously and backwards into the stomach of his attacker. There was a sudden explosive gasp of agony as the man doubled up, moaned and crumpled silently to the ground. Barely in time Mallory arrested the downward clubbing swipe of his reversed automatic.
Gun reversed again, the butt settled securely in his palm, Mallory stared down unblinkingly at the huddled figure, at the primitive wooden baton still clutched in the gloved right hand, at the unmilitary looking knapsack strapped to his back. He kept his gun lined up on the fallen body, waiting: this had been just too easy, too suspicious. Thirty seconds passed and still the figure on the ground hadn't stirred. Mallory took a short step forward and carefully, deliberately and none too gently kicked the man on the outside of the right knee. It was an old trick, and he'd never known it to fail — the pain was brief, but agonisung. But there was n
o movement, no sound at all.
Quickly Mallory stooped, hooked his free hand round the knapsack shoulder straps, straightened and made for the door, half-carrying, half-dragging his captive. The man was no weight at all. With a proportionately much heavier garrison than even in Crete, there would be that much less food for the islanders, Mallory mused compassionately. There would be very little indeed. He wished he hadn't hit him so hard.
Miller met him at the open door, stooped wordlessly, caught the unconscious man by the ankles and helped Mallory dump him unceremoniously on the bunk in the far corner of the hut.
«Nice goin,' boss,» he complimented. «Never heard a thing. Who's the heavyweight champ?»
«No idea.» Mallory shook his head in the darkness. «Just skin and bones, that's all, just skin and bones. Shut the door, Dusty, and let's have a look at what we've got.»
CHAPTER 8
Tuesday
19:00--00:15
A minute passed, two, then the little man stirred, moaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. Mallory held his arm to steady him, while he shook his bent head, eyes screwed tightly shut as he concentrated on clearing the muzziness away. Finally he looked up slowly, glanced from Mallory to Miller and back at Mallory again in the feeble light of the newly-lit, shuttered lantern. Even as the men watched, they could see the colour returning to the swarthy cheeks, the indignant bristling of the heavy, dark moustache, the darkening anger in the eyes. Suddenly the man reached up, tore Mallory's hand away from his arm.
«Who are you?» He spoke in English, clear, precise, with hardly a trace of accent.
«Sorry, but the less you know the better.» Mallory smiled, deliberately to rob the words of offence. «I mean that for your own sake. How are you feeling now?»
Tenderly the little man massaged his midriff, flexed his leg with a grimace of pain.
«You hit me very hard.»
«I had to.» Mallory reached behind him and picked up the cudgel the man had been carrying. «You tried to hit me with this. What did you expect me to do — take my hat off so you could have a better swipe at me?»
«You are very amusing.» Again he bent his leg, experimentally, looked up at Mallory in hostile suspicion. «My knee hurts me,» he said accusingly.
«First things first. Why the club?»
«I meant to knock you down and have a look at you,» he explained impatiently. «It was the only safe way. You might have been one of the W.G.B.… Why is my knee--?»
«You had an awkward fall,» Mallory said shamelessly. «What are you doing here?»
«Who are you?» the little man countered.
Miller coughed, looked ostentatiously at his watch.
«This is all very entertainin', boss—»
«True for you, Dusty. We haven't all night.» Quickly Mallory reached behind him, picked up the man's rucksack, tossed it across to Miller. «See what's in there, will you?» Strangely, the little man made no move to protest.
«Food?» Miller said reverently. «Wonderful, wonderful food. Cooked meat, bread, cheese — and wine.» Reluctantly Miller closed the bag and looked curiously at their prisoner. «Helluva funny time for a picnic.»
«So! An American, a Yankee.» The little man smiled to himself. «Better and better!» -
«What do you mean?» Miller asked suspiciously.
«See for yourself,» the man said pleasantly. He nodded casually to the far corner of the room. «Look there.»
Mallory spun round, realised in a moment that he had been tricked, jerked back again. Carefully he leaned forward and touched Miller's arm.
«Don't look round too quickly, Dusty. And don't touch your gun. It seems our friend was not alone.» Mallory tightened his lips, mentally cursed himself for his obtuseness. Voices — Dusty had said there had been voices. Must be even more tired than he had thought… .
A tall, lean man blocked the entrance to the doorway. His face was shadowed under an enveloping snow-hood, but there was no mistaking the gun in his hand. A short Lee Enfleld rifle, Mallory noted dispassionately.
«Do not shoot!» The little man spoke rapidly in Greek. «I am almost sure that they are those whom we seek, Panayis.»
Panayis! Mallory felt the wave of relief wash over him. That was one of the names Eugene Viachos had given him,. back in Alexandria.
«The tables turned, are they not?» The little man smiled at Mallory, the tired eyes crinkling, the heavy black moustache lifting engagingly at one corner. «I ask you again, who are you?» -
«S.O.E.,» Mallory answered unhesitatingly.
The man nodded in satisfaction. «Captain Jensen sent you?»
Mallory sank back on the bunk and sighed in long relief.
«We are among friends, Dusty.» He looked at the little man before him. «You must be Louki — the first plane tree in the square in Margaritha?»
The little man beamed. He bowed, stretched out his hand.
«Louki. At your service, sir.»
«And this, of course, is Panayis?»
The tall man in the doorway, dark, saturnine, unsmiling, inclined his head briefly but said nothing.
«You have us right!» The little man was beaming with delight. «Louki and Panayis. They know about us in Alexandria and Cairo, then?» he asked proudly.
«Of course!» Mallory smothered a smile. «They spoke highly of you. You have been of great help to the Allies before.»
«And we will again,» Louki said briskly. «Come, we are wasting time. The Germans are on the hills. What help can we give you?»
«Food, Louki. We need food — we need it badly.»
«We have it!» Proudly, Louki gestured at the rucksacks. «We were on our way up with it.»
«You were on your way… .» Mallory was astonished. «How did you know where we were — or even that we were on the island?»
Louki waved a deprecating hand.
«It was easy. Since first light German troops have been moving south through Margaritha up into the hills. All morning they combed the east col of Kostos. We knew someone must have landed, and that the Germans had blocked the cliff path on the south coast, at both ends. So you must have come over the west col. They would not expect that — you fooled them. So we came to find you.» -
«But you would never have found us--—»
«We would have found you.» There was complete certainty in the voice. «Panayis and I — we know every stone, every blade of grass in Navarone.» Louki shivered suddenly, stared out bleakly through the swirling snow. «You couldn't have picked worse weather.»
«We couldn't have picked better,» Mallory said grimly.
«Last night, yes,» Lould agreed. «No one would expect you in that wind and rain. No one would hear the aircraft or even dream that you would try to jump—»
«We came by sea,» Miller interrupted. He waved a negligent hand. «We climbed the south cliff.»
«What? The south cliff!» Louki was frankly disbelieving. «No one could climb the south cliff. It is impossible!»
«That's the way we felt when we were about half-way up,» Mallory said candidly. «But Dusty, here, is right. That's how it was.»
Louki had taken a step back: his face was expressionless.
«I say it is impossible,» he repeated flatly.
«He is telling the truth, Louki,» Miller cut in quietly. «Do you never read newspapers?»
«Of course I read newspapers!» Louki bristled with indignation. «Do you think I am — how you say — illiterate?»
«Then think back to just before the war,» Miller advised. «Think of mountaineerin'--and the Himalayas. You must have seen his picture in the papers — once, twice, a hundred times.» He- looked at Mallory consideringly. «Only he was a little prettier in those days. You must remember. This is Mallory, Keith Mallory of New Zealand.»
Mallory said nothing. He was watching Louki, the puzzlement, the гomical screwing up of the eyes, head cocked to one side: then, all at once, something clicked in the little man's memory and his face lit up in a great,
crinkling smile that swamped every last trace of suspicion. He stepped forward, hand outstretched in we!come.
«By heaven, you are- right! Mallory! Of course I know Mallory!» He grabbed Mallory's hand, pumped it up and down with great enthusiasm. «It is indeed as the American says. You need a shave… . And you look older.»
«I feel older,» Mallory said gloomily. He nodded at Miller. «This is Corporal Miller, an American citizen.»
«Another famous climber?» Louki asked eagerly. «Another tiger of the hills, yes?»
«He climbed the south cliff as it has never been climbed before,» Mallory answered truthfully. He glanced at his watch, then looked directly at Louki. «There are others up in the hifis. We need help, Louki. We need it badly and we need it at once. You know the danger if you are caught helping us?»
«Danger?» Louki waved a contemptuous hand. «Danger to Louki and Panayis, the foxes of Navarone? Impossible! We are the ghosts of the night.» He hitched his pack higher up on his shoulders. «Come. Let us take this food to your friends.»
«Just a minute.» Mallory's restraining hand was on his arm. «There are two other things. We need heat — a stove and fuel, and we need—»
The guns of Navaronne Page 15