‘Language!’ his wife scolded. ‘And what kind of a host are you? Andreas, come, sit at the table.’
He did as he was told and sat with her husband and daughter around one end of the table while Mrs Thesskoudis fetched a bottle of raki and some glasses. The young man was conscious of the effects of his earlier drink with his father. It would not do to return to Sivota and present himself to his commanding officer the worse for wear. But there was no question of refusing the hospitality of his hosts and he raised his glass along with them and joined in the chorus.
‘Eviva!’
‘I’m afraid I cannot stay for long,’ Andreas told them. ‘My driver is waiting in the square to drive me back to Sivota.’
Mrs Thesskoudis pursed her lips. ‘A shame.’
‘Yes,’ Eleni added. ‘A shame. I am sure you have so much to tell me, tell us.’
The last words were spoken quickly and Andreas looked at her searchingly, hoping that he knew the reason for her moment of awkwardness. ‘There will be plenty of time for that, once the war is over, Eleni. And, yes, there is much I would like to say to you.’
There was a brief quiet before Mr Thesskoudis leaned forward and stared intently at the naval officer. ‘And how long do you think it will take to kick the arses of those Italians? The newspapers say we are forcing them back into Albania and that victory will come any day. But they would say that. They’ll say whatever the government tells them to say. So what’s the truth? You must know.’
‘I am only a junior officer. I have heard that our soldiers are having the best of it in the mountains. Our airmen are enjoying some success too, and the navy does what it can. But our surface fleet is no match for theirs. Only our submarines, like the Papanikolis, can take the war to the Italians.’
‘As I am sure you will.’ Mr Thesskoudis slapped his hand down. ‘Make sure they suffer. Sink me a battleship, young Katarides. Make your father proud and give him something to write a poem about. Not that dull old stuff he’s been writing lately, but a real poem. An epic. It’ll make a modern Homer of him.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Andreas smiled.
‘Or course you will!’
Eleni was not smiling, but staring at him intently. ‘Be careful, Andreas. Don’t take any chances.’
‘Pah!’ her father snorted. ‘He’s an officer, girl. He must take chances if we are to win the war and he is to prove himself a hero worthy of his country. Isn’t that right?’
Suddenly the room seemed too hot, his hosts too close to him and Eleni’s expression strained. He wished that her parents would leave them alone. Just long enough for him to speak with Eleni, to confess that he had missed her in Athens, that he would be grateful if she waited for him to return from the war so that he might seek her parents’ permission to court her. Beneath consideration of the required formalities his heart burned with longing. He was surprised at the intensity of it now that he sat opposite Eleni. All that he craved was a sign from her that she felt the same. Then he would be content to return to his submarine and sail to war.
But no one moved around the table. There was no sign that Eleni’s parents perceived his need and he a felt frustration simmering in his veins. He glanced down at his wristwatch. It would be midnight before the truck returned to Sivota after a long drive along the rough tracks that passed for roads on the island.
‘I must go.’ He looked up apologetically. ‘I just wanted to make sure that you are all well.’
Mr Thesskoudis smiled. ‘All the better for seeing you. Isn’t that right, Eleni?’
‘Yes, Father,’ she said flatly.
Andreas stood up and the others followed suit. Before her father could intervene, Eleni spoke quickly. ‘I will see Andreas out, Papa. You still have to finish reading your newspaper.’
He stared at her in surprise and his mouth began to frame a reply before his wife patted him on the hand. ‘Quite right. Sit there, I’ll finish preparing the meal. Take care, Andreas. We’ll remember you in our prayers.’
He nodded his thanks and followed Eleni out of the room towards the door, his fingers working nervously in the stiff material of his naval cap. She reached for the latch and hesitated an instant before lifting it and easing the door open. Andreas stepped past her and then turned, his pulse quickening as he spoke softly.
‘Eleni . . .’
She stared up at him in the gloom of the twilight settling over the island.
‘Holy God and the Blessed Virgin look after you,’ she whispered and rose on her toes to kiss him on the lips. He just had time to close his eyes and feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek and then she pulled back, staring into his eyes intently.
‘Do your duty, then come back to me, Andreas Katarides.’
He tried to lean forward to kiss her back but Eleni backed away into the house.
‘Go now,’ she said.
Andreas was still for a moment, too surprised to react. Then he heard footsteps in the street and the spell was broken as he turned instinctively. Two old ladies swathed in black passed the house without regarding him. He heard a click behind him and turned back to see the door closed. He stared at the painted wood, his heart pained, but elated. After a moment’s stillness Andreas walked away, back to the square and the waiting truck.
Chapter Eleven
March 1941
Lieutenant Pilotis drew a deep breath, cupped his hand and bellowed, ‘Cast off forward!’
Andreas watched as two shoremen on the pier eased the thick loop of cable up over the wooden bollard and tossed it towards the crewmen waiting at the bow of Papanikolis. The slack slapped into the water before the men drew it in and stowed the cable in the locker. On the submarine’s conning tower Pilotis turned his attention to the aft deck and shouted another order to the men on the stern mooring. Untethered from the pier the vessel began to drift away very slowly. Beneath Andreas’s feet the deck vibrated as the engine turned over easily, a plume of blue-grey smoke billowing from the exhaust port.
At the rear of the conning tower Iatridis took a last puff from his cigarette and then flicked the butt into the sea.
‘Take the boat out to sea, Number One. Then steer off the end of Cape Kavos Kiras and then east. The navigator will give you a further course when I’ve briefed him.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They exchanged a salute before the captain made for the hatch and called down a warning before he descended. When he was sure that their commander was out of earshot, Andreas muttered, ‘Looks like the old man is in a foul mood.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Pilotis replied discreetly. Then he turned his attention back to his duties and dipped his head towards the voice tube. ‘Engines ahead slow.’
The order was repeated back to him and the note of the engine changed and the Papanikolis edged away from the pier as water swirled in its wake. The first lieutenant gave a few course corrections before the submarine entered the channel and headed out to sea. Andreas leaned on the coaming of the tower, gazing back towards the quiet village of Sivota receding behind them. This was the fourth patrol they had been sent on. The previous missions had taken them south-west to cover the approaches to the west coast of Greece and had proved utterly futile. Aside from the sighting of a distant Italian destroyer and the emergency dive that had followed, there had been no excitement, let alone any opportunity to deal a blow to the enemy. The captain had raged against the incompetence of his superiors, demanding that Papanikolis be sent north to interdict the enemy shipping supplying their armies in Albania. But each time he was told that the navy’s duty was to guard against a possible surprise invasion of the homeland. So the submarine had been obliged to patrol an empty stretch of ocean, lookouts scanning the horizon for any sign of enemy vessels or aircraft hour after hour.
Each time the patrol ended, the submarine returned to Sivota to refuel and reprovision while the ammunition for the deck gun and spare torpedoes lay unused in her hull. The captain’s frustration was shared by his crew, all the more
so as the vessel had received strict orders to remain ready to leave the temporary base at a moment’s notice. As a result there had been no leave granted to any man and Andreas had not been able to return to Lefkada. To know that his home and his love lay no more than half a day’s drive away fed his longing to see both and starved his patience.
As the long grey shape slipped out of the bay into the open sea and the first waves burst over the bows, Pilotis spoke. ‘What do you think it will be this time? South-west again?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’
The captain had received a coded message the previous evening in two parts. The first had ordered him to ready his vessel for sea, the second was to be read and acted upon only after Papanikolis had left its base. Both officers directed their thoughts down through the conning tower towards the captain sitting in his cabin as he digested his new instructions and prepared to give his orders to the crew. The lookouts took up their positions and began to scan the horizon with binoculars as Pilotis ordered the helmsman to steer a course for the southernmost cape of Lefkas. As the vessel settled on the new course the voice pipe gave a short trill and Pilotis leaned forward to listen and then turned to Andreas.
‘Captain wants you.’
Andreas raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he say . . . ?’
Pilotis shook his head. ‘Not giving anything away. Get going.’
‘Coming down!’ Andreas shouted through the hatch and then hurriedly clambered down the ladder into the humid stench of the bridge before picking his way through the crewmen to the captain’s cabin. The thin sheet of wood that served as the door was latched open and Andreas knocked on the varnished surface.
‘You sent for me, sir.’
Iatridis looked up, a sparkle in his eye. ‘Come in, Katarides, and shut the door.’
The cabin was not much longer than the cot bed and just a little wider, barely enough room for the captain to squeeze into the chair at his desk. Andreas had to shuffle round the door in order to close it and then stand against it as he faced his commander. The coded message lay beside the captain’s decoded notes on a chart spread across his desk. Air from a small fan caused an unweighted corner of the chart to flutter, but that was not enough to prevent the sweat breaking out on the captain’s brow and staining his shirt. Even so, his good spirits were at once evident to the navigation officer.
‘The naval ministry has finally come to its senses!’ He tapped the message. ‘We’ve been ordered into the Adriatic to intercept Italian shipping. See here . . .’ He cleared the sheets away from the chart and Andreas could make out the island of Corfu and the Albanian coast to the north.
‘This is our patrol area. Naval intelligence has reported a marked increase in Italian activity. They suspect it’s the build-up for a new offensive. We’re to strike at any targets of opportunity in this area. Of course there’s some danger from escort vessels and aircraft, but at last we’ll have something to aim our torpedoes at. That’ll please the lads. Meanwhile I want you to plot a course to the patrol area. From there I want a search pattern plotted. Nothing predictable, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’re to remain in the area until we’ve exhausted our ammunition.’
Or we are sunk in turn, Andreas thought. That was the reality he and the rest of the crew faced now. Even so, he felt a sense of exhilaration at the prospect of making a contribution to the defence of his country and all those he knew and loved. For several months he had been an onlooker while his comrades in the other services had been tested in battle. Now it was his turn at last.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Iatridis frowned. ‘Get to work.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Andreas saluted and shifted round the door and closed it behind him. As he retraced his steps to the bridge compartment he was aware of the expectant looks of the other men but forced himself to keep his expression neutral. At the navigator’s table he selected the appropriate chart from the deep pigeonholes beneath. He spread it out and slipped the edges under the clips before he reached for his instruments in the locker above. Ignoring the inquisitive looks of his comrades, Andreas leaned over the chart and began to plot the course of the Papanikolis, his lips spread in a soft smile of contentment.
‘Periscope up,’ Iatridis ordered quietly.
A mechanical whine filled the bridge as the broad steel tube extended towards the surface five metres above the top of the conning tower. The only other noise was the whirring of the fans and the soft hum of the electric engines as the submarine ghosted along at four knots. The lookouts had sighted the leading ships of the convoy in the dying light, silhouetted against the setting sun. The Greek submarine was in the perfect position to attack, lying directly ahead of the Italian vessels and hidden by the darker sky to the east. As soon as the convoy had been spotted, Iatridis had given the order to submerge and the submarine descended to periscope level to await its prey. It had taken no more than two hours before the sound of engines carried through the water and hull to the ears of the crew, waiting in silence for the captain to give the orders to begin the attack.
The periscope motor stopped and Iatridis leaned his head towards the rubber-trimmed eyepiece. He slowly rotated the instrument and then eased it to a stop and was silent for a moment before he spoke to Andreas who stood by, pencil poised, ready to plot the position of the enemy vessels.
‘Destroyer bearing eighty degrees off port bow, speed . . . fifteen knots, range . . . four thousand metres.’ He rotated the periscope slowly, shuffling his feet to keep pace with it, then slowed to a stop again as he continued. ‘Five, six cargo ships, line astern. Leading vessel bearing ten degrees to port, range six thousand metres. Speed, eight knots. Looks like a troopship.’
As Andreas made notes of the captain’s observations, Iatridis continued rotating the periscope to sweep the horizon and then stepped away and gave the order for it to be lowered. They moved to the chart table and Andreas took up his grease pen and marked the positions of the Italian vessels as closely as he could calculate, anxious to make no mistakes under the watchful eye of his captain. When he had finished he straightened and Iatridis quickly considered the chart, his sharp mind calculating distances and timings. He nodded to himself and took a sharp breath.
‘We’ll close to two thousand metres and fire a spread at the leading ship. As soon as the fish are in the water we’ll turn away from the escort destroyer and move in closer to the rest. With luck they’ll panic and separate and give us the chance to sink some more before the destroyer bears down on us. Then we’ll be forced to dive deep and make evasive manoeuvres. Our friends in the Italian navy couldn’t hit a barn door if they were standing in front of it!’
The men at their stations in the bridge grinned at the comment and Iatridis indulged them briefly before he gave his first order.
‘Increase speed to six knots. Stay on this course for ten minutes then turn ninety degrees to port and stop.’
Lieutenant Politis nodded and repeated the order to the men at the steering controls as he started the timer. The noise from the electric motors increased in pitch as the Papanikolis eased through the depths like a shark closing on its prey. The distant rumble of the convoy carried clearly through the steel hull of the submarine and grew in intensity as the Italian ships drew nearer. Andreas fancied that he could even feel a small vibration in the deck beneath his boots, over and above that caused by the submarine’s motor.
‘Steer ninety to port!’ Politis barked as the timer reached ten minutes. ‘All stop!’
The submarine began to swing and the crew reached for handholds to steady themselves as the deck tilted beneath them. Slowly it levelled and the soft trickle of water running past the outside of the hull diminished. Andreas glanced round the compartment and saw the tense expressions of his comrades as they listened to the throb of the nearest enemy ship’s propeller.
‘Up periscope!’ Iatridis commanded, impatiently clenching his fists as the eyepiece rose to meet him.
He bent and met it, and swung the instrument to left and right before settling on a target several degrees off the starboard bow. ‘Ahhh . . . there you are, my friend,’ he said softly, before his tone hardened. ‘Navigator, enemy destroyer bearing twenty degrees to port and moving away. Mark it up.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Number One, prepare bow tubes, one to four.’
Politis repeated the order then stepped to the voice tube to relay it to the weapons officer. Andreas heard the sound of voices, the clink of chain and the rumble of the torpedoes on their runners as the crew hauled them forward into the tubes. Inner hatches clashed shut and then there was stillness before the first lieutenant broke the silence on the bridge. ‘Weapons officer reports torpedoes ready, sir.’
‘Very good, Number One.’ Iatridis shifted the periscope. ‘Target is troopship, ten degrees angle on the bow. Range eighteen hundred metres. Prepare to shoot.’
‘Prepare to shoot!’ Pilotis spoke loudly and clearly into the voice tube.
There was a pause and Andreas felt a slight pain in his hand and glanced down to the see the grease pencil clenched tightly in his fist. He made himself relax his fingers and saw the sweat gleaming on his skin.
‘Torpedoes one to four, shoot!’
An instant after the order was repeated Andreas flinched at the shrill explosive hiss as the torpedoes were blown out of their tubes by a blast of compressed air. Then the whine of the torpedo propellers cut in as Pilotis turned to the captain.
‘Torpedoes away, sir. Two minutes to impact. The clock is running.’
‘Very good. Steer forty-five degrees to starboard, speed six knots. Reload the tubes.’
Andreas bent over the navigation table to plot the new course and update the enemy’s positions. He could guess the captain’s intention. While the escort attended the stricken troopship the others would scatter and the Papanikolis would move freely amongst them, picking off the easiest targets while keeping as far from the Italian destroyer for as long as possible.
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