Chapter Fourteen
Andreas was satisfied with the position he had chosen: just beyond the junction with the track leading down to the village of Poros in the next bay. In the other direction the road led down a long bare slope towards Nidhri, providing scant cover for anyone advancing up towards the waiting Greeks. Andreas had sited one of the Hotchkiss machine guns amid the rocks above the road to the left and the other light machine gun was hidden on the edge of the treeline on the other side of the road. Both positions would be able to sweep the road as well as cover each other from any attack. The rest of the men, six in all, were hidden amongst the rocks overlooking the road, armed with the Mannlicher-Schonauer rifles that dated back to before the previous war. Old weapons but accurate and deadly enough for the task in hand. There was one other man with the party, Appellios. He deserved another chance after the incident with the enemy aircraft, Andreas had decided, and was now posted on top of the hill with a clear view of the road before it rounded the bend and approached his waiting comrades.
All was in order. The men were in place and had been instructed not to open fire until Andreas fired the first shot. He had gone to each man in turn to make sure that they were ready and knew what he had planned. They were to defend the road until they received word from the captain to pull back to the submarine. If the enemy had not appeared by that point, they would return to the trucks which had been parked before the junction, facing downhill, and drive back to Sivota. If the Germans did reach them then they would hold them off until ordered to withdraw, or until their position became untenable. In that event Andreas had instructed that one section would fall back while the others covered their retreat to the next bend in the road where they in turn would set up and allow their comrades to fall back. And so on, leapfrogging along the road to Sivota, thereby buying the rest of the crew enough time to complete preparing the submarine for sea and to destroy those supplies that they could not carry away with them. It was a desperate plan, and Andreas knew that there was a good chance that neither he nor his men were likely to live more than a few more hours.
From their elevated position they had a clear view across the sea towards the headland and half an hour after they had settled down to wait, Andreas’s attention was called to distant movement over the mountains on the mainland. High above the peaks white lines curved and spiralled and it took a moment before Andreas realised he was looking at the contrails of aircraft. As he watched he wondered if there were aircraft locked in combat amid the slowly etched white lines which looked so graceful from such a distance. Then there was a tiny flash and a thin dark trail dropped from the sky behind the crest of the hill and all was still again.
Andreas eased himself down beneath the scented boughs of a pine tree and settled on a bed of brown needles. He was a short distance from the two men manning the second Hotchkiss machine gun, a youngster named Papadakis whose face had been heavily scarred by acne, and Stakiserou, a seasoned petty officer, with a fine black moustache and muscular arms, one of which carried a tattoo with the legend ‘Papanikolis – danger from the deep’. Around them the only movement was the flickering flight of swallows sweeping over the hillside as they snatched insects out of the afternoon air. Andreas glanced at his wristwatch: fifteen hundred, two hours since they had left the frantic activity in Sivota bay. There were still four good hours of daylight remaining, and, as yet, no sign of the Germans. He glanced towards the top of the hill where the lookout was positioned. There was little shelter from the sun up there and Andreas hoped that Appellios was not taking the opportunity to rest the way that some of his countrymen were inclined to do when they found themselves not required to be active. Perhaps he should have posted a more seasoned man up there, Andreas reflected. But even if Appellios failed in his duty for any reason, there would be ample warning from the direction of Nidhri when the mayor gave the word to light the signal fire.
Andreas had heard the stories about German brutality in Poland and France and if there was any truth to them, he feared for his fellow Greeks. He feared for Eleni and her family. Already they would be hearing the tramp of German boots through the streets of Lefkada. Andreas felt a cold fury at the thought of any harm befalling her or her family. To prevent that he was prepared to fight and die if need be. This would be a very different kind of conflict to the one he had experienced aboard the submarine. This time the enemy would be close enough to see their faces. It would be his finger on the trigger and his responsibility for pulling it. This would be his fight. He was in command and the sudden realisation of his responsibility for the men around him frightened him. He must not let them down.
And yet Iatridis had said that the war was already lost. If that was true then what was the point of fighting on? If the result was in no doubt then the reasonable thing to do would be to put an end to the fighting and save lives. What difference did it make if he and these men stood their ground here on some remote island and defied the German invaders? They might kill a handful of the enemy but they would be overwhelmed in the end. Andreas had few illusions that they would be able to survive the retreat to the submarine. They were sailors, used to serving at sea. Not soldiers trained for this kind of warfare and bolstered by a string of unbroken success across the battlefields of Europe. Even if they did reach the Papanikolis, what then? A perilous voyage across the Mediterranean to exile in Egypt. With the war going the way it was, the Germans would defeat the British and all that would have been achieved was a delay to the surrender of the submarine and her crew and needless loss of life.
This train of thought was undermining his will to fight and Andreas frowned at himself before turning towards his comrades on the machine gun.
‘Stakiserou,’ he said quietly.
‘Sir?’
‘That tattoo on your arm. Have you always served on the Papanikolis?’
The petty officer shook his head. ‘Started out on the Elli, sir. Served on her until the navy bought a couple of submarines from a French shipyard. Fancied a change and applied for a posting. I’m a plank-holder, sir.’
‘What’s a plank-holder?’ Papadakis asked.
‘It’s what we call a man who has served in a boat since its commissioning.’
‘Why a plank-holder?’
The petty officer shrugged. ‘Don’t know, lad. Just is.’
Andreas propped himself up on his elbows. ‘The term dates back to the old days when warships were made of wood. At least, that’s what I heard at the academy.’
‘But the submarine’s made out of steel,’ said Papadakis.
The petty officer glanced at Andreas and raised an eyebrow wearily before he responded. ‘It’s a tradition, you idiot. Like these.’ He tapped the insignia on his arm, two yellow stripes with two crossed cannon barrels under the lowest chevron. ‘I’m a marksman, but doesn’t mean I shoot with a bloody cannon, lad. Fuck me, where did they find you?’
‘Eh?’ Papadakis frowned.
‘Never mind. Just do what I say, and keep feeding me the ammo belt when the time comes. That’s all you have to worry about.’
The young recruit nodded and turned his attention back to the empty road. Andreas also turned his eyes towards the road and Nidhri in the distance, still and serene, and heedless of the war which had engulfed the mainland. Then he caught a flicker of movement and glanced down to see that a mosquito had landed on his forearm and began to feed on his blood. With an impulsive gesture Andreas slapped his spare hand on the insect, leaving a tiny red smear and the crumpled black remains of the creature. He stared at it for a moment and smiled to himself as a thought struck him. So that was it. He and his men were like the insect, inflicting a momentary and insignificant attack on a military leviathan. They too would be swatted as he had crushed the mosquito but they would have made their mark and momentarily commanded the attention of the giant to their existence and their will to inflict the tiniest inconvenience on their enemy, a mere pinprick. But they would have made their mark all the same and, like the insec
t, they would be remembered if only as an irritant that had drawn a single drop of blood.
It was a fanciful idea, and it put him in mind of the kind of metaphors his father so liked to use in his poetry to make points about the universality of experience. What would the great Katarides make of this current situation? Andreas wondered with a smile. It had poetic potential, as did all heroic stands against great odds.
‘Go tell the Spartans . . .’ he muttered to himself and smiled at the conceit.
‘What is it, sir?’
He looked up and saw the petty officer staring at him. ‘Nothing . . . Tell me, Stakiserou, what were you planning on doing if you had been posted to another vessel?’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Your tattoo. As far as I am aware there is only one Papanikolis in the navy. What was your plan in the event that you were sent to another vessel?’
The petty officer sniffed. ‘Never gave it any thought, sir. It’s the submarine or nothing for me. I’m a plank-holder, and I’m not going to give her up for anyone else, or to anyone else, let alone some fascist who can’t even grow a decent moustache.’
Andreas laughed and shook his head, pleased to have such a man at his side. Then his laughter died in his throat as his gaze shifted back towards Nidhri. A column of dark smoke was rising up from the boatyard on the edge of Vlicho bay. It was too dark for wood and billowed in a thick, oily stain against the background of the sparkling sea.
‘Is that it?’ Papadakis asked. ‘Is that the signal?’
‘What does it look like, you fucking idiot?’ the petty officer growled. ‘It’s time to earn our pay.’
Andreas reached for his binoculars to view the distant scene, nearly three kilometres away. He followed the snaking road towards Nidhri and then he saw them – a line of vehicles emerging from between the whitewashed buildings. A small vehicle led the way, a car. Then came a column of trucks, eight, he counted. At the rear was an armoured car. The column halted and four of the trucks turned off the road and stopped, soldiers disgorging from the rear and spreading out around the vehicles. A moment later the remainder of the small force continued along the road before disappearing from view behind the side of the hill that sloped down towards Vliho bay.
Andreas lowered his binoculars. ‘They’re coming.’
He recalled the layout of the road and the way it climbed up from sea level into the hills and made a quick calculation. ‘They’ll be on us within half an hour.’
The petty officer spat. ‘How many of the bastards, sir?’
Andreas paused briefly to estimate the enemy strength. ‘At least fifty men, and they have an armoured car.’
‘Fifty!’ Papadakis shook his head. ‘We don’t stand a chance.’
Andreas stood up and turned to the youth. Papadakis was little more than a year younger than him, and already there was a gulf of authority between them.
‘Seaman Papadakis,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘We have the advantage. We hold the high ground, we will be firing from concealment and the Germans will be forced to come at us up a narrow road. Save your pity for them. We must kill as many of the enemy as we can, as quickly as we can. Think on that. If we don’t, then they will kill us. And if we don’t hold them back then our comrades are also lost, and the Papanikolis. The captain and the others are counting on you, Papadakis. Are you going to let them down?’
The young sailor stiffened. ‘No, sir. Not me.’
Stakiserou laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘There’s a man! We’ll show them.’
Brushing the pine needles from his uniform, Andreas stepped into the open. ‘I’ll tell the others what to expect and be back in a moment.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He trotted through the rocks and stunted bushes on to the road. Even though it was early April the air was hot and still and his voice echoed off the rocks as he moved down the narrow dirt track and called out to his men. At the bottom of the two-hundred-metre stretch of road that he had chosen for the ambush site, just before it curved round the side of the hill and began to zigzag down towards Nidhri, he shouted up to the lookout.
‘Appellios! . . . Seaman Appellios!’
A figure rose cautiously, head and shoulders clearly silhouetted against the sky. ‘Sir?’
‘You see ’em?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When they get within half a kilometre, you give me the signal. Hold your rifle up. I will wave to show you I’ve seen you. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When I give the order to open fire I want you to concentrate only on their officers and NCOs. Only them. You’ll be in the best position to pick them off and I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself. But you must watch for the signal to withdraw, and when you see it, get back to the trucks. Don’t stop for anything.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then Holy God and the Virgin Mary look after you, Appellios.’
‘And you, sir.’
Andreas turned and strode back to his position beside the machine gun and eased himself down behind the boulder he had chosen for cover. Taking up his rifle he checked the bolt mechanism again and then loaded a magazine box, chambered the first round and settled into a good shooting position, legs splayed and body lying at an angle to the long barrel of the Mannlicher. He was conscious of his heart racing and his hands felt cold and clammy. He eased the rifle down and rubbed them on his chest before forcing himself to breathe calmly while he waited.
Time seemed to stretch out as his ears strained to catch the first sound of the enemy’s approach. Then he heard the faint whine of a motor as it shifted down a gear and was revved to cope with the increasing incline of the slope beyond the hill where Appellios was stationed. The noise grew as the other vehicles followed suit and a moment later a figure rose on the hillside and held his rifle aloft in both hands. Andreas raised an arm and waved steadily from side to side until the lookout dropped out of sight.
‘Make ready!,’ Andreas called to the machine-gun crew and Stakiserou pulled back the cocking lever and it snapped back with a metal clatter. Beside him knelt Papadakis, feeding the ammunition belt from its case and offering it up to the weapon. Then all three waited, still and tense, as the growl of the approaching vehicles steadily swelled in volume. As the noise grew, it seemed to take an eternity before the first vehicle appeared round the corner of the hill and entered the stretch of road Andreas had chosen for the ambush. He felt his heart give a lurch as he saw it was the armoured car. It must have changed positions in the column.
‘Shit . . .’
He had planned to open fire while the last truck was on the corner, blocking the armoured car. Now it would have to be dealt with. He turned and glanced at Stakiserou and muttered, ‘Wait for me to shoot first.’
The petty officer grunted an acknowledgement, keeping his eyes fixed on the approaching enemy.
The armoured car’s engine strained as it continued up the slope, dust rising in its wake. A man in a side cap stood in the low turret, hands gripping the steel rim as he scrutinised the way ahead. Behind came a small car with four men in it, two wearing officer’s caps. Then the first of the lorries, open, with ten or twelve men, sitting on the benches on either side of the bed. Few wore their helmets and Andreas could see that some were laughing as they shouted to their companions above the din of the vehicles. He raised his rifle and felt a nervous trembling in his limbs before he angrily forced himself to concentrate, to think of nothing but taking aim at his enemy and waiting until the right time to open fire. He sighted on the man standing in the armoured car, lining the German up with the pin on his muzzle and the notch at the rear, close to his eye. He breathed steadily, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. He must wait until the last truck was abreast of the men hiding amongst the rocks above the enemy column.
As the armoured car rumbled closer, to within fifty metres, Andreas could make out the details on the face of his target. A broad forehead above glasses that glinted as they
caught the sun. He was reminded of Peter. For an instant he was seized by the sudden fear that it was his friend. That some horrifying trick of fate had placed Peter in front of him. He dismissed the thought, it was almost impossible that it could be so, and now the man was close enough for Andreas to be sure that it was not. He breathed in deeply, pulled the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and gently squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Fifteen
The violence of the recoil and the numbing blast of the shot shocked Andreas and he instinctively blinked. His eyes opened just in time to see the German in the turret lurch back, throwing his arms in the air before he slumped inside the vehicle. The Hotchkiss burst into life with a deafening rattle close to Andreas, drowning out the fusillade of shots ringing out from amongst the rocks. The other machine gun joined in, spraying bullets into the first of the trucks, striking men down as they began to scramble off the vehicle when the driver braked. Behind, the other lorries stopped abruptly and the men jumped off the rear, under fire from the rocks, and Andreas saw more of them fall.
There was a sudden flash and roar as the first of the grenades hurled by the ambushers exploded and then there were more blasts along the line of the road. Detonation after detonation, drowning out the rattle and crack of small-arms fire and sending clouds of dust swirling into the air. One landed close to the first truck and there was a bright flare and a loud thud as the petrol tank caught fire and exploded in a brilliant fireball of red, orange, gold and black. Two men close by were engulfed in the flames and then staggered off the road, human torches blazing before they fell and writhed. The armoured car swerved to the side of the road and ran on to the banked earth at an angle.
‘Bastards!’ Stakiserou shouted as he hunched low, squinting down the barrel of the Hotchkiss, traversing left and right as he fired. Brass cases leaped from the side of the weapon, tumbling to the ground. At his side Papadakis gritted his teeth against the deafening storm of sounds assaulting his ears and concentrated on feeding the ammunition belt as steadily as he could.
Hearts of Stone Page 16