The church bell started ringing again, more insistantly this time, and did not stop. Dietrich rose to his full height and cupped a hand to his mouth.
‘At the run! Advance!’ he bellowed, his voice echoing dully off the mist-shrouded hills rising on either side of the village. The line of mountain troops ran up the slope, accompanied by the sound of ragged breathing, pounding boots and chink of loose kit. Peter hurried to keep up with the company commander, ready to act as his translator when the Germans burst into the village and began searching for members of the resistance and their weapons. A sudden bleating added to the sound of rushing men and a small herd of goats burst across the slope, chased by a young boy in baggy trousers tucked into his tattered boots. His open sheepskin jerkin flapped around him as he ran after his animals. He spared the approaching Germans a quick glance and then shouted a warning to his compatriots. Dietrich swore and charged at him, pistol-whipping the youth to the ground to silence him. It was a pointless gesture as more cries of alarm rose from the village and all the while the bell tolled, its peals sounding ever more frantic.
‘Muller! Keep up!’ Dietrich snapped as he stepped over the prone boy and raced towards an opening between two of the whitewashed hovels on the fringe of the village. A handful of his men had already run ahead and more spilled over the low walls behind the houses. As Peter passed between the whitewashed walls either side of the narrow street, the sound of boots echoed sharply, almost drowning out the blood pounding through his head. Dietrich paused at an intersection and quickly glanced in either direction before he waved his hand towards the church tower.
‘Keep moving!’
Breathing hard, Peter reached down and snapped open his holster and took out his pistol. Leaving the safety on he lurched forward, following Dietrich towards the centre of the village. Around them he could hear the harsh shouts of the mountain troops amid the alarmed cries of the inhabitants. Then the street turned a corner and they emerged into the small square in front of the church. The priest, dressed in black, was standing at the foot of the stairs, waving his congregation inside as women hurried to safety with their children. There were a few men too, anxiously glancing back towards the Germans. Some turned and bolted for the far side of the square, disappearing into the alleys between the modest houses at the centre of the village. One of the German sergeants spotted them and thrust out his hand.
‘Get those bastards! Don’t let ’em escape!’
Several soldiers pounded after the fugitives as Dietrich lowered his pistol to his side and strode across the flagstones towards the church, Peter following.
‘Tell the priest that he and his flock have nothing to fear as long as they cooperate. The only men we’re after belong to the andartes. We’ll arrest anyone we find with weapons in their houses. Tell him.’
Peter did as he was ordered. The priest, a thin man with piercing eyes and a grey beard, nodded but held his arms out wide to prevent them passing him to get into the church. He puffed out his chest and stared back at Peter as he replied coolly, ‘Tell your superior that my church is a house of God and we do not permit armed barbarians to step inside.’
Peter paraphrased the priest’s objection and Dietrich returned his pistol to its holster before he addressed the priest again with forced politeness. ‘We will go where we please, old man. Stand aside, please.’
The Greek held his ground and with a frustrated curse the German officer thrust his hands against the priest’s chest and sent him sprawling at the foot of the stairs. Stepping round him, Deitrich trotted up to the arched doorway and stood on the threshold squinting into the shadowy interior. As Peter joined him he saw faces staring back fearfully, the women holding their younger children close to them. A handful of the men glared defiantly.
‘Your attention please,’ Dietrich announced. ‘My men are here to search your village for weapons and criminals. The innocent have nothing to fear from us.’
As Peter finished translating, the priest came limping up to join them and spoke gently to his congregation. ‘Do as the German says and there will be no trouble.’
Dietrich nodded as Peter translated. ‘Muller, tell them everyone is to remain here until further notice. Any man attempting to leave the church will be taken for a member of the resistance and shot on sight.’
He turned and stood overlooking the square. More of the locals were hurrying towards the church, slowing as they saw the two German officers, and giving them a wide berth as they scurried up the steps and inside. Now there were more soldiers entering the square, driving people ahead of them with loud angry shouts, and using their rifles to shove the slower civilians ahead of them. Soon most of the villagers had been rounded up and were being held in the church along with their priest. Dietrich posted two men at each entrance, armed with machine pistols.
Steiner and his party entered the square, looking around warily for any signs of danger as they held their weapons ready. But there was no sign of resistance. The soldiers who had gone after the islanders who had made a run for it returned with a bloodied youth who had tripped and fallen against a rock and dazed himself long enough to fall into the soldiers’ hands. He was dumped on to the ground beside the wall of the church and shuffled back until he pressed against the cracked plaster of the wall and could retreat no further. There he sat and stared at his captors in terror.
With the villagers secured, Dietrich gave orders for their houses to be searched for weapons, munitions and any concealed andartes. Steiner looked on with an impatient expression as he waited for the other officer to finish.
‘Hauptmann, I appreciate that you have your mission to carry out here, but we must reach the dig site while there is plenty of daylight.’
‘And we will, sir. Just as soon as we have made this village safe.’
‘Safe?’ Steiner smiled thinly. ‘Do you really think your intimidation of the locals and turning their houses over is going to cow them into accepting our control of their island? The andartes will return here the moment we have left.’
‘Then we shall have to repeat the exercise until they get the point.’
The SS officer shrugged. ‘Good luck with that. I know these people. They can be pig-headed in the extreme. Is that not true, Muller?’
Peter gave a non-committal grunt. He recalled the friendship of the local people when he and his father, and Heinrich, had lived on the island. He felt a keen sense of loss at the reception he had been given by Eleni’s parents.
‘I can match any Greek for persistence, sir,’ Dietrich said.
‘I am delighted to hear it. I expect our persistence is going to be sorely tested during the occupation of Lefkas unless we can truly break the spirit of these people and teach them that we are their masters. So then, carry out your search. You know what to do if you find anything?’
‘Yes, sir. The standing orders are to jail those with fowling pieces, shoot any we find with rifles or explosives, and take any andartes we capture to the Gestapo section in Lefkada.’
‘Good. Then carry on. Quickly, mind you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Dietrich bowed his head curtly and turned away to oversee the search of the village. Peter realised that he could have handed the task to his subordinates but preferred to remove himself from the presence of the smug SS officer. He glanced sidelong at Steiner, wondering how much of his character had already been evident in the young man who had once been his father’s assistant. Steiner removed his cap and wiped his brow before he lifted his canteen and took a swig.
‘This place is a fucking pigsty . . . What did I ever see in it?’ He turned to Peter with a quick smile. ‘Oh, I know, it was different for you and your father. He loved its history and mistook these ignorant peasants for the descendants of Homer’s heroes. And you? You were young and knew no better. I dare say you think differently now you are a man, a soldier, and have lived long enough to see this pathetic island in a somewhat wider context, eh?’
Peter felt that he was being tested and knew that
he must reply carefully. ‘I still believe in my father’s work. This island, and all Greece, has great treasure buried beneath the soil and rocks, and deep in the hearts of its people.’
‘The hearts of its people?’ Steiner laughed. ‘I thought archaeology was a science, not the stuff of poets. These islanders are nothing but the pale shadows of their forebears and as insensible to their heritage as any lump of stone.’ He paused and his tone softened. ‘Don’t be a foolish romantic, Peter. This is an age of men, not dewy-eyed idealists. Actions speak for themselves and get results. That is the essential truth, and we have been living through the proof of it ever since the National Socialists took control of the fatherland. Wake up and accept the new reality.’
Peter took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘If that is so, sir, then why is the Reichsführer so determined to accrue to himself the relics of the past? Why is it so important to loot the site my father gave so many years of his life to exploring?’
‘We are not here to loot. Our purpose is to save artefacts from the past and put them where they can best be cared for by those who know their value. Or would you rather leave them here to rot in the ground while shepherds and their mangy herds walk all over them heedlessly?’
‘They belong to Greece, sir.’
‘Even our enemies don’t believe that. Why, the British saw fit to remove the marble reliefs from the Acropolis rather than leave them in the hands of the Greeks. So spare me any opinion that these peasants are fit to be guardians of an historic tradition that all Europe has shared in.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘But enough of that. Let’s hope this little exercise of power is over quickly. We have better things to do.’ Steiner sat down on the top step and rested his chin on his clasped hands.
‘Yes, sir.’ Peter nodded and after a moment walked to a weathered stone trough a short distance away where the villagers’ mules watered. He leaned against it and watched as a squad of soldiers entered one of the houses facing the square and a moment later the clatter and crash of furniture reached his ears as they began their search. As he waited, the soldiers went from house to house, ransacking the simple homes of the villagers. An hour later they had found only a handful of aged shotguns and a drunk who had been sleeping it off in a stable. His angry shouts about his rough handling were cut short when a German struck him hard in the stomach with a rifle butt. He was thrown, gasping, into the church.
Steiner smoothed his hair back and stood up as Deitrich returned with the last of his men. ‘Well? What now?’
‘We’ll confiscate the shotguns and take their owners back to Lefkada. Together with that one.’ He nodded to the youth sitting still against the wall, as if he had hoped that he might be forgotten by the soldiers.
Steiner shook his head. ‘No. We haven’t got time for that. Destroy the guns, and burn down the houses of their owners.’
Peter saw the surprised expression in the other officer’s face before he recovered his composure. ‘Those are not my orders, sir.’
‘That may be so, but I am the ranking officer here and they are my orders. Be so good as to carry them out.’
‘Sir, I must protest—’
‘Then protest when we return to Lefkada!’ Steiner snapped. ‘For now, you will do as I say. I am your superior officer and if you question my authority again I will ensure that your insubordination is punished as swiftly and as harshly as possible. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. But . . .’
‘But what, Hauptmann Dietrich?’ Steiner glared, defying the man to challenge him again.
Clenching his jaw, Dietrich saluted. ‘At your command, sir.’
‘That’s better. Carry out my orders at once. Then we can make our way to the site and I can complete my mission, as you have completed yours.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the Hauptmann turned to his men, Peter eased himself up and returned to the side of the SS officer. He spoke in a low voice so that they would not be overheard. ‘Sir, he will be sure to report the matter to Salminger.’
‘Let him, if he dares. My orders come from Reichsführer Himmler, and I doubt he will take kindly to having them overridden by a junior field officer, or even his regimental commander.’
Peter saw that it would be pointless to pursue the subject and turned the conversation in a different direction. ‘At least the prisoner may provide some useful intelligence on the andartes, sir. The Oberstleutnant will be grateful for that anyway.’
Steiner glanced at the youth trembling as he sat hunched a short distance away. ‘That wretch? I doubt he will tell us anything of importance. He looks like a simpleton.’
Peter nodded. ‘Shall I have him released then, sir?’
He fully expected his superior to acquiesce and was on the point of turning round to tell the youth to join the other villagers inside the church when Steiner shook his head.
‘He might not provide any useful information but he might yet prove a useful example.’
‘Sir?’
Steiner rose stiffly to his feet and stretched his back. ‘I told you, Muller. These backwards peasants need to learn who their master is, and learn to fear him. And so they must be given a lesson, no?’
Peter frowned, and then felt a terrible stab of ice down the length of his spine as Steiner reached for his holster. ‘Sir, the villagers have already learned a lesson. Dietrich’s men have ransacked their homes and is about to burn several to the ground. That will be lesson enough for these people.’
‘I think not. They need a more telling example of the price to be paid for offering defiance to Germany.’ He drew his pistol and walked towards the youth.
Peter kept up with him. ‘There’s no need for this. Please, sir. Please . . .’ He swallowed anxiously and continued. ‘For pity’s sake, Heinrich, don’t do this.’
Steiner stopped abruptly and swerved round angrily. ‘Don’t dare to address me in such an informal manner ever again, Leutnant. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir, I understand well enough, but there are some things, some actions, that do not advance our cause. Harming the boy is one of them. We know these people well enough to know they will avenge him some day.’
‘I am not interested in their petty vendettas. Stay out of my way, Muller. I shan’t warn you again. I have tolerated your insolence so far out of respect for your father. Don’t test my patience any further.’
Peter swallowed nervously. ‘I apologise, sir. I meant no offence. Just to offer advice, as is the duty of any good officer.’
Steiner sniffed. ‘The duty of a good officer is to obey his superiors and to lead those below him.’
He stood over the petrified young islander, his pistol hand hanging at his thigh. Lifting his chin, Steiner addressed the captive harshly in Greek. ‘Up! On your feet!’
When the boy proved too terrified to obey, the SS officer stepped forward and kicked him, screaming, ‘UP!’
The explosion of violence and anger shook the boy into action and he scrambled up and pressed himself back against the wall of the church, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.
Keeping his pistol at his side, Steiner smiled. ‘That’s better! What is your name, boy?’
The youth’s jaw slackened and he licked his dry lips, his chin quivering. Steiner softened his tone. ‘Come now, tell me your name. That can’t hurt you, or your friends hiding out in the hills. Tell me that at least.’
‘M-Manolo . . .’
‘Now, Manolo, you must realise that you are in bad trouble. Those friends of yours have led you astray and left you behind to be taken by my men. You owe them nothing. Your only duty now is to yourself, and your family, who would grieve if anything happened to you. Right?’
The youth nodded hesitantly.
‘So I will give you a chance, Manolo. Tell me where they are hiding. Take me to their cave, or whatever shelter they are using, and I will set you free. Not only that, I’ll give you a reward and the promise of my protection. You’ll be perfectly safe . . . What is it t
o be, Manolo?’
The youth stared back, and then by some determined effort of self-control he stiffened his spine and raised his head. ‘I will say nothing.’
‘I thought not.’ Steiner raised his pistol casually, pointed the muzzle at the youth’s face and pulled the trigger. There was a dart of flame, a deafening report and the youth’s head lurched back as blood and brains exploded vividly across the whitewashed wall behind him. The body sagged and crumpled on to the ground, a ragged hole in the forehead above wide eyes and slack jaw.
‘No . . .’ Peter shook his head. ‘No.’
Steiner returned his weapon to his holster and glanced at the body before he turned away. ‘That’s that. Once Dietrich has fired the houses, our business here is complete. Then we can get on with our real work, Muller.’
But Peter was not listening. He was till staring in horror at the body.
‘Muller!’
He tore his gaze away and saw the frown on Steiner’s face. ‘Sir?’
‘Pull yourself together. The boy was a criminal. The Gestapo would have shot him if I hadn’t. The only difference is they would have made him suffer first. It was an act of mercy.’
‘Mercy?’
Steiner shrugged. ‘This is war, Muller. Mercy comes in many guises. Now, that’s enough. We’re wasting time.’
Half an hour later the German column was climbing the track from the village towards the site of the abandoned dig in the valley above. Behind them several thick columns of smoke billowed into the afternoon air. The crackle of the flames carried clearly to Peter’s ears as he paused momentarily to look back at the square in front of the church. He could see the small ring of darkly clad figures gathered around the body. A woman was hunched over the youth and as he watched she tipped her head back and a thin, inhuman shriek echoed off the surrounding hills. Peter looked away quickly and swallowed. Then he breathed deeply and continued in the footsteps of Sturmbannfüher Steiner.
Hearts of Stone Page 33