Blood of Honour

by James Holland

  Their force now split. Pendlebury, with Peploe and 2 Platoon, headed for the far right corner of the triangle, while Tanner, with Vaughan, Alopex, half a dozen of his men and all of 1 Platoon moved towards the left.

  ‘Boys,’ whispered Tanner, ‘keep well into the shadows at all times. Rifles unslung, grenades to hand.’ They crept forward. Tanner’s heart was hammering, and his mouth was dry. He wanted a glug of water, but he daren’t reach for his bottle in case the enemy suddenly opened up.

  ‘Sir,’ whispered Corporal Hepworth behind him.

  ‘What is it, Hep?’

  ‘I’m not sure how much I like this creeping about in the dark. Last time I was home I saw a dead scary film at the pictures and it was just like this, all night-time and shadows. I hope a werewolf don’t jump out on me.’

  ‘Put a sock in it, Hep, will you?’

  As they reached the corner of the triangle Alopex stopped, and Tanner signalled to the men to get down on their haunches. Christ, they’re noisy, he thought – rifles knocking against webbing, soles of boots sliding on the ground. Quietly, he slid forward, then heard the sound too. Voices up ahead. German voices.

  ‘Kourmoulidon,’ whispered Alopex.

  ‘A street that runs from here towards Bethlehem Bastion,’ mouthed Vaughan.

  ‘Tanner,’ whispered Alopex, ‘follow me. Captain, you wait with the men, but when the firing starts, move them forward quickly.’

  Tanner swallowed and moved forward until he was beside the Cretan. ‘Just up ahead, maybe twenty metres, there is a narrow turning to the left.’

  Tanner nodded and then, as Alopex silently moved forward, followed. Tanner had to admit that the Cretan was as stealthy as a cat. The man wore bandoliers criss-crossed over his chest and carried a rifle, yet Tanner could barely hear him move. The moon was high above them but the old Venetian houses on their left were tall enough to cast ink-dark shadows over them. The voices were nearer and Tanner could faintly see that Alopex was quickening his step. Suddenly the Cretan sidestepped into the narrow street entrance, nimbly crossed the road and pressed himself against the stone wall on the other side. Tanner followed, trying to keep his breathing calm and measured.

  ‘They’re moving slowly down the street,’ whispered Alopex. ‘As soon as two men have reached the mouth of the road, we grab them, OK? You have a knife?’

  Tanner pulled out his seventeen-inch sword bayonet.

  ‘Kill them silently, then we grab their fancy guns.’

  Tanner could not help smiling to himself. The enemy would be tense, as nervous as they were prowling through that triangle. Their reaction would be startled – that was human nature. For a crucial moment, they would not know what was going on. Tanner felt for two grenades. ‘Here,’ he said, passing one to Alopex. ‘Pull the ring pin, then throw.’ Alopex took it.

  A chink – a weapon touching some webbing – and then footsteps, quiet, but unmistakable. How far now? Tanner wondered. A few yards. He moved beside Alopex, his bayonet in his right hand, and held his breath.

  Suddenly there they were, hard to see but strangely distinct, two men, one after the other, just one step away. With deft swiftness, Alopex lunged towards the second man, wrapping his left arm around his throat and, with the right, twisting the head with an emphatic jerk. Then, for good measure, he plunged his knife into his victim’s heart. It took no more than a couple of seconds, but as the first man made a sudden alarmed turn, Tanner was upon him, arm tight around the German’s throat and his bayonet plunging into the paratrooper’s side. As Tanner knew well enough, a knife thrust through the kidney killed a man instantly, the pain so intense that the whole body ceased to function. Neither man had uttered so much as a gurgle, yet grabbing and dragging them clear of the road had made enough noise to alert their comrades.

  ‘Müller! Kreschmann!’ someone whispered loudly, not far behind, but by then Tanner had his man’s Schmeisser off his shoulder and had stepped out, fired a quick burst in the direction of the voice, heard a cry, then retreated and, with his bayonet still in his hand, took the grenade from his trouser pocket, pulled the pin and lobbed it a short distance down the road. By this time, the Germans were firing wildly, the noise deafening. Bullets richocheted off the walls, and then came the explosion of the grenade, and Tanner heard more shooting, this time rifle fire from away to his right. Leaning against the corner of the wall, he took out his Very pistol and fired another round, which fizzed as it rose into the sky, then burst and crackled as it descended. White light bathed the street ahead, and both he and Alopex fired two more bursts from their captured Schmeissers.

  ‘Keep firing!’ yelled Tanner, as paratroopers up ahead hurtled across the street and took cover in buildings. Several men cried out and Tanner saw at least three lurch and slump to the ground.

  ‘Good work, you two,’ said Vaughan, now beside him with Sykes and McAllister’s section.

  ‘Where’s Mr Liddell?’ said Tanner.

  ‘The other side of the road,’ said Vaughan. ‘I left him on the corner with the rest of the platoon.’

  ‘Sir, would you mind going back to him?’ said Tanner. ‘He’s new and will need a bit of guidance. Alopex and I can manage here.’

  Vaughan smiled. ‘Yes, all right. Once that flare of yours has died down.’

  Tanner felt a heavy clasp on his shoulder and turned to see Alopex.

  ‘We should go down this road,’ said the Cretan. ‘Maybe there are more Germans but also it cuts back to Kourmoulidon. We will take these men with us, OK?’

  Tanner nodded, then turned to Vaughan. ‘Sir, we’re going to cut back onto this road further up, but we don’t want to end up shooting at each other.’

  ‘We’ll move up the road on the far side, Tanner, and try to flush out any enemy on that side of the road.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and we’ll keep to this side.’

  ‘Good luck, Tanner.’

  ‘And you, sir.’

  The flare had fizzled out and Vaughan left them, disappearing once more into the shadows.

  Tanner now split the men into groups of four, staggered at either side of the road. As the street turned to the right, the centre was once more bathed in moon and starlight. Shots were ringing out, but there was no sign of the enemy so, at the next junction, Alopex turned right, leading them back towards Kourmoulidon.

  They paused beneath a tall palm on the corner of the two roads, now some seventy yards further along. Tanner was certain he had seen enemy troops take cover in buildings further to the right and, if so, they were now behind them. For a moment, he was unsure how to flush them out. He didn’t know how many or where they were; they could easily have moved on.

  The street was dark again, out of the line of the moonlight, although down the middle of Kourmoulidon and almost up to the far side, milky light shone down. He wondered where Vaughan and the others were and cursed, annoyed with himself for not having paused to work out a more defined plan. Too late now. He moved beside Alopex. ‘We need to draw their fire,’ he whispered. ‘See where the bastards are.’

  He dashed across the road to where Sykes was waiting. ‘Stan,’ he said, ‘I need you lot to step out and fire across at the houses opposite, but a little way down so that if they fire back you can duck behind this wall. And aim a bit high so you don’t hit any of the others coming down the road.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘The same.’ He ran back, unslung his rifle, took a step out into the road and fired across at one of the houses opposite. It was the signal for the rest of the men to follow, rifle shots cracking out, zipping off stonework, snapping through branches and shattering glass. Almost immediately, from directly opposite, several bursts of sub-machine-gun fire opened up, bullets flying towards them.

  The men dived onto the ground but not before Tanner heard at least two cry out. Damn it, damn it. Another couple of bursts, bullets hissing over their heads this time, but they could stay where they were. Tanner knew there was only one way to silence the
m and that was to hurl a couple of grenades, then race over the road and pray that Vaughan and the others recognized him as he crossed the moonlit part and didn’t cut him down. Rifle fire sounded, and another Ranger screamed. Fumbling in his haversack, Tanner felt for two grenades, took a deep breath, got up and ran around the corner to his left. He pulled the pins and hurled the bombs in turn towards the enemy fire. Muffled German shouts of alarm – then the grenades exploded one after the other, and Tanner was running across the road, rifle shots cracking out from the house, and feeling for another grenade. Sliding himself low against the wall, he pulled the pin, counted three seconds, then threw it in through the lower window. Another burst of fire from the first floor, and Tanner glanced back to see Sykes and several of the others making a dash for it too. Where was Vaughan?

  ‘Move! Move!’ he shouted across the street, and heard running feet approaching from Kourmoulidon, more bursts of fire from above, then Vaughan and Liddell were beside him, the latter gasping. So too was Alopex, his unhelmeted head distinctive.

  ‘We need to storm this house,’ said Tanner. ‘Stan? Got any grenades?’

  ‘I’ve one in my hand now, sir.’

  ‘Hepworth?’ Tanner called. ‘Where’s Hep?’

  ‘Here, sir.’ Tanner saw a dark shape shuffle towards him.

  ‘OK,’ said Tanner. ‘On three, pull the pins, count to three, then lob them through the windows. I’ll put one by the door, and when they’ve blown, Alopex and I will go in with our new toys, and you follow, all right? Now get back from the door a moment.’ He gripped the heavy metal lump, pushed his index finger through the loop and said, ‘One, two, three, pull.’ With a strong tug, the pin came free. ‘One, two, three, now!’ He heard the dull thud of the grenade landing, then bits of wood, metal and stone were blasted clear of the doorway and through the windows. Tanner crouched, his helmet forward, head ducked towards his chest. And then he was up, Alopex beside him. With their Schmeissers at their hips they opened fire and burst into the house.

  It was almost pitch-dark, but there was a glow of moonlight shining down a long corridor that led to the back of the house and open French windows. Tanner saw a figure jump down from above and disappear into the shadows beyond. He ran forward, through the doors, nearly lost his footing over the short step down into the garden beyond, and pressed the trigger on his Schmeisser only for it to click innocuously. Cursing, he felt for his revolver, then heard movement above him and saw, too late, a German jumping down on top of him.

  Tanner collapsed face first on the hard earth, the wind knocked from his lungs. The faceless enemy was on his back and now brought a fist into the side of his head. Tanner gasped with pain but, with all his strength, pushed his knees into the ground and forced his body upwards, twisting as he did so. His assailant now had his hands around his neck, but Tanner managed to drive his elbow into his side once, then twice, and roll him over, so that he was now lying on top of his attacker. Tanner gasped again as the grip around his neck tightened, but he grabbed both hands and, grimacing, managed to prise them off him and roll free.

  No sooner had he done so than the German was up, half crouching, a knife now in his hand. Tanner could see him quite clearly, moonlight on them both. A Schmeisser was slung across his back, his holster at his side. On his head was the helmet the paratroopers wore, more rounded, without the protective lip around the ears and neck. He was a big man, too, about his own size. Tanner crouched, waiting for the man to pounce. His rifle was still on his back, his pistol still in its holster, the captured Schmeisser at his side, his bayonet on his hip, but he had no time to reach for any of them because now the German lunged. Tanner parried the first blow, but the man delivered another to his head with the other hand, knocking him off balance. Then he lunged again and Tanner only just managed to grab his hand before the blade was plunged into his chest. The two men were now inches apart, straining and grimacing – and Tanner saw his expression suddenly change.

  ‘Sie sind es!’ said the man, and in that moment of his own incomprehension, Tanner felt the tip of the knife prick against his chest. The German pressed with both hands, but Tanner strained and pushed against him with all his strength and at last felt the blade move away. He dug into his attacker’s wrist with his thumbs and his enemy gasped and dropped the knife but, at the same moment, drove his knee hard into Tanner’s stomach. He gasped and staggered backwards. In the next instant, the German swung with his fist again, catching Tanner on the side of his left eye. Tanner cried out, swung uselessly back, but the German had gone, moving across the garden and out through a door to the side.

  Tanner reached out to the wall of the house. Resting one arm against the cold, rough stone, he hung his head, breathing deeply. For the past minute in which he’d fought that man he had been aware of nothing but saving his life. His mind had been closed to all other sound, all other movement. It was as though the world had stopped while he grappled with the German. What was it the man had said? ‘It’s you!’ And then he remembered the German in the field, the one he had been unable to shoot. Bloody hell, had that really been only a few hours earlier? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Well, I’m damned, he thought.

  He felt blood run down the side of his face, and became conscious once more of fighting nearby. From the front of the house, shots cracked out, but nearby, beyond the end of the garden, there was further firing and he realized that their counter-attack must be succeeding.

  He dabbed at his eye and winced. His throat was sore too – the second time in two days that a man’s hands had been trying to throttle him, and yet now, for the moment, his enemy Alopex had become his ally. Bloody hell, what kind of war is this? And he wondered why the German had not used his pistol. Had he been returning the show of mercy? No, that Jerry had definitely meant to kill him. It was the same as before: the man had run out of ammunition. That was the fatal flaw in using lightly armed shock troops such as these paratroopers. Victory needed to come swiftly and decisively or they would lose. A soldier without ammunition could not win the fight.

  Tanner began to chuckle but it hurt his throat so he stopped. Perhaps, he thought, they really would hold onto Crete after all. We bloody well will if I’ve got anything to do with it.

  Oberleutnant Balthasar ran down the street, turned left, then left again, spotted two German bodies in the middle of the road and, to his relief, managed to salvage three magazines and a spare clip for his Sauer. He was just moving off again when two rifle shots snapped at the far end of the road, the bullets coming worryingly close. Scurrying into the shadows he was relieved to hear return fire, a two-second burst of a machine-pistol, from the junction of another narrow street. Crouch-running towards the sound, he clamped a new magazine into his MP40, fired a short burst and joined the others.

  ‘Good to see you, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Rohde. ‘I thought they’d got you.’

  ‘They will never get me, Unteroffizier,’ Balthasar replied. ‘I am indestructible, didn’t you know? Now, let’s move.’ He hoped he still sounded calm, that he was hiding the rage and disappointment he felt. The attack had failed, he knew that now. All that effort, all those good men lost – two in that house and many more in the attack. All that ammunition spent too, and for nothing! Good God, he regretted not killing that Tommy. How had he let him get away? It was the same man, he was sure of it. Balthasar cursed. He had believed they could do it, and they nearly had, but with the Tommies counter-attacking they had never had a chance – they had had neither the men nor the ammunition.

  Safely reaching the town walls, they found they were not alone. Other paratroopers had been pushed back. Furious firing was still going on around the main gate, and Balthasar led his men there, pausing by every dead body, German or Greek, to hunt for spare ammunition. They might be falling back, but Balthasar intended to take as many of the enemy with him as he could.

  10.05 p.m. Still dazed, Tanner had been about to step back into the house when he heard Sykes call him. ‘I’m here, Stan,’ he rasp
ed.

  ‘Bloody ’ell, sir, are you all right?’

  Tanner rubbed his neck. ‘A bit of fisticuffs with an irate Jerry, but I’ll live.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Scarpered.’ Something caught Tanner’s eye, glinting in the moonlight, and he bent to pick up the German’s knife.

  ‘What’s that? A memento?’ asked Sykes.

  ‘Yes. That bastard just tried to shove it into my chest. Could come in handy, though, eh?’ He patted Sykes on the back. ‘Come on, Stan, we’d be better get a bloody move on.’

  Back in the street, Tanner found Lieutenant Liddell with Vaughan and Alopex.

  ‘There you are, Tanner,’ said Vaughan. ‘House secure and nothing more up this street. I’ve sent a few on ahead.’

  ‘Those Jerries are running out of ammunition, sir,’ said Tanner, huskily. ‘Time to press home the advantage.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Alopex.

  They moved forward, the platoon split into sections once more, staggered at either side of the road. A short way on, Alopex led them off to the right. They could hear fighting to the west. ‘They’re at the Canea Gate,’ he muttered, quickening his step. A few minutes later, and having passed a burning house and a number of dead, they reached Plastira, the road that ran along the walls. Thirty yards to their right, men were firing towards the gate. From back down the street, muzzle flashes shone like fireflies, the sound of small arms echoing sharply within the narrow confines. The platoon hurried forward and Tanner saw a British soldier and a Cretan andarte step out into the moonlight and fire.