‘We should go back to the cave,’ she said, and taking his hand, led him back down the stony track.
The sun was setting behind the mountains when Jack Hanford arrived at the cave, bringing with him confirmation that the British submarine, HMS Thrasher, would arrive on the following Sunday, 9 June, a short distance from the beach at Preveli, as had been initially suggested. He also reported that contact had been made with a party of Australians from Rethymno, who were making their way south into the Amari Valley. Commander Pool was going to arrive in the submarine and hoped to talk with the abbot of Preveli, Father Agathangelos Langouvardos, about using the monastery as a mustering point.
‘Father Agathangelos will agree to this,’ Satanas told him, as they once more sat around the fire at the mouth of the cave. This place, perched on a rocky lip to the side of a spur at the head of the ravine, had become the focus of the guerrillas’ command post. And as ever, a strict protocol was observed: guerrillas on one side, British on the other, officers and kapitans sitting on rocks nearest the gently burning flames, their men standing behind.
‘I have known him a long time,’ Satanas continued. ‘He will do as Commander Pool asks.’
‘He’s already agreed to take these men in and any Australians who can reach Yerakari in time,’ said Hanford. ‘I saw him last week.’
Satanas stroked his white goatee beard. ‘You should move tomorrow. You will be safe to move by day up here. Alopex will accompany you with some of his andartes.’
‘We will stay in Fourfouras tomorrow, then go on to Yerakari,’ said Hanford. ‘We’ll move out again on Saturday evening, cross the main road at night and reach Preveli early on Sunday morning. We’ll be safe to wait there until Thrasher arrives.’
‘And what about you, sir?’ Tanner asked Satanas. ‘Will you stay here?’
Satanas looked at him, his eyes bright. ‘You don’t think we should?’
‘No – no, I don’t, sir. Mandoukis will surely have told them about this place. Jerry may still not want to attempt any attack this far into the mountains, but I don’t think it’s worth taking a chance.’
‘I think you’re right,’ said Satanas. ‘We will be fighting the Germans for some time yet. We must learn to be patient.’
‘I agree,’ said Alopex. ‘God knows I want to kill those sons of whores and especially this Lieutenant Balthasar, but we need the Germans to dance to our tune, not the other way around. We should get the supplies here away to safety – to the Idean cave. No German will go there.’
‘Then we are agreed,’ said Satanas. ‘Tomorrow morning, we will all go.’
The mood among the men, both Cretan and British, seemed to improve with the announcement of these decisions. Wine and raki were produced and they remained sitting around the fire, drinking and talking, until long after dark. Yet despite the wine and raki, when Tanner returned to his small hollow in the rocks, he lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep, his mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. It pained him to think that all too soon he would be bidding farewell to Alexis, probably for ever. Something about her had got under his skin; his head had been quite turned. And yet he wanted to get back to Egypt too, to be part of a battalion and army once more. Damn it, he also wanted some leave: the thought of the bars and restaurants of Cairo made his stomach rumble with yearning. More than that, he knew he could not stay – Vaughan had been right. Yet to walk away from this place and the woman who had entranced him made his heart ache.
Eventually, he had fallen asleep. He must have done, because when he opened his eyes it was no longer dark and the mountains were emerging into the first light of early dawn. But what had woken him was not the sound of men stirring, but of rifle fire, which could mean only one thing.
The enemy had come up the mountain after all.
22
Only a few days earlier, Oberleutnant Balthasar had decided he would never venture into the mountains in an effort to track down the Cretan guerrillas. He had always believed it was important to play to one’s strengths, but more than that, he had counted on being able to draw the enemy down into the valleys. He had no doubt the ploy would have worked had those Tommies not infiltrated Heraklion and freed Alopex’s family from the fortress. He had been furious about that, especially since he had warned Bräuer, but it had been a brilliantly carried-out raid. Only twentyeight men had been killed and half a dozen wounded – a small casualty bill, all things considered. Neither had there been that much damage. A company headquarters had been destroyed, but most of the charges had been laid against the walls; their immense thickness had absorbed most of the blasts. No, what those Tommies had done was to outwit them, through the use of surprise and clever diversions. In many ways, he had already believed himself to be part of a game of cat and mouse, but the escape of the prisoners – his bargaining chips – had only reinforced this opinion. Now he had to outfox them in turn.
The information from Mandoukis had been a stroke of luck. He had assumed he would not be seeing the Cretan again, but then he had turned up suddenly, out of the blue. Of course, he might have been lying, which was why he had taken him into Heraklion to the Sabbionera Bastion. There he had allowed the couple a brief reunion. It had been quite touching, really, but then he had pointed a pistol at the wife and threatened to kill her if one word of what Mandoukis had said proved to be untrue. The tears, the trembling, the imploring that had followed! Balthasar had been convinced by that, and for a brief moment he had thought of sparing both of them. That could not happen, however. It was likely they would have been murdered by their own kind – but it was a risk he could not take. In any case, Mandoukis had been involved in atrocities against his men and the punishment for that was death. So Mandoukis’s wife remained a prisoner awaiting passage to the Reich, and Mandoukis, his usefulness over, was taken into the courtyard and shot.
But it was not only the Cretan’s information that had persuaded him to try a dawn assault on the guerrillas’ mountain lair. The build-up of German forces on the island had been running smoothly since the British evacuation. Three airfields and three ports had been put to good use. More arms, guns, ammunition and motor transport had arrived over the past few days. There were more troops on the island now too, not only Fallschirmjäger, but also a whole division of Gebirgsjäger – mountain troops. Mountain troops for mountain operations.
Balthasar had gone straight from the Sabbionera Bastion to Major Schulz’s office in the Megaron, and outlined his plan. For the time being, he proposed, he would stop his own reprisal operations against the villages. Instead, he wanted to make a jointforce dawn assault on the mountain. With luck, he would be able to surprise the guerrillas and, at the very least, destroy their base. Then he proposed to lead his company to Spili, in the south, to lie in wait for the Tommies, prevent their evacuation attempt and put paid to any future escape line from that part of the south coast.
It had needed the authority of Oberst Bräuer, but Balthasar had been given all that he had asked for: two platoons of mountain troops and, for transportation to the south, trucks from the divisional services. Furthermore, his own company was now some two hundred men strong. That meant it was approaching full strength again; more importantly, they were fully armed.
Now, at a little before half past four on the morning of Wednesday, 4 June, Balthasar was leading his men up the track that wound its way around the spurs that fed into the ravine. Below, in the gorge, and picking their way over the rocky slopes opposite, were the Gebirgsjäger troops. The air was fresh and clear, the dawn light creeping slowly over the mountains from the east behind them. Up ahead, Balthasar could see the mouth of the gorge. Soon they would be there.
Darting figures on the track ahead caught his eye. Two guerrillas were running back up, and Balthasar smiled to himself at the ill-discipline of these sentries. A man paused, knelt and fired, but Balthasar signalled for his men to hold their own fire, then glanced across the ravine and saw that the mountain troops had almost reached the head of the g
orge and were now picking their way past a small mountain shepherd’s house. Sheep, bleating anxiously, the bells around their necks ringing, scuttled clear of the men.
Balthasar now urged them forward, and ran up the last part of the winding track. The lip of the ravine was only a few hundred metres away. Mandoukis had told him the cave was to the right, behind the spur that led to the mouth of the gorge. And that was now not very far away at all.
The instant Tanner was awake, he had grabbed his rifle and pack and hurried to the little oak perched on the spur from which he could see down the mountain, aware that behind him both andartes and Rangers were hurriedly emerging from the cave, weapons in hands. Enemy troops were swarming up the mountain track and in the ravine there were paratroopers and, he saw, mountain troops too. Quickly fitting his scope, he picked out first a paratrooper and fired, then moved his aim to the mountain troops threatening to come around the spur right on top of them. Hitting two in quick succession, he was spotted: a bullet zinged from the rock only a foot away, and he leaped back, out of the line of fire.
McAllister was emerging with the MG34, Peploe urging him to hurry and take up a position at the head of the gorge.
‘We need sharpshooters and the MG,’ said Tanner, running over to the captain. ‘There are mountain troops swarming up the other side of the ravine. We just need to hold them up for a bit.’
‘You get up there and keep shooting, Tanner,’ said Peploe. ‘Satanas and Alopex are loading the cart.’
‘We haven’t got long, sir.’
‘I know, Tanner, I know.’
Tanner ran forward, met Sykes, and together they headed over to the mouth of the ravine. McAllister was already lying down between two rocks, the barrel of the Spandau poking between the two, hastily feeding in a belt of ammunition.
‘Come on, iggery, you two!’ Tanner shouted at Mercer and Hill, who were hurrying along with boxes of ammunition. As he found a rock from which to fire, he heard McAllister pull back the bolt on the MG, then open up. Several men cried out and collapsed on the track, as Tanner brought his own rifle into his shoulder and picked out another mountain trooper.
‘Short bursts, Mac!’ Tanner shouted out. He was worried not only about overheating the barrel but also about ammunition. ‘Keep your firing to an absolute minimum.’ Bullets were zipping around them, pinging off the rock, but the combination of rifle and MG fire was checking the advance of the paratroopers. Those on the track were hidden in the lee of a spur, while those picking their way across the rocks above had now taken cover. Tanner spotted one soldier emerge to take a shot, and was able quickly to take a bead and fire, the bullet hurling the German backwards. More mountain troops were pressing forward on their left, however, using the broken lie of the land to scurry between rocks.
‘Stan, we need to move our arses,’ he said, then called to Hepworth, Bonner and Cooper to follow him. Quickly pulling out of the line of fire, he led them around the spur, then clambered up the slope. Tanner was just making for a large rock when a German appeared not ten yards from him. He fired his rifle from the hip and the German fell backwards. Racing to the rock, Tanner now saw more only yards ahead. Rifle bullets clattered against the rock as Tanner felt in his pack for a grenade, pulled the pin and hurled it in front of him. As it exploded he stood up and, with his Schmeisser, fired a long burst, saw men either fall or duck back for cover, then sank down out of sight.
His position was better than he had first imagined. From where they were they could see down onto the mountain track, and although the mass of paratroopers was still out of sight, pinned down behind a bend in the path, he could now see several men crouching in the rocks above and below. Carefully taking aim he fired, hitting one, then two, and a third man before more bullets were hissing past.
He looked back down towards the cave, and wondered how the loading of the cart was going. He hoped that the women and the little boy, Alexandros, had been sent on and were hurrying to safety. Below, men were scrambling over the rocks, their studded mountain boots crunching on the stone. How long did they have? He jolted as a loud explosion shook the mountainside just a short distance below.
‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered, then turned to see Sykes lighting a stick of explosive. He winked at Tanner, let the fuse burn, then hurled it from behind his rock down the slope. Moments later there was another loud boom, the report echoing through the ravine, and Tanner heard men scream. Sykes lit another, Tanner watched the fuse burn, and then, when he thought his friend was about to blow himself to smithereens, saw him throw it. This time the deafening explosion was followed by a rumble of rocks, cries of alarm, then more screams.
But in return the enemy was now firing mortars. Tanner heard the hollow whine and then the explosion below, near the mouth of the ravine. Another burst of MG fire, and a few more rifle cracks, then another whine and this time the mortar shell landed thirty yards below them to the left. Grit and debris clattered against the rocks. We’re running out of time here, thought Tanner. He moved back, clear of the ridgeline, and saw the laden cart moving, Alopex and the andartes urging on the mule. Boxes were piled high, Lieutenant Liddell sitting upright near the back. Come on, come on, thought Tanner. He ran back to the others as two more mortars crashed nearby, then a bullet flew past his head and he looked across the valley to see another paratrooper taking aim. Swiftly training his scope on the man, Tanner fired again, saw him fall, then felt in his pocket for another two clips.
‘Stan!’ he called. ‘Have you got any sticks left?’
‘Yes, and a few grenades. So have Coop and Bonny.’
‘Good. Chuck the grenades and pull back. Head round the spur and up and follow me.’
They hurled their grenades in turn, heard them explode, then scampered back. Down below, he saw McAllister, Peploe and the others packing up and running. Another mortar shell burst and they fell flat on the ground. ‘Come on, up you get,’ muttered Tanner. Then, to his relief, they did so and began to run again, although one – Hill, maybe? – seemed to be limping. From their cover around the bend in the track, he saw the paratroopers inch forward once more – an MG team nipped ahead, crouching, while several riflemen moved on, finding cover in the rocks below the track. Tanner quickly drew his rifle to his shoulder, aiming for the machine-gunner, fired, saw him fall, then fired again. Behind him, Sykes and the other two had followed his lead, a fusillade of rifle fire cracking out. The enemy soon replied with a volley of bullets.
‘The bastard!’ called Sykes.
‘You all right?’ shouted Tanner.
‘No!’ said Sykes. ‘Some Jerry’s just nicked my bloody ear!’
Tanner aimed again, searching his scope for an officer, then spotted him, urging his men forward, Schmeisser in hand. ‘Well, I’m damned,’ he said to himself, recognizing him. Carefully, he homed his scope on the man’s chest. This time, he was not in the mood for mercy. Breathing out, he squeezed the trigger – but at that precise moment another paratrooper entered his sights, the bullet hitting the man neatly in the head instead, and spraying the officer behind with blood and brain.
‘Damn it!’ said Tanner, then saw the officer glance in his direction. Tanner pulled back the bolt again but now bullets peppered the rock around him and he dived for cover, then ran clear.
‘Come on!’ he shouted to Sykes and the others. ‘We’re going over the top here.’ Following the goat track Alexis had shown him the day before, they were soon out of the line of fire from the ravine below, but pausing briefly to glance back, Tanner saw the enemy had now almost reached the lip. In no time, they would be at the cave.
‘Keep going!’ he urged his men. Sykes was clutching his ear, still cursing, but as they reached the summit, they could see the lie of the mountains stretching away from them. A track climbed around the spur behind them and now the cart was cresting the ridge beyond. The track tucked around another spur and passed through another even narrower ravine. If they made it through there, Tanner realized, they would be safe, because no G
erman, not even mountain troops, would be able to climb the steep slopes on either side.
Balthasar wiped the blood and gore from his face, and wondered why he seemed to be so lucky. It had been the Tommy Mandoukis had called Tanner, he was sure; he had seen him. A split second earlier and that British bullet would have hit him square in the chest, not the head of Obergefreiter Möhne. After a fusillade of bullets had been directed at the Tommy, he had seen him dive backwards and wondered whether he had been hit.
His men were now pressing forward, cautiously inching their way along the track and through the rocks below. Gebirgsjäger troops were clambering up over the mouth of the ravine, having recovered from the landslide some minutes earlier. Mandoukis had mentioned a Tommy who was an explosives expert. Sykes. He wondered whether it had been the same man who had caused the rockfall.
There was now no return fire from the enemy, and Balthasar could see his men pressing forward with mounting confidence. Still wiping the blood from his face and uniform, he hurried on, up the track, pushing past his men and rushing around the spur that hid the cave. There were a few bodies lying over the rocky ground – several Cretans and two Tommies. And there it was, a fire still smoking gently, an upset billy-can of coffee, empty boxes and clutter lying about. Balthasar ran on, reached the mouth of the cave and cautiously walked inside. It was cool in there, a strong smell of woodsmoke, mustiness and stale urine heavy on the air. Taking out his torch, he shone it around. Any boxes of ammunition and supplies seemed to have gone, but then he noticed one more, tucked away at the far end, obviously missed as the guerrillas had packed.
Grabbing it, he carried it outside, saw ‘Demolition TNT’ stencilled onto the side, then prised it open with his knife. Inside he found a number of slabs of explosive. He picked one up, thinking.
‘Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Leutnant Hilse, the Gebirgsjäger platoon commander, ‘should we pursue the enemy from here?’
Blood of Honour Page 35