Balthasar nodded. ‘Follow them as far as you can, but if you receive heavy return fire pull back. We will have achieved enough here.’ He stood up and called over Unteroffizier Rohde.
‘Here,’ he said, passing him the block of TNT. ‘Get the pioneers up here. They can use this to prepare charges on this cave. We are going to make sure these bandits cannot use it again.’
Rohde saluted and hurried off, and Balthasar began to climb the spur above the cave. It took him a short while to find the spot but, to his great disappointment, there was no sign of the Tommy, only sharp strikes against the rock where bullets had hit and a number of empty rifle bullet cases. He looked around further then, noticed blood on a rock, and a line of drips spreading up the slope. He paused, wiping his brow. Away to the east, the sun was rising, the great orange orb almost visibly moving up over the mountains in the distance. Balthasar felt a mixture of emotions: annoyance that so many of the Tommies and guerrillas had got away, but satisfaction that a mountain hideout had been overrun and was about to be destroyed. Guerrillas could not stay in the mountains for ever. Patience, he told himself. He would get Alopex yet.
He turned and began to climb back down the slope. This part of the operation was over. Now it was time to head south.
Catching up with Peploe, McAllister and the other Rangers, Tanner was pleased to see Hill was still with them.
‘I thought you’d been hit,’ he said.
‘No, sir,’ said Hill, ‘just turned my ankle on a stone. Bloody hurt, but it’s worn off now.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Tanner.
They ran on, pausing repeatedly to check if they were being followed. Up ahead was the narrow ravine Tanner had seen earlier, the track winding up towards it. Now, though, as he turned, he saw a number of mountain troops clear the crest of the ridge a few hundred yards back. He stopped, knelt and, using his scope, picked out a man and fired. His victim jerked backwards, clutching his shoulder, while the others made for cover.
‘Run!’ shouted Tanner.
Sykes was now kneeling and fired, and then a lone shot whipped past them. Tanner glanced back but the enemy were hidden from view. He ran on, his chest tight, his breathing heavy, and now the track was curving to the left. Tanner looked back again and saw they were clear of the enemy line of fire.
Thank God, he thought.
They caught up with the cart a short while later and soon after that reached the end of the ravine and emerged onto a high mountain plain, following an ancient shepherds’ track that wound its way towards Mount Ida.
Sykes had lost part of the top of his ear. ‘That’s my good looks gone for ever,’ he grumbled. ‘What girl’s going to look at me now?’
‘What girls were looking at you anyway, Sarge?’ said Hepworth.
Sykes cuffed him. ‘Don’t so bloody insolent, Lance Corporal. I’ll have you know I’ve had my fair share of women, which is more than can be said for you.’
‘You should be bloody grateful, Sarge,’ said McAllister. ‘Another half-inch, and you’d have been a croaker.’
‘Mac’s right,’ said Peploe. ‘Anyway, I think it’ll give you a touch of distinction.’
Tanner smiled, listening to the banter. They had lost five men in all. They had been lucky; it could have been so much worse. Once again, the men had kept their heads and used what limited resources they had to good effect – Mac on the MG, Sykes lobbing sticks of dynamite. It had bought them precious minutes – minutes in which the rest had been able to get away.
They reached the Idean cave just before midday, having followed a path through a narrow gorge. The peak of Mount Ida towered above them, but there, at the base of a vast rockface, was a dark, rectangular gash. Inside it was gloomy and dank, stalactites further within dripping audibly. It would hardly be comfortable, but as a hideout Tanner could not fault it.
It was here that they bade farewell to Satanas. He embraced Peploe and Vaughan, then shook hands with the men in turn. ‘We have much to thank you for,’ he said, ‘not least your help this morning. Without it, I fear none of us would be standing here now. Good luck – and come back when all this is over. You will always be welcome on this island.’
It was a harder onward journey, the mountain tracks rockier, narrower and, in places, considerably more precipitous. There had been no question of taking the cart. Lieutenant Liddell had been carried in shifts on a makeshift stretcher, but Vaughan had had to walk, which he did without complaint. By late afternoon, however, they were at last dropping down into the Amari Valley.
Tanner was stunned by what he saw. Mountains seemed to ring the entire valley, which lay before them in a wide bowl, a sylvan carpet of olives, ilex and plane trees, lush and fecund. On the flanks of the mountains, overlooking the valley, were numerous small villages, each a collection of mostly white houses, terracotta roofs and small, domed churches.
‘What a vision!’ said Peploe, as he and Tanner walked beside Alexis. ‘It’s like some forgotten Eden.’
‘You see, Jack?’ said Alexis. ‘I told you it was well hidden.’
‘And you were right. It’s beautiful, Alexis. And so – so green.’ Alexis laughed. ‘Yes, it is. Always, even in the middle of summer.’
Peploe was shaking his head in wonderment. ‘There’s a lot more to this island than meets the eye – honestly, I had no idea such a place existed.’
Their path now passed through groves and beneath long lines of eucalyptus and plane trees, and suddenly the air was alive with crickets chirruping, bees buzzing and birds singing from the foliage above.
Soon after, with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains and the valley bathed in a rich, golden light, they reached Fourfouras. Alopex led them to his uncle’s house, a large, imposing property on the edge of the village, three storeys high and with a cluster of outbuildings surrounding it. Beneath, running away from the house into the heart of the valley, there was a long, wide olive grove, bigger than any Tanner had seen before. Olives, it seemed, were a family business.
The men were fed, given wine, then taken to a stone barn. It was dusty but dry and they were all tired; it had been a long day, and they had barely rested so sleep came easily. In any case fighting, no matter how quickly it was over, was tiring in itself. Yet, despite his exhaustion, Tanner woke before midnight. A number of the men were snoring – too much wine, Tanner guessed – and he found it hard to get back to sleep again. He was hot, too, so he got up and went outside into the courtyard between the house and the barns, sat on the edge of the stone well in the centre and lit a cigarette. There was a faint light from inside the house and he heard laughter – the Cretan men were drinking late. Tanner didn’t blame them. Alopex, he knew, was relieved to have got his family here, to this extraordinary haven. No wonder the fellow was letting off a bit of steam.
A door opened at the side of the house and he looked up. In the light from the doorway, he saw Alexis and his heart lurched. She came over to him, then held out her hand, beckoning him. Tanner followed as she led him out of the yard and down a cart track that ran to the edge of the giant grove. Away from the track there was a grassy bank and she sat down, beckoning him to join her. He did so and looked up at the vast canopy of stars. Above them, an almost half-moon shone, which, with the stars, cast a glow over the valley.
Alexis leaned over and kissed him. ‘At last,’ she said, ‘we are alone.’
‘I was waiting for you,’ he lied.
‘I hoped you would be.’ She sighed happily. ‘It is still so warm.’ He touched her cheek, and she smiled. ‘We have so little time …’
‘A few days, that’s all.’
‘Then stay with me now. For a few hours I want to believe that we are the only two people in this valley. I want to believe that and to remember this night for always.’
Later, much later, with Alexis’s head resting on his chest and her arm across him, he thought again about what she had said. Truly, in these precious hours, it had seemed as though they really were alon
e in the world and that the war was no more. And he knew then that, no matter how long he lived, whether it be for a few days or until he was an old man, he would not forget this night either.
Around nine the following morning, a German reconnaissance aircraft flew over the Ida Mountains, then dropped height as it continued over the Amari Valley. Slowly, the Storch banked, circled, then continued on its way to the west, then down towards the sea.
Oberleutnant Balthasar was sitting beside the pilot. The previous evening he had requested an aerial recce and had been granted one. It had not been hard to justify, and his request had been perfectly reasonable: he wanted to get an appreciation of this central part of the island and a glimpse of its hidden tracks and valleys that would be quite impossible from the ground, and although the Luftwaffe had already begun to produce aerial reconnaissance photographs, he knew there was no substitute for seeing it for himself, in its full dimensions and colour.
Already, the flight had proved more than worthwhile. With his map spread out over his knees, he had been able to look down and mark up numerous tracks and villages. He had circled the Amari Valley on the off chance that he might spot the Tommies; with binoculars and with the Storch’s slow speed it might have been possible, but he had seen nothing that caught his eye – just a lush valley, dotted with small villages.
It was the southern coast that had been his main objective, however, and it was towards it that he now asked the pilot to fly. Both the tiny coastal village of Plakias and the monastery of Preveli were marked on his map, but this told him very little. He wanted to see it for himself – the tracks, the coves, the beaches, the course of the rivers. What surprised him, as they cleared the mountains and flew over the narrow ten-kilometre strip of land to the coast, was just how different it was from the rest of the island. It was altogether wilder, more remote, with fewer villages, and while there were still olive groves, they were small and sparse. And it was mountainous too. Gone were the high peaks of the Ida range, but these lesser mountains were craggy and inhospitable. They flew over a narrow winding gorge, then south to the coast. As they cleared a high, rocky hill dotted with sheep, Balthasar suddenly saw the monastery of Preveli, perched back from the cliffs above the sea. It was, he realized, entirely hidden from the north, tucked away and isolated, the hill behind, the sea in front. They flew over the coast and he noticed a beach at the foot of the cliffs below the monastery, then, a little way further along, a gap in the cliffs where a river flowed out into the sea.
‘Turn back up there,’ said Balthasar. ‘I want to follow that river.’
The pilot did as he was asked.
‘Lower,’ said Balthasar. A lone track ran above the river, winding through the hills from the monastery. They followed both the track and the river until one crossed the other by means of a small stone bridge.
‘Now follow that track,’ said Balthasar. The pilot banked again, keeping above the course of the track, which wound through the hills and mountains until it reached the dirt road that ran from Rethymno, through Spili and on along the south coast.
‘Thank you,’ said Balthasar, satisfied. ‘Now we can return to Heraklion.’
The flight had cleared up a great deal. Before, several conundrums had been troubling him, but now his plan was clear in his mind. Later that afternoon, he would lead two platoons to Spili, which would leave him just enough time to make his preparations. Then, when the Tommies tried to make their bid for freedom, he and his men would be ready to strike.
23
Saturday, 7 June, around 9 p.m. Their final journey to the coast had just begun. There were nineteen of them in all: fourteen Rangers and Captain Vaughan, and four Cretans, including Alopex, walking up the winding road through the village that snaked like a giant S up the steep mountainside on which Yerakari had been built.
Some of the men chatted easily among themselves, relieved to be on the move again. Laughter, garbled words – it was the banter of men who were both excited about and daunted by what lay ahead. Tanner did not join in: he was in no mood to talk. In the rapidly fading light, he looked hard at the village as they walked, determined to remember as much of it as possible: the limes and plane trees that lined the road with the bases of their trunks whitewashed, the flat-roofed houses, and the white church with its thin, high tower. And the orchards: figs, apples, oranges and lemons – the village was a haven of fruit, growing on the terraces and behind the houses at either side of the road. Shed blossom still lay beneath the apples, a white carpet on the grass.
His heart was heavy. That morning he had bade farewell to Alexis and now he was leaving this enchanted valley too. Only twelve hours earlier he had been as close to her as two people could be but now she was gone, out of his life for ever, as this valley soon would be too. It was the finality that he found so difficult: he was as sure as if she had died that he would never see her again. And then it struck him that what he was feeling was a kind of grief. Snap out of it, he told himself. He had lost good friends before and had dealt with it by simply putting them out of his mind and getting on with the job. The trouble was, there was little distraction just now – only walking, up and over the mountains. For the next few hours, at any rate, their journey was likely to be uneventful.
He tried to think of other things. The growing shortage of ammunition was a concern. Thanks to Sykes’s raid on a box in the cave, he had around forty rifle rounds left. He had chided his friend for taking precious supplies from the Cretans but had been glad of them all the same. On top of the rifle rounds, he also had six magazines for his MP40, four grenades and, in the loose cotton German bandolier he had kept and which hung around his neck, a number of slabs of TNT. He was conscious, though, that he and Sykes were considerably better armed than the others. With a bit of luck, they would need none of it, yet concern at what Mandoukis might have told the enemy nagged at the back of his mind. They had all agreed that he must have known about the planned evacuation from Preveli; there had been no precise details at that time, but it might have been more than enough for the Germans to scupper the plan. Not for the first time, Tanner cursed Alopex and the other Cretans for their mishandling of Mandoukis. Only time would tell whether they would soon be paying the price.
On the other hand, all of them were now fit enough for the trek to the coast. Vaughan’s strength had been building, but it was Liddell who had really benefited from their three days in the Amari Valley. Food, sleep, a degree of comfort and careful nursing had helped him through the worst, so that the previous day he had got up and begun moving about. Another long night of sleep and now he was, he declared, fit enough to walk – and so far, by the look of it, he was managing well.
He had found Tanner earlier that afternoon, dozing in the orchard behind the barn that had been their base since reaching Yerakari. Tanner had looked up at his approach, his heart sinking; since he had rescued Liddell, he had largely avoided him, letting others carry out nursing duties. What Liddell had done in those first days of the invasion still rankled but, more than that, he did not want any more conflict with the man. He had too much else to think about without worrying about Mr Liddell.
‘How are you feeling, sir?’ Tanner had asked. He should have stood up with an officer before him, but he stayed where he was, leaning against his apple tree.
‘A lot better, thanks,’ said Liddell. The subaltern had then produced a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Tanner. ‘Here,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Liddell lit Tanner’s, then his own. After a brief pause, he said, ‘I want to thank you, Tanner. You saved my life. I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you.’
‘It’s all right, sir. Anyone would have done the same.’
‘Well, I’m not sure about that, actually. But I’m most grateful.’ He sighed heavily. ‘You know, Tanner – Jack – I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. I’m afraid I behaved badly. Like a bloody prig. I’m not really cut out for soldiering, you see.’
Liddell looked away. ‘Yes, I know. I wish I had, really. But you see – well, it’s complicated, but when my father died, my sister came home.’
‘Miss Stella, sir?’
‘Yes. My older brother was killed – in France.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, it was bloody awful. Anyway, Stella came back and she started helping on the farm too, and I could see that she was making a bloody good job of it. The farm didn’t need me with her around.’
‘You thought you’d be more use in the army.’
‘Yes. I was being bloody-minded too, I suppose. So I did my training and got sent out here and then you of all people showed up. I want to be frank with you, Jack. I was always rather envious of you as a boy. You were so good at the things my father loved – so much better than me. And then I discovered you’d already proved yourself to be a far better soldier than I could ever hope to be. It made me angry and I suppose I also felt I needed to show my authority. To make you understand that I was an officer who demanded your respect. Of course, respect is earned, not given. I see that now.’
‘I respect you, sir, for your honesty.’
Liddell smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I made some bad mistakes. And I was wrong to bring up your past like that. You were right. I don’t really know what happened. I wasn’t at home then and it’s none of my business. Your father was a fine man and I’m sorry about what happened to him. What happened to you – well, that’s your affair. I promise you won’t hear me mention it again.’
‘What happened after my father died was a dark time for me – a very dark time. I try not to think about it and I certainly never talk about it. It’s best forgotten.’ He sighed. ‘But your father was a fine man, too, and someone I had the utmost respect for. I certainly wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for him.’
‘I miss him very much,’ he said, ‘but the point is, Jack, if it’s not too much to ask, perhaps you could give me a clean slate. Can we put all that behind us now?’ He held out his hand.
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