by Evelyn Waugh
‘Your Colonel’s hurt himself. Can someone come and help?’
The two troop-leaders of B Commando carried him awkwardly to the sick-bay where the surgeon gave him morphia. He had broken his leg.
From then on Guy went between the prostrate figures of the Brigade Major and the deputy commander. There was little to choose between them as far as ill-looks went.
‘That puts the lid on it,’ was Major Hound’s immediate response to the news. ‘There’s no point in brigade headquarters landing at all.’
Tommy Blackhouse, in pain, and slightly delirious dictated orders. ‘You will be met by liaison officers from Hookforce and Creforce. On disembarkation brigade will immediately set up real headquarters under Staff Captain, and establish W/T links with units … Staff Captain will make contact with the force DQMG and arrange for supplies … Forward headquarters consisting of BM and IO will report to Lt-Col. Prentice at B Commando HQ and give him the written orders from GHQ ME defining the special role of Hookforce in harassing enemy L of C … Lt-Col. Prentice will report to G O C Creforce and present these orders… his primary task is to prevent Commando units being brigaded with infantry in Creforce reserve … Deputy commander Hookforce will immediately mount operations under command GOC Creforce …’
He repeated himself often, dozed, woke and summoned Guy once more to repeat his orders.
The sea abated as the ship rounded the eastern point of Crete and steamed along the north coast. When they came into Suda Bay it was quite calm. A young moon was setting. The first sign of human activity they saw was a burning tanker lying out in the harbour and brightly illuminating it. The destroyer dropped anchor and Major Hound gingerly left his bunk and climbed to the bridge. Guy remained with Tommy. Captain Slimbridge, the signaller, and the officers of B Commando were putting their men in readiness to disembark. Captain Roots the Staff Captain and Corporal-Major Ludovic were in conference. Tommy became fretful.
‘What’s happening? They’ve only got two hours to turn round in. A lighter ought to have come out the moment we berthed.’ Presently there was a hail alongside. ‘There it is. Go and see, Guy.’
Guy went on the dark deck. It was crowded with troops standing-to, heaped with stores, motor-cycles, signalling equipment. A small pulling boat lay alongside and a single figure came aboard. Guy went back to report.
‘Go up to the captain and see what’s going on.’
Guy found the captain in his cabin with Major Hound and a haggard, unshaven, shuddering Lieutenant-Commander wearing a naval greatcoat and white shorts.
‘I’ve got my orders to pull out and by God I’m pulling out,’ the sailor was saying. ‘I got my orders this morning. I ought to have gone last night. I’ve been waiting all day on the quay. I had to leave all my gear behind. I’ve only got what I stand up in.’
‘Yes,’ said the captain, ‘so we see. What we want to know is whether a lighter is coming out for us.’
‘I shouldn’t think so. The whole place is a shambles. I’m pulling out. I got my orders to pull out. Got them in writing.’ He spoke in a low monotone. ‘I could do with a cup of tea.’
‘Wasn’t there an ESO on the quay?’ asked Major Hound.
‘No. I don’t think so. I found this boat and rowed out. I’ve got my orders to pull out.’
‘We don’t seem to get any acknowledgment of our signals,’ said the captain.
‘It’s a bloody shambles,’ said the man from Crete.
‘Well,’ said the captain, ‘I wait here two hours. Then I sail.’
‘You can’t sail too soon for me.’ Then he turned to Major Hound and said with an awful personal solicitude. ‘You’ve got to know the password, you know. You can’t go anywhere on shore unless you know that. They’ll shoot you as soon as look at you, some of these sentries, if you don’t know the password.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Changes every night.’
‘Exactly; what is it?’
‘That I do know. That I can tell you. I know it as well as I know my own name.’
‘What is it?’
The sailor looked with blank, despairing eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘It’s slipped my mind at the moment.’
Guy and Major Hound left.
‘It looks like another false alarm,’ said the Major quite cheerfully.
Guy went to report to Tommy.
‘God almighty,’ he said. ‘Christ all bloody mighty. What’s come over them all? Has everyone gone to sleep?’
‘I don’t think it’s that,’ said Guy.
Three-quarters of an hour passed and then word went crackling over the ship: ‘Here it comes.’
Guy went on deck. Sure enough a large dark shape was approaching across the water. The men all round him began to hoist their burdens. The sailors had already thrown a rope net over the side. The troops crowded to the rail. A voice from below called:
‘Two hundred walking wounded coming aboard.’
Major Hound cried, ‘Who’s there? Is there anyone from Movement Control?’
No one answered him.
‘I must see the captain,’ said Major Hound. ‘That MLC must go back, land the wounded, come back empty for us, land us and then take on the wounded. That’s the way it should be done.’
No one heeded him. Very slowly bearded and bandaged figures began to appear along the side of the ship.
‘Get back,’ said Major Hound. ‘You can’t possibly come aboard while we’re here.’
‘Passengers off the car first, please,’ said a facetious voice in the darkness.
The broken men clambered on deck and thrust a passage through the waiting troops. Someone in the darkness said: ‘For God’s sake get this gear out of the way’ and the word was taken up: ‘Ditch all gear. Ditch all gear.’
‘What on earth are they doing?’ cried Major Hound.’ Stop them.’
The three troops of B Commando were under control. Headquarters troops were on the other side of the ship. The signallers began throwing their wireless sets overboard. A motor-cycle followed.
Guy found the officer in command of the MLC.
‘I cast off fifteen minutes after the last of this party gets on board. You’ve got to look slippy,’ said the sailor. ‘I’ve another journey after this. Two hundred more wounded and a Greek general. Then I sink the boat and come aboard myself and it’s good-bye to Crete for yours truly.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Guy.
‘It’s all over. Everyone’s packing up.’
Guy went below to make a final, brief report to his commander. ‘Things have a way of turning out lucky for you, Tommy,’ he said without any bitterness.
The sick-bay was crowded now. Two army doctors and the ship’s surgeon were dealing with urgent cases. While Guy stood there beside Tommy’s bunk a huge, bloody, grimy, ghastly Australian sergeant appeared in the door. He grinned like a figure of death and said: ‘Thank God we’ve got a navy,’ then sank slowly to the deck and on the instant passed into the coma of death. Guy stepped over his body and fought his way past the descending line of men; there were many unwounded among them, ragged, unshaven, haggard, but seemingly whole.
‘What are you?’ he asked one of them.
‘Records,’ said the man.
Presently without any clear order given Hookforce began climbing down the rope net into the MLC.
The moon was down. The only light was the burning tanker a mile distant.
‘Major Hound,’ Guy called. ‘Major Hound.’
A soft voice beside him said: ‘The Major is safely aboard. I found him. He came with me, Corporal-Major Ludovic.’
The MLC chugged up to the quay, a structure so blasted that it seemed like rough, natural rock. Before they could get ashore wounded and stragglers began scrambling into the boat.
‘Get back, you bastards,’ shouted the captain. ‘Cast off there.’ The seamen pushed the craft away from the sea-wall. ‘I’ll shoot any man who tries to come aboard till I’m ready for him. Get back th
e lot of you. Get the hell off the quay.’
The ragged mob began pushing back in the darkness. ‘Now, you pongoes,’ said the captain of the MLC, ‘jump to it.’
He ran the craft in again and at last the party landed. This event so large to Guy and Major Hound and the rest of them, would be recorded later in the official history:
‘A further encouragement was given to the hard-pressed garrison of Crete when at midnight on 26th May HMS Plangent (Lt.-Comdr Blake-Blakiston) landed HQ Hookforce plus remainder of B Commando at Suda and took off 400 wounded without incident.’
The MLC captain shouted: ‘Can’t take any more. Get back, the rest of you. Cast off.’
The crowd of disappointed men sat among the broken stones. The laden boat moved off towards the ship. The newly landed party pushed through the stragglers and fell in.
‘Find the liaison officers,’ said Major Hound. ‘They must be here.’
Guy shouted: ‘Anyone from Hookforce?’
A bundle of bandages groaned: ‘Oh, pipe down.’
Then two figures emerged from the crowd and identified themselves as troop-leaders from B Commando.
‘Ah,’ said Major Hound. ‘At last. I was beginning to wonder, You’re from Colonel Prentice?’
‘Well, not exactly,’ said one of the officers. He spoke in the same dull undertone as the fugitive sailor. It was a voice which Guy was to recognize everywhere in the coming days; the accent of defeat. ‘He’s dead, you see.’
‘Dead?’ said Major Hound crossly as though officiously informed of the demise of an aunt who, he had every reason to suppose, was in good health. ‘He can’t be. We were in communication with him the day before yesterday.’
‘He was killed. A lot of the Commandos were.’
‘We should have been informed. Who is in command now?’
‘I believe I am.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘We heard a ship was coming to take us off. But it seems we were wrong.’
‘You heard? Who gave orders for your embarkation?’
‘We haven’t had any orders from anyone for twenty-four hours.’
‘Look here,’ said the second-in-command of B Commando, ‘hadn’t we better go somewhere where you can put us in the picture?’
‘There’s an office over there. We’ve been sitting in it since the bombing stopped.’
He and Guy and Major Hound and the B Commando second-in-command stumbled among the pits and loose cobbles to a hut marked ‘S N O’. Guy laid his map-case on the table and turned his torch on it.
‘We’ve sixty men and four officers, counting me. There may be others straggling. This is all I could collect. They’re down here in the port area. You can’t move on the roads. And I’ve got a couple of trucks. Everyone’s pinching transport. But they’re safe enough down here under guard. All the traffic is moving south to Sphakia.’
‘I think you’d better tell us what’s happened.’
‘I don’t know much. It’s a shambles. They were moving out last night when we arrived – all the odds and sods, that is. The line was up on what they call 42nd Street. We were put under command of A Commando and rushed straight out to counter-attack at dawn. That was when Prentice was killed. We got right on to the aerodrome. Then we discovered that the Spaniards who were supposed to be on our flank, hadn’t shown up. And there was no sign of the people who were supposed to come through and relieve us. So we sat there for an hour being shot at from all directions. Then we moved off again. We lost A Commando. Stukas got most of our transport. We lay in the fields all day being dive-bombed. Then after dark we came down here and here we are.’
‘I see,’ said Major Hound. ‘I see.’
He was turning the problem in his clouded mind, finding no staff solution. At length he said: ‘I suppose you know where Creforce headquarters are?’
‘They might be anywhere now. They were in a monastery building somewhere off the main road.’
‘And the other Commandos?’
‘C was in the counter-attack with us. I think they’re lying up somewhere near HQ. I haven’t seen X since we landed. They were sent off on a different job somewhere else.’
Major Hound’s good habits began to take control. He took the map.
‘That,’ he said, pointing blindly into the contours behind Suda, ‘is assembly point. Rendezvous there forthwith. That is brigade headquarters. I will now go forward to Creforce. The GOCmust see our orders from C-in-C at once. I shall need a guide. I will see unit commanders at headquarters at 0900 hours. Are you in W/T communication with A, C, and X?’
‘No.’
‘Pass the message by runner. Any questions?’
The second-in-command of B Commando seemed about to speak. Then his shoulders sagged and he turned about and left.
‘You’ve made a note of those orders, Crouchback?’
‘Yes. Do you think they’ll be carried out?’
‘I presume so. Anyway, they have been given. One can’t do more.’
Major Hound dispatched Captains Roots and Slimbridge and the rear headquarters to their map reference in the hills. Then he and Guy with their servants climbed into the three-ton lorry and drove off. A guide from B Commando sat in front with the driver.
As they left the port area they turned into the main road that led from Canea. They drove without lights. The sky was clear and full of stars. They could see a fair way and as far as they could see and as far as they went the road was densely filled with walking men interspersed with motor-vehicles of all kinds, lightless also, moving at walking pace. Some of the men were in short columns of threes, fully equipped, some were wounded, supporting one another, some wandered without arms. The lorry moved against all this traffic, clearing a passage. Occasionally a man would shout at them. One said: ‘Wrong way, mate.’ Most of the men did not look up. Some walked straight into the bonnet and mudguards. For some miles the flow of men never changed. Then they turned up a lane and a sentry halted them. The driver opened the bonnet and began to work on the engine with a flash-lamp.
‘Put out that light,’ said the sentry.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Major Hound.
‘Taking the distributor. We don’t want this truck pinched.’
The guide led them into a peaceful vineyard. They were challenged again and at length reached some dark buildings. Guy looked at his watch. Half past two.
The batmen sat down outside. Guy and Major Hound pushed back the two blankets which hung over the door of a peasant’s two-roomed house. Inside a storm lantern and maps lay on the table. Two men were asleep, sitting on chairs, their heads in their arms on the table. Major Hound saluted. One of the men raised his head.
‘Yes?’
‘Brigade Headquarters, Hookforce, reporting, sir, with orders from C-in-C ME.’
‘What? Who?’ The face of the B G S was blank with weariness. ‘The GOC is not to be disturbed. We’re moving in an hour. Just leave whatever it is you’ve got. I’ll attend to it.’
GSO I slowly sat up.
‘Did you say “Hookforce”? The GOC has been waiting for a report from you all day.’
‘It’s very urgent I should see him.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But not just now. He can’t see anyone now. This is the first sleep he’s had for two days and we’ve got to make our move before dawn. Is Colonel Blackhouse with you?’
Major Hound began to explain the situation, to put BGS and GSO I in the picture. It was plain to Guy that they understood nothing. For Major Hound it was enough that the words should be spoken, the correct sounds made even into the void of their utter weariness.
‘… Based on Canea… Raiding tasks on enemy L of C in conjunction with SNO…’
‘Yes,’ said BGS. ‘Thank you. Leave it here. The GOC shall see it. Ask Colonel Blackhouse to report at eight.’
He pointed to the map on the talc cover of which the new headquarters were neatly marked in chalk. It was conveniently near the place chosen by Maj
or Hound, Guy noticed, on the forward slopes just off the road where it turned inland for the mountains and the south coast.
They returned to the lorry and as they drove into the main road, going with the stream now, a New Zealand officer stopped them. ‘Can you take on some wounded?’
‘I don’t know where the ADS is,’ said Major Hound.
‘Nor do I. These are men from the Canea hospital. The Jerries turned them out.’
‘That hardly sounds likely.’
‘Well, here they are.’
‘Oh. Where do they want to go?’
‘Anywhere.’
‘We’re only going three miles.’
‘That’ll be some help.’
The wounded men began climbing and pulling one another up until the lorry was full.
‘Thanks,’ said the New Zealander.
‘Where are you going yourself?’
‘Sphakia, if I can make it.’
Presently they came to a part of the road where the walking and marching men had somehow been directed into the side and there was a clear way ahead. They began bumping along at a fair speed, the wounded men often groaning as they were thrown about.
Guy was being painfully pressed against the backboard. He dug forward with his knees and the man in front edged forward, then turned and peered at him in the darkness. A curious sound emerged:
‘Sorry and all that. Bit on the tight side, what?’
It was a preposterous accent, the grossly exaggerated parody of the hot-potato, haw-haw voice; something overheard from Christmas charades. Guy flashed his torch and discerned a youngish man incongruously clothed in service-dress, Sam Browne, and the badges of a Lieutenant-Colonel. ‘Are you wounded?’Guy asked. ‘Hardly. Jolly sporting of you to give me a lift.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Following the jolly old crowd, don’t you know. It’s sauve qui peut now, as the French say.’
‘Do they? Is it? May I ask who you are?’
‘I’m OC Transit Camp. Or rather I was, what? Nothing we could do, don’t you know? Our orders are to find our own way to the coast.’