Blood of Honour

13

Saturday, 24 May, a little after 9 p.m. Captain Alex Vaughan walked back through the quiet streets of Heraklion after a fruitless visit to Brigade Headquarters. Here and there he saw signs of bomb damage, particularly the closer he got to the harbour – one shattered house had spewed rubble and blocks of stone almost right across the street. At last he reached the entrance to the house he had shared with Pendlebury since 50 Middle East Commando had returned to Egypt: a short flight of steps leading to a wooden doorway in a wall, and through into a small courtyard, across which stood the house. He was tired, frustrated, and not a little disturbed by what he had encountered at HQ.

News from Canea was not good, but instead of instilling some fight into 14th Brigade, it seemed that the rapidly unravelling situation in the north-west of the island was making Brigadier Chappel even more determined to sit tight rather than take the attack to the enemy. A stalemate had developed, but Vaughan feared this would not last long. Several hundred more Jerry paratroopers had landed to the south earlier that day. Perhaps more would arrive tomorrow, along with more supplies, more arms, more ammunition. On the other hand their own supplies were slowly being drained away. Jesus, it didn’t take a genius to work out which way the balance was shifting.

Crossing the courtyard, he was surprised to see a light on in Pendlebury’s office and that the front door was ajar. Taking out his revolver, he went to it and carefully pushed it open. Slipping soundlessly into the hallway, he stood by the door to the office, his pistol cocked, listening. He waited a moment, then kicked back the door and stepped into the room, his revolver at the ready.

‘I surrender,’ chuckled Alopex, holding up his arms. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, just as he had three days earlier before leaving the town.

‘Alopex!’ exclaimed Vaughan. ‘How did you get here?’

‘It’s easy enough at dusk when you know the way.’ He raised a small glass. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I helped myself to a little raki.’

Vaughan put down his revolver, went to the small sideboard and poured himself a shot. Then, sitting at Pendlebury’s desk, he raised his glass. ‘It’s very good to see you alive and well.’

‘We’re all mourning Pendlebury,’ said Alopex.

‘So you heard?’

‘Executed by the Nazis.’

‘Not executed exactly – he was killed in a fire-fight trying to cross the lines. I told the bloody fool not to do it.’

‘No, that’s not what happened,’ said Alopex.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was shot then, but not killed. They took him away – he would have lived. They interrogated him, but when he told them nothing, they shot him.’

Vaughan stared at Alopex. ‘But how on earth do you know this?’

‘They took him to the house of an old couple down in the valley. After Pendlebury was murdered the Germans left the house and the man and woman fled to the mountains. They heard it all and saw the Germans bury him. Tossed him into a shallow pit as though he were a dog.’ He spat the words.

Vaughan put his head in his hands. ‘Poor John,’ he said.

Alopex lit a small cheroot. ‘So, what can I say? We have been attacking the enemy every night, but still the British stay put.’

‘Believe me, if I was commanding here, that would not be the case.’ Vaughan stood up and went to the sideboard, took the bottle of raki and poured them both another shot. ‘So why are you here?’

‘Satanas asked me to come. He is seeing Hanford tonight. There are rumours about the fighting in the west of the island – that the British are falling back. Satanas thinks that if you are defeated in the west, you will have to leave Heraklion and Rethymno too. He thinks you will abandon us, just as you did on the mainland. And in France and Norway.’ He smiled without humour. ‘I know you and Pendlebury have tried to get us as many arms as possible, but it is not enough. We will fight on – of course we will – but if you leave, we want your weapons.’

‘What can I do, though? I am not the commander here. A captain doesn’t count for much, you know.’

‘You can talk to the brigadier.’

Vaughan nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can. But I can’t do that unless we get the order to evacuate.’

‘You can start sowing the seed.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s true.’ He leaned forward, hands together, thinking. The room was bathed in a dim orange light. Sitting across from him, Alopex’s features were in shadow, but there was no denying the menacing impression he gave: the thick moustache and twoday growth of beard, the knitted heavy eyebrows and dark eyes that stared hard at him. Around his waist were two bandoliers, while a rifle rested across his lap.

‘And there’s another thing,’ said Alopex. ‘The stores here in Heraklion that we brought from Suda Island. They are still safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘We need to plan for them. We must get them out.’

‘How?’

‘We are going to organize a boat. It will arrive tomorrow night. You must arrange for men to help carry everything down to the harbour.’

‘And you plan to sail back to safety before daylight?’

‘What else can we do? The town is now almost surrounded. A man can creep through, but not a truck or a cart. We have no choice. Better that it should end up at the bottom of the sea than in the hands of those scum.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’

‘You must warn the port that the boat is coming. There must be no trouble. It will reach you when the German fliers have gone home, and the stores must be ready.’

‘What if it’s late? I don’t want to have to wait on the quayside with a large stash of arms and explosives. You remember the trouble we had getting it in the first place. If Brigade gets a whiff of it they’ll take it all back in a trice. Look, I’ll have men and a cart ready, but the boat has to be here before I move it from its safe place.’

Alopex stroked his moustache a moment. ‘All right. So long as you are ready and waiting.’ He finished his raki, then stood up. ‘You are a good fellow, Alex. I know I can count on you. And you will talk to your brigadier?’

‘Yes. I’ll do all I can.’

Alopex embraced Vaughan, picked up his rifle and stepped out into the dark of the night.

The men of the 2nd Battalion, the King’s Own Yorkshire Rangers, had also seen the paratroop drop to the south that afternoon. Tanner had wasted no time in hurrying to his rocky perch above their positions and, with his rifle and scope, taking shots as they descended, while the rest of the company had also fired furiously as this latest batch of invaders drifted down. Most had fallen a good four or five hundred yards away and more. How many had been killed or wounded was anyone’s guess, but there was no doubting this had been the heaviest drop since that first day. Tanner was not alone in thinking the stranglehold they had had over the enemy was slipping away.

‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he had heard McAllister grumble. ‘We could have finished this lot off for good the other day but we let ’em get away with it. And now look.’

Tanner had watched the other men in the section gaze up at the sky to the south, filled with falling parachutes. ‘Defeatist talk, Mac?’ Tanner had asked.

‘No, sir. Just pissed-off talk, that’s all.’

‘Well, perhaps tonight we can go after them,’ Tanner had said. ‘Jerry doesn’t much like the dark. Stir up a bit of trouble for all those disoriented paratroopers. Mac, we could get you a lovely pair of boots like mine.’ The men had laughed at that, but when Tanner had gone to talk to Captain Peploe about sending out several fighting patrols, he had been told that orders had just arrived from the colonel, who in turn was passing on instructions from Brigade, that it was essential ammunition be preserved as far as possible and that any counter-attacks or active patrol work was to be forbidden. For what possible reason were they to preserve ammunition? That was what Tanner wanted to know. It seemed crazy, completely illogical. What was the brigadier thinking? That it was better to let the enemy slowly but surely build up his strength while they sat back and watched?

Incensed, Tanner had gone to find Sykes, a man to whom he knew he could always gripe and groan about the brass.

‘We could send out a few forward pickets, Jack,’ Sykes suggested, as they sat beneath a large plane tree brewing char.

‘Quite a long way forward.’ Tanner grinned.

‘And if they happened to bump into the enemy – well, a man’s got to defend himself, hasn’t he?’

‘He has, really,’ chuckled Tanner.

So, Tanner had later suggested this to Peploe. ‘I know we’re not allowed to actively engage the enemy, sir,’ he said, as he stood in the doorway of Company Headquarters, ‘but I’d like to set up some forward pickets.’

‘Just how far forward were you thinking?’ Peploe asked.

‘Four hundred yards or so. There are a few wells and old buildings I marked up before the invasion. I was going to take the men there. Good cover.’

‘And precisely the place disoriented paratroopers would head for.’

Tanner smiled. ‘Well, yes, there is that, sir.’

Peploe agreed, so Tanner took Hepworth’s section and Sykes.

‘But, sir,’ complained Hepworth, ‘we’re not on duty tonight. We’re supposed to be getting our heads down.’

‘What do you think this is, Hep?’ Tanner retorted. ‘A summer camp? A whole load of Jerries dropped down over there in case you hadn’t noticed. Now shift your arse and stop complaining.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Hepworth.

Tanner had known him for more than a year now and they had served together almost continually, apart from the couple of months after Hepworth had been wounded at Dunkirk. A lean-faced lad from Bradford, with a slightly hunched look about him, Hepworth had been a Territorial before the war, as a means of eking out a few extra pennies every week. But the Territorial 5th Battalion had been destroyed in Norway. Hepworth, along with Sykes, McAllister, Chambers and Bell, had followed Tanner into the 1st Battalion and had been sent to France, and then, when France had been lost, overseas to join the 2nd Battalion – the unit of the Yorks Rangers Tanner had first joined as a boy soldier all those years before in India. Tanner trusted these men although, in truth, most were barely out of their teens – hardly men at all, and even though, Hepworth especially, they grumbled and complained whenever there was the opportunity. It was why, given the choice, he preferred to have them beside him whenever there was a fight rather than others in the company whom he knew less well.

As they reached their forward positions, Tanner was met by Lieutenant Liddell. The two had been largely successful in avoiding each other the past two days, but now Tanner looked up at him, a challenging expression on his face.

‘Where do you think you’re all going?’

‘Forward pickets,’ growled Tanner.

‘But these men are off watch.’

‘That’s what I told him, sir,’ said Hepworth.

‘Shut it, Hep,’ snapped Tanner. ‘Captain Peploe’s orders, sir.’

Liddell looked at the men and then at Tanner. ‘Very well, then.’

‘Password is “yorker”,’ said Tanner. ‘Perhaps you’d tell the rest of the men, sir.’

Liddell nodded, and Tanner slung his rifle onto his shoulder, his MP40 clutched in his hand. ‘Iggery, then, lads. Follow me.’

He led them forward, walking freely at first and then, as they moved further, crouching through the fields and groves. The light was fading fast. Occasional shots rang out, a dog barked, while from the trees came the ever-present sound of cicadas and crickets. Reaching an old goat shed, Tanner gathered the men around him. ‘Hep, you and two others stay here.’ He pointed to a well, around seventy yards to their right. ‘Three more over there by that well, and the rest, I want you to make your way to that stone wall over there.’ He pointed to a crumbled barn and a drystone wall around a hundred yards further to the west. ‘Get behind that and keep a watch out to the south. There’s still some moon and it’s another clear night so there’ll be light from the stars. As it gets dark, your eyes should adjust. But use your ears too. My guess is some Jerries might just come looking for shelter and water. If they do, give it to ’em.’

‘I thought we’re supposed to be preserving ammunition, sir,’ said Hepworth.

‘You’ve got to defend yourselves, Hep.’ He looked at the Schmeisser Hepworth carried – one of the twelve to have been given out. ‘In any case, that’s not our ammo you’re using – it’s Jerry’s.’ He grinned at Hepworth and gave him a pat on his shoulder, then glanced around at the others. ‘Keep your helmets on – it’ll help with identification. And the password – don’t forget it.’

‘Where will you be, sir?’ asked Hepworth.

‘There’s something Sergeant Sykes and I need to have a quick look at.’ He winked at Sykes. ‘Then we’ll be back to keep an eye on you lot. So stay put until I tell you otherwise.’

Tanner watched the men hurry off towards their posts, then turned to Sykes and said, ‘Follow me.’ He led him off the low ridge and down in the direction of the Knossos road.

‘Where are we heading, Jack?’ Sykes asked.

Ahead of them, just off the road, stood a house surrounded by a garden filled with plane trees, palms and shrubs. ‘There,’ said Tanner, pointing. ‘It’s the villa Pendlebury used to live in before the war.’

‘Very nice too,’ whispered Sykes. ‘But what are we looking for?’

‘I’ll show you in a minute.’

Passing through a series of vineyards, they reached the rear of the grounds of the house. Tanner paused and listened. The place seemed quiet. Both Knossos and the villa lay in no man’s land – too far south to be of use to the British and not yet discovered by the newly arrived Germans. There was no sound coming from the ridge to their right either. Good, thought Tanner. The lads are still all right.

‘What a place,’ whispered Sykes. ‘Not a bad little basha if you ask me. But, Jack, what’s here?’

‘Stop jabbering, Stan, and I’ll show you.’

Shadows from the protective canopy of the trees streaked across the villa, giving it a cold, deserted appearance. Insects whistled and clicked but the air felt suddenly close, every sound accentuated. Tanner led Sykes around the front of the house, past the steps that led up to its entrance and around to the side, where, tucked away, hidden by trees and bushes, there was a shed.

‘Here,’ said Tanner.

‘It’s a shed, Jack.’

‘It’s a lock-up of Pendlebury’s. A secret arms stash. Heavily padlocked, as you can see, but I’m assuming nothing that would trouble you, Stan.’

Sykes grinned, then delved into his pack and brought out a set of short metal wires. Leaning against the door, he inserted one into the keyhole, manoeuvred it carefully and grinned as the padlock opened with a click.

‘Stan, you’re a genius,’ said Tanner. The door creaked, the sound making him wince. Inside, he took out his torch, a small rectangular German one, carefully placed a blue perspex lens over the light and switched it on.

At the far end of the shed, a tarpaulin covered a mound. Tanner pulled it back to reveal a number of wooden boxes, perhaps a dozen in all. The top two were a little over a foot long and about eight inches wide, painted green and with ‘14 SLABS DEMOLITION TNT MK 1’ stencilled on the side. ‘Now you’re talking.’ Sykes grinned, moving the box onto the floor. ‘Shine the torch a sec, Jack. I want to see what else we’ve got here.’ He moved a couple more boxes, then said, ‘Eureka!’ He pulled out a metal tin, slightly larger than the boxes, and furiously opened it. ‘Recognize these beauties?’ he said, pulling out a smaller tin.

Tanner grinned. ‘Pull switches, Stan.’

‘Too bloody right.’ He tugged out another, smaller wooden box, which was filled with reels of fuse and tins of detonators. ‘Blimey,’ he said, ‘this is a regular bloody Aladdin’s cave!’

‘You know I always try to keep you happy, Stan.’

‘But we can’t carry this lot,’ said Sykes, standing up and looking thoughtful.

‘Take what we can now – enough to have some fun tonight, at any rate, and perhaps we can come back here tomorrow.’

‘But who’s it all for?’

‘Pendlebury’s Cretan andartes, but it is ours. This is British stuff. And I can’t see them using it. After all, how are they going to get to it?’

Suddenly, behind them, the door swung open. Tanner and Sykes froze.

‘Like this,’ said a voice, in heavily accented English. ‘Two thieves caught red-handed.’

‘You!’ hissed Tanner. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’