Blood of Honour

19

Sunday, 1 June, a little after 6 p.m. Oberleutnant Balthasar walked around the blackened remains of the British truck. The paint had gone entirely, leaving patches of bare steel; so too had the tyres and the timber. Of the driver and his companion two charred corpses could just about be recognized while several bodies were discernible among the ash and debris in the back. On the grass nearby two more badly burned bodies lay where they had died – their blackened forms more obviously once human. Three others had been found the day before among the olives.

Balthasar had not seen them. Indeed, he had been in Heraklion at the time at a meeting with Major Schulz, and so in his absence Leutnant Eicher had sent Mittler’s gruppe to investigate as soon as they saw the smoke pitching into the sky. One of the men had claimed he had heard shots, but Mittler had returned convinced that the loss of the men and the truck had been an accident and nothing more. The men had still had their weapons, and although there were signs of trampled grass, he had concluded that had been caused by the truck as it had fallen down the slope. Hitting two trees had caused the petrol to explode, killing most of the men before they’d had a chance to jump clear.

The three men from the olive groves had been brought back and buried and were already under the ground by the time Balthasar had returned and been given the news. He wished he had had a chance to examine the bodies, but although he had accepted Mittler’s version of events initially, there had been something about it that did not seem quite right to him – something he had not been able to put his finger on until that afternoon. Then it had dawned on him: any Cretan for miles around would have seen the smoke – would have probably heard the crash and any explosion. Surely someone would have come along and picked the men clean of weapons – Balthasar was not so naïve as to believe the burning of Sarhos had brought about the end of all Cretan resistance. No, what was strange was that the three men who had been found had still had their weapons with them.

Balthasar had mulled this over that afternoon and then had decided to go and look for himself.

‘Perhaps the brakes failed,’ said Unteroffizier Mittler, as they had stood on the road where the truck had come off.

‘Perhaps,’ Balthasar had replied, his voice terse. And now he was looking over the wreck itself. He peered closely at the bodies on the grass beside the truck. Both men were face down, so he turned the first over. Patches of skin on his chest had been roasted dark, but not black.

‘Here,’ said Balthasar. ‘What do you make of that?’

Mittler looked. ‘The flames have not burned him so badly where he has been lying in the grass.’

‘They have hardly burned him at all in places, Mittler. That tells us something, does it not?’ Mittler looked blank. ‘It tells us, Mittler,’ said Balthasar, exasperation creeping into his voice, ‘that there should be bits of uniform still clinging to his front. But there is nothing, is there? No scraps of cotton, no belt buckle. No helmet for that matter. Where is it?’

‘You think they have been stripped?’

‘Yes, Mittler, that is exactly what I think.’ He now peered into the remains of the truck. ‘Here,’ he said, examining the driver. ‘A belt buckle.’ He then looked into the mess that had once been the back of the Morris. ‘But nothing among this lot. Even if they were wearing their field caps they would have had their helmets with them.’

‘They did, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Mittler. ‘I saw them leave.’

‘And yet they are not here any more. Something should have remained of them.’ He whisked away several flies now hovering around. It had been another hot day, and even now, as evening was drawing in, the heat sat heavily in the air. ‘Get a party up here to collect and bury the remains of these men, Mittler. And try to be a bit more observant in future.’

‘Yes, Herr Oberleutnant. But why would the Cretans want our uniforms?’

‘If they had taken only boots, Mittler, I would have said it was because they were after decent footwear. But they have taken everything, yet wanted us to believe this was just an accident and nothing more. If you can’t work it out for yourself, then I’m certainly not going to tell you.’

They headed back, Mittler driving, Balthasar deep in thought. Having reached the camp he ordered Mittler to drive on, to Heraklion and to the Megaron. To his intense frustration, neither Schulz nor Bräuer was there – Schulz was visiting the 1st Battalion at the Jesus Bastion and Bräuer was at the airfield although due back any moment. Balthasar looked at his watch, uncertain whether to head straight to the bastion or to wait for Bräuer. It was now half past seven, the light beginning to fade.

‘When exactly are you expecting Oberst Bräuer?’ he asked the clerk in the office adjoining Bräuer’s.

‘Half an hour ago, Herr Oberleutnant.’

Balthasar looked at his watch again, then left and began to pace the corridor on the first floor outside Bräuer’s office. He would stay where he was, praying he was being both overly cautious and that the colonel would return soon.

It was just after eight when Bräuer appeared, his voice ringing out before Balthasar saw him as he climbed the staircase.

‘Oberleutnant Balthasar.’ He smiled. ‘Have you been waiting for me?’

‘Yes, Herr Oberst,’ said Balthasar, saluting.

‘Come in, come in,’ said Bräuer, leading the way into his office. He paused by his desk to fit a cigarette into his holder then lit it with a gold lighter. ‘How can I help?’

Balthasar told him about the truck and what he had discovered. ‘The uniforms could have been taken for a number of reasons, but one cannot rule out the possibility that they were intended as a disguise. It seems a coincidence that the day after I capture a leading bandit’s family, a number of my men are killed and stripped not five kilometres away.’

‘Yes, I agree with you, Balthasar. Although even after a shave – which, let us face it, most Cretans seem incapable of doing – I think they would still stand out.’

‘Yes, but it would be easy for the unsuspecting sentry not to notice any imposters passing at dusk or even at night.’

Bräuer exhaled a large cloud of smoke. ‘Yes, yes – you’re quite right, Oberleutnant. I still doubt that a handful of Cretans in disguise could cause too much mischief, but the men must be warned. I’ll send out word immediately. Thank you, Balthasar. You were right to tell me.’

‘And perhaps, Herr Oberst, if you will forgive me saying so, it might be prudent to put extra guards around the fortress.’

‘Yes, Balthasar, I’ll do exactly as you suggest, and without delay.’

Around a quarter to nine six men walked towards the Kenouria Gate beside the Jesus Bastion, approaching from the east as though they had come from the direction of the airfield. They had not, as it happened. Rather they had woven their way down from the mountains, carefully crossing the road beyond the crest of the low ridge that led from the town towards Knossos, then working their way first through the groves and then the houses and back alleys of the sprawling town beyond the great walls.

Six of them: Vaughan, with the gull-wing insignia of an Unteroffizier on his left sleeve, Peploe beside him with a single V-shaped chevron. Behind them came Tanner and Sykes, then Chambers and McAllister. They all looked battle-hardened: tanned, faces smeared with sweat and oil; Tanner with his bruising and cut eye. They all had Schmeissers slung from their shoulders, except McAllister, who carried an MG34 across his shoulders, despite its sling. From Tanner’s shoulders hung another strap from which he carried two aluminium ammunition boxes full of MG belts. Peploe, Tanner and Sykes also wore long cloth bandoliers draped around their shoulders, five pouches each side, which they had gleefully discovered were just the right size for a half-pound packet of TNT. German paratroopers, they had found out, did not carry the kind of packs an ordinary infantryman wore as a matter of course. Instead they used the plentiful pockets in their cotton jump smocks. These now bulged with more rounds, stick grenades and explosives. And while Peploe and Vaughan wore Luftwaffe blue wool side caps, the rest had on the distinctive paratrooper helmets, in Tanner’s case low over his eyes.

‘Now just act naturally, boys,’ said Vaughan, in a low voice. In the dim dusk light they saw guards moving towards them either side of the gate. Tanner’s heart was thumping heavily. They had managed it this far, but he knew that getting through the town gates was going to be one of the potential stumbling blocks of the entire operation. But then again, when he thought about it, there were many …

A guard pointing a Schmeisser came towards them and ordered them to halt. Tanner listened as Vaughan said something in German to Peploe, who laughed. It sounded convincing enough to him, but now a lance corporal was ambling over to them, the same single chevron on his sleeve as Peploe wore.

‘Seid ihr vom Flugplatz gekommen?’ he asked.

‘Ja,’ said Vaughan. Tanner watched him wipe the side of his face.

‘Es ist immer noch heiß, nicht wahr?’

What the hell are they talking about? Tanner wondered. The NCO seemed friendly enough. Thank God for Vaughan.

‘Ja, ja. Sind Sie für die Verstärkung der Festung?’

‘Ja. Was ist los?’

The German grinned. ‘Wir suchen einige Kreter als Fallschirmjäger verkleidet. Ihre Soldbuch?’

Vaughan and Peploe handed over their paybooks, found inside the uniforms of the dead men. The German looked at them briefly with a torch, then said, ‘Gut,’ and waved them on. No other paper required, no careful scan of the face. Tanner felt himself relax. They walked on, the guards talking casually as they passed, and then they were under the gate, the rubber soles of their boots drumming softly on the dirt road as they walked straight on down Evans Street – it had been named after the British archaeologist – as though going towards the port. Only when they were out of sight of the men at the gate did Vaughan lead them off the main road and down a narrow back-street.

‘They know something’s up,’ said Peploe, his voice quiet and urgent.

Vaughan nodded and turned to the others. ‘That guard asked me whether we were reinforcements for the fortress. I said yes and asked him what was going on. Apparently they’re looking out for some Cretans dressed up as paratroopers.’

‘Could be worse, sir,’ said Tanner.

‘I don’t like the sound of the reinforcement bit,’ said McAllister.

‘It’ll be all right,’ said Tanner. ‘We’re in, aren’t we?’

They had agreed they would lay a series of charges at each of the four bastions from the Martinengo Bastion in the south, all along the west side of the walls to the Ayios Andreas Bastion by the sea’s edge, but avoiding the Canea Gate, which, as a major entrance to the town, was likely to be more heavily guarded. First, however, Sykes had to prepare the charges, so Vaughan led them down through a web of narrow streets until they found a small courtyard beside a destroyed house. With Peploe shining his blue-filtered German torch, Sykes got to work, deftly pulling out a time pencil, fixing a small length of instantaneous fuse into the fuse adaptor and then wrapping it around two half-pound blocks of TNT. A cat suddenly mewed above them; none of the men had heard it approach and they flinched.

‘Bloody cat!’ hissed Vaughan. ‘Too damned many of them in this town.’

‘That’s one done,’ said Sykes. The time pencils were colour coded by the metal strip that acted as a safety pin and protruded from one end of the switch. What they had really wanted was an hour’s delay but the choice was either red, which was half an hour, or white, which was ninety minutes. They had chosen white.

‘Ssh!’ hissed Chambers, from the doorway. Footsteps. The men froze, but then the person passed and they relaxed once more. Tanner moved over beside Chambers and listened. The night was still with barely a breath of wind. The stench of rotting corpses had gone, but the air remained heavy with the smell of sewage; a body might rot away but the living still produced effluent. Broken sewers could not be repaired overnight.

In less than ten minutes they were ready, six bundles of explosives prepared with their timers set to begin the moment Sykes broke the acid phial in each of the switches. From that moment the acid would begin to corrode the wire that held the striker away from the fuse adaptor. They had discussed whether they should be set to detonate simultaneously but had decided that staggering the explosions would be more effective. With luck, as soon as troops were drawn to one explosion, another would go off. Sykes now handed out the charges, which they each put carefully into the front pockets of their jump smocks.

‘Just make sure you don’t break the fuse or knock the switch out of place,’ said Sykes. ‘Obvious, I know, but it don’t take much for this stuff to go whoosh.’

Vaughan nodded and took a deep breath. ‘All set?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sykes.

‘Right – let’s go.’

He led them back up to Plastira. It was now completely dark, with only a sliver of moon and the stars providing any light. Having paused to check there were no troops about, they moved onto the main road that ran beneath the walls. Opposite the entrance to Martinengo Bastion, they crossed to the wall, where they were hidden by dark shadow. A set of steps led up to the walls and Sykes now took out the first of his bombs, broke the phial, placed it on the ground and covered it with a piece of loose paper lying discarded on the street.

They moved on. Two officers walked past, not paratroopers but ordinary army. Vaughan and Peploe saluted, and as the Germans passed them Tanner saw the white Edelweiss symbol on their sleeve. Mountain troops. So they’re here now too.

Another package was dropped by the Bethlehem Bastion and then they were by the break in the wall where there had been so much fighting ten days earlier. This was the stretch of the walls they had briefly manned afterwards and they saw that German troops now occupied the building opposite that had earlier been a Greek company headquarters. There were men inside – they could hear them talking and laughing. Tanner felt his heart quicken again.

‘Here,’ whispered Vaughan, and now Tanner carefully placed a package on a ledge by a shuttered window. Then Vaughan took them off Plastira and halted them by the alleyway that led to the rear of the building. ‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Worth risking?’

‘Hold on a moment, sir,’ said Sykes. He crept soundlessly along the alley. Watching from the end, Tanner could barely see him. Suddenly voices rang out – someone was leaving the back of the building – and jarringly loud in the still night air. Quickly they moved back, away from the mouth of the alley. But Tanner stood right on the corner, protected by the shadows. The German paused, lit a cigarette, then walked towards them. Damn it, thought Tanner, but somehow the man walked straight past where Sykes must have been. Of course, thought Tanner, he’s not expecting trouble. He now felt in his trouser pocket and closed his fingers around his small knife, silently pulled it out and opened the blade. The German was almost upon them, only the faint shape of his side cap showing in the light of the stars and the red glow of his cigarette. Tanner let him draw level before quickly moving forward, bringing his arm tightly around the man’s neck and in the same moment plunging the knife into the German’s side. The man was dead – his body shutting down the moment the blade had skewered his kidney – but Tanner held him upright and dragged him clear of the alleyway.

Moments later, Sykes was back beside them.

‘Blimey,’ he whispered, ‘that was a bit bloody close.’

‘You dropped the TNT all right?’ asked Peploe. Sykes nodded. ‘What are you going to do with him?’

Tanner hoisted the dead man over his shoulder and, seeing a bombed house a short distance across the street, hurried over and dumped the body among the debris.

They moved on, making the most of the rubble still piled high along Kalokerinou and Dedidaki to cross those two main streets without being seen, and dropped the last of the packages near the Ayios Andreas Bastion by the sea. Barely a soul moved – a few guards on the walls, but that was all. A curfew had clearly been imposed on the town and, with the blackout as well, the six men were able to slip through the streets of Heraklion with ease.

The rubble had still not been cleared from the narrow lane that led to Pendlebury’s arms store. Clambering over it, they reached the wooden door in the wall, passed through into the courtyard, and took the steps, Vaughan leading the way. In the first chamber of the cellar, Vaughan took out his torch and quickly dismantled the trip wire he had set a few days earlier, then led the others down into the lower depths of the cellar. A stack of boxes of various sizes stood in the far corner of one room.

‘What have you got here, sir?’ asked Sykes.

‘I can’t quite remember, to be honest,’ said Vaughan, ‘but there are some grenades and more explosives. No more weapons – they’ve all gone.’

‘It’s the explosives we want, sir.’ There were three wooden boxes of Nobel’s Explosive No. 808, which Sykes immediately opened. ‘This stuff is beautiful,’ he said, grinning. He took out a cardboard carton. ‘It’s the way they’re packed, you see. There’s five pounds’ worth of four-ounce cartridges in each of these packets. Now, twenty pounds of gelignite makes a very nice bang. A very nice bang indeed.’

‘Excellent, Sergeant,’ said Vaughan. ‘Well, let’s take what we can, then get rid of the rest. It’s a shame to blow this place up after hundreds of years, but such is life.’

‘Can’t let Jerry get his hands on it, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘And the buildings nearby are either destroyed or empty. We won’t be killing anyone.’

‘Set to blow with another time pencil?’ Sykes asked.

‘Yes,’ said Vaughan.

‘What length of time, sir?’

They looked at their watches. ‘The first bomb is due to go at twenty-two fifty hours,’ said Vaughan.

‘It’s nearly ten now, sir,’ said Tanner.

‘Another white?’ suggested Sykes. ‘It’ll blow just as they think everything’s calmed down.’

Vaughan nodded. ‘All right.’ He glanced around the room, and at the ancient vaulted brick ceiling.

‘I know,’ said Peploe, ‘but Sykes is right. You didn’t struggle with this stuff all the way from Suda for the benefit of the Germans.’

‘I was thinking about Pendlebury,’ said Vaughan. ‘He would have loved being part of an operation like this. In some ways he did regard it all as something of a game, yet he passionately believed in the cause too. He really, truly loved Crete.’ He hitched his Schmeisser over his shoulder. ‘Anyway, no time for sentimentality. We should get going. There’s a partly bombed-out house overlooking the harbour. I thought we might hole up in it for a while. We can do a visual recce from there.’

Having stuffed their pockets with packets of gelignite and grenades, and with Sykes having set another time-delay switch, they climbed back up and out into the courtyard, then scrambled over the rubble once more. As they worked their way the short distance down towards the harbour the sound of traffic – engines and squeaking tracks – suddenly filled the night air. Pressing themselves into the shadows of a side-street, they watched a small column of three trucks and two British Bren carriers head down the Street of the August Martyrs, the main road that led from the centre of the town down the hill to the harbour.

‘Damn it,’ whispered Vaughan.

‘On the other hand, sir,’ said Tanner, ‘it means there’s some transport about.’

They moved on, picking their way down a back alley until they reached the rear of the bombed house. Part of the roof had collapsed, but the back of the building was still intact, so they climbed over a pile of rubble to the rear doorway and stepped inside. The building was little more than a shell. Several rats scurried past, and grit and stone crunched underfoot, but having climbed the stairs they entered a dark room on the first floor and, feeling their way, reached one of the windows, stepping over broken glass. Tanner tensed at the sound – it seemed so loud suddenly in the confines of the empty house – but from the window they had a clear view of the harbour, the arsenals and the Megaron building, sticking up over the domed roofs of the arsenals.

The motorized column they had seen a few minutes earlier had now come to a halt by the harbour’s edge. The two Bren carriers and one of the trucks were in front of the row of Venetian houses along the southern edge of the harbour, while the two other trucks had parked at the mouth of the harbour wall. Men were milling about the vehicles, then the Brens started up again and drove off in the direction of the Megaron and the Sabbionera Bastion.

‘What are they up to?’ whispered Vaughan.

‘I like the look of that Snipe,’ said Tanner, pointing towards the Humber. It was an eight-hundredweight truck, with room for three up front and half a dozen in the back. More importantly, however, it had a six-cylinder engine and four-speed gearbox that gave considerably greater speed than either the carriers or Morris Commercials the Germans had taken from the British.

Tanner looked at his watch, angling it so that the light of the stars shone on the face. It was nearly half past ten. Another engine started up and this time it was the Snipe. Thin blackout lights shone from its headlamps and it now drove on down the harbour wall, stopping thirty yards short of the fortress in front of some tracked derricks that overlooked the water. Men clambered out of the back and appeared to go into the fortress.

‘Ideal,’ said Peploe, in a low voice. ‘Look, I’ve got an idea.’

‘Yes?’ said Vaughan.

‘We move back down to the street and get as close to the mouth of the harbour wall as we can. As soon as the first bomb goes off, there’s going to be confusion, isn’t there?’

‘I should think so,’ said Vaughan.

‘They’ll probably load up into that truck. If they do, we could walk straight past them and down the harbour wall. Tanner’s right: we need that Snipe. If anyone tries to move it out we stop them.’

‘How, sir?’ asked McAllister.

‘Preferably verbally. Captain Vaughan can just tell them to wait. I can do the same – we can give them spiel about being ordered to stay put.’

‘It’s a good idea, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘They’ll be surprised, and hopefully not thinking quite right.’

‘And assuming we get the truck?’ said Vaughan.

‘Then we get Mac in the back with the MG,’ said Tanner, ‘and you, sir, sit in the front. The rest of us then go into the fortress.’

‘Yes,’ said Peploe, ‘and if anyone comes down the harbour wall causing trouble, McAllister can open up.’

‘All right,’ said Vaughan. ‘Are you sure, Peploe?’

‘As I can be, yes. The whole operation now seems absolutely lunatic, if I’m honest, but I can’t think of a better plan.’

They began moving back downstairs but heard voices and the sound of footsteps coming towards the building. They froze. The building had been a shop before it was bombed and the large window at the front had been blasted in, while the door had also gone. They could see three soldiers walking towards the building’s edge, their forms quite distinct. It was as though the men were looking directly at them. They paused, lit cigarettes, then stood there, chatting. Tanner cursed to himself. They were stuck, unable to move or make a sound. Several minutes passed but still the Germans remained where they stood. Tanner could feel his feet going numb and his back had begun to itch – lice, maybe – but he dared not move. Come on, come on, he thought. Move away. He wondered what the time was. It couldn’t be long now. The men were laughing, then one flicked his cigarette through the gap where the shop window had been. From the staircase Tanner could see it lying on the ground, its end still glowing a faint orange.

The first bomb exploded.

Tanner flinched. A moment’s pause, then urgent, anxious voices and someone was shouting to the men from across the road.

‘Quick!’ hissed Vaughan, and led them out of the back of the building. An engine started up – the Morris – and Tanner heard more shouts and yells and the sound of the truck reversing. Scrambling over the rubble, they reached the road by the harbour as the truck moved out. Pressing himself into the shadows, Tanner saw Sykes deftly step out, crouching, as the truck went past, then duck back into the shadow again.

‘Come on!’ said Vaughan, and they now ran down the harbour wall. Two Germans were standing by the Snipe.

‘Warum steht ihr da?’ barked Vaughan.

‘Uns wurde gesagt, hier zu warten,’ sputtered one of the men.

‘You take the right, I’ll take the left,’ whispered Vaughan to Tanner. Reaching the car, Tanner glanced at Vaughan, saw him draw level with the first man. He heard a muffled cry and in the same moment rammed his forearm into the other man’s throat, quick and hard, before the German had time to realize what was happening, then plunged his knife into the man’s side. The soldier gasped and crumpled to the ground.

‘Mac, get in the back!’ said Peploe. As McAllister clambered in, Tanner handed over the twin ammunition boxes, his heart pounding. Just then the second bomb exploded, and now the four of them were running to the entrance of the fortress. Across the harbour, the two carriers they had seen earlier were speeding back along the road. Good, thought Tanner. So far so good. As they reached the entrance they heard orders being barked and men hurrying towards them from within.

‘Try to hit them as they come out,’ said Vaughan. ‘Don’t shoot unless you have to.’ Tanner and Sykes stood to one side, Chambers and Vaughan to the other. Suddenly the door opened and eight men hurried out, oblivious of the four waiting either side of the entranceway. Tanner sprinted forward and charged at them, pouncing on the last two, tumbling them and knocking over the others like dominoes. He plunged his knife in quick succession into the sides of two men as Vaughan, Sykes and Chambers jumped on the rest. It was over in seconds – a few startled shouts from the Germans but not a shot had been fired. Tanner pushed himself up as Vaughan dragged a man clear and rammed him against the fortress’s walls.

‘Wo sind die Gefangenen?’ growled Vaughan. Where are the prisoners?

‘Töte mich nicht,’ said the terrified man.

Vaughan yanked him around and shoved him back through the entranceway. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and find them.’

Inside, the fortress was dimly lit. They hurried through into a high arched and narrow hallway, off which were a number of heavy curve-topped wooden doors.

‘Wo sind Sie?’ demanded Vaughan.

‘Auf der nächsten Etage,’ said the German.

‘They’re on the next floor,’ said Vaughan. He shoved the German forward. ‘Schnell!’ he said. ‘Schnell! Schnell!’ Voices could be heard from further along the hallway and now, more urgently, from above. Dimly, from across the town, they heard another explosion and Tanner felt the pulse of the blast through the stone floor.

‘I think we’re going to have to open fire soon, sir,’ he said.

The German led them through a door, then up a stone staircase. Tanner now pushed ahead past their captive and, at the top of the stairs, turned into another long corridor, this one with a lower arched ceiling. A row of doors ran along the passageway and outside one he saw several soldiers, all mountain troopers. An officer saw him and started shouting and pointing.

‘Haven’t a clue what you’re on about, mate,’ said Tanner, and opened fire. The noise was deafening, as the men jerked and flailed and collapsed on the floor. The others were now beside him.

‘My guess is they’re in there,’ said Tanner, pointing to the heap of dead Germans and moving to the mouth of an arch from which a ramp rose upwards, perhaps to the battlements above. He saw booted feet and fired again. Several men collapsed and he fired a second burst. Three men rolled down the stone ramp, but Tanner now saw two thick, heavy wooden doors that could close off the ramp and moved to shut them. He had closed one half when a stick grenade landed at his feet. He grabbed it and hurled it back, the charge exploding before it landed a second time. He rammed shut the other half of the door and drew across the bolt as another grenade exploded. He felt the blast but the door stood firm – eventually it would give way. They had to hurry.

Glancing back he saw their captive sprawled on the floor and Vaughan ushering two women and a child out over the dead by the door, then saw that one was Alexis. Relief swept over him, and he grinned at her. She smiled back fleetingly.

‘Where the hell is Mandoukis’s wife?’ he called, suddenly remembering.

‘I do not know,’ said Alexis.

‘Come on, quickly,’ said Vaughan. ‘We’ll have to forget about her.’

Then Nerita slipped in some blood, and cried out in horror. More grenades were exploding against the door, and Chambers, keeping cover at the top of the stairs, opened fire. Alopex’s son put his hands over his ears. Tanner helped usher them forward and saw Sykes fiddling with a length of fuse, which the moment they had all passed he tied around the hinge of a door, then across the passageway to the hinge of another door on the other side.

Tanner was now at the top of the stairs beside Chambers. Taking out two grenades, he pulled the pins, counted to three, then threw them and, as they exploded, hurried down the steps and opened fire. Two men, one dead, the other badly wounded, lay at the foot of the stairs, but there were more enemy further along the main passageway to the right. Tanner knew he could not step clear of the stone staircase without being hit.

‘What’s holding you, Tanner?’ shouted Vaughan.

‘Won’t be a moment, sir,’ said Tanner, pulling out a packet of Nobel’s and ripping open the cardboard to take out one four-ounce stick. Then he took another two grenades, pulled out the pins, counted and threw them. Bullets spat out, one nicking his arm, but as the grenades exploded and filled the passageway with smoke and dust and, he hoped, stunned the men, he threw the stick of Nobel’s and opened fire. The stick exploded, men cried out, and Tanner yelled at the others to hurry down. At the same moment Sykes’s trip wire detonated with another deafening explosion. Smoke, dust and cordite filled the air.

‘Hurry! Hurry!’ rasped Tanner, ushering them forward.

‘Follow me!’ called Vaughan, and ran to the entrance. He stopped them all briefly and spoke to the two women and the boy in Greek. The three nodded, their eyes wide and frightened.

‘We need to watch out for the men on the battlements,’ said Tanner.

‘We need to run,’ said Vaughan. ‘Don’t forget it’s dark.’ He looked at them all. ‘Ready? Let’s go.’

Vaughan and Chambers went first, then the women and the boy, and then Tanner. Sub-machine-gun and rifle fire cracked out from above and Tanner felt himself crouching, instinctively trying to make himself smaller. Bullets pinged and fizzed, ricocheting off the stone. He heard Vaughan gasp, but then, in the same moment, return machine-gun fire was peppering the battlements. Well done, Mac, thought Tanner, ducking behind the harbour crane.

As he reached the Snipe, he saw that McAllister was not in the back but on the ground to the side, using the base of the cranes as cover. Peploe had also reversed the truck tight behind the derricks so that it lay out of the line of fire from the fortress. Bullets zinged uselessly into the metal behind them as, with the engine running, Chambers helped the women into the back.

Tanner now joined him, hoisting the boy up beside his mother. ‘Where’s Captain Vaughan?’ he asked.

‘In the front,’ Chambers told him. ‘He’s been hit.’

‘And where the hell’s Sykes?’

‘Here, sir,’ gasped Sykes, from behind.

‘Good – now get in quick. Mac – time to go.’

Moments later they were all in, the boy and the women crouched in the middle, Tanner and Chambers at either side, with Sykes next to McAllister and the machine-gun.

‘Go, sir!’ called Tanner, and now they sped along the harbour walls, bullets continuing to ring out behind them. They raced to the end of the harbour wall, as another machine-gun opened up from the direction of the arsenal. Tanner could feel Nerita trembling with fear, but the lines of tracer from the enemy machine-gun were both wide and too high and now Peploe had turned up the Street of the August Martyrs and out of the line of fire. Suddenly another explosion rocked the town to the west as they continued to speed along.

And now they were back on Evans Street, seemingly deserted.

‘Nearly there,’ said Tanner.

‘Here,’ said Sykes, passing Tanner a twenty-ounce packet of Nobel’s. In his own hand he held two blocks of TNT. ‘Reckon you can hit these, Mac?’

‘I’ll give it a go, Sarge.’

‘Punter, jump up with me,’ Tanner said to Chambers, and pulled himself up so that he was clutching the rail around the cab. They were now nearing the Kenouria Gate and up ahead, in the faint night light, he saw guards stepping out into the road. They would not be stopping this time, and at thirty yards he opened fire, Chambers following a split second later, the men collapsing by the side of the road. As they reached the gate, Sykes threw out a block of TNT, and McAllister’s MG spat bullets, livid darts of tracer soon finding their mark, the packet detonating with a bright eruption of flame and a million stone shards. Tanner opened fire again, blindly into the dark on either side of the road, as they sped on through the archway. Then Sykes lobbed another block, which, seconds later, McAllister hit, and then finally the packet of Nobel’s. From the bastions rifle shots cracked out, but already, as the packet of gelignite exploded behind them, they were away, speeding clear of the town and up the low ridge to safety.

‘We’ve done it!’ laughed Sykes. ‘We’ve bleedin’ well gone and bloody well done it.’