Blood of Honour

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 gorge 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 German, 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?’

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 alone 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.