The 34th Degree

103

It was at least thirty miles to Kalamata through the rocky, snowcapped slopes of the Taygetos range, Andros calculated, pushing the engine hard as the lorry climbed the dramatic Langada Gorge. But with mountain road conditions being so intolerable, they’d be lucky to make it in an hour in this crate. Of course, crashing through the checkpoint on their way out of Sparta probably had put every German and Italian checkpoint ahead of them on alert.

Andros glanced over his shoulder toward the back and shouted, “I’m going to pull over!”

“What’s wrong now?” asked Stavros.

“Nothing, we’re changing drivers. You’re up front. Any descriptions or pseudonyms that have been radioed ahead belong to me.”

Andros pulled the lorry over to the side of the road. He left the engine running and walked back to the rear of the lorry while Stavros, now wearing the uniform of a German, climbed into the cab and shifted gears.

As they drove off, Andros crouched in the rear of the lorry among the sacks of grain with Erin, who was still stripping a uniform off one of the dead Germans.

“Whatever happened to silent killing?” he asked.

Erin shrugged sheepishly and rolled up her hair and put on the SS officer’s cap with the Death’s Head badge.

Andros counted four bodies in the back. “I saw only three soldiers at the checkpoint.”

“Stavros and I picked up this one earlier.” Erin pointed to the closest corpse.

Andros glanced at the naked body, twisted among the sacks. Separated from his companions, with no uniform or symbols of fascism on him, he looked like an ordinary young man, much like the cadets back at West Point. He had a powerful build with rippling muscles now stilled. Then the lorry hit a bump, and the head bounced, turning up to reveal a face that was badly burned on one side. Andros looked away.

“You came just in time back there,” Erin said casually, checking a Schmeisser. “What happened at the warehouse?”

“I was tied up by your friend the Minotaur.”

Erin stared at him. Her eyes, what Andros could see of them in the moonlight, seemed to grow larger. Finally, after a long silence, she said, “Eliot. It was Eliot.”

“Along with his friend Colonel Kalos,” Andros added.

“I should have known,” she said, cursing herself. “I should have seen it. I never should have let you go alone to pick up the lorry.” She gripped his shoulder and opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

Andros gently lifted her hand from his shoulder and returned it to the Schmeisser. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You trained me well. They’re dead and we’re alive.”

“Thanks to you,” she said.

“It’s about time I returned the favor. Now what?”

She looked strangely still in the moonlight in spite of the jerky bounces of the lorry. “You tell me, sir,” she said in a manner that clearly signaled a shift in their relationship. “My orders were to defer to the judgment of my commanding officer in the field once he had proved himself.”

Andros could see that she was referring to him. “And have I, Captain?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Andros was taken aback. “Colonel now, is it?”

“Churchill’s orders.”

“Since when does the British prime minister bestow promotions within the U.S. Army?”

“Hellenic Royal Army, sir,” she corrected. “King George signed the papers.”

Everything seemed to fall into place for Andros. “This submarine pickup was planned for you, wasn’t it? I was supposed to stay back at the National Bands of Greece to legitimize it.”

Erin nodded slowly.

At that point Andros was aware that the lorry was slowing down as they approached the Taygetos Pass at the top of the ridge of mountains.

“About half a mile ahead of us,” Stavros called from the cab, “an Italian staff car blocking the pass, two soldiers holding hands up for us to stop.”

Andros exchanged glances with Erin as the lorry braked to a halt.

“Identification, signor,” demanded a harsh voice in passable Greek.

Andros heard the shuffle of papers and Stavros’s irritated voice. “I’m running behind schedule. Hurry.”

“But of course,” came the smart reply. “Now step out slowly or I’ll blow your brains out.”

The Italian must have been pointing a gun, because Andros heard the door open and Stavros get out.

“Rudolf, check this ape. Ah, a gun. Carrying a gun is worth the death penalty.”

“Protection,” Stavros explained. “From bandits like you.”

There was a great smack, and Andros could almost feel the butt of the pistol strike Stavros’s face. “Rudolf, check what they’re carrying in the back.”

Andros and Erin crouched low behind the sacks while a flashlight beam searched the back of the lorry. Apparently not satisfied, Rudolf climbed inside for a further look. As he bent over, Andros slipped his arm across the man’s neck and pulled until he heard the awful snap.

Outside, Rudolf’s superior was getting impatient. “Hurry up, Corporal. I haven’t got all night.”

When Andros finally came around from behind the lorry, he cut the figure of an Italian commando, rifle at the ready.

“Well, Corporal?”

“All clear,” answered Andros, stepping forward into the light of the guardhouse.

The Italian’s face fell, and he reached for his pistol, but Andros shot him in the arm. The Italian reached for his sleeve in agony. “Please, no more!”

“Next time you’ll join your friend,” Andros said, and called to Stavros and Erin, “Take care of the truck while I take care of this one.”

The Italian looked terrified and begged for mercy.

“Just shut up and strip,” Andros ordered. “Erin, pardon the stain on the sleeve.”

Andros marched the naked Italian into the fir forest on the other side of the ridge. He forced the man to lie flat on the ground and struck him on the head like Erin had taught him at the Farm. Then he used a rope he’d found in the guardhouse to tie him up in knots that would make old Captain Tsatsos proud.

When Andros returned to the road, there was no sign of the lorry, only the Italian staff car. The engine was running, and Erin was behind the wheel. Stavros, dressed in an Italian uniform, sat sulking in back with the submachine guns.

“I hope she knows what she’s doing,” the kapetanios griped as Andros climbed into the passenger seat next to her.

Erin ignored the remark, hit the accelerator, and they were off. As soon as the lights of the checkpoint faded from the rearview mirror, she told Andros, “Check the glove compartment for papers.”

Andros rummaged through the compartment and produced a visa. “Signed by the Italian garrison commander of Kalamata himself.”

“Perfect,” she replied.

They descended the other side of the Taygetos Mountains toward Kalamata along the Nedonas Gorge, clearing the next two checkpoints without a hitch.