Blood of Honour

‘Sykes and Woodman managed to.’

‘It’s a question of honour, sir.’

‘Come on, up you get.’ And as Tanner got to his feet, Peploe patted his shoulder and said, ‘You and your honour, Jack. Pride and a filthy temper more like. What is it with you at the moment? You’ve been a bear with a sore head for weeks. Even more sore now, I should think.’

‘It bloody hurts like hell, sir.’

‘Well? What’s the matter? What’s bitten you?’

‘I’m sick of us running away, sir. That Cretan was right. And if I was him, I’d probably feel the same way about us too.’

‘But you still felt it necessary to get into a street brawl?’

Tanner sighed. ‘All right, maybe I did see red, but I’m not going to sit there listening to some Cretan wallah calling us cowards. Nor am I going to drink his drink when he’s taking a lot of good men’s names in vain – and men who died fighting for Greece.’

‘Sykes and Woodman walked away from it.’

‘Yeah, well, I think a man should stick up for himself, and his mates.’ Even as he said it, he knew it sounded lame and petulant. Renewed anger and frustration swelled within him and he growled and kicked the wall with his boot.

‘Feeling better?’ said Peploe.

Tanner said nothing for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said at last, ‘not for kicking that bastard – and, no matter what anyone says, I’d do it again – but for the trouble I’ve caused. I know everyone in the whole battalion will know about this, and it doesn’t reflect well on me or the company.’

‘More like the whole brigade.’ He eyed Tanner a moment. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Apart from the lack of guns, MT and almost no radios whatsoever, no, sir, I’m as happy as can be.’

‘But we’ve no shortage of troops and we’re dug in around strong defensive positions.’

‘I remember what happened in Norway when we didn’t have enough kit or enough aircraft. And look what happened in France. It was bloody chaos. No one knew what the hell was going on. A year on and we’re still depending on telephone lines and runners. When are we going to be given some sodding radios?’

‘There’s a big difference, Jack. Crete is an island. They can only get here by sea or by air. They’re not going to be able to bring over tanks and MT and heavy guns. We’ll be more than a match for them. This is different.’

‘I hope you’re right, sir,’ muttered Tanner. ‘Anyway, let them come. I’m fed up with waiting.’ He looked at Peploe. ‘Will I be court-martialled?’

Peploe smiled. ‘No, Jack. I can’t say Vigar was overly impressed but he felt your humiliation through the town and a few hours in the glass-house were punishment enough in the circumstances. Had this been peacetime it might have been another matter.’

‘And the Cretan’s already been let out,’ said Tanner.

‘Yes – well, there was that too. Not really fair to keep you if he’s been let loose.’

‘An Englishman fetched him. I heard him.’

‘John Pendlebury,’ said Peploe. ‘He’s vice consul here, although he seems to be the chief of all these local Cretan kapitans. He’s recruited them to help fight any invasion.’

Tanner nodded. I see.

‘Actually, it’s rather a thrill to meet him,’ added Peploe. ‘He’s quite a celebrated archaeologist. In fact, he was curator at Knossos before the war. I’ve been hoping to cross paths with him ever since we got here.’

‘You studied that, didn’t you, sir? At Cambridge?’

‘Archaeology and ancient history, yes. I still can’t believe I haven’t got out to the ruins, but there’s hardly been the time. Maybe in the next few days.’

‘If Jerry doesn’t come.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t. A bit of sightseeing first might be fun.’

Tanner chuckled.

‘Hooray,’ said Peploe. ‘My CSM’s smiling again.’

‘Am I free to get back to our positions, then, sir?’

‘Not quite. There’s someone I need to introduce you to properly. Our new platoon commander, Mr Liddell. I think you probably owe him an apology too.’ He held out his arm and ushered Tanner into the bastion entranceway. ‘Come on, he’s still across the road at Battalion HQ.’

Tanner squinted in the sudden brightness. It was warm still, the sun quite strong after the cool of his cell. Birds chirped in the trees along the street and a fly buzzed by his face. Perhaps it would be all right with Liddell. After all, it had been a long time. Tanner knew he had changed a great deal from the boy he had once been; his face was more lined, more battered. There was also a slightly broken nose where before there had been no blemish, and skin that was permanently the dark brown of a deep tan, where before he had been fresh-faced, with white skin and pink cheeks. Yes, he told himself. I am a different person now. There was no need to worry.

‘And you could do with seeing the doc before you head back up to the lines,’ Peploe was saying, as they crossed the road.

In through the front door, a cool and light hallway, up some stone steps and then into a large, airy room on the first floor with windows overlooking the Jesus Bastion. Outside, a tamarisk tree waved gently in the breeze, the shadows of the leaves and branches cast across the whitewashed wall opposite. At one end, a staff clerk was tapping at a typewriter, while at the other, sitting behind a makeshift desk, was the battalion commander, Colonel Vigar. In front, also seated, was Lieutenant Liddell who, on seeing Peploe, stood up.

‘Ah, Peploe, come in,’ said the colonel. ‘And you, CSM. Calmed down a bit?’

‘Yes, sir. My sincere apologies, sir,’ said Tanner, clicking to attention and saluting.

‘Can’t go around scrapping with the locals,’ said the colonel, ‘although from what I’ve heard it sounds as though he damn well deserved it.’

‘CSM Tanner was standing up for the honour of the regiment, sir,’ said Peploe. Liddell shifted his feet.

Colonel Vigar smiled. ‘Well, maybe you’ve done us all a favour, Tanner. If we’ve got to fight alongside these Greek fellows, we don’t want them thinking we’re a pushover, eh?’ He glanced at Second Lieutenant Liddell. ‘Although you acted quite correctly, Liddell. Quite correctly.’ He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘So,’ he said, ‘let’s put this little episode behind us, shall we? We’ll pretend you two haven’t met yet and you can shake hands. Then we’ll pack you back off to our positions. As I was saying, Mr Liddell, Tanner here is one of our most decorated soldiers. A highly experienced man, a first-class soldier and someone who I’m sure will help you settle into the company.’ Vigar tapped a cigarette on the table, then popped it between his lips. ‘So, Mr Liddell, this is your CSM, Mr Tanner. Mr Tanner – Mr Liddell.’

Tanner had consciously avoided looking directly at Liddell, but now, as the new subaltern turned and held out his hand, he faced him and saw his expression change.

‘You!’ said Liddell. ‘It’s you. I know this man, sir,’ he said, turning to the colonel and then to Peploe. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. Good God, you’re Jack Scard – Bill Scard’s son.’

4

Tuesday, 20 May. As normal, the Luftwaffe had made their morning call, albeit somewhat earlier than usual. This time, first Dorniers and then Junkers had pasted the coastal plain west of Suda Bay just after 6 a.m., others following at regular intervals until some time after seven. By half past, on the basis that the morning ‘hate’, as the raids were known, was over, the various men dug in along that stretch of the island were stood down, preparing themselves for another day of weapons cleaning and tanning themselves in the late-spring sun.

For Captain Monty Woodhouse, however, the all-clear had been the signal for him to report back to General Freyberg and Creforce Headquarters on the rocky outcrop of Akrotiri, above Canea and Suda Bay. A British intelligence officer, Woodhouse had been visiting the Greek regiment dug in a few miles south-west of Canea and, grabbing his motorbike, had set off through the gradually settling dust, up along lush Prison Valley, thick with olive groves, tamarisk and fruit trees, through more Greek and New Zealand positions to the south of Galatas village, and