Blood of Honour

reach for any of them because now the German lunged. Tanner parried the first blow, but the man delivered another to his head with the other hand, knocking him off balance. Then he lunged again and Tanner only just managed to grab his hand before the blade was plunged into his chest. The two men were now inches apart, straining and grimacing – and Tanner saw his expression suddenly change.

‘Sie sind es!’ said the man, and in that moment of his own incomprehension, Tanner felt the tip of the knife prick against his chest. The German pressed with both hands, but Tanner strained and pushed against him with all his strength and at last felt the blade move away. He dug into his attacker’s wrist with his thumbs and his enemy gasped and dropped the knife but, at the same moment, drove his knee hard into Tanner’s stomach. He gasped and staggered backwards. In the next instant, the German swung with his fist again, catching Tanner on the side of his left eye. Tanner cried out, swung uselessly back, but the German had gone, moving across the garden and out through a door to the side.

Tanner reached out to the wall of the house. Resting one arm against the cold, rough stone, he hung his head, breathing deeply. For the past minute in which he’d fought that man he had been aware of nothing but saving his life. His mind had been closed to all other sound, all other movement. It was as though the world had stopped while he grappled with the German. What was it the man had said? ‘It’s you!’ And then he remembered the German in the field, the one he had been unable to shoot. Bloody hell, had that really been only a few hours earlier? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Well, I’m damned, he thought.

He felt blood run down the side of his face, and became conscious once more of fighting nearby. From the front of the house, shots cracked out, but nearby, beyond the end of the garden, there was further firing and he realized that their counter-attack must be succeeding.

He dabbed at his eye and winced. His throat was sore too – the second time in two days that a man’s hands had been trying to throttle him, and yet now, for the moment, his enemy Alopex had become his ally. Bloody hell, what kind of war is this? And he wondered why the German had not used his pistol. Had he been returning the show of mercy? No, that Jerry had definitely meant to kill him. It was the same as before: the man had run out of ammunition. That was the fatal flaw in using lightly armed shock troops such as these paratroopers. Victory needed to come swiftly and decisively or they would lose. A soldier without ammunition could not win the fight.

Tanner began to chuckle but it hurt his throat so he stopped. Perhaps, he thought, they really would hold onto Crete after all. We bloody well will if I’ve got anything to do with it.

Oberleutnant Balthasar ran down the street, turned left, then left again, spotted two German bodies in the middle of the road and, to his relief, managed to salvage three magazines and a spare clip for his Sauer. He was just moving off again when two rifle shots snapped at the far end of the road, the bullets coming worryingly close. Scurrying into the shadows he was relieved to hear return fire, a two-second burst of a machine-pistol, from the junction of another narrow street. Crouch-running towards the sound, he clamped a new magazine into his MP40, fired a short burst and joined the others.

‘Good to see you, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Rohde. ‘I thought they’d got you.’

‘They will never get me, Unteroffizier,’ Balthasar replied. ‘I am indestructible, didn’t you know? Now, let’s move.’ He hoped he still sounded calm, that he was hiding the rage and disappointment he felt. The attack had failed, he knew that now. All that effort, all those good men lost – two in that house and many more in the attack. All that ammunition spent too, and for nothing! Good God, he regretted not killing that Tommy. How had he let him get away? It was the same man, he was sure of it. Balthasar cursed. He had believed they could do it, and they nearly had, but with the Tommies counter-attacking they had never had a chance – they had had neither the men nor the ammunition.

Safely reaching the town walls, they found they were not alone. Other paratroopers had been pushed back. Furious firing was still going on around the main gate, and Balthasar led his men there, pausing by every dead body, German or Greek, to hunt for spare ammunition. They might be falling back, but Balthasar intended to take as many of the enemy with him as he could.

10.05 p.m. Still dazed, Tanner had been about to step back into the house when he heard Sykes call him. ‘I’m here, Stan,’ he rasped.

‘Bloody ’ell, sir, are you all right?’

Tanner rubbed his neck. ‘A bit of fisticuffs with an irate Jerry, but I’ll live.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Scarpered.’ Something caught Tanner’s eye, glinting in the moonlight, and he bent to pick up the German’s knife.

‘What’s that? A memento?’ asked Sykes.

‘Yes. That bastard just tried to shove it into my chest. Could come in handy, though, eh?’ He patted Sykes on the back. ‘Come on, Stan, we’d be better get a bloody move on.’

Back in the street, Tanner found Lieutenant Liddell with Vaughan and Alopex.

‘There you are, Tanner,’ said Vaughan. ‘House secure and nothing more up this street. I’ve sent a few on ahead.’

‘Those Jerries are running out of ammunition, sir,’ said Tanner, huskily. ‘Time to press home the advantage.’

‘Come on, then,’ said Alopex.

They moved forward, the platoon split into sections once more, staggered at either side of the road. A short way on, Alopex led them off to the right. They could hear fighting to the west. ‘They’re at the Canea Gate,’ he muttered, quickening his step. A few minutes later, and having passed a burning house and a number of dead, they reached Plastira, the road that ran along the walls. Thirty yards to their right, men were firing towards the gate. From back down the street, muzzle flashes shone like fireflies, the sound of small arms echoing sharply within the narrow confines. The platoon hurried forward and Tanner saw a British soldier and a Cretan andarte step out into the moonlight and fire.

Sykes led a section of men across the road, firing as they went, and when Tanner had reached the next junction he was firing too. Bullets ricocheted nearby, and he stepped into the shadows.

‘Who’s this just arrived?’ said a voice Tanner recognized as Pendlebury’s.

‘It’s us, John,’ said Vaughan. ‘We’ve got them running, then?’

‘It would seem so,’ said Pendlebury. ‘One last push is all it needs. Some kind of charge, perhaps.’

Peploe was now beside Tanner. ‘You made it, Jack,’ he said. ‘Much fighting?’

‘A bit, sir. We lost three men – Webster, Jones and Mallerby. And you?’

‘Half a dozen, I’m afraid, and three wounded.’

‘Peploe?’ said Pendlebury. ‘I think we should storm the gate. What d’you say?’

‘All right,’ said Peploe. ‘Straight down this road?’

‘What about one group down the road,’ suggested Tanner, ‘and another on the walls? Can we get up there?’

‘Yes,’ said Pendlebury, ‘just a short distance back the wall’s crumbled so it’s easy enough to climb up. And what about flares? Have you got any more, Tanner?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘As have I,’ said Peploe.

‘Excellent. Captain, why don’t you and some of your men head onto the wall, then? When you’re up there, give us a signal and we’ll make our move.’

Peploe took 1 Platoon. Bullets followed them as they crossed the road, each man flitting briefly through the moonlight, but they all made it and hurried down the road, hugging the wall. The stench of blood and sulphur was still strong where vicious fighting had taken place earlier. Tanner nearly tripped over a corpse, but they found the gap and carefully climbed up onto the battlements and cautiously moved forward until they were level with Pendlebury, his guerrillas and the rest of 2 Platoon on the ground.

Tanner gave a low whistle, then took out his flare pistol and fired a shot into the air. The flare exploded almost directly over the gate. It was the signal the men below needed, and Tanner watched as Pendlebury’s mixed force ran down the street, the captain himself emerging into the moonlight, waving a sword above his head.

‘Is that what I think it is, sir?’ he asked Peploe.

‘His swordstick,’ said Peploe. ‘He says it’s excellent for killing parachutists.’

‘Jesus,’ said Tanner.