farmstead of some kind, he supposed. It was from around there, just the other side of the ridge, that the flare had been fired. How far? Half a mile, maybe as much as a thousand yards. Just out of rifle range. And there would be the Germans’ forward positions, with pickets sent to keep watch, just as he was watching them.
Tanner had been hoping for movement, but had seen little sign of life, apart from a brief moment when the sun had caught some glass and a blinding glint had twinkled from an olive grove. A paratrooper looking back at him, he guessed. At least now he had some definite markers. He knew the Cretans had been out scalp-hunting in the night, but his thoughts now were of patrolling at dusk, assuming the enemy did not try anything in the meantime. Certainly, there were few indicators to suggest they would: the morning hate had been no worse than normal, and the Aegean looked calm and untroubled, no sign of any German armada steaming over the horizon towards them.
Down below, burial parties were clearing away the dead from the previous evening, a grim task that was now the responsibility of B Company since they had been detailed to cover the Canea Gate and the bastion. It was a measure designed to ease the load on the Greek battalions, now back in position at either side of them. ‘To buck them up a bit,’ was apparently what Colonel Vigar had told Peploe. The rest of the battalion had returned to their positions astride the Knossos road. A cart of bodies was now rumbling through the gate itself and out to a pit that had been dug at the edge of town, a task overseen by Lieutenant Liddell. It was funny, Tanner reflected, how different things were now. When he was a child, the Liddells had been treated like royalty in their village. David Liddell had been a respected man, squire of the parish. Tanner had been taught not to speak to any of the Liddells unless spoken to; he’d not liked that even then, but it had been the way of things. It had existed for centuries, the huge chasm between landowner and the families who worked for him.
The war was changing that. Second Lieutenant Liddell might be an officer and therefore still his superior, but the men knew that the CSM ran the company with the company commander. That was also the way of things. The men respected and looked up to him, he knew, something he had earned. The war was turning civilians into soldiers – men like Liddell and even Captain Peploe, who in peacetime would never have worn a uniform. And they were seeing that those from the lower classes were not necessarily another man’s inferior. War was levelling the social divide. As Tanner was aware, his own natural authority and his proven abilities in battle had shown that a man like Guy Liddell was not his better any more.
Early afternoon, in a quiet street near the harbour. They were in a small Venetian townhouse, two storeys high, in a room on the first floor with white walls, crammed bookcases, a few old prints, a desk and a couple of tatty armchairs. To the side of the desk, French windows led out onto a small balcony, from which the twinkling blue of the old harbour could be glimpsed. By the door stood a hatstand, over which was slung a Sam Browne belt, and an officer’s peaked cap, and beneath it, what at first glance appeared to be an ivory-handled cane but was, in fact, a swordstick.
Behind the desk sat John Pendlebury, leaning back in his swivel chair, smoking a cigarette, while the two armchairs were occupied by Satanas and Alopex, the former also smoking, but a long cheroot rather than a cigarette. Alex Vaughan was leaning against the French windows’ frame. A knock on the door, and in came Corporal Tasker-Brown, bearing a tray of small glasses and a bottle of raki. Pendlebury leaned forward to clear a space for the tray, rolling his glass eye in the process but neatly catching it as it tipped off the edge of the desk.
‘Damn eye,’ he said.
‘The patch is better,’ said Alopex. ‘It makes you look more fierce.’ He chuckled.
‘I wonder whether the Huns have worked out their little message yet,’ said Pendlebury, as he poured the raki.
‘What’s this?’ said Vaughan.
Pendlebury glanced across at Satanas and Alopex, with a smirk. ‘I wrote our friends a line from Herodotus,’ he said. ‘“Ravening a blood drinker though you may be, yet will I glut your taste for blood.”’ He raised his glass. ‘Your good health, gentlemen.’
‘And then we caught two of their sentries,’ grinned Alopex, ‘killed them, cut off their heads and left that note pinned to one of them.’
Satanas and Alopex chuckled.
‘For God’s sake,’ snapped Vaughan. ‘You’re as bad as them. Behaving like savages.’
‘They were already dead,’ said Pendlebury. ‘We’re trying to sow a sense of discord, of fear, among them.’
‘And the point of the Herodotus?’
‘It was said by Queen Tamaris when she cut off the head of King Cyrus. Cyrus and the Persians invaded her kingdom of the Massagetae. She captured him, executed him and returned his head in a sack.’
‘Invade our country and pay the price.’
‘Exactly. I think it sent a very clear message.’ Pendlebury pushed back his chair and ran his hands through his hair. ‘The maddening thing, though, is that we should be annihilating that mob out there. Tonight we should be finishing them off. Damn it all, we’ve got way more men than they have. We could storm their positions and be done with ’em. I’m no soldier, but I know my history, and that tells me one should always exploit success. “Don’t leave today what might cause rivers of blood tomorrow.”’
‘Our
Alopex stroked his moustache. ‘Then we would attack them from behind. The British could stay here, sitting on their arses. It would be our victory. A Cretan victory. Word would quickly spread. It would unite our people against the Nazi invader.’
Pendlebury leaned forward, thinking, his fingers drumming on the desk. Then he stood up. ‘Damn it – you know what? We should break out of here now. Go and tell the
‘Don’t be mad, John,’ said Vaughan. ‘If you must go, wait until dark.’
‘No. It’ll be too late then. We need to get them moving now, this afternoon, so that they can attack at dusk. Satanas and Alopex can head back to Sarhos and Krousonas, and I’ll break through to Gazi.’
‘But the Germans are to the west of the town,’ said Vaughan. ‘You’ll never get through.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Pendlebury, lighting another cigarette. ‘We drove to see Brigadier Chappel this morning and there are supposedly German paratroopers swarming around between here and there too. We never saw a single one and we were making no effort to hide.’
‘They probably moved in the night.’
‘Listen, Alex, I’ve been trying to work out how many paratroopers we have to the west of here, and I reckon at the absolute most – and it’s probably even a lot less than this – there cannot be more than three hundred. Three hundred, spread out along the reverse slopes of that ridge, is not very many. Are you really going to tell me I can’t sneak through with all that lovely natural cover? Course I can.’
‘If they see you, they’ll kill you. After what you did last night, I don’t suppose they’ll be in a very forgiving mood towards any of us,’ said Vaughan.
‘They won’t. I know these folds like the back of my hand. I can get through them, I know I can.’
‘This is madness, utter madness. It’s not a game. And you are no soldier. You’re a brilliant inspiration and a wonderful organizer, but you’ve barely done any fighting in your life. Let the army boys do their job, John.’
‘But they’re not, are they? You heard Brigadier Chappel this morning. A fine fellow, I have no doubt, but he wouldn’t even consider ordering a counter-attack. He just wants to sit and wait. Well, that’s no good. We need to strike now. I know I’m right.’ He looked at Satanas and Alopex for approval. Satanas tilted his head.
‘John, don’t. It’s a needless risk.’
‘Battles aren’t won without taking risks, Alex.’
‘Battles aren’t won taking needless, stupid risks.’
Pendlebury walked over to Vaughan and clasped him by the arms. ‘Alex. We need to do this. My mind is made up.’
