Blood of Honour

middle man’s shoulder, before making a third plunge into the left-hand man’s heart. Three seconds, three men. All dead.

But it had not been an entirely silent killing, and he could hear voices now, calling out. ‘Was ist los?’ said someone, Tanner guessed perhaps thirty yards away.

‘Nichts,’ he called back. ‘Alles ist gut.’ Then, breathing heavily, he moved back out of sight, the branches and long grass closing around him.

A shot rang out, not from the enemy but from one of his own men. ‘Damn it!’ he cursed. In moments, a volley of rifle fire replied, and now there were shouts from beyond, from the direction of the river. More shots, both rifle and sub-machine-gun fire.

‘Jesus!’ muttered Tanner, now crouch-running through the olives. Through a gap in the trees he saw the river, then Pendlebury dashing through the water and running into a vineyard beyond. No, no, no!

‘Fall back! Fall back!’ he now heard Liddell call out. A new and violent rage overtook Tanner. Bullets were snipping through the olives as he slid down beside the lieutenant.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he spat at Liddell.

‘We’ve got to fall back,’ stammered Liddell. ‘We can’t hold on here!’

‘Don’t fall back!’ Tanner called. ‘Let ’em have it!’

‘Fall back!’ Liddell shouted again. ‘That’s an order!’

More bullets were scything through the branches. Tanner glanced at Liddell. Then, clenching his fist, he drove it into the lieutenant’s temple. Liddell looked at him wide-eyed, then collapsed unconscious on the ground.

‘Liddell down!’ called Tanner, and took back his rifle. ‘Is everyone OK? Keep firing! Just keep bloody firing!

‘Damn it!’ he cursed again. Then he took out two grenades, pulled the pin on one, hurled it in the direction of the second lot of pickets, and crouch-ran towards the edge of the bend in the river. From the cover of the grove, Bell and McAllister were firing furiously at the men moving forward from the south along the river. Tanner pulled the pin of his other grenade, briefly stood and hurled the bomb across the river. Someone cried out as it exploded, but then Bell said, ‘Look, sir! There’s the captain!’

Tanner saw him in the same instant. He was running through a vineyard, but paratroopers were moving in from his right, firing their Schmeissers and rifles. They watched him fall, and Tanner brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Frantically pulling back the bolt, he fired again, and then again, and again, ten rounds in rapid succession. He saw several men fall while, near him, McAllister and Bell were also firing. As he fumbled in his pack for more clips, he saw Pendlebury get to his feet again, his revolver in his hand. The captain fired, loosing off his entire chamber. Three men fell but as Pendlebury tried to fire, his chamber now empty, a bullet struck him in the chest. He staggered and fell backwards.

Tanner pressed the catch on his magazine, pulled it out and reloaded with two more clips. Men hurried towards Pendlebury and Tanner fired again. He saw another man fall. The paratroopers around Pendlebury dived to the ground, and Tanner angrily drove his fist into the earth.

But now Sykes was calling, ‘Atkins is down!’ Enemy fire was coming from the south, towards them.

‘How bad?’ Tanner called back.

‘He’s dead, sir.’

‘Leave him and fall back!’

He hurried back to Liddell. ‘Bugger it!’ he muttered. For a moment he considered leaving the lieutenant where he was – Christ, he’d be doing everyone a favour – but then he thought of Liddell’s father and the good deed that man had done him. ‘Damn and blast you, Liddell,’ he said, then slapped him hard around the face.

‘Sir, sir!’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got to move.’ Bullets continued to ping through the branches around them as the lieutenant stirred.

‘What happened?’ mumbled Liddell.

‘Sir, get up!’ Tanner hoisted him by the shoulders and slapped him again.

‘Argh, my head!’ groaned Liddell.

‘Sir, it’ll be more than your head if you don’t get a move on. Now, on your feet!’ A bullet zinged just inches from them, and Tanner felt for his last grenade, pulled the pin, and threw the bomb hard in the direction of the enemy fire. Liddell was now on his feet once more, crouching unsteadily.

‘Sir!’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s go!’

Liddell looked at him with glazed eyes but at last seemed to comprehend, and they hurried through the grove, the lieutenant veering wildly at first but quickly regaining his balance. Bullets continued to fly and Tanner cried out as a searing heat scorched his side. Grimacing with pain, he continued to run, aware that as they fled, they had the folds in the ground, the dense vegetation and their own speed to help them. If they were hit, Tanner convinced himself, it would be a lucky shot on the part of the Germans.

But, by God, he hurt. His side, his lungs – his mouth was dry as chalk. His heart pounded. Branches had whiplashed his face and arms, and he could feel the salt of his sweat stinging the scratches across his body. A machine-gun now opened up, its rapid fire cutting a swathe behind them. Christ – in moments it would have its range. Up ahead was the wrecked transport, and around it charred, blackened olive trees. Men were moving through the unscathed trees, the branches shaking as another drill of MG fire rang out. Had anyone other than Atkins been hit? Tanner could not tell.

He caught up with Liddell, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him hard away from the direction of the plane. ‘This way,’ he growled. Another burst of fire, this time to the left. Bullets tore across the corrugated-metal fuselage with a loud clatter. On they ran, moving in a wider arc. Tanner winced again, shoved Liddell forward, then vigorously shook the nearest tree and ran. Another burst of MG fire, bullets tearing into the wood and branches around them, but now they were behind the aircraft. Reaching safety at last, Tanner doubled up, hands on his knees, gasping and grimacing.

‘Sir, you’ve been hit,’ said McAllister.

Tanner looked up, his bloodied face glistening with sweat, and glared at Liddell. ‘Yes, but I’m alive, and Captain Pendlebury is not.’

Tanner was wrong. Pendlebury was alive. Oberleutnant Balthasar, whose men held the southern part of the ridge to the west of the town, had been incensed that enemy troops had infiltrated so far, but then, when a one- eyed English captain wearing Cretan dress had been brought before him, his mood had changed.

Balthasar had ordered that the man be taken to a farmhouse at the edge of the maize fields and there had told the elderly owners to give him a bed. He had detailed Gefreiter Reibert, one of only two medics to survive the jump, to treat the wound.

Half an hour later, Balthasar stood in the doorway of the bedroom watching Reibert tend him. The Englishman’s head lolled and he groaned. Reibert had ripped open his shirt, which lay crumpled by his side. A bullet had gone through his lower left lung and had exited his back. The man was pale, waxen, his brow feverish.

‘Well?’ said Balthasar, walking over and standing beside his prisoner. He saw the identity tags around his neck and pulled them off. A number and a name: Pendlebury, J.

‘He has lost a lot of blood, Herr Oberleutnant,’ Reibert replied, ‘and I am no surgeon.’

‘You’re a medic, though, Reibert. Make sure he lives. Is there anything you need?’

‘No – no, I have everything.’ He took out a syringe and a phial of morphine, tapped the end of the needle, then injected the wounded man. Balthasar looked around him. It was a simple, one-storey cottage, whitewashed stone walls, stone floor and rustic furniture.

‘Actually, Herr Oberleutnant, perhaps some warm water …’

Balthasar turned to the Cretan couple, watching anxiously from the kitchen. ‘Nero,’ he demanded. ‘Nero zesto!’

The old man muttered something to his wife, then put a few more twigs on the fire. As he did so, the woman filled a blackened earthenware pot from a ewer of water and hung it above the fire. Balthasar nodded his thanks. These people. They were peasants, stuck in a different age.

When the water had warmed, Reibert carried it through, took off the already bloodied bandages, bathed the wound, cleaned it, stitched the bullet hole on both sides, then applied more bandages.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Reibert, ‘why is it so important to keep this man alive?’