‘Those Jerries aren’t going to sit out there for ever, sir. After the bombardment this morning, something’s got to be brewing.’
Peploe nodded. ‘All right. How many men?’
‘Just Sergeant Sykes, sir. I want to check those booby traps we set.’
Five minutes later, they were on their way, Tanner glad to be doing something more interesting than watching a still landscape or shifting stone. At the goat shed they had moved up to the previous evening, they found the trip wire still in place.
‘We might dismantle that and the other two, Stan,’ Tanner told him, crouching beside the front of the shed.
‘Might?’
‘I want to see what’s up ahead first. You remember that escarpment Alopex mentioned?’
‘That far? Bloody ’ell, Jack, do we have to?’
‘Something’s up, I’m sure of it, and we need to find out what.’ They began taking a wide arc around the old house they had destroyed the previous night – Tanner did not want them to disturb any crows that might be feeding there and give themselves away. As they crouch-walked their way through a vineyard, something made Tanner stop and listen. A chink, a rustle.
He moved on to the edge of the vineyard, which stood on a shallow terrace. Below there was another row of vines and beyond a track. And along the track enemy paratroopers were moving, rifles and packs on their backs, Schmeissers in their hands. Tanner immediately withdrew into the vines.
‘Jerry,’ he whispered to Sykes. ‘Heading along a track about forty yards up ahead.’
‘How many?’
Tanner inched forward again. He counted one section and another. Then there was a gap but he could just see more moving in the same direction a little way to the right.
‘We need to get back and fetch reinforcements,’ he said, hastily pulling himself back into the cover of the vines.
‘Hold on a mo’, Jack,’ said Sykes. He delved first into his pack and pulled out a slab of TNT, then reached into his battle blouse and took out a small, thin metal detonator and a tin of safety fuse. He cut a short length of fuse, fixed it to the detonator, then plunged the latter into the block of TNT. ‘A home-made and very powerful hand grenade.’ He grinned.
Tanner smiled wryly. ‘What the hell? All right. You throw it and I’ll give them a quick spray.’
Sykes took out a box of matches, lit the fuse, then briefly stood up and hurled it in the direction of the men walking along the track. In the dusk he had not been spotted and Tanner briefly saw the startled reactions of the enemy as the missile fell between them, then opened fire with his Schmeisser, emptying an entire magazine and seeing men jerk and fall.
‘Go!’ he hissed at Sykes, and they were running through the vines. Wild shooting followed them, bullets snipping wide through the vines. A moment later the TNT exploded. Tanner was jolted and the ground shook. Men were screaming, bits of stone, earth and debris pattering on the vines behind them. A minute later they had crested the shallow ridge and were now running back towards their lines.
‘Jesus, what was that?’ said Peploe, who was waiting by the forward lines.
‘One of Sergeant Sykes’s speciality hand grenades, sir,’ Tanner breathlessly told him. ‘Those para boys are moving east – my guess is the whole lot of them. Listen, sir.’ They paused a moment. Above the evening sounds of insects, shooting could be heard to the south, occasionally bursts of rapid fire and isolated rifle shots.
‘Nothing from the west, sir. It’s quiet over there.’ He glanced at his watch. It was a little after half past eight and now almost dark. Only a faint glow hung on the horizon beyond the mountains. He adjusted his rifle on his shoulder purposefully, then hurried over to a half-empty ammunition box.
‘You think we should be attacking, Jack?’
‘Don’t you, sir?’ He spoke quickly. ‘If they’re moving east we should be attacking their flank. You know Jerry doesn’t like fighting at night. I’m only guessing, but I reckon they must be trying to concentrate their forces for a move on the airfield. Even if I’m wrong, there are still lots of Jerries out there and we should be laying into them. The colonel needs to get the whole battalion moving.’
Peploe bit at his thumbnail. ‘All right. I’ll run and talk to Old Man Vigar. Keep 4 Platoon here, manning the positions, but get the others ready to move out.’
Peploe returned a quarter of an hour later with the news that Colonel Vigar had authorized ‘patrols in force’ from B and D Companies.
‘He’s issued a start time of twenty-one thirty,’ said Peploe.
‘That’s another twenty-five minutes, sir.’
‘I know. But I think it’s safe for us to get going. I mean, he didn’t say we couldn’t.’ Peploe shrugged. Behind him men from 2 Platoon were already waiting in the olive grove, clearing throats, shuffling feet, adjusting belts and equipment.
‘I agree, sir. We should get on with it.’
‘Right, Jack,’ said Peploe. ‘Call the platoon commanders and sergeants together.’
Five minutes later they were all there, standing in a clearing in the olive grove by the forward positions: Liddell and Sykes from 1 Platoon, Lieutenant Timmins and Sergeant White from 2 Platoon, and Lieutenant Askew and Sergeant Butteridge from 3 Platoon. The moon was waning, but still half full, and with another dazzling sky of bright starlight, Crete was once again bathed in a milky monochrome light in which it was quite possible to distinguish features, landmarks and, in the open at any rate, moving men. To the south, rifle shots and small-arms fire continued to ring out intermittently.
‘You hear that?’ said Peploe. ‘That’s the Cretans doing their bit. With rifles and knives. We’ve got Brens, grenades, some captured Schmeissers. We can wreak havoc on the enemy tonight.’
He handed over to Tanner, who briefed them. They needed to clear the ridge, he told them, then move as quietly as possible further forward. As soon as anything was heard, they would fire flares and open up. ‘Keep pressing forward,’ he told them. ‘Work in your sections around the Bren. Move forward, set up, fire, move forward, set up, fire. They’ll be surprised and probably confused, so when we first let rip, we need to make it count.’ They were to advance in a ‘lazy L’ formation: 1 Platoon would lead, representing the horizontal line of the letter; 2 and 3 Platoons would follow at a right angle, the vertical line, so as not to offer too large a target for the enemy and to protect their flank. The three leading sections would be widely spaced, so that the advance covered about a two- hundred-yard front. ‘It’ll get confusing out there,’ he added. ‘There will be lots of noise, lots of tracer, and your eyes will have to adjust from bright flashes to the night light. It’ll be easy to get lost and disoriented, but white flares will show the forward line. A red flare will be the signal to halt. Tell your men to keep their heads. If they do their job and think calmly everyone will be fine.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Peploe. He looked at his watch. It was now just after nine. ‘We move off at twenty-one ten. And in addition to the red flare, I’ll blow my whistle when it’s time to withdraw. Good luck, everyone.’
While Peploe moved out on the corner of the L between 1 and 2 Platoons, Tanner joined 1 Platoon by the road. They moved quickly up to the ridgeline, then crested it and pressed on, cautiously making their way through the series of vineyards in the direction of the track where Tanner and Sykes had been earlier. Suddenly a machine- gun opened up only a short distance ahead and slightly to their right, a gurgle of bullets spitting into the night and tearing through the vines. Some men cried out, and Tanner grabbed a grenade from his pack, pulled the pin and hurled it in the direction of the muzzle flash. At the same time 3 Section’s Bren opened up with a steadier burst of fire.
Speed, Tanner knew, was now of the essence. ‘Move forward!’ he hissed and, pulling out his Very pistol, fired two flares, one after the other, which hissed through the air, crackling and shedding white magnesium light over the track and curving valley in front of them. A number of German paratroopers scurried into the vines and groves beyond, fleeing from the sudden light. All along the company’s line, rifles and Brens now opened fire as muzzle flashes and MG tracer responded. The noise was incredible, earnumbingly shrill and harsh, yet Tanner could still somehow make himself heard.
‘Up and forward!’ he yelled. The Brens stopped, and gasping, panting men were pressing forward through the vines, crouching as bullets scythed around them. Someone cried out on Tanner’s left, but there was no time to stop. Jumping from the terrace, they crossed the track, Tanner stumbling over a fallen German. A pause in the gunfire as both sides seemed to be moving, and then a German Spandau was firing again and the night was torn apart by the
