din of rifles and machine-guns, spots of muzzle flashes and the cries of men. Beside him the Bren hammered out another burst, and then they were off again, Tanner now conscious that the rear of the Villa Ariadne was to his left.
‘This way!’ he said, and as they reached the edge of the grounds, rifle shots and MG fire opened up from the side of the road. The enemy, Tanner realized, were trying to cross the road here and head towards the higher, more pronounced ridge overlooking Knossos, which the British had christened Apex Hill.
‘Down!’ he cried, as bullets tore towards them. He fired another flare, up over the road and, as it burst, he saw more enemy disappearing towards the ruins of Knossos. Beside him the Bren clattered, but then a number of bullets thumped, Lance Corporal Donnelly cried out and the Bren stopped firing.
‘Charlie’s been hit!’ Mercer called.
‘Someone take over the Bren!’ shouted McAllister, but Tanner had already grabbed it, firing off another burst, then clicking out the magazine and ramming another in its place.
He knew that the Germans by the road would have to make a dash for it or surrender. Handing the Bren to McAllister, he glanced around him, then saw Lieutenant Liddell bent over the wounded Donnelly, his hands clasped to his head in despair.
‘Stan,’ he said, his voice urgent, ‘we need to keep the men here for a moment. Look for some place where we can enfilade down towards the road. I’m going to find the captain.’
Tanner scurried through the vines, shouting for the captain so as not to be mistaken. The firing had lessened again, but just as suddenly the din of battle opened up away to their left, at the far side of the road beyond the ruins.
He hurried on, his breathing heavy. ‘Captain!’ he called again.
‘Here!’ from just a few yards ahead.
‘We should block the road, sir – try and wheel round. We can set up McAllister’s section at right angles to the road on the southern edge of the Villa Ariadne and pour enfilade fire at anyone trying to cross it. The escarpment Alopex told us about runs south-west from there. If we move round behind it, we can trap whatever Jerry troops are there.’
‘Yes, but we need to watch out behind us in case there are any more coming through from the west.’
‘Send another section back to cover the track below the ridge.’
‘Yes – good plan.’
Tanner ran back towards Sykes. The platoon was still holding a rough line extending through the vines from the corner of the Villa Ariadne grounds, but McAllister’s section had moved, as had Hepworth’s Bren. Ahead, one spat out a short burst, and following the sound, Tanner found Sykes and the others crouched behind a wall that marked the southern edge of the villa’s grounds and which overlooked the track leading to the road.
‘Good work, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘Make sure no one fires behind the flare line.’
‘Where are you going, sir?’
‘Back to the captain.’
Tanner rejoined Peploe, who fired another flare, then moved the men forward again. On his way down the shallow escarpment, Tanner saw shadowy figures flitting through the groves and fired a burst from his Schmeisser. Spandau fire erupted again, like a loud drumroll, rifles cracked and several muzzle flashes of sub-machinegun fire shone through the trees. Someone to his right cried out, another man swore. Tanner hurled two more grenades, and as they exploded a man screamed. ‘Keep moving forward!’ he shouted. The firing ahead of them died –
They reached the road soon after. Peploe fired a red flare and, as it lit up above them, shouted for his men to cease fire. Ahead, on Apex Hill beyond, fighting continued, but in their part of the valley, the shooting had stopped.
‘There it is,’ said Peploe, gazing towards the ruins, the columns and walls just discernible against the backdrop of the ridge beyond.
‘You’re getting closer, sir,’ said Tanner, beside him. Beads of sweat were running down his face, his heart was pounding and his ears were ringing. The air was so still again, every sound amplified, and despite the incredible cacophony of noise just minutes before, the cicadas and crickets were still chirruping.
‘I feel like Tantalus,’ Peploe muttered. ‘Every time I get near the place, something stops me reaching it.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘We should get the wounded back, then hold a line from here up to the ridge, don’t you think? There might be more still trying to work their way round.’
Both men had just turned when there was a sudden rustle nearby and a figure got up and began to run away from them through the olives.
‘Who’s there?’ Peploe called. He held out his revolver at arm’s length, fired a single shot, but the bullet and the figure were lost to the trees. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Can’t get ’em all. Good luck to him.’ A minute or so later, they heard a scream from the darkness to the south.
‘The Cretans don’t share your forgiving nature, sir,’ muttered Tanner.
B Company had done all they could. Beyond, over Apex Hill, was D Company’s area of operations, so Peploe sent Lieutenant Liddell back with the wounded, and organized the rest of the men into a rough line extending from the Bren position overlooking the road back up to the ridge, watching for any further enemy approach from the west.
None came. Six hours later, Tanner sat with Peploe at the edge of a vineyard near the ridge, watching the first streaks of light appear behind Apex Hill, the long ridge that extended south and overlooked the Knossos valley.
‘Sir?’ said Tanner. ‘I’ve got an idea.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Come on, sir.’
Peploe followed as Tanner led them back down the line, past shredded vines and trampled grass, and by the bodies of German paratroopers killed in the night. There was a stillness over the battlefield, an eerie calm. As they reached the road, they waved to Sykes and McAllister, smoking cigarettes and still manning one of the Brens. Like all the men, they looked exhausted, shirts and jackets filthy, their faces caked in dust, oil and streaks of blood.
Tanner paused and nodded in the direction of the palace. ‘What could be a better way to see it, sir, than at dawn?’
Peploe smiled. ‘You know what? You’re right.’
They crossed the dusty road and took the track through the trees to the ruins. Painted columns, supporting great slabs of flat roof in places, rose from the ground. They stepped between half-ruined walls, across what had once been the rooms of a giant palace – Peploe was entranced – and then a large open courtyard spread before them. Leading from this was a set of wide steps, which Tanner climbed. At the top, he stopped, sat down and gazed up at Apex Hill. Birds were singing their dawn chorus, a mixture of melodious song and strange whistling calls; the air was crisp and clear, the smell of cordite, blood and sweat replaced by something purer and softer. Around the site, a blanket of firs and olives stretched up towards the ridge, and Tanner breathed in deeply, fatigue sweeping over him like a draped cloak.
He lit a cigarette as Peploe joined him at the top of the steps. An orange glimmer appeared over the crest of Apex Hill, gradually rising before their eyes and bathing first the ridge and then the whole valley in a wash of glorious, uplifting light. Tanner closed his eyes, letting the morning sun’s rays warm his face.
‘You were right, Jack,’ said Peploe. ‘This is the perfect way to see it.’ He took out his hip flask, had a swig, then passed it to Tanner. They were silent for a moment, then Peploe said, ‘Do you think we did enough last night?’
Tanner shrugged. ‘God knows.’ He drew on his cigarette, not wishing to say what he really believed – what he hardly dared admit to himself: that it had been too little too late. That, once again, they were going to lose.
