and have a look, will you?’ Cle disappeared into the cabin and the skipper cursed again. ‘Damn and buggeration! It’s the bloody cylinder head.’ He glanced at Peploe and Tanner. ‘They’re old, that’s the trouble, and we’ve been pushing them too hard.’
Cle emerged some minutes later. ‘She’s not good. We’re very low on oil.’
‘Should we shut her down?’
‘No, let’s keep going. We should be all right, but we’re going to need more oil.’
Eventually they made it, easing into the tiny harbour with its long, protective breakwater. Wearily, the men clambered out of the dinghies and lifeboats and up onto the quayside. They looked a motley bunch after their time in the water – many were without boots or any kit. Several guerrillas were waiting and eyed them with barely concealed contempt. Pushing past the men, a couple of the Cretans jumped down onto the boat and began shifting crates and boxes onto the quay, while two others loaded them onto a waiting cart.
The men, still shaken from their traumatic experience earlier, stood about helplessly, then began to sit down where they were, or drifted away to a wall across the road.
‘This is no good,’ said Peploe, to Tanner and McDonald. He rubbed his brow.
They watched Cle and Mike Cumberlege talking with a Cretan, pointing to the caique, then all three jumped back on board and disappeared into the cabin. Hammond and Vaughan were helping with the boxes of supplies, but the task was quickly finished. Seeing Peploe, Hammond called, ‘Let me find out what’s going on.’
He emerged a short while later with Commander Cumberlege and Vaughan, and all three joined Peploe on the quayside.
‘The crack is bad but it should still function. We’re hoping we can get some oil and then we’ll give it another go tonight,’ said Hammond.
‘What are the chances of reaching Egypt?’ asked Peploe.
Mike Cumberlege sighed and fingered his earring. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the engine’s losing oil. It’ll splutter and cough and complain like hell, but it should keep going so long as we can keep topping it up. If we can find some spare, then we should be all right. Otherwise the engine will seize. Trouble is, we can’t mend the cylinder head here. There are neither the parts nor the tools.’
‘Will the number of people you take make a difference to the performance of the engine?’ Peploe asked.
‘If we overload the boat, it’ll put a greater strain on it. We won’t be carrying the supplies, but even so.’ He tugged at his earring again. ‘But I still think that if we can get some oil, we could tow the lifeboats tonight. If we’re lucky we’ll get around to the south coast. Maybe we can find another boat.’
‘Realistically,’ said Peploe, ‘how many could you take?’
‘Twenty-five, perhaps thirty. Plus those in the lifeboats.’
‘So we’re a dozen too many.’
‘Look, let me talk to the men,’ said Hammond. He called them to gather around him. When they had done so, he briefly scanned the sky, then said, ‘The caique needs oil. We’re going to try and find some, and if we get it, we should be able to keep going. Commander Cumberlege will hopefully leave here at dusk. He’s willing to tow the lifeboats. It may well be that we find another boat – we’re going to skirt close to the shore – but we’ll definitely have to moor up again tomorrow even if the boat does make it around the island to the south coast.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Or you may feel you have a better chance simply heading off on foot and trying to find a boat on the south coast. There’s room for seventy men at a push. Have a think. I’m not going to order you to do anything.’
Peploe immediately called over McDonald, Tanner and Lieutenant Timmins. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t fancy our chances on that boat,’ said McDonald. ‘The skies will be full of Jerries and running adrift halfway to Alex doesn’t sound like fun.’
‘I must say it doesn’t appeal to me much, either,’ said Timmins.
‘Jack?’ asked Peploe.
‘The more men on that boat, the less chance she’s got of making it, and that’s only if they scrounge enough oil. And a cracked cylinder head means it’ll burn the stuff like there’s no tomorrow. But the colonel’s right – there shouldn’t be too many Jerries around inland for a day or so. That boat might pack up at any moment, but I know for certain how fast I can walk. And if I’m honest, sir, I’ve always been a bit of a landlubber. But we should split up. No disrespect, but I don’t want lots of unarmed navy boys following me across the island. Small groups have got a better chance of moving without detection.’
Peploe nodded. ‘Good point.’
‘And we’ve got an even better chance if we stick with Captain Vaughan and the
‘I’m with Tanner, sir,’ said McDonald.
‘Timmins?’ said Peploe.
‘Me too.’
‘And I’d like to get going now, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘I don’t want to wait a day here. What if Jerry does turn up?’
Peploe smiled ruefully. ‘Let me talk to Captain Vaughan.’
Twenty-two Rangers had survived the sinking of
‘We can’t abandon him,’ Peploe said, ‘not when he’s unable to make the choice.’ But he knew that for Tanner there was more to it than that. Everyone else chose to stay with the boat.
As they climbed out of the village, Tanner paused and looked back. Men were still dotted around the quayside, a long day’s wait ahead of them. He glanced at the mountains away to the south and the giant Ida range looming in the distance, and wondered briefly whether they had made the right decision.
But then he thought of Alopex and the humiliation of this latest defeat. There was still a score to settle, and now, back on Crete, he had a chance to put that right.
16
A little after ten that morning, Oberleutnant Kurt Balthasar stood with the rest of the men of the 3rd Battalion on the edge of the airfield at Heraklion, watching the first Luftwaffe transports come in to land. The men all cheered and waved, raising their rifles and MP40s above their heads.
Balthasar could still barely get used to the idea. What an incredible turnaround it had been! Just a week earlier, he had been plunged into deep despair, racked with illness and facing defeat. But in seven days their fortunes had been transformed. The battle was won, and the whole of the Orion sector was theirs. He looked out at the sea, twinkling in the late May heat beyond the airfield, then watched the Tante Jus, propellers whirling, as they taxied away from the runway, orange dust swirling. As the first switched off its engines, the paratroopers hurried towards it, ready to help unload. On board there were more arms, ammunition, rations and medical supplies, while also due to arrive that day were much-needed reinforcements of men: the building blocks that would enable them to establish a new garrison in the centre of the island.
Later Major Schulz led them to Heraklion, the town in which they had fought such a bitter battle. On the way, they crossed the former British lines, littered with ammunition boxes, uneaten rations and other items of kit. The men took what they could, then continued on their way, singing as they went.
Sullen faces and rubble greeted them; and so did the stench of death. Balthasar spent much of the day with his dampened handkerchief over his face. There was much to be done, not least the disarming of the many Greek troops in the town, who had formally surrendered and were then put to work clearing the rubble, so that paths at least could be made through the tight web of roads that ran through the town. Later, they were to be corralled in the bastions until they could be shipped to the mainland, then on to the Reich.
Aircraft were still regularly flying in as Balthasar received a message to join Major Schulz at Oberst Brauer’s new headquarters in the Megaron, a large and imposing building overlooking the harbour and the Sabbionera Bastion. Already flying over the building – albeit hanging limply in the sultry late-afternoon air – was the red, white
