and boxes of magazines.
The machine-guns were placed in the cart beside Lieutenant Liddell, and much of the rest was divided between the men, to the annoyance of the Cretans, who remonstrated with Vaughan.
‘They think their own men should have the weapons,’ Vaughan explained to Peploe.
‘But we need to defend ourselves too,’ Peploe replied. ‘Finders keepers.’
‘That’s what I told them,’ said Vaughan. ‘They can have what you don’t need, but they’re particularly anxious to have the Schmeissers.’
‘Tell them they can have six – half of them. I don’t know why they’re so annoyed. It’s an entirely unexpected cache.’
As the men slung rifles and sub-machine-guns over their shoulders, they began moving again, the Cretans slapping the rump of the mule and the wooden wheels squeaking.
‘I have some sympathy for them, actually,’ said Vaughan. ‘Cairo told us to arm and prepare these men, but we’ve had very little help. This arms stash we’ve been trying to move – Pendlebury built it up over months. We could only get it in the first place by saying it was for 50 ME Commando. So then it was stored on Suda Island, and over the past few months we’ve been bringing it down and distributing it bit by bit.’
‘And Commander Cumberlege has been helping you?’
‘Yes – in those bloody useless ancient caiques. We’ve asked repeatedly for a couple of MTBs, but needless to say we were sent nothing of the sort.’ He slapped the back of his neck as a fly buzzed around him. ‘These people are still woefully underarmed. They’re full of fire and determination to keep up the fight but, really, I’m not at all sure how they’re going to be able to manage it.’
‘I don’t blame them for being angry with us, sir,’ said Tanner, now walking alongside them. ‘I reckon I would be too if I’d been left in the lurch by my ally.’
‘Yesterday evening Satanas came to see me in Heraklion,’ said Vaughan. ‘Suddenly there he was, bandoliers crossed over his chest. He guessed about the evacuation – he’d seen some of the men packing up and destroying their guns, and so he came to me to ask me when it would be. It pained him to see us destroying equipment and he suggested we might leave our weapons and any ammunition we had. Well, I couldn’t help him, so I took him to Brigade HQ. They were still frantically packing up when we got there, but we found the brigadier.’
‘How was he?’ asked Peploe.
‘A bit sheepish, as you can imagine. But Satanas just put his hand on Chappel’s shoulder and said, “I know you are leaving tonight. It is all right. You will come back when you can. But, please, leave us as many rifles and weapons as you can so that we might continue the fight until you return.” I thought the brigadier was going to start blubbing – he was really moved, and told everyone to hand over all they had there. It was quite a stash, in fact. We got a cart and then Satanas and his men left. His magnanimity was quite astonishing.’
‘It’s always more effective than hurling insults,’ said Peploe.
Vaughan chuckled. ‘If you’re thinking of Alopex, remember, he’s a lot younger. Satanas has lived for ever. Age has made him wise. But Alopex is a wily operator. He’s not called Alopex for nothing.’
‘Why, sir? What does it mean?’ asked Tanner.
‘The Fox,’ said Vaughan. ‘His real name is Giorgis Kristannos.’
‘The Fox.’ Tanner smiled. ‘Well, well.’
Not long after that they stopped for a rest, lying up in a sheltered grove by a stream. They would soon be nearing the main road that led from Heraklion, past Knossos and down towards the south of the island. Around eight miles beyond that there was another of the island’s main roads, which linked the north to the south. Any of these, it was agreed, would be better crossed at night. Rations were passed around, watches posted and then the rest settled down to sleep.
Tanner found a patch of soft grass at the foot of an olive tree and, with a lit cigarette between his lips, got to work on his rifle. His oiler and small phial of gin had survived his time in the sea, and he soon had his trusted Lee Enfield cleaned, oiled and working in perfect condition. He also stripped and cleaned his MP40 and, satisfied that he was once again armed and able to defend himself properly, lay down. Cicadas were clicking and chirruping loudly, and for a minute he watched a small lizard scuttle up the bark of the tree. He never liked to think too far ahead, but he realized he had no idea at all of what now lay in store. He was still wondering whether they would ever get off the island when he fell into a deep and restful sleep.
Oberleutnant Balthasar was beginning to think he would not even have to interrogate any of the Greek soldiers now being held as prisoners of war. At first light, with two dozen of his men and a Greek officer coerced into the role of interpreter, he had led them up towards the Canea Gate, then chosen a set of apartments that appeared to be inhabited. Forcing down the door, they had hurried inside, gone up the staircase and rapped hard on the first door they had come to.
A middle-aged man with greying hair, wearing nothing more than a vest and a hastily put on pair of trousers, had opened the door. Balthasar and half a dozen of his men had barged in, then pushed on through into the flat. Moments later a screaming woman and a kicking teenage girl had been dragged out into the hallway.
When the interpreter began to translate, Balthasar silenced him. ‘Yes, yes, I think I get the meaning,’ he said. He had learned many years before, during his time in the SS, that the ability to cause fear was a powerful weapon. It had been a useful tool in Belgium and France too. He had developed three rules in such matters. The first was to try to gain surprise – the loud knock on the door, the sudden shouting – which startled people and threw them mentally off balance. Balthasar also knew that such behaviour showed his confidence in his strength and authority. His second rule was to instruct his men to continue to bark orders at the suspects, while he would fix them with an unwavering stare and speak slowly and clearly, as he did now.
‘We are looking for men who fought against us at the Canea Gate on the evening of May the twentieth,’ he said.
The interpreter repeated the words. The man gabbled, then held his hands together as if in prayer.
‘He says he was not there,’ said the Greek officer. ‘He heard the fighting but he kept indoors, trying to protect his family.’
‘Search the apartment,’ said Balthasar.
His men did so, noisily, clumsily, without regard for the family’s belongings. They found nothing – no guns, at any rate. That did not matter, as Balthasar was well aware.
‘I want the names of anyone who fought that night, or who has fought with the British and guerrillas here.’
The man again replied that he did not know. The daughter was crying, and his eyes were darting about with horror at his defencelessness. Balthasar walked up to him and, just inches from the man’s face, glared at him with unblinking eyes.
‘I know you know,’ he said. ‘I just want names and where I can find them,’ he snapped.
The man shook his head, desperation on his face.
‘He insists he knows no one,’ said the Greek officer.
Balthasar calmly took out his pistol, extended his arm and pointed it at the man’s daughter. ‘Tell him,’ he said, ‘that if he does not give me some names I will shoot first his daughter and then his wife.’ This was his third rule: the threat of extreme violence, preferably not to the man being questioned but to a wife or child.
The interpreter did as he was told, causing more panicked glances from the man and renewed wailing from the wife. The daughter stared at him and then spat.
‘Tell him to hurry,’ said Balthasar. ‘I am losing patience.’ He moved closer to the girl, pointing his pistol to the side of her head. The man trembled and Balthasar saw a dark stain appear at his crotch.
‘One,’ said Balthasar, ‘two …’
The man blurted out a name.
‘And an address,’ said Balthasar.
The man mumbled it, then collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Balthasar nodded to his men to let the women go and they rushed to the man, wailing with fear and distress.
‘Well, that was easy,’ said Balthasar. ‘Let us go and find Herr Mandoukis.’
Mandoukis lived beyond the town walls in an old stone house with a terracotta roof in what had once been an
