with his Stukas and his Spandaus and we piss off again. What makes you think this place’ll be any different?’
‘It’s an island. And it’s got lots of sodding mountains all over it.’
Tanner was quiet.
‘It’s not like Greece,’ Sykes continued, ‘where they could come down through Yugoslavia. It’s not like France either, or Norway for that matter. Where are they going to get all their ships from to bring their troops? And, anyway, we’ve still got the navy, haven’t we? They’ve got to get past them, and then actually land. And you can’t tell me they can possibly hope to win by dropping parachute troops. They’re sitting ducks when they come down. We’ll slaughter ’em.’
‘Maybe. I’m just sick and bloody tired of always retreating. God knows who’s leading us in this sodding war. Bunch of goojars, the lot of them. Christ, we get here and what do we see? Lots of sunken ships, and then the bloody Luftwaffe come over –
‘Well, you got rid of one this morning.’
‘One. One sodding Jerry plane.’ He sighed. ‘Where are the bloody RAF? That’s what I want to know. We need planes. It’s crazy, Stan, bloody crazy. Everything’s so damned half-cock all the time.’
Sykes was about to reply but then turned to see Captain Peploe beside them with one of the ship’s sub- lieutenants. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, scrambling to his feet.
Peploe smiled affably. ‘This is Lieutenant Jewett. Lieutenant: CSM Tanner and Sergeant Sykes.’
Tanner and Sykes saluted.
‘At ease, chaps,’ said Peploe, then glanced back at the fading horizon. ‘What a beautiful part of the world this is,’ he said.
‘Bleedin’ lovely, innit?’ said Sykes. ‘It’ll be nice coming out here once the war’s done with.’
‘I agree,’ said Peploe, then patted the sides of his legs. ‘Anyway.’ He paused, looked at Lieutenant Jewett, then back to Tanner. ‘Jack, the captain wants to see you.’
‘Me?’ said Tanner. ‘Why, sir?’
‘Either to tear you off a strip for firing his pompom without the required authority, or to thank you for saving his ship. Hopefully the latter.’
Lieutenant Jewett laughed. ‘This way,’ he said.
Tanner and Peploe followed him, past Y and X Guns, past the pompom gun deck, now fully manned once more, and to the centre part of the ship known as the waist. Up a metal stairway, onto the fo’c’sle, and then up another ladder and onto the bridge, which looked down over the bow and the two forward guns, A and B.
They found the captain outside on the bridge, leaning against the parapet above B Gun on the fo’c’sle, a pair of large binoculars to his eyes. Tanner gazed at the array of voice tubes, high seats, wires and boxes bolted against the iron turret. It was a world with which he was totally unfamiliar. Two other officers were there, also staring through their binoculars. The position commanded a superb view out across the fo’c’sle and bow; it seemed higher up there than it really was, and the ship bigger. Away to their right, the silent mass of Crete lurked, its jagged peaks sharply defined against the fading sky. A chill was just beginning to settle, helped by a light breeze from across the inky Aegean.
‘CSM Tanner, sir,’ said Jewett.
The captain lowered his binoculars and turned to face his visitors. Lieutenant Commander Cross was, Tanner guessed, in his early thirties, his brow already lined, as well it might be. Immaculately dressed, despite the day’s events, he had a thin, intelligent face. Tanner saluted, but Cross waved down such formality, and instead held out his hand.
‘Thank you for coming up here,’ he said, as he gripped Tanner’s. ‘We owe you our thanks. That was a fine bit of shooting.’
‘It was a lucky shot, sir. If anything, it was more down to you. The ship moved at just the right moment.’
Cross smiled. ‘Well, it was a brave thing to do, all the same.’
‘Thank you, sir, but the braver man is the one who has to take what Jerry throws at him and isn’t able to hit back.’
Cross turned to Peploe. ‘Is he always this modest?’
‘It’s a trait we like to encourage in the Rangers.’
Cross chuckled, then pointed to Tanner’s battledress. Next to the Indian General Service ribbon was stitched the blue, white and red of the Military Medal and the red, blue and red of the Distinguished Conduct Medal. ‘I see you’ve been in the thick of it before, CSM.’
‘A little bit, sir.’
‘And been rewarded for your efforts.’
Tanner shrugged. He had always been rather ambivalent about medals. ‘It’s nice to be given them, I suppose,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure you’ll agree, sir, that there are many brave men who are never given a thing, and a fair few who are given gongs they don’t deserve.’
Cross nodded. He wore the ribbon of the DSO himself. ‘True. And medals do mark a man, and that can be a double-edged sword. It gains you the respect of some, but resentment in others. My father, Tanner, won a VC in the last war. He always reckoned it was something of a curse.’ He rubbed his chin, then added, ‘In any case, medals are pointless if you lose.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, sir.’
‘And, let’s face it, things are not quite going to plan at the moment, are they?’ He frowned then smiled once more. ‘And what do you think of our ship, Tanner?’
‘She’s a fine one, sir.’
‘Yes, she is, but destroyers were designed to counteract the threat of torpedoes from either torpedo boats or submarines. They were not designed to defeat a heavy attack from the air. We have depth-charges and our own torpedoes, and our guns can make mincemeat of E-boats and U-boats, given half the chance, but against dive- bombers, the 4.7s are too slow. It doesn’t help that they’re centrally fired, either.’
‘I can see that, sir. Can’t you get more pompoms put on?’
‘I wish I could, Tanner. But what we need more than pompoms are aircraft. This war has shown us that a navy cannot operate effectively without strong aerial support. The two need to work in tandem. Unfortunately, these evacuations put a great strain on us. We’ve managed to get most of you chaps off this time, but I hope we won’t be asked to do it again for a while.’
‘You mean an evacuation of Crete, sir?’ said Peploe.
Cross looked out towards the island, now no more than a dark silhouette, only just discernible. ‘Crete or Malta. I’d have thought it would be hard for Jerry attacking an island rather than coming straight down through the mainland, but if Hitler does decide to have a go, you lot need to make sure you hold on to these islands. I’m not saying we can’t get you away again, but it is important to be realistic – to be clear about the situation here. We’ve lost a lot of ships this year and particularly in the last few days. If we lose too many more, the Mediterranean Fleet is going to be good for very little.’
‘And without the fleet,’ said Peploe, ‘Jerry can get his supplies to North Africa without much interference.’
Cross nodded. ‘So you see,’ he said, ‘it’s vital that you don’t lose Crete. Absolutely vital.’
Before Tanner and Peploe had left the bridge, Cross had apologized for speaking so frankly. It had been a long few days, he explained; he and his men were tired, and it was sometimes hard to keep spirits high when their ship had a gaping hole in the deck and too many good men had been killed.
‘Probably best to keep that chat to ourselves, though,’ said Peploe, as they stepped back down onto the fo’c’sle.
‘Of course, sir,’ said Tanner. Yet Cross had been saying nothing that Tanner did not feel himself, and when Peploe told him he was heading down to the wardroom, Tanner decided to step back up to the fo’c’sle, rather than rejoin Sykes and the others from the company.
A sinking feeling had been weighing him down ever since they had heard of the German invasion of Greece through Yugoslavia more than three weeks earlier. It was something he seemed unable to shake off, and it was making him sullen and irritable, affecting his ability to do his job within the company. It was defeat that was causing this black mood. Defeat – it was like a cancer, and Britain seemed unable to stop the rot. He sighed, then
