It had needed the authority of Oberst Brauer, but Balthasar had been given all that he had asked for: two platoons of mountain troops and, for transportation to the south, trucks from the divisional services. Furthermore, his own company was now some two hundred men strong. That meant it was approaching full strength again; more importantly, they were fully armed.
Now, at a little before half past four on the morning of Wednesday, 4 June, Balthasar was leading his men up the track that wound its way around the spurs that fed into the ravine. Below, in the gorge, and picking their way over the rocky slopes opposite, were the Gebirgsjager troops. The air was fresh and clear, the dawn light creeping slowly over the mountains from the east behind them. Up ahead, Balthasar could see the mouth of the gorge. Soon they would be there.
Darting figures on the track ahead caught his eye. Two guerrillas were running back up, and Balthasar smiled to himself at the ill-discipline of these sentries. A man paused, knelt and fired, but Balthasar signalled for his men to hold their own fire, then glanced across the ravine and saw that the mountain troops had almost reached the head of the gorge and were now picking their way past a small mountain shepherd’s house. Sheep, bleating anxiously, the bells around their necks ringing, scuttled clear of the men.
Balthasar now urged them forward, and ran up the last part of the winding track. The lip of the ravine was only a few hundred metres away. Mandoukis had told him the cave was to the right, behind the spur that led to the mouth of the gorge. And that was now not very far away at all.
The instant Tanner was awake, he had grabbed his rifle and pack and hurried to the little oak perched on the spur from which he could see down the mountain, aware that behind him both
McAllister was emerging with the MG34, Peploe urging him to hurry and take up a position at the head of the gorge.
‘We need sharpshooters and the MG,’ said Tanner, running over to the captain. ‘There are mountain troops swarming up the other side of the ravine. We just need to hold them up for a bit.’
‘You get up there and keep shooting, Tanner,’ said Peploe. ‘Satanas and Alopex are loading the cart.’
‘We haven’t got long, sir.’
‘I know, Tanner, I know.’
Tanner ran forward, met Sykes, and together they headed over to the mouth of the ravine. McAllister was already lying down between two rocks, the barrel of the Spandau poking between the two, hastily feeding in a belt of ammunition.
‘Come on, iggery, you two!’ Tanner shouted at Mercer and Hill, who were hurrying along with boxes of ammunition. As he found a rock from which to fire, he heard McAllister pull back the bolt on the MG, then open up. Several men cried out and collapsed on the track, as Tanner brought his own rifle into his shoulder and picked out another mountain trooper.
‘Short bursts, Mac!’ Tanner shouted out. He was worried not only about overheating the barrel but also about ammunition. ‘Keep your firing to an absolute minimum.’ Bullets were zipping around them, pinging off the rock, but the combination of rifle and MG fire was checking the advance of the paratroopers. Those on the track were hidden in the lee of a spur, while those picking their way across the rocks above had now taken cover. Tanner spotted one soldier emerge to take a shot, and was able quickly to take a bead and fire, the bullet hurling the German backwards. More mountain troops were pressing forward on their left, however, using the broken lie of the land to scurry between rocks.
‘Stan, we need to move our arses,’ he said, then called to Hepworth, Bonner and Cooper to follow him. Quickly pulling out of the line of fire, he led them around the spur, then clambered up the slope. Tanner was just making for a large rock when a German appeared not ten yards from him. He fired his rifle from the hip and the German fell backwards. Racing to the rock, Tanner now saw more only yards ahead. Rifle bullets clattered against the rock as Tanner felt in his pack for a grenade, pulled the pin and hurled it in front of him. As it exploded he stood up and, with his Schmeisser, fired a long burst, saw men either fall or duck back for cover, then sank down out of sight.
His position was better than he had first imagined. From where they were they could see down onto the mountain track, and although the mass of paratroopers was still out of sight, pinned down behind a bend in the path, he could now see several men crouching in the rocks above and below. Carefully taking aim he fired, hitting one, then two, and a third man before more bullets were hissing past.
He looked back down towards the cave, and wondered how the loading of the cart was going. He hoped that the women and the little boy, Alexandros, had been sent on and were hurrying to safety. Below, men were scrambling over the rocks, their studded mountain boots crunching on the stone. How long did they have? He jolted as a loud explosion shook the mountainside just a short distance below.
‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered, then turned to see Sykes lighting a stick of explosive. He winked at Tanner, let the fuse burn, then hurled it from behind his rock down the slope. Moments later there was another loud boom, the report echoing through the ravine, and Tanner heard men scream. Sykes lit another, Tanner watched the fuse burn, and then, when he thought his friend was about to blow himself to smithereens, saw him throw it. This time the deafening explosion was followed by a rumble of rocks, cries of alarm, then more screams.
But in return the enemy was now firing mortars. Tanner heard the hollow whine and then the explosion below, near the mouth of the ravine. Another burst of MG fire, and a few more rifle cracks, then another whine and this time the mortar shell landed thirty yards below them to the left. Grit and debris clattered against the rocks.
‘Stan!’ he called. ‘Have you got any sticks left?’
‘Yes, and a few grenades. So have Coop and Bonny.’
‘Good. Chuck the grenades and pull back. Head round the spur and up and follow me.’
They hurled their grenades in turn, heard them explode, then scampered back. Down below, he saw McAllister, Peploe and the others packing up and running. Another mortar shell burst and they fell flat on the ground. ‘Come on, up you get,’ muttered Tanner. Then, to his relief, they did so and began to run again, although one – Hill, maybe? – seemed to be limping. From their cover around the bend in the track, he saw the paratroopers inch forward once more – an MG team nipped ahead, crouching, while several riflemen moved on, finding cover in the rocks below the track. Tanner quickly drew his rifle to his shoulder, aiming for the machine-gunner, fired, saw him fall, then fired again. Behind him, Sykes and the other two had followed his lead, a fusillade of rifle fire cracking out. The enemy soon replied with a volley of bullets.
‘The bastard!’ called Sykes.
‘You all right?’ shouted Tanner.
‘No!’ said Sykes. ‘Some Jerry’s just nicked my bloody ear!’
Tanner aimed again, searching his scope for an officer, then spotted him, urging his men forward, Schmeisser in hand. ‘Well, I’m damned,’ he said to himself, recognizing him. Carefully, he homed his scope on the man’s chest. This time, he was not in the mood for mercy. Breathing out, he squeezed the trigger – but at that precise moment another paratrooper entered his sights, the bullet hitting the man neatly in the head instead, and spraying the officer behind with blood and brain.
‘Damn it!’ said Tanner, then saw the officer glance in his direction. Tanner pulled back the bolt again but now bullets peppered the rock around him and he dived for cover, then ran clear.
‘Come on!’ he shouted to Sykes and the others. ‘We’re going over the top here.’ Following the goat track Alexis had shown him the day before, they were soon out of the line of fire from the ravine below, but pausing briefly to glance back, Tanner saw the enemy had now almost reached the lip. In no time, they would be at the cave.
