Blood of Honour

‘Keep going!’ he urged his men. Sykes was clutching his ear, still cursing, but as they reached the summit, they could see the lie of the mountains stretching away from them. A track climbed around the spur behind them and now the cart was cresting the ridge beyond. The track tucked around another spur and passed through another even narrower ravine. If they made it through there, Tanner realized, they would be safe, because no German, not even mountain troops, would be able to climb the steep slopes on either side.

Balthasar wiped the blood and gore from his face, and wondered why he seemed to be so lucky. It had been the Tommy Mandoukis had called Tanner, he was sure; he had seen him. A split second earlier and that British bullet would have hit him square in the chest, not the head of Obergefreiter Mohne. After a fusillade of bullets had been directed at the Tommy, he had seen him dive backwards and wondered whether he had been hit.

His men were now pressing forward, cautiously inching their way along the track and through the rocks below. Gebirgsjager troops were clambering up over the mouth of the ravine, having recovered from the landslide some minutes earlier. Mandoukis had mentioned a Tommy who was an explosives expert. Sykes. He wondered whether it had been the same man who had caused the rockfall.

There was now no return fire from the enemy, and Balthasar could see his men pressing forward with mounting confidence. Still wiping the blood from his face and uniform, he hurried on, up the track, pushing past his men and rushing around the spur that hid the cave. There were a few bodies lying over the rocky ground – several Cretans and two Tommies. And there it was, a fire still smoking gently, an upset billy-can of coffee, empty boxes and clutter lying about. Balthasar ran on, reached the mouth of the cave and cautiously walked inside. It was cool in there, a strong smell of woodsmoke, mustiness and stale urine heavy on the air. Taking out his torch, he shone it around. Any boxes of ammunition and supplies seemed to have gone, but then he noticed one more, tucked away at the far end, obviously missed as the guerrillas had packed.

Grabbing it, he carried it outside, saw ‘Demolition TNT’ stencilled onto the side, then prised it open with his knife. Inside he found a number of slabs of explosive. He picked one up, thinking.

‘Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Leutnant Hilse, the Gebirgsjager platoon commander, ‘should we pursue the enemy from here?’

Balthasar nodded. ‘Follow them as far as you can, but if you receive heavy return fire pull back. We will have achieved enough here.’ He stood up and called over Unteroffizier Rohde.

‘Here,’ he said, passing him the block of TNT. ‘Get the pioneers up here. They can use this to prepare charges on this cave. We are going to make sure these bandits cannot use it again.’

Rohde saluted and hurried off, and Balthasar began to climb the spur above the cave. It took him a short while to find the spot but, to his great disappointment, there was no sign of the Tommy, only sharp strikes against the rock where bullets had hit and a number of empty rifle bullet cases. He looked around further then, noticed blood on a rock, and a line of drips spreading up the slope. He paused, wiping his brow. Away to the east, the sun was rising, the great orange orb almost visibly moving up over the mountains in the distance. Balthasar felt a mixture of emotions: annoyance that so many of the Tommies and guerrillas had got away, but satisfaction that a mountain hideout had been overrun and was about to be destroyed. Guerrillas could not stay in the mountains for ever. Patience, he told himself. He would get Alopex yet.

He turned and began to climb back down the slope. This part of the operation was over. Now it was time to head south.

Catching up with Peploe, McAllister and the other Rangers, Tanner was pleased to see Hill was still with them.

‘I thought you’d been hit,’ he said.

‘No, sir,’ said Hill, ‘just turned my ankle on a stone. Bloody hurt, but it’s worn off now.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Tanner.

They ran on, pausing repeatedly to check if they were being followed. Up ahead was the narrow ravine Tanner had seen earlier, the track winding up towards it. Now, though, as he turned, he saw a number of mountain troops clear the crest of the ridge a few hundred yards back. He stopped, knelt and, using his scope, picked out a man and fired. His victim jerked backwards, clutching his shoulder, while the others made for cover.

‘Run!’ shouted Tanner.

Sykes was now kneeling and fired, and then a lone shot whipped past them. Tanner glanced back but the enemy were hidden from view. He ran on, his chest tight, his breathing heavy, and now the track was curving to the left. Tanner looked back again and saw they were clear of the enemy line of fire.

Thank God, he thought.

They caught up with the cart a short while later and soon after that reached the end of the ravine and emerged onto a high mountain plain, following an ancient shepherds’ track that wound its way towards Mount Ida.

Sykes had lost part of the top of his ear. ‘That’s my good looks gone for ever,’ he grumbled. ‘What girl’s going to look at me now?’

‘What girls were looking at you anyway, Sarge?’ said Hepworth.

Sykes cuffed him. ‘Don’t so bloody insolent, Lance Corporal. I’ll have you know I’ve had my fair share of women, which is more than can be said for you.’

‘You should be bloody grateful, Sarge,’ said McAllister. ‘Another half-inch, and you’d have been a croaker.’

‘Mac’s right,’ said Peploe. ‘Anyway, I think it’ll give you a touch of distinction.’

Tanner smiled, listening to the banter. They had lost five men in all. They had been lucky; it could have been so much worse. Once again, the men had kept their heads and used what limited resources they had to good effect – Mac on the MG, Sykes lobbing sticks of dynamite. It had bought them precious minutes – minutes in which the rest had been able to get away.

They reached the Idean cave just before midday, having followed a path through a narrow gorge. The peak of Mount Ida towered above them, but there, at the base of a vast rockface, was a dark, rectangular gash. Inside it was gloomy and dank, stalactites further within dripping audibly. It would hardly be comfortable, but as a hideout Tanner could not fault it.

It was here that they bade farewell to Satanas. He embraced Peploe and Vaughan, then shook hands with the men in turn. ‘We have much to thank you for,’ he said, ‘not least your help this morning. Without it, I fear none of us would be standing here now. Good luck – and come back when all this is over. You will always be welcome on this island.’

It was a harder onward journey, the mountain tracks rockier, narrower and, in places, considerably more precipitous. There had been no question of taking the cart. Lieutenant Liddell had been carried in shifts on a makeshift stretcher, but Vaughan had had to walk, which he did without complaint. By late afternoon, however, they were at last dropping down into the Amari Valley.

Tanner was stunned by what he saw. Mountains seemed to ring the entire valley, which lay before them in a wide bowl, a sylvan carpet of olives, ilex and plane trees, lush and fecund. On the flanks of the mountains, overlooking the valley, were numerous small villages, each a collection of mostly white houses, terracotta roofs and small, domed churches.

‘What a vision!’ said Peploe, as he and Tanner walked beside Alexis. ‘It’s like some forgotten Eden.’

‘You see, Jack?’ said Alexis. ‘I told you it was well hidden.’

‘And you were right. It’s beautiful, Alexis. And so – so green.’ Alexis laughed. ‘Yes, it is. Always, even in the middle of summer.’

Peploe was shaking his head in wonderment. ‘There’s a lot more to this island than meets the eye – honestly, I had no idea such a place existed.’

Their path now passed through groves and beneath long lines of eucalyptus and plane trees, and suddenly the air was alive with crickets chirruping, bees buzzing and birds singing from the foliage above.

Soon after, with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains and the valley bathed in a rich, golden light, they reached Fourfouras. Alopex led them to his uncle’s house, a large, imposing property on the edge of the village, three storeys high and with a cluster of outbuildings surrounding it. Beneath, running away from the house into the heart of the valley, there was a long, wide olive grove, bigger than any Tanner had seen before. Olives, it seemed, were a family business.

The men were fed, given wine, then taken to a stone barn. It was dusty but dry and they were all tired; it