Jackals’ Revenge

‘Hello. Peter Lamb, North Kents. We’re trying to find a passage to Crete.’

The captain looked up from his work. ‘Toby Hallam, Queen’s Own Hussars, and this is Lieutenant Corrance, my 2/IC. We’ve twenty of our own men on board and a few Greek civvies, mostly women.’

Lamb noticed the lack of any offer of transport.

Hallam continued. ‘Most of this lot want to get to Alex. But it sounds like you’ve got the right idea. If we’ve got any chance at all with the bloody Luftwaffe up there on our tails, it’ll be to try for Crete. Some of our chaps are there already. They’ve stopped embarking men at Navplion now, and you know that Piraeus has had it.’

‘Yes. We didn’t really see any rearguard to speak of. Who’s holding the town? Is there a rearguard?’

‘First Rangers. At least that’s what I heard, and a squadron of the divisional cavalry, 4th Hussars, plus a few gunners and the Kiwis from the Hassani airfield. There’s a few stragglers too, mind. All the odds and sods. That’s all there is, though, between us and the Jerries.’

Lamb stared at him. ‘You’re probably right about Crete. We’d never make it to Alexandria alone. Not now, with the Luftwaffe in control of the skies.’

Hallam nodded. ‘Bloody Stukas. Did for seventeen of our light tanks three days ago. Not much bloody use, are we? Cavalry without any tanks? Bloody joke. God knows where the rest of my lot are.’ He paused, ‘Do you know how many ships we’ve lost in the past few days?’

‘No.’

‘Well,’ he hesitated ‘… nor do I, exactly, but I can tell you it’s one hell of a lot, and I for one don’t intend to join them. It’s Crete for me.’ He paused again and then added, by way of an afterthought, ‘Though I dare say that once the Jerries have Greece that’ll be next on their list. You can come along if you like. I should if I were you. I should think we’ll cram you in. According to the admiral down there the convoy sails at 3 a.m. So the last boat has to leave the beach by 2.15.’

‘That’s very good of you. Crete it is then. I’ll tell my men, shall I? You do have room for us?’

The captain looked at the lieutenant and shrugged, then turned back to Lamb. ‘Don’t see why not. How many have you got?’

‘About forty, including a few British civilians.’

‘That’s fine. We could do with some help on the guns. Dare say we’ll need it when the Jerries spot us in the middle of the Med.’

Lamb walked back to the trucks. ‘Everybody out. We’re going to Crete.’

Bennett smiled. ‘Crete, sir? I thought we were headed to Alex.’

‘Change of plan, Sarnt-Major. Only ship we can get is going to Crete. So that’s where we’re going.’

Comberwell was at his elbow. ‘Crete? I say, Lamb, that’s impossible. I mean, that’s just not on.’

Lamb turned on him. ‘Sorry? Not on? Mr Comberwell, do I have to remind you that you’re damned lucky to be getting away at all? We are going to Crete. And if you want to come with us, then that’s where you’re going too.’

Comberwell smiled. ‘Yes. Of course, Captain. I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to make a fuss. Just came out. I was so looking forward to going to Alex. Drinks at the Cecil and all that, you know?’

‘Yes. I know. All that.’

Lamb turned away. The beachmaster, a commander in the Royal Navy equipped with a megaphone, was barking orders to a group of New Zealand infantry on the quay, trying to get them to move more quickly on to the tug which would take them out to a waiting destroyer.

‘Come on, you men. Keep going there. Keep it going.’

Some of them called back. ‘All right, Popeye. Keep your ’at on.’

‘Where’s yer bloody parrot?’

Lamb smiled and called to his own men, directing them on to the Andromeda. ‘Get on the ship. Quick as you can, boys. Make it snappy. Sarnt-Major, make sure we don’t take on anyone else. The civilians and our own men, and that’s it. That’s all we have room for. And for God’s sake keep the noise down. If we make too much of a din you can be sure Jerry will get upset and send the Stukas back.’

It was only half a joke. They wanted to make sure they did not attract enemy attention sooner than was inevitable.

As the men filed aboard, Lamb saw that the ship anchored alongside the Andromeda was also filling up. On the beach below the harbour Lamb could see another party waiting its turn for the tug. Some of them were standing up to join the queue, which was moving with incredible slowness. Among them, a group of men, Australians by the look of them, seemed to be drunk. One man in particular was singing, some ribald ballad that was barely discernible but included a few recognisably filthy lyrics. The worst thing was that he was singing it at full volume. That and the fact that he was tone deaf.

As Lamb looked on he heard the harbourmaster again. ‘Someone shut that man up there. The Jerries are at the city gates. Keep it quiet, can’t you?’

A British officer wearing the single crown of a major walked down the gangplank that led to the tug. As Lamb watched, he went up to the group of Aussies and told them in measured tones to be quiet. The men laughed and the singer cranked up the volume and began again. The officer smiled and repeated his order. Most of the men shut up and looked resentful and Lamb wondered what else the officer had said, but the singer began his song again and now he was really belting it out, at the top of his voice. As Lamb looked on the officer took out his service revolver from the holster at his side and in a single, fluid motion, before anyone could stop him, put it against the singer’s head and pulled the trigger. The far side of the man’s head disintegrated in a spray of blood. There was a pause and then the body crumpled to the beach, the blood seeping into the sand. The officer muttered something, and before the others could do or say anything he was walking back up the gangplank on to the tug. The other drunks, recovering themselves, began to shout and scream at the man and rushed the gangplank, but the officer had turned to face them now and they could see that behind him stood a guard of half a dozen helmeted men, neat as new pins, their rifles levelled and ready to fire. The soldiers turned away and went to bury their dead friend.

Bennett shrugged. ‘Bloody shame, sir. Mind you, he had it coming. Don’t give much for that major’s chances, though, once they get away, sir.’

Lamb banished his natural revulsion at what he had just witnessed. ‘No, but it had to be done. The bloody noise was putting everyone at risk. Anyway, I don’t think he plans to take them.’

As they watched, the harbourmaster held up his hand to stop the line of downcast, shuffling men and the gangplank was raised and flung aboard the tug, which began to pull away from the harbour. The men turned around and walked slowly away from the quay as the harbourmaster began to look for the next vessel.

Back on the Andromeda, what remained of Lamb’s company was almost aboard now and Hallam was busy with his own men. The civilians too were moving on. He heard Comberwell call out to them. ‘All aboard the skylark!’

Lamb watched as Eadie and Wentworth directed their platoons.

They had both come on since Egypt. Greece had made officers of them and he wondered what the future now held, what Crete would bring. From his vantage point on the harbour quayside, the beachmaster had spotted another ship and was motioning the desultory queue of men forward once again. As he did so, another, smaller ship caught Lamb’s eye, a caique like their own, which was moored just beyond where the tug had been berthed.

It was slightly smaller than the Andromeda and the deck was crowded with people, sitting, standing and pressed against the sides. They seemed to be mostly civilian and among them were a number of British.

A naval officer on deck in white shirtsleeves and shorts was shouting orders to a crew who included several civilians in shirts and flannels, while an English woman in a smart, floral-printed frock and a slouch hat was attempting to herd four terrified children on to the tanker with the help of a Chinese amah. A greyhound was pacing the deck nervously, held by another servant.

On the fore-deck nearest to Lamb a young man in army uniform but without any clear insignia was trying to take charge of two others. ‘Come on there, Charles, try to untie her. Peter, get that gun into action, can you. Get it loaded. We might be bombed at any time.’

He watched as the man referred to as Peter tried to secure a Lewis gun to a mounting, aided by a private. Three times they attempted to fix it to the base plate but it was only on the fourth that they succeeded.

Standing on the deck of the Andromeda, Lamb noticed for the first time the heavy swell that was rocking the boat. He had never been a particularly good seaman and hoped that the crossing would not prove too nauseous. He imagined, though, that seasickness would be the least of their problems.

He shouted to Bennett. ‘Finish getting them on board, Sarnt-Major. Captain Hallam’s in charge now. It’s his ship. Report to him. Don’t stow your gear. Every man must keep his own to hand in case we have to abandon ship.’

Miranda Hartley walked up to him, swaying with the motion of the boat.

‘I say, it’s a little choppy, isn’t it? Still, we can’t have everything. So clever of you to help us, Captain. Don’t know what we’d have done. How long do you think it will take us to get to Crete?’

‘I’m afraid I have no idea, Mrs Hartley.’

‘Miranda, please.’

‘Captain Hallam might know. He’s in charge of the vessel. He’s over there.’ He pointed, hoping to deflect her attention.

‘Well, we’ll just have to sit it out and be jolly brave, shan’t we.’

The sun had gone now and the harbour was lit by the moon, giving an eerie light to the figures who went to and fro about their duties on the deck. Lamb looked at his watch. It was nearing 11 o’clock, so there were another four hours until they sailed. He wondered if they would have that long before the Germans broke through the city and whatever scant defences there were left. Out on the sea he could see the looming shape of a transport ship and several destroyers, waiting to take on more men. Lamb paced the deck and looked at his watch. The minute hand had moved on four places since he last looked. This he knew to be a pointless exercise. He found Bennett. ‘How are we, Sarnt-Major? All squared away?’

‘Good as, sir. Men are dog tired, sir. There’s some asleep already.’

‘The more that sleep, the better. Especially in these seas. You should get some shut-eye too.’

‘I will, sir. When the time comes.’

There was a huge explosion from behind them and they both turned and saw the silhouette of the port and the ancient city beyond lit up by a ghastly combination of moonlight and the flames from burning houses. The light fell too on the harbour and they caught sight of the staring, static figures of the men, hundreds of them, who had not as yet found sanctuary on a ship.

‘Poor buggers,’ said Bennett. ‘Funny, innit. War, I mean, sir. How some get away and some don’t. I mean there’s got to be losers. Sometimes, though, it don’t half make you feel guilty. I mean, why me and not them?’

Lamb laughed. ‘Ask yourself that, Sarnt-Major, and you’ll end up going mad. And what’s more, you’ll go and get yourself killed.’

As they watched, the beachmaster barked again, and the long line of the damned and the passed-over followed the orders from the area commander and began to move to the low ridge on the southern edge of the beach. And there, in the shelter of the laurels, the myrtles and the olive trees, they took cover and looked to the dark horizon for the return of the ships.

Three hours and a mile and half out to sea later, Bennett stood with Lamb at the rail, looking back at the shrinking coast of the mainland of Attica. ‘Just like St Valéry, sir, ain’t it? An’ all in the nick of time again. You could hear them Jerry guns getting closer and closer. I can tell you, sir, more than once I thought we’d all be in the bag.’

Lamb nodded. ‘Me too, Sarnt-Major. We’ve been lucky so far. And yes, I do have a sense of déjà vu. The only worry is, and make no mistake, it is a real worry, that this time we’re not heading back to the safety of home. We’re bound for an island in the middle of the Med, and it’s my guess that very soon that place too is going to be very far from safe. And if you ask me, the sooner we get off that island and across to Alex, the better.’

4

He woke at dawn, as the sun’s rays touched the deck of the caique and he sensed their warmth as they crept their way slowly up his sleeping face. Lamb shook himself awake and moved his aching shoulders. He had slept on deck from choice, given the heavy swell and his poor record of seafaring, but his attempts to create a passable bunk by laying his battledress tunic and a blanket on the slimy wooden boards had had little effect. His body felt as though he had slept on rocks.

He had woken with a start at some point during the night and had felt utterly alone and strangely frightened. He was not immune to the feeling, of course. Felt it always before any action. Would have questioned any man who said he didn’t. But that was something you learnt to conquer. This fear was something else: a fear in the night, lonely and hopeless and cold on the darkened deck of their boat in the middle of the sea. To conquer it he had thought of home. Of Kent in summer and cricket, beer and racing through the lanes on his old motorbike. The fear had passed and he had slept then, praying for the dawn. And now he should have been glad of it, but he knew that while the night had felt more vulnerable the real danger came with the light.

Lamb got to his feet and steadied himself on the rail. Looking around he saw nothing but empty sea. Ahead of them, lying on the surface, lay a bank of fog, or it might simply have been the mist of early morning. Instantly his fears of the night returned for, as he had imagined, their ship was apparently quite alone. The convoy with which they had sailed had gone, it seemed, and with it their greatest defence against air attack. Lamb turned to Hallam. ‘We’ve lost them. The bloody convoy. It’s gone.’

Hallam yelled back. ‘No fault of mine, Lamb. I told you, I’m no sailor. I did my level best.’

Lamb swore. Of course the man was no sailor, he was a cavalryman. But then neither was he. Another two hours and the mist began to lift and Lamb realised that without it they were sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe.

There was still no sign of the convoy and he wondered how far they were from Crete. The sea was calmer now, but his head was reeling with the motion of the boat. So much so in fact that he was not sure, later, whether he had heard the noise first or seen the black speck in the sky. It was Eadie, though, who shouted first. ‘Aircraft. Get down.’

Lamb stared at the approaching black dot. It was hopeless. In a few seconds the fighter would be upon them, and then it would just be a matter of time. For all their Lewis guns they were defenceless against an Me109, and God knew what other planes were close behind it. And then, in a split second, he had it.

He looked around. How many of them were up top? About half his men and a good dozen of the hussars, including Captain Hallam. The British civilians had chosen to take their chances in the hold. On the deck, though, was a party of Greek civilians on whom Hallam had taken pity at the last minute before they set sail.

He yelled. ‘All you men, down below. Now. All of you.’

There was a frantic scramble. Still the plane was a black dot, but it was getting bigger with every second. The men threw themselves down the hatches and Lamb turned to the Greeks. Hallam saw him. ‘Lamb?’

He shouted back. ‘Down. Get in the hold.’

Not questioning him, the cavalryman slipped down the narrow ladder and was gone just as Lamb began to speak. ‘All of you.’ He had no Greek, he gestured. A waving gesture. Desperate. What to say? Where was Valentine? He looked into the sky. The plane was almost above them now. Lamb flung himself into the top of the hatch and collided with Valentine, who was climbing out on to the deck, his head and shoulders covered with a black scarf. He brushed past Lamb, then turned and spoke quickly in Greek to the women, as Lamb ducked into the hatch.

The Messerschmidt fighter came in over the mast and as it did so it dropped its height and swooped down over the little boat. Lamb, his head just below the opening, froze. He saw Valentine, sitting alongside the Greek women, his head still covered in the scarf.

Obeying Valentine to the letter, the women in the front looked up and waved. Valentine too. The plane passed and Lamb watched it go. But then, to his horror, he saw the plane bank and then turn. It was returning now, diving straight towards them at greater speed, and he thought, This is it. You are going into your attack dive. On it came, and any second he waited for the machine-guns to open fire. But instead the pilot rolled his wings and as he passed them came close enough so that they could see him wave back. Then, as Lamb watched the German fighter turn tail and run, he pushed up through the hatch, his feet slipping on the steps, and found Valentine. ‘Valentine, you’re a bloody marvel. You had the same idea. Did you see him?’

‘Yes, sir. Only too pleased to help. It’s easier if you speak the lingo.’

‘Well, we’d better keep an eye out. He may have bought it but I’m not convinced that he won’t be back with some of his mates.’

However, another two hours came and went and neither the fighter nor any of his mates returned.

The sun was high in a cloudless sky now and Lamb leant against the painted rail of the ship’s forward deck and peered at the sight that was gradually unfolding before him. There were other men at the rail now, pointing and chattering, as yard by precious yard, across the azure sea, the coast of Crete drew closer. What had first been merely the line of a land mass soon became an island and Lamb was able to make out a town with whitewashed houses. He saw lush avenues of green, poplars and lemon trees, and imposing larger villas. On the slopes behind the town endless rows of olive groves stood in knotted groups amid the vineyards. He could see the quay now, already a mass of ships, men and material. In the distance, beyond the White Mountains, the rising sun pushed higher in the sky with a crimson light – a surreal, theatrical backdrop to this scene of ethereal beauty. Lamb was aware of a presence to his right. Charles Eadie, puffing on a heavily scented cigarette.

‘Pretty sight, sir, isn’t it?’

‘Very pretty, Charles. Just like a picture postcard. You know I’ve always wanted to visit the Mediterranean islands. Ever since I was a boy. Must have been all that Homer at school.’

Eadie laughed. ‘Oh yes, the Greek myths, sir. Odysseus and all that stuff. My favourite was the one about the Cyclops. You know that giant of a chap who lives in the cave and only has one eye.’

‘And ends up by eating half of Odysseus’ crew before he’s killed. Yes, I think that’s one of mine too. I wonder how many of our lot have got away from Greece to here. There seem to be a hell of a lot of ships in the harbour.’

‘I expect we’ll be off to Alex soon, sir, anyway, won’t we? You never know, you might be able to get a bit of sightseeing in. You know, ancient ruins and all that.’

‘Yes. I believe the palace of Knossos is rather special. They’ve been digging it up for years. Some English professor.’

They were suddenly conscious at that same moment of a humming noise and both knew instantly what it was as it built above them in the sky. Lamb shouted, ‘Aircraft, get down,’ and instinctively every one of the men and women on board the Andromeda cowered and sheltered their heads with their hands, waiting for the scream of the siren as the Stukas fell upon them. But none came. Instead, the noise passed over them. Lamb raised his head and saw silhouetted against the brightening sky the shape of two Hurricanes, bearing the tricolour target roundels of the RAF, which as they passed over the ships off the coast tipped their wings from side to side in salute.

‘Thank God, sir. They’re British. I never thought I’d feel safe again.’

‘Well, I shouldn’t depend on feeling that way for too long, Charles. It’s my honest opinion that what just flew over our heads might well be the entire air defence capability of this island.’

The ship drew closer to the island and as it did so Lamb was quickly aware that his vision of Eden was not quite as serene as it might at first have seemed. Gazing at the clear blue waters near the shore he could now make out that one of the ships which he had presumed to be riding at anchor was actually tilted at an awkward angle. Her bridge had been blown away and there was a huge gaping hole in her forward deck. He looked to his right and saw another wreck, a tanker. Squinting, he was able to make out the lettering on her hull: Eleanora Maersk. There was smoke coming from her decks and now and then he saw a lick of flame. There were other ships too: half-submerged Royal Navy vessels, caiques and smaller boats, funnels and masts protruding from the water and debris. He stared down as they passed by one of the hulks and saw that what he had presumed to be driftwood was in fact a dead body, bloated and floating face down. He realised that the sea was full of them and that there was nothing that could be done to clear them. As they drew closer the smell which had begun to permeate the air of burnt metal and wood, cordite and oil grew stronger and he felt at first just nauseous, then suddenly cold and filled with a sense of foreboding. Prompted by Eadie, his schoolboy Greek mythology came back to him again and for an instant he thought of Charon, ferrying the dead in his boat across the river Styx to Hades.

He turned to Eadie. ‘I say, Charles, you haven’t got one of those fags to hand, have you?’

The lieutenant clicked open his silver cigarette case and offered it to Lamb, who drew out a thin white cigarette from behind the elastic strip.

‘Turkish?’

‘Egyptian, actually,’ said Eadie. ‘Got them from an old Jew in Cairo. Damned good smoke, sir. Hard to find.’

Lamb lit up and puffed away, his nerves calmed by the sweet smoke. Within minutes they were through the ghastly debris. Lamb let his gaze drift to the quay, which appeared to be littered with military equipment and stores of every kind, from lorries and miscellaneous crates to ammunition boxes, stacks of artillery shells and even a single light tank around which a crowd of local boys had gathered. Beyond the town he could see quite clearly now rolling farmland rising away to the south towards the snow-crested White Mountains.

Many ships clustered in the bay, some afloat, others resting on the shallow bottom – further evidence of enemy air activity. He couldn’t help but allow himself a feeling of relief at having eluded the enemy on the mainland, and in the fresh morning sunshine he knew that his troops, though very weary, were in the same good spirits. They were almost at the quay now and he could see that it was thronged with locals and men in khaki of all descriptions going about their duties with ant-like precision and purpose.

Valentine had joined them close to the rail and stood staring at the closing coastline, and then without warning burst into verse.

‘The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung.

Where grew the arts of war and peace,

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!

Eternal summer gilds them yet,

But all, except their sun, is set.’

He finished and waited for a comment, but none came. ‘That’s Byron, sir.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I just thought it somehow appropriate for our situation, sir.’

‘Which is?’

‘Well, as I see it, sir, the sun is going down on this little part of civilisation. The cradle of civilisation if you like, sir.’

‘You think too much, Valentine.’

‘Yes, sir. Terribly sorry, sir.’