SBS, page 15
‘Of course I won’t myself be coming with you, Woods.’
The remark took both Woods and Hunter completely by surprise. Woods spoke: ‘You won’t?’
‘No, I’m afraid that “head office” in Cairo sees it as just too risky. Apparently I’m too great an asset and they seem to like another plan I’ve come up with. So I’m afraid I’ll be otherwise engaged. But don’t worry, Captain Ffinch will be your eyes and ears, along of course with Andros and Grigori.’
Leigh Fermor moved along the ridge towards the group of British and Greeks, who had poured themselves mugs of raki and were chatting together among the trees and exchanging cigarettes.
‘Mungo, a moment if you will.’
Ffinch detached himself from the group and walked towards them. ‘Paddy?’
‘I’ve told Captain Woods and Lieutenant Hunter that I’m not able to go with them to Heraklion. But I’m sure you’ll oblige.’
‘Only too happy to, Paddy.’
‘And you’ll take Grigori with you?’
‘Of course.’
He turned to Woods and Hunter. ‘Of course I’ll talk you through everything I know. Mungo and Grigori will guide you in. How does that sound?’
Woods nodded. ‘I’m sure we can work with that.’
Leigh Fermor nodded. ‘Good. That’s that settled then. Now let’s get down to business. The stuff that you’re after was left, according to those in the know in Cairo and London, in a safe in the commandant’s office at Heraklion airfield. That was, as you may recall, for a while, GHQ of Creforce in May ’41.’
Woods nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what we were told. Hunter was there with the Black Watch in ’41 when the balloon went up. When I was down the road with Bob Laycock.’
Leigh Fermor glanced at Hunter with new respect. Woods carried on, ‘How do we get to it?’
‘Oh, the boys will get you there, no problem. And I have a map. Although perhaps Lieutenant Hunter might remember it. Hasn’t changed much. And of course you’ve brought along your “special kit”, haven’t you?’
Hunter smiled. ‘Yes, it’s all safely stowed away and unopened.’
‘Good. Well, that’s key to the whole thing. I must say it’s a damn clever plan, whoever came up with it.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Damned risky. But damned clever, if it works.’
Leigh Fermor ignored his comment and produced from his waistcoat pocket a carefully folded piece of paper, which proved to be a hand-drawn plan of the aerodrome.
‘Here you are. Now look at this. It’s bang up to date. One of my chaps in the hills drew it – Julian’s his name, a sapper. Got a real talent for maps. Gave me this one yesterday. There you see is the perimeter wire and that’s where you go in. Once you’re through that you just have to get across the area where the accommodation blocks are and then you turn left. Look familiar Hunter?’
‘Yes, sir. I remember it well.’
‘Good. So you take another right turn and then you’re in among all the admin blocks. The commandant’s office is located over here, to the right.’ He pointed. ‘Just there. Julian’s marked it with a sort of an Iron Cross, d’you see. Frightfully witty fellow. So you can see, it’s very simple really.’
Hunter took a closer look at the plan. Yes, it certainly looked simple enough. All they had to do was to stroll across two hundred yards of open ground in full view of three hundred Germans, then break into the commandant’s hut (making sure that he wasn’t in there first) and crack open the safe. If the documents weren’t there, they would have to go to the signals hut, which was the only other place they might have been placed.
Wherever they turned up they would simply have to grab the documents, along with anything else that happened to look interesting (that was their brief), and then leave all offices closed and relocked as if no one had been there. Then they would go back into the compound, stroll back across the square, get out through the wire (presuming their gap hadn’t been discovered) and then climb back up into the hills and march the five hours back to the cave. It would, of course, be a piece of cake.
9
They had had no word from Wilson’s raiding party since their two boats had parted company before reaching Crete, but that was all as it should have been. Now, though, the time was up and they were waiting for something when, on the fifth morning, one and a half days before they were due to head off on the operation, Andros appeared at the mouth of the cave with another partisan, having found him making his way up the path. He came, he said, from Wilson. ‘Kapitan Wilson says to tell you that he is in place. His men are ready at the two other airfields and he and the others are hidden in the hills above Heraklion and is ready to go in shortly after you have taken what you need. He says to be sure to be out of the base by the agreed time. You must not be there after 2130 hours please.’
Then he added, ‘Kapitan Wilson says to make sure of it.’
Woods frowned at the man’s impertinence. ‘You can tell Kapitan Wilson… Sorry, please will you tell Captain Wilson that we will do exactly that. We will be out of the base by the time he suggests. Tell him not to worry.’
He added, with more than a note of sarcasm, ‘We wouldn’t want him to get in a panic. Or to cause him any trouble.’
The Greek smiled, the sarcasm lost on him. ‘Oh, is no trouble. And he will not panic. He just said, “Tell him to make sure”.’
The man disappeared and Woods turned to Hunter. ‘Bloody cheek. “Make sure of it”? Who the hell does Wilson think he is?’
‘He’s probably just nervous. Doesn’t want anything to go wrong.’
‘He doesn’t trust us more like. It’s simple. You go in there with your team and get the material and get out with no one the wiser. Then ten minutes later Wilson’s men go in and blow the place to pieces. There’s no need for him to get himself into a panic. It’s all to do with timings.’
‘He’s not panicking, Peter. Besides we’ve got backup of our own if he bungles the job. I’ve got explosives and just the men to do it. Now you’re worrying.’
‘Of course I’m not. If you ask me we should just have done the bloody thing ourselves, without Wilson.’
‘You know as much as I do that Fleming was told by the top brass that he had to have backup from the regular commandos. That was the only condition for our force to go ahead. For us to even exist. I know we can do it all. That we don’t need them. But that’s just the way it is. If it goes well then next time we can argue for our independence. Besides the real reason for Wilson being there is to make Jerry think it’s just a regular raid. We don’t want him to realise that we’ve got our own unit of intelligence commandos.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I know. I’m just over-reacting. It’s just that boy upset me so much. Damn bloody Wilson.’
It wasn’t the first time that Hunter had seen Woods in this mood. He recalled the fiasco on Rhodes and his uncertainty then.
He was also concerned about a few elements of their plan. Surely it would have been better to have sent in a submarine to pick them all up after the operation rather than have Gorringe wait for them? As it was, only Wilson’s men were to be collected by sub. That he understood. Once they had done their job and the two aerodromes were ablaze, the hills around Heraklion in the north and Kastelli over to the west, were sure to be crawling with the enemy. The idea was, of course that Hunter’s smaller team would have accomplished their task long before that and would be halfway back to the cave where they could then hide up, before being taken off by Gorringe’s caique.
The Germans wouldn’t suspect that there were two teams and would use all their men hunting for Wilson’s men who would be taken off further west. The mountain and hills around the cave and from Kastamonitsa, down to the southern coast would be about the safest place on the island. German garrisons in that part would certainly be dragged into the operation in the west, leaving him and his men to make their way down to the waiting boat, simply retracing their steps. It was, he supposed, a clever plan. But perhaps it was just too clever.
*
After briefing them, Leigh Fermor had gone to visit another partisan group, further to the west of the island. Hunter had to admit that he was not sorry to see him go. Oh he was pleasant enough. Friendly even. But Hunter was at a loss as to how someone in such a position as his – the key liaison officer between the Cretan resistance movement and the British and someone whose purpose in life was doing everything he could to help both British servicemen and Greek andartes and make life as difficult as possible for the enemy – could be quite so cool.
He just seemed to get on with the job. Whatever it might be. Whatever the danger. Not to worry at all. He certainly never showed it but Hunter could not help wondering if underneath it all there might not be some insecurity. Some vulnerability that he needed to cloak with bravado. Perhaps it was the same thing that Hunter knew to be there within himself.
*
Since their arrival at the cave, they had modified their routine while they were waiting for the operation and could now sleep at night at least for the coming forty-eight hours. There was an air of normality. As if they were taking part in an exercise or some sort of endurance test. And it was perhaps this that had urged a couple of the men to seek out more comfortable accommodation.
Russell and Fletcher had managed to make their way unnoticed into the upper floor of an old abandoned farmhouse that lay a hundred yards below the cave. Leigh Fermor had told them that it was too exposed to use as a permanent base, but some of the men had decided that it was a better place to sleep than under the trees. Of course a candle or any form of light was out of the question at night in an apparently deserted farmhouse and those who decided that staying under a roof and four walls was worth taking the trouble, just had to make sure they got down there while it was still light.
During the day the farmhouse was strictly off limits to everyone. On the evening before the operation though, Hunter had decided to change the rules. This evening the house was needed to serve a specific purpose. There were two vital pieces of kit that had still not been sorted out and, having left them till the final moment, their time had now finally come. And the one thing that had to be done must be done behind closed doors.
Ever since they had arrived here and had unloaded their equipment from the pack mules, Hunter had made sure that he had kept two large duffel bags crammed with kit close to his own quarters in the cave. Now the time had come to distribute their contents and, having been since his youth keen for any chance of donning fancy dress, he had to admit that he was looking forward to it. Hunter had told the others to meet him down at the house an hour before dusk, but he had set out deliberately early to make sure that he would get there himself a good half an hour before them. He waited until they were sitting beneath the trees, chatting to each other over a cigarette and a coffee and then, choosing his moment, slipped out of the cave, dragging both of the heavy bags of kit behind him.
Reaching the farmhouse, Hunter was surprised to find the door slightly ajar and to hear noises coming from the upper floor. He carefully placed both of the kitbags on the ground and, cautiously and silently, pushed open the door and pulled the narrow-bladed Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife from its leather scabbard on his belt.
Entering the house, Hunter padded across the stone floor to the white stone staircase on the far side of the kitchen and placed a foot on the bottom step. As he did so he heard a deep groan from the room above. Wasting no time, Hunter tiptoed up the remaining stairs and then flew into the room above, his knife at the ready.
There was no need for it. What greeted Hunter was a sight as comic as it was pathetic. Lying on a straw paillasse on the wooden floor of the bedroom was Bryn Fletcher. His trousers were around his ankles. And astride him, her skirts pulled up to her shoulders, her perfect, pearl-white bottom exposed to the world, sat one of the girls from the village. Fletcher looked at Hunter and grinned. ‘Hello, sir. Didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘No, Fletcher. I dare say you didn’t. I’ve got an “O” group scheduled here in half an hour. Can I suggest that you, er, smarten yourself up and help this young lady away from here. And for fuck’s sake be discreet about it. You’re bloody lucky Captain Woods didn’t find you. And you know this place is out of bounds in daylight, anyway. Be quick about it.’
Fletcher’s inescapable charm had had its way once again. The man was impossible. Hunter wondered where on earth he got his stamina from. He prayed that the girl’s mother or father or brothers if she had any, would not find out before they all left the place. Even if they got away with it, the consequences would not exactly make it any easier for SOE to cement its relationship with the locals. And of course, the andartes would have Fletcher’s balls for earrings.
Hunter replaced his knife in its scabbard and made his way quickly down the stairs, quickly followed by the girl and Fletcher. She smiled engagingly at Hunter, as if nothing had happened at all and, with a quick wave to Fletcher, left the house and hurried away down the hill. Fletcher looked at the ground. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘You should be. That was fucking stupid, you idiot. You could have compromised the whole operation. Mind you, I don’t blame you. Pretty young thing. And from her smile it looks as if you got away with it. Let’s hope she tells no one about it. What I really don’t know though is how, with your appalling command of the Greek language, you ever managed to get her into bed.’ Fletcher opened his mouth to explain. But Hunter stopped him. ‘Enough. Now get yourself back up to the cave and make yourself useful by making sure that none of my part of the team come down here for another half an hour. But tell Duffy that he needs to come down first. In twenty minutes’ time. Oh and can you tell each of them that they need to bring a razor with them?’
‘A razor?’
‘You heard.’
‘Righto, boss. Sorry.’
Fletcher went over to the door, followed by Hunter. ‘Oh, Fletcher. Before you go there are two kitbags outside. Help me in with one of them.’
Fletcher walked outside and Hunter went after him. Between them they got the bags into the room and, after Fletcher had left, Hunter closed the door behind him. Hunter picked up the first of the bags and stood it on its end.
The two identical long canvas duffel bags, of the sort the navy used, were the only two unmarked pieces of kit they had brought with them in the boat. They had been sewn shut around the drawstring before leaving Athilt and sealed with a brass ‘D’ pattern duffel bag lock, fastened with a padlock. The neck of each of them was marked with the stencilled words: ‘Eyes only’ and ‘Lt Hunter’.
Hunter reached into his tunic and from a chain around his neck, took a small brass key, inserted it in the padlock, turned it and removed the lock. Then he again removed his fighting knife from its scabbard and carefully cut through the thick twine with which the openings had been secured. Then he repeated the process for the second bag. Once the locks were off, he opened out the mouth of the first bag and reached inside. Pulling out his arm, he produced a jacket. It was quickly followed by another.
One of them was in the unmistakable German feldgrau grey-green uniform of the Wehrmacht and the other, in the characteristic desert yellow used by the Afrika Korps. Both were nicely worn and faded and on closer inspection it was easy to see them for what they were: two original, identical German military tunics. Officers’ tunics. Both bore a silver eagle on the right breast pocket and both also had silver flashes at the collar. One had the distinctive black and red medal ribbon of the Iron Cross, second class. He dug his hand further into the bag and produced two pairs of faded baggy trousers – one grey, one yellow – cut as riding breeches, followed by two pairs of high riding boots – one brown, one black.
Hunter moved over to the other bag and had a quick look inside before reaching in. His search yielded further riches. It contained four more tropical-issue German army tunics, minus the officers’ markings but one with sergeant’s stripes, along with four pairs of baggy trousers of the sort worn in the desert. All were again faded to the perfect hue to suggest long service.
Here then were six uniforms in all, for the four German speakers in the patrol: Hunter, Duffy, Martin and Russell, plus one more each for Jack Knox and Sid Phelps, both of whom as key specialists would have to go in with them. Hunter just prayed that neither of them would be asked any difficult questions by the guards. Bluff was everything and they had all been taught how to carry it off at Athilt. It was fine, providing their nerves held and, if the truth were to be told, Hunter was a little concerned. He brushed it off and quickly, started to strip off his clothes and try on his new, enemy uniform before the others appeared.
He had, of course tried all of his own German officer’s kit on before, back in Cairo, to get the fit right. He had gone, as a matter of taste, for the desert yellow one, with the brown boots. The riding breeches were perfect and the boots of course, well weathered, had been selected from the many pairs held in the central quartermaster’s stores in Cairo, taken from the feet of dead officers. Hunter had tried them on in Cairo, but he had forgotten quite how well they fitted. He found his chosen shirt and, equally happy with the fit, tucked it in to the waistband of the breeches, before pulling on the tunic. He had selected the one with the ribbon of the Iron Cross for himself.
It was a standing joke in the British Army that German uniforms were so much smarter and better cut than anything the British tailors could summon up, but here, thought Hunter, was the living proof of it. The moment he buttoned up the jacket, Hunter knew what the reason was. The Germans might be heartless bastards, that was a given. But you had to admit, they had style. Buckets of the stuff. The thing just fitted him so bloody well. It might have been tailored for him in Savile Row. But it was more than that. It was about the cut of the jacket. It oozed arrogance and power and fathomless self-confidence. No wonder the Blitzkrieg had worked. He fastened one of the belts around his waist and closed the buckle. ‘Gott Mit Uns’ indeed. Then he placed one of the officer’s caps squarely on his head and, with his hands clasped behind his back, feeling every inch the imperial Teuton, he waited.
