SBS, page 25
‘We’ve found this stretch of the road, as I said, which looks ideal. In terms of firepower, what we have are two heavy machine guns and some lighter MGs. There’s a small hillock on the east side of the bluff, which will make the perfect position for one of the machine guns, a captured MG34. It can cut off any attempt at retreat.’
Woods nodded his head. ‘Thanks for this. Let’s hope it works. That we can get them out.’
‘Well I would say we don’t have any other chance, old chap. Wouldn’t you?’
Ffinch said goodbye and rushed off to a rendezvous with one of his scouts.
Woods joined the men, who had found common ground with the andartes in a liking for raki. He shared half a bottle of the stuff and then settled down to try to sleep. But an hour later, Ffinch arrived back at the camp.
He was out of breath but wore a huge grin. He went straight to Woods. ‘I say, you’ll never guess what’s happened. It’s almost beyond belief.’
Woods struggled with waking out of a sound sleep. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Such a stroke of luck.’
‘What is? Spit it out, man. For God’s sake, tell me.’
‘Guess who’s coming along for the ride when they take your men to the general.’
‘No idea. Adolf? Rommel?’
‘No. Really. None other than our SS colonel. Oberst Hilmann himself. I have it on good authority from the andartes. We can either kill him or take him prisoner. What d’you think?’
It took a few moments for the news to sink in with Woods. ‘That’s tremendous. We’ll take him prisoner and get him off the island and back to Cairo.’
‘Yes, I thought you might say that. Don’t think it’s going to be popular with some of my chaps. If you ask me most of them would rather see him dead.’
‘I would have thought it would be better for them if we were to spirit him away. Either way, they’ll have reprisals. But if he’s seen to be killed, well, that might be much worse.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Still. This is very good news. Either way it’s a bonus. But I really think we have to insist on taking him.’
‘Up to you, Woods. I’m only the bearer of news.’
‘How on earth did you get all the intelligence?’
‘We have our means. There’s a girl. Pretty thing. Works in the camp. A Greek girl. Eleni. She’s not from the island. Came here from Athens. Very proper family. But relations over here. So when Athens fell to the Nazis she came here and settled in with her family. First she got a job in a café in the village. Now she works in the officers’ mess at the camp. She’s one of our best agents.’
Woods looked up. ‘Really?’
‘Well, when I say she works in the officers’ mess, I mean she has had to make certain… um, sacrifices. If you understand what I mean by that. There are many officers in the mess and they all need to be looked after.’
Woods understood only too well. Everyone made sacrifices during a war like this and this was her way. He hoped it was worth it.
Ffinch continued, ‘It’s her way of getting justice. Revenge. She was married when she first came here. Her husband was a lovely man – an Athenian doctor – and when one of the Germans was killed a year ago, and the bastards took reprisals they murdered ten men in exchange. And her husband was one of them. Two months later she took the job at the café of the garrison in Heraklion and a few months after that the andartes began to receive extremely useful information. It wasn’t difficult to work out where it was coming from. Men are at their most vulnerable when they’re in bed. Particularly when they’re in bed with a very attractive young woman.
‘Eleni’s grateful officer clients were soon giving her more information than she could handle. The most important thing, though, is that Jerries still don’t seem to have a clue, but they must be starting to wonder how on earth we seem to know their every move. She’s brilliant, Woods. One of our finest assets. Bright, resourceful, incredibly brave, and utterly devoted to her one goal. And she has the finest of motives. She just wants to kill Germans.’
*
Sandy Wilson led the party down the track from the hills towards the cove where the Rosetta lay at anchor beneath its ingenious camouflage coverings. It had taken them almost three days to get here and Wilson was hugely relieved. They had made it back to Leigh Fermor’s cave with relative ease and he had been worried that they would not be able to find their way down to the cove. He need not have worried. They had found Ffinch there who had provided them with a Greek guide to lead the way.
Of course Wilson had tried to persuade Miller to go with them. But the man was not to be persuaded. He said that he would rather see if Hunter and Woods were still alive and, if they weren’t, well he would just stay on the island and do what he could to help the andartes.
And so they had gone. Down the hill towards the coast, boulder by boulder and tree by tree.
As they approached where Martin remembered the caique to be anchored a voice hailed them from the shadows, ‘Right. Stop where you are. Drop your weapons and hands up.’
To a man they complied, and the next moment three men stepped out into the light. Martin recognised Gorringe and the two seamen. Fortunately the recognition was mutual. Gorringe lowered his weapon and addressed Martin: ‘Thank God, we wondered what had happened. Where are the others?’
‘That’s it. We’re all that’s coming, Captain.’
‘They’re dead? All of them?’
‘No. Captain Woods has taken his men to try to rescue the lieutenant and Phelpsy. Private Miller’s waiting for them. This is Captain Wilson. Half his men are dead.’
Gorringe nodded to Wilson. ‘Good to meet you, Wilson. Yes, I heard on the radio. I’m sorry. So what are we to do now?’
Wilson spoke: ‘We need to get this man to Cairo with whatever he is carrying. That’s paramount. And we’d also be immensely grateful if we could use your boat.’
Martin interrupted, ‘Remember what Captain Woods said, sir. We need to wait.’
‘I know what Captain Woods said, Martin.’
He turned to his men. ‘Go below, boys, and get your kit stowed. You too, Martin.’
Wilson waited until Martin was safely out of earshot, below decks and then took Gorringe aside. ‘Captain, we need to get off the island as soon as possible.’
‘What about the others?’
‘Others? There are no others. They’re all dead or taken prisoner.’
‘Well, I spoke to your man Dobbie at the same time that he was under attack.’
‘Yes. Sarn’t Dobbie. The poor bugger.’
‘So I know for certain that he is dead and probably all of his men. But I also had a message from Lieutenant Hunter. It was sent in Morse code, with his call sign. Scotsman. No one knows that call sign. Well, very few people. It must mean he’s still alive, Captain. Lieutenant Hunter is still alive.’
Wilson paused. ‘When did you receive the message?’
‘Two days ago.’
Wilson thought for a moment. ‘It’s a fake, Gorringe. We know that Hunter had been taken prisoner by then. They’ve clearly tortured him. And he’s talked. He’s given up his call sign to them. They’re trying to make you stay here on the island while they hunt you down. Don’t you see, Captain? You’ve been tricked.’
‘Well what about Woods and the others in his team?’
‘They’re all goners, I tell you. Woods is on a suicide mission. He’s going to go into the camp and try and get Hunter and Phelps out. But he’ll never do it. It’s utter madness. Suicide. The important thing is to get Martin away with the intelligence. That was his mission. We’ve achieved most of our objectives. We’ve got to ensure that he achieves theirs.’
Gorringe thought about it for a moment. In his heart, he was convinced that Hunter was still alive. He knew though that what Wilson was saying made sense. To attempt a rescue mission was futile. Once the Jerries had you, you were as good as dead.
After a while, he nodded. ‘Very well, Captain. We’ll sail this evening. For Alex. Until then I’m keeping her under covers. We go at nightfall.’
*
The caique slipped away under cover of darkness and sailed on until daybreak. The Rosetta had been running on her engines at full throttle for far too long and rather than have them overheat and seize up and also to save fuel, Gorringe had decided to revert to sail power. But the wind had died down and now the boat was sitting momentarily becalmed in the middle of the Libyan Sea. Gorringe called to one of his men, a naval rating with a real knack for running the engine room.
‘Cook, we’ll need to get the engines up and running again. Soon as you can, please. Wind’s gone down and we badly need to move.’
Below decks, Harry Martin was wondering what had happened and why the boat wasn’t moving. He was feeling agitated and concerned about what was going to happen to them all. In particular though he was wondering where on earth he and Wilson’s men were to be set down, while Gorringe went back to collect Woods and the others. That at least was what Wilson had told him was happening before they had sailed. At length, Martin could wait no longer. He pulled himself out of the small bunk and, after pushing open the little door, climbed up on deck. The sea was as glassy flat as a mirror and there was not a breath of wind. From below there was a sudden thudding followed by a crunch as Cook brought the engine into life.
Martin walked over to where Gorringe was standing at the wheel. ‘Captain. Could you possibly tell me where you intend to set us off?’
Gorringe turned to him. ‘Sorry, Martin? Set you off?’
‘Yes, as the captain said. When you return to Crete to get the others.’
‘But I’m not going back, sonny. That’s it. We’re bound for Alex.’
‘No. That’s not right. We can’t just abandon them. They’re not dead.’
Wilson had been listening. ‘They’re as good as dead, Martin. You know that as well as I do.’
‘I won’t have it.’ He looked back at Gorringe. ‘Captain. You have to turn the boat around.’
Gorringe shook his head.
Wilson yelled at Martin, ‘That’s enough, Martin. Saving the intel and getting you back is what we need to do now.’
Gorringe spoke again: ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but the captain’s right. But I have an idea. Captain Wilson, how long did it take you to reach us?’
‘Best part of three days.’
Gorringe pondered the answer, before replying, ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t alert Cairo by radio. My set’s still working. We can see if they can’t send a motor launch to the cove in, say, four days’ time. That would be big enough to pick them all up. Then, if any of the others have managed to get away, they will have reached the coast by then. It’s not much and I dare say the timings probably won’t work, but I want to try something and that’s all that we can do.’
14
The following morning the explosives arrived at the camp in the caves. Ffinch opened box after box of them as Woods watched him. The man was like a child, he thought, unwrapping Christmas presents with evident glee, until at length he seemed content that he had found what he was looking for. ‘Look at this, Woods. This is the good stuff.’
He held out a lump of green plastic to Woods. It smelt strongly of almonds.
Woods smiled. ‘Very nice. Lovely.’
‘Nobel 808. Beautiful stuff. Just the ticket.’
Together they made piles of everything that would be needed for the attack on the convoy, as Ffinch went through a litany of combustion: ‘Exploder, cable, electric detonators, detonator cord… It’s all here. This is really first class. Absolutely splendid.’ He paused to look at it. ‘I’d better make a start. No time to lose.’
As Ffinch scurried off to his cave to create the bombs Woods settled down with a glass of raki to look again at the small, hand-drawn plan detailing their attack. It was hardly the most complex of ideas, but there again, greater battles had, he supposed, been won by plans sketched out on cigarette packets.
*
In a couple of hours Ffinch announced that he was ready, and the Greeks loaded up six heavy parcels on to three mules and led them off down the hill towards the spot selected for the ambush. Woods and the other commandos went with them, each of them carrying a Sten gun, along with spare ammo, a pistol, a fighting knife and two hand grenades.
As soon as they reached the appointed place, the andartes began to unload the explosives and detonators from the backs of the mules and put them safely in an irrigation ditch at the side of the road. The rough stone road cut its way through the tree-lined slopes of the hill, snaking away tortuously with a meander that would ensure the slowness of the column when it came. The Greeks were first going to dig a shallow gully diagonally across the road and then set the bombs in it before covering it over with the spoil. The plan was to set the whole lot off at once. There was the Nobel 808 explosive and to it Ffinch had added six linked anti-tank mines. It was going to make a hell of a bang.
The Greeks began to dig the trench in the road that would take the explosives. Woods and his men and two of the Greeks remained on the road, ready to deter anyone from proceeding along the road. But no one came.
Then they moved back up the hill and sat and waited. The early evening was growing colder now. Other men of the andartes platoon began to arrive from the caves, bringing with them the two heavy machine guns and boxes of ammunition. They set up the guns and camouflaged them cleverly with brushwood, before disappearing into the landscape where they too sat down to wait.
*
Down the hill, five miles away from where the andartes lay in the woods, Hunter and Phelps were beginning their fourth evening of captivity. They had eaten in their cell – sauerkraut, thick black bread and porridge – and were preparing for the move to Hania to meet the general commandant.
Neither man said much. There was not much to say and both of them knew all too well what awaited them.
There was a commotion outside and the door swung open to reveal two of Hilmann’s SS. They walked into the cell and grabbed Hunter and Phelps, leading them out of the cell block and into the compound. Both men were downcast, but Hunter had become increasingly determined, as hope had abandoned him, not to allow the inevitability of their fate rob him of the one thing he had left: his pride. He walked out wearing as military a bearing as he could muster.
They were marched in the gloomy twilight from the cells to the parade ground, where three lorries stood waiting. Beside them were two open-topped, Kübelwagen staff cars and an armoured car. And standing beside them, though hardly in parade order, was an under-strength platoon of some twenty black-coated SS soldiers, commanded by a senior sergeant. They were relaxing: chatting and flicking through copies of Signal magazine. This, he presumed was to be their escort to the general commandant, and to the gallows. He felt strangely honoured by the high level of security. He smiled at Phelps. ‘Looks like this might be our honour guard, Sid. Quite a turnout. Quite a send-off.’
Phelps looked back and smiled and nodded. He hadn’t said much for a while now. He seemed to Hunter to be merely an empty husk.
The Germans looked at the two men indifferently and carried on chatting and smoking until, a few minutes later, a command rang out across the square. Instantly all cigarettes were extinguished and all chatter ceased. The men snapped to attention in two neat ranks.
Oberst Hilmann walked across the parade ground, accompanied on his right by his aide-de-camp and on his left by a woman. Hunter looked at her. She was young and captivatingly pretty. Aged perhaps twenty, she was dressed immaculately in a well-fitting grey linen skirt, a white blouse and a little cotton jacket. A double string of pearls hung around her neck and she was carrying a smart little handbag.
Her presence was utterly bizarre, here in this military convoy taking Hunter and Phelps to be paraded before a high-ranking enemy officer before being executed in a public display of barbarity sanctioned by a madman. He wondered what on earth she could be doing here. Was she the colonel’s wife? Or his mistress, perhaps? He certainly seemed to be treating her with the sort of politeness that either such position might demand. Hilmann made no show of her before the men but called forward the sergeant, who escorted her discreetly towards one of the command vehicles. Then Hilmann cast a look at Hunter and Phelps and he and the ADC entered the other staff car, joined by their driver and the guards.
Hunter and Phelps were pushed with rifle butts towards their own vehicle, a standard Opel Blitz truck. Their handcuffs were momentarily removed to allow them to clamber aboard, before being replaced once they were inside. As Hunter was climbing aboard he overheard a conversation in German between two of the guards.
‘That’s her. See that? That’s the colonel’s bit of skirt.’
‘She’s not the colonel’s, she’s anyone’s.’
‘Any officer you mean.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say no.’
‘She’s out of your league, mate, and anyway, since when were you an officer?’
‘So why’s she coming with us?’
‘I heard the colonel talking to his ADC saying that he was going to “lend her to the general”. What about that? She’s a present for him.’
‘They’ll do anything for promotion. Bloody officers.’
‘The general commandant is a personal friend of the Führer.’
‘Makes sense then, doesn’t it. Some present.’
Hunter was not surprised. The same sort of thing must be happening right now all over the great Reich. Women, selling themselves to get on in life, or merely to save their own skins. War wasn’t just about killing and maiming. It was about ruining lives, in every way possible. Things just got out of hand. There were no winners in a war. People did stupid things and they did what had to be done to survive.
He felt suddenly sorry for her, this pretty Greek girl, and wondered how she had come to this. Still thinking about her, he moved along the wooden bed of the Opel Blitz truck and sat down on the hard wooden bench. The engine roared into life and, as the little convoy moved off through the airfield gate and into the night, Hunter stared across at Phelps who stared back at him and to his surprise gave him a huge, beaming smile. The man looked relieved and somehow at peace with himself. And Hunter saw that, through the smile, there were tears coursing down his face. Finally there was something certain in Phelps’s life. He was going to die and in death, Hunter realised, he would finally find release.
