Jackals’ Revenge. Iain Gale
Читать онлайн книгу.
whether this place will end up looking like the rest of ancient Greece. Whether it will sink back into antiquity where it lay for 2,000 years after the Peloponnesian wars, before we rediscovered it. That’s what war does, sir, isn’t it? Destroys civilisations.’
Lamb looked at him. ‘You’re right, actually. That was what I was thinking. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it, Valentine? To stop this bloody war. To stop a German madman from destroying our own civilisation.’ He looked again at the shattered ships and houses. ‘Come on, let’s get going. Jerry can’t be far behind.’
A number of caiques, fragile-looking Greek fishing vessels with a sail and a small motor, were lying at anchor in the harbour. Most appeared to have been requisitioned by the army, and men and stores were being loaded aboard. One, though, no less ramshackle than the rest but marginally more seaworthy, caught Lamb’s eye. It bore the name Andromeda, which had been painted with some care by its owner on to a wooden sign on its bows along with a large all-seeing eye which gave it the appearance of a war galley. On its fore-deck he could see several khaki-clad figures tinkering with a deck-mounted Lewis gun – two British officers in shirt sleeves, a corporal and a handful of men. If that was the total on board then she would manage a few more bodies, he reckoned. Lamb walked over and stepped on to the deck. He walked over to the senior officer, a thin young captain with slicked-back dark hair. Lamb introduced himself.
‘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