Jackals’ Revenge. Iain Gale
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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