Hearts of Stone (14 page)

There was a short delay, and then the vibration stopped. Iatridis rapped his fingers on the coaming while he waited. The rungs of the ladder sounded and a moment later the chief engineer clambered on to the conning tower. He was a short, bald man, wearing stained overalls.

‘What’s happened, Markinis?’ the captain demanded.

‘Starboard prop shaft has been damaged, sir. Must have been one of the depth charges. Either that, or we’ve lost a blade from the propeller. We’ll know when there’s enough light to put a diver over to inspect the damage.’

‘Can you repair it?’

The engineer shook his head. ‘Not in the open sea, sir. It might require a dry dock to do the job.’

‘Shit!’ Iatridis balled his hands into fists. ‘What speed can we get out of the starboard engine?’

‘Speed, sir?’ Markinis shook his head. ‘Sir, we can’t use the engine at all.’

‘We have to. I must catch up with the convoy.’

‘If we try to run it, we’ll cause more damage.’ The engineer shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

Iatridis sucked in a deep breath and patted the man on the shoulder. ‘Not your fault. Very well then, shut the engine down. We’ll remain here until first light and see what’s happened. Get one of your men ready to dive over the side.’

Markinis saluted and climbed back down through the hatch.

The captain turned to Andreas with a rueful smile. ‘Of all the luck.’

‘Yes, sir.’

But Andreas was still reliving the hours of hellish torment and was achingly grateful just to be living. The loss of the use of an engine seemed a small price to pay for such good fortune. They could still return to base using the port engine. While he could understand the captain’s frustration, in his heart he wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of Sivota and deal with the demons he had discovered in his heart so that next time he would be truly ready to go to war. He would leave behind his boyish enthusiasm, knowing full well the reality of the conflict he would face.

Half an hour passed and a thin blur of light smudged the eastern horizon and grew in strength, gradually banishing the darkness over the sea and revealing the consequences of the previous night’s action. Andreas began to pick out the men floating in the swell. They had been left behind by the convoy, abandoned because it was too much of a risk for any ship to stop and make an easy target of itself as it attempted to pick them up. What Andreas had previously thought was a lifeboat turned out to be a collection of rafts, crowded with men, clinging to each other. But there were far more men still in the water, many with life vests but more clinging to wreckage or treading water. There were bodies too, small dark humps rising and falling in the gentle morning swell. Large patches of oil floated on the surface, smooth and unruffled like the surrounding sea. There were more men there, covered in black slime, flailing feebly as they struggled to reach open water. And behind them all, the ponderous bulk of the capsized hull. A handful of survivors had clambered on to the exposed steel plates and lay there waiting to be rescued.

‘So many of them . . .’ Andreas murmured.

‘What do you expect? It’s a troopship. They pack every man they possibly can on board for the short crossing from Italy.’

‘What’s going to happen to them, sir?’

Iatridis shrugged. ‘That’s not our problem. Their navy will come looking for them. Or they’ll send search planes. But not before we’ve left the scene, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘I was more concerned about them, sir.’ Andreas gestured towards the hundreds of men in the sea and on the rafts. Some of the men nearest to the submarine were already striking out towards it, crying for help. ‘We should do something for them.’

Iatridis smiled coldly. ‘What do you suggest, Katarides? Give them all a ride back to the nearest Italian port?’

‘No, sir.’ Andreas flushed. ‘But we can offer them some help for their wounded.’

‘Forget it. They came to us looking for trouble and they found it. I’ll not lose any sleep over their suffering.’ He glared at his navigation officer and then seemed to relent. ‘I’ll send an open signal to their navy once we’re well clear of the area, and tell them where they can find their friends. But that’s all I’m prepared to do.’

They were interrupted by the clang of a hatch opening against the hull and turned to see the engineer and one of his men in a mask and breather kit emerge on to the aft deck. The engineer issued his instructions and the man slithered down the side and splashed into the sea, disappearing from view.

Turning his attention back to the enemy, Andreas saw two men close by. One of the lookouts drew the captain’s attention to them.

Iatridis stared at the swimmers for an instant before he snapped an order. ‘Take a side arm and go down there. Tell them to stay clear of the boat. If they try to get aboard, shoot them.’

‘Shoot them, sir?’

‘Are you deaf, man? Do as I order!’

The lookout saluted and hurried down into the submarine. He emerged shortly afterwards from the forward hatch and began to shout at the Italians who had reached the dive plane and were holding on to it as they recovered their breath. Andreas could see that they were both young men, like himself. They shouted back, angrily at first, then pleading. The crewman shook his head and drew his pistol and pointed it towards them. There was another exchange and then the crewman fired and a spout of water burst into the air close by the Italians. They quickly released their grip and swam a short distance away and trod water, heads rising and falling on the swell.

‘That bloody diver is taking his time,’ the captain growled, turning his attention to the stern of the submarine. Andreas raised an eyebrow. The man had only been gone for a few minutes and just then his head broke the surface and he climbed back on board. There was a brief exchange before the engineer strode up to the conning tower and tilted his head back to report.

‘It’s the propeller, sir. We’ve lost a blade and one of the others is damaged.’

‘Very well,’ Iatridis said through gritted teeth. ‘Back to Sivota it is. Katarides, return to your charts and plot a course.’

As Andreas made for the hatch the captain called down an order for the remaining engine to start turning and the helmsman to steer south-east, towards the Ionian islands. As his head drew level with the deck, Andreas cast one look back at the Italians in the water and felt a sick horror at the pitilessness of the war he had become a part of.

Chapter Thirteen

Sivota

‘How can I be expected to defend my country if my own side refuses to let me!’ Lieutenant Commander Iatridis raged as he tossed the message on to his desk in contempt. On the other side of the desk sat the other two officers of the crew. The sides of the tent had been rolled up to take advantage of what movement of air there was in the stifling bay. Around them there was little movement. It was just after midday and the submarine’s crew and their shore-based comrades were resting in the shade of their own tents and the stubby trees that grew up the slopes around Sivota. Only two sentries were on duty, tasked with keeping the local fishermen and their families away from the navy’s property. They stood on the shingle of the beach between the village and the camouflaged pier where the submarine was moored, rifles grounded as they sweated in the glare of the sun. It had been over a week since the
Papanikolis
had limped back to its base under the power of its remaining engine. The damaged propeller had been removed from its shaft and a request had been sent to Athens for a replacement.

The following day, 6 April, the Germans had begun their invasion of Greece, finally coming to the rescue of their beleaguered Italian allies. In the ensuing chaos the officials at the department of naval supplies seemed to have lost sight of the submarine’s urgently needed replacement propeller blades. Despite several increasingly angry radio messages from Iatridis, there had been no satisfactory response.

‘It’s been five days since the Germans crossed the border from Yugoslavia and Romania,’ said the captain. ‘They’re making a far better job of it than the Italians. Thessaloniki fell two days ago and now the latest signal from the naval ministry says that the enemy are marching on Athens. Naturally, they exhort all patriots to stand firm and fight the fascists. Which is all very well, but without two propeller blade replacements there is no propeller for the port engine, and without the port engine the boat is in no condition to go to war with any chance of making a difference. We’ll be too slow to intercept enemy shipping, and too slow to evade the enemy if they spot us. All for the sake of a pair of fucking propeller blades, which some pen-pusher in his neat little office in Athens can’t be arsed to sort out for us. A sorry state of affairs, gentlemen.’

Andreas and Pilotis had kept still and silent during the tirade and were now aware that their captain was expecting a response. They exchanged a brief glance and the first lieutenant gave a slight nod of encouragement. Andreas shifted on his chair as he spoke up.

‘Indeed, sir. What will you do?’

Iatridis pursed his lips briefly before he decided. ‘We’ll have to make our own arrangements. We can’t rely on Athens any more. They have too much on their plate to deal with and we’ll be forgotten in the chaos that is unfolding. It’ll all be over before the
Papanikolis
can have any affect on the outcome.’

‘Do you think we can defeat the Germans, sir?’ asked Andreas.

‘No. Greece will fall.’

‘Even with the help of the British? The radio reports say that they are sending tens of thousands of their men to support us. And their planes and warships. We have already beaten off the Italians. Why not the Germans as well, sir?’

‘Because they know their business, Katarides. They have been preparing for this war ever since Hitler came to power. They are better trained, better equipped and better organised. And do not put too much faith in our British allies. They have sent too little to make much difference. Their equipment is inferior and from what I have heard from Athens, they reached the front just in time to join the retreat.’ He smiled gently at his two young lieutenants. ‘The war in Greece is lost, my friends. That much is already certain.’

Pilotis frowned. ‘Then what shall we do, sir?’

‘What can we do?’ the captain answered. ‘Nothing, until the propeller is repaired. Even then, we shall not affect the outcome. But there will be no surrender. I will not let any German set foot on my boat. I would sooner sink her myself first.’

Andreas nodded his agreement, determined not to give in to the Germans. The soil of Greece was sacred and so was her honour. As long as her people fought on then their honour at least would be saved from the invader. Then he thought of Peter, his friend. Old enough now to be a soldier and fight for his country. It was impossible to believe that he would wage war against the country he had come to know and the people he had counted as friends. But then Peter would have no choice, not if he was a soldier, or sailor or airman. He would be obliged to fight by those who commanded him. Andreas was suddenly sickened by the thought that he might one day confront his German friend in battle, however unlikely the event. Would Peter try to kill him? Would he, in turn, be prepared to kill the German?

‘However,’ Iatridis broke into his thoughts. ‘I would rather not scuttle the
Papanikolis
unless I have to. If we can’t get the navy to send us the spare parts we need then we’ll have to improvise.’

He drew a chart across the table and spread it out, weighting the corners with stones. Pilotis and Andreas leaned forward as their captain pointed to a port on the mainland. ‘There’s a good boatyard at Preveza. I visited it once a few years ago. Used to be a ship-breaker and there’s plenty of scraps and parts still around. Bound to be a few propellers. If we can’t match anything to the damaged blade then we might be able to find something that can be altered to replace the entire propeller. If we can do that then we can still play our part in the war.’

‘And what if Greece is defeated, sir?’ asked Pilotis. ‘What then?’

Iatridis folded his hands together. ‘Our armed forces may be defeated, but never our country. The government, together with the king, will go into exile. Most likely seeking shelter with the British. I think they will make for Egypt. From there they will continue to lead our people against the enemy. They will need every man, every weapon that can be removed from the clutches of the Germans. That includes the
Papanikolis
and her crew. We shall do what damage we can to the enemy and then it is my intention to sail to Alexandria and serve the government in exile or offer our services to the British. We will continue the fight, just as our people will do all that they can to resist the Germans and Italians who occupy the mainland, and islands, like this one.’ Iatridis regarded them closely. ‘It may be several years before Greece is free again. The crew will have to leave their families behind. They won’t like that but it can’t be helped. We must continue to do our duty for as long as we can. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Andreas and Pilotis replied.

‘Good. Then there’s no time to waste. Katarides, I want you to have the damaged propeller loaded on to a truck. Drive to Preveza and get it repaired or replaced. Then get back here as soon as possible. We’ll leave Sivota as soon as the propeller is fitted. We won’t be returning. We’ll destroy any supplies or equipment we can’t take with us.’

‘What about the shoremen?’ asked Andreas.

‘They will be coming with us. It’ll mean the boat will be crowded but that can’t be helped. I want to save any man who can be put back into action against the enemy later on.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then get the lorry loaded and set off.’

Andreas stood up and made ready to go.

‘One more thing, Katarides.’

‘Sir?’

The captain smiled at him. ‘While you are passing through Lefkada you might want to make your farewells to your family and friends. Chances are you won’t be seeing them again for a long time. But don’t take too long over it, eh? Just say what you have to and leave them behind.’

Andreas bowed his head gratefully. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be quick.’

‘You’ll have to be. I imagine it won’t be long before the Germans make their appearance. We have to quit the island before then. Just get that propeller fixed so we can get the boat ready for action and get out of here before we get trapped in Sivota. Go.’

The exchanged a salute and Andreas turned to leave, striding out of the shaded tent and into the bright sunlight. As he made for the crew tents his heart lifted at the thought of seeing Eleni again. It was a bitter-sweet prospect given that he would have to tell her that it would be the last time for many years. But it was better than having no chance to take his leave of her. This time he vowed that he would reveal his feelings for her, and if she felt the same about him, then he would swear to return when the war was over and ask for her hand in marriage. The thought filled him with anxiety and he wondered if he dared to go through with it. If she turned him down, it would wound his heart grievously.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint drone of an engine. Andreas stopped to listen, thinking at first that it must be a boat passing by the entrance to the bay, or even entering it. He turned to look but saw nothing, no movement across the water that stretched between the headlands. There was a shout from the slopes above and he turned to see one of the lookouts on the hill waving to attract the attention of those down in the bay and then pointing up at the sky. A handful of sailors spilled out of the shadow to look up and Andreas shaded his eyes as he squinted into the bright light and scanned the azure heavens, dabbed with towering columns of dazzling white clouds. The sound was more distinct now and it took another few frustrating moments before Andreas finally saw the dark speck approaching from the west.

The captain and first officer hurried out to join him close to the nearest of the trucks and Andreas did his best to point the aircraft out to them.

‘There, to the right of the cloud . . . See?’

‘Yes,’ Iatridis muttered. ‘Got it.’

‘What do you think, sir?’

Iatridis did not hesitate. ‘The enemy. Italian most like.’

Pilotis lowered his hand and turned to his captain. ‘What shall we do, sir?’

‘Nothing we can do. Apart from praying that we do not attract his attention. With luck he’s high enough not to see through our camouflage netting. Best get the men under cover and not make any unnecessary movement.’

Pilotis turned to the sailors emerging from the tents under the trees to join their comrades watching the approaching aircraft. ‘Get back under the trees! Now!’

The men scrambled back into cover and continued to watch from between the branches while the three officers calmly made their way back to the captain’s tent. They had almost reached it when a sharp rattle of machine-gun fire blasted across the bay.

Iatridis spun round. ‘What the devil?’

All three officers turned to stare up at the lookout post nearest the entrance to the bay. They picked out the sailor standing behind the mounted machine gun. As they watched, a fresh arc of tracer reached up towards the approaching plane and the rattle of the gun followed an instant later.

‘Cease firing!’ Iatridis bellowed, then drew another breath and cupped his hands to his mouth and repeated the order. Andreas saw a pile of small-arms ammunition crates at the end of the pier, and the speaking trumpet resting on top of it. The captain strode swiftly in the direction of the lookout, still shouting towards the man as a fresh burst of tracer leaped up into the sky, falling well short of the plane. Andreas ran to the pier and snatched up the speaking trumpet and hurried after Iatridis and shouted through the mouthpiece, echoing the order to cease fire. There was a final burst before the sailor paused, then looked down towards them. He froze for a moment and then released his grip on the weapon and stepped away, letting the barrel point directly up.

‘Who is that fool?’ Iatridis demanded.

The distance was too great to identify the man but Andreas had been responsible for the lookout rosta that day and hurriedly recalled the names and positions of the men assigned to the afternoon watch.

‘It’s Appellios, sir.’

‘One of the new recruits?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Iatridis swore bitterly. ‘Be a bloody miracle if the young fool hasn’t given away our position.’

‘Want me to place him on a charge, sir?’

‘What’s the point? The damage is done . . . All we can do is hope the pilot of that plane is just as inexperienced as young Appellios.’

The officers stood and watched as the plane seemed to crawl across the sky until it was directly above the bay. For a moment Andreas was sure that it would continue on its leisurely course, but then it began to circle.

‘Damn,’ Iatridis muttered. ‘He must have seen the tracer.’

‘Should we try to shoot him down, sir? Concentrate the fire of the other lookout posts?’

The captain considered his options quickly and shook his head. ‘No more shooting unless I give the order. Have the anti-aircraft gun crew go to their station and then we’ll wait and see what our friend up there does.’

While the captain stood and watched the plane, Andreas ran to the crew tents and called out the gun crew and then ran with them back to the submarine. They climbed on to the wide platform at the aft of the conning tower and began to load the heavy ammunition cartridges on to the Oerlikon. The gunner pressed himself into the padded shoulder braces and swung the heavy weapon on its mounting as he took aim at the aircraft. Although it was beyond the range of the machine guns it was within reach of the Oerlikon and Andreas addressed the man quickly.

‘Do not open fire unless the captain gives the order.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Andreas crossed to the nearest locker and took out a pair of binoculars and rejoined the others as they stood, straining their eyes to keep track of the plane through the netting. He looked up through the gap in the netting directly above the anti-aircrafts cannon, adjusted the diopter on the binoculars and tracked on to the aircraft, controlling his breathing as he tried to steady the image.

‘Italian markings . . .’

‘And now they’ve seen us,’ a voice muttered. ‘Thanks to that fucking green fool on the hill. I’ll knock his teeth out the moment I get the chance.’