Hearts of Stone (15 page)

‘Quiet there!’ Andreas snapped.

The bay was still and the only movement came from the fishing village where several figures had emerged to gaze up at the aircraft flying overhead. Andreas briefly considered ordering them to take cover but decided there was little risk from an enemy reconnaissance plane. The tension began to build as they waited and sweated. The Italian pilot continued his inspection of the bay from a high altitude for nearly a quarter of an hour before he returned to his old course and continued to the east, slowly losing altitude until he had passed out of sight over the hills surrounding the bay.

Andreas lowered the binoculars and breathed with relief. ‘Gun crew, stand down.’

He leaned on the coaming as the gun crew left their stations by the weapon and sat down around it, in the shade. The captain came striding down the pier and called out, ‘Did you see the markings?’

‘Yes, sir. Italian.’

‘As I thought. They’ll be reporting that they were fired on. With luck they did not see anything else and that’s why they continued on course. It’s time we left Sivota. Get on the road to Preveza as soon as you can, Lieutenant.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The engineer’s over by the crew tents. Get him and his boys to heave the prop on to the truck then you can be on your way.’

Andreas nodded, returned the binoculars to the locker and swung himself under the railing and climbed down the rungs on to the main deck. He had just joined the captain on the jetty when the latter froze and cocked his head to one side.

‘Sir?’

‘Shhh! Listen . . .’

At first Andreas could discern nothing out of the ordinary, then there was a brief snatch of noise, the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine. It faded in and out, muffled, and it was impossible to decide which direction it came from. Both officers were looking around as the gun crew rose to their feet and looked up. It came again, louder this time, and seemed to echo on the slopes of the hill closest to the jetty.

‘Gun crew, action stations!’ Andreas yelled, an instant before the sound of the aircraft swelled and it flashed into view round the headland, flying low up the bay towards them, no more than fifty feet from the surface of the water. It was a twin-engined light bomber and as it banked to line up with the jetty, Andreas saw the muzzle of the forward machine gun flash. Spouts of water leaped up from the surface of the bay, racing towards the submarine. An instant later they struck the hull and conning tower with a deafening ringing clatter. The crewmen ducked down and the air filled with the throbbing roar of the bomber’s engines. Andreas stood his ground, more through surprise than courage, and saw the plane racing towards him. He could see the pilot staring grimly through his cockpit windshield and then the machine swept overhead in a gigantic blur of motion as the pilot opened the throttle and clawed for altitude as he climbed out of the bay. There was a shrill whistle and flash of flame and an instant cloud of smoke and dust a moment before the concussion struck those on the conning tower and sent them reeling. At once Andreas staggered back to his feet, shaking his head to try and clear the ringing in his ears. The bomber had already climbed out of the bay and was banking away. In its wake small stones and earth were still pattering down amid the swirling dust above the craters where the two bombs had struck.

It had happened so fast that not one shot had been fired back at the enemy. One bomb had landed close to the sailors’ tents, the shockwave flattening the nearest and leaving several men sitting on the ground stunned and unable to move. The second had hit one of the trucks which was now on fire, fierce red flames roaring about the wreckage. Andreas saw the captain lying face down on the jetty and felt a surge of panic before Iatridis began to move, drawing himself up and struggling to his feet unsteadily. He shook his head and looked round quickly as Andreas came running up to him.

‘Sir, are you all right?’

There was blood dripping from the captain’s nose and he cuffed it away on the back of his hand and nodded. ‘Yes. Yes. All right. I’m fine.’

Iatridis took in the scene and quickly issued his orders. ‘Get the wounded seen to. I’ll deal with the fire . . . Where’s Pilotis?’

Andreas looked and could not see him anywhere. He recalled that the last he had seen of him was shortly after the plane had been sighted. Close to the truck . . . He felt a cold fist clench around his stomach. He looked round the tented area quickly but there was no sign of the other officer. The captain recalled the position at the same time and also stared towards the blazing vehicle. Both watched in silence for a moment before Iatridis cleared his throat.

‘Too bad for Pilotis . . .’

Andreas nodded mutely.

‘He’s gone, Katarides,’ the captain said flatly. ‘That makes you the new first officer. I need you, the crew needs you now. We’ll grieve later. Understand?’

‘He might have been somewhere . . .’

‘He was there. I saw him a moment before the bombs fell. He’s dead. Now carry on, Lieutenant!’ The captain pushed him towards the men lying and stumbling amid the flattened tents. Andreas ran across the open ground towards the crew tents, calling on the nearest men to assist him. One man lay still on the ground, his head close to a rock, a pool of blood spreading out around his shattered skull. The rest had lesser injuries or were just dazed. By the time Andreas had seen to them all, the captain and some of the other men had extinguished the flames that had engulfed the truck and were standing close to the charred remains of a torso. If it had ever been the man once known as Pilotis then Andreas could see no resemblance to him any more.

‘Cover that up,’ the captain ordered one of his men. ‘And see if you can find any more pieces. Before the other men see anything.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Iatridis turned to his surviving officer. ‘Report.’

Andreas cleared his throat. ‘One dead. One with a broken arm. Otherwise minor flesh wounds and some of the men are suffering concussion, sir.’

Iatridis nodded slowly. ‘We were fortunate. It could have been much worse . . .’ He glanced across the bay, then up the steep slope the bomber had had to negotiate to get clear of Sivota. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Who would have thought an Italian would have the balls to do that?’

Andreas said nothing. He was looking around at the aftermath of the sudden attack. The plane had come and gone so quickly. It was hard to believe that moments before the bay had been a peaceful haven. Now a thick pall of black smoke hung in the air and an acrid stench of burned rubber filled his nostrils.

‘Sir, I’ll have to use another of the trucks to get to Preveza. With your permission?’

The captain shook his head. ‘There’s no time for that. Even now I expect our presence is being reported. We have to leave, before they send more planes to bomb Sivota. We have to get out of here as soon as we can. Not just for our sakes.’ He gestured across the bay to the small cluster of houses and fishing boats on the far side. ‘If they see that the
Papanikolis
is still here then they’ll hit the village as well.’

For a moment the decision weighed heavily on Andreas as it meant that there would no longer be any chance of seeing Eleni before he was forced to leave Lefkas. Then he pushed the thought aside. He was a naval officer. He had greater responsibilities to take care of. Neither he nor his country could afford the luxury of personal indulgences at this moment.

‘We must leave,’ the captain repeated. ‘Start getting the men on board, then all the supplies of food we can carry. The same goes for the fuel. Everything else must be destroyed.’

‘What are your plans then, sir?’ asked Andreas. ‘If we have only one propeller we won’t be able to go into action.’

If he was surprised or angered by the effrontery of his subordinate then Iatridis did not show it. Instead his expression hardened into a look of determination before he replied.

‘If we can’t fight, then so be it. I will not surrender the boat. We’ll make for Crete. If we’re lucky we’ll reach a shipyard where the propeller can be repaired, and I will take us back to war to fight the Germans. And if we are cornered by the enemy then I will not hesitate to scuttle her.’ He stared into the young officer’s eyes. ‘If anything should happen to me, it will be your duty to see my wishes are carried out. Is that clear, Katarides?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In the meantime I shall want good, reliable men manning the lookout positions. I do not want a repeat of what happened earlier.’

‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ Andreas said mildly. He could see that Iatridis seemed shaken by the near miss, and blood was still seeping from his nose. It began to drip down the front of his white shirt.

‘Carry on, Number One . . . That is your position for the present. Better get used to it.’

‘Yes, sir. You can rely on me, sir.’

The clop of hoofs interrupted their exchange and both officers turned to see an elderly man approaching on a donkey. He wore a suit and the long trousers of those more used to living in towns, or at least affecting urban pretensions. He had emerged from the trees where the track began its climb up and out of the bay. He glanced anxiously at the smouldering ruin of the truck and the flattened tents before he clicked his tongue and steered his small mount towards Andreas and his captain. He addressed Iatridis.

‘Are you the captain of the submarine?’

‘I am. Who wishes to know?’

The man eased his leg over the saddle and stood beside his donkey. Standing as stiffly as he could in front of the captain of the
Papanikolis
, he bowed his head and explained his presence.

‘I am Stephanos Mercudios, mayor of Nidyri. I have been asked to bring the captain a message from Inspector Thesskoudis of Lefkada. The inspector called me before noon to give you a warning.’

‘Warning?’ Iatridis frowned. ‘What warning? What for? Speak up, fellow.’

‘If it please you, sir, the inspector wishes to inform you that German troops were seen advancing along the causeway that links the island to the mainland this morning. There were hundreds of them, supported by armoured cars and artillery. The inspector suggests that you quit Sivota as soon as possible while you are still able to save your vessel.’

‘The Germans are on the island already?’ Iatridis shot an anxious glance at Andreas. ‘How long ago was this?’

The old man stroked his jaw as he recollected. ‘I was called in my office at ten this morning and immediately set out to warn you, sir.’

‘Ten! That was nearly three hours ago. Lefkada is, what, thirty kilometres from here by road? Holy mother of God, they could be here by the end of the day Assuming they know about this base. Let’s hope they’re content to take Lefkada and stop there before they spread out across the island.’

A tight ball of fear clenched in the pit of Andreas’s stomach. ‘The plane! The Italians will report our presence to them. If they haven’t already.’

‘You’re right. Even if we allow for the delay while the Italians inform their allies through the usual channels it won’t be long before the Germans know about us. And being Germans, they’ll come for us at once. We have to get ready to leave as soon as possible.’ Iatridis thought quickly. ‘That will take some time, and if the Germans are near it would be best to leave under cover of darkness anyway . . . All right then,’ he concluded steadily. ‘I’ll take charge here. But if the Germans come then we’ll need to delay them. That’ll be your job, Katarides.’

‘Sir?’

‘I want you to take the last two trucks and ten men and guard the approaches to the bay. You can have the machine guns from the lookout posts, and some grenades. There are plenty of choke points on the road to Nidhri. Set up your defences and wait. I’ll send word when it’s time for you to pull back to Sivota. With luck we’ll abandon the base and be far out to sea before the first of the enemy arrive.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘One thing more.’ Iatridis turned to the old man standing by his donkey. ‘I want you to go back to Nidhri at once. One of the lieutenant’s trucks will drive you there. Stay in touch with Thesskoudis. The moment he reports the Germans are heading this way, you let us know. Have a signal fire ready. Something that makes plenty of smoke. Light it the moment you see the first Germans approaching. Is that clear?’

The old man nodded and then looked anxious. ‘And what about my donkey?’

‘What?’

‘Who will take care of him?’

‘That doesn’t matter! There’s a war on,’ the captain said angrily.

But Andreas knew the islanders well enough to know the value placed on a good animal – unlike his mainlander captain, who had been born and raised in Athens. Andreas cleared his throat and intervened.

‘Your donkey will be taken care of. I’ll have one of the fishermen look after it until you return. All right, sir?’

The islander narrowed his eyes as he stared across the water to the village. ‘I don’t know . . . Some of those men are rogues. We’ve had trouble with them for many years.’

‘We are all Greeks,’ the captain fumed. ‘This is no time for petty feuds. Put your country first and deal with the real enemy. Now tie your bloody beast up and get on that truck.’

The local man scowled, then replied, ‘I’ll do as you say. For Greece. But be warned, this matter will be settled between us when the invaders have gone. You’ll see.’ He jutted out his stubbly chin in a gesture of defiance and then flicked the reins of his donkey and led it across to the nearest clump of trees.

Iatridis glared after him in frustration before he turned back to his subordinate. ‘You have your orders, Lieutenant. Now pick your men, collect your weapons and go.’ He paused and then grasped Andreas’s hand. ‘And Holy God watch over and protect you.’

Chapter Fourteen

A
ndreas was satisfied with the position he had chosen: just beyond the junction with the track leading down to the village of Poros in the next bay. In the other direction the road led down a long bare slope towards Nidhri, providing scant cover for anyone advancing up towards the waiting Greeks. Andreas had sited one of the Hotchkiss machine guns amid the rocks above the road to the left and the other light machine gun was hidden on the edge of the treeline on the other side of the road. Both positions would be able to sweep the road as well as cover each other from any attack. The rest of the men, six in all, were hidden amongst the rocks overlooking the road, armed with the Mannlicher-Schonauer rifles that dated back to before the previous war. Old weapons but accurate and deadly enough for the task in hand. There was one other man with the party, Appellios. He deserved another chance after the incident with the enemy aircraft, Andreas had decided, and was now posted on top of the hill with a clear view of the road before it rounded the bend and approached his waiting comrades.

All was in order. The men were in place and had been instructed not to open fire until Andreas fired the first shot. He had gone to each man in turn to make sure that they were ready and knew what he had planned. They were to defend the road until they received word from the captain to pull back to the submarine. If the enemy had not appeared by that point, they would return to the trucks which had been parked before the junction, facing downhill, and drive back to Sivota. If the Germans did reach them then they would hold them off until ordered to withdraw, or until their position became untenable. In that event Andreas had instructed that one section would fall back while the others covered their retreat to the next bend in the road where they in turn would set up and allow their comrades to fall back. And so on, leapfrogging along the road to Sivota, thereby buying the rest of the crew enough time to complete preparing the submarine for sea and to destroy those supplies that they could not carry away with them. It was a desperate plan, and Andreas knew that there was a good chance that neither he nor his men were likely to live more than a few more hours.

From their elevated position they had a clear view across the sea towards the headland and half an hour after they had settled down to wait, Andreas’s attention was called to distant movement over the mountains on the mainland. High above the peaks white lines curved and spiralled and it took a moment before Andreas realised he was looking at the contrails of aircraft. As he watched he wondered if there were aircraft locked in combat amid the slowly etched white lines which looked so graceful from such a distance. Then there was a tiny flash and a thin dark trail dropped from the sky behind the crest of the hill and all was still again.

Andreas eased himself down beneath the scented boughs of a pine tree and settled on a bed of brown needles. He was a short distance from the two men manning the second Hotchkiss machine gun, a youngster named Papadakis whose face had been heavily scarred by acne, and Stakiserou, a seasoned petty officer, with a fine black moustache and muscular arms, one of which carried a tattoo with the legend ‘
Papanikolis
– danger from the deep’. Around them the only movement was the flickering flight of swallows sweeping over the hillside as they snatched insects out of the afternoon air. Andreas glanced at his wristwatch: fifteen hundred, two hours since they had left the frantic activity in Sivota bay. There were still four good hours of daylight remaining, and, as yet, no sign of the Germans. He glanced towards the top of the hill where the lookout was positioned. There was little shelter from the sun up there and Andreas hoped that Appellios was not taking the opportunity to rest the way that some of his countrymen were inclined to do when they found themselves not required to be active. Perhaps he should have posted a more seasoned man up there, Andreas reflected. But even if Appellios failed in his duty for any reason, there would be ample warning from the direction of Nidhri when the mayor gave the word to light the signal fire.

Andreas had heard the stories about German brutality in Poland and France and if there was any truth to them, he feared for his fellow Greeks. He feared for Eleni and her family. Already they would be hearing the tramp of German boots through the streets of Lefkada. Andreas felt a cold fury at the thought of any harm befalling her or her family. To prevent that he was prepared to fight and die if need be. This would be a very different kind of conflict to the one he had experienced aboard the submarine. This time the enemy would be close enough to see their faces. It would be his finger on the trigger and his responsibility for pulling it. This would be his fight. He was in command and the sudden realisation of his responsibility for the men around him frightened him. He must not let them down.

And yet Iatridis had said that the war was already lost. If that was true then what was the point of fighting on? If the result was in no doubt then the reasonable thing to do would be to put an end to the fighting and save lives. What difference did it make if he and these men stood their ground here on some remote island and defied the German invaders? They might kill a handful of the enemy but they would be overwhelmed in the end. Andreas had few illusions that they would be able to survive the retreat to the submarine. They were sailors, used to serving at sea. Not soldiers trained for this kind of warfare and bolstered by a string of unbroken success across the battlefields of Europe. Even if they did reach the
Papanikolis
, what then? A perilous voyage across the Mediterranean to exile in Egypt. With the war going the way it was, the Germans would defeat the British and all that would have been achieved was a delay to the surrender of the submarine and her crew and needless loss of life.

This train of thought was undermining his will to fight and Andreas frowned at himself before turning towards his comrades on the machine gun.

‘Stakiserou,’ he said quietly.

‘Sir?’

‘That tattoo on your arm. Have you always served on the
Papanikolis
?’

The petty officer shook his head. ‘Started out on the
Elli
, sir. Served on her until the navy bought a couple of submarines from a French shipyard. Fancied a change and applied for a posting. I’m a plank-holder, sir.’

‘What’s a plank-holder?’ Papadakis asked.

‘It’s what we call a man who has served in a boat since its commissioning.’

‘Why a plank-holder?’

The petty officer shrugged. ‘Don’t know, lad. Just is.’

Andreas propped himself up on his elbows. ‘The term dates back to the old days when warships were made of wood. At least, that’s what I heard at the academy.’

‘But the submarine’s made out of steel,’ said Papadakis.

The petty officer glanced at Andreas and raised an eyebrow wearily before he responded. ‘It’s a tradition, you idiot. Like these.’ He tapped the insignia on his arm, two yellow stripes with two crossed cannon barrels under the lowest chevron. ‘I’m a marksman, but doesn’t mean I shoot with a bloody cannon, lad. Fuck me, where did they find you?’

‘Eh?’ Papadakis frowned.

‘Never mind. Just do what I say, and keep feeding me the ammo belt when the time comes. That’s all you have to worry about.’

The young recruit nodded and turned his attention back to the empty road. Andreas also turned his eyes towards the road and Nidhri in the distance, still and serene, and heedless of the war which had engulfed the mainland. Then he caught a flicker of movement and glanced down to see that a mosquito had landed on his forearm and began to feed on his blood. With an impulsive gesture Andreas slapped his spare hand on the insect, leaving a tiny red smear and the crumpled black remains of the creature. He stared at it for a moment and smiled to himself as a thought struck him. So that was it. He and his men were like the insect, inflicting a momentary and insignificant attack on a military leviathan. They too would be swatted as he had crushed the mosquito but they would have made their mark and momentarily commanded the attention of the giant to their existence and their will to inflict the tiniest inconvenience on their enemy, a mere pinprick. But they would have made their mark all the same and, like the insect, they would be remembered if only as an irritant that had drawn a single drop of blood.

It was a fanciful idea, and it put him in mind of the kind of metaphors his father so liked to use in his poetry to make points about the universality of experience. What would the great Katarides make of this current situation? Andreas wondered with a smile. It had poetic potential, as did all heroic stands against great odds.

‘Go tell the Spartans . . .’ he muttered to himself and smiled at the conceit.

‘What is it, sir?’

He looked up and saw the petty officer staring at him. ‘Nothing . . . Tell me, Stakiserou, what were you planning on doing if you had been posted to another vessel?’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘Your tattoo. As far as I am aware there is only one
Papanikolis
in the navy. What was your plan in the event that you were sent to another vessel?’

The petty officer sniffed. ‘Never gave it any thought, sir. It’s the submarine or nothing for me. I’m a plank-holder, and I’m not going to give her up for anyone else, or to anyone else, let alone some fascist who can’t even grow a decent moustache.’

Andreas laughed and shook his head, pleased to have such a man at his side. Then his laughter died in his throat as his gaze shifted back towards Nidhri. A column of dark smoke was rising up from the boatyard on the edge of Vlicho bay. It was too dark for wood and billowed in a thick, oily stain against the background of the sparkling sea.

‘Is that it?’ Papadakis asked. ‘Is that the signal?’

‘What does it look like, you fucking idiot?’ the petty officer growled. ‘It’s time to earn our pay.’

Andreas reached for his binoculars to view the distant scene, nearly three kilometres away. He followed the snaking road towards Nidhri and then he saw them – a line of vehicles emerging from between the whitewashed buildings. A small vehicle led the way, a car. Then came a column of trucks, eight, he counted. At the rear was an armoured car. The column halted and four of the trucks turned off the road and stopped, soldiers disgorging from the rear and spreading out around the vehicles. A moment later the remainder of the small force continued along the road before disappearing from view behind the side of the hill that sloped down towards Vliho bay.

Andreas lowered his binoculars. ‘They’re coming.’

He recalled the layout of the road and the way it climbed up from sea level into the hills and made a quick calculation. ‘They’ll be on us within half an hour.’

The petty officer spat. ‘How many of the bastards, sir?’

Andreas paused briefly to estimate the enemy strength. ‘At least fifty men, and they have an armoured car.’

‘Fifty!’ Papadakis shook his head. ‘We don’t stand a chance.’

Andreas stood up and turned to the youth. Papadakis was little more than a year younger than him, and already there was a gulf of authority between them.

‘Seaman Papadakis,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘We have the advantage. We hold the high ground, we will be firing from concealment and the Germans will be forced to come at us up a narrow road. Save your pity for them. We must kill as many of the enemy as we can, as quickly as we can. Think on that. If we don’t, then they will kill us. And if we don’t hold them back then our comrades are also lost, and the
Papanikolis
. The captain and the others are counting on you, Papadakis. Are you going to let them down?’

The young sailor stiffened. ‘No, sir. Not me.’

Stakiserou laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘There’s a man! We’ll show them.’

Brushing the pine needles from his uniform, Andreas stepped into the open. ‘I’ll tell the others what to expect and be back in a moment.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He trotted through the rocks and stunted bushes on to the road. Even though it was early April the air was hot and still and his voice echoed off the rocks as he moved down the narrow dirt track and called out to his men. At the bottom of the two-hundred-metre stretch of road that he had chosen for the ambush site, just before it curved round the side of the hill and began to zigzag down towards Nidhri, he shouted up to the lookout.

‘Appellios! . . . Seaman Appellios!’

A figure rose cautiously, head and shoulders clearly silhouetted against the sky. ‘Sir?’

‘You see ’em?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When they get within half a kilometre, you give me the signal. Hold your rifle up. I will wave to show you I’ve seen you. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When I give the order to open fire I want you to concentrate only on their officers and NCOs. Only them. You’ll be in the best position to pick them off and I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself. But you must watch for the signal to withdraw, and when you see it, get back to the trucks. Don’t stop for anything.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then Holy God and the Virgin Mary look after you, Appellios.’

‘And you, sir.’

Andreas turned and strode back to his position beside the machine gun and eased himself down behind the boulder he had chosen for cover. Taking up his rifle he checked the bolt mechanism again and then loaded a magazine box, chambered the first round and settled into a good shooting position, legs splayed and body lying at an angle to the long barrel of the Mannlicher. He was conscious of his heart racing and his hands felt cold and clammy. He eased the rifle down and rubbed them on his chest before forcing himself to breathe calmly while he waited.

Time seemed to stretch out as his ears strained to catch the first sound of the enemy’s approach. Then he heard the faint whine of a motor as it shifted down a gear and was revved to cope with the increasing incline of the slope beyond the hill where Appellios was stationed. The noise grew as the other vehicles followed suit and a moment later a figure rose on the hillside and held his rifle aloft in both hands. Andreas raised an arm and waved steadily from side to side until the lookout dropped out of sight.