Hearts of Stone (26 page)

‘What is wrong with my father?’

Eleni shrugged. ‘The doctor could not say. He thinks your father seems to have lost the will to live. He does not eat, drinks little and has barely enough energy to stir from his bed. But he did ask me about you before I left. He asked if I thought you were still alive.’

For an instant Andreas was torn between anxiety for his father and the need to keep his presence on the island a secret. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I wanted to tell him you were alive, to give him some hope. But I knew I could not. That is your decision.’ She took his hand. ‘What will you do?’

Andreas thought for a moment, filled with guilt and a longing to be with his father before it was too late. ‘I will see him. As soon as I can. I owe him that at least. Can you get me in without the Italians in the house knowing?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Then I’ll do it, once the consequences of tomorrow have died down.’

She kissed him. ‘I hoped you’d say that.’

Then she placed her arms round his shoulders and drew him back on to the rock beside her and Andreas kissed her and began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She held his hand.

‘Andreas, we must be careful. I cannot afford to be with child. Not while we fight the enemy. You understand?’

He nodded. ‘I know. I will not let that happen.’

Then he leaned forward and kissed her neck and she let out a soft sigh of delight as she closed her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
he last of Michaelis’s men crawled into position before first light. They had left the cave shortly after midnight and picked their way down the valley to approach the small plain surrounding Nidhri. The Italian artillery battery was on the crest of a small hill a kilometre from the town. One by one, Michaelis assigned his men to their places at the base of the hill. When he had outlined his plan to Andreas just before setting off he had intended to surround the hill to ensure that no Italians escaped, and then attack. Andreas had pointed out that this might well lead to the
andartes
accidentally shooting at their own men when they reached the crest of the hill. Accordingly, he persuaded the
kapetan
to change his plan so that only a loose screen surrounded the hillock while the rest of the men attacked from a single direction.

It was an hour before sunrise before the men were finally in place and Michaelis whispered the order for the assault to begin. The two silenced Stens were in the hands of the
kapetan
and Andreas, who led the way up through the scrub and stunted oaks, treading warily in order not to alert the sentries guarding the anti-aircraft battery above. Aside from the calls of a few night birds hunting their prey there was quiet and Andreas’s senses strained to detect any sign of life ahead of him as he climbed the hill. The sound of his own breathing, his footfall and the subdued panting of the men behind him seemed alarmingly loud and he feared that the enemy would detect them and open fire at any moment.

‘Psst . . .’

Andreas paused and glanced towards Michaelis. The
kapetan
had lowered himself into a crouch and pointed up the slope. Ahead the last of the trees gave out on to open ground and there at the crest of the slope he could just make out the outline of a sentry. A moment later there was a tiny flare of red as the man drew on a cigarette and then the tip faded to a faint glow. Michaelis turned to signal his men to halt and then crept closer to Andreas.

‘We’ll get closer and then I’ll shoot him,’ he whispered.

‘No. I have a better way.’ Andreas carefully slung his Sten and drew his knife and held the blade up for the
kapetan
to see. ‘I’ll use this.’

Michaelis was still a moment before he nodded. ‘All right.’

Andreas edged forward in a crouch, climbing the slope as stealthily as possible, testing every foot he planted to avoid snapping any fallen branches or stumbling on a loose rock. All the while he kept his gaze fixed on the sentry as blood pounded in his ears like a muffled drum. Every so often the man would inhale and the glow from the tip of his cigarette would light his face and the front of his cap in a lurid red. He looked young, with thin features. Barely older than Andreas. And yet he was the enemy. Pushing aside such considerations, Andreas concentrated on his training and steadily worked his way round so that he could approach from behind. As he reached the crest of the hill he could make out the long, dark barrels of the anti-aircraft guns pointing up into the sky, and the rings of sandbags that surrounded them. A short distance beyond lay two neat lines of tents and he could hear the sound of snoring. He made out two more sentries on the far side of the battery.

When he was no more than five paces away he paused and raised his knife. There was a terrible stillness that seemed to stretch on and on before the man drew on his cigarette one last time and exhaled, letting his hand drop to his side. Before Andreas could choose his moment there was a cough from below on the slope. Andreas rushed forward. At the last moment the sentry began to turn, but it was too late to save him. Andreas’s left hand snapped over his mouth and yanked his head back while the commando knife sliced open the sentry’s throat and Andreas felt a warm spray on his fingers. The man struggled desperately in his grasp, and kicked out the heel of his boot, catching his assailant on the shin. The sentry released his rifle and it fell against his body before slipping to the ground with a soft thud. His strength failed quickly as he bled out and when he was no more than twitching feebly Andreas gently lowered him to the ground and eased his hand away from the man’s mouth. There was a gentle rasp of air from his lips and then he lay still and silent.

Andreas knelt down beside the body and used the Italian’s uniform to wipe the blood from his knife and hands. None of the enemy had noticed the disturbance and the battery slumbered on beneath the stars, quite oblivious to its imminent peril. Satisfied that they were safe to continue the attack. Andreas turned to the slope and beckoned to his comrades waiting in the shadows. There was a soft padding of footsteps and then the dark figures of the
andartes
swarmed forward and fanned out on either side of Andreas before kneeling down to wait for orders. Michaelis glanced at the body and cleared his throat as he patted him on the back. ‘Good work . . .’

The
kapetan
reached into his sidebag and took out a grenade and held it up for his men to see. Those who had been entrusted with grenades took them out and when all were ready Michaelis gave the signal to advance. Crouching low, the line of
andartes
began to cross the crest of the hill towards the guns and the tents. As they reached the sandbags of the first emplacement Michaelis signalled his men to halt and leaned his weapon against the hessian sacks. He drew the grenade pin, keeping his hand close over the lever, and rose to his feet. The other men armed with grenades followed suit and Michaelis took a deep breath and shouted.

‘Now!’

There were grunts as the others hurled their grenades towards the tents and before the Italians could react there was a series of blinding yellow flashes amongst their tents. The blast shredded the canvas and blew the material out as if caught in a sudden storm. The sound of the detonations was momentarily deafening and as the
andartes
rose up and surged forward, Andreas’s ears were still ringing. A savage cry ripped from their lips as they charged. Figures stumbled out from between the tents, too shocked to react to the danger, and there was a panicked cry of alarm, too late to do any good. Shots cracked out on either side of Andreas and he raised his weapon and flicked off the safety catch as he reached the second gun position, no more than ten paces from the tents. He saw a man with a rifle start to raise his weapon before there was a flash from one side and the Italian toppled back. More of the enemy were cut down by the
andartes
’ fire as they charged into the tent lines and continued shooting as they shouted their war cries.

Andreas stopped by the second emplacement and vaulted inside before hurrying to the anti-aircraft gun. He slipped the Sten over his shoulder again and reached into his sidebag for the first RDX charge. He moulded the charge round the breach mechanism and set a pencil detonator deep into the pliable mass, pinching it to break the acid vial inside. In twenty minutes it would eat through the wire that released the trigger and set off the charge. He quickly set another charge beneath the ammunition cases stacked to the side of the emplacement and then hurried over to the other two guns to complete his work.

By the time he had finished, the shooting had stopped and the
andartes
were picking over the bodies and tents, looking for weapons to salvage and any loot. He found Michaelis standing in the middle of the camp, the stock of his weapon resting on his hip as he surveyed his triumphant followers.

‘The charges are set, we have to go soon.’

‘We didn’t lose a single man.’ Michaelis laughed. ‘Just two wounded. Yannis, shot in the arm, and Niklos, shot himself in the foot.’

‘Very good. Now let’s get back to the cave.’

‘We leave when I say,’ Michaelis responded flatly. ‘I am in command. Not you.’

‘I know. But the charges—’

‘There’s plenty of time. As I said, two wounded. In exchange we’ve killed or wounded at least ten of them. The rest bolted in the direction of Nidhri.’

‘They’ll be back. With reinforcements. Listen!’

They both heard the wail of a siren from the direction of the town and saw lights flickering on.

‘We’ll have disappeared back into the hills long before those dogs arrive.’ Michaelis cleared his throat and spat before he called out. ‘
Andartes!
On me!’

His men came hurrying from across the crest of the hill. Some were talking excitedly and laughing at their exploits. As the last of them arrived, Andreas saw that he had three Italian prisoners with him, hands on heads as they were jostled towards the waiting resistance fighters.

‘What’s this?’ Michaelis demanded. ‘Holy God! What is that stench? They smell worse than we do!’

‘They were hiding in the latrine trench. They surrendered to me as soon as I pointed my gun at them.’

The other men surrounded the prisoners and jeered, prodding them with the muzzles of their weapons, and some kicked and spat at them.

‘We can’t take prisoners,’ Michaelis said firmly and then called out loudly so that all his men would hear him clearly. ‘No prisoners.’

The voices of his men died away and Michaelis turned to the young man who had captured the Italians. ‘Step away from them. Do as I say.’

The
andarte
stood his ground for a moment then withdrew a few paces and the Italians were left standing slightly apart from the group. Michaelis strode up behind them and kicked each man in the back of the knees to force them to drop down. One of the Italians instantly began to speak quickly in a pleading tone. Andreas heard the sharp snap as Michaelis loaded a fresh magazine into his Sten.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We can’t take prisoners,’ Michaelis repeated. ‘We can’t keep them in the cave watching them to make sure they don’t escape. Or worse, not being able to rest without worrying they’ll get hold of a weapon and kill us while we sleep. Besides, they’ll be extra mouths to feed.’

He cocked the weapon and raised the muzzle to the back of the first prisoner’s head.

‘Wait!’ Andreas intervened and stepped in between them. ‘You can’t just shoot these men.’

‘Why not? Do you think they’d be any more merciful if we surrendered to them? Now get out of my way.’

‘Let them go.’

Michaelis stared at him. ‘Are you mad? They’re the enemy.’

‘They are prisoners of war. You shoot them now and you can guarantee the Italians will take reprisals. It’s safer to let them go.’

‘We could stand here arguing about it but your charges are set to go off.’

‘Just let them go. It’s the best thing to do,’ Andreas urged.

Michaelis lowered his Sten and spoke quietly. ‘All right. You men, get off the hill and head back to the cave. Go!’

They began to file off into the darkness. Michaelis turned away from the men kneeling on the ground and gestured to Andreas to follow the others. He had not gone more than a few paces before he heard the snap of the Sten’s bolt and a distinctive hiss and stopped abruptly to look back. He saw the first prisoner’s dark shape face down on the ground just as Michaelis shot the second man in the back of the head. Before Andreas could speak, the third man had been executed. Michaelis calmly stepped over the bodies and set off after his men. He thrust Andreas before him and they hurried away, across the crest and down the slope. As they passed through the trees Andreas fell into step beside the
kapetan
.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘Told you. No prisoners.’

‘The Italians will find them and know what you did.’

‘Let them! Once word gets round, every fascist outpost on the island is going to know what we do with prisoners. It’ll scare the bastards witless.’

‘And they’ll take it out on our people. Our people, Michaelis. They will pay with their blood.’

The
andarte
leader shrugged. ‘War is a pitiless business, my friend. The sooner everyone on this island learns it the better.’

Behind them there was a brilliant glare and a moment later they heard the boom of the first explosion. The
andartes
stopped to look back and saw the ball of fire boiling up from the crest. A second explosion erupted with a huge flash that made the men wince before the roar hit them. Andreas realised it was the first ammunition store going up. The blast fed more explosions in the ammunition, splitting the night with flashes and thunderclap detonations. By the time they reached the track leading up towards the mountain valley the last of the charges had blasted the remaining anti-aircraft gun to pieces and the crest of the hill was ablaze with burning debris, dry grass and undergrowth. Beyond, in the direction of Nidhri, they could see the headlights of several vehicles bobbing along the track leading towards the battery, too late to save it or pursue the men who had carried out the attack.

Michaelis paused and raised his Sten into the air. ‘Now they’ll know what happens to those who sully Greek soil with their jackboots! They will fear us! Our names will be on the lips of all those who hate the enemy and love the motherland!’

He let out a loud cheer and his men joined in. Only Andreas remained silent as he gazed back at the hellish fires burning on the hilltop, the glow of the flames picking out the bodies scattered amongst the tents. This was the first major attack carried out by the
andartes
since the island had been occupied. And the bloodiest. And there would be a reckoning.

The mood amongst the
kapetans
gathered outside the shepherd’s hut close to the summit of Pirghos was sullen and they regarded Michaelis with barely guarded hostility. The day after the attack on the anti-aircraft battery the Italian commander had issued a proclamation demanding the surrender of the criminals responsible for the attack and the murder of fifteen Italian soldiers, some of whom had been executed after they had been taken prisoner. If the perpetrators were not in police custody within twenty-four hours then fifteen men taken from the population of Lefkada would be shot. The deed had been carried out the following morning. The fifteen, taken at random off the streets of the town, were marched to the prefecture, placed against the wall of the building and killed by firing squad. Word of the massacre had reached all corners of the island and the leaders of the resistance bands were open in their anger at Michaelis.