Dig Two Graves: Revenge or Honor (18 page)

“He said to tell you to try to identify the man with Solaris and get the hell out of here if anything goes wrong,” Gus replied.

“They are all traitors. Why’s he trusting them?”

“Watch for another man,” Gus said.

Christos used his field glasses to watch his friend trudge down the rocky hill. Small rooster tails of dust disappeared in the breeze with each step. He passed the bunker. No movement.

George and Nick watched their lieutenant. No movement.

When John was about thirty meters away, a man appeared in the coach’s doorway. Dozens of eyes watched the man in a Greek Provincial Army uniform climb down.

“Christos, there’s a man at the engine. Do you see him? Can you see him?” Gus called over the radio.

“Yes. No … I mean, I see him, but he’s too far away. I can’t make out more than the uniform. It’s a Greek Army uniform. The rank is… Damn I can’t see it. He’s too far away,” Christos said, a strain in his voice.

“Keep watch. Maybe we’ll learn something,” Gus said over the radio.

John’s walk down the hill was slow and measured. The hot oily smell of the engine’s puffing exhaust assaulted his senses. John disappeared into himself as memories flashed by.

He saw his raven-haired bride, Sylvia smiling on their wedding day. He saw his mom holding his birthday cake with five candles. He saw his dad dance with joy when John rode his bike without training wheels for the first time. Oh, I hope I get to see these things with my son, John thought. A blast of steam from the locomotive’s brakes brought him back to the task at hand. John shook himself and focused. When he was twenty yards from the two men, John stopped.
No turning back now
, he thought.

John came to attention and saluted. The two Greek Army officers gave him a smart salute in return. “OK, I’m here,” John said. “What do you want?”

Smoke and steam hissing from the engine put a haze over the scene. John concentrated on the two men in front of him.

“Yes, you’re here. You’re a brave, clever man. You have caused me much trouble,” the anonymous officer said. He was wearing a Greek Provincial Army uniform like Solaris, but with a silver oak leaf, the rank insignia of a major.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t catch the name,” John said.

“This is my commanding officer Major …”

The other man cut Solaris off.

“He doesn’t need to know my name, captain. He just needs to know I am here and ready to negotiate,” the newcomer said.

John cast an appraising eye on the major. Next to Solaris John could see the man was a head shorter than Solaris, perhaps five ten. His narrow face was boyish and his shoulders broad. He didn’t have Solaris’ patrician bearing despite outranking him but he was clearly in charge. John didn’t know what to make of the man.

“What do we have to negotiate major? We had a deal, money for people,” John said.

“That was a poorly negotiated arrangement,” the major said, looking at Solaris. “Our friends in the Wehrmacht are upset to say the least. You so thoroughly defeated the men they sent against you, too. That was a very rude thing to do.”

“It was unavoidable,” John said.

“Oh, I quite understand the necessity, but I’m afraid the Germans don’t. You see they are so closed minded.”

“As opposed to you being open minded, I suppose. Given your ability to switch sides at the drop of a hat, or should I say at the drop of a bomb,” John replied. “I guess that’s why you lead this scum in the Security Battalion.”

“Testy, aren’t we, lieutenant.”

“Testy and tired of this. What do you want?” John said.

“Want? Why I want what every man wants. I want power, wealth, and all that means. I want the finer things in life, which I might add I didn’t know existed until I met our German friends. I was born in these hills and had nothing. Now I want what you have lieutenant. I want the rest of those crates. It’s only fair, since I’ve already taken the little you have returned. I should get the rest, don’t you think?”

“So you’re going to resume the prisoner release?” John asked.

“No, not exactly. You see the rest of those crates are going to buy your freedom, lieutenant. All right captain,” the major said.

The two Greek officers drew their side arms. Solaris raised his left hand. Dozens of men appeared on top of and under the train. The men had braved the train ride secured to the outside of the boxcars on the opposite side of the train from the Americans’ hillside positions.

“See, lieutenant? Your friends told you not trust me,” Solaris said smiling.

“Gentlemen, you’ve underestimated me and our will to win. You see, I’ve given specific orders and, well, I’ve seen what trusting you does, captain,” John replied.

John knew this moment would come. He’d thought it out, planned for it.

“Drop your weapon … careful, lieutenant,” the major said, as John reached for the sling.

He slipped the sling off his shoulder and dropped his Thompson.

“Now the belt.”

John unbuckled his web belt, and let it drop. His .45 holster, canteen, grenades, ammo pouches, and flashlight hit the ground.

Be watching guys. Be watching close
, John thought.

“Now come here, slowly lieutenant. No signals to those watching on the hills.”

John took slow, measured steps toward the two men. Steps he’d practiced for years and again coming down the hill. John counted each step, estimating the distance again and again. He knew the exact distance to the target, his exact position in relation to the hidden bunker. When he was about seven yards from the two men, he made his move. The Thompson was gone from his right shoulder, giving him better balance. The discarded web belt gave him more flexibility and improved access to the .45 tucked in his fatigue pants. John dropped to his left knee, his weight settled over his left foot giving him a stable platform. In a fluid motion, he raised the front of his shirt with his left hand, pulled his .45 from his waistband with his right, and took a firm two-hand high point position. He was less than twenty feet from his two targets. He had practiced firing from this position at this distance thousands of times. He knew he would take out his targets. John squeezed off a set of double taps, two quick shots at Solaris. He lurched backward. John could see the blood fly, feel the recoil, and smell the burned powder. The instant John fired, the major charged. Closer is better, John thought as he took aim and fired again. This time, he could see the hits clearly, one to the head, one to the chest, and one to the leg. The major fell less than two arm lengths from him. John went to a full prone position as Armageddon erupted over his head.

Chris raked the train and the men firing from it with his Browning Automatic Rifle. Darrian and Costa let loose with the bazooka, and their first rocket hit the broad engine’s side. The boiler disintegrated. Pieces flew into the air, crashing all around them. The explosion and escaping steam killed dozens.

Chris’ BAR fire was accurate and picked off every man that ran from the cover of the now burning train. Costa fired the bazooka as quickly as Darrian could load. Their second shot hit the oil tender, and it erupted into a sea of flame. They walked their deadly fire down the line of boxcars. The explosions destroyed the wood boxcars and everyone concealed by them. Rocket after rocket exploded, decimating the train until there was nothing left but burning wreckage. The BAR fired at anything that moved until only bodies were visible through the black acrid smoke.

The rest of John’s men, ignoring his last order, charged down the hill. The combat team searched for survivors, hoping to exact revenge, but found no one alive. The men searched the piles of debris looking for John. They found the spot he had dropped his gear. They called his name, but all they found was his .45. George recovered his lieutenant’s Thompson and slipped John’s .45 into his belt. Tears streaked the tough man’s face. He couldn’t find his friend.

It took nearly three hours for Christos to reach the carnage. He had watched helplessly as John had shot the two traitors but then lost sight of him in the smoke and fire.

“Where is he? Where’s John?” Christos roared shaking George by the shoulders. “We have to look for him.”

“We’ve looked, Christos. All of us have. We can’t find him. He …” George hesitated to admit the worst, but said it, “He must be buried under the debris from the locomotive. We’ve picked through everything else. We can’t move the pieces of steel from the boiler. He’s gone,” George said.

“Then we’ll look again. We can use the trucks to move the metal. Come on. This is John we’re talking about!” Christos shouted.

George grabbed Christos’ shoulder. “If he’s under that steel, he’s been crushed. Steady man, steady… He’s gone. Christos he’s gone,” George said, holding the big Greek.

“I knew when I saw the train engine explode,” Christos said, his voice just a whisper. “He was too close. I knew but didn’t want to believe. No one could survive that.”

George let go of Christos. “It’s OK. He planned it. He got the ones behind it. Chris, Darrian, and Costa were down in the bunker. They heard the whole thing. That major was stealing the shipments going back. No wonder the krauts came after us. I’m sure John suspected something like that, otherwise he wouldn’t have risked himself. Here …” George said taking John’s .45 from his belt, “he would have wanted you to have this.” George held the gun in two hands and offered it to the guerilla fighter.

The Andartes prized American weapons for their ruggedness and accuracy. This was particularly true of the .45 semi auto pistol. The Americans often made a gift of the prized weapon to their Greek allies. Christos stared at the gun in George’s hand, his emotions raw. He touched the cold metal, stroking it as if trying to draw John’s spirit from it.

“No,” a gruff Christos said, shaking his head and holding both hands up in surrender. “It should go to the boy. You must give it to Ceres. John loved the boy, it should be his.” Christos folded George’s two hands around the gun and with great care pushed them away.

“As you wish, my friend,” George said. “I’ll see he gets it.” George took the .45 in his left hand, came to attention, and executed a slow salute, honoring Christos and the memory of John Pantheras. This man had loved his L-T too. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

The two men heard footsteps behind them and turned to see Colonel Johnson approaching.

“Christos, I’m glad you’re here,” the colonel said. “I’m very sorry for the loss of Lieutenant Pantheras. He was a good man. I know you were friends,” the Texan drawled. “We’re getting out of here shortly. I want you to come with us. You can give a better eyewitness account of today’s action than any of us. Your position on the mountain gave you the best view of what happened.”

“I saw John kill two traitors and then he was blown up,” Christos said, unable to hide his bitterness. “I won’t come with you, colonel. There is still much to do here.”

“All right, I’d probably do the same thing. Say, could you see the second man?” Tex asked. “The one that did all the talkin’ … do you know who he was?”

“I’m not sure. It was too far away to make him out clearly, but the way he moved, well I could swear I had seen him before,” Christos said. “But he would have to be ghost.”

“I wish you’d reconsider coming with us, but I understand. I don’t know if there will be a new team to replace these men, but if there is, I’m sure you can be a big help to them. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“My men and I are nothing compared to John and these six men,” Christos said, indicating the American OSS men loading supplies on the transports. “They came all the way from America to liberate a land they’d never seen. Their duty to this place is because of their heritage, from their hearts. There can be no stronger bond.”

“I’ve heard Prime Minister Churchill has paid a big complement to you Greeks. It was in all the papers. He said something like ‘Free people are deeply impressed by the courage of the Greek nation. So we won’t say that Greeks fight like heroes, but that heroes fight like Greeks.’ I couldn’t agree more,” Tex said. “I’m proud to have fought with you, Christos, even if it was for a short time. We’re going to blow up this store of supplies. There’s ammunition and fuel here. Is there any of it you can use?”

“Yes, colonel. We can use the food, ammunition, and any medical supplies you have. May we have the radio and the walkie-talkies as well?”

“The food and medical supplies are yours and I’m sure you’ll put the ammo to good use. As for the radios, I don’t see why you shouldn’t keep ‘em. I’ll get Sergeant Kasseris to check a couple of your men out on it. Good luck Christos,” Tex said, extending his hand. Christos shook Colonel Johnson’s hand warmly, then turned and walked away.

“Sergeant Zabt,” Colonel Johnson called.

“Yes, sir,” George said and he came to attention.

“Christos is gunna take the radio, the walkie-talkies, some ammo, the medical supplies and food too. Make sure his men don’t dislodge the demo charges,” Johnson said.

“Yes, sir.”

“And sergeant, you better brief your men on military courtesy and hygiene. You people have been out here behind the lines for a while. It might be hard for some of the men to get back into the saluting army again. Remind them they’ll have to shave those beards, too.”

“Yes, sir, anything else?” Zabt said trying to get back into his old habits.

“No. That’s all. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir,” Zabt said. He saluted and jogged off to join the men loading the plane.

The C-47s were nearly loaded with the items going back to Italy. Christos and his small band collected the things they wanted to take and stacked them well away from the fuel, the .50-caliber ammo, and the rockets slated for demolition.

“Hello, base. Hello, base,” the radio crackled to life.

Gus was packing the last of his gear when he heard the radio and rushed over to it.”

“This is base, over,” Gus said.

“Outpost 4 here,” came the response in broken English.

“We see airplanes coming from direction of Thessaloniki, over.”

“How many and what type?” George asked before he realized the Greek spotter wouldn’t have a way to know the information.

“Eight, no ten planes, small ones,” the spotter replied.

“Colonel Johnson, Colonel Johnson,” Gus called. Tex was busy briefing the transport pilots and didn’t hear Gus.

“Hey, George,” Gus called. “Go get Tex. We got incoming planes, from the East.”

George knew immediately planes from the East could mean only one thing and ran to get Colonel Johnson. Moments later Tex, George, and one of the fighter pilots were standing in front of the radio.

“What do you have, sergeant?” Tex asked.

“OP 4’s spotted ten planes coming this way,” Gus replied.

“What? The krauts don’t have any planes in the country. Is the man sure?” Tex asked.

“That’s what he says colonel,” Gus replied.

“Where the hell did they come from?” Tex said.

Turning to the fighter pilot, Tex said, “You better get in the air lieutenant.”

The lieutenant ran to his assembled men, and gave them a quick rundown, and then the eight men climbed into their cockpits. The eight planes took off two at a time, raising a huge dusty cloud on the open dirt field.

I guess we’re gunna see some dog fightin’,” Tex said.

“Damn, I wish I was up there with em.”

“Why aren’t you a fighter pilot Colonel?” George said.

“Too damn tall, I don’t fit in them little planes,” Tex replied.

“Why do they call it dog fighting sir?” George asked.

“Comes from the first war. It looks like a pack of squabblin’ dogs circling each other lookin’ for an advantage.”

“Knight Leader to base, Knight Leader to base,” the Air Corps lieutenant’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Go ahead, Knight Leader,” Gus said into the mic.

“Aircraft are ME 109s and some light observation planes… Repeat eight German fighters and two observation planes … Advise.”

“Take ‘em out,” Tex said to Gus. “Engage the fighters.”

Gus relayed the order saying, “Engage, Knight Leader. Engage the fighters.”

The men on the ground watched the Emerald Knights swing out to the north to gain altitude. The radio crackled with tense pilot voices. “Remember, they dive when you get on their tail. Get high, come out of the sun, and blast ‘em quick,” the flight leader called out to his men.

“Roger, Knight 1,” each of his men replied.

The Mustangs dove on the German planes more than ten miles from their makeshift airstrip. High above the barren Greek plain, the allies’ fastest, most heavily armed fighters went head to head with the Messerschmitt 109s.

One by one, the Mustangs slipped in behind the German fighters. The American pilots squeezed their triggers, unleashing six .50 cal machine guns and shredding their targets. One by one, German planes sputtered, nosed over, and dove into the ground. Some slammed into the earth and disintegrated, their wings collapsing around them, while others burst into flames on impact.

“This ain’t no dog fight, it’s a slaughter,” Tex said, looking at the eight burning fighters. “I knew the Mustang was fast but…”

“Ok, boys. That’s it for the fighters. Let’s find the observation planes,” the Knight Leader’s voice crackled over the radio.

The slow, unarmed Storch observation planes were no match for the top of the line P-51’s. The two little German planes landed close to the rail line. They rolled over the rough ground in opposite directions.

“They’re givin’ up,” Tex said, watching through his binoculars.

Suddenly, two men limped out of a shallow gulley and, supporting each other ran toward one of the planes. The pilot paused, helped the men into the plane, and then immediately took off. The other plane gained altitude as well, and both planes gunned their engines. The little planes veered west, hugging the ground.

Colonel Johnson looked at George and Christos in amazement.

“Who were those guys?” he said. “Downed pilots?”

“Must have been Solaris and the other officer,” George said. “They must be luckiest two guys in the…”

“Well, their luck just ran out,” Tex said. “Sergeant Kasseris, get a couple of our planes on them bastards.”

“Yes, sir,” Gus said.

“Base to Knight Leader…. Base to Knight Leader.” Gus said into the mike.

“Knight Leader to base… go ahead,” the Air Corps lieutenant’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Knight Leader, two aircraft headed west from the rail line. They picked up two men. Can you engage?” Gus said into the mic.

“Can do, base.”

“Get ‘em boys,” Tex said out loud. Everyone standing by the radio had the same thought. Time stood still for the men as they waited. There was surely no danger to the P- 51’s but the idea of the men responsible for John Pantheras’ death escaping was too painful to consider.

 “Knight Leader to base… Knight Leader to base …”

“Go ahead Knight Leader.”

“One bogey accounted for, over.”

“What about the second one? Over,” Gus asked.

The radio static grated on the men’s nerves as they waited. Time ticked by and they waited.

Finally, they heard a voice. “Knight Leader to base… Knight Leader to base … Unable to locate second bogey, all others accounted for, returning to base.”

“Which one did they get?” George asked looking at Colonel Johnson.

“If there’s a God, they got the right one,” Tex replied. “Why did the krauts throw away all those pilots and planes?”

John’s men were wondering something else.

John opened his eyes and found himself face down in the dirt.
This is getting to be a habit
, he thought to himself. All around was thick darkness, blacker than the blackest moonless night. A harsh, oily smell permeated the air.

So this is death, he thought. He took a deep breath and realized how much his chest and head hurt. He coughed, What is that oily burned smell, he thought. He reached up into the darkness. From his position, face down his hand brushed a seamless surface, crusty with debris that fell on him. He reached to the back of his head and felt a sticky the wetness. Blood? “Wait,” he said aloud, “you don’t have a headache or bleed when you’re dead. Where the hell am I?”

He tried to push up to a sitting position but immediately clanged his head on a hard, unseen object. Feeling around, he discovered it surrounded him. He couldn’t sit up because he was entombed on all sides by a solid, warm shield. The ground, John thought. Whatever it was, it was on the ground. John turned on his side and felt along the curved surface toward the ground. When he found where his prison met the dirt, he began to dig.

“Wish I had an entrenching tool,” he said aloud.
Wait
, he thought,
I’ve still got my knife
. John scrunched up to reach his right leg, freed his Fairbairn-Sikes fighting knife from its scabbard, and began to dig. He stabbed blindly in the dark at the rocky earth then scooped the loosened dirt away.