Dig Two Graves: Revenge or Honor (6 page)

“Yep, all through. We’re doing pretty good twelve straight jobs, only minor causalities, and a mess of dead Germans. The Greeks seem to be happy, too.

“Christos is happy when you kill krauts L-T, but he respects you. You plan and execute well and none of his men have gotten hurt.”

“I think he respects results more than he does me.”

“Either way. ends up the same.”

“I guess. How are we doing on supplies? We haven’t had a drop in a week.”

“Yes, sir, it’s getting pretty desperate,” Zabt teased.

“Cut out the ‘sir’ stuff,” Pantheras said.

“Sure L-T. It’s real bad. Costos is out of Necco candies and we’re low on coffee.”

“No Neccos? How’s Costos getting by?” Pantheras replied with a smile.

The two men laughed.

“Seriously, L-T we could use bazooka rockets, but everything else is OK.”

“We can ask for a supply drop when we check in tonight,” Pantheras said.

Zabt was about to reply when they both heard the crunch of running footsteps approaching on the rocky path.

“L-T, I’ve got a coded message and it’s a long one. It came in on the emergency frequency.” It was Sergeant Gus Kasseris jogging down the hill from the radio position at the peak above their camp. Pantheras and Zabt traded a glance at hearing emergency channel. “I need the code book, L-T,” Kasseris said.

Pantheras pulled two notebooks held together with a gum band from his field jacket’s breast pocket. The thick black one he peeled off and returned to the deep pocket. The smaller brown one he tossed to Kasseris. Their code book was a vital link to the outside world.

“Here ya go, Gus. Let me know as soon as you decode it. It must be something big to send in the middle of the day.”

“Will do, L-T,” the communication sergeant said as he headed back up the hill.

“L-T you still keepin’ that journal?” Zabt asked referring to the black notebook the sergeant had watched his lieutenant stash in his pocket. “You know it’s against regs. What if you’re captured?”

“What do you think the Germans will learn when they read all these damn reports I’ve been writing? George, it’s just some notes, not a journal, and someday, I will want to remember what we did here.”

“Whatever you say L-T, but them notes ain’t nothing but trouble for you if you get caught. And that could be from the krauts or the brass.”

Zabt knew that Pantheras was right. Someday it would be important to know what these seven men had done behind the lines in Greece. He hoped someday would come soon. He’d enjoy telling about it sitting on his stoop back in Philly.

Zabt looked up to see the kid running down the hill.

The little Greek boy was an orphan, son of an Andartes leader killed by the Germans. When the Germans learned where the man lived, they killed his family and everyone in the village, then burned it to the ground. Little Ceres had been in the hills with his sheep when it happened. The Andartes had taken him in, but he decided to stay with the Americans. He was a big-hearted kid about six, and anxious to please. He looked after the dozen pack animals and helped where he could. They liked Ceres, and every man tried to outdo the other doing things for the kid. 

Ceres ran up to Pantheras, stopped before him, and saluted. Pantheras slowly stood to his full six-foot height and returned a smart salute.

“Mister Gustos say tell L-T John new message coming. He want him, ah, you come quick, please.”

“That’s a good report, Ceres,” Pantheras said as he tousled the boy’s thick black hair. “Let’s go see what Sergeant Kasseris is up to,” Pantheras said as he started up the dusty hill, trailed by the little boy.

Pantheras marveled at his communication sergeant’s ingenuity. Gustos Kasseris had the long-range radio set up in a small cave out of the weather near the summit of their hilltop camp. The wire antenna wound around the rocks at the hill’s highest point. Their reception was excellent, and the set-up was invisible to the roaming German Storch recon planes that randomly flew over looking for their position. Because Greece was in the British zone of influence, Pantheras had to report to both the British and American HQ. Reliable radio communication was more than essential.

“What do you have so far, Gus?”

“I was halfway through decoding the first part of the message when another one started,” he said.

Pantheras picked up the codebook and completed decoding the first section as Gus handed him the second.

Pantheras read the messages, and looked up at Zabt. “We have a job. Get the men together for a briefing, and let’s have a look at that map.”

“What’s up, L-T?” Zabt asked.

“Well it sounds like HQ wants us to rob a train,” Pantheras said, smiling at his sergeant.

The Andartes and their American OSS allies made good time through difficult terrain. Their goal, to reach a point on the north-south rail line that ran through the high plain. They took pains to avoid the local villages. There were collaborators and informers even here in the mountains. Near twilight at the end of the second day, Christos, who as usual was on point, called an unexpected halt. Three men stepped out of the gathering gloom. Christos immediately dropped his guard and hugged each man.

John jogged up to Christos and said, “What’s up?”              

“John, these men are from the village of Parthos. It’s that way,” he said, pointing south. “The Germans are in their village abusing the girl children. They have hanged the headman and several elders. This village needs our help.”

“Christos, we’ve been avoiding the villages, and you know we have a deadline. We have to meet that train,” Pantheras said.

“If you wish, you can go on. My men and I cannot permit this, this hurting of women, and old men.”

Torn between missing the train and going to the aid of the helpless villagers, Pantheras weighed the options. Without the Andartes, he would have too small a force to capture the train. If they diverted to the village, they might miss the train, or could take casualties in a fight with the Germans.

“OK. We’ll go with you, but we have to move fast,” Pantheras said.

They reached the outskirts of Parthos well after the sun’s last red glow had disappeared behind the western peaks. The men lay hidden in a carob grove above the village as Christos and Pantheras scanned the village below with their field glasses. Like many villages they’d visited, it consisted of a cluster of one and two-story stone buildings crowded together on the steep hillside.

The small rough but sturdy homes seemed to lean against each other, like old drunks stumbling down an alley. Flickering bands of light seeped from cracks in shuttered windows. The two-story house, Pantheras knew, housed goats or mules on the bottom, and living quarters above. Like arteries, rough stone paths connected the smaller outlying structures to longer, more elaborate whitewashed buildings in the village center. From the largest of these lustrous light spilled from the open door and three dirty windows. They could hear the Germans singing and talking loudly through the open door. That’s probably a taverna, Pantheras thought. Through the evening gloom, he could make out eight trucks, and a half-track silhouetted by the tavern’s yellow glow. He also could make out steel-helmeted heads at posts at either end of the tiny hamlet.

“Christos, those trucks can carry about twenty guys each,” John said, still looking through his binoculars. “Add eight or ten more from the half-track and that makes about a hundred seventy-five men they could have down there. We’re fifteen. That’s an MG 32 mounted on that half-track by the way,” John said.

“There are no Germans in the trucks, my friend. They’re no problem, and we have eighteen men. You forget the three men from the village,” Christos replied.

“All right. We’re here. Let’s get this done,” John said.

“What do you think, John? Shall we take the guard posts first?”

“No, we send the men from the village in there to look around. They’ll tell us what we’re up against, how many, and where the Germans are. They can evacuate the villagers, too. Then we can plan what to do. You know these men, Christos. Will you ask them if they will go in there for us?”

“They’ll do it. I do not need to ask. Come, we will tell them what is needed.”

The three men from the village stood together kicking at the dirt as Christos and Pantheras approached. “Men, I must talk with you,” Christos said, waiting until he had their attention. “You must go to into your village tonight. Find all the Germans. We must know where they are. Then get your families out, out of the way of our attack.”

The men looked at one another, and then one of them, nodding to his companions said, “We know it must be done.”

Christos look at Pantheras, who gave the men details, “We need the location of every German soldier, every one, which house, how many in a house, and how they’re armed. You’re to get the villagers out as quietly as possible. We don’t want your families there when we attack. This is to be done quickly, but quietly. If you’re spotted, if there’s gun fire before we’re ready, you’re on your own, and the attack is off,” Pantheras said.

The three men looked grim. They knew the fates of their loved ones hinged on their ability to steal into the village and return undetected.

“Leave your rifles here. You can take a pistol, but hide it well,” Christos said as he and Pantheras shook each man’s hand. The three silently slipped into the village to reconnoiter. After the men had gone, John wondered how he would feel scouting his neighborhood in Reading for an armed force. Would Sylvia be safe? He tried to put those thoughts out of his mind as he watched the village below. Less than two hours later, the scouts began to return to the carob grove. The information they had collected was good. They had located about forty-five Nazis, fewer than half the number John had feared. He had them draw a map of the village in the dirt and carefully mark the locations of the German soldiers. The men quickly explained what they had found

“There are two guard posts on the road at both ends of the village. Two men in each one,” the first scout reported. “And three more guard the vehicles, but they are drunk or asleep.”

“There’re two machine guns, here and here,” a second said, pointing to the rough map, “in top windows.”

“You mean the second story windows?” Pantheras asked, indicating with his hand.

“Yes and each one has six or eight men, but only two with the gun. The others sleep below, but none of them were alert or on guard. We slipped our families out right under the pig’s noses.”

“The rest of them are at the taverna. I could see twenty or twenty-five of them through a back window. They’re all drunk. The two girls are there too,” reported the third scout.

The Greeks had evacuated all the villagers except for the two young women the Germans held in the taverna.
We might have a chance
, John thought.

The enemy was being careless. Half the force was getting drunk, the sentries were undisciplined and the Greeks had slipped in, evacuated the villagers, and slipped out unseen.
Keep drinking guys
, John thought. Intelligence in place, John studied the dirt map. Looking at it, and then looking down on the village again, he began to devise a plan. Twenty minutes later, he circled up the men.

Pantheras organized a coordinated attack on multiple locations. It would be fast and hopefully overwhelm the Germans. Pantheras paired his own men with the Andartes and assigned each their objectives. After the Americans synchronized their watches, the men settled down to try to grab a little sleep. They would attack the Germans just before dawn when the guards would be the least alert and others would be sound asleep.

Zabt shook Pantheras awake just before 4 a.m. “L-T., it’s time,” he said.

Pantheras looked at the radium glow of his watch’s hands in the murky predawn. He got up quietly, trying not to wake Ceres, who slept nearby. He looked at the sleeping boy. He hadn’t wanted to drag him along, but there was no place safe to leave him. The boy was an orphan and the Americans and the Andartes were his only family for now.

Zabt, Christos, and Pantheras quickly organized the men. By 4:15 a.m., five groups moved silently into Parthos. The men used their knives to eliminate guards on the road and those by the vehicles.

The machine gun nests in their sheltering houses were destroyed with hand grenades at the same moment the main force broke into the taverna from the front and the back, exactly on the half hour.

The men in the taverna, ill prepared for an attack, never even returned fire. The attackers found the two village girls huddled together in a corner, fortunately separated from the Germans. All but three of the krauts were killed in the brief firefight.

“Ah, John, we have prisoners," Christos said. “This is good thing. The people here will take care of them in their own way.”

“Christos, we can’t leave them to the villagers,” John said, remembering what he had heard about villagers stoning, torturing, and even beheading Nazi prisoners in retaliation for their cruelty.

“Then I’ll kill them,” said Christos.

“No … If it has to be done, I’ll do it. I planned and led this attack. It’s my responsibility. I’ll see if they have any useful information first. Have the men gather the villagers and bring them here at sun up. They’ll want to see it,” Pantheras said.

A few hours later, a new day’s sun shone brightly in the center of the village as the long terrifying night gave way to a cloudless morning. The villager’s suffering at the hands of the Nazis was over. Old women, clad in black from head to toe, as well as the few remaining men and boys gathered in the small square outside the taverna.

Pantheras had gained little from the three prisoners. Knowing they’d be shot, they clammed up. He emerged from the building and was besieged by the village women wanting to exact their revenge. The other American soldiers came out of the tavern pushing the three Germans forward. The women spit and threw dirt from the hard-packed path on the prisoners until a dust cloud obscured the scene.

“Against that wall,” Pantheras shouted at the three men in German.

The frightened men took their places against a wall, knowing what was coming. When Pantheras charged his Thompson, the men fell to the ground begging for their lives as the sea of black clad women parted. So much for the master race, Pantheras thought.

“John, let me do this,” Christos said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I have no conscience left. I have killed too many Germans to worry about three more.”

“They raped those two girls, Christos. This isn’t on my conscience. It’s …”

A burst of automatic weapons fire cut his words short. The crowd hit the ground except for the eldest girl from the taverna who stood alone holding a German MP 40. Pantheras looked at her then at the prisoners, who were obviously dead. Tears streaked her dirty, bruised face as she handed Pantheras the weapon.

Pantheras walked over to the dead Germans and with the toe of his boot turned the bodies face up. He drew his .45 and obliterated each corpse’s face with a quick round. Turning to the young girl, Pantheras said in Greek, “You can forget their faces now. They’re gone, too.”

As the crowd recovered, the women surrounded the girls, hustling them away. Christos and Zabt joined Pantheras, who watched them leave.

“We need to get out of here, time to get back on mission. Christos, if we take the trucks, can we make up some time?” Pantheras said.

“We can, my friend, but first we must help these people. The Germans will make reprisals. We must help these people burn the village,” Christos replied.

“What? We just risked our lives to save this village.”

“Yes, that is true, but the Germans will be back. The pigs always come back. They will kill everyone and burn the village

If these people burn it they will not be ashamed to return when the Germans are gone. There is good water here, a spring flows from a cave in the hills. These people have used it for many years. They need to be able to come back here.”

“Have it your way then, but we need to make it quick. We’ll collect the bodies and put them in one of the trucks. We can hide them when we leave,” Pantheras said, calling to Zabt. “George, we move out in the trucks in thirty minutes. Let’s get moving.”

Reaching out to shake his friend’s hand, Christos said, “Thank you, John. You did not have to risk coming.”

“You reminded me why we’re here,” John replied, looking at his friend. “When you’ve got the ability to do the right thing, you have a responsibility to do it, don’t you think?”

“I suppose you do,” Christos replied. “For you and me, it would appear to be so.”

Smiling at his friend, Pantheras said, “Show me what’s so special about this spring?”

Two figures with powerful field glasses scanned the valley below concealed by the brow of a ridge. They watched a ribbon of steel snake through the barren landscape, looking for the perfect spot, a spot to blow it up.

They were on the edge of the Thessaly plain, southeast of the village of Veria and its rail junction. To the east, through the mid-day haze, they could make out the smoke of Thessaloniki’s cook fires, less than 45 miles away. This spot allowed them to observe the north-south rail line along the coast. The men watched the barren valley in silence.

Behind them, the rest of the party took a welcome breather. Concealed down the reverse slope, they looked out on a vast plain. Their ride in the trucks had been rough, bouncing over trails never intended for vehicles and difficult for even donkeys to navigate. After concealing the trucks against future use, the men had clambered up the hill. The prospect of a few hours sleep cheered the men.

“When is the train due?” Christos said to Pantheras, hunkered down beside him. 

“They said about dark,” said Pantheras, not taking his eyes off the valley below.

“Where does your headquarters get its information?” Christos asked.