The Sword of Fate (39 page)

I was far too busily occupied in trying to kill my share of Germans, preventing them from killing me and directing parties of men whose own officers had been killed earlier in the battle to sit about and make a morbid analysis of the doctrine of personal responsibility; but it did get under my skin pretty badly to see one good chap after another, whom I had known for months in Egypt, either killed or whimpering with pain from some ghastly gash where a shell or bomb splinter had torn his flesh and tendons. One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs and one cannot fight a war without killing men, but the eggs should be
broken into the frying-pan, not on the kitchen floor, and it hurts like hell to see good troops slain in a battle which cannot possibly contribute to final victory. And that Friday afternoon I lost one of my best friends—Toby Spiers.

Throughout the whole of the week’s fighting he had performed innumerable gallant actions, but he wasn’t doing anything spectacular when he was killed, which somehow seemed to make it worse. For a quarter of an hour there had been a bit of a lull in the fighting, and he had just filled his pipe. He was about to light it when a Nazi sniper got him. His face showed blank surprise for a second, then he dropped the pipe and quite slowly slumped over sideways. It was only when they saw the blood run down his cheek that the men who were near him realised that he had been shot clean through the side of the head.

The week-end that followed was one long nightmare. On the Saturday we were driven across the river Tampe, about half-way between Larissa and Trikkala, and on the Sunday we endeavoured to hold some high ground between the two plains on the river’s south bank; but the Germans had thrown their pontoons across during the night, and scores of their tanks came at us again in the intervals when the accursed dive-bombers were not harassing us with all their might. I’ll swear that no men could have been gamer than those splendid New Zealanders, and from what I had seen of them in the Libyan battles I had no doubt at all that the Australians and our own Home Forces were putting up just as good a show in their own sectors; but you can’t pit men against metal, and we simply had to continue our retreat. By evening we were staggering back along the railway-line, and on the Monday morning it was a weary battered crew which halted for a scratch meal on the south shore of Lake Xynias.

I have said the nights were dark, and except for an occasional spell of moonlight when we were blundering through woods or gorges they were as black as pitch, but during our grim argosy we had never reached higher ground without seeing some poor village in flames, or a burning farmstead. Night and day, in addition to the dive-bombers whose job was army co-operation, there were hundreds of the big machines of the Luftwaffe coming over to disrupt our communications and wreak havoc among the humblest dwellings of that once fair and lovely land. Wherever we passed we had left a trail of burnt-out ruins behind us, yet the Greek people were accepting their martyrdom with indomitable bravery.

I had been told that when our troops retreated through
France great numbers of the villagers not only impeded them by their panic, but hissed at them and threw stones. There was nothing of that kind about the Greeks. Even in their dire extremity they came to our temporary resting-places, often under the fire of Nazi machine-guns, to bring us gifts of food and drink, while their women did what they could for our wounded.

That was the one thing which made us feel that there had been some possible justification for this crazy expedition; yet in cold, sober sense no one could deny that we would have served the Greeks better as well as ourselves by following the first principle of war and saving our strength to strike the enemy at our own chosen time and place. We had not saved Greece from defeat and devastation, and were witnessing the piecemeal destruction of the entire modern equipment of another British Army.

On Monday, the 20th, the nightmare retreat went on. We staggered back to Lamia, which was already in flames, and south of it towards the famous Pass of Thermopylae. It was clear now that we could do no more and, although our units were holding together with splendid discipline, the great battle had now dissolved into a series of local actions over which the High Command could no longer exercise any great control. It would only be a matter of days before the British Army was smashed to pieces. The Royal Army Service Corps performed miracles in supplying us with munitions and food, but the men were almost sleeping on their feet from lack of rest, and the unceasing din had made most of us half-deaf. Dirty stubble covered our chins and our eyes were sunken in our heads. I knew that, except for a miracle, the end must be very near.

We were still covering the railway-line some miles west of Thermopylae on the Tuesday and had taken up our position in a wood, mostly composed of dwarf oak trees, not very close together, so that one could see some distance down the mossy glades where crocuses, anemones and asphodel were in blossom. It was just the sort of place where one expected to see a hamadryad or satyr peep out at any moment, and the setting alone was enough to make one believe in the old Greek legends, of those half-human, half-divine denisens of the woods.

But as the day wore on the scene changed. The turf was torn up in great craters, the trees blasted and the flowers wilting on their stalks from the acid fumes of the high-explosive. Towards evening a runner came to tell me that the Colonel wanted to see me, and I accompanied him back through the woods for half a
mile to a shallow cave in a rock face which was temporarily being used as Battalion Headquarters.

‘Long Willie’ was lying there with his back propped against a boulder. His left hand was tied up in a blood-soaked bandage and there was another bandage about his right leg just above the knee; but he flatly refused to be sent down with the other wounded, although he could no longer walk, and for the last two days he had had himself carried from place to place on a stretcher.

“Hallo, Julian,” he said, with a tired smile. “Queer how the old clock continues to tick at a time like this, isn’t it; but I’ve just had a packet of routine orders which have found their way here somehow. Most of the stuff’s a week old and none of it has the least bearing on the present situation, but two of the orders in it concern you. I’d better sugar the pill by telling you the good news first, because I’m afraid there is bad to follow. Your promotion’s come through. As from the 20th of March you have been a full lieutenant and are entitled to pay and allowances of that rank. Heartiest congratulations! You deserve it.’”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “And now, what’s the bad news?” Although I already had a pretty shrewd idea of more or less the form that it might take.

He sighed. “It’s an order for me to place you under close arrest and send you under escort immediately to the Provost Marshal’s office in Athens. No reason is given, but I suppose you must have an idea why it’s been issued. What the hell have you been up to?”

“It’s a long story, sir,” I said sadly. “The main fact of the matter is that I had no right to leave Egypt. I had no authority at all to report to you for duty as an interpreter on the night we embarked, but I had private reasons for wanting to come to Greece and I’m afraid I took advantage of the possibility that you might accept my coming with the battalion as quite natural.”

“I see. Is that why you did a bolt for two or three hours the night we landed at the Piraeus?”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I lied to you about meeting a friend who took me into a Naval mess. There was somebody I wanted desperately badly to see in Athens.”

“So that’s how it was, eh? Well, I can only say that you’ve more than pulled your weight, and I’m sorry to lose you now; but I don’t see how I can ignore an order like this, even in the middle of a battle. One thing I’m not going to do is to deprive our boys of another officer to act as your escort. You must find your own way down to Athens.”

As he finished speaking he began to write in his field-message book, and when he had done he tore the sheet out and handed it to me with a murmured: “Take that. It may help you out of this scrape you’re in.”

I read the note, which ran:

I wish to record that Lieutenent Julian Day of the Interpreters Corps has carried out his duties satisfactorily in every way since his arrival with this battalion in Greece. Since we have been in contact with the enemy he has also voluntarily carried out all the ordinary duties of an infantry subaltern and has fought with the greatest gallantry. On one occasion his quick grasp of the situation saved an entire company from being surrounded and wiped out. On another, while commanding a platoon, he fought a rearguard action which enabled the remainder of his company to get across open country without loss and rejoined with the majority of his men after darkness had fallen. On a third he rescued a wounded sergeant under fire at great risk of his own life
.

This officer has been attached to my command, apart from one short break, for fifteen months. I consider him of the highest character and most strongly recommend that his services in the present campaign should be taken into consideration in the event of any disciplinary charge being made against him
.

I was rather surprised that he even knew of the acts to which he referred in his memo, and I am quite certain that I had not put up half as good a show as some of the other officers, but I was most touched by his kindness.

“That’s all right,” he smiled as I thanked him. “There’s only one thing. As I can’t possibly spare an officer to act as your escort I must ask you to give me your word that you will report to the P.M.’s Department in Athens as soon as you reasonably can and not play any monkey tricks.”

I hesitated only a second, then I promised, knowing that having promised I could not possibly break my word to him as I had to Cozelli. The two cases were entirely different, and whatever happened afterwards I would have to report as directed.

“Right, then you’d better draw some extra iron rations from the Quartermaster, and get off at once. Further down the line you may be able to pick up a train or, if not, you can lorry-hop.” He held out his hand and I grasped it warmly, wishing him the best of luck.

Twenty minutes later I’d said good-bye to those of my friends
who were near enough for me to get at without undue risk of exposing myself to the Nazis’ machine-gun fire, and set off southeast down the railway-track. After half an hour’s walking I reached a village halt and at it left the track for the road, where I waited for a while to try to pick up a lift; but no lorries were going my way and German bombers came over to strafe the village, so I got out of it again as quickly as I could. Darkness had come when I entered a second village, and here I had better luck. A line of British R.A.S.C. lorries was drawn up just outside it facing south. The place had been used as a temporary headquarters and it was now being evacuated; so I got a lift on one of our lorries, and with the guns and bombs still roaring in our rear we trundled down the road until we reached a small town called Dadio.

The lorries were going no further for the time being, but the railway was still working between Dadio and Athens, and at two o’clock in the morning I managed to get on board a train into which people, mainly Greek civilians, were jammed like sardines.

The train was little faster than the one in which I had made the journey north, and it did not get into Athens until midday the following day, having twice been bombed and once machine-gunned that morning. At the station I had myself shaved and cleaned up as well as I could, then I took a taxi to the Diamopholi shipping office. It was just possible that the old man had had news of Daphnis since the battle for Greece had started, and if so it was quite on the cards that any attempt on his part to communicate with me had failed, as no mails or personal telegrams had reached us at all since we had come to grips with the enemy. I felt quite certain that ‘Long Willie’ would not grudge me an hour or two’s freedom before I reported, as once I did so it was highly probable that I should be formally arrested and so not able to make this call at all.

Diamopholus was there, but, as I feared, he had no news of Daphnis. She had vanished into the blue. In an attempt to cheer me up the dear old chap took me to lunch at Costi’s in Korai Street. The cold lobster and champagne tasted unbelievably good after the rough fare, snatched in the intervals of fighting, on which I had been living. He told me that, although Churchill had protected Athens from air raids by a threat to carry out reprisals on Rome, the Piraeus was being bombed almost hourly; but if one of his ships that was due in that day escaped he meant to leave for Egypt the following night. Having wished him a safe journey, and much comforted in my inner man, I walked round to the building in which the P.M. had taken up his quarters.

I was kept waiting for about half an hour, then a staff captain saw me. At first he was extremely brusque and evidently regarded me as a bad hat who was wasting valuable time at a critical period of the war; but when I gave him ‘Long Willie’s’ chit his attitude changed entirely.

“This rather alters things,” he said. “Normally I should send you back to Egypt on the first ship under escort, but everything’s at such sixes and sevens now that it seems rather stupid to waste a competent and experienced fighting officer because some disciplinary question is pending against him. I think you’d better go to the Officers’ Club. They’ll fix you up with a room, or anyway a bed, until you hear from me. I’ll try to get a decision by tomorrow from higher up that you can return to your unit.”

He seemed a most sensible fellow, and having thanked him for the way in which he had treated the matter I went off to the Club, where I revelled in the luxury of a bath, was able to get my hair cut, and reappear, except for some stains which only a professional cleaner could have got out of my clothes, like a civilised individual again.

Most of the base-wallahs who made up the Club’s occupants that evening regarded my sadly-faded battle-dress with obvious distaste. The war in Greece had not been on long enough for them to have become used to fighting soldiers returning from the front to disturb the serenity of their days spent filling up forms and their peaceful evening in their nice new Club. But some of the more human ones had congregated in the bar, and after a few rounds of drinks for the first time in days I got a fairly clear picture of what was going on.