Mac Wingate 3, page 5
“Get ready,” Wingate whispered. “Looks like they’re coming down to finish us off.”
“And here we are,” whispered McCauley. “Just waiting for them.” The sergeant was almost gleeful.
The sounds of the approaching Germans grew louder. A rock bounced past them. Wingate had caught sight of a steep, tortuous trail in the rocks, and it was down this path the Germans were coming. As they got closer, Wingate clipped his grenade back onto his belt, crouched behind a bush and with the barrel of his Sten motioned McCauley to take cover behind a boulder to his left.
A moment later Costi and Alexis Ladas stepped into view.
Wingate waited. But there were no Germans behind them. He straightened and leveled his Sten at Costi. McCauley stood up also, his weapon trained on Alexis.
“Hold it right there,” said Wingate. “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Costi had been momentarily startled by Wingate and the sergeant’s sudden materialization in front of them. Now he glanced quickly back at Alexis. “The captain wants to know what we were doing here. Shall we tell him?”
Alexis smiled.
Costi turned back to Wingate. His dark face creased into a brilliant smile. Pulling a long bayonet from his belt, he held it out so Wingate could inspect it. In the moonlight, Wingate could see clearly its dark, still-dripping blade.
Costi chuckled. “With one quick slice, I take off the machine gunner’s head. You should see it roll.”
“You can put down your Stens,” Alexis told them. “We’ve killed the Germans.”
“He is modest, this one,” said Costi. “He uses a knife like a barber, with the greatest care and precision. Two other Germans he slice—before I take the machine gunner.”
Wingate and McCauley lowered their Stens. The silence above them was eloquent proof. Wingate took a deep breath. He was pleased. For now, at least, he was not going to have any trouble with Costi and Alexis. Indeed, they made a most effective—and deadly—team.
Five
It was dawn when they reached a cave overlooking a small but lush valley high in the mountains. Visible from the cave was the sleepy village of Richea. Though the village was at the far end of the valley, at least five miles distant, in the thin mountain air it appeared closer than it was. The sharp morning breeze brought with it the lusty calls of two rival cocks.
The men halted wearily in front of the cave’s entrance. They were exhausted, and Wingate could not blame them.
One of the Germans Alexis admitted killing had been a radioman who had been calling for reinforcements when Alexis’s silent knife cut him off. As a result, German SS had swarmed along the path as Wingate and his men crossed the pasture and began their climb into the mountains. For a while they had been able to hear their pursuers; but Costi’s route had been a tortuous one, and they soon left the Germans behind. The pace had been murderous, especially considering what each man was carrying.
Sweeney and McCauley leaned back against the wall of the cave, while the three privates slumped to the ground in front of the entrance. The replacement for Murphy was a Private Wallace Stearns; Lubbock and Kowalski were still with the team. They had insisted on it. As luck would have it, it was the new man who had been wounded earlier. His wound was not serious, as long as it could be kept clean. A ricocheting slug had torn out a fleshy portion at the base of his skull. Sweeney had already wrapped a clean bandage about the fellow’s neck, which had effectively stanched the bleeding.
Private Stearns was a rangy string bean of a man with a pencil-thin nose and cold slits for eyes. The soldier took no comfort and gave none. He seemed to exist in an icy shell well apart from his comrades, and his wound had not altered his attitude one scintilla. All during the climb to this cave, he had remained a grim, taciturn soldier who asked no quarter and who returned any words of concern with a sullen bark.
“How’s that wound, Stearns?” Wingate asked.
“No sweat, Captain.”
“Just be sure to keep it clean.”
“Absolutely, Captain.”
Wingate then turned to address the others. “Costi and Alexis are going to take me down to that village. We’ll cache our explosives in this cave. Sergeant McCauley will be in command during my absence.”
“What’ll we do if the Germans show up, Captain?” asked Sweeney.
“Kill as many as you can.”
“Then what?” asked Kowalski.
“Surrender,” said Stearns. “Ain’t that right, Captain?”
“Of course,” Wingate agreed. “You’re all in full combat uniform. You will be treated as prisoners of war, according to the articles of the Geneva Convention.”
“Hell with this talk,” said McCauley. “We’re not surrendering. We’re just going to keep low until the captain returns. Right, Captain?”
“I’ll leave that to you, Sergeant. For now, I suggest you and your men get some sleep. It might be all you’re liable to get for some time.”
“Sleep?” asked Kowalski, grinning wearily. “What’s that?”
The men chuckled feebly at Kowalski’s witticism as Wingate rid himself of the box of fuses he was carrying, handed it to McCauley and started down the mountainside with Costi and Alexis. A few hundred yards down the slope, he glanced back at the cave. One man was stationed on guard just inside the entrance, the rest were out of sight inside, heeding Wingate’s advice to get some sleep, he had no doubt.
Alexis dropped back until he was descending the slope alongside Wingate. He smiled at the captain. “Tell me,” he said. “When do you sleep, Captain Wingate?”
Wingate thought a moment, then shrugged. “When this goddamn war is over.”
The sun was brilliant overhead in a cloudless blue sky when the three men reached the village. The whitewashed walls of the small houses and buildings flung the sunlight back into their eyes with a violent intensity. The smells of human habitation were pungent—as Wingate had come to expect in this part of the world—but they were not entirely unpleasant.
The villagers had seen them coming. The streets were deserted. The dogs had slunk out of sight. From the shadows and alleys, however, the wary villagers watched their progress, and Wingate found himself wondering how many weapons were trained on them.
“Don’t worry,” Costi told them softly. “I know this village. Soon they will recognize me.”
“I know it as well,” said Alexis.
Costi glanced at Alexis in surprise when he heard this; but at almost the same moment, a girl’s voice cried, “Alexis!”
The men halted in the village square and watched as a tall, slim woman darted from a doorway. At once the impassive villagers left their doorways and alleys. Shuttered windows slammed open and the townspeople of Richea joined the young woman as she hurried excitedly across the square toward them.
“Who is this girl?” Costi asked Alexis. “She is not of this village.”
“She has been here since the Germans invaded. I brought her here for her own safety, and that of her parents.”
By then the girl had reached Alexis. He took both her hands in his. Then the two embraced. She was stunningly beautiful. Her hair was long and lustrous, her eyes brilliantly alive, her complexion a glowing olive. She was a dark jewel that now flashed only for Alexis. If the two were not lovers, Wingate mused to himself, they were long overdue.
Smiling happily down at the girl, Alexis turned to Costi, as the rest of the villagers crowded around. “This is Laloula Stangos, Costi. She is my betrothed.”
Costi smiled slightly, nodding a polite greeting to Laloula.
“And the American, Laloula, is Captain Wingate,” Alexis told the girl. “He has come to help us fight the Germans.”
At these words the villagers crowded around still closer, all of them shouting their enthusiasm. A few reached out to slap Wingate on the back; others thrust their hard, powerful hands into his and shook it.
Costi stepped back and shouted to the villagers. “Listen to what news I bring! This American captain did not come alone! He has brought others! And many weapons and explosives!”
An even lustier cheer greeted this news and more hands reached out to pound Wingate on the back.
“Come!” Laloula said, taking Wingate’s hand. “You will stay with us!”
“Thank you, Miss Stangos,” Wingate said, “but we must push on to find the British soldiers who are waiting for me in these mountains.”
“And Dmitri,” said Costi to the girl. “We must contact him and his men, as well.” Costi glanced swiftly at Wingate. “Is that not true, Captain?”
“If Dmitri can help us find the British.”
“Remember,” said Alexis, “those fishermen said they were sent by the ELAS.”
“It was a lie,” snapped Costi. “And if they had been, that would not have prevented them from going over to the Germans once they were given orders to meet us.”
“It is just something I do not think we should forget, Costi,” insisted Alexis.
Wingate was about to put an end to the discussion. This was no place for Costi and Alexis to argue the merits of the ELAS. But before he could intervene, a villager pushed through the crowd, halted before Costi and began speaking rapidly to him in Greek. Costi replied, obviously pleased, then turned to Wingate.
“This man will take me to the guerrillas, Captain. You and Alexis stay with Laloula until I return. I will bring Dmitri.”
“How far is it? I’m not going to wait long, Costi. The Germans know we have landed successfully and they know where we have headed. We haven’t got much time.”
Costi turned back to the villager and after a short, rapid exchange, Costi nodded quickly.
“It is not far, Captain. We shall return a little after dark.”
“All right. We’ll wait.”
Costi and the villager left pushing their way through the crowd. Then, with a very happy Laloula Stangos and a still-boisterous crowd of villagers as escort, Wingate and Alexis were led across the square and into the cool interior of Laloula’s modest, but spotless house.
Laloula’s mother and father were waiting inside with great dignity, and after he and Alexis had been fed, Laloula’s mother—a short, dark miniature of her daughter—noted Wingate’s extreme fatigue and led him into a small bedroom, closing the door softly behind her as she left. Exhaustion smote Wingate like a fist. He stumbled toward the small, neat bed and was just barely able to unlace his jump boots before he collapsed, fully clothed, on the bedspread and fell instantly asleep.
It was dark. The village was quiet. Wingate, cleaned up and thoroughly refreshed after his nap, was sitting at the kitchen table with Alexis and Laloula. Laloula was relating to Wingate a very interesting account of how she and her parents had been forced to seek refuge in this small mountain village. Her parents sat apart on straight-backed chairs against the wall, in what Alexis had explained was a sign of respect for the American captain and Alexis.
As Laloula told it, her parents had owned a prosperous clothing and furniture store in the town of Galatas; so prosperous were they, in fact, that they had been able to send Laloula to Athens for her education. It was there she met Alexis. Less than a month before the Germans launched their airborne assault on Crete, Alexis came here to request Laloula’s hand in marriage and to join the King, who had earlier fled to Crete when the Germans invaded his country. A fine wedding had been planned—it was rumored the King would be in attendance—but before it could take place, the town of Galatas became a battleground.
“It was terrible,” Laloula said, her voice hushed. “The Germans were everywhere. The sky was filled with their parachutes. The British could not stop them. All night the fighting went on. At dawn, the bright sun shone on terrible, gruesome sights. German and British corpses, they were everywhere. In the streets, in the alleys, on the lawns and gardens before the peoples’ homes. Many shops were burned or torn to pieces by the bullets and grenades.”
She paused and shook her head at the recollection.
“Our home had been captured by the Germans. They used it as a command post. Then the British took it from them. Soon the house was burning when the Germans counterattacked. A grenade went off inside and the walls collapsed.” Laloula shook her head sadly, then glanced at her parents and spoke a few words to them in Greek.
They listened intently, then nodded unhappily in agreement.
“We had no home,” Laloula told Wingate. “My mother’s people came from this village, so Alexis help us to escape to here. After, he go off to fight with the British and protect our King.” She said this last proudly, glancing at Alexis with unabashed admiration and love.
Smiling, Alexis took her hand in his. “The struggle for Crete was a brief, but very bloody affair, Wingate,” he said. “I don’t suppose the story will ever be told. For no one will care. The Germans won and astonished the world with their airborne paratroopers. But it cost them—it cost them dearly.”
“So I understand.”
Alexis nodded somberly. “The waiting British gunners had an easy time firing at those slow Junkers transports. Fifteen planes were shot down over Iraklion. I was with the King, watching the planes take direct hits. The German paratroopers leaped out like plums spilling from a paper bag, and as each parachute opened, its silk exploded into flames.”
“You mentioned the King,” Wingate said. “You were with him during the invasion?”
“Yes,” Alexis said, straightening his shoulders proudly. “Before General Freyberg evacuated him. Earlier, we had told the King that Crete was not safe, but he had refused to leave. Now, however, he listened and journeyed for three days over the mountains to an evacuation point on the southern coast.”
“You didn’t leave with him?”
Alexis smiled at Laloula. “No,” he said. “I came back for Laloula and her parents. The King understood.”
“How did you manage to rejoin him in Cairo?”
“Once Laloula and her parents were safe here, I joined the British forces until they were evacuated at Iraklion. I went with them.” Alexis shook his head. “The German Stukas caught up with our convoy as soon as we left the coast. They sank two destroyers and badly damaged two cruisers. Eight hundred men were killed, wounded or captured. When we steamed into port, a piper from the Black Watch Regiment stood on the bridge of a crippled cruiser and piped a rather mournful regimental march.”
“I heard about that,” Wingate said. “He was playing Hielan Laddie, Alexis. Under those circumstances, it was quite appropriate.”
“But now it is our turn to make the Germans sing mournful tunes,” said Alexis. “Is that not true, Captain?”
“I hope so, Alexis.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Laloula sprang to her feet. Wingate spun to face the door, his hand reaching to the butt of his .45. The door swung open and in strode Costi. Behind him came a giant of a man—the guerrilla leader.
The man was impressive. A massive black beard covered his face so completely that his collar and neck were invisible. He wore a high Cossack hat and was dressed in the uniform of a Greek Army officer. Over the tunic he wore a leather sleeveless jacket. A cartridge belt gleaming with brass cartridges hung over one shoulder, and in a holster at his waist Wingate glimpsed a C-96 Mauser. The Mauser suited this huge bear of a man: it was heavy and clumsy but was known for its awesome stopping power.
Crowding in behind him came four gun-toting guerrillas, each of them wearing the same Cossack-style hat as their leader, and each competing in fierceness of expression. They seemed to be serving as bodyguards.
“This is Dmitri Kessel,” said Costi, as he and the guerrilla leader strode across the room toward Wingate. “He knows where the British are hiding. He will take us to them.”
“Ah!” cried Kessel. “So here is the American captain, is it?” Kessel moved swiftly to Wingate, his arms out wide.
Before Wingate could do anything to prevent it, the guerrilla leader had flung both bearlike arms around him. Hugging Wingate fiercely, he planted wet kisses on each of Wingate’s cheeks, after which, apparently still overjoyed at Wingate’s presence, he stepped back, grabbed Wingate’s right hand in both of his and pumped enthusiastically.
“We fight Germans!” he boomed. “We blow them up! We cut out their hearts! Is that not so, comrade?”
“That’s about it,” admitted Wingate, smiling back at the guerrilla chieftain in spite of himself.
Kessel turned suddenly to stare at Alexis, his brow creasing, his eyes gleaming with pure malevolence. “This one, Costi tell me about. He come to make sure we give his King back his throne.” Kessel strode closer to Alexis. “I spit on your King George!” he cried. “We kill Germans and Italians! Then we have elections! No more King George!”
Alexis nodded imperturbably. “We shall see,” he said quietly.
Dmitri straightened dramatically. “Yes!” he agreed, turning to his four bodyguards. “We shall see!”
Dmitri swung back around to face Wingate. “We do not need this royalist!” he cried.
“He comes with us,” said Wingate.
Dmitri glared at Laloula and her parents, then swept his searing glance once more on Alexis. “This is a nest of royalists!” he declared, fixing Wingate with his gun-barrel eyes. “If they come with your aid, Captain, then Dmitri does not need it! I spit on such aid!”
Costi spoke up then. “Captain, you do not need Alexis for liaison with Dmitri and his men. I can handle that. Leave Alexis here with his woman. He will still be here when you need him.”
“I think, Costi, perhaps you will need me,” said Alexis quietly. “Though you may not think so now.”
“You fear the Communists too much, Alexis. I think you do not know who your real enemies are.”
Alexis shrugged. “And I think you do not fear the Communists enough. Truly, you do not know who your real enemies are.”
“They are the Germans.”
“Yes. The Germans, but they will not always be with us. We must see beyond this time, Costi, when the Germans are gone—just as the Communists do.”
