Searching for Sofia, page 26
* * *
Jack joined the remaining men and followed Colonel Walker back to the protection offered by the dunes. He paused, however, surprised to hear the soft sound of singing. A sweet melody drifted across the water and grew louder. Turning, Jack realised that it was the voices of a New Zealand unit—their mighty Maori contingent—rising loud and clear, singing a familiar tune in their traditional language. It was a poignant gesture, and as if in reply, a chorus of voices on the beach united and joined them, singing in English. ‘Now the hour when we must say farewell.’ It was an incredible moment, one worthy of a painting, Jack thought as he inhaled deeply and wondered if he was the only one with a tear in his eye. He imagined the scene on canvas: the over-full troopship, ready to receive its last passengers before departing, the ragged men remaining on the shore, disappointed at being left behind, the steep cliffs behind them, a trio of Stukas menacingly flying in the distance. He could even place himself on the shoreline, wistfully gazing out at the barge receding into the distance, his thoughts for Sofia.
Will we ever see Curly and Murphy again? he wondered. The threat to all of them was far from over, for out in the open sea, the ship would be vulnerable to enemy bombers, even as those remaining on the island were vastly outnumbered by the Germans; and with supplies low, weapons in poor shape and little ammunition left, it was hard to say who had the better chances for survival. At this moment, after their days of marching on near-empty stomachs, food and sleep were all that really mattered.
* * *
The afternoon was long, and spirits were low as they scavenged the fields for corn, dates and olives before preparing for their nightly ritual—drawing straws for watch duty, laying out the greatcoats to rest upon, and collapsing into uneasy sleep—none too comfortably.
At 0400hrs, Jack rose to see Colonel Walker already up. He had news to share, and it wasn’t good.
He’d just returned from a meeting with the British General, where they’d been using a transmitter to communicate with the London War Office about the situation at Crete. They’d learned that the Navy was not planning on returning anytime soon. They believed that too many ships and too many men had already been lost to the Germans. If they were to attempt a second evacuation, the Germans would surely be ready for them and more lives would be lost.
Colonel Walker’s next words came as a surprise.
‘So now, boys, it’s to be every man for himself. You can surrender to the Germans, let them take you as prisoners, and hope that they will treat you well, or test yourselves against the mountains of Crete. The decision is yours to make.’
The men looked at each other, speechless. This was certainly a turn of events. Here they were, over six thousand men huddled on a small cove in Southern Crete and being told to fend for themselves! Looking around, Jack thought the bewilderment showing on the men’s faces would be funny if their circumstances weren’t so dire. Certainly, their training had included the actions that they should take if captured or perhaps surrendering to the enemy, or should they become separated in enemy terrain, but it had always seemed terribly unlikely. They were Australians. They didn’t plan to lose battles, or be taken prisoner.
Again, Colonel Walker spoke, this time with firmness in his voice. ‘Men, this is serious. We are now members of a surrendered army. You need to break into small parties and either wait for the Germans to pick you up, or strike off—perhaps you might find a way off the island. There is nothing else to be done. Good luck to you all. You’ve done a mighty job here in Crete, under very difficult circumstances. You can be proud of yourselves. I am certainly proud of you. I only wish that things had turned out differently for us all!’
Within minutes, patches of flames appeared across the beach and Jack looked on as thousands of men threw their papers, followed by their weapons and ammo into fires. Hundreds of white flags appeared, created from singlets or canvas bags. It was clear that the majority of men intended to offer themselves to the Germans when they arrived.
‘I don’t know about you jokers, but I’m not giving myself over to any Germans. If they want me, they’ll have to come and get me, and they’ll have a fight on their hands if they try!’
Jack agreed with Danny. He’d far sooner take his chances in the forests than be locked up behind barbed wire or worse.
Within minutes, over a dozen of the 2/7th had reached an agreement—surrender was not an option.
They bandied a range of suggestions about where they could go and what they might do.
‘How about we grab a barge?’ That was Jack’s preference—taking a boat across the Mediterranean to the mainland, and from there, making their way to Alexandria. However, a glance at the bay indicated that already hundreds of men had lined the shoreline with the same idea.
‘I think we need to head into the mountains.’ Jack was not a bushman like Shorty and Snowy, but his years at Montsalvat had given him a range of skills for living rough.
‘Definitely,’ said Saunders. ‘And soon. The Germans are likely to be here any minute.’
Jack was pleased to have Saunders join them. The walk to Sphakia had been tough, and it had been Saunders heightened senses that had detected the enemy’s presence, hence saving the unit, more than once.
* * *
In the end, fifteen men of the 2/7th formed a group; Danny, Saunders, Roger, Leo and Greaves were numbered among them, and Jack was glad, for they were solid dependable men, who kept a steady head when things got tough. They agreed to stay around the foothills of the beach for a day or two longer, just in case the Navy had a change of heart and decided to rescue them. In the meantime, exhausted after ten days of almost no sleep, they trekked a couple of hundred yards up the cliff where they found a clearing that offered both protection and a view of the sea. There they created roster system, allocating two men to keep lookout along the cliff face for the arrival of Germans whilst a second pair would sit on a rocky overhang overlooking the sea, where they’d signal Morse code into the inky black night while the remainder collapsed into a deep sleep.
When early the next morning, a contingent of Germans was visible stepping onto the beach, they knew that it was time to move. At Saunders’ suggestion, they decided to return to Suda Bay—he knew of a hoard of food that had been buried there two weeks earlier, before the German invasion had begun.
‘Find that food? You gotta be kidding,’ laughed, Roger, incredulous at the suggestion that the food cache could be located by them amid the forest around Canea. However, as Saunders wordlessly returned Roger’s gaze, Jack had no doubts that the Aborigine knew to the tree exactly where the buried food would be.
And, eight days later, after long days of walking in the sun, with senses on constant alert for bombers overhead, snipers in the bushes and Germans approaching, Saunders led them to a tree where they unearthed a large timber box loaded with tins of beef, rice, jam, cocoa, tea and a dozen packets of dried biscuits, earning the rest of the men’s praise and acclaim.
* * *
Long discussions ensued about their next move. The men knew that they couldn’t aimlessly roam across the island; they needed to find shelter and a sustainable food supply, and with summer upon them, a water supply was important. The mountains to their right, toward the centre of the island seemed to be the best option, offering cover by day, the possibility of a cave for shelter at night and streams that would provide fresh water. Jack hoped that they might find somewhere near a village, where they could communicate with the Cretans, who’d hopefully be able to suggest ways that they could leave Crete. A second concern was the size of their group. Fifteen men moving through the wilderness was too many; they’d be conspicuous, and therefore easily captured. They agreed that once they’d reached the shelter of the mountains, they’d disband into groups of three or four, and that as soon as any of them made it off the island and back to unit headquarters in Alexandria, they would report to the authorities that not all of the troops that had been left behind on Crete had surrendered to the Germans; that a number of Australians were hiding in the mountains. Hopefully, when things settled down, the British would send a vessel to rescue them.
Even before they reached the mountains, their group diminished in size. Saunders was the first to go, after a surprise attack by a low-flying Stuka raining bullets from the sky. Although all fifteen were accounted for following their dive into the bushes, somewhere over the next hour, Saunders melted into the forest.
Good luck to him, Jack thought. He hoped he’d make it. Of all of them, he was sure that the Australian bushman had the best chance.
A few days later, Greaves was next to go. He’d always loved the Cretans and everything about their lifestyle and had even developed a knack for the language. Repeatedly, he’d suggested that their best chance of survival was if they blended in with the Cretan population in one of the larger villages.
‘If we blend in with the villagers, then the Germans will leave us alone,’ he argued.
‘How many Cretans have an Irish accent?’ Danny replied.
‘Perhaps you could be a mute Cretan.’
‘Mute, ha—I’d pay to see Danny mute for a day! It’d give my ears a rest,’ Jack offered.
Nonetheless, when Greaves turned up in baggy pants, a rough shirt with a wide belt and a head scarf, they had to agree that he looked every bit like he belonged on the island. Wishing him luck, they watched him set off with a wave and smile towards the nearest village.
For five days the men continued their walk, avoiding the main roads as they ventured into the mountain, sharing the food supply which was rapidly diminishing and drinking water from the creeks. Their passage was slow. Despite the seclusion offered by the forest tracks it seemed that gunfire, the movement of vehicles and planes thundering through the sky was ever close, and many hours of the day were spent laying low under the cover of trees. Jack’s nerves were rattled by the constant threat of enemy attack; and from the quiet seriousness that had settled over the others, he knew that they were feeling it too. He was convinced that despite their camaraderie, their risk of capture whilst remaining in such a large group was high. It was only a matter of time before a Germans sniper noticed the rustling movement of the bushes or saw the glint of a weapon in the sunlight. And when Jack saw a path—barely a goat track—leading off to the right on a steep ascent, he decided the time had come to separate.
‘How about we see where this takes us?’ he suggested, pointing out the track to Leo and Danny, and they agreed. The three of them would stick together and find themselves a hideout in the mountains towering above them.
‘Yes, Jack. This looks perfect. We’ll get an excellent view of the sea from up there—see if the Navy reconsiders and arrives to rescue us.’
With good wishes and farewells to the remaining men, and ignoring the pangs in his belly, Jack took the lead, scrambling up the steep bank and weaving along the path for almost two hours until the light faded and they decided to rest for the night on a broad open ledge, where lights below indicated a village close by.
As uncomfortable as the hard ground beneath him was, sleep came easily and Jack did not move until a glimmer of dazzling red and orange revealed the sun was just about to rise.
A few minutes later, with Danny and Leo now awake and loading packs onto their backs, Jack was shocked to see an old man with thick grey hair, a heavily bearded face and black pantaloons emerge from the bushes only feet away.
Instinctively, Jack’s hands reached for his gun. The man frowned at them and shook his head, holding his fingers to his lips, entreating them to remain silent.
They stood still and listened.
‘Come,’ he mouthed, beckoning them to follow him. ‘Too many Germans... This way...’ While his words were difficult to understand, his gestures were universal, and Jack gladly followed. It seemed sensible to place themselves in the hands of someone who knew the island.
Chapter 26
Jack did his best to maintain the pace of the man in front of him, who despite his age navigated the wilderness with ease, first scrambling down a bank which led them onto what was little more than a goat track meandering through the trees. It was a slow journey and Jack realised they were not alone; four young boys, aged about fourteen, intermittently appeared for brief periods before retreating into the bushes. At first he thought it was just the one boy, but as the morning wore on he began to notice variations; the worn, oversized shirt on one was a small, torn undersized shirt on another. One lad was tall and slim, another tiny. Common to all were shiny bright eyes alight with enthusiasm for their task and the manner in which they walked, adopting the stealth of soldiers stalking an enemy.
They were runners, he realised, taking turns to advance along the track, checking to see that the route before them was safe, and passing messages to contacts along the way. Apprentice guerrilla soldiers, honing their skills under the guidance of men who’d protected their island for centuries.
The walk seemed endless, the sunshine intense, and they were glad for the opportunity to fill their water bottles from the fresh streams that they crossed from time to time. Morning turned to midday, and then it was afternoon before finally the man slowed at the juncture of a cliff face. Without hesitating, their guide turned right; and following, Jack took a deep breath as he observed their position. They were high on the mountainous track—their path alongside the wall of a near vertical cliff face—and although they were shielded by the cover of the tree line, Jack could see that the forest fell away below them into a deep abyss. After walking a hundred yards, their guide paused and then beckoning them to follow, with a nimble manoeuvre, he vanished under a rocky overhang.
Remaining close, Jack ducked low and followed the leather boots vanishing into the cliff face. As he crawled into the cave, darkness enveloped him, but Jack sensed that the space he’d entered was large. He heard a scratching sound, and squinting, tried to make sense of his surroundings by the dim glow of the flickering match which had suddenly sputtered to life a few yards in front of him. Leo added a beam of torchlight, which he directed to the left and right, to reveal a broad cavern, an area about six yards deep and four yards wide. Their guide nodded approvingly and motioned that they must remain within the cave. Modelling with the universal sign of hands against cheek, he advised them to sleep.
As rough as the cave was, Jack was glad of the shelter it provided. Despite the summer heat, it felt cool, and the floor looked clean. He, Leo and Danny spread their packs and arranged their greatcoats before lying down and marvelling at their luck in being led here by the Cretan. They knew that they could have passed by a hundred entrances leading into a cave like this, and never noticed. Within minutes, Jack gave into the exhaustion caused by weeks of walking through the mountains with his senses ever strained, the nights of watch duties and restless sleep, and the day they’d just spent endlessly ascending steep tracks at speed. That night he slept with a sense of safety that he hadn’t felt in weeks.
* * *
As light seeped across the floor of the cave the following morning, a rustling from outside caught Jack’s attention and suddenly his senses were on high alert. Was it an animal? Had the Germans discovered them? Leo, lying next to him, stirred, and Jack shushed him before easing towards his backpack to reach for his gun. Lying on his stomach, he peered towards the entrance, where a pair of worn leather boots shuffled along the track, their tread uneven, the left foot dragging to keep up with the right. The human legs were accompanied by the slow, heavy tread of four hooves. A mule? Jack held his breath, waiting for it to pass, and then after a minute of silence, he wriggled forwards and peered to the left.
Jack jolted when he realised that the traveller remained close by. It was a woman, who now sat on a rock barely a dozen yards away. She was leaning forward, her black shawl draped over her head, her shoulders bowed. He exhaled; it was only an old woman resting. Perhaps she had a hut nearby, and was travelling down to the village for supplies.
‘What is it?’ Leo whispered, and Jack leaned back, making space for him to see.
Barely breathing, they lay together, keeping watch while Danny slept. Jack hoped that he wouldn’t wake, because it would be impossible to keep the Irishman quiet.
Five minutes passed, and then another five.
Jack looked at Leo with raised eyebrows at the sound of a low whistle from farther down the track. Surely that was not the call of a bird.
A clear ringing emitted from the woman as she returned the call, and within minutes, a young boy appeared. Jack watched the woman stand and speak with the lad, surprised when she indicated for him to sit on the rock that she’d just vacated. He nudged Leo, again holding his breath, as she returned along the track towards them.
* * *
‘Hello... It is safe for you to come out now.’ The woman’s voice was low, her tone far more youthful than Jack had expected.
Jack crawled through the opening, followed by Leo and a confused-looking Danny, and they watched warily as she pulled back her shawl, revealing the face of a woman perhaps in her mid-thirties. She smiled at them.
‘Did you sleep well?’ The glimmer of amusement in her eyes suggested she was enjoying her subterfuge.
Jack nodded cautiously, still surprised by her presence and wondering why she was there.
‘My uncle sent me here. It was he who led you here last night. He thought that you might be hungry.’
The woman returned to the mule, now nibbling at the grass that edged the stony track, and she reached into a bag slung beside the saddle. Drawing out an enamel pot, she held it towards Jack, who took it. Next she fished out two loaves of bread and a bag of nectarines, offering these to Leo. She then turned to a second saddlebag and retrieved a sack of potatoes and onions as well as a jar of olive oil and a hessian bag of dates, which she placed into Danny’s open hands.
