The Sword of Fate (44 page)

At last I was through the Pass on the eastern end of Mount Cithaeron and slowly descending the winding road towards Thebes, but, long before I reached the plain darkness had fallen.

There was no moon now, which was a big blessing, as that made it impossible for the Germans to bomb road junctions and the embarking troops with any accuracy during the night hours; but on the other hand it made it infinitely more difficult for the retreating British to keep in touch with each other and find their way along dangerous roads in this, to them, unknown country.

I reached Thebes at about three in the morning, and there I got badly held up again. It, too, had been bombed and was still in flames; a lurid beacon in the dark night. Thebes was on the main-line railway, and it was also the principal junction of the two arterial roads, one to Chalkis in the north-east, and the other running to the north-west, which served the whole of Central Greece. In consequence a great portion of the Imperial Forces was jammed on the far side of the flaming town.

The narrow high street was a raging furnace into which the German aircraft sailing low overhead hurled more and more loads of bombs. It was now utterly impossible for anything to get through. The tanks, caterpillar tractors and walking troops were by-passing the town, but the ditches to be crossed were too steep
for cars and lorries, and I knew that if I once got my car stuck that would be the end of any hope of my being able to reach Daphnis. I simply dared not chance taking it off the main road. The only course was to wait until the fire had died down.

For company I had a detachment of British military police who were directing the one-way caterpillar traffic which was coming round the town and shepherding the unfortunate civilians who were fleeing from it. The police were mostly Londoners and splendid fellows. Unshaven, hollow-eyed, weary from days of orderly retreat under hellish fire, they still had not lost their sense of humour and the kindliness that is such a strong feature of the Cockney. Although the Theban townsfolk could not understand a word of English the soldiers talked to them with cheerful unconcern all the same.

“Come on, Mother! I’ll take your bag, while you climb on the cart. Steady there, son; what’s your hurry? You’ll all get to the seaside in time for August Bank Holiday without shoving! Now, miss, it’s no good crying. What’s your little brother done? Burnt himself? Just stand aside a minute and I’ll fix that with my first-aid kit.”

Yet somehow the Greeks seemed to sense the meaning, and instead of rioting took their turn calmly for a place in the procession along the crowded road.

I soon realised that it would be several hours before I could get through the town, so having asked one of the police to rouse me when the fire had died down, I curled up on the back seat of the car to snatch a little sleep. He woke me about seven with a welcome mug of strong scalding tea. By daylight I could see that great clouds of black smoke were still billowing up from the houses, but I decided to make an attempt to get through. Having put on my gas-mask and turned on the headlamps of the car, I drove into the pall of spark-filled smoke.

It was one of the most terrifying experiences that I have ever had. I could hardly see more than a yard in front of the headlamps. The air was as hot as the inside of an oven, and I feared that at any moment my clothes might ignite. The street was littered with debris, and I was never quite sure if I was on the road or running into a byway where I should find myself hopelessly lost.

Without the gas-mask it would have been utterly impossible; but that enabled me to breathe without discomfort, which is two-thirds of the battle in facing any fire, and although I was in constant apprehension that the car might be wrecked by a falling
girder or the tyres blow up from the heat, I at last bumped my way into clearer air on the far side of the town.

I had hardly congratulated myself on my success when a group of Tommies started yelling at me, and on turning I found that the back seat of the Bentley was on fire. A piece of burning rafter had fallen on it; but the men gave me a hand and we soon had the flames out.

The road now ran north-west again through flattish country, but the way was even more crowded with troops than it had been the night before. All through the morning I was compelled to crawl along it, leaving first Mount Cithaeron and then the splendid Mount Helicon on my right.

By midday I reached Lavadia. The little market town was not on the railway, and although it had been repeatedly bombed it had not yet been burnt out. I had had no breakfast and no dinner the previous night, so it was now nearly twenty-four hours since I had eaten. With the idea of getting a meal I pulled up the car in the open square in front of the one hotel. As I got out the dark sturdy-looking proprietor, who was standing in front of it, shook his head and waved me back, the obvious inference being that the soldiers had already eaten and drunk him out of everything. Nevertheless when I spoke to him in Greek and begged him to tell me where I might stand a chance of getting any sort of meal, he came forward, courteously removing his hat, and said that if I could make do on goat’s milk cheese and black olives he would furnish me with them; but that I must come down to his cellar. Otherwise, if I were seen eating at one of the tables in the restaurant which faced on to the open street, he would be invaded, and as it was he had barely enough food left to keep himself and his family alive for a week. After that … He shrugged eloquently.

I accompanied him down to a cool cellar where with thick slices of home-made bread I ate some of the cheese and washed it down with a pint of dark yellow, incredibly harsh, resin-flavoured wine. Naturally I wanted to pay for my meal, but the proprietor would not allow me to. He was pleased to come across an Englishman who spoke Greek well enough to explain to him a little of what was going on, and like all the other Greeks with whom I had talked, he showed a complete conviction that in due course the cause of freedom must triumph.

From Lavadia I had a choice of two roads, and decided to take the more southern as, although it was slightly more hilly, it was likely to be less congested. All through the Friday afternoon I
climbed steadily up into the mountains again, ever higher and higher, winding my way through rugged desolate gorges of fantastic grandeur, until at last, at about five o’clock, I saw ahead on my right a grassy shelf in the mountain-side covered with tumbled ruins. Among them, facing the valley, was a semi-circular open theatre with seats of stone, and the still standing portico of a temple. I knew then that I had reached Delphi, at one time regarded as the centre of the ancient world, and from which the priestesses of the Pythaeon Apollo used to act as the Voice of an Oracle that often governed the fate of kings and nations.

Half a mile further on I entered the town, which consists of little more than one long street straggling along the mountain face. To the left, far, far below, I could now see the little port of Itea, and I noticed that this also was being used for the embarkation. Khaki-clad figures were straggling down through the myrtle on the cliff-side and ships waited on that wine-dark sea, where once the argosies of Jason and Odysseus had proudly sailed.

Turning inland now and north again, I went up and up still further, until I reached the little town of Amphissa, then on, as darkness fell, along the never-ending valley. It must have been about half past ten when, on rounding a bend of the road, I saw a bright beam of light sweep to and fro for a moment, apparently some distance ahead; but it proved to be less than half a mile away. I reached it much sooner than I expected and found that it was caused by a man waving a torch slowly backwards and forwards over a wide arc.

It was hours now since I had seen any British troops except for a few stragglers, so I felt certain that this must be a Greek Fifth Columnist signalling to the advancing Germans. Stopping the car as I drew level, I pulled out my gun and called in Greek: “Hi, you! Come here!”

As the figure approached I saw that it wore British battledress, so I said sharply in English: “What the hell are you doing with that light? You’ll have a Nazi night-hawk machine-gunning you if you wave it about like that.”

A quiet voice answered me. “Oh yes, they do. About every quarter of an hour; but fortunately one man doesn’t present much of a target in the dark.”

“But, good God, man!” I exclaimed, staring at the white blob which in the darkness was all that I could see of the face of this apparent maniac. “What’s the idea? Surely you don’t want to get yourself killed. Yet you’re certainly going the right way about it.”

“Perhaps,” he said mildly. “But, you see, from this point the light can be seen for many miles, and four tracks meet here. By turning myself into a lighthouse I’m able to guide some of our stragglers in.”

“I see,” I said a little weakly. “Who—who are you?”

He chuckled. “Oh, just one of the ‘Gilded Staff’. Once Operations ceased to function I was left with time on my hands. As I had no men to look after I thought I’d stay behind and collect a few. But who are you? And where are you off to in that fine Bentley?”

“I’m an Intelligence merchant,” I said, “and I’ve got a job to do.” As I spoke I let in the clutch and roared away. I had no intention of being ordered back by a senior officer, and I should have hated to have had to enter into a fracas with such a splendid fellow.

It has been suggested, in view of events in Norway and France, that some of our General Staff are not overburdened with brains; and quite definitely the one thing they hate most in all the world is any form of ‘advertising’. That is unfortunate, because that word, more than any other, embodies the qualities of imagination, modernity, originality, speed and drive; but when it comes to a real showdown they are absolutely unbeatable for their calm, unassuming courage and refusal to be stampeded.

As I drove on into the night it made me just a little bit prouder of my own race to think of that gallant English gentleman standing there on the northern slope of Mount Parnassus making himself a target for enemy bombs and machine-gun bullets in the hope of guiding a few stray soldiers that he did not even know, but who for all that were ‘his men’, whatever country or Dominion they had come from, on to the road which might lead them to safety and to home.

I was tired now, damnably tired. Apart from my spell of sleep in the car outside Thebes I had been on the go ever since I got out of bed at the Officers’ Club on Thursday morning, and it was now nearly midnight on Friday; but I knew that I had a long way to go yet and that there could be no letting up.

For the next ten miles I may have passed a few stragglers in the dark, but I saw no one, although from time to time ’planes droned overhead and from the mountain bends I could sometimes catch glimpses of burning villages. Soon after midnight I decided that I must be nearing the German advance units, so I pulled the car in on a grassy space beside the road, where it widened slightly, got out my borrowed suit of plus-fours, changed into it and hid
my uniform under the back seat of the Bentley. Then I drove on again.

It was about two in the morning and I was approaching Velukhi when I heard the sound of rifle- and machine-gun fire. Proceeding at a more cautious speed, I reached the outskirts of the town and was challenged in English. As I pulled up, two figures in battledress loomed up out of the darkness and asked me who I was and where I was going. It was a sergeant who questioned me and he had a broad Scots accent. I told him that I was a British Intelligence Officer and that I was going straight through into the German-occupied territory on a special mission. Of course I did not expect him to believe that, so I tipped up the back of the car and showed him my uniform. That satisfied him of my
bona fides
all right, and we had a cigarette together while I asked him what prospects there were of my getting through the town.

He said that he thought I had better wait a bit as the Highland Battalion to which he belonged was fighting a rearguard action there; but that when the Jerries had been beaten off his unit would be retreating again and I would have a fair chance then to push on without being shot.

I waited on the roadside for about hall an hour, then the firing died down, and a little later the remnants of that gallant Scots battalion passed me in the darkness, making their way back to put up another stand in the next village or mountain gorge which offered a good chance for a delaying action.

In a casual conversational way the sergeant had told me a little of what they had been through since they had been thrown in to cover the retreat, and I wondered if they would get a line in the English papers. I didn’t think it likely because I had followed the news of our other campaigns in Libya and Abyssinia too closely. Just as in the last war, the people who handle our propaganda seem to think that the Dominions won’t play unless they are given all the praise for every action in which Empire troops participate.

There were many more Home troops than Overseas troops both in Libya and Greece, and in both cases there was nothing to choose between the severity of the fighting which each was called upon to face; yet to read the newspaper accounts one might have imagined that all the men from Scotland and Wales, Devon and Yorkshire, Liverpool and London, the Home Counties, the Midlands and the North were just sitting sunning themselves in Cairo and Jerusalem, which was wickedly and criminally wrong.

Quite apart from any question of unfairness it gave the whole world outside Britain the impression that we were prepared to fight only to the last Australian, New Zealander, or South African; and that, although Britain might be standing up to the air raids all right, her men were too effete to have any real offensive spirit, so they were just doing garrison duty while the Dominion troops were left to do the dirty work. It was difficult to conceive a policy calculated to do more damage to our cause in wavering neutral countries, in the United States, and above all in the Dominions themselves.

I gave the Highlanders ten minutes to get away, then I drove slowly on into the village, hooting my Klaxon as I went.