Mac wingate 3, p.8
Mac Wingate 3, page 8
“We did not know you were just below us, Captain,” said Stephanos, as he knelt and began to strip off the German’s back sling, where the rockets and launching tubes were customarily carried.
“Never mind that, Corporal,” Wingate said, “just help me and Stephanos with these Panzerschrecks. We’ve got a long way to go yet before we’re out of this.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Sweeney sheepishly as he turned and bent to help Stephanos. The Cretan guerrilla was already carrying on his back the artillery he had taken from the German he had killed before coming to Sweeney’s aid.
Wingate hoped that Clive and the others had been as lucky. So far, no outcry had been raised and the German garrison below was quiet—waiting for the attack that Dmitri had told them was coming. Swiftly, Wingate stripped the back sling off his own dead German and shrugged into it.
As he gathered up the launching tubes and rockets and slipped them into the back sling, he glanced at Stephanos. The man was upright now, peering down at the garrison. Zotos had proclaimed earlier that he would tear Dmitri to pieces with his bare hands if proof could be provided that Dmitri was a traitor.
It had seemed like a preposterous boast at the time; but after what Sweeney had just told him, Wingate realized that it was anything but preposterous. Wingate did not like Dmitri—had not liked him the moment he strode like a comic-opera figure into the Stangos’s cottage—but he felt sorry for him now.
Seven
Before Wingate had set out for Sphakia, he had sent McCauley back to Richea with Costi to bring Alexis and the Stangos family to Clive Smith’s stronghold in the mountains. There was no doubt in Wingate’s mind that once Dmitri had set in motion his plan to ambush Wingate and his band, he would immediately proceed to wipe out what he had already pronounced a “nest of royalists.”
Alexis and Laloula were with Costi and McCauley when Wingate and Sweeney entered the camp and joined with the others in examining the captured German weapons. Costi was quite subdued, and Alexis had the good sense, Wingate noted, not to crow about this indisputable evidence of Dmitri’s defection.
As soon as all the men had returned safely, Clive invited Stephanos to join Wingate and his men in his cave. There, he told Stephanos, they would plan what action to take now against Dmitri.
McCauley opened the discussion by confirming again that a runner from Dmitri warning of the German buildup at the garrison did not reach the camp until after ten o’clock, even later than Wingate had predicted.
“When I asked the man how I was to warn Wingate that late,” McCauley finished up, “the fellow just shrugged. As far as I can see, Captain, he was in this thing with Dmitri.”
All eyes turned on Stephanos. Every man was thinking the same thing, it seemed. How many of the guerrillas could Dmitri count on in a showdown? Stephanos saw the question in their eyes.
“It does not matter,” he said softly, “how many knew of this treachery. It is enough that I know. I will kill the man myself.”
“You can’t just walk in there and break him in two, Stephanos,” said Clive reasonably. “Dmitri must already know we did not fall for his German trap. He will know that we are on to him.”
“I will go with you,” said Costi to Stephanos.
“Good. The two of us will do it.”
“That’s foolish,” said Wingate, “and unnecessary. We’ll take enough men to circle his camp before dawn; then Clive and I will accompany you and Costi into the camp. All we really have to do is present the evidence to Dmitri’s men. It won’t matter how many are in this with Dmitri. There will be enough guerrillas who are loyal to take good care of Dmitri.”
Clive nodded. “I think that would do nicely.” Clive then smiled bleakly at Stephanos. “We can’t take the chance of losing you, Stephanos—or you, either, Costi. With Dmitri gone, we will need someone in charge we can trust.”
“Just one thing,” spoke up Alexis for the first time.
“And what’s that, Alex?” Wingate asked.
“Laloula and I are going with you.”
Wingate was about to protest when he caught the warning glance sent his way by Clive. Wingate held up, thought it over quickly, then shrugged. “Come ahead, then. But let’s get this business out of the way. The sooner we do, the sooner we can get this show on the road.”
“We leave now then,” said Stephanos. “Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Clive, starting from the cave. “I’ll round up my men.”
Wingate followed out after Clive. He was sure Sweeney and the others would be more than willing to take part in this confrontation with Dmitri. Especially the dour Stearns, even if his wound were not fully healed.
Flanked by his bodyguards, Dmitri advanced through the cold morning light to greet his visitors. A moment before, he had been startled—even momentarily dismayed—to see Wingate, Clive and the others approaching with Stephanos. Now, however, his face fixed into a determined mask of amiability, he opened his arms once more to his new American comrade as he advanced.
Wingate pulled up and allowed the big fellow to once again wrap his huge arms about him. Then he stepped back and smiled coldly into Dmitri’s face.
“You kill Germans last night?” Dmitri boomed.
“A few,” admitted Wingate.
The man frowned magnificently. “Only a few?” he demanded. “Were there not enough Germans for you and your men?”
“There were many Germans, Dmitri,” spoke up Stephanos softly, his eyes fixing Dmitri with a terrible intensity.
Wingate stepped back and found himself flanked by Clive and Alexis as Stephanos advanced closer to the guerrilla chieftain, Costi at his side. Dmitri’s bodyguards tightened around him. The rest of the guerrillas had joined them by this time and were packed in a great circle around Dmitri and Wingate’s party, each man watching intently. It was obvious to them that a confrontation was in progress.
“That’s right, Dmitri,” seconded Costi, his dark eyes flashing angrily. “There were many Germans waiting for us.”
“It was a trap,” snapped Stephanos.
“What is this you say?” Dmitri demanded.
Without replying directly to Dmitri, Stephanos turned to the guerrillas. In a rapid, cold recital in Greek, he told them what had happened the night before in Sphakia while he and Wingate watched from the attic window. At once shouts of dismay and fury came from the guerrillas. Wingate could understand only a few words of Greek, but it was enough to communicate to him the savage anger Stephanos’s story elicited from the men crowded about them.
Seemingly undaunted, however, Dmitri raised his powerful voice until it dominated the furious guerrillas. He was denying everything, of course. Wingate turned to Alexis. “What is he saying?”
“He says it is all a lie—that Stephanos is allied with the royalists and is simply trying to discredit him to take over the leadership of the ELAS on Crete.”
Wingate nodded. That figured. And indeed the faces of the guerrillas registered not only anger now but confusion as well. It was, after all, Dmitri’s word against the word of Stephanos. Furthermore, Stephanos’s association with Alexis and Wingate at this point was not helping him any. He could have gone over.
Wingate stepped forward and held up his hand for silence. Reluctantly, the guerrillas quieted and waited for him to speak.
“Three times!” Wingate cried to the guerrillas. “Three times we have been betrayed since we arrived on this island.”
Some understood, others looked in confusion at their neighbors. Alexis strode forward and translated immediately. When he had finished, the guerrillas watched Wingate intently, waiting for him to continue.
Wingate described the first ambush, then the second. When Alexis had finished translating what Wingate was telling them about the events surrounding the second ambush, there were mutterings once more among the guerrillas. Wingate next told them of his plan to unmask Dmitri, finishing with his description of the sudden German buildup at the German garrison.
“But despite that betrayal,” Wingate concluded, “we did not come back empty-handed!”
As Alexis translated this last, Wingate turned and with a broad sweep of his arm, indicated the rocks surrounding Dmitri’s compound. In response to this prearranged signal, McCauley and the rest of the men he and Clive had hidden there stood up in full view, their captured German Panzerschrecks at the ready, each one of them trained on Dmitri and his bodyguards.
“Panzerschrecks!” Wingate cried, as Alexis hastily translated. “We took them from the Germans who had been sent by Dmitri to destroy our force. But this time it was we who surprised the Germans. This time we knew who the traitor was!”
Before Alexis could finish translating Wingate’s last words, there was a tidal move toward Dmitri and the bodyguards. Dmitri managed to unholster his Mauser and get off two quick shots point-blank into the ranks of the guerrillas rushing him. The bodyguards started beating desperately at the attacking guerrillas with the barrels of their rifles, but they went down almost immediately under the guerrillas’ furious onslaught.
It was Stephanos who wrested the Mauser from Dmitri’s grasp. Using it as a club, Stephanos struck again and again at Dmitri until the man gave up, covered his head with his arms and bowed forward. Like an enraged Barbary ape, Costi leaped upon the big man’s back. Dmitri sagged still more. Stephanos took Dmitri by the neck then, as the rest of the guerrillas reached out for the man. A moment later Dmitri sank out of sight.
For an unpleasant moment it reminded Wingate of a pack of jackals bringing down an aged lion to devour on the spot.
Wingate turned and, with Alexis and Laloula at his side, hurried back across the compound with Clive to join McCauley and the others up in the rocks. His job was done here for now, and Laloula did not look at all well.
About fifteen minutes later, Stephanos and Costi joined Wingate and Clive in the rocks. Though Stephanos had just finished making good his vow to tear the traitor Dmitri to pieces with his bare hands, there was no trace of rage or even satisfaction on his marble face.
“The guerrillas have made Stephanos their chief,” said Costi, pulling up in front of Wingate.
“The King is dead, long live the King,” muttered Clive softly.
Stephanos glanced at the tall Englishman. For an instant, Wingate thought he saw a glint of humor in the Greek’s cold eyes. But only for a moment.
“I think we can work together,” Stephanos told Wingate. “I trust you and I think you can trust the ELAS now.”
“Yes, I believe I can,” Wingate agreed. “Now.”
Clive spoke up. “We’ve decided it would be best if you and your partisans retired to the mountains with us, Stephanos. I think the Jerries will no longer be so willing to ignore your men now that their collaborator is dead.”
“Yes,” said Stephanos, “that is true. When is this airdrop to be? I know of an airfield we can blow up not far from here. There I will plant the body of Dmitri and his black-hatted thugs. The German pigs will know for sure then that they cannot count on the ELAS to collaborate with them any longer.”
“The airdrop is tomorrow night, Stephanos,” Wingate replied.
“Good. We will attack the airfield the next night. I have a plan.”
“That’s fine, old boy,” said Clive easily, “but no matter what your plan, this airfield will be Wingate’s show. You and your men will take orders from him.”
Stephanos looked shrewdly at Wingate for a moment, then shrugged his acceptance of that condition. “That is all right,” he said. “I have seen this American slice a German. He is one of us.”
Laloula glanced swiftly at Wingate, and Wingate saw the surprise in her large dark eyes—surprise and something more, something close to repugnance. When she looked away, she seemed to cling to Alexis.
“If that’s agreed then,” said Clive, “I suggest we move out now.”
As Stephanos and Costi returned to the guerrilla camp, Wingate walked closer to Clive. Wingate had been anxious to ask the man something since first they started out in the darkness of early morning. “Clive,” he said quietly, “why in hell did you want me to let Alexis take Laloula along on this?”
Clive smiled easily at Wingate. “Why the reason’s obvious, Wingate. I am surprised it didn’t occur to you.”
Wingate frowned. “No more games, Clive. Why?”
The man shrugged. “This is just the first of many grisly operations, is it not? Better to discourage the woman now than to have her along when we encounter considerably more bloody opposition.”
Wingate glanced back at Alexis and Laloula. The two were conversing quietly and it was obvious that Laloula was still considerably upset, that Alexis was having all he could do to calm her. Yes, this dirty little business had shaken her clear to her pretty little insteps. As Clive pointed out, it was more than likely that this little adventure had cured her.
Clive was right. What was coming up promised to be considerably more bloody and a whole hell of a lot more dangerous—and no place for a woman.
The night was moonless. A humid wind blew from the south. Ahead of Wingate loomed the Iraklion airfield, its boundaries indicated by a wire fence, just beyond which gleamed dully one of its three runways. As McCauley slipped ahead of them and clipped a hole in the fence, Wingate glimpsed the squat Junkers 52s crouched before their hangars—twenty-seven of them, all newly arrived from Italy. Far to the right beside another runway, a full squadron of Stukas was parked, reminding Wingate of grounded hawks waiting to pounce into the night sky.
Once through the fence, Wingate sent Sweeney and his men to the Stukas, after which he and McCauley, with Clive by his side, set out for the Ju 52s. They reached the bombers without incident and immediately began drifting down the neat aisles, deploying their Lewis bombs in the cockpits and in the air-intake of the engines. Their time pencil fuses, which were set to go off in a half hour, worked on the principle of acid eating through wire which, when broken, set off the bomb. They were usually quite reliable and had certainly worked well on the island of Kos.
But twenty minutes later, as Wingate dropped lightly to the ground after setting a Lewis bomb in one of the last of the Ju 52s one of the bombs they had planted earlier detonated.
Clive was trotting by just as Wingate dropped to the ground. He turned a pale, startled face on Wingate. McCauley raced up.
“We’ve had it, Captain,” he said. “One of them fuses went off too soon.”
“Leave the rest of these planes and head for those German quarters over there,” Wingate ordered. “That’s where the Germans will be coming from. Might as well meet them head-on, before they have time to organize.”
Cocking their Stens, the three men left the planes and raced across the dark field toward the German quarters. As they ran, they saw a door open, flooding the ground in front of the building with yellow light, into which poured armed Germans. Without slowing, Wingate and his two companions began firing. The Germans in front went down, vanishing in the darkness, while the rest immediately scattered. A soldier pulled shut the open door.
“Over there!” called Wingate, pointing to a hangar close by the building.
As they cut for it, a desultory return fire snapped at them from the darkness. They reached the hangar safely and darted in through the wide doors. Wingate heard frantic footsteps as German mechanics retreated into the bowels of the hangar. He tossed grenades after the footsteps. As they detonated, Wingate saw the outlines of two German bombers under repair. Soon the bombers were burning, the heat concentrated fiercely in the furnace-like interior of the hanger.
Peering back through the doorway, Wingate and the others saw a line of German SS racing toward the hangar, submachine guns at the ready.
“Time for us to leave,” Clive muttered.
“Right you are,” said Wingate.
They found a side door and slipped into the darkness behind the building they had attacked earlier. The strangled, furious cries of Germans came clearly to them from within. But the sound of the German voices was obliterated completely as the rest of the Junkers 52s suddenly went up. One by one, like a string of giant firecrackers, the German bombers became roiling tornadoes of flame and smoke. Garish light illuminated the airstrip. The dark figures of running Germans stood out clearly against the flaming aircraft.
Crouching in the darkness, Wingate saw the Stukas across the field begin to go up also, as Sweeney’s eggs detonated right on time.
“We are turning this place into a flaming acre of Hades,” muttered Clive, “but how in bloody hell do you propose we get out of here?”
“We will just have to wait and play it by ear,” Wingate responded. He glanced up at McCauley, who was peering around the corner of the building. “Sergeant, any sign that Stephanos and his men have attacked the town yet?”
“Nothing, Captain. The village is still dark.”
Wingate stood up and peered around the corner of the building with McCauley. The signal for the attack by Stephanos and his men was to have been the destruction of the airfield. Wingate frowned. What the hell was keeping Stephanos? Wingate had been counting all along on his attack to create a needed diversion. Until this moment he hadn’t realized just how much he had been counting on it.
And then he relaxed as the night sky over Iraklion blossomed into a bright red glow. Beside him, Clive swore softly, pleased.
“We’re supposed to meet in the mountains back of the town,” Wingate reminded them. “I suggest we head that way now. We might not make it, but in the confusion, we could get lucky.”
As they emerged from behind the building, a German truck roared up, the officer sitting beside its driver yelling furiously at Wingate and his two companions in German. Wingate understood every word. The poor fellow thought he was addressing German soldiers too stupid to know where the action was. He ordered Wingate and the two others to join the soldiers in the back of the truck. There was an attack on the garrison in Iraklion.
