Sword of Honor

  “Captain Crouchback has gravity. He is the ball of lead which in a vacuum falls no faster than a feather.”

  “That’s all you’ve written?”

  “All I have written since we left camp, sir.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t think that compromises security in any way. I wonder how I’m meant to take it.”

  “It was not intended for your eyes, sir.”

  “As a matter of fact I have never believed that theory about feathers in vacuum.”

  “No, sir. It sounds totally against nature. I merely employed it figuratively.”

  When the ship berthed Tommy and Major Hound went ashore. There were high staff-officers, naval and military, awaiting them on the quay and they went with them to one of the port-offices to confer. The troops leant over the rails, spat and swore.

  “Back to Sidi Bishr,” they said.

  Quite soon Tommy and Hound returned on board, Tommy cheerful.

  “They’ve laid on another destroyer. Everything in Crete is under control. The navy broke up the sea landings and sunk the lot. The enemy only hold two pockets and the New Zealanders have got them completely contained. Reinforcements are rolling in every night for the counter-attack. The B.G.S. from Cairo says it’s in the bag. We’ve got a very nice role, raiding lines of communications on the Greek mainland.”

  Tommy believed all this. So did Major Hound; no part of his training or previous experience had made him a skeptic. But he remained glum.

  The change of ships was quickly done. Like a line of ants the laden men followed one another down one gang plank and up another, swearing quietly. They found quarters indistinguishable from those they had left. New naval officers gave the old greetings and the old apologies. By sunset everyone had settled in.

  “We sail at midnight,” said Tommy. “They don’t want to reach the Karso channel until after dark tomorrow. No reason why we shouldn’t dine ashore.”

  He and Guy went to the Union Bar. It did not occur to them to ask Major Hound to join them. The restaurant seemed as full as ever, despite the notorious crisis in man-power. They ate lobster pilaf and a great dish of quail cooked with Muscat grapes.

  “It may be our last decent meal for some time,” Tommy remarked. “The B.G.S. heard from someone that fresh food is rather short in Crete.”

  They ate six birds each and drank a bottle of champagne. Then they had green artichokes and another bottle.

  “I daresay in a day or two we shall think of this dinner,” said Tommy, gazing fondly at the leaves which littered their plates, “and wish we were back here.”

  “Not really,” said Guy, washing the butter from his fingers.

  “No, not really. Not for all the quail in Egypt.”

  They were gay as they drove down to the lightless docks. They found their ship and were asleep before she sailed.

  Major Hound awoke to feel his bunk rise and fall, to hear the creaking of plates and the roll and thump of shifting stores. He began to shiver and sweat and swallow. He lay flat on his back, gripping the blankets, open eyed in the darkness, desperately sad. His servant found him thus at seven o’clock when he lurched in with a mug of tea in one hand, a mug of shaving water in the other and a cheerful greeting. Major Hound remained rigid. The man began to polish the boots which still shone from his labors of the previous morning.

  “For God’s sake,” said Major Hound, “do that outside.”

  “Hard to find anywhere to move, sir.”

  “Then leave them.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Major Hound cautiously raised himself on one elbow and drank the tea. Immediately the nausea which he had fought through the long small hours returned irresistibly. He reached the wash-basin, clung there and remained for ten minutes with his head resting on the heavy rim. At length he ran some water, dried his eyes and breathing heavily returned to his bed; not, however, before he had seen his face in the little looking-glass. It gave him a further fright.

  Rain and spray swept the decks all day, keeping the men below. The little ship wallowed in a heavy long swell.

  “This low cloud is a godsend,” said the captain. “We’re near the spot where Juno copped it.”

  Guy was not often troubled by sea-sickness. He had, however, drunk a quart of wine the previous evening and that, with the movement of the ship, subdued him; not so Tommy Blackhouse, who was in high spirits, now in the wardroom, now on the bridge, now on the troop decks; nor Corporal-Major Ludovic, who early in the afternoon attracted respect in the petty-officers’ mess as with a traveling manicure set he prepared his toe-nails for whatever endurances lay ahead.

  Lassitude settled on the soldiers.

  An hour after dark Tommy Blackhouse fell. He was returning from the bridge when the ship took an unusually heavy plunge; his nailed boots slipped on the steel ladder and he fell to the steel deck with a crash that was clearly heard in the wardroom. Then he was heard shouting and after a minute the first officer announced:

  “Your colonel’s hurt himself. Can someone come and help?”

  The two troop-leaders of B Commando carried him awkwardly to the sick-bay where the surgeon gave him morphia. He had broken his leg.

  From then on Guy went between the prostrate figures of the brigade major and the deputy commander. There was little to choose between them as far as ill-looks went.

  “That puts the lid on it,” was Major Hound’s immediate response to the news. “There’s no point in brigade headquarters landing at all.”

  Tommy Blackhouse, in pain, and slightly delirious, dictated orders. “You will be met by liaison officers from Hookforce and Creforce. On disembarkation brigade will immediately set up rear headquarters under staff-captain, and establish W/T links with units… staff-captain will make contact with the force D.A.Q.M.G. and arrange for supplies… Forward headquarters consisting of B.M. and I.O. will report to Lt.-Col. Prentice at B Commando H.Q. and give him the written orders from G.H.Q. M.E. defining the special role of Hookforce in harassing enemy L. of C….Lt.-Col. Prentice will report to G.O.C. Creforce and present these orders… His primary task is to prevent Commando units being brigaded with infantry in Creforce reserve… Deputy commander Hookforce will immediately mount operations under command G.O.C. Creforce…”

  He repeated himself often, dozed, woke and summoned Guy once more to repeat his orders.

  The sea abated as the ship rounded the eastern point of Crete and steamed along the north coast. When they came into Suda Bay it was quite calm. A young moon was setting. The first sign of human activity they saw was a burning tanker lying out in the harbor and brightly illuminating it. The destroyer dropped anchor and Major Hound gingerly left his bunk and climbed to the bridge. Guy remained with Tommy. The officers of B Commando were putting their men in readiness to disembark. The staff-captain and Corporal-Major Ludovic were in conference. Tommy became fretful.

  “What’s happening? They’ve only got two hours to turn round in. A lighter ought to have come out the moment we berthed.” Presently there was a hail alongside. “There it is. Go and see, Guy.”

  Guy went on the dark deck. It was crowded with troops standing-to, heaped with stores, motor-cycles, signaling equipment. A small pulling boat lay alongside and a single figure came aboard. Guy went back to report to Tommy.

  “Go up to the captain and see what’s going on,” he said.

  Guy found the captain in his cabin with Major Hound and a haggard, unshaven, shuddering lieutenant-commander wearing a naval great-coat and white shorts.

  “I’ve got my orders to pull out and by God I’m pulling out,” the sailor was saying. “I got my orders this morning. I ought to have gone last night. I’ve been waiting all day on the quay. I had to leave all my gear behind. I’ve only got what I stand up in.”

  “Yes,” said the captain, “so we see. What we want to know is whether a lighter is coming out for us.”

  “I shouldn’t think so. The whole place is a shambles. I’m pulling out. I got my orders to
pull out. Got them in writing.” He spoke in a low monotone. “I could do with a cup of tea.”

  “Wasn’t there an E.S.O. on the quay?” asked Major Hound.

  “No. I don’t think so. I found this boat and rowed out. I’ve got my orders to pull out.”

  “We don’t seem to get any acknowledgment of our signals,” said the captain.

  “It’s a bloody shambles,” said the man from Crete.

  “Well,” said the captain, “I wait here two hours. Then I sail.”

  “You can’t sail too soon for me.” Then he turned to Major Hound and said with an awful personal solicitude, “You’ve got to know the password, you know. You can’t go anywhere on shore unless you know that. They’ll shoot you as soon as look at you, some of these sentries, if you don’t know the password.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Changes every night.”

  “Exactly; what is it?”

  “That I do know. That I can tell you. I know it as well as I know my own name.”

  “What is it?”

  The sailor looked with blank, despairing eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s slipped my mind at the moment.”

  Guy and Major Hound left.

  “It looks like another false alarm,” said the major quite cheerfully.

  Guy went to report to Tommy.

  “God almighty,” he said. “Christ all-bloody-mighty. What’s come over them all? Has everyone gone to sleep?”

  “I don’t think it’s that,” said Guy.

  Three-quarters of an hour passed and then word went crackling over the ship: “Here it comes.”

  Guy went on deck. Sure enough a large dark shape was approaching across the water. The men all round him began to hoist their burdens. The sailors had already thrown a rope net over the side. The troops crowded to the rail. A voice from below called:

  “Two hundred walking wounded coming aboard.”

  Major Hound cried, “Who’s there? Is there anyone from Movement Control?”

  No one answered him.

  “I must see the captain,” said Major Hound. “That M.L.C. must go back, land the wounded, come back empty for us, land us and then take on the wounded. That’s the way it should be done.”

  No one heeded him. Very slowly bearded and bandaged figures began to appear along the side of the ship.

  “Get back,” said Major Hound. “You can’t possibly come aboard while we’re here.”

  “Passengers off the car first, please,” said a facetious voice in the darkness.

  The broken men clambered on deck and thrust a passage through the waiting troops. Someone in the darkness said: “For God’s sake get this gear out of the way” and the word was taken up: “Ditch all gear. Ditch all gear.”

  “What on earth are they doing?” cried Major Hound. “Stop them.”

  The three troops of B Commando were under control. Headquarters troops were on the other side of the ship. The signalers began throwing their wireless-sets overboard. A motor-cycle followed.

  Guy found the officer in command of the M.L.C.

  “I cast off fifteen minutes after the last of this party gets on board. You’ve got to look slippy,” said the sailor. “I’ve another journey after this. Two hundred more wounded and a Greek general. Then I sink the boat and come aboard myself and it’s good-bye to Crete for yours truly.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Guy.

  “It’s all over. Everyone’s packing up.”

  Guy went below to make a final, brief report to his commander.

  “Things have a way of turning out lucky for you, Tommy,” he said without any bitterness.

  The sick-bay was crowded now. Two army doctors and the ship’s surgeon were dealing with urgent cases. While Guy stood there beside Tommy’s bunk a huge, bloody, grimy, ghastly Australian sergeant appeared in the door. He grinned like a figure of death and said: “Thank God we’ve got a navy,” then sank slowly to the deck and on the instant passed into the coma of death. Guy stepped over his body and fought his way past the descending line of men; there were many unwounded among them, ragged, unshaven, haggard, but seemingly whole.

  “What are you?” he asked one of them.

  “Records,” said the man.

  Presently, without any clear order given, Hookforce began climbing down the rope net into the M.L.C.

  The moon was down. The only light was the burning tanker a mile distant.

  “Major Hound,” Guy called. “Major Hound.”

  A soft voice beside him said: “The major is safely aboard. I found him. He came with me, Corporal-Major Ludovic.”

  The M.L.C. chugged up to the quay, a structure so blasted that it seemed like rough, natural rock. Before they could get ashore, wounded and stragglers began scrambling into the boat.

  “Get back, you bastards,” shouted the captain. “Cast off there.” The seamen pushed the craft away from the sea-wall. “I’ll shoot any man who tries to come aboard till I’m ready for him. Get back the lot of you. Get the hell off the quay.”

  The ragged mob began pushing back in the darkness. “Now, you pongoes,” said the captain of the M.L.C., “jump to it.”

  He ran the craft in again and at last the party landed. This event so large to Guy and Major Hound and the rest of them, would be recorded later in the official history:

  A further encouragement was given to the hard-pressed garrison of Crete when at midnight on 26th May H.M.S. Plangent (Lt.-Comdr. Blake-Blakiston) landed H.Q. Hookforce plus remainder of B Commando at Suda and took off 400 wounded without incident.

  The M.L.C. captain shouted: “Can’t take any more. Get back, the rest of you. Cast off.”

  The crowd of disappointed men sat among the broken stones. The laden boat moved off towards the ship. The newly landed party pushed through the stragglers and fell in.

  “Find the liaison officers,” said Major Hound. “They must be here.”

  Guy shouted: “Anyone from Hookforce?”

  A bundle of bandages groaned: “Oh, pipe down.”

  Then two figures emerged from the crowd and identified themselves as troop-leaders from B Commando.

  “Ah,” said Major Hound. “At last. I was beginning to wonder. You’re from Colonel Prentice?”

  “Well, not exactly,” said one of the officers. He spoke in the same dull undertone as the fugitive sailor. It was a voice which Guy was to recognize everywhere in the coming days; the accent of defeat. “He’s dead, you see.”

  “Dead?” said Major Hound crossly as though officiously informed of the demise of an aunt who, he had every reason to suppose, was in good health. “He can’t be. We were in communication with him the day before yesterday.”

  “He was killed. A lot of the Commandos were.”

  “We should have been informed. Who is in command now?”

  “I believe I am.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We heard a ship was coming to take us off. But it seems we were wrong.”

  “You heard? Who gave orders for your embarkation?”

  “We haven’t had any orders from anyone for twenty-four hours.”

  “Look here,” said the second-in-command of B Commando, “hadn’t we better go somewhere where you can put us in the picture?”

  “There’s an office over there. We’ve been sitting in it since the bombing stopped.”

  He and Guy and Major Hound and the B Commando second-in-command stumbled among the pits and loose cobbles to a hut marked “S.N.O.” Guy laid his map-case on the table and turned his torch on it.

  “We’ve sixty men and four officers, counting me. There may be others straggling. This is all I could collect. They’re down here in the port area. You can’t move on the roads. And I’ve got a couple of trucks. Everyone’s pinching transport. But they’re safe enough down here under guard. All the traffic is moving south to Sphakia.”

  “I think you’d better tell us what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know much. It’s
a shambles. They were moving out last night when we arrived—all the odds and sods, that is. The line was up on what they call 42nd Street. We were put under command of A Commando and rushed straight out to counter-attack at dawn. That was when Prentice was killed. We got right on to the aerodrome. Then we discovered that the Spaniards who were supposed to be on our flank, hadn’t shown up. And there was no sign of the people who were supposed to come through and relieve us. So we sat there for an hour being shot at from all directions. Then we moved off again. We lost A Commando. Stukas got most of our transport. We lay in the fields all day being dive-bombed. Then after dark we came down here and here we are.”

  “I see,” said Major Hound. “I see.”

  He was turning the problem in his clouded mind, finding no staff solution. At length he said: “I suppose you know where Creforce headquarters are?”

  “They might be anywhere now. They were in a monastery building somewhere off the main road.”

  “And the other Commandos?”

  “C was in the counter-attack with us. I think they’re lying up somewhere near H.Q. I haven’t seen X since we landed. They were sent off on a different job somewhere else.”

  Major Hound’s good habits began to take control. He took the map.

  “That,” he said, pointing blindly into the contours behind Suda, “is assembly point. Rendezvous there forthwith. That is brigade headquarters. I will now go forward to Creforce. The G.O.C. must see our orders from C.-in-C. at once. I shall need a guide. I will see unit commanders at headquarters at 0900 hours. Are you in W/T communication with A, C and X?”

  “No.”

  “Pass the message by runner. Any questions?”

  The second-in-command of B Commando seemed about to speak. Then his shoulders sagged and he turned about and left.

  “You’ve made a note of those orders, Crouchback?”

  “Yes. Do you think they’ll be carried out?”

  “I presume so. Anyway, they have been given. One can’t do more.”

  Major Hound dispatched what was left of his immediate command to their map reference in the hills. Then he and Guy with their servants climbed into the three-ton lorry and drove off. A guide from B Commando sat in front with the driver.