The submarine was incredibly small and cramped. Guy could not imagine spending more than a few days on board, let alone the months that the submariners spent on duty. He and Brinkman shared a cabin, which gave them considerably more privacy than most of the others on board.
‘I’m surprised they let you come,’ Guy said to Brinkman as they lay on their tiny bunks the first night.
‘I didn’t give them an option,’ Brinkman replied. ‘It’s time I got out of the office and did something useful for once. That said, as you speak Greek and I happen to have a contact in Crete, we’re obviously the best choices for the job.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Though I have to admit that General Ismay wasn’t entirely convinced.’
Guy could hear the smile in the man’s voice. He could imagine how much he wanted to see some action. Guy too found it frustrating to be spending so much time in offices or libraries or museums rather than actively engaging the enemy in battle – whether that enemy be the Vril, or the Germans and their allies.
It took the best part of a week to reach the waters off Crete. The weather was turning as the submarine broke the surface on schedule and in position. The vessel they were rendezvousing with was less punctual. By the time the fishing boat appeared over the horizon, dark clouds were massing ominously overhead.
‘So tell me about this contact of yours,’ Guy said as they waited at the top of the conning tower. They could see how rough it was getting by the way the approaching boat was being tossed and tumbled by the waves.
‘An old friend. British, but he’s spent a lot of time in this part of the world. For our purposes, and as far as the Germans are concerned, he’s a shepherd called Mihali.’
‘I’m guessing he doesn’t have that many sheep,’ Guy said.
‘I really couldn’t say. Though knowing Patrick, he’s probably set up his own farm and is turning a tidy profit.’
‘And the fisherman?’
‘One of the local resistance. Man called Dimitry. He can take us to Mihali.’
‘And Mihali can show us the area we’re interested in.’
‘If the weather holds,’ Brinkman agreed. As he spoke, the first spattering of rain fell across them.
* * *
Dimitry’s face was suntanned and weather-beaten. He was short but stocky and communicated his greeting mainly in grunts. Guy put this down largely to the weather, which was deteriorating by the minute. As soon as Guy and Brinkman were on board, Dimitry thrust a bundle of ragged, scruffy clothes at them and pointed to a narrow set of steps leading down below the small deck.
‘You’re shepherds,’ he said. ‘So look like shepherds.’ He didn’t wait to see if they replied, but stomped off to the tiny wheelhouse.
The pitch and yaw of the boat seemed even worse below deck. Guy changed quickly in the confined space. Despite looking old and worn, the thick jumper and cotton trousers turned out to be warm and dry. Two rather scruffy-looking sheepskin coats and two pairs of scuffed boots were dumped in a corner and Guy guessed these were also for them.
‘I think I’d rather be on deck,’ Brinkman said, pulling on one pair of boots. He and Guy had put down the bags of equipment they’d brought in the corner where the boots had been. They contained rations, weapons, and a radio. There were false papers in waterproof oilskin bags, but it seemed sensible to leave those in the dry.
It was almost dark on deck. Their arrival had been timed so that the evening was drawing in when they reached the shore – fishermen returning at the end of the day. But the storm clouds had hastened the arrival of twilight. The other fishermen had probably returned hours ago when the weather first started to worsen. The island was a dark wall in front of the boat, much closer than Guy had expected.
‘Looks like we’re nearly there.’ Guy had to shout above the sound of the rain and the sea. As he spoke, a spike of lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder exploded round them and the rain became torrential in an instant.
At the same moment, the front of the boat dipped down alarmingly. Guy grabbed for a handrail, catching hold of Brinkman’s arm. Water washed over the deck and almost swept their feet from under them.
Dimitry leaned out of the side of the wheelhouse, shouting at them. But his words were swallowed up by another roll of thunder. Guy pulled himself along, using the handrail at the edge of the deck. Brinkman was close behind him.
‘It’s getting worse,’ Dimitry was shouting. Guy translated the Greek’s words for Brinkman.
‘Like we hadn’t noticed,’ Brinkman yelled back.
‘We’re not going to make the cove,’ Dimitry shouted. ‘We’ll have to try to ride it out. But we’re very close to the rocks.’
Guy risked a look over the side of the boat. His stomach was pitching almost as much as the frail wooden vessel. Where the steep cliffs descended into the sea, rocks spilled out into the water. They were indeed very close. The waves broke over them in a white spay. The boat was turning, slowly, so that its back was towards the cliff. It looked like Dimitry was trying to put some distance between them and the rocks.
For a while, he seemed to succeed. The boat struggled forwards, engine whining in protest as it was pushed to the limit. Spray shot up in front of them as the nose of the boat plunged down into an oncoming wave.
Guy and Brinkman had managed to get to the wheelhouse, but it afforded little shelter. What Guy had assumed was a window was an empty space, the glass – if there had ever been any – was long gone.
‘She won’t take much more of this,’ Dimitry told them. He pointed into the distance, to the slightest break in the cloud. ‘Better weather is coming, though. If we can hold on for just a few more minutes.’
Guy kept his attention fixed on the brighter patch of sky. He tried to ignore the way the ground beneath his feet bucked and reeled. Slowly, the brighter area was widening, spreading towards them.
Just as he began to hope they were through the worst of it, there was another almighty crack of thunder as the sky was simultaneously splashed with lightning. The front of the boat dropped away like they’d sailed off the end of the world. Water poured across the deck. A wave rose up in front of them like a vicious animal about to pounce. Then it crashed down.
The sound of splintering wood was audible even above the noise of the sea. The whine of the engine became a stuttering cough, then stopped. The whole boat lurched suddenly backwards. Guy was hurled out of the wheelhouse, sliding across the slippery wooden deck, scrabbling desperately to catch hold of something fixed. His legs were over the edge by the time he caught hold of a metal stanchion.
He could see Brinkman clinging to the outside of the wheelhouse. Another wave burst through the glass-less window and swept him aside. When the water and spray cleared, Guy was amazed and relieved to see the colonel still holding tight, arms wrapped round the wooden roof support.
More water swept past Guy. Something heavy crashed into him, caught and clawed at him, then was gone. Shocked, he realised it was Dimitry. Guy twisted, staring out into the churning white water below, but there was no sign of the man.
Then they lurched again. Wood shattered and rock tore through the bottom of the hull. The fishing boat twisted on to its side, breaking to pieces on the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff.
* * *
Somehow, Guy managed to scramble from the stricken boat to the rocks below. They were slick beneath his feet, water up to his thighs. He fought against the pull of the waves, desperately trying to make headway towards the base of the cliffs.
But first he had to find Brinkman. Was the colonel still on the boat? The vessel had almost completely broken up under the onslaught of the sea. Waves tore at it, ripping off planking. The main mast had fractured and was lying across the side of the boat, rolled back and forth as if it was a pencil on a desk.
‘Guy!’
He thought at first it was the sound of the wind. But when he heard his name called again, he managed to locate the source. Brinkman was hanging from the side of the boat, his feet almost in the water. As Guy watched, Brinkman dropped into the boiling sea and disappeared from sight.
A moment later, he surfaced again, and struggled towards Guy – who was now frantically wading towards him. The water was deeper here – up to Guy’s chest. He managed to grab Brinkman’s outstretched arm and together the two of them half staggered, half swam to the cliff.
There was no beach, no dry land. They had to clamber up the steep side. The rock was firm, but made slippery by the sea spray. They managed to get to a point where there was a ledge wide enough to perch precariously and look down. Saltwater stung their eyes as they watched the boat finally break up. For a few seconds the mast was left dipping in and out of the water. Then it too was swallowed up in the spray and the waves and the deepening twilight.
‘There goes the radio,’ Brinkman said. ‘Not to mention our papers and guns.’
‘And Dimitry,’ Guy told him.
Brinkman sighed. ‘Really? I’d hoped he was further along these cliffs.’
‘Went overboard. Didn’t resurface. He may have survived, but it’d be a miracle.’
‘Then we’re on our own.’
‘What about your friend the shepherd?’
Brinkman shook his head. ‘Dimitry knew how to make contact with Mihali. And without the radio we can’t ask London for any help finding him.’ He glanced up at the cliff rising steeply above them. ‘But we’ll worry about that later. For now, we’d better concentrate on getting our breath back – there’s some climbing to do.’
The cliff was steep, but there were plenty of hand and foot holds. The rain was easing as the better weather and clearer sky arrived at last. As they got higher, there were tufts of grass and spiky shrubs. They had to be careful, though, as some of them were rooted so shallowly that they just pulled out from the rock face. But others were secure enough to take their weight as Guy and Brinkman hauled themselves ever higher.
Finally, as the last of the light was fading, they reached the top. The cliff became a shallow grassy slope leading upwards. They crested the top, and flopped down on the grass. Guy’s rasping breaths became laughs of relief.
But the relief was short-lived.
‘There’s someone there,’ Brinkman said quietly.
Guy sat up. It was an effort even to keep his eyes open, he was so exhausted. Several dark figures were approaching through the gloom. One of them called out:
‘Who’s there? What are you doing?’
Guy understood what the man said perfectly, but there was something odd about his voice. Only when the figures were close enough for him to make out their uniforms and their guns did he realise what was strange.
They were speaking not Greek, but German.