Intelligence reached Brooker that the Germans were planning to drop a force of paratroopers about 160 kilometres south of them at Corinth. Their main objective would be to blow up the canal bridge there, which would cut off the long divisional convoy in its attempt to reach the south for a possible evacuation from the ports—but not from Piraeus, which had been ruined by the Luftwaffe. As soon as darkness began to fall, the trucks were assembled. Brooker allowed the Kiwis and Greeks who had been with Murchison to join the battalion. The Greeks piled into the battered truck at the end of the convoy that had brought them to Ulanda. Despite appearances, it was running well enough. Archie and Bash offered to travel with them, but the Greeks insisted they could handle the crowded vehicle, which was also stacked with supplies, as were most of the others.
The 200-truck convoy moved off under the cover of darkness but the rush caused them to flick on their lights to avoid crashes or slipping off the road. Moody’s bike had broken down after weeks of hard riding in rough conditions. This led to him and Horrie and some of the Rebels travelling with Ron Baker in his truck. The dog enjoyed the freedom of not being in the greatcoat, although he never complained. It was warm and safe and he was disciplined in the cramped conditions. But now he could take up any position he liked, his favourite seat being the front where he kept a vigil on the passing parade and villages, even in the poor light. Often he would give a little whimper, having seen something that human eyes could not: perhaps a knot of people, a few sheep, a stray cow or a cat. Only twice did he do a tremulous complete circle in the seat. Ron Baker next to him assumed he had spotted dogs.
They reached Corinth at about 4.30 a.m. A cheer went up from the front trucks when they reached the canal bridge. It was intact. The German paratroopers had not made their sabotage drop and it was assumed they would fall from the sky at dawn to make their mission less dangerous and more accurate. The convoy thundered on in one continuous snake down through the mountain levels to Argos. The road train pulled into olive groves where the trucks were given crude camouflage. The soldiers began digging trenches for protection from the expected Luftwaffe sallies. It was soon discovered that the truckload of Greeks from Murchison’s rogue group was not with them. It was surmised that their vehicle must have broken down somewhere en route. They would be isolated and caught up in enemy territory and this was confirmed when word reached the signallers that hundreds of enemy paratroopers had dropped in on the villagers in Corinth. They had rushed to lay charges on the canal bridge, which they blew up, apparently without realising that the main convoy had beaten them through by less than an hour. This sabotage was now self-harm. The German advance would later be held up by their engineers having to reconstruct the crossing. It was a rare blunder in German planning, always so precise, especially when there was no opposition to their manoeuvres.
This intelligence meant that the battalion and other 6th Division troops could relax for an hour or two knowing that the only major threat for the moment could be from the air. The Rebels and Horrie wandered into Argos to see if they could find a cafe that would sell them food and alcohol. Moody brought his camera and his ubiquitous travel book, and reminded the others that Argos had been a substantial agrarian village for 7000 years.
Reading from the travel book, Moody informed them that Argos once rivalled Sparta in its military strength and importance as a trade centre. Fitzsimmons took the book from Moody and after running his finger down the page, remarked: ‘Listen to this boys: “Argos is the birthplace of the mythological character Perseus.” I find that is very satisfying to know.’
That brought a few laughs. They found a cafe, which was just opening, and they sat down outside. Horrie dashed across the road to a small cottage and harassed a hen and her chickens.
‘Little bugger must be hungry,’ Moody said, and snapped an order for him stop his antics. Horrie trotted over, looking back at the hen. The cafe manager sold them wine but had no food. After sitting there for 20 minutes they were about to leave when an old woman in black wandered from the cottage across the road and offered them two trussed-up chickens. She had noticed Horrie’s enthusiasm for the hen and guessed that the Rebels might be hungry. The lads insisted on paying her, and she seemed insulted. Then she invited them to join her in her vine-covered cottage. They accepted and followed her inside the modest home, cluttered with pictures, icons and several little crosses on the walls. She bustled about and brought out plenty of olives, cheese, bread and milk and made them tea. They felt more than a tinge of guilt when she showed them photos of her husband and son, who had been fighting the Italians in Albania. With hand movements and welling eyes, she explained that they had both been killed in action. Brooker tried not to show emotion, but he and all the Rebels were touched. She was alone with just memories. They expressed their helplessness to each other as they left the sad scene.
‘We’re bloody impotent!’ Harlor exclaimed. ‘These people are so generous and friendly and we can’t lift a finger to help them!’
‘We would if we could,’ Brooker said, ‘but we can’t, okay? We must leave this beautiful country if we can. That’s it. Those are the orders!’
They had a nervous day to contemplate their fates before the last convoy run at night to the coastal town of Kalamata, about 100 kilometres south-west. They roasted the two chickens that the old woman had prepared for them, and enjoyed the break from bully beef and biscuits. Horrie was thrown the bones and he feasted on what he could claim was his idea in the first place.
‘We have to reward that lovely woman,’ Moody said. The Rebels then gathered spare stores including food, clothing and blankets, bundled them together and left it on her front-door step with a note.
The overcast weather may well have prevented a Luftwaffe attack, but it was also thought that the enemy believed that the division’s convoy was still hidden somewhere north of Corinth and south of Lamia. Whatever the reason, Anzac Day 1941 was a fortunate 24 hours at a critical time for the division. The good luck continued well into the evening and night as the convoy started its final run at 9 p.m. and moved at a more leisurely pace with less fear about air attacks. They arrived at Kalamata on the Ionian Sea coast at 2.15 a.m. where the battalion found many other Australian, British, and New Zealand troops, along with Greek and Yugoslav soldier contingents, who were keen to avoid becoming German POWs. Trucks kept pouring in and officers did their best to organise defences, the destruction of as much equipment as possible and the orderly preparation for boarding ships. The main targets for obliteration were the trucks. Soldiers such as Archie and Bash, who had spent their working lives saving and resuscitating vehicles, now had to put those skills into seizing engines. It was a sad business for them and all the other mechanics and drivers who had cared for their vehicles with such diligence. Others were assigned to ram shells the wrong way down artillery gun barrels and fire the charges.
‘It’s just like the Light Horse troopers in the Middle East in the last war,’ Brooker observed. ‘They were ordered to turn their horses in and they shot them themselves and it caused great pain for all the men, who’d gotten real close to their horses.’
‘I’ve got news for you, Poppa,’ Murchison said, ‘we have to shoot ’em here too.’
Brooker grimaced in disgust.
‘Well they won’t be shooting any dogs,’ Moody said with a glance in Horrie’s direction.
‘Oh, we all agree with that,’ Murchison said. ‘I reckon there would be mutiny if Horrie was threatened that way.’
Archie led the way with the Rebels in the destruction of vehicles. He started the engine and put a heavy rock on the accelerator. Then he slid on his back under the truck and used a spanner to remove the drain plug in the sump. When the oil drained away, the racing engine began to scream. Horrie was alerted, at first perhaps thinking he had somehow missed the whine of the Stukas, but his ears adjusted. Now he barked in protest as the engine noise reached an intolerable pitch. He ran away and only returned when the white hot motor, oil-less and without life, seized, bringing a sudden silence.
That done, Archie apologised to Horrie and began shooting holes in tyres or slicing them open.
‘Used to do this as a kid in Wellington,’ Archie said with disgust as he slashed another tyre. He put a bullet in another.
‘Yeah, but then it was for fun,’ Bash said, while draining water from an engine, ‘now it’s for survival.’
The two Kiwis became tired of draining the engines. They were soon seen smashing them with crowbars. And when they became fatigued with that, they ran the engines, drove the vehicles to the edge of cliffs and sent them crashing into forest below.
Instead of getting rid of food and bedding, the Rebels commandeered a truck, filled it with those goods and drove it into the village where it was distributed among the grateful townsfolk, who were worried about what the coming Nazi occupation could mean. In another part of town, a battalion officer, John Bellair, jumped in his truck and shot the lock off a chest that had come everywhere with him. It contained a smart tailor-made uniform that 6th Division had advised all officers to purchase in readiness for the ‘triumphal march through Athens after we have thrown the Germans out of Greece.’ Bellair reckoned he wouldn’t be needing it now, so he gave it to an old peasant who worked in the surrounding olive groves. His beautiful tie was handed over to a ‘skinny nine-year-old boy who used it as a belt to keep up his ragged pants.’
At dawn, the Luftwaffe began their runs over the countryside, strafing and bombing, causing the thousands of Allied soldiers to take cover but with no concern for their trucks now. The Stukas did their worst but were up against a stronger defence than elsewhere as hundreds of anti-aircraft weapons were lined up in a rough semicircle on the outskirts of Kalamata. This made it less difficult for the British Sunderland flying boats to swoop in, land on water and take off with a load of the wounded for transferring to ships. Some combined intelligence work by British spies stationed near German air bases at Larissa and other aerodromes alerted the pilots of the four-engine Sunderlands on the timing for their dashes to Kalamata.
Moody and Gill edged close to the beach and allowed Horrie to dash around on his twice-daily exercise, which was fitted in between Luftwaffe attacks. They watched as four Sunderlands wobbled in for perfect landings on a flat, calm sea. Boats carrying up to 100 wounded soldiers were ferried to the planes. The men were stretchered and eased on board, 25 on each Sunderland. The flying boats’ two pilots, engineer and two bowmen all hustled to settle the wounded in. Anchors were barely dropped before being hauled in.
Horrie caused all heads to turn as he bounced around and then barked out to sea, wagging his tail. But this was not his ‘warning’ about Stukas. He was simply voicing his approval or amazement as the flying boats’ engines roared and they clipped along the water’s edge, hovered for about 40 metres and then eased skywards, aiming to reach British ships. Yet Horrie spent much time doing what he had gained fame for, by barking at the sky as the Stukas attacked six times during the day, which was hell for the weary troops. Locals helped conceal them all around the village and port and in the hills. But the Germans knew they were there in big numbers and they were doing their best to slaughter them. The older Greeks were stoic and few asked to be taken from their villages, but younger people, especially the women, pleaded with the foreign soldiers to allow them to escape. This created more heart-wrenching moments for all the Rebels.
Fitzsimmons wrote to his family: ‘I spoke to two lovely 18-year-old girls, who offered everything, and I mean everything, they had for us to stow them away. They held my arm; they begged, they cried . . . We all would have liked to have taken hundreds of the Greeks of all ages but it was impossible. Some of us swore we’d return to liberate them. But this was cold comfort for those who wanted to leave right then . . .’
Moody came to the aid of the girls by finding Australian slouch hats and uniforms for them, and suggesting they stow away with the battalion. The girls toiled with the men in creating barricades, clearing roads and filling in potholes and bomb craters. Moody and Fitzsimmons believed they could be smuggled out on their boat in the dark and rush to leave.
Thousands of soldiers were assembled on the beach before midnight. The Rebels, and their two Kiwi recruits Archie and Bash, were close together. The stowaway girls, head down and quiet, were nearby. Moody had given away his greatcoat. There was nowhere to hide Horrie but it didn’t matter. There was no inspection in this hurried evacuation; there would be no trouble in getting him on board. The dog remained calm and quiet, now experienced at sea ventures and ‘leaving’ or moving out from anywhere. He was content if Moody and the Rebels were close. They waited in silence for a sign of the rescue ships. At 1.30 a.m. a low ripple of appreciation and relief filtered along the crowded beach as lights could be seen on the water in the distance. Rescue was at hand.