Jackals’ Revenge. Iain Gale

you’d better look sharp about it, sir. They’re only up the road. At Acharnes, someone said. The Jerries, that is. We’ve left the 4th Hussars as a rearguard and then they’ll just have to fend for themselves. Poor bloody cavalry. It’s another bloody balls-up.’

      Lamb nodded. ‘Yes, Sarn’t. I think you may be right. Have you got a plan?’

      ‘We found some taxis parked up in the main square. A whole bloody fleet of them. I’d help you if we could, but they’re full already. I’ve got about 100 men to get away myself. You’re welcome to try your luck with our column, though, sir, if you’ve got your own transport. The harbour at Piraeus is fucked, though. Blown to shit. We’re off east to see if we can’t find a ship at Rafina. You might do the same, mate.’

      Lamb bristled. ‘Thank you, Sarnt. I’ll take your advice. Good luck.’

      ‘Good luck, sir.’

      On the corner of University Street a section of New Zealand infantrymen were setting up a machine-gun post, sandbagging it with sacks taken from the wall of a nearby café. Outside the same café several Greeks sat and watched the men at work, quietly drinking their coffee, saying nothing.

      He turned to the men and then glimpsed the English beyond. They had stopped arguing now but were still talking. It was just too bad. He was an officer and, no matter what his personal feelings might be towards these misfits, his duty was to get his men to safety as soon as he could and back into action. As he was looking at the group a British major walked up to them, heading for the Hartleys. He was intercepted by Comberwell, who began to speak to him and pointed towards Lamb. The officer nodded and then spoke with Mrs Hartley. Then he looked across to Lamb and walked over.

      ‘Captain Lamb? Guy Whittaker, RHA. Look, I’ve a bit of a favour to ask you. Those people over there.’ He pointed to the British party.

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘You know who they are?’

      ‘Sir.’

      ‘Well, we really have to get them away. I know it may seem strange but Hartley’s quite a senior chap, actually. Friend of the GOC. At least their wives are buddies. The other chap I’m not concerned about, but he seems to have attached himself to them. Can you manage it?’

      ‘Is that an order, sir?’

      The man looked at him, ‘Yes, you’d better take it as one. Don’t want to rattle the GOC, do we?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Fine, that’s settled then. Good luck.’

      He walked back to the civilians and as he spoke to Miranda Hartley Comberwell turned to give Lamb a smile. Lamb strolled across to him, biting his lip.

      ‘Change of plan. I’ve been given orders to get you away. But I’m afraid you’ll have to look sharpish if you’re going to come with us.’

      Comberwell smiled at him. ‘I say, that’s awfully decent of you. Righto. I’ll just find my kit.’

      Lamb bristled. He seemed almost a caricature of an Englishman.

      Hartley, the famous writer whose work he had never read, turned to Lamb. ‘It is frightfully decent of you. Let me buy you a drink. There’s a bar across the road. They’re bound to have some champagne. The good stuff.’

      ‘With respect, Mr Hartley, I don’t think this is quite the time. But that is very kind. Let’s postpone it till we’re all safe in Alex, shall we?’

      ‘Quite. Yes, of course, quite right. Should never have suggested it. Bad idea. Must get on and get your men away. Can’t keep the Jackals waiting. You know when I join up, which won’t be before long, I’m sure, I’ve half a mind to put in for a commission with your mob. Will you put in a word for me?’

      Lamb looked at him. Could the man really be serious? Lamb wondered what the recruiting officer would say, and the adjutant for that matter. And then he realised that it was true, that before long men like Hartley, along with the bumptious idiot Comberwell, might be the only officers they had. ‘Yes, of course I will. Good show. I’m sure there’ll be no problem.’

      Hartley turned to his wife. ‘Miranda, the captain here says he can get me a commission in the Jackals. Isn’t that splendid?’

      Lamb muttered. ‘I didn’t actually say that I could do that. I will put a word in, of course.’

      ‘That would be so kind, Captain. I really don’t want Julian to fight, but if he must then … Well, he’s always wanted to be a soldier. Like Dr Johnson.’

      They smiled at each other and Lamb began to wonder whether he might not have been rash in suggesting he might help them to get away. There was a respectful cough behind him and Lamb turned to see a corporal. Lamb returned the salute and, looking for his buttons, saw that he belonged to the Grenadier Guards, which was strange, as, to the best of his knowledge, there were no Guards units in Greece.

      ‘Captain Lamb, sir?’

      ‘Corporal.’

      ‘I’ve been sent to fetch you, sir. A matter of urgency. Would you come with me, sir?’

      ‘Where to, Corporal? On whose orders?’

      ‘My commanding officer, sir. It’s not far.’

      Lamb called across to Charles Eadie. ‘Lieutenant, take command. I shan’t be long.’

      He followed the corporal across the street and down an alleyway. ‘I hope this is not going to take long, Corporal. You do know that Jerry’s about to pay us a visit.’

      ‘Not long, sir, no.’

      They kept walking at a brisk pace and eventually Lamb found himself in a back street that might have come from any eastern town. It reminded him of his one never-to-be-repeated visit to the Birkah in Cairo, with washing strung across the road and scantily clad women hanging out of the windows, touting for custom.

      ‘Where the hell have you brought me, Corporal? If this is some sort of practical joke I’ll have you …’

      ‘No joke, sir. Sorry, sir.’ The corporal pushed open a door. ‘The colonel’s just in here, sir.’

      Glancing at the man, Lamb entered and followed the Guardsman into a house and down a narrow passageway. It was stiflingly hot, dimly lit by one bare light bulb and smelt of incense and spices, masking an underlying stench of disinfectant. They turned to the right and then left and at last the corporal pushed open another door. ‘Here we are, sir.’

      Lamb walked in, past the corporal’s arm, and saw an officer sitting at a desk before him. Another soldier, a towering Grenadier warrant officer, was standing against one wall. The man looked up and Lamb recognised him instantly.

      ‘Hello, Peter. Do sit down. WO Pullen, would you leave us for a moment?’

      The Guardsman nodded, ‘Sir,’ and walked smartly out of the room, closing the door behind him. Lamb seated himself on a small upright chair in front of the desk and looked at the man who had summoned him to this unlikely office.

      He was a colonel, and even though he was sitting down it was obvious that he was a tall man, lean and fit with it. He smiled at Lamb and Lamb wanted to return the smile, but instead he frowned. For this was the man who had seen to his quick promotion, and it had been the colonel too who had suggested to Lamb that he might join that new elite unit. Lamb knew as soon as he saw him that an encounter with Colonel ‘R’ could only mean trouble. Particularly when he smiled.

      The colonel spoke. ‘How wonderful to see you, Peter. I could hardly believe it when they told me you were in Athens. What a stroke of luck. About all we’ve had so far in this damned campaign.’

      ‘Yes, sir. It has been rather rough.’

      ‘Well, it’s going to get rougher. For all of us. Now you’re probably wondering why I called you here. And you’re probably thinking that I’ve