Jackals’ Revenge. Iain Gale

France. But his promotion had been faster than he might have supposed. It had been suggested to him that he might be interested in joining a new unit, as yet unnamed, that was forming in Scotland. Some sort of elite force drawn from various regiments. Lamb had refused. He was an infantry officer, as loyal to his regiment as he was to King and country. He loved the Jackals. They were his home. And he wasn’t sure either about his exact views on an ‘elite unit’.

      He also wondered whether the regiment hadn’t been chosen for the Greek expeditionary force on account of his belonging to it. Lamb had glimpsed the signature on the battalion’s movement order and recognised it as that of a certain colonel on the staff whom he knew to be keeping an eye on him. The same man had earlier suggested joining the new unit. The posting had certainly puzzled the battalion CO. ‘Greece? Us? With the tanks?’ de Russet had said. ‘Good grief! Flattered, of course. Honoured. The Jackals are always spoiling for a fight.’

      He was wondering how long the war might last, when Britain might defeat Germany, when around the edge of the gully came a British major wearing red tabs on his collar. He was escorted by two armed riflemen.

      The staff officer saw Lamb and smiled. ‘You the Jackals?’

      ‘Yes. The rearguard. C Company. Captain Lamb.’

      ‘Well, you’re to fall back. The rest of your battalion’s doing the same. Making for the Peloponnese. We’re all pulling out. Your battalion transports are in a field to the west of the village. Take the Brallos pass. Head south. You’d better be quick about it, Jerry’s almost here.’

      ‘Sorry, sir. I was told we were holding the pass.’

      ‘Well, you’re not holding it any more, Captain, are you? We’re leaving it to the Anzacs. This is their party now.’ He frowned. ‘You don’t actually mean you want to stay?’

      Lamb shrugged. ‘Well, I want to do what’s right, sir. At least we’ll do what we’re ordered to, sir. I thought we might hold them up for a few hours.’

      ‘Or get blown to pieces in the process, Captain. Come on. Ten minutes. That’s all.’ And with that he was gone.

      Lamb turned to Bennett. ‘I don’t believe it, Sarnt-Major. Do you?’

      ‘Just like in France, sir, if you ask me. No one knows what the blazes is going on. Not ours to question, though, sir. Eh? We’ll leave it to the Kiwis.’

      ‘Yes, you’re right, Bennett. It’s just that I can’t help feeling as if we’ve been given a last-minute reprieve. And desperately sorry for those poor bastards in the pass.’

      Bennett was right, he thought. It was just like France. There too they had been told to pull out after having first been ordered to hold on. There, though, Lamb had disobeyed the order and it had damn near killed him. The wound in his back still gave him the occasional pain. This time he would do as he was told. This was no time for heroics. Not yet. He wondered, though, when the army would really stop retreating. They had won a victory in Egypt against the Italians, but it seemed that wherever they met the Germans in battle it was the British who did the running. They looked down into the pass towards where the New Zealanders had their forward positions.

      ‘They’re damn good fighters, sir. They’ll hold Jerry up for a while.’

      Lamb nodded his head. ‘Yes, Sarnt-Major. I’m sure they will. We’d better get moving if we’re going. Get the chaps together, will you. We’ve only got ten minutes.’

      There was a whine from north of the pass followed by a huge explosion.

      Lamb stared at the rising cloud of dust. ‘Christ, those are 88s. Come on.’

      The promised transports laid on for their withdrawal were a motley collection. According to the major, the Battalion HQ, along with A and B Companies, had gone on ahead, leaving Lamb with the last pickings. They amounted to two 3-ton trucks, a Bren carrier and a couple of fuel bowsers. Somehow, though, they managed to cram themselves in with all their equipment, and at last, with more rounds from the German anti-tank guns crashing into the emplacements behind them around the pass, they set off south west. Lamb took the lone carrier in front, and led the way along the road away from Thermopylae.

      Their path was surprisingly clear. They rattled along through the morning heat, the distinctive scent of thyme and the baking, parched earth rising from the countryside. From time to time they passed evidence of German air attack: a shot-up vehicle or a peasant cart and the bodies of a horse or a team of oxen. They drove on for two hours, climbing steadily until the poplar-clad mountains enveloped them on both sides. The lower slopes of the hills, where the trees had been taken, were dotted with scrub. Beyond this was thick foliage: oaks and beeches and, as Lamb remarked to Bennett, pear trees. Ahead of them they could see the dust from the column, and occasionally, where the road took a twist and doubled back on itself, they saw their comrades below them, in a long trail of carriers and trucks.

      Near the village of Brallos, through the pass that guarded the left flank of the Allied army, the countryside opened out and they found themselves on a high plain looking across to a vast mountain range. It was breathtakingly beautiful. They passed into a lush valley dotted with red-roofed farms and olive groves. But now Lamb began to worry, for apart from a few old men playing cards outside a bar, a few villages back, they had not seen any people. Not one.

      On the outskirts of the little town of Levadia they turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt behind a cart. It was moving, but only just, and was piled high with belongings – a chest of drawers balanced on a table sat next to battered leather suitcases and two gilt-framed pictures. Perched amid and on top of the whole pile was an old crone dressed in black from head to foot. She was sitting facing them, travelling backwards, rocking back and forth and wailing quietly. Beyond the cart lay what looked to Lamb like an endless line of other carts and trucks of all descriptions. There were donkeys, too, and a horde of civilians. He swore. ‘Damn. This is what I feared. Those villages back there were much too quiet. This is why. They’ve heard the Germans are coming and they’re not staying to welcome them.’

      Smart spoke. ‘Perhaps it’s just a bottleneck, sir. Maybe someone’ll pull the plug.’

      ‘Maybe, Smart.’

      But ten minutes later they came to a halt and ten minutes after that they had still not moved. Lamb spoke to his runner, Bill Turner, seated behind him in the carrier, who had been chosen for the post as the fastest man in the company. ‘Turner, go ahead and see what’s going on.’

      Five minutes later the man returned, breathless. ‘It’s a real jam up ahead, sir. Trucks and carts and all sorts.’

      ‘No idea what’s causing it?’

      ‘Could be anything, sir. Just goes on for about a mile. I didn’t get to the front. Shall I go back, sir?’

      ‘No, don’t bother. Any sign of the rest of the battalion?’

      ‘No, sir. There’s no Brits up there. A few Greek soldiers, but aside from that it’s all civvies.’

      ‘Damn. This lot must have cut in between us and them at that last junction. Well, there’s no other route and Jerry’s too close on our tail. We’ll just have to get out here and hoof it.’

      Lamb looked around at the countryside. It was hard terrain off the road, with steep drops and vineyards and olive groves, which would make the going hard. But how the devil could they get past the mass of humanity on the road? He climbed out of the carrier. ‘I’m going to take a look. Sarnt-Major, Turner, you come with me. The rest of you wait here. Charles, tell the others what’s going on.’

      The three of them pushed through the crowd of civilians along the road and Lamb marvelled at their composure. For the most part they passed through the crowd without comment. But soon Lamb became aware of an overwhelming atmosphere of grief. While children wailed and mothers chided, some of the refugees seemed almost catatonic, staring at the ground or away into the distance. Occasionally someone, usually a Greek soldier, would notice the three Englishmen and smile or give a thumbs-up. Civilians were mixed in with the military,