An Extra Knot Part VI: A Different world War II, #6

By HUGH LUPUS

The battle for Greece is well underway after Allied landings on the mainland and Dodds has the heavy burden of safeguarding all the inhabitants of his bride-to-be's village. Meanwhile in London politicians are turning their minds to creating a post-war Britain fit for heroes, in the Pacific the Hood is taking the war to the Japanese and Massu's quest to get the Princess to Rome meets unforseen human obstacles...

• Language: English
• Publisher: APS Publications
• Release date: Feb 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393488477

Book preview

THE JOURNEY

‘You must all be mad, every single one of you!’

Georgiou had ceased laughing at Dodd’s exasperation and translated the words to his mother who nodded in agreement and spoke words tinged in humour.

‘My mother says that we are Greek and to be Greek is to be a little mad, but she says that you are Greek also for you have the philotimo and so are just as mad.

‘You do not know the word? I do not know if I can explain, but it is a very Greek word, a word taught to every child. To have philotimo is to have respect, to have love and a big heart, to help others even when it is hard. I am a simple man, Matt and I cannot use words as others would, but I think my mother is right. You have shown yourself to be a true Greek because you did not walk away when you could have. This is true philotimo but it has brought you a great burden.’

Dodd nodded gloomily. He had been given an impossible task; an entire village had elected him to lead them into friendly hands when he did not know where those hands were, and when there was no transport and little in the way of supplies.

He groaned and put his head in his hands trying to clear his thoughts and felt a delicate touch on his shoulder and turned to see the smiling face of Athanasia. There were no words from his mate only the smile and the grip which tightened for a moment and then fell away leaving only the smile.

She had decided and it was time for him to decide.

He crouched down and drew out a killing knife and used it to draw a rough sketch of Greece on the dry valley floor and plunged the knife point first into the map.

‘We are here, and somewhere out there is the invasion and our friends. We have no way of contacting them because we were supposed to wait until they found us, but now we have extra duties.’

‘Philotimo’, agreed Georgiou with a sad smile, ‘there are four points to a compass so which one do we choose?’

Matt threw his thumb back over his shoulder at cliffs which rose up straight and taut as a bow-string behind him.

‘Not north. The two of us may be able to climb those but we have women and children.’

A Greek hand obligingly rubbed out all of Northern Greece.

‘We are down to three points, Matt and I think that as we were told the invasion would not be through Piraeus, we may rule out South.’

Georgiou’s hand removed all of Southern Greece from the map. ‘Which leaves only west or east, and we must both think like generals and decide which way to lead stubborn Greeks.’

Dodd looked at the lines scratched into the dirt and tried to decide the fate of an entire village that up to a few days ago were strangers and now were friends and soon to be family.

Whatever choice he made was bound to be the wrong one, for to choose a direction that led to battle would be a choice that led to danger, yet to turn away from war would be to place his band in danger from exhaustion and starvation - Greece was a poor nation made poorer yet by war. In this land food and shelter were thin and getting thinner by the day.

East or west, west or east? He stared at the half-erased map and the map stared back at him without giving an answer.

He looked up at a sun marching towards midday and it too remained silent and the question still rumbled around his mind seeking an exit and finding none.

He glanced at Athanasia, hoping that she would be his muse but her head was cocked at an unusual angle as if listening to a faint sound from far away and then he heard it, recognising it for what it was and reacting instantly.

‘Down! Everybody down!’

The words were in English, but urgent flapping arms spoke far louder, and with cries of panic people threw themselves onto the ground or fled to convenient rocks.

They were only just in time as three, single-engined aircraft roared down the valley; the first with a bright red spinner and black painted cross sported an empty iron cradle slung underneath and was a fighter bomber but its companions were pure fighters, drab painted and deadly in intent.

Dodd was watching a pursuit which had obviously gone on for some miles and which had by chance led here to the hidden valley.

The fighter bomber pilot was a man of no little skill for he threw his craft from side to side in a crazy dance that none could predict, but no matter how hard he twisted or how fast he went he could not escape, for a twist away from one foe placed him into the jaws of another and within moments of entering the valley he and his craft were no more than twisted wreckage and sundered flesh that burned with a black smoke ascending to an uncaring sky while the two pursuers rose up and turned back in the direction from which they came.

There was a great cheer from the villagers but not from Georgiou or from Dodd who realised that they were both thinking the same thoughts.

‘They came from the west my friend!’ Georgiou’s face was split with a great smile and he was almost dancing with joy. ‘All three aircraft came from the same direction and you will notice that the two victors returned to the west. The Allies have landed in the west, that is where the war is!’

Dodd grinned. The decision had been made for him. It was time for a council of war and the gathering of the people he hoped to lead.

‘I want volunteers.’ Dodd now stood on an overturned boulder with Georgiou by his side, translating. ‘I want volunteers who will obey orders and I want volunteers who can run fast. We need scouts who can tell us if there are hazards before us, and if there are to send a runner back so that we may know.

‘It is a place of danger so before you stand be sure your heart is strong for the safety of all will depend on you.’

There was a stir amongst the villagers and Dodd noticed young Yiannis wandering through the crowd tapping other boys on the shoulder and speaking a few short words to each in turn until he stood in front of Dodd as the leader of a small group who wore embarrassed grins that looked towards the ground.

Yiannis spoke in a thin voice that was a long way from manhood’s timbre but he looked Dodd in the eyes and then stood with legs slightly apart obviously waiting for an answer.

There was no translation from Georgiou, instead he leapt from the boulder and hugged his nephew before speaking once more.

‘Matt, my nephew says that these boys are the best runners in the village, that he is the best but these other boys are very good also and all have run the long race many times before. He says that he knows that they are only boys but will you please let them be the runners. He says they will not let you down but will run swift as Hermes himself.’

Dodd could only wave an accepting hand, knowing that in Spain children younger than this pulled triggers and served in tanks but that was Spain and this was Greece and besides here it was his responsibility to choose and his was the burden.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that when he opened them some miracle would have lifted the burden but it was not to be. His burden was not lifted and a malicious fate had added to it. Ten more people now stood before him; six young men and four young women and a greater burden than he wished to see.

For one of the women was Athanasia.

She stood in front of him still wearing a torn blouse and looked at him with a particularly fierce gaze that was tempered by a sad and knowing smile.

She spoke no words but stood defiantly before him daring him to speak, seeing his thoughts even before he said them.

‘Lucky, tell Athanasia to stand down. Tell her that I promised her Grandfather that she would come to no harm and that she is to stay by my side on the journey.’

There was a half sad, half rebellious shake of Athanasia’s head and she spoke with proud tears running down her face while Dodd listened, not understanding until her words were turned into English by Georgiou.

‘Matthew, my husband to be. I too made a promise to my Grandfather, I promised to be a worthy wife to a brave man.

‘I am not a coward!

‘These women will be my bridesmaids at our wedding which God will send in his own good time and they too are not cowards, nor are these men who have stepped forward. In time we will have children; would you wish that they be raised by a woman who hid behind her husband, or would you have them raised by one who stood by his side and shared his danger day by day?

‘In my heart you are already my husband and a good wife should listen to her husband, but a good husband should listen to his wife also.

‘I will not be a coward, husband, and our children must look at me with love and not shame. Let me do this thing, I beg you.’

Georgiou finished translating and the village stood absolutely silent while the rock of Dodd’s burden grew ever heavier and his thoughts ever more confused. He had made a promise to an old man, but Athanasia was not an object, a mere thing that held only one value. Rather, a living, breathing person who had her own thoughts and her own desires.

She had asked for a simple thing that only he could give...respect. It was her choice to risk her life and though he may not like it, it was very true that it was her choice and hers alone to take.

Athanasia had made her choice and it was made with good reason yet he could still do a little to ensure her survival.

He looked at her still waiting for her answer and then at Yiannis. The boy, he realised was not really a boy at all but a brave man whose body had not caught up to his mind which was clear headed and quick witted.

He walked over to the boy, took his hand and placed it in the hand of Athanasia who smiled knowing that both had won a victory but that the days ahead would be hard for all.

Dodd realised that this too was part of philotimo. To give even though it hurt. Athanasia had given, Yiannis had given and he had had given. He could only hope that the boy and his own bride-to-be would be a strong team, but strong or weak the decision had been made and there were other words to be spoken now.

Farewells to scouts who must leave a hidden valley and turn to the west and a winnowing of everything brought from a now burnt village, for treasure that would not aid survival was no treasure at all but a death sentence to those who carried it and many bitter tears were shed as Dodd emptied every bag and searched every fold of cloth and it was a far lighter group that assembled at the valley mouth under a sun which was already sending down punishing heat.

They marched slowly; young and old, men and women. Slowly for there were few that were not aiding others. Slowly for the dust was heavy and the sun was hot.

But west, ever west. Over tumbled rock, through sparse tree lines and abandoned farms and past half tumbled ruins built by half-forgotten men. West ever west into nights where hidden fires warmed all too little food that must reach all too many mouths. And ever the sun, Greek and burning and ever Selene’s own waxing moon that threw heatless ivory light onto sleeping bodies guarded by Dodd and Georgiou who slept by turns and worried by the hour.

One day, then two, then three, following the footsteps of scouts who were never more than an hour’s hard run away and slower, slower than ever before as children cried and tired muscles screamed for rest.

But west, ever west; for they had a deliverer that had fallen from the skies and in him they placed their trust that the cries would one day be stilled and tired bodies be given rest.

On and on until a midday hour saw two running figures in the distance growing larger by the minute, growing from black dots almost lost in the heat haze to the chest heaving, dust covered young boys who stood before him.

It was Yiannis who spoke first, wiping away the dregs of water that had fallen from Dodd’s proffered water bottle.

‘Athanasia has sent me. There is a large stream that runs deep through the earth and a bridge, but the bridge has gone and there are many holes in the earth. Some are large and some are small, but the bridge has gone. Athanasia says that on the far bank there are two trucks, they do not move and she cannot see people. She thinks the trucks are empty. She waits for you.’

He nudged his companion who had drunk deeply from Georgiou’s canteen.

‘Your turn, Demetri.’

‘Aristidis has sent me, we are two kilometres from the bridge. The stream has very wide banks and is gentle. On the far bank there are two trucks and a small car. They do not move, there are bodies, we can see them and when the wind blows...’ Demetri held his nose and made an expression of disgust. ‘The smell is very bad. Aristidis says that he too will not move and will wait for you.’

The villagers made no complaints when told to rest and the two boys guided Dodd and Georgiou back to the bridge or at least what remained of it.

Engineers in times past had made the sensible decision to throw a bridge over the stream at its narrowest point and Dodd could see blue and white water tumbling over rocks far below. It was not hard to guess the fate of the little bridge as the land around it was pockmarked with the craters made from dropped bombs. Someone had decided to deny the enemy any escape which explained the abandoned vehicles that stood unhappily a little way from the ravines edge.

There was little point in staying there; the blown bridge was just as useless to Dodd as it was to the enemy and so gathering Athanasia to their side the group marched two kilometres to where winter floods had tumbled rock studded banks into a damp morass where only tussock grass grew and Aristidis waited.

The scene was just as described and as the stream was forded the stench of rotting meat grew ever stronger and both boys vomited scanty breakfasts at the sights which awaited them.

The vehicle tracks led back towards the bridge and it was obvious to Dodd and Georgiou exactly what had happened.

The abandoned vehicles were obviously scouting for a place to cross when they were ambushed from the scrub which ran parallel to the stream.

Georgiou pointed to the muddy soil; still imprinted in the earth were the signs of bare feet and worn shoes.

‘Partisans, they kill and then move back to their lairs.’

The dead lay in two groups; the men, who wore Italian uniforms lay shoeless and bloody some distance away from two middle-aged women who lay naked and rotting behind a group of stunted trees.

Who the group was, how they had made their way to the stream would forever remain a mystery which only the dead could solve but this was a place that could serve as a crossing place but only after it had been cleansed...and that was a task for everyone.

Athanasia stood over the women’s bodies and said a prayer. She was woman enough to know what had happened to them and woman enough to hope that in heaven or hell they would find some sort of peace. But peace or anger, heaven or hell the bodies must be moved lest they frighten those who must walk these paths in the hours to come, for the sun had been unkind to the women and would be unkinder yet.

Matthew tied a dirty handkerchief around her face and together they lifted the first woman to a better resting place hidden from the sight of men.

The woman’s companion was not so helpful and as she was lifted, she gave a great soundless belch and her stomach split open revealing grey intestines and blood now turned black with age. The air turned green with the gasses of decay and Athanasia felt her stomach heave in response and sternly repressed the instinct to vomit.

This was Matthew’s life she told herself. The Allies had not sent a child to Greece but a seasoned warrior who had seen such things before and if she was to be his wife then she must learn to share sights like this without comment and without fear. She had promised her Grandfather and she had promised Matthew who had the burden of a whole village to bear. A true wife would not add to the problems of a brave husband, so in response to a questioning glace her eyes smiled bravely and continued to carry the body and its trailing intestines to lie next to the first, where a covering of rocks and a few muttered words in English and Greek served as a burial service.

Georgiou and Aristidis had performed a similar courtesy to the dead men and now only a solitary car and two small trucks stood forlorn and abandoned while clothes and papers looted from the trucks performed wind driven dances or flew like despondent flags from nearby trees and bushes.

It was a sad sight but both Dodd and Georgiou had seen worse and it was time to return to the villagers and guide them back to this crossing point. Both men looked round to gather their companions and both men saw the same sight at the same time. English and Greek warnings sped through the air but too late; Aristidis had seen some object of value in the car and opened its door.

It was an easy mistake to make, a very natural mistake to make and Aristides was a young man, proud of the scrubby moustache which heralded his entry into full manhood and proud that he had been picked to aid Matthew Dodd and Georgiou Papanastasiou.

But he was not a soldier. A soldier would have known better than to open a car door when partisans had been present, a soldier would have treated every object with life-saving suspicion.

But Aristides was not a soldier and never would be; the grenade was safe enough jammed between door and doorframe, but once the door was opened it dropped fully armed to the ground.

He heard the shouts and looked back towards Matt and Lucky, and in a way this was a mercy, for he never saw his danger and from life to death, from beating heart to bloodied corpse was a matter of all too short seconds...

And now there was another body to bury.

There was