Jackals’ Revenge
The sequel to THE BLACK JACKALS is set in the turmoil of the eastern Mediterranean in 1941, with the Brits struggling to hold their line in Greece against the powerful German and Italian forces.Peter Lamb and his men are halted in their retreat to England and forced to join the British forces holding the pass at Thermopylae. But their tough experiences in France have not prepared The Jackals for the savage hand to hand fighting through the mountains. Lamb’s limited knowledge of command leaves him unsure about how to organise the New Zealand and Greek partisan soldiers who are added to his troop.When they land in Crete, Lamb becomes suspicious of some of the civilians who, on fleeing from Greece, have taken cover with the Jackals. Yet he knows that facing the awesome German paratroopers for the first time, combined with the desperate battle to hold Crete at all costs, will force him to find a way to work alongside any support he is offered. His new troop will be made up of partisans, allied irregulars – including Evelyn Waugh – and Spanish volunteers.JACKALS’ REVENGE paints a brilliant picture of the turbulent theatre of war.
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IAIN GALE
Jackals’ Revenge
Dedication
To Patrick Barty
and
the people of Crete
Table of Contents
1
Dawn rose over the pass of Thermopylae as it had since the beginning of time. As it had on that day 2,000 years ago, when Leonidas’ Spartans had died to the last man holding this great natural strongpoint against the invading Persian hordes. This morning, though, something was different, for with the dawn came a new sound on the air, drowning out the bees and the birdsong and shattering the peace of an Attic morning. It was a high-pitched whine, descending earthwards out of the sky. The sound of modern war. The clarion call of a new and terrible barbarism which had laid claim to the civilised world.
Captain Peter Lamb heard the sound and looked up in alarm. He knew it only too well. Had become familiar with it in the fields and on the roads of France less than a year ago, and it made his blood run cold. Without a second glance he yelled across the pass to where his men were sitting pulling through their guns. They had been on stand-to all night, waiting for the German attack that was sure to come. Their faces were drawn with exhaustion, but for all their fatigue they had already heard the sound. The younger men, the new recruits and replacements, were still looking skywards, not certain what they heard, although it was not new to them. The old hands, though, were already on their feet as the words left Lamb’s lips.
‘Stukas. Take cover.’
The first bombs fell seconds later as the whine of the sirens fixed beneath the wings of the hated aircraft reached its crescendo. The men cowered in their funk holes and in any space they could find in the unforgiving rocky landscape, their hands over their ears and their tin hats, their mouths open to lessen the shock of the blast, their bodies tucked up into tight balls. As the bombs hit, their hammer-blow explosions dug deep into the baked white rock, sending lethal shards in all directions, and the men, even though they had not been hit, mouthed their oaths. They shut their eyes tight and two of the younger ones tried to push themselves into gaps in the rocks.
Tucked into his own tiny slit-trench, Company Sergeant-Major Jim Bennett saw them and ran across to them at a crouch, before speaking through the din, hard into their faces. ‘Now then, Dawlish, Carter, you don’t want the captain to see you hiding like that, do you?’
‘No, Sergeant-Major.’
‘No, Sergeant-Major. I should bloody well think not. Now bloody well brace yourselves and look like soldiers. They’ll be gone soon enough.’
Bennett swore quietly. It was bravado, of course. But sometimes, he thought, keeping up morale was more like being a wet-nurse. He thought of the old platoon, of the men they had left behind in the fields of France last year and the few they had led out and who were still with them, and he wished for the impossible. Bennett knew they would just have to make do with what they had. But he had confidence in Lamb. If any officer could lick them into shape he knew it would be his. Hadn’t most of them already come through Egypt together? He knew that some of them at least had the makings of good soldiers. Still, though, he longed for his fallen friends and prayed that these new lads would prove themselves capable of avenging them.
Bennett had been right about the raid. Within minutes it was over. Two bombs each, and that was it for the six-plane squadron. The dive-bombers veered away like hawks up into the azure sky and the men crawled out from their holes into the dusty air of the balmy April morning, coughing and cursing.
Lamb and his men, C Company, the North Kents, or the Black Jackals as they were known to the army, had been given simple orders. ‘Hold the pass. Do not allow the enemy through.’
His CO, Colonel George de Russet, had made it plain enough to them at the last Order Group. ‘Gentlemen, here we are and here we bloody well stay.’
Lamb knew that the Stukas had only been a taster and prepared himself for what he knew was to come. This would be as hard a battle as he had yet fought, and perhaps his last.
He shouted across to Bennett: ‘Sarnt-Major. Any casualties?’
‘Two, sir. One’s a goner. Spencer.’
Poor bugger, thought Lamb. He’s the first then. How many more today? He turned towards the young lieutenant in command of Number 1 platoon, Charles Eadie. ‘Charles, see if you can make those slit-trenches any deeper. This rock’s bloody stuff but we’ll have to do better than that before their big guns open up or we’ll all be goners.’
As the lieutenant scuttled away across the rocks, Lamb considered their position. He had led eighty men into Greece just under a month ago. Now he commanded something over half that number. They were still in their three platoons and of the three junior officers he had lost only one, the young lieutenant of Number 3 platoon, who had been replaced with a transfer from Battalion HQ. There were now forty-eight men plus himself. And, whatever their orders, whatever position they were told to hold, it was now his ultimate task to get them away and back to Alexandria. Two days ago the Greeks had surrendered, and now the British and Commonwealth troops who had been sent to defend them were on their own.
