allanpcameron
Donor
Again another blast from the past, from August 2015 which can be seen here.
This is just a bit of a holiday daydream, become a short timeline. It's a bit of wank, but lots of Nazis die, and there's Maoris. Enjoy.
The fact was that I never saw it coming. Lying happily on a sun lounger, listening to Bowie’s Life on Mars album on the ipod, eyes closed against the strong sunshine, arm over the rucksack, and bam, something solid slammed into my head, knocking me for six.
When I came to, I realised that things were topsey turvey. I wasn’t on the sun lounger, in fact the ground under me was rocky. I finally managed to open my eyes and then shut them again quickly. Putting my hand up to my head I could feel the beginning of a lump, but I seemed to be alone. Reaching into my rucksack I pulled out my hat, which I put my glasses into, and put them on. I felt dizzy and sick, but looking around for my pal to ask what had happened, I was totally alone. Everything was completely different, nobody around, no pool, no bar, no buildings, just an overturned sun lounger on a bare hillside. That was when I panicked.
I would struggle to tell you how long the panic attack lasted, though it was a focussing on a pair of Whitethroats hoping around in a bush that got me back under control. It had taken me quite a few minutes to identify them, and somehow that seemed long enough to get my brain back on track. Standing up I realised I was bleeding from a couple of places, just scrapes from coming off the lounger, on knees and palms, but other than the blinding headache, I seemed in one piece.
I picked up the rucksack again, there should be some Nurofen tablets in the front pocket. Finding them I swallowed two with a mouthful of water from the bottle in the cooler bag in the central pocket. OK, I thought, I’m an intelligent person, what’s going on? The immediate area, a fairly bleak hill with bits and pieces of vegetation and the shape of the hill in front of my told me I was still in the same place. A slow 360° turn put the Mediterranean where it had been, but all signs of hotels and resorts were absent. Not least the one I was staying at, Marni Village in Koutouloufari. I shouted for help and was rewarded only with more pain in my head and a half-hearted echo from the hill. It was still 10.30am according to my watch, though the sun wasn’t exactly where it had been. I pulled on my T-Shirt from my bag, the sun was still pretty hot and I have to be careful not to burn. I used some water just to wash away the blood and check that my knees were just skinned. I got the small travel first aid kit out and there was a little tube of Savlon which I applied.
So I had only what I was touching. The sun lounger, the crocs on my feet, swim shorts, and the rucksack that was under my arm. I did a quick check: wallet with about 40€; factor 30 sun cream; phone, checked it and no signal; kindle; ipod; digital camera; safety deposit key; some coins, both sterling and euros; a few more bits and pieces, the 750ml water bottle was nearly full, and that was pretty much that. The Nurofen much have started to kick in because the nausea was passing and the pain in my head was getting to the “simply thumping” stage. Well, something had happened, and standing on a rocky hill, in what had apparently become the middle of nowhere wasn’t going to help much. My passport and the rest of my money were in the safety deposit box in the apartment, but since there was no apartment, I would have make do with what I did have, and at least there the plastic part of my driving license in my wallet, so I had some photo-id. Standing here wasn’t going to help so I picked up the rucksack, put it on my back and started to gingerly pick my way down the hill, thinking not for the first time that I really need to lose weight and see about my dodgy knees.
From the first few days of the holiday I knew that the local village with its tavernas and bars would take about five minutes to walk to, it took much longer over the rough terrain, though there was a bit a path about 100m down from where I started. That led to a slightly faster pace, though again places were missing like the supermarket and the other hotels. The whole thing was quite disorienting, but there was nothing else to do but press on. If I could get to a phone, I had my insurance document with the 24 hour helpline number. That way I should be able to resolve something of this.
The first sign of life was a small herd of goats with a couple of boys, maybe seven or eight years old. In my best Greek I shouted out “Kalimera!” But the sight of me must have been worse than I thought, the two boys took off like a shot. I carried on and came to the first building of what was obviously the village of Koutouloufari. A middle aged man, looking like a scene from a tourist poster was standing in the shade. Full set of whiskers, Cretan dress like the dancer at the Greek night, and somewhat worrying, shotgun over his shoulder. Once again, I tried my best phrasebook Greek, “Kalimera!” This time I said it standing still, and just in case, with both hands in full view. He nodded at my greeting but didn’t reply. So I moved forward slowly. “Kalimera, parakalo.” I’m not sure, “Good day, please” was much help, but it was pretty much all the Greek I had. But being able to order two beers wasn’t going to help much. I took off my hat and lifted the clip-on sun shades from my glasses. “Do you speak English?” was my next attempt at first contact, but it didn’t get much of a response either.
As the distance between us closed I could hear running feet, and one of the children I’d seen a few moments before returned with another adult, who I presumed was his father. Unlike the silent figure with the facial hair, this second man at least acknowledged the “Kalimera” and repeated it back. Again, with the “parakalo” and the “do you speak English?” routine. I pointed to myself and said, “My name is Allan Cameron, I come from Scotland, can you help me please?” The two men had a brief conversation, the outcome of which was the wee boy ran off once again. The boy’s father motioned for me to follow him, so at least I made it into the shade, which was a relief. Passing the man with the shotgun I said, “Efharisto”, ‘thank you’, I think simply because that pretty much completed my full hand of Greek phrases.
The man I was following pointed to himself and said “Yannis”, which I recognised as a name, so I repeated mine, “Allan”. He turned into an archway and motioned me to follow, I realised that this much be the courtyard of his house, for out the door came a woman, holding onto the younger boy I had seen earlier. With the best attempts once more to communicate with my entire Greek vocabulary of about five words, I was soon the recipient of famed Cretan hospitality. With some water to wash my face and wipe some more of the blood away from my knees, I was presented with a glass of “krasi”, which again was one of the few words I knew, ‘wine’, alcoholic tendencies coming to the fore. “Yamass”, said I, hoping that it actually meant cheers as I hoped it did. For once my poor attempt to speak Greek met with some response as the wee boy broke into fits of giggles.
A few minutes passed pleasantly, in the shade, with the cooling water reviving me, and the wine kicking in along with the Nurofen, had me starting to relax slightly. Unfortunately, Yannis and his wife Stella (easy to remember as the barman and the waitress in the complex bar had these two names), obviously had no English at all, but talked away in Greek. The older son returned, accompanied by the village priest. I stood and bowed, and once again tried the old “Kalimera” routine. The long black cassock was matched by the long black beard and the round hat. Again the instant tourist poster recognition was complete. Father Bartholomew had at least a couple of words of English, so I mimed what happened, hitting my head, looking around and not finding my friend, or where I was staying. He asked if I was English, and once again I said, Scottish. This seemed to ring a bell and he started miming bagpipes. I started signing “Scotland the Brave”, the two wee boys obviously found this the most amusing thing they had ever seen or heard. Fr Bartholomew signed for me to come with him, pointing in an easterly direction and saying “Scottish”. I tried “telephone” but that didn’t seem to get us very far, so I mimed making a phone call, and the priest caught on, but his answer was beyond me. Something of a small argument broke out at this point. With no idea what was going on, I stayed still, until Fr Bartholomew said, “eat” in English and I realised that Stella wanted to give us some lunch before we left. Soon some bread, cheese and olives appeared, with some more krasi. Fr Bartholomew offered a grace, blessed the food, and we began to eat.
I had put on my watch when I had started down the hill and the black strap seemed to attract the older boy’s attention. I took it off and handed it to him and he made an odd noise of exclamation, showing it to his father. He in turn passed it onto the priest who obviously didn’t know what it was either. His questioning look made me say “watch” and then attempt to expand on that with saying, “tick tock, tick tock” hoping that a clock sounded the same in Greek as it does in English. I was really conscious that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and that perhaps it was the fact that it was a digital watch that was bothering them. I pointed to the number, it was now after 12, so knowing “dio” was two (the ability to ask for two beers now proving useful) I counted out using my fingers, “one, DIO, three… and so on, Stella picking up what I was saying until we got to 12, which I learned then was Dodeka. Racking my brain, which still didn’t feel it was working up to full strength, I pulled out the word, “Chronos” out of my hat, which I was pretty sure meant time in ancient Greek, giving us words like chronological. But it seemed when they were miming the hands of a clock moving and I nodded (which incidentally hurt when I did it), and said the work “digital” but that didn’t seem to mean anything to them.
Time passed and soon it was obviously time to go. I once again thanked Yannis and Stella for their hospitality, and I brought out my wallet, offering them a 10€ note as way of thanks. There was an odd few moments between what I was trying to do and what I was doing it with. Obviously, it looked like I was trying to pay them, which was obviously not the right thing to do, but the note wasn’t one they recognised and that just confused the issue more. Fr Bartholomew obviously thought it was best to leave now before I did any more harm, and with plenty of “Efharisto” we took our leave. The first silent man, who had been outside the whole time had a quick conversation with the priest, and it struck that these two men didn’t seem get on very well. As voices were raised between them, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible, the moustachioed guy still had his shotgun, and being Scottish, firearms aren’t part of my daily life. Eventually the two of them came to some kind of agreement, and it seemed that “Stannis”, would join us on our journey.
We headed down the hill towards (in my mind) the beach, the town of Hersonissos with its packed street of shops wasn’t there either when we arrived. I’d been doing my best as the headache receded to work out what possibly could be going on. It all felt like a bit like a timeline on alernatehistory.com, could some alien space bat be messing with my mind? I had pretty much ruled out a dream, because I was really feeling sore in too many places, the arrival of chaffing from walking in my swim shorts, adding to the “this can’t possibly be a dream” column. It was obvious I was on Crete, I was somehow in the past, though not sure when, and all I could imagine was it might have something to do with reading Anthony Beevor’s book Crete on my Kindle earlier.
Stannis and Fr Bartholomew hardly spoke to one another, and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, I pretty much had my head down, as by this point my lack of fitness was telling pretty hard. I got the impression that they were making allowance for my lack of pace, but that they were seriously unimpressed with this specimen of Scottishness. In due course we arrived at what appeared to be the town of Hersonissos and Stannis hung back as we arrived at what I guessed was a police station. In fact, it was more of a customs house, but it did have an ancient telephone on the wall. The senior guy in uniform listened to Fr Bartholomew’s story and pretty much treated me as an imbecile. I produced my driving licence and the couple of uniformed guys started going through my rucksack, making more and more noises of incomprehensibility. I showed them how the ipod worked, took a photo with the digital camera and showed them the screen on the back of it. At this the senior man picked up the phone handset, and began to wind it up, eventually getting through to someone. The call lasted a good few minutes, at the end of which he shrugged his shoulders and sat down behind his desk. Fr Bartholomew motioned for me to sit down too, which I did, gratefully.
I was getting a bit more and more concerned about the way the guys were treating my stuff and I thought about making a protest, but the digital camera took up most of their attention, making me take their photos and showing them the results. I was conscious that I had charged the battery before I left, but I couldn’t imagine how I would be able to recharge it. The ringing of the phone broke into middle of another group photo, and when the officer answered it, he motioned for me to take it. And so began the story of how a £6.99 book on kindle brought about an Allied Victory.
The accent on the other end of the phone was pure Australian. I tried to explain who I was, what had happened and asked for help. One thing that had become clear was that my guess about Beevor’s book on the battle of Crete was pretty much on the money. The Australian I was talking to was a sergeant who had been having a drink in a taverna across the street from the customs house in Heraklion. The customs official had come over and put him on the phone to me back in Hersonissos. The man obviously thought I was some kind of nutter and was going to hang up on me, but with a lucky guess, I asked him what the date was. It was the 19th of May 1941. I tried to explain that I had information that was essential, the next day German paratroopers were going to land and that I knew when and where. I desperately tried a name of one of the main men in Beevor’s book, a Captain Pendlebury, who was part of the Special Operations Executive (SOE).
It turned out the Australian sergeant knew him, they had had a couple of drinks together in the basement bar of the Hotel Knossis, and “he was alright for a Pom”. He hung up saying he would get onto it. Well time passed pretty slowly. The custom guys now had a bit of an audience with my camera as more and more of the town seemed to gather round to see what was going on. A strong coffee was provided by way of compensation for the amount of photos being taken. About an hour later the phone rang again, and once more I was called forward. An English voice this time, claiming to be a Lieutenant Hanson and once more I went through the whole rigmarole again. Stressing again the immediacy of the issue, I was asked to put on the customs official again, who spoke for a few minutes and then hung up. He spoke to Fr Bartholomew for a few minutes, who was able to communicate that someone was coming to see me and that I should wait here.
The afternoon I have to say passed very slowly. Euro notes and coins were studied minutely, as all the dates on them pointed to the twenty-first century. A very large conversation was obviously going on, but nobody had any better English that Fr Bartholomew, so I took the chance to have a read once more at the few chapters of Beevor’s book that were most essential. About two hours later a motorcycle and side car pulled up with a mighty roar outside the customs house. A uniformed man walked in, and from the glass eye and sword stick I recognised Captain Pendlebury immediately. And so once again the story began, who I am, where I’m from, what happened and showing him the pages in the kindle of what was about to happen the next day. A lot more questions followed, 20p coins that were in the bottom of the bag, with the year and the queen’s head, a potted history of the 20th century and up to 2015 and the current date. I showed him how to use the kindle and pointed out some of the other history books that might be of use, though the entire collection of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels wasn’t going to be terribly useful to anyone.
We collected my stuff, well most of it, the watch and some of the notes and a couple of cards from my wallet didn’t reappear, however before I knew it, I was squeezing myself into the sidecar and we were off to Heraklion, a distance of about 25 kilometers. Being battered about in that sidecar was the convincing thing that there was no way this was a dream. It was too bloody sore.
It was about 6pm when we arrived in Heraklion, at the headquarters of 14th Infantry Brigade. I was put in a room with three officers, one from the Black Watch, and Australian and I guessed the other was SOE, and underwent the most excruciating interrogation I could possibly have imagined. Pendlebury meantime had disappeared with my stuff, including the kindle. For three hours questions were repeated time and time again, the Aussie bawled and shouted, the Black Watch played good cop, he was from Killin in Perthshire which I had visited often with my family for holidays. The other man said very little, but was obviously the trained interrogator, it was him who jumped on any lapses of memory or inconsistencies in what I said. By this time I was tired out, thirsty, hungry and getting pretty fed up. It seemed they were too and when they left the room I was left alone until someone came in with some stew, I guessed this was the famous British Army Bully Beef and hot sweet tea. I nearly asked for coffee instead, but thought better of it.
Half an hour later and Captain Pendlebury came in. His questions were about the chapter in the book with gave the Orange Leonard or Ultra transcripts that General Freyberg was receiving. I repeated as much as I knew about Bletchley Park, the enigma machine and Ultra, making it clear that they really didn’t want me or this knowledge to fall into the hands of the Germans when they attacked the next day. He nodded and took me back out to his motorcycle combination, apologising for the uncomfortableness of it, but emphasising that if I really wanted to make a difference we would need to travel to Creforce Headquaters near Canea. I blanched at the thought of the journey ahead over 140km, but there wasn’t really any other choice in the matter, so once more I squeezed by bulk into the sidecar and with a roar we were off along the coastal road. It was pitch black, just the small slither of light coming from the headlight to point the way. Six times we had to pull over to have our papers checked. I’d been given the largest uniform available to put over my swim shorts and T-Shirt, but the battledress was still pretty tight. I must have dozed off at some point, though I still can’t figure out how.
In the early hours of the morning we arrived at Creforce HQ in a quarry, and once more I found myself closeted away in a room, every now and then someone would come in and check some part of my story, or ask me to show them how to work something in my pack. It seemed they had discovered my music videos on the phone and Beyonce and Kylie Minogue videos were being watched with some intensity. Once again, I was asked hundreds of questions, they obviously had some kind of record of my answers to the questions asked previously, because these were asked again and again, looking for any sign that this was some kind of terrible, elaborate hoax. More than once my temper wore thin, but knowing it would serve no purpose, I managed to keep it mostly in check. It was getting late and I kept dozing in the chair between interviews. A doctor came in and gave me a thorough exam, and wondered how I’d gotten so out of shape. Obesity is a crisis for the next century I told him.
Without my watch or anything else to go on, I had no idea of what time it was. Once more Captain Pendlebury came in, with a welcome cup of tea, and told me we were going to meet the General. Freyberg had been woken and filled in on the story. He wanted to hear it first hand, so off we went to the side car and with an escort were taken to a villa. Beevor had described General Freyberg very well, and here he was in the flesh. Once more I told the story of had happened, leaving out the whole multiverse theory that seemed to confuse everyone, but in all the thinking I’d been doing since the previous morning there were just three things I wanted to say to him, to reinforce what Beevor’s premise was for the failure to hold Crete.
I told him that the Ultra signals could be misinterpreted to suggest that the real danger was a seaborne invasion to follow up the airborne, but that it was the airborne assault that the greatest danger. The Royal Navy would be able to defeat the initial attempt to reinforce by sea the air assault. Secondly the airfield at Maleme was the key to the whole thing. If the New Zealanders could hold it, and destroy it as suitable for landing aircraft, if Hill 107 could be held and the area of the river bed where the paratroopers were able to attack from was better covered, then they wouldn’t be able to fly in the mountain division, which began the rot. Thirdly to cover the prison in Prison Valley with some troops to prevent that becoming another thorn in the side of his forces.
Pendlebury had obviously read the appropriate chapters in the book and agreed with my assessment. Freyberg turned to his intelligence officers, some of whom I recognised from my interrogations, asked what they thought. It looked as if they’d also had a chance to read the way that battle worked out, at least in my timeline. There seemed to be a consensus that reinforcing the 22nd Battalion at Maleme, and ordering a strong force into Prison Valley wouldn’t go amiss. Orders went out to the 21st NZ Battalion to go to the aid of the 22nd Battalion, especially to put a strong force on the other side of the Tavronitis River Bed. Two companies of the 28th (Maori) Battalion were also to move in the direction of Maleme to reinforce the men already there.
The Divisional Reserve, 20th Battalion were to take up positions in and around the prison at Ayia, even if it meant imprisoning the prison governor. The 8th Greek Regiment was to move to around the reservoir and be prepared for the arrival of the German parachutists among them. The order was also given that each of the three airfields were to be damaged as much as possible to prevent any aircraft landing on them, the departure of the last of the RAF aircraft meant they could only be used by the Germans.
Notice of what was happening was sent to the Royal Navy at Alexandria with the probable time and position for intercepting the follow-on seaborne force. I had mentioned the books with the history of the war at sea and reminded them to warn the navy about the Bismark, there was enough information to allow the Home Fleet to ambush the German ships off the coast of Iceland where HMS Suffolk first spotted them on radar.
By this time the first signs of dawn were approaching, it was May 20th 1941 and on airfields on the Greek mainland young Germans were getting ready to lift off on their attempt to capture Crete and so protect their southern flank.
Creforce HQ was a hive of activity, dispatch riders were sent off as quickly as possible before the arrival of the “Daily Hate”, the Luftwaffe fighter and bomber sweeps that were part and parcel of each day’s life on the island. Whatever radio communications and field telephones there were started buzzing with information, giving orders and advice on where and when to expect the German paratroopers. The anti-aircraft units were told to hold their fire until the arrival of the transport aircraft. Word went out to make sure the King of Greece was protected and he was woken and the journey to the south of the island began as quickly as possible. Pendlebury had kind of been saddled with me. We got some breakfast, while a discussion went on about what to do with me and with the information I had in my head and in my backpack.
The first wave of German fighters and bombers arrived at 6am, much earlier than usual, but the troops had been chivvied along by their officers to take cover in advance of the normal dawn stand to. This attack was heavier than usual and then there was a bit of a respite at 7.30am. The New Zealand troops and the remnant of the RAF and Fleet Air Arm units around Maleme airfield expected to stand down at this point, but a second wave was due to arrive at 8am, just as the Radar Station sent out its warning. This raid consisted of Dornier 17s and Junkers 88s, followed by strafing fighters. The Bofors gun pits were the main target again, but ordered to take cover and play possum, they mostly survived.
At the end of this second raid, the cry went up “Gliders!” D Company of 21st NZ Battalion had the clearest view of the gliders swooping into land on the river bed as it was right above the position that they had just arrived in. Some forty gliders containing the I Battalion of the Storm Regiment, commanded by Major Koch who had led the attack on Eben Emael the year before. Part of the III Battalion landed further up the river bed. The intensity of the fire fight was extraordinary. Many of the gliders were gutted by Bren gun fire before they even landed. Squads of New Zealanders poured accurate fire into them both in the air and once they had landed. The men of the Storm Regiment were no wilting flowers, but it took time to extricate themselves from their gliders and start to fight back.
All along the coastline the first wave of gliders found themselves in real trouble. With adequate warning fast counterattacks were ordered into areas where the gliders had landed, not allowing the Germans to get themselves organised. This caused a number of casualties among the defenders, but it was a much more effective form of defence. On the hill above Creforce HQ, Freybreg’s staff had a panoramic view of the main body of Junkers 52 transport aircraft approaching and beginning to drop their living loads. The anti-air units now took up the challenge and poured fire into the low flying and lumbering transports. More and more of the pilots either attempted to jink, upsetting the fall of the parachutists or put on the jump light too soon damning their cargo to drowning in the sea.
All around the expanding battlefield, small arms fire picked up, the floating German troopers’ easy targets for the New Zealanders, who quickly learned to aim at their boots so that the shot brought death to the falling Germans. Beyond Maleme, II and IV Battalion of the Storm Regiment landed outside the killing field of the dry river bed. Here they met the first elements of the 21st Battalion, A and B Companies had had no time to prepare any kind of defences, but like their comrades in D Company they were in the very midst of the landing area of II Battalion. Like in so many other places, the Germans were at a major disadvantage because of the design of their harness and the fact that their weapon canisters had to be recovered and opened before their main weapon, the MG34 could be brought into play. The New Zealanders learned quickly to keep these red coloured parachuted canisters under close scrutiny. A fair number of the quick firing German machine guns found themselves in the hands of the New Zealanders who found it particularly pleasing to use them against their former owners. It meant that II Battalion was almost annihilated as a fighting force. IV Battalion which landed further on did manage to get themselves together and start to push 21st Battalion back to the river bed.
Here they were reinforced by the two companies of the Maori Battalion, which had been stamping on the landing ground of III Battalion further up the river bed, so that any surviving Germans had to move away from their objective to take the airfield. The remains of 21st Battalion and the Moaris dug in, preparing for the Germans to come at them, and denying them the dead ground to mount an assault on the airfield. The defenders of the airfield, 22nd Battalion in the meantime had managed to hold their own, the Bofors gunners doing immense harm to the German transport fleet. Hill 107, the key to the area was still very much in New Zealand hands, a few weak and uncoordinated attacks being easily thrown back.
The other part of III Battalion of the Storm Regiment, this group landed by parachute rather than glider were also facing a massacre. They had jumped two kilometres east of the airfield, right on top to the 23rd NZ Battalion and the Engineers of the New Zealand Division. One group had the misfortune to fall on the battalion HQ, where Colonel Leckie killed five personally. Another group of unfortunate Germans fell among the former inmates of the Field Punishment Centre, given rifles and promises of pardons if they fought well, sixty former prisoners killed 110 Germans in less than an hour. Over 400 men were killed out of a Battalion of 600. The others were soon rounded up. At the end of the morning only IV Battalion of the Storm Regiment were an effective fighting force. Most of the other 1800 men were either dead, missing, captured or holding out in little pockets.
The arrival of the 20th Battalion in and around the prison at Ayia had been fraught with difficulty. Linking with Colonel Kippenberger’s scratch 10th Brigade had been made difficult by the lack of radio communication. However, 20th Battalion’s Lt Colonel James Burrows managed to get through to Kippenbergers HQ on a dispatch riders motorbike to tell him that the battalion was on its way and would be arriving at the prison as quickly as possible. The movement of the battalion had earned itself some hate from the Luftwaffe. The New Zealanders arrived at more or less the same time as the 3rd Parachute Regiment’s I and II Battalion, and knowing its value, there was a foot race to occupy and hold the prison. A scene of fierce fighting, often hand to hand, the turning point happened with the arrival of a troop of Vickers Light Tanks. Led by Lieutenant Roy Farran of the 3rd Hussars their heavy machine guns proved decisive, and allowing two companies of 20th Battalion to make the prison, and crucially its water source, secure.
Like the Storm Regiment the 3rd Parachute Regiment’s landing areas sometimes fell on defended areas, such as the 18th and 19th NZ Battalions, which accounted for most of its III Battalion. Other elements fell among the 6th Greek Regiment. These men were only issued with three rounds each, and soon the Greeks were withdrawing onto the New Zealand positions. The 8th Greek Regiment, alerted to move towards the lake, were armed with WWI vintage Steyer rifles, and they gave an excellent account of themselves, especially against the German Engineer Battalion. The surviving Germans, a strong force of nearly 1000 men, were now caught between the New Zealanders in the prison and the Greeks at the reservoir.
It was here also that the Germans found a new horror. Even when the paratroopers fell outwith defended areas they found themselves confronted with a civil population that far from welcoming them as liberators as they had been promised, in fact joined in the killing. When a unit of Germans attempted to capture the village of Alikianou, the villagers, armed with shotguns and sporting rifles joined in a spirited defence of their homes. This was repeated on a number of occasions, in various places, the Cretans were not prepared to allow themselves simply to be occupied.
General Weston ordered Brigadier Vasey of the Australian 19th Infantry Brigade to bring his two battalions, the 2/8th and 2/7th to the battlefield in the Prison Valley, these arrived just in time to counter a major attack by the 3rd Parachute Regiment that was attempting to break out of the valley. These Australians, with the two surviving light tanks, and artillery support, were able to resist the German attacks and their attempts to achieve their objectives failed, and the dearth of water began to take a great toll on the airborne forces.
Back in Greece the transports started to arrive back at their airfields. Fifteen Ju52s failed to return, and most of the others had some kind of damage. The airfields didn’t have petrol bowsers and so had to be refuelled by hand, in the heat of the afternoon, by the time they were able to get airborne the paratroopers were well behind schedule. The objective of the 2nd Parachute Regiment was Rethymno, but the damage to aircraft meant that some 800 men had to be left behind, giving him only 2100 men to achieve his objectives.
The area of Rethymno was held by the Australians, led by Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Campbell. His troops were well prepared and had made the most of the quiet afternoon to prepare the coming deluge. The Luftwaffe’s bombers and fighters had to concentrate on supporting the failing attempts at Maleme and Canea, and so the air raid that preceded the main drop was considered “desultory”. When the main force began to arrive, they were met with fierce ground fire, bringing down another eight transports and killing many paratroopers before they could reach the ground. The pilots of the transports were only able to drop a couple of companies on their actual drop zones, the rest were scattered, adding to their difficulties. The Australians and the Greek regiments were very quick to send out aggressive patrols to kill or capture the airborne men before they could get themselves organised. This aggression, which took the Germans by surprise, meant that the airborne forces were on the back foot from the beginning. Some small victories against defenders were quickly overcome and soon the surviving German troops were holed up in pockets with no hope of resupply or reinforcement, and for all too many the lack of water was critical.
At Heraklion, the 14th Brigade was prepared for the attack in the afternoon, which arrived after a heavy air raid. Once more the anti-aircraft gunners played dead until the transports were in range and once again, they were heavily hit. The Germans who landed on the open ground around the airfield died quickly, often before they could retrieve their weapons. The ones who landed in some kind of cover or dead ground survived longer, until they were hunted down by patrols. The Black Watch’s carrier platoon went on an expedition to clear an olive grove but found themselves being hunted by Germans with hand grenades. The Leicesters, who were acting as the Brigade’s reserve were committed speedily as were the two Matilda infantry tanks, within four hours all the main German resistance around the airfield at Heraklion had been dealt with, though there were still some minor pockets of groups were doing their best to evade capture.
Near the town of Heraklion the German Battalion which had been given the objective of capturing the town and port found themselves up against a mixed force of Greek soldiers, Gendarmes and Civilians along with various “odds and sods” of allied troops. Their attempt to storm the city gates and walls led to bitter house to house fighting. While some small groups penetrated as far as the port, the defenders had the better of the engagement, and by dawn of 21 May the town was made secure with the arrival of the Yorks and Lancs Battalion.
As darkness approached on May 20th there were only two substantial groups of Germans left on Crete. Those in Prison Valley and those on the west side of the dry river bed near Maleme. The rest of the Maori Battalion had now arrived to join the other companies holding the river bed and these were joined by the two Matilda infantry tanks which had approached over the main part of the airfield, extinguishing finally any German resistance in that area. 22nd NZ Battalion had taken substantial casualties, but were still in place and effective, including on Hill 107. 23rd Battalion also sent two companies to the river bed area that gave relief to men of the 21st Battalion who had been heavily engaged all day. The decision for the Maoris to counterattack, supported by the tanks, with the rest of New Zealanders backing them up, was agreed. That it should be a night attack to dislodge the Germans before they were reinforced or given air cover in the morning was also agreed. At 2am the Maoris moved off from their positions, with the two tanks grinding up the road.
Night attacks are always complex affairs and that night was no different. The sound of the advancing tanks with the systematic follow up of the infantry pushed the Germans further way from their objective. By 4am, when the Maoris called a halt, they were a mile from their start point, and hastily dug in to prepare for the arrival of the Luftwaffe and any possible counter attack or further landing by German reinforcements in the morning.
Back in Greece, General Student’s Headquarters was trying to comprehend the losses of their men. Student was quite pale, reconnaissance aircraft had noted that all three airfields were still in Allied hands and that they were all cratered or otherwise unable to be used to land aircraft. He had radio contact with both main surviving forces, but both were under severe pressure and were short of everything, none of their objectives were even close to being achieved. There was no further contact with the East Group at Rethymno or Heraklion. He had another 1000 paratroopers in reserve that could be landed the next morning, but there was a distinct feeling that this would simply be reinforcing failure and condemn these men to the same fate as so many of their comrades. Without the airfields he wouldn’t be able to get the Mountain Division into the fight, and without them, any chance of victory was remote. He was handed the telephone, his commander, General Löhr wanted his assessment of what had happened and what should be done.
Student was bullish, he had a fervent belief in the ability of his men, but Löhr was unimpressed. This gamble had failed, obviously the Allies were in a stronger position than had been suspected. Löhr had been instructed to waste no more men or time on it. If Student wasn’t prepared to accept the need to stop the operation then Löhr was authorised to relieve him of his command and give the order himself. Student asked for some time to confer with his staff and was given an hour. The consultation was mixed. There were some who mirrored Student’s confidence in the quality of the surviving paratroopers to turn things around, but the majority had been sickened by what they had heard over the radio, and the suffering of so many that had achieved nothing. Student gave the order for the reserves and the Mountain Division to stand down. He himself made the radio call to his commanders to seek a ceasefire and care their men. Both German commanders did their best to complain, but the order was final. The Germans had failed to conquer Crete and had received their first failure of the war, a bloody failure at that.
When General Freyberg was given the news that the German forces were seeking a ceasefire and surrender negotiations, he felt a great weight being lifted off his shoulders. By midday on 21 May all German resistance on Crete was over and work began to process the prisoners and deal with the wounded and the dead. Over nearly 7000 troops landed by glider or parachute over 2800 were killed, the rest wounded or captured. The Allies had lost just under 300 killed and over 600 wounded.
Captain Pendlebury had kept me throughout the day in Creforce HQ watching on the map board as the battle had progressed. News of the surrender was greeted enthusiastically and libations of various sorts were taken. I said to him as he toasted me that it was £6.99 well spent. I explained that that was the price of the book from the Kindle store. £6.99 for Victory, he toasted.
This is just a bit of a holiday daydream, become a short timeline. It's a bit of wank, but lots of Nazis die, and there's Maoris. Enjoy.
The fact was that I never saw it coming. Lying happily on a sun lounger, listening to Bowie’s Life on Mars album on the ipod, eyes closed against the strong sunshine, arm over the rucksack, and bam, something solid slammed into my head, knocking me for six.
When I came to, I realised that things were topsey turvey. I wasn’t on the sun lounger, in fact the ground under me was rocky. I finally managed to open my eyes and then shut them again quickly. Putting my hand up to my head I could feel the beginning of a lump, but I seemed to be alone. Reaching into my rucksack I pulled out my hat, which I put my glasses into, and put them on. I felt dizzy and sick, but looking around for my pal to ask what had happened, I was totally alone. Everything was completely different, nobody around, no pool, no bar, no buildings, just an overturned sun lounger on a bare hillside. That was when I panicked.
I would struggle to tell you how long the panic attack lasted, though it was a focussing on a pair of Whitethroats hoping around in a bush that got me back under control. It had taken me quite a few minutes to identify them, and somehow that seemed long enough to get my brain back on track. Standing up I realised I was bleeding from a couple of places, just scrapes from coming off the lounger, on knees and palms, but other than the blinding headache, I seemed in one piece.
I picked up the rucksack again, there should be some Nurofen tablets in the front pocket. Finding them I swallowed two with a mouthful of water from the bottle in the cooler bag in the central pocket. OK, I thought, I’m an intelligent person, what’s going on? The immediate area, a fairly bleak hill with bits and pieces of vegetation and the shape of the hill in front of my told me I was still in the same place. A slow 360° turn put the Mediterranean where it had been, but all signs of hotels and resorts were absent. Not least the one I was staying at, Marni Village in Koutouloufari. I shouted for help and was rewarded only with more pain in my head and a half-hearted echo from the hill. It was still 10.30am according to my watch, though the sun wasn’t exactly where it had been. I pulled on my T-Shirt from my bag, the sun was still pretty hot and I have to be careful not to burn. I used some water just to wash away the blood and check that my knees were just skinned. I got the small travel first aid kit out and there was a little tube of Savlon which I applied.
So I had only what I was touching. The sun lounger, the crocs on my feet, swim shorts, and the rucksack that was under my arm. I did a quick check: wallet with about 40€; factor 30 sun cream; phone, checked it and no signal; kindle; ipod; digital camera; safety deposit key; some coins, both sterling and euros; a few more bits and pieces, the 750ml water bottle was nearly full, and that was pretty much that. The Nurofen much have started to kick in because the nausea was passing and the pain in my head was getting to the “simply thumping” stage. Well, something had happened, and standing on a rocky hill, in what had apparently become the middle of nowhere wasn’t going to help much. My passport and the rest of my money were in the safety deposit box in the apartment, but since there was no apartment, I would have make do with what I did have, and at least there the plastic part of my driving license in my wallet, so I had some photo-id. Standing here wasn’t going to help so I picked up the rucksack, put it on my back and started to gingerly pick my way down the hill, thinking not for the first time that I really need to lose weight and see about my dodgy knees.
From the first few days of the holiday I knew that the local village with its tavernas and bars would take about five minutes to walk to, it took much longer over the rough terrain, though there was a bit a path about 100m down from where I started. That led to a slightly faster pace, though again places were missing like the supermarket and the other hotels. The whole thing was quite disorienting, but there was nothing else to do but press on. If I could get to a phone, I had my insurance document with the 24 hour helpline number. That way I should be able to resolve something of this.
The first sign of life was a small herd of goats with a couple of boys, maybe seven or eight years old. In my best Greek I shouted out “Kalimera!” But the sight of me must have been worse than I thought, the two boys took off like a shot. I carried on and came to the first building of what was obviously the village of Koutouloufari. A middle aged man, looking like a scene from a tourist poster was standing in the shade. Full set of whiskers, Cretan dress like the dancer at the Greek night, and somewhat worrying, shotgun over his shoulder. Once again, I tried my best phrasebook Greek, “Kalimera!” This time I said it standing still, and just in case, with both hands in full view. He nodded at my greeting but didn’t reply. So I moved forward slowly. “Kalimera, parakalo.” I’m not sure, “Good day, please” was much help, but it was pretty much all the Greek I had. But being able to order two beers wasn’t going to help much. I took off my hat and lifted the clip-on sun shades from my glasses. “Do you speak English?” was my next attempt at first contact, but it didn’t get much of a response either.
As the distance between us closed I could hear running feet, and one of the children I’d seen a few moments before returned with another adult, who I presumed was his father. Unlike the silent figure with the facial hair, this second man at least acknowledged the “Kalimera” and repeated it back. Again, with the “parakalo” and the “do you speak English?” routine. I pointed to myself and said, “My name is Allan Cameron, I come from Scotland, can you help me please?” The two men had a brief conversation, the outcome of which was the wee boy ran off once again. The boy’s father motioned for me to follow him, so at least I made it into the shade, which was a relief. Passing the man with the shotgun I said, “Efharisto”, ‘thank you’, I think simply because that pretty much completed my full hand of Greek phrases.
The man I was following pointed to himself and said “Yannis”, which I recognised as a name, so I repeated mine, “Allan”. He turned into an archway and motioned me to follow, I realised that this much be the courtyard of his house, for out the door came a woman, holding onto the younger boy I had seen earlier. With the best attempts once more to communicate with my entire Greek vocabulary of about five words, I was soon the recipient of famed Cretan hospitality. With some water to wash my face and wipe some more of the blood away from my knees, I was presented with a glass of “krasi”, which again was one of the few words I knew, ‘wine’, alcoholic tendencies coming to the fore. “Yamass”, said I, hoping that it actually meant cheers as I hoped it did. For once my poor attempt to speak Greek met with some response as the wee boy broke into fits of giggles.
A few minutes passed pleasantly, in the shade, with the cooling water reviving me, and the wine kicking in along with the Nurofen, had me starting to relax slightly. Unfortunately, Yannis and his wife Stella (easy to remember as the barman and the waitress in the complex bar had these two names), obviously had no English at all, but talked away in Greek. The older son returned, accompanied by the village priest. I stood and bowed, and once again tried the old “Kalimera” routine. The long black cassock was matched by the long black beard and the round hat. Again the instant tourist poster recognition was complete. Father Bartholomew had at least a couple of words of English, so I mimed what happened, hitting my head, looking around and not finding my friend, or where I was staying. He asked if I was English, and once again I said, Scottish. This seemed to ring a bell and he started miming bagpipes. I started signing “Scotland the Brave”, the two wee boys obviously found this the most amusing thing they had ever seen or heard. Fr Bartholomew signed for me to come with him, pointing in an easterly direction and saying “Scottish”. I tried “telephone” but that didn’t seem to get us very far, so I mimed making a phone call, and the priest caught on, but his answer was beyond me. Something of a small argument broke out at this point. With no idea what was going on, I stayed still, until Fr Bartholomew said, “eat” in English and I realised that Stella wanted to give us some lunch before we left. Soon some bread, cheese and olives appeared, with some more krasi. Fr Bartholomew offered a grace, blessed the food, and we began to eat.
I had put on my watch when I had started down the hill and the black strap seemed to attract the older boy’s attention. I took it off and handed it to him and he made an odd noise of exclamation, showing it to his father. He in turn passed it onto the priest who obviously didn’t know what it was either. His questioning look made me say “watch” and then attempt to expand on that with saying, “tick tock, tick tock” hoping that a clock sounded the same in Greek as it does in English. I was really conscious that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and that perhaps it was the fact that it was a digital watch that was bothering them. I pointed to the number, it was now after 12, so knowing “dio” was two (the ability to ask for two beers now proving useful) I counted out using my fingers, “one, DIO, three… and so on, Stella picking up what I was saying until we got to 12, which I learned then was Dodeka. Racking my brain, which still didn’t feel it was working up to full strength, I pulled out the word, “Chronos” out of my hat, which I was pretty sure meant time in ancient Greek, giving us words like chronological. But it seemed when they were miming the hands of a clock moving and I nodded (which incidentally hurt when I did it), and said the work “digital” but that didn’t seem to mean anything to them.
Time passed and soon it was obviously time to go. I once again thanked Yannis and Stella for their hospitality, and I brought out my wallet, offering them a 10€ note as way of thanks. There was an odd few moments between what I was trying to do and what I was doing it with. Obviously, it looked like I was trying to pay them, which was obviously not the right thing to do, but the note wasn’t one they recognised and that just confused the issue more. Fr Bartholomew obviously thought it was best to leave now before I did any more harm, and with plenty of “Efharisto” we took our leave. The first silent man, who had been outside the whole time had a quick conversation with the priest, and it struck that these two men didn’t seem get on very well. As voices were raised between them, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible, the moustachioed guy still had his shotgun, and being Scottish, firearms aren’t part of my daily life. Eventually the two of them came to some kind of agreement, and it seemed that “Stannis”, would join us on our journey.
We headed down the hill towards (in my mind) the beach, the town of Hersonissos with its packed street of shops wasn’t there either when we arrived. I’d been doing my best as the headache receded to work out what possibly could be going on. It all felt like a bit like a timeline on alernatehistory.com, could some alien space bat be messing with my mind? I had pretty much ruled out a dream, because I was really feeling sore in too many places, the arrival of chaffing from walking in my swim shorts, adding to the “this can’t possibly be a dream” column. It was obvious I was on Crete, I was somehow in the past, though not sure when, and all I could imagine was it might have something to do with reading Anthony Beevor’s book Crete on my Kindle earlier.
Stannis and Fr Bartholomew hardly spoke to one another, and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, I pretty much had my head down, as by this point my lack of fitness was telling pretty hard. I got the impression that they were making allowance for my lack of pace, but that they were seriously unimpressed with this specimen of Scottishness. In due course we arrived at what appeared to be the town of Hersonissos and Stannis hung back as we arrived at what I guessed was a police station. In fact, it was more of a customs house, but it did have an ancient telephone on the wall. The senior guy in uniform listened to Fr Bartholomew’s story and pretty much treated me as an imbecile. I produced my driving licence and the couple of uniformed guys started going through my rucksack, making more and more noises of incomprehensibility. I showed them how the ipod worked, took a photo with the digital camera and showed them the screen on the back of it. At this the senior man picked up the phone handset, and began to wind it up, eventually getting through to someone. The call lasted a good few minutes, at the end of which he shrugged his shoulders and sat down behind his desk. Fr Bartholomew motioned for me to sit down too, which I did, gratefully.
I was getting a bit more and more concerned about the way the guys were treating my stuff and I thought about making a protest, but the digital camera took up most of their attention, making me take their photos and showing them the results. I was conscious that I had charged the battery before I left, but I couldn’t imagine how I would be able to recharge it. The ringing of the phone broke into middle of another group photo, and when the officer answered it, he motioned for me to take it. And so began the story of how a £6.99 book on kindle brought about an Allied Victory.
The accent on the other end of the phone was pure Australian. I tried to explain who I was, what had happened and asked for help. One thing that had become clear was that my guess about Beevor’s book on the battle of Crete was pretty much on the money. The Australian I was talking to was a sergeant who had been having a drink in a taverna across the street from the customs house in Heraklion. The customs official had come over and put him on the phone to me back in Hersonissos. The man obviously thought I was some kind of nutter and was going to hang up on me, but with a lucky guess, I asked him what the date was. It was the 19th of May 1941. I tried to explain that I had information that was essential, the next day German paratroopers were going to land and that I knew when and where. I desperately tried a name of one of the main men in Beevor’s book, a Captain Pendlebury, who was part of the Special Operations Executive (SOE).
It turned out the Australian sergeant knew him, they had had a couple of drinks together in the basement bar of the Hotel Knossis, and “he was alright for a Pom”. He hung up saying he would get onto it. Well time passed pretty slowly. The custom guys now had a bit of an audience with my camera as more and more of the town seemed to gather round to see what was going on. A strong coffee was provided by way of compensation for the amount of photos being taken. About an hour later the phone rang again, and once more I was called forward. An English voice this time, claiming to be a Lieutenant Hanson and once more I went through the whole rigmarole again. Stressing again the immediacy of the issue, I was asked to put on the customs official again, who spoke for a few minutes and then hung up. He spoke to Fr Bartholomew for a few minutes, who was able to communicate that someone was coming to see me and that I should wait here.
The afternoon I have to say passed very slowly. Euro notes and coins were studied minutely, as all the dates on them pointed to the twenty-first century. A very large conversation was obviously going on, but nobody had any better English that Fr Bartholomew, so I took the chance to have a read once more at the few chapters of Beevor’s book that were most essential. About two hours later a motorcycle and side car pulled up with a mighty roar outside the customs house. A uniformed man walked in, and from the glass eye and sword stick I recognised Captain Pendlebury immediately. And so once again the story began, who I am, where I’m from, what happened and showing him the pages in the kindle of what was about to happen the next day. A lot more questions followed, 20p coins that were in the bottom of the bag, with the year and the queen’s head, a potted history of the 20th century and up to 2015 and the current date. I showed him how to use the kindle and pointed out some of the other history books that might be of use, though the entire collection of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels wasn’t going to be terribly useful to anyone.
We collected my stuff, well most of it, the watch and some of the notes and a couple of cards from my wallet didn’t reappear, however before I knew it, I was squeezing myself into the sidecar and we were off to Heraklion, a distance of about 25 kilometers. Being battered about in that sidecar was the convincing thing that there was no way this was a dream. It was too bloody sore.
It was about 6pm when we arrived in Heraklion, at the headquarters of 14th Infantry Brigade. I was put in a room with three officers, one from the Black Watch, and Australian and I guessed the other was SOE, and underwent the most excruciating interrogation I could possibly have imagined. Pendlebury meantime had disappeared with my stuff, including the kindle. For three hours questions were repeated time and time again, the Aussie bawled and shouted, the Black Watch played good cop, he was from Killin in Perthshire which I had visited often with my family for holidays. The other man said very little, but was obviously the trained interrogator, it was him who jumped on any lapses of memory or inconsistencies in what I said. By this time I was tired out, thirsty, hungry and getting pretty fed up. It seemed they were too and when they left the room I was left alone until someone came in with some stew, I guessed this was the famous British Army Bully Beef and hot sweet tea. I nearly asked for coffee instead, but thought better of it.
Half an hour later and Captain Pendlebury came in. His questions were about the chapter in the book with gave the Orange Leonard or Ultra transcripts that General Freyberg was receiving. I repeated as much as I knew about Bletchley Park, the enigma machine and Ultra, making it clear that they really didn’t want me or this knowledge to fall into the hands of the Germans when they attacked the next day. He nodded and took me back out to his motorcycle combination, apologising for the uncomfortableness of it, but emphasising that if I really wanted to make a difference we would need to travel to Creforce Headquaters near Canea. I blanched at the thought of the journey ahead over 140km, but there wasn’t really any other choice in the matter, so once more I squeezed by bulk into the sidecar and with a roar we were off along the coastal road. It was pitch black, just the small slither of light coming from the headlight to point the way. Six times we had to pull over to have our papers checked. I’d been given the largest uniform available to put over my swim shorts and T-Shirt, but the battledress was still pretty tight. I must have dozed off at some point, though I still can’t figure out how.
In the early hours of the morning we arrived at Creforce HQ in a quarry, and once more I found myself closeted away in a room, every now and then someone would come in and check some part of my story, or ask me to show them how to work something in my pack. It seemed they had discovered my music videos on the phone and Beyonce and Kylie Minogue videos were being watched with some intensity. Once again, I was asked hundreds of questions, they obviously had some kind of record of my answers to the questions asked previously, because these were asked again and again, looking for any sign that this was some kind of terrible, elaborate hoax. More than once my temper wore thin, but knowing it would serve no purpose, I managed to keep it mostly in check. It was getting late and I kept dozing in the chair between interviews. A doctor came in and gave me a thorough exam, and wondered how I’d gotten so out of shape. Obesity is a crisis for the next century I told him.
Without my watch or anything else to go on, I had no idea of what time it was. Once more Captain Pendlebury came in, with a welcome cup of tea, and told me we were going to meet the General. Freyberg had been woken and filled in on the story. He wanted to hear it first hand, so off we went to the side car and with an escort were taken to a villa. Beevor had described General Freyberg very well, and here he was in the flesh. Once more I told the story of had happened, leaving out the whole multiverse theory that seemed to confuse everyone, but in all the thinking I’d been doing since the previous morning there were just three things I wanted to say to him, to reinforce what Beevor’s premise was for the failure to hold Crete.
I told him that the Ultra signals could be misinterpreted to suggest that the real danger was a seaborne invasion to follow up the airborne, but that it was the airborne assault that the greatest danger. The Royal Navy would be able to defeat the initial attempt to reinforce by sea the air assault. Secondly the airfield at Maleme was the key to the whole thing. If the New Zealanders could hold it, and destroy it as suitable for landing aircraft, if Hill 107 could be held and the area of the river bed where the paratroopers were able to attack from was better covered, then they wouldn’t be able to fly in the mountain division, which began the rot. Thirdly to cover the prison in Prison Valley with some troops to prevent that becoming another thorn in the side of his forces.
Pendlebury had obviously read the appropriate chapters in the book and agreed with my assessment. Freyberg turned to his intelligence officers, some of whom I recognised from my interrogations, asked what they thought. It looked as if they’d also had a chance to read the way that battle worked out, at least in my timeline. There seemed to be a consensus that reinforcing the 22nd Battalion at Maleme, and ordering a strong force into Prison Valley wouldn’t go amiss. Orders went out to the 21st NZ Battalion to go to the aid of the 22nd Battalion, especially to put a strong force on the other side of the Tavronitis River Bed. Two companies of the 28th (Maori) Battalion were also to move in the direction of Maleme to reinforce the men already there.
The Divisional Reserve, 20th Battalion were to take up positions in and around the prison at Ayia, even if it meant imprisoning the prison governor. The 8th Greek Regiment was to move to around the reservoir and be prepared for the arrival of the German parachutists among them. The order was also given that each of the three airfields were to be damaged as much as possible to prevent any aircraft landing on them, the departure of the last of the RAF aircraft meant they could only be used by the Germans.
Notice of what was happening was sent to the Royal Navy at Alexandria with the probable time and position for intercepting the follow-on seaborne force. I had mentioned the books with the history of the war at sea and reminded them to warn the navy about the Bismark, there was enough information to allow the Home Fleet to ambush the German ships off the coast of Iceland where HMS Suffolk first spotted them on radar.
By this time the first signs of dawn were approaching, it was May 20th 1941 and on airfields on the Greek mainland young Germans were getting ready to lift off on their attempt to capture Crete and so protect their southern flank.
Creforce HQ was a hive of activity, dispatch riders were sent off as quickly as possible before the arrival of the “Daily Hate”, the Luftwaffe fighter and bomber sweeps that were part and parcel of each day’s life on the island. Whatever radio communications and field telephones there were started buzzing with information, giving orders and advice on where and when to expect the German paratroopers. The anti-aircraft units were told to hold their fire until the arrival of the transport aircraft. Word went out to make sure the King of Greece was protected and he was woken and the journey to the south of the island began as quickly as possible. Pendlebury had kind of been saddled with me. We got some breakfast, while a discussion went on about what to do with me and with the information I had in my head and in my backpack.
The first wave of German fighters and bombers arrived at 6am, much earlier than usual, but the troops had been chivvied along by their officers to take cover in advance of the normal dawn stand to. This attack was heavier than usual and then there was a bit of a respite at 7.30am. The New Zealand troops and the remnant of the RAF and Fleet Air Arm units around Maleme airfield expected to stand down at this point, but a second wave was due to arrive at 8am, just as the Radar Station sent out its warning. This raid consisted of Dornier 17s and Junkers 88s, followed by strafing fighters. The Bofors gun pits were the main target again, but ordered to take cover and play possum, they mostly survived.
At the end of this second raid, the cry went up “Gliders!” D Company of 21st NZ Battalion had the clearest view of the gliders swooping into land on the river bed as it was right above the position that they had just arrived in. Some forty gliders containing the I Battalion of the Storm Regiment, commanded by Major Koch who had led the attack on Eben Emael the year before. Part of the III Battalion landed further up the river bed. The intensity of the fire fight was extraordinary. Many of the gliders were gutted by Bren gun fire before they even landed. Squads of New Zealanders poured accurate fire into them both in the air and once they had landed. The men of the Storm Regiment were no wilting flowers, but it took time to extricate themselves from their gliders and start to fight back.
All along the coastline the first wave of gliders found themselves in real trouble. With adequate warning fast counterattacks were ordered into areas where the gliders had landed, not allowing the Germans to get themselves organised. This caused a number of casualties among the defenders, but it was a much more effective form of defence. On the hill above Creforce HQ, Freybreg’s staff had a panoramic view of the main body of Junkers 52 transport aircraft approaching and beginning to drop their living loads. The anti-air units now took up the challenge and poured fire into the low flying and lumbering transports. More and more of the pilots either attempted to jink, upsetting the fall of the parachutists or put on the jump light too soon damning their cargo to drowning in the sea.
All around the expanding battlefield, small arms fire picked up, the floating German troopers’ easy targets for the New Zealanders, who quickly learned to aim at their boots so that the shot brought death to the falling Germans. Beyond Maleme, II and IV Battalion of the Storm Regiment landed outside the killing field of the dry river bed. Here they met the first elements of the 21st Battalion, A and B Companies had had no time to prepare any kind of defences, but like their comrades in D Company they were in the very midst of the landing area of II Battalion. Like in so many other places, the Germans were at a major disadvantage because of the design of their harness and the fact that their weapon canisters had to be recovered and opened before their main weapon, the MG34 could be brought into play. The New Zealanders learned quickly to keep these red coloured parachuted canisters under close scrutiny. A fair number of the quick firing German machine guns found themselves in the hands of the New Zealanders who found it particularly pleasing to use them against their former owners. It meant that II Battalion was almost annihilated as a fighting force. IV Battalion which landed further on did manage to get themselves together and start to push 21st Battalion back to the river bed.
Here they were reinforced by the two companies of the Maori Battalion, which had been stamping on the landing ground of III Battalion further up the river bed, so that any surviving Germans had to move away from their objective to take the airfield. The remains of 21st Battalion and the Moaris dug in, preparing for the Germans to come at them, and denying them the dead ground to mount an assault on the airfield. The defenders of the airfield, 22nd Battalion in the meantime had managed to hold their own, the Bofors gunners doing immense harm to the German transport fleet. Hill 107, the key to the area was still very much in New Zealand hands, a few weak and uncoordinated attacks being easily thrown back.
The other part of III Battalion of the Storm Regiment, this group landed by parachute rather than glider were also facing a massacre. They had jumped two kilometres east of the airfield, right on top to the 23rd NZ Battalion and the Engineers of the New Zealand Division. One group had the misfortune to fall on the battalion HQ, where Colonel Leckie killed five personally. Another group of unfortunate Germans fell among the former inmates of the Field Punishment Centre, given rifles and promises of pardons if they fought well, sixty former prisoners killed 110 Germans in less than an hour. Over 400 men were killed out of a Battalion of 600. The others were soon rounded up. At the end of the morning only IV Battalion of the Storm Regiment were an effective fighting force. Most of the other 1800 men were either dead, missing, captured or holding out in little pockets.
The arrival of the 20th Battalion in and around the prison at Ayia had been fraught with difficulty. Linking with Colonel Kippenberger’s scratch 10th Brigade had been made difficult by the lack of radio communication. However, 20th Battalion’s Lt Colonel James Burrows managed to get through to Kippenbergers HQ on a dispatch riders motorbike to tell him that the battalion was on its way and would be arriving at the prison as quickly as possible. The movement of the battalion had earned itself some hate from the Luftwaffe. The New Zealanders arrived at more or less the same time as the 3rd Parachute Regiment’s I and II Battalion, and knowing its value, there was a foot race to occupy and hold the prison. A scene of fierce fighting, often hand to hand, the turning point happened with the arrival of a troop of Vickers Light Tanks. Led by Lieutenant Roy Farran of the 3rd Hussars their heavy machine guns proved decisive, and allowing two companies of 20th Battalion to make the prison, and crucially its water source, secure.
Like the Storm Regiment the 3rd Parachute Regiment’s landing areas sometimes fell on defended areas, such as the 18th and 19th NZ Battalions, which accounted for most of its III Battalion. Other elements fell among the 6th Greek Regiment. These men were only issued with three rounds each, and soon the Greeks were withdrawing onto the New Zealand positions. The 8th Greek Regiment, alerted to move towards the lake, were armed with WWI vintage Steyer rifles, and they gave an excellent account of themselves, especially against the German Engineer Battalion. The surviving Germans, a strong force of nearly 1000 men, were now caught between the New Zealanders in the prison and the Greeks at the reservoir.
It was here also that the Germans found a new horror. Even when the paratroopers fell outwith defended areas they found themselves confronted with a civil population that far from welcoming them as liberators as they had been promised, in fact joined in the killing. When a unit of Germans attempted to capture the village of Alikianou, the villagers, armed with shotguns and sporting rifles joined in a spirited defence of their homes. This was repeated on a number of occasions, in various places, the Cretans were not prepared to allow themselves simply to be occupied.
General Weston ordered Brigadier Vasey of the Australian 19th Infantry Brigade to bring his two battalions, the 2/8th and 2/7th to the battlefield in the Prison Valley, these arrived just in time to counter a major attack by the 3rd Parachute Regiment that was attempting to break out of the valley. These Australians, with the two surviving light tanks, and artillery support, were able to resist the German attacks and their attempts to achieve their objectives failed, and the dearth of water began to take a great toll on the airborne forces.
Back in Greece the transports started to arrive back at their airfields. Fifteen Ju52s failed to return, and most of the others had some kind of damage. The airfields didn’t have petrol bowsers and so had to be refuelled by hand, in the heat of the afternoon, by the time they were able to get airborne the paratroopers were well behind schedule. The objective of the 2nd Parachute Regiment was Rethymno, but the damage to aircraft meant that some 800 men had to be left behind, giving him only 2100 men to achieve his objectives.
The area of Rethymno was held by the Australians, led by Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Campbell. His troops were well prepared and had made the most of the quiet afternoon to prepare the coming deluge. The Luftwaffe’s bombers and fighters had to concentrate on supporting the failing attempts at Maleme and Canea, and so the air raid that preceded the main drop was considered “desultory”. When the main force began to arrive, they were met with fierce ground fire, bringing down another eight transports and killing many paratroopers before they could reach the ground. The pilots of the transports were only able to drop a couple of companies on their actual drop zones, the rest were scattered, adding to their difficulties. The Australians and the Greek regiments were very quick to send out aggressive patrols to kill or capture the airborne men before they could get themselves organised. This aggression, which took the Germans by surprise, meant that the airborne forces were on the back foot from the beginning. Some small victories against defenders were quickly overcome and soon the surviving German troops were holed up in pockets with no hope of resupply or reinforcement, and for all too many the lack of water was critical.
At Heraklion, the 14th Brigade was prepared for the attack in the afternoon, which arrived after a heavy air raid. Once more the anti-aircraft gunners played dead until the transports were in range and once again, they were heavily hit. The Germans who landed on the open ground around the airfield died quickly, often before they could retrieve their weapons. The ones who landed in some kind of cover or dead ground survived longer, until they were hunted down by patrols. The Black Watch’s carrier platoon went on an expedition to clear an olive grove but found themselves being hunted by Germans with hand grenades. The Leicesters, who were acting as the Brigade’s reserve were committed speedily as were the two Matilda infantry tanks, within four hours all the main German resistance around the airfield at Heraklion had been dealt with, though there were still some minor pockets of groups were doing their best to evade capture.
Near the town of Heraklion the German Battalion which had been given the objective of capturing the town and port found themselves up against a mixed force of Greek soldiers, Gendarmes and Civilians along with various “odds and sods” of allied troops. Their attempt to storm the city gates and walls led to bitter house to house fighting. While some small groups penetrated as far as the port, the defenders had the better of the engagement, and by dawn of 21 May the town was made secure with the arrival of the Yorks and Lancs Battalion.
As darkness approached on May 20th there were only two substantial groups of Germans left on Crete. Those in Prison Valley and those on the west side of the dry river bed near Maleme. The rest of the Maori Battalion had now arrived to join the other companies holding the river bed and these were joined by the two Matilda infantry tanks which had approached over the main part of the airfield, extinguishing finally any German resistance in that area. 22nd NZ Battalion had taken substantial casualties, but were still in place and effective, including on Hill 107. 23rd Battalion also sent two companies to the river bed area that gave relief to men of the 21st Battalion who had been heavily engaged all day. The decision for the Maoris to counterattack, supported by the tanks, with the rest of New Zealanders backing them up, was agreed. That it should be a night attack to dislodge the Germans before they were reinforced or given air cover in the morning was also agreed. At 2am the Maoris moved off from their positions, with the two tanks grinding up the road.
Night attacks are always complex affairs and that night was no different. The sound of the advancing tanks with the systematic follow up of the infantry pushed the Germans further way from their objective. By 4am, when the Maoris called a halt, they were a mile from their start point, and hastily dug in to prepare for the arrival of the Luftwaffe and any possible counter attack or further landing by German reinforcements in the morning.
Back in Greece, General Student’s Headquarters was trying to comprehend the losses of their men. Student was quite pale, reconnaissance aircraft had noted that all three airfields were still in Allied hands and that they were all cratered or otherwise unable to be used to land aircraft. He had radio contact with both main surviving forces, but both were under severe pressure and were short of everything, none of their objectives were even close to being achieved. There was no further contact with the East Group at Rethymno or Heraklion. He had another 1000 paratroopers in reserve that could be landed the next morning, but there was a distinct feeling that this would simply be reinforcing failure and condemn these men to the same fate as so many of their comrades. Without the airfields he wouldn’t be able to get the Mountain Division into the fight, and without them, any chance of victory was remote. He was handed the telephone, his commander, General Löhr wanted his assessment of what had happened and what should be done.
Student was bullish, he had a fervent belief in the ability of his men, but Löhr was unimpressed. This gamble had failed, obviously the Allies were in a stronger position than had been suspected. Löhr had been instructed to waste no more men or time on it. If Student wasn’t prepared to accept the need to stop the operation then Löhr was authorised to relieve him of his command and give the order himself. Student asked for some time to confer with his staff and was given an hour. The consultation was mixed. There were some who mirrored Student’s confidence in the quality of the surviving paratroopers to turn things around, but the majority had been sickened by what they had heard over the radio, and the suffering of so many that had achieved nothing. Student gave the order for the reserves and the Mountain Division to stand down. He himself made the radio call to his commanders to seek a ceasefire and care their men. Both German commanders did their best to complain, but the order was final. The Germans had failed to conquer Crete and had received their first failure of the war, a bloody failure at that.
When General Freyberg was given the news that the German forces were seeking a ceasefire and surrender negotiations, he felt a great weight being lifted off his shoulders. By midday on 21 May all German resistance on Crete was over and work began to process the prisoners and deal with the wounded and the dead. Over nearly 7000 troops landed by glider or parachute over 2800 were killed, the rest wounded or captured. The Allies had lost just under 300 killed and over 600 wounded.
Captain Pendlebury had kept me throughout the day in Creforce HQ watching on the map board as the battle had progressed. News of the surrender was greeted enthusiastically and libations of various sorts were taken. I said to him as he toasted me that it was £6.99 well spent. I explained that that was the price of the book from the Kindle store. £6.99 for Victory, he toasted.