Dig Two Graves: Revenge or Honor (23 page)

That’s a good thing
, Christos thought.

Working quickly, Christos eased the jagged metal from Johns back. He packed the wound with gauze to stem the bleeding then put more gauze over the smaller wounds and bound all of them with a large field dressing he tied off in the front. Pouring some water on a gauze pad, Christos gently wiped the caked on dirt from John’s face and he slowly regained consciousness. John reached out and touched Christos’ arm.

“Thank you, my friend,” John whispered.

The Wehrmacht doctor came to attention, clicked the heels of his polished shoes together, and raised is right hand in a traditional salute as SS Oberst Dorn entered the hospital ward.

“You have news, Herr Doctor?” SS Oberst Dorn said.

“Yes, Herr Oberst. Both men lost a great deal of blood,” the Wehrmacht doctor replied. “I have amputated Captain Solaris’ left arm. He was hit twice in the shoulder resulting in massive damage.”

“And the major, what is his condition?”

“The major’s condition is much worse. He has wounds to the left chest, the right leg, and the right side of the skull. His head wound is serious, but while the surgery was delicate, it was successful. The chest wound is another matter. He has a bullet lodged next to his heart. The wound is inoperable. He may live or he….”

I didn’t think he had a heart
, Dorn thought.

“When will I be able to talk to them?” Dorn said.

“Not for some time, Herr Oberst. Both men are lucky to be alive.” The doctor replied.

“Yes… lucky,” Dorn said.

Christos and a weak John struggled to load the crates into the half-track.

“That’s the last of them,” John said as he dropped to the ground, exhausted.

“Why are you so obsessed with these cursed boxes?” Christos asked as he dropped down on the ground next to the American.

“Good question,” John replied, taking a long swig of water from his canteen, “I guess I see what those boxes represent, the lives and wealth of an entire people stolen. I want to try to get something back for them,” John said.

“There is nothing to be done. They are doomed, dead when they get on the German’s trains,” Christos said.

“You may be right, but I want to know I’ve done all I can to help,” John said. “As for the crates, well, let’s just say I don’t want to see those bastards get away with stealing all that dough. Someday that money might be used to help the Greek Jews or maybe Greece itself.”

“I never saw you as an idealist, John, but I suppose a man has to stand for something,” Christos replied.

John clapped his big friend on the shoulder and laughed. “I could tell you I have some grand idea of how things should be, but I’m just a guy who doesn’t want the bad guys to win,” John said with a smile.

“Come on. Let’s get going. We have a lot to do. Help me with a couple of these planks,” John said, nodding toward a pile of burned debris.

He winced as he stood. The American’s bandaged wounds hurt like hell. The Greek and the American pulled two long, thick boards from the charred wreckage of one of the boxcars.

“We can use these,” John said. 

The two men pulled two the ten-foot boards from the smoldering debris. 

“What for?”

“They’ll make the unloading easier,” John replied.

The two men heaved the boards into the back of the half-track.

“Lash ‘em down good. We have a rough ride ahead of us.”

Their valuable cargo and the two planks securely stowed, Christos helped John into the half-track’s front passenger seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and smiling at John, cranked up the big German vehicle.

“Very good. You learn fast,” John said.

“It wasn’t so easy when I did it by myself,” Christos laughed.

“Which way?”

“Head northeast through the gap,” John said, pointing toward the distant hills. “We have a stop to make, and then it’s back to your base camp.”

Christos headed the half-track toward the mountains. After a few minutes, they came up on the crashed Storch observation plane.

“Stop here a minute,” John said. “I want to look inside.”

Christos skidded to a halt next to wreck. John eased himself out of the seat then peered inside the plane. The pilot was slumped over in his seat, his Luftwaffe flying jacket riddled with bloody bullet holes. The observer hung from the door like a rag doll. John’s heart skipped a couple beats.

“You said only one of the observation planes was shot down,” John shouted to Christos.

“That’s what they told me.”

John had seen enough, so he walked back to the half-track. Climbing back in John said. “There are only the two guys in that plane and both are flyers. I’m afraid Solaris and the Greek major have escaped. “Do you have any idea who the major could have been?”

Christos put the half-track in gear and said, “He seemed familiar but I couldn’t see him clearly. He wore his hat down over his eyes almost like he was trying to ... I don’t know… maybe…”

“What are you thinking?” John said as they bounced over a small boulder.

The half-track banged down hard. “Whoa. Watch those big ones,” John said. “Who are you thinking it could be?”

“From his small build and the way he carried himself it could have been … but no, he was killed,” Christos said.

“Who came to mind? These days, anything is possible,” John said.

“Never mind, I’m sure I’m wrong.”

The two men drove on in silence. Each man was lost is his own troubling thoughts.

After nearly an hour, Christos broke the icy silence and asked, “John have you thought about keeping some part, a small part, of the stuff back there?” He pointed over his shoulder to the dozen crates of gold in the seats behind them.

“Is that what you’ve been brooding about for the last hour?”

“It’s a lot of money, John. I’ve never had anything but a flock of sheep and stone house on a hillside.”

“I made a promise to the rabbi to get his people out of the country. That gold is the only way to do that. I’ve got to find a way to make contact with the German military government, maybe Dorn himself.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am, and you’re going to help me. My men are safe in Italy. This is something that has to be done.”

“If you want to commit suicide, you go ahead. I won’t help.”

They drove along under the hot sun as silence again overtook them.

They had been driving for some time when John broke the tense silence.

“Look, if it’s the gold I gave the two railroad guys I can understand your being upset. How much do you want?” John said.

Christos looked at his friend with hard eyes as he slammed on the brakes bringing the big vehicle to an abrupt stop.

“Is that how you think of me, as a mercenary, a bandit? You come into my country and … How are you any better than the Germans?”

“You did tell me you have a long history of thievery. I don’t know what to think anymore,” John replied. “But I know I’m a helluva sight better than those damn krauts.”

“Are you? You Americans come to my country like the damn Englezos,” Christos said. “You think you’re better than we are. You’re stronger, so you take over our country like the Germans. You don’t trust us. You don’t respect me. Explain to me how you are not like the Germans?”

“You son of a bitch …Trust? Respect? I’ve trusted you with my life. When have I treated you or any Greek with anything other than respect? When have any of my men …? We’ve fought side by side. That’s trust and respect. I don’t know what you have against the Brits, the Englezos and I don’t care, but you can’t lay your feelings off on me,” John said.

“It’s not that. It’s … I don’t want the gold. That’s not it. You don’t trust me enough tell me where you hid it,” Christos said with difficulty. “You don’t trust me. Me, Christos,” he said, pounding his fist on his chest.

“I told you I kept it secret so if you or your men were captured, you wouldn’t be forced to give it away.”

“But your men knew. You trusted them. Not me… Christos,” he said, pounding his chest with his fist.

“It was safer. We agreed…”

“No, not agreed… you decided, John. You not trust Christos.”

“This isn’t my money Christos, but if you want some of it for yourself, fine. You can take what you can carry,” John said, turning in his seat to look at the crates behind them. “Let’s get it over with. Get out.”

“No, John, you still don’t understand,” Christos shouted. “I don’t want…”

“No, I don’t and neither would anyone else. Get out,” John hissed, holding his side as he jumped down from the half-track. He picked the first crate he came to, turned it and, drawing his knife, pried open the lid.

“Give me that bag,” John said.

Christos didn’t move, staring in disbelief.

“Give me the damn bag,” John demanded as he snatched it from the seat.

“John I’m sorry. I’m feeling sorry for … I guess, I don’t know what’s wrong,” Christos said.

John snatched Christos’ haversack from the seat and dumped its contents on the ground. Working as quickly as his bandages would allow, John lifted four gold bars out of the crate and dropped them on the ground.

“You could at least help. Put them in the damn bag,” John said.

“John, stop, please.”

“Oh, not enough, OK, here let’s get six,” John said as he struggled with the hefty metal bars and dropped them on the ground.

Christos put his hand on John’s left shoulder to stop him, and John shrugged him off. When he touched John’s shoulder, a second time the brawny American twisted at the waist to plant a right-handed haymaker on Christos’ chin. The big Greek’s head snapped back and he fell backwards, hitting the ground, out cold.

John knelt next to his friend and felt for a pulse. He’ll be OK. He dragged Christos to the base of a scrawny cypress tree and left the big Greek in the center of its minimal shade. He went back to the bars, stuffing three in Christos’ haversack. He carried the remaining bars, one by one, to the tree and stacked them beside the bag. He took out his canteen, tossed back a swig, and dropped it onto the unconscious man’s chest.

“Sleep well, my big friend,” John said, “and dream of the day we can laugh about this.”

He walked back to the half-track. Climbing into the driver’s seat, John looked over at Christos. He’ll need a couple of those damn donkeys to move that much gold, John thought. Maybe it’s for the best.

John put the big diesel in gear and steered northwest. I have one more job to do, he thought.

As he drove along under the brilliant Greek sun, John reflected on the past few months. Since they had parachuted into Greece, John and his handful of men had been successful. They were effective in disrupting the Germans and the Greek collaborators in Northern Greece. They had been lucky to hook up with Christos and his Andartes, and they had taken no casualties.

“Wish I hadn’t hit him,” John said aloud. He’s a good man and he’s going to have a helluva headache.

John savored the time alone. Being alone had always comforted him. Now the splendor of the Greek countryside, with its stark contrasts of rocky hills and lush green plains erased his loneliness.

A dry breeze caught John’s attention, and memories flooded his mind. He saw his Sylvia standing in the dunes of Long Island, a different sort of wind, a salty, damp one, blowing her hair.

She’d been so gorgeous that day. It had been a beautiful day and night, his first and only time with his bride. His temporary release from the military hospital was conditional on his prompt return the next day. Being with Sylvia had been the best medicine he could have had, and his night with her would produce a son. They married at the justice of the peace, and when it was over, they called their parents long distance. Both their mothers cried. Sylvia cried, too, when he put her on the train back to Reading. ‘Let me take you back to the hospital,’ she’d asked. But he wasn’t that strong. He waved at the train until it was out of sight. Would he see Sylvia again?

He thought of his mom and dad, too. They were strong, hard-working salt of the earth people who never asked for anything. If he didn’t come home, they would help Sylvia with the baby, his son. He was sure of that.

There was little Ceres, too, his Greek son. Would he find the note? Would he search for the gold and help Greece?

John was sure he would and hoped his own son would meet Ceres someday. No turning back now, he thought.

John’s thoughts turned to the two men in Greek Provincial Army uniforms, Solaris and … Solaris and who? Christos had seen the small thin man, but he was too far away for identification, but he was familiar.
If Christos had been closer, with the Americans
…
No, it had been better Christos was on the hilltop observation post
.
He would have tried to stop me,
John thought.

The half-track slammed hard over a rock. The steering slewed to the right and shook John back to reality. He started humming to take his mind off the dozen unanswerable questions swirling about him. The sun dipped behind the mountaintop and painted the hills with slashes of red and orange. He’d first approached the village of Parthos in the dark only a few weeks ago.

People lived here then, people in danger. Now, like so many places that he’d seen in Greece it was deserted and wrecked. People had lived and died here, raised children, grown crops. Now it was a burned out shell. John’s mind wandered again as he drove slowly through the ruined village. Looking at the whitewashed buildings and the half-ruined taverna he wondered where they the people were now. Where were those two girls now? What was it like to live here before the Germans came? Would the people ever come back? He looked up to his right and saw the terraced carob grove on the hill. He had watched this village from that hill. Then he destroyed it.

The half-track moved slowly as John picked his way in the gathering twilight toward the spring and its grotto. The rich ochre of the hillside slid into shadow as the sun’s last rays disappeared.

I’ll have to spend the night, he thought, too dark to work. John pulled the half-track up to the grotto and parked the big vehicle in front the gaping cave in the rock. John killed the engine and put his head on the steering wheel. “I made it,” he sighed.

He rummaged in the front storage compartment and found a P38. The semi auto handgun’s five-inch barrel didn’t give much accuracy, but at least he had a weapon. The indicator on the receiver showed it was loaded. John checked the magazine, and found nine 9 mm rounds. That should be enough. John slammed the magazine home and slipped the gun in his belt.

He jumped down and immediately regretted it as the wounds in his back cried out in protest. He caught his breath then dug around under the driver and passenger’s seats. Nothing. He went to the rear seat and found an empty canteen that he put in his pocket. Under the third row of seats, he found a wooden ammo box labeled Handgranate Md. 24.
A box of grenades, just what I need
, he thought. He pulled the box from under the bench seat and hefted it to the ground. Taking the canteen, he went to the spring. Kneeling in front of the placid pool of cool water, he splashed some on his face then drank. When he was satisfied, he filled the canteen and stuck it back in his pocket.
Better look around before it gets too dark
, he thought.

John picked his way through the ruins of Parthos. A wave of guilt washed over him. He had helped destroy this place. Part of the wall in the central square still bore bullet holes, the blood stained stones at its feet. Three German prisoners executed; the aggrieved party had carried out her justice. John walked through the entire village. Nothing. There was no one in sight. The villagers had scattered to other hamlets or were living in the hills.

Twilight quickly turned to darkness as John walked back to the cave. He built a small fire and ate a scant meal of stale German hardtack and sweet spring water. As he leaned against the half-track, he watched the firelight flicker against the rock walls. Could these be spirits hoping to return to this ruined village? John built up the fire, squeezed under the half-track for protection and warmth, and then fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke to an odd sound before the morning’s first rays of warmth. He blinked, trying to come fully awake and identify the noise. Animals, a bell? Then, from his spot under the half-track, he saw dozens of legs and hooves, a herd of sheep. Suddenly, a face appeared. It was a little boy peering in at him.

“Good morning,” John said in Greek, hoping not to startle the boy.

“Who are you?” he replied.

“Let me get out of here, and I’ll tell you,” John answered as he crawled out from under the half-track. “I’m John Pantheras, United States Army,” John said, saluting the boy.

“Good morning. I’m Demas and these are my sheep. I have never seen a truck here,” the boy said, staring at the half-track. “We come every morning to drink.”

“I’m sorry I startled you. I stopped here last night. I was tired.”

“The grotto of Parthos is open to all. That’s what my mother says. You didn’t startle me. I am brave and strong. I am the head of my house. Will you stay long?”

“No, I have a little work to do then I’ll leave. I have to meet my friends soon,” John replied.

“I can help you. The sheep will stay by the water. Your friends are the Andartes, aren’t they? I want to join the Andartes ...”

“But you are the head of your house. I understand. You had better tend to your sheep, and I’ll get busy too.”

“Do you have anything to eat? I have bread and cheese to share,” Demas said, showing John the little sack strung over his shepherd’s staff.

John was hungry but knew the boy’s provisions would need to last all day.

“No thank you,” John said.

“As you wish, John of the United States Army, but don’t say the men of Parthos did not offer you hospitality.”

“Thank you, Demas of Parthos. For your offer of food and for sharing your spring with a traveler,” John said with a little bow.

“Diana, come out of there,” Demas shouted. One of his sheep, the one wearing the bell, had wondered into the cave.

The little grey sheep bleated and obediently came running.

“That little one is always getting into trouble. That is why she wears that bell. She is the most curious little lamb I have ever taken care of. My mother says the cave isn’t safe since the Germans came. I tell her, so long as the water flows, I don’t care what happens,” Demas said.

“I pray it will always flow for you and your village,” John said. “Now I really must get to work. Good to meet you, Demas.”

“God be with you John of the United States Army,” Demas said.

“And with you, Demas,” John said softly.

The shepherd boy led his sheep through the ruined village then down the next hill. John watched until they were out of sight and the bell on Diana, the wayward sheep, was lost in the distance.

He took the two charred planks from the rear of the vehicle and set them up leading from the half-track into the cave. Then carefully, one by one, he dragged the crates of gold and precious stones down his makeshift ramp. The wooden boxes were about the size of an ammo box. Each one easily weighed a couple hundred pounds. When all the crates were at the mouth of the cave, John moved the planks, placing them flat on the ground and making a path, of sorts, into the cave. Again, one by one, John heaved and pushed one crate after another until they were all concealed within the cave. John also lugged the box of hand grenades into the cave.

He stood back to admire the result of his labors. Ninety-eight stacks of crates containing unimaginable wealth stood five high. There were four hundred ninety boxes lining the damp cave walls. I hope we can save some lives with the damn stuff, John thought.