The Girl Under the Olive Tree (21 page)

‘But there are hundreds of men waiting here. Where’s the convoy?’ Penny asked.

Bruce was staring out at the camp, not looking at her. ‘Sorry, but they’ll be left behind. The Germans know the score. They’ll be treated fairly. You’re coming with me, now.’

At that moment everyone around them realized that all was lost. The army was in retreat, evacuating the island, leaving the wounded to become prisoners. For Penny there was the agonizing choice:
Do I go or do I stay and be captured?

‘I have to get my things,’ she said, fleeing to her corner of the cave. She needed time to think – but there
was
no time. Bruce would keep her safe – he was her knight in shining armour come to rescue her – but did she even want that? Why was there no relief in such a thought? Why was something she’d been dreaming of for years suddenly not important? Why wasn’t anything here going to plan? Suddenly her feelings for Bruce were all mixed up and this wasn’t the time or place to examine them.

There was only one thing she could do. She pulled off her khakis and rooted in her bag for her whites, her cloak, her headdress and her badges. Then she walked back out of the cave in full Red Cross uniform. The orderlies stood back, shocked at this transformation from battledress to the formal robes of her blood-stained uniform.

‘I can’t leave these men. I am with the Hellenic Red Cross, not the British Army. I take orders from its military wing so you are free to leave me behind,’ she announced, standing tall.

‘Like hell we are. You’re coming with me . . .’ Bruce made to grab her.

Doug stepped forward. ‘You heard the nurse. She has made her choice. Sister Georgiou is a valuable member of staff, and if she chooses to remain as Red Cross we won’t order her to leave. I think she knows the consequences.’

She could have kissed Doug there and then, but remembered her decorum and played the solemn nun for all she was worth.

Bruce shook his head in disgust. ‘Someone else can take her place. Another medic?’ There was a look of fury on his face as each doctor in turn stood back, pushing one of their orderlies forward for transport.

Bruce pulled Penny aside out of earshot. ‘I’m disappointed in you, though not surprised. You always were a stubborn cow, but remember what I told you before. If you want to nurse the Germans, that’s up to you, but there’ll be other patients needing your help.
British
patients. Terrible things have happened to those resisting the invasion in the villages. I hope you know what you’re doing.’ He stormed away, jumped into the driving seat and drove off, not looking back.

She knew this was no way to end their friendship after all he’d done for her. He’d gone out on a limb to rescue her and she was refusing his help. What on earth was she doing? For one brief moment, she weakened. Part of her wanted to run after him and shout for him to stop, to take her away to safety, but her feet wouldn’t move. This was her stand; too late for second thoughts. She must see this through to the end now. With this momentous decision came a strange calm. I must be going mad, she thought, but stay she must.

‘You should’ve gone with him, you know,’ Pete whispered.

‘Don’t you start . . .’ she snapped, and marched off, knowing only too well her bridges had been burned by this impulsive action. Let no one say she didn’t see a job through to the end. Bruce was right: she did have a stubborn streak that refused to give in to weakness. Would it cost her her freedom or even her life?

To have climbed on that lorry with him would have been giving in to her desire to be in his company again, to give love a chance to blossom.

Oh, why didn’t you go? she cried to herself. Because it was what Bruce expected I’d do. Evacuating was the easy option. Staying was duty, seeing my men were well treated was more important surely than a drive into the hills with someone who might not even love you back, she argued. There was always a niggle of doubt when it came to Bruce’s real feelings and this was no time to be testing him out.

She sat hugging her knees, taking comfort only from the thought that, in war, duty must come before personal desires, no matter what the consequences might be.

Rainer lay in the filthy cave watching the other men staring up at the rocks and ceiling in silence. Another paratrooper had died in the night and they’d carried him out to join a pile of corpses waiting to be buried. Here in the hospital he watched the frailty of the human body, the slow struggle for breath, the sweats, the confessions. Funny how, in death, uniforms no longer mattered as they lay side by side, all now equal, just empty shells.

He couldn’t fault their treatment. They ate the same basic rations as the Tommies, drank the same awful tea. He sensed by the wary look on the faces of the orderlies that it was only a matter of time before power would shift from the British to his own troops and they would be free. There had been movements in the night and some of the British wounded had been moved out. Only the serious cases remained.

His leg wound was not as bad as they’d first thought. Now the shrapnel had been removed and the wound cleansed, it was stiff and sore, but he was allowed out on makeshift crutches into the fresh salty air. He wanted to check on his own men.

His eyes searched for that nurse but there was only a woman in a stiff white uniform of the Red Cross. She was tall, upright, efficient and always silent. It was hard to read her as she walked along the stretchers, checking over them with care, nodding or shaking her head. She seemed pleased with his progress. He tried to converse with her but her dark eyes were inscrutable, and by then he was sure she was the girl he’d seen in army uniform.

He heard her shouting at some Greek soldiers fooling about in the sun. He decided she had a little English and no German and yet he saw her chatting in the distance with the English doctors as if they were all friends. And when she smiled he saw her face light up and he felt a flicker of envy that surprised him.

There was a flurry of planes overhead during the day. To reach each cave in safety the nurse had to flatten herself against the rocks to avoid stray bullets, despite the array of German flags he could see. He wished he knew her name. Someone said it was George, but that couldn’t be true. How did one woman come to be alone with hundreds of men? She didn’t look like a camp follower. He could see how even his own men respected her, not touching her skirt or whistling. There was something now of the nun about her dedication, a stern outward persona that discouraged intimacy. Yet there was also something vibrant about her that drew his eyes. He knew he was in danger of fantasizing he was falling in love with a beautiful nurse, a romantic foolish notion that made him feel ashamed. Yet there was something unreachable about her that intrigued him. That was the trouble with having too much time on his hands, lying about recovering.

Why should she notice him, the enemy, a prisoner of no consequence except to his own men? He was the unwelcome invader, a killer among killers. He cursed that he’d let his men down by being injured and now he had no idea where they were or how their campaign was progressing. No wonder she had no words for him. But he couldn’t forget the way she had held the hand of that dying trooper. There had been compassion on her face, a warmth in her sadness as she had pulled the blanket over his face.

In another life they might have passed each other on an Athens street, perfect strangers, but this was their life now, both of them living on the edge, staring into a precarious abyss of uncertainty. He just wanted to know her name . . .

There was no warning. The firing was getting closer, too close for comfort as she tried to concentrate, packing up equipment for their hasty retreat. Then a volley of shots and yelling heralded the attack and a scream of angry bullets ricocheted off the wall of the cave. No time to do anything but fling herself on the ground, face down as boots trampled past yelling ‘
Raus, raus . .
.’ storming as only conquerors do.

She flattened herself, trying to hide her presence, hoping there were officers to control this pack of wolves as they yanked out the orderlies to line them up on the rocks.

Every second seemed more like an hour as she lay prostrate in the gloom, tasting the salty sand, the grit and the stench of dried blood on her lips, and her fear, trying not to shiver. She sensed it would be only minutes before discovery, so this was not the time to waver. Be British, be brave . . . Oh, be damned with all that guff, she thought. All she was feeling was a cold fury in her gut. How could she leave when there was still so much to be done? This was not how she hoped to end up.

Suddenly a pair of desert boots covered in mud stood at eye-level, a tanned hand jerked her upright. This was the test, the moment of truth and defiance. If she faced the enemy without fear, her bluff might just work . . .

They rounded up the medics, brandishing guns at their chests, and when someone came in waving the Swastika flags she knew there would be trouble.

Suddenly the polished boots covered in sand stood over her. ‘God in Heaven! What have we here?’ A strong hand pulled her up, examining her with surprise. She saw Doug and Pete straining in case she was harmed, but she calmly brushed down her uniform, wrapped her cloak tightly over her body and stood as tall as she could, looking the man straight in the eye. She rattled off her name and Red Cross details in rapid Greek, seeing the look of amazement on Doug’s face. She warned them with a scowl, not to intervene.

The officer stood bemused, not understanding her, but then the wounded officer from the cave hobbled forward to interpret, questioning her in halting Greek. He said she had been left to look after the seriously wounded and that she had nursed their captured troops with great kindness.

He was looking at her with admiration and she found herself blushing. For a second she wondered if he recognized her as the nurse in British uniform, but he seemed to be accepting her as a Greek national. The other officer ignored her and turned to Doug.

‘What is the meaning of using this flag?’ he ranted, waving the German flag in their faces.

Again Penny stepped forward, turning to the tall paratrooper to translate for her, and explaining in Greek that it had been her idea.

‘We were running short of supplies and your bombs were hampering us nursing all the patients of all nationalities, including your own. It is important to save lives, don’t you think?’ She stared up at him, uncertain if he would translate this accurately. ‘I have taken vows to nurse all sick, no matter what their nation or religion,’ she added.

The wounded officer stumbled out a translation, his eyes turning back to her for confirmation. The other officer clicked his heels and saluted her.

‘The captain says they were fortunate to have such a brave example of womanhood. She must be repatriated with the wounded prisoners to serve in another hospital.’ His English was good enough for her friends to look relieved.

‘You are a nun in a nursing order?’ the captain asked, surprised. She did not reply. ‘Have no fear, your uniform will protect you. The Red Cross is honoured where its symbols are not misused as camouflage.’ He turned back to the men and they opened a path for her to walk through.

Only when she was out of earshot did Penny feel her legs wobble. Thank God she had stayed silent and they thought her Greek, not English. Her war would be over once she was evacuated to the mainland. The uniform had saved her – that and her grasp of the language.

Her relief turned to concern for all those brave New Zealand and Aussie soldiers now at the mercy of their enemy. What would become of them?

‘You’ve got them fooled, Penny. Good on you!’ Doug leaned over to speak quietly.

‘Not all of them. The wounded captain from Galatas, he saw me in khakis though I never spoke to him.’

‘Well, he didn’t say anything. He sang your praises to his superior for helping his dying men. He said you saved his life. I know enough German to get their drift,’ said Doug.

‘I didn’t save him. He was never in danger. He exaggerates . . .’

‘They’ll be flying you out to Athens with the stretcher cases and you can nurse back there.’

‘I’ll go when you all go and not before. I’ll see them on that plane first,’ Penny insisted, as she found herself picking up things that had been scattered by the troops.

She needed time to think this all over. What had she done? Made it easy for herself? She recalled that look of fury on Bruce’s face when he’d driven off. There were other alternatives. ‘Head for the hills,’ he’d suggested only a week ago. How had things changed so quickly? Were there really freedom fighters willing to continue the battle if the Brits were retreating? If she could pass for Greek, escape out of here, where would she go? She had seen the torn leaflets threatening instant death to citizens who resisted. That would be her fate if she took the path into the mountains and took up arms.

Why had the wounded officer spoken up for her? Had he not recognized her disguise? She thought he had, and she didn’t want to be beholden to the enemy, even in defeat. The fight must go on, but how?

I have three choices: to stay and be evacuated; to escape and find Bruce, join the retreat into the hills; or to fight on somehow here. Oh Lord, what do I do next?

Yolanda Markos sheltered in the basement of the Red Cross clinic through days of non-stop bombardment. District by district, Chania was being reduced to rubble. The nurses lived in a subterranean world lit by oil lamps and candles, trying to calm terrified civilians who were cramped together with soldiers from both sides, too sick to complain of the conditions.

Then, at last, came a morning when the skies were mercifully silent. Hardly daring to hope they had been spared another air raid, the medical staff cautiously opened the basement door. Was anything in their world left standing?

All Yolanda wanted was to head back into the city and find her parents in the Jewish quarter. All through the air raids she had prayed they were still alive.

Dr Androulakis went upstairs to view the damage which, to everyone’s astonishment, was minor: just broken windows, dust, glass and a queue already forming of blackened-faced patients who’d crept out of cellars and caves with their injured. Halepa district still remained almost intact.