Authors: Rick Stroud
Ciclitira kept flashing the correct signal but no vessel appeared. The mist cleared a little and the moon showed them a sea empty to the horizon, then it billowed in again and visibility dropped to nothing. The group waited, desperate for the sound of engines. Half an hour later they heard a deep rumble, bouncing across the water from the west. Once more Ciclitira began to flash. Through the gloom appeared the familiar outline of a Fairmile B motor launch, a three-pounder Hotchkiss outlined in black.
The launch dropped anchor fifty yards from the shore. Two dinghies full of heavily armed men splashed into the water and began to paddle towards the beach. Moss shouted ‘George!’, assuming it was George Jellicoe and his SBS raiding party.
‘He can’t make it, you’ll have to make do with me, Bob Bury,’ came the reply. This was Lieutenant Robert Bury, the officer commanding an SBS covering force Cairo had sent along to help out.
The bow of the rubber craft slid crunching on to the beach and a sailor leapt out with a mooring line, while men with camo-painted faces and automatic weapons splashed into the sea, storming on to the beach and demanding to know where the enemy was. To their deep disappointment they were told that the only available Germans were the prisoners. For a moment Lieutenant Bury considered pretending that he had not made contact so that he could move inland ‘searching’ for the general’s party and engage the Germans at the same time. He was persuaded that this was not a sensible course of action.
The men heading for Egypt took off their boots, leaving them for those who were staying behind. Then they stripped off their weapons and ammunition and handed those over too. Bury gave up the rations he and his men had brought. Ciclitira handed over his revolver and compass. Leigh Fermor gave Antonis Zoidakis the remaining gold coins from his money belt.
The men hugged and kissed each other, saying goodbye to comrades they might never see again. The hubbub was interrupted by the sailor holding the landing lines: ‘Excuse me sir, I think we ought to get a move on.’
The young Giorgios Harokopos had a sudden change of heart and thought he should stay on the island. He turned to wade back on to the sand. Leigh Fermor caught him by the shoulder and said quietly, ‘Your turn Giorgios, get in the boat.’
Surprisingly many of the andartes shook General Kreipe’s hand or saluted him before he was helped into one of the dinghies, still wearing his boots. The vessel pushed off, heading away from the beach towards the motor launch where Captain Brian Coleman was waiting to greet his German guest. Royal Navy ratings helped Kreipe on to a rope ladder leading up on to the deck, murmuring confidently: ‘That’s it sir, easy does it, last couple of rungs, there you go sir, welcome aboard.’
Kreipe climbed on to the deck and stood for a moment, the last chance of rescue gone. Then Bob Bury’s disappointed raiders heaved themselves up the ladder. Ciclitira and Leigh Fermor were the last to board. The engines rumbled into life and the motor launch went astern drawing back from the beach. The kidnappers leant on the handrails watching the men on the beach dwindle into tiny waving figures before disappearing into the darkness. The prow of the vessel swung south, its engines opened up as it sped towards Egypt and the port at Mersah Matruh.
High on the rocks surrounding the cove the guerrillas watched the motor launch surging away, shouldered their weapons, lit cigarettes and headed back into the mountains to continue the fight for the liberation of their home, and to wait for whatever reprisals might be visited upon them. They knew they had done well. They had worked day and night to make sure the kidnappers and their prisoner got off the island. They had risked their lives, handing the party on like a baton, hovering like eagles above them, ready to die to ensure the operation was a success. In the end more than
40
0 men had been in on the plot and many more knew the story. Not one of them had betrayed the secret. In the mountains and on the boat thrashing towards Egypt there was sadness that the Hussar stunt was over.
Crete dwindled into a tiny speck and vanished into the night, Leigh Fermor and Billy Moss were shown to the wardroom, where they were plied with cigarettes, rum and best of all, lobster sandwiches, a speciality of Coleman’s command. They had come up with the idea for an audacious mission and seemed to have got away with it. They knew their exploits had caused the death of Kreipe’s driver, but apart from that, they hoped that the kidnap had not provoked the anger of the German authorities. They believed that the destruction of villages as they spirited the general to the coast was not connected to the kidnap or the beginning of mass reprisals. As the night wore on they smoked and ate and drank, toasting each other and talking until dawn. The general did not take part in the celebrations.
24
The boat made its way through the night with the SOE officers in a state of such high excitement that sleep was impossible. The weary Cretans, sad and uncertain at leaving their homes, were more subdued and went below.
In the morning people wandered about the deck free from the tensions of the last few weeks. Kreipe sat by himself, his arm in a new sling made from torn sheets, his mood even more distant and withdrawn. Around mid-morning a klaxon sounded; Coleman bellowed from the bridge, ordering all non-sailors to take cover below. The Hotchkiss and the twin Bren-gun crews slid into place, the operators twirling the elevation handles, scanning the sky for sight of the intruder. An airplane appeared high overhead, a tiny speck among the blue; Coleman and the rating on watch peered through their powerful Barr & Stroud naval field glasses. ‘It’s one of ours sir.’
The aircraft was a Lysander, a light reconnaissance plane sent out to check up on the progress of the launch. The anti-aircraft crews stood down and the andartes came back on deck, peering at the horizon for the first sight of land.
Night fell and they slid into the blacked-out harbour at Mersah Matruh. Waiting on the quay were a collection of officers, other ranks, military policemen, staff cars and lorries, lit by an arc light. They all looked immaculate: the officers with sparkling Sam Browne belts across their shoulders and shiny shoes, the military police in gleaming white gaiters and peaked caps; other ranks beautifully turned out in neatly pressed battledress, their toe caps bulled like mirrors. The most senior officer present was Brigadier Barker-Benfield, the man who had sanctioned the kidnap. Ratings made fast the mooring lines and a gangplank was lowered. Coleman left the bridge to say goodbye to his guests. He shook hands with Leigh Fermor and Moss and saluted Kreipe.
The reception party watched in amazement as the rag-tag brigade, many barefoot, jacketless, dirty, stinking, most looking like music-hall pirates, made their way on to dry land. When Kreipe stepped onto the quay, Barker-Benfield snapped to attention and gave him a parade-ground salute, as though he were a visiting, high-ranking Allied officer, welcoming him to Egypt in fluent German. Kreipe, Leigh Fermor and Billy Moss were escorted to staff cars. The general received more salutes, which he returned, pleased, if not surprised, at the courtesy.
The cars roared off, heading for Harbour Station mess, where they were to spend the night before flying to Cairo and GHQ. The Cretans, and the stragglers, were taken by lorry to accomodation provided by Bob Bury, issued with slippers and allowed to clean up a bit before sitting down to a lavish feast, including soft white bread and butter, the like of which they had not tasted since the start of the occupation. Even Peotr the Russian seemed pleased, crossing himself and saying ‘
Kristos Voskris, pedia
’ – ‘Christ is risen boys!’ That evening General Kreipe dined with Barker-Benfield, Leigh Fermor and Billy Moss. Before they sat down Barker-Benfield sent for a doctor, a Jewish man called Mendlesson, who took the general into another room and examined him. Mendlesson said that there was no cause for concern: the general had not broken anything, but had some bad bruising. Kreipe grinned, no worse for his encounter with a doctor whose race he had been taught to loathe. Mendlesson bound Kreipe’s arm in a new, pure white sling. Later, eating a dinner of pilchards and prunes, they discussed both world wars. Kreipe praised the way he had been treated by his captors, saying they had shown ‘chivalry and courtesy’. He continued to express his regret at losing his Knight’s Cross. The gentlemanly Barker-Benfield said he would offer a £5 reward for its return. Before going to bed the two SOE agents gave Kreipe some Greek biscuits, known as
paximathi
,
and a water bottle full of raki. Barker-Benfield and Kreipe, men of similar age, shared a room: they could be heard chatting away in German until the early hours of the morning.
The next day Leigh Fermor took the brigadier to meet the rest of the kidnap team. They found the Cretans waiting to be picked up in a lorry by Dennis Ciclitira. The group were still shoeless and unshaven, their baggy and torn clothes stank. Peotr the Russian stood apart, his fly undone and his arms hanging in front of him, a sneer on his face. Ciclitira arrived wearing his best Cretan mountain farmer’s clothes and sporting his massive black beard – unrecognisable as a British officer.
Barker-Benfield shook every man’s hand and then gave a rousing oration in English, with Leigh Fermor interpreting, praising the Cretans for what they had done and the great help they had given to the Allied cause. When the brigadier finished, the youngest of the guerrillas, Giorgios Harokopos, whose father had refused to take the gold pieces, stepped forward. He made a short speech: ‘We thank you British General, for the titanic struggle you are waging for our freedom and the freedom of the whole world.’
The andartes then clambered aboard the lorry and were driven to Cairo, crossing the old battlefields and passing evidence of the ‘titanic struggle’ – mile after mile of military debris, burned-out tanks, lorries and guns, the destruction from the battles against Rommel and the Afrika Korps. At the Citadella, a Force
1
33 building in Heliopolis, the Cretans were interrogated for eight days. The British were not always tactful. When the guerillas were about to be issued with identity papers, they were shocked to be told by one brash lieutenant: ‘You will be settled temporarily until we see what is to be done with you. We may send you to a refugee camp.’ The Cretans were moved to a conventional barracks where several of them, including Giorgios Harokopos, enlisted in the Greek Army, joining the
Hieros Lochos
, ‘The Sacred Squadron’.
General Kreipe was driven to an airfield to board an Anson waiting to take him to Cairo. As they flew over the battlefields of North Africa, Kreipe showed great interest, asking who had held which sector. He knew many of the German commanders personally. In Cairo, Kreipe stepped on to the runway to be met by more British officers and by press photographers. His image would soon appear in newspapers in Britain, the United States and throughout the British Empire. Then the general climbed into a staff car and was driven off into captivity.
In Cairo the newspapers trumpeted the kidnapping with banner headlines: ‘Amazing Abduction of German General from Outside his Headquarters: Abducted General Arrives by Air’. These headlines were an embarrassment to the Third Reich, and to General Bräuer on Crete. German counter-intelligence put out the rumour that had been started by Micky Akoumianakis that Kreipe had not been kidnapped at all but had deserted, having been in touch with British intelligence for some time. The morale of the German army in Crete, on the wane throughout 1944, fell even further. Many members of the security battalions, Cretans who had enlisted in the Wehrmacht, deserted and fled to the mountains to join the andartes.
GHQ found itself in a small quandary about how it should treat its new prize. On 19 May a signal was sent from London saying that it was assumed General Kreipe ‘will be brought to this country for internment and he feels that as a tribute to SOE’s efforts in capturing him they ought to be allowed to provide escort’.
In the end Kreipe was taken to England without an SOE escort. He was interrogated on 23 and 24 May 1944 in London.
The general’s debriefing provides an insight into the state of the Nazi leadership and its priorities at this time. Kreipe revealed that his new command on Crete, the
2
2nd
Luftlande
Division, had been ordered to consider itself cut off and that in the event of an emergency, an Allied landing or a local uprising, it must fight as best it could, unsupported. Kreipe explained to the interrogating officer that Germany no longer had the resources to evacuate troops and that resupply was limited to the occasional meagre 200-ton vessel. He added that replacing the highly trained men of this division with inferior troops who could be sacrificed was not possible. The German army was living ‘hand-to-mouth’ and could not afford to have two divisions of men out of action for the two months that a changeover would take. At one point he blurted out that Crete would be defended to ‘the last cartridge’, but would not be drawn on what this really meant.
Kreipe described General Bruno Bräuer as a ‘blockhead’ for underestimating the scale and danger of the Cretan resistance. Kreipe had now seen the guerrillas at first hand and knew how determined and organised they were. He said that Bräuer shared the general view of the resistance as little more than a few disorganised gangs of sheep thieves. He also provided evidence of disarray among senior officers on the Eastern front. He confirmed that one officer, General Walter von Seydlitz-Kurzbach, had surrendered to the communists and had become a collaborator, forming the anti-Nazi ‘League of German Officers’. Seydlitz-Kurzbach’s actions had shaken many senior men fighting on the Russian front. He confirmed the rumour that the Luftwaffe’s chief of the German general staff, Generaloberst Hans Jeschonneck, had been forced to commit suicide by his old enemy Hermann Göring, for failing to supply the beleaguered troops at Stalingrad.