Free Corporal Cotton's Little War by John Harris Page B

limb on Aeos, he considered it wiser to avoid trouble.
    It was while he was in this euphoric state that Captain Ehrhardt appeared. Ehrhardt was a small man, with a brown wrinkled face. His uniform was dusty and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Strapped and buckled like a carthorse in his equipment, he presented a perfect picture of a tough German fighting man. As he laid the signal he was carrying on Baldamus’ desk, he gave a slow grin at the reaction he knew it would produce.
    Baldamus looked at the sheet of paper with a lazy eye, still full of thoughts on his own future. Then, as he read the words, he sat bolt upright and stared at his second-in-command with startled blue eyes, his handsome face full of consternation.
    ‘ Another British launch?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, Herr Major.’
    ‘Like the one the Italians drove ashore near Cape Annoyia?’
    ‘Yes, Herr Major. It’s just reached Iros on its way north. It seems we have sympathizers there who have passed on the information.’
    Baldamus stared again at the signal. ‘But heading north?’ He gazed at Captain Ehrhardt, frowning. ‘What are they after?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Ehrhardt said, ‘they’re on their way to look for survivors from the other one. Though we’ve seen no sign of them. I gather the boat’s a total wreck - holed forward, engines wrecked, underwater gear buckled. The islanders seem to have been poking around it already because the dead have been buried and everything movable’s been pinched; Still - ‘ he shrugged ‘ -- perhaps the British think somebody escaped.’
    Baldamus stared at the signal again then he grinned. ‘If another of those boats is on its way,’ he said, ‘then we might as well collect that one too. We could have our own fleet. I’d like to be an admiral. Inform the Luftwaffe to look out for it.’
    He smiled, sat back and drew on his cigar again. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he went on, ‘I understand there were originally three of these boats - all belonging to Spiro Panyioti. What a feather in our caps it would be if we had them all. We could use them for evening drinks, Ehrhardt, and trips round the island. One for me, one for you, and one for the Luftwaffe. Since the war’s going our way, we might as well enjoy it.’

    It was raining again as Claudia turned north and Docherty stuck his head out of the engine room. ‘Roll on my twelve,’ he said. ‘I thought it was always bloody fine in the Med.’
    They headed north all night, all of them quiet and depressed by the bombing of Iros. They still had a long way to go and Shaw wanted to cover it slowly to conserve fuel. There were so many islands, he had to pick his way between them in the dark, busy at the chart table all the way.
    As daylight came the next morning, the islands multiplied, each bare hill and blue-grey cliff appearing from behind the last boulder-strewn headland. Beyond them were more leagues of ruffled sea the colour of delphiniums, and in the distance more green headlands, each hazier than the one in front. Despite the islands, however, the sea appeared blank and empty and vast. With the Germans on the march, the islanders were staying ashore for safety and there wasn’t a boat to be seen.
    After Iros, Cotton was keenly aware of a sense of danger surrounding them. With every beat of the engines, every turn of the screws, they were getting closer to the Germans, and he took to studying himself to see if he was afraid. He was pleased to find he wasn’t.
    The sky was free of clouds as the boat knifed across a sea that looked like a dark silk sheet. They had rounded Xiros and Kafoulos and were heading directly towards Aeos. To the north they could still occasionally hear the distant thud-thud of guns, even above the beat of the engines.
    ‘Army’s having itself its usual happy time,’ Patullo said.
    ‘Poor buggers,’ Shaw growled.
    There was also the constant sound of aircraft, a low distant throbbing hum in the sky that they knew meant