Lockhart smiled to himself as he walked in the middle of the file. Manoli was leading briskly, and the beasts were struggling. Despite Manoli’s boasting, they needed a lot of encouragement, and the men were constantly thrashing them into action. They were walking through scrubland peppered with the ubiquitous thyme bushes. Lockhart was concerned by the lack of cover, but Manoli had assured them that the nearest Germans would be in Plakia, a good seven miles away. Lockhart kept his gun at the ready, although the Cretans had slung theirs nonchalantly over their shoulders.

After half an hour they reached a road. As Manoli ordered the file to halt, Lockhart ran up to join him. They made their way to a ditch at the roadside.

“I didn’t think we were going on any roads,” Lockhart whispered.

“We’re not,” said Manoli. “But we have to cross this one. It’s the main coast road to Plakia—there’s no way we can avoid it. It’s all paths again after this.”

They sat still and listened. All was silent, except for the wind. As Lockhart’s ears strained, he thought he could hear a car.

“Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The car.”

Manoli shut his eyes.

“I can’t hear a thing. Are you sure you heard something?”

Lockhart listened again. Nothing. Perhaps his ears were playing tricks.

“It seems to have gone—how about giving it a few minutes?”

Manoli nodded, and went back to tell his men. There was little cover for the mules, but, grateful for the rest, they were keeping still. The men lay on the ground, their rifles aimed toward the road. After a few long minutes, there was still no sound. The car had been all in Lockhart’s mind.

There were woods on the other side, for which he was grateful—finally they could get into some decent cover. Manoli rejoined Lockhart in the ditch.

“Right, let’s do this quickly,” said Lockhart.

“Agreed.”

Manoli waved his men forward. They got up swiftly, and quietly goaded the mules forward. Seeming to sense the danger, the beasts moved quickly toward the road. They crossed without too much cajoling, although the final one was proving reluctant.

Lockhart remained on the road, looking down the slope in the direction of Plakia. The road went around a blind corner after fifty yards, but various sections could be seen as it snaked down the valley. It looked clear. He turned to inspect the progress.

The final mule was still being obstinate. Despite its handler’s best efforts, the beast wouldn’t budge.

“Can’t you move that bloody thing?” Lockhart stage-whispered to the man.

“It won’t move,” groaned the andarte as he strained on the mule’s rope. Lockhart looked back down the road. What he saw made his blood freeze.

Two bends away, he could quite clearly see headlights, moving at great speed.

“Car!” he shouted. The mule’s handler stopped.