He looked over to the compound. Lights were going on all over it, and he could hear orders being shouted and dogs barking. After a few seconds, some partially clothed Germans appeared from the guardhouse near the gate. They were carrying machine guns and hand grenades. This lot weren’t as dozy as Lockhart had suspected, thought Manoli.

He looked back at the bushes. Lockhart and the two others had already gotten up, and were running back up to the ditch. It would take them at least a couple of minutes to get there. Would it be enough time? The guards were already out of the compound, and were running around the fence toward them. They numbered at least twenty, and they were bound to see the three andartes fleeing up the hill. Manoli felt helpless. He would only order the rest of the gang to open fire if the Germans spotted Lockhart. To fire now would give away their position, and there was still a chance that those running wouldn’t be spotted.

Lockhart ran as he had never done before. Although he was quick, he was not as swift as the two Cretans, who were slightly ahead of him. The loose ground made progress difficult, and the men stumbled frequently. The ditch still looked very far away, and he began to detect the sound of frantic activity behind him. Would it be best to lie and hide in some low scrub? But instinct took over. He kept running.

For a split second before he heard the shots, he could see their effect—fragments of stone and dust kicked up from the ground around him. The rattling crackle of the submachine guns drove a panicky terror into him, reminding him of the escape from the power station in France. So this was how his life was going to end. Any second now, he would feel an immense thump in the back and then blackness. No pain, just blackness.

There was now no choice. Manoli ordered his men to fire. It had the immediate effect of stopping the Germans. They hit the ground and waited, as another volley whipped over their heads.

Manoli noticed that Lockhart and the two others had also gone to ground. They were still a good hundred yards away, in among some scrub. They would be able to crawl up to the ditch, but that would take several minutes. In the meantime, the best Manoli could do was to offer covering fire.

Lockhart lay in the scrub, panting. He couldn’t see where Niko and Christos had gotten to, and he didn’t want to shout to find out. He heard bullets whizz over him from both directions. That Manoli had opened fire gave him great comfort, but he was now in the worst possible situation. He was on his own, and caught in crossfire. If he got up, he would be dead within seconds, perhaps killed by a Cretan bullet. If he stayed, the Germans would eventually overrun Manoli’s position and he would be found as they did so. The only thing he could do was to drag himself up the hill, tearing his front on the sharp rocks and the gorse.