He lay in suspended animation for several more seconds, his hearing gradually returning. Gunfire and shouts crept back into his brain, reminding him where he was. He knew there would be more grenades, and he wouldn’t be so lucky next time. Slowly, he brought himself up into a low crouch—his body still seemed to be working. He ran as best he could, trying to keep at the same level as the scrub. To have continued crawling would have been too dangerous—he now had to get away from the grenades.

Manoli kept his head down for a few more seconds after the explosion. Then he tentatively got up and scanned the battleground. A small cloud of dust and smoke hung in the air, and it was hard to make out if anybody had been hit. He trained the binoculars on the slope and noticed someone running. It looked like Lockhart. He searched for Niko and Christos, but of them there was no sign. Perhaps they had been hit, or were lying low. He looked back to Lockhart. There was nothing. Manoli scoured the scrub frantically, but there was no movement. Where had he gone? The firing started again. Perhaps it was time to run.

He had only fifty yards to go. If he could just make the ditch, he would be safe for the time being. They could hold the Germans off for a while and maybe make good their escape. A grenade exploded over to his right, far enough away to cause no harm, but near enough to make him dive down.

As he got up, Lockhart saw a black shadow a few yards to his left. He ran toward it, praying that it was what he thought it was. The archaeologist in him recognized it to be the opening to another tomb. The soldier in him saw it as shelter. He peered down into the blackness. How big a drop down was it? He had no choice. The sound of the machine guns was getting closer—he wouldn’t make the ditch.

He lowered himself through the narrow opening and let himself fall. The drop must have only been six feet, but he landed badly and his left ankle began to ache. Reaching out in front of him, he began to edge his way forward into the blackness.

He was going down a slight incline into the side of the hill. If this was like other Minoan tombs, then he would soon come to a small burial chamber. The air smelled stale, reminding Lockhart of so many tombs before. It made him feel at home. Had this been under ordinary circumstances, he would have been highly excited. Now he merely felt relieved. He made his way forward, the sound of the gunfire retreating. He was stepping into another world, a sanctuary from fear and death.