however, near Yanitsa, to the south of Kalani, there was a stretch of land which was surrounded by cotton and tobacco, and its burning noonday heat was softened by the prevailing north wind. Here, occasionally, light aeroplanes from nearby Athens had been in the habit of landing wealthy passengers heading for their summer houses away from the bustle and heat of the metropolis. A small, narrow landing strip had been built with one hangar and a set of huts to serve as workshops, stores and offices.
It was here, on 7 April 1941, that the two or three clerks, mechanics and labourers who were employed there, stood staring at the sky as a heavy three-engined aeroplane came in to land. It was made of ribbed metal, its centre engine placed in the nose of the machine. The Greeks watched it, open-mouthed, and it was only as it drew nearer that they realized that on the wings and fuselage it carried the black crosses of the Luftwaffe and on its tail the crooked cross of Nazi Germany. Knowing already what was happening on the mainland, they watched, petrified.
The radio had been full of an appalling bombing raid the day before on the Piraeus, the port for Athens and the only shipping centre of any consequence in Greece.
It had been congested to the point of chaos and three ammunition ships had been alongside, one of them with her cargo of explosives only partly removed when the first wave of bombers had arrived. The blast had showered debris everywhere, igniting small craft, while the violence of the explosion had reduced sheds to rubble. In all, eleven ships had been lost and the Piraeus had ceased to function as a port.
As a result, the people on the landing strip at Yanitsa were worried to see the Junkers coming in to land. Aeos was so far south of the fighting on the mainland they couldn’t imagine what the aeroplane was doing there. It was only as it touched down that they realized a second and a third and a fourth aircraft were coming in behind it.
The first machine had landed and was taxiing towards the hangar and the hut that was used as an office. As it slowed, the pilot jammed on his brakes and swung it round in a tight circle. The blast from the propellers raised a cloud of dust which it blew through the open doors and windows of the office, scattering papers and filling the place with blinding grit. Immediately, a door in the side of the machine opened and men in packs and helmets began to pour out. Behind them was an officer, in full uniform and wearing only a revolver.
He jerked a hand towards the row of cars standing outside the office. ‘Seize those vehicles,’ he said. ‘If anyone argues, shoot them.’
The men ran towards the line of cars as the second, third and fourth Junkers touched down. Somebody obviously did argue, because there was a short burst of firing; then, as the aeroplanes cut their engines, a shocked silence and a woman’s wail of terror. Driven by the German soldiers, the cars edged out of line and, heading towards the officer, drew up in front of him. By this time, the second, third and fourth aircraft were empty of men and the officer was pointing to the north.
‘Off you go,’ he said. ‘We want all the chief officials, port authorities, military and naval men and the Mayor of Kalani. Lock them up. If they argue, shoot them. We haven’t time to discuss things. Let it be known that if there’s any resistance, I’ll have the Luftwaffe obliterate the place.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Major!’
‘We have one hour to get control. Once we’ve got Kalani, it’s done. See to it.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Major!’
‘Commandeer any vehicle you want on the way.’
Packed with armed men, the cars swung round and began to head towards the north, roaring over the grass in the direction of the port, while the German major deployed the: rest of his men about the airstrip, setting up heavy machine-guns and establishing them in and around the office and the hangar.
They had barely finished when the
It was here, on 7 April 1941, that the two or three clerks, mechanics and labourers who were employed there, stood staring at the sky as a heavy three-engined aeroplane came in to land. It was made of ribbed metal, its centre engine placed in the nose of the machine. The Greeks watched it, open-mouthed, and it was only as it drew nearer that they realized that on the wings and fuselage it carried the black crosses of the Luftwaffe and on its tail the crooked cross of Nazi Germany. Knowing already what was happening on the mainland, they watched, petrified.
The radio had been full of an appalling bombing raid the day before on the Piraeus, the port for Athens and the only shipping centre of any consequence in Greece.
It had been congested to the point of chaos and three ammunition ships had been alongside, one of them with her cargo of explosives only partly removed when the first wave of bombers had arrived. The blast had showered debris everywhere, igniting small craft, while the violence of the explosion had reduced sheds to rubble. In all, eleven ships had been lost and the Piraeus had ceased to function as a port.
As a result, the people on the landing strip at Yanitsa were worried to see the Junkers coming in to land. Aeos was so far south of the fighting on the mainland they couldn’t imagine what the aeroplane was doing there. It was only as it touched down that they realized a second and a third and a fourth aircraft were coming in behind it.
The first machine had landed and was taxiing towards the hangar and the hut that was used as an office. As it slowed, the pilot jammed on his brakes and swung it round in a tight circle. The blast from the propellers raised a cloud of dust which it blew through the open doors and windows of the office, scattering papers and filling the place with blinding grit. Immediately, a door in the side of the machine opened and men in packs and helmets began to pour out. Behind them was an officer, in full uniform and wearing only a revolver.
He jerked a hand towards the row of cars standing outside the office. ‘Seize those vehicles,’ he said. ‘If anyone argues, shoot them.’
The men ran towards the line of cars as the second, third and fourth Junkers touched down. Somebody obviously did argue, because there was a short burst of firing; then, as the aeroplanes cut their engines, a shocked silence and a woman’s wail of terror. Driven by the German soldiers, the cars edged out of line and, heading towards the officer, drew up in front of him. By this time, the second, third and fourth aircraft were empty of men and the officer was pointing to the north.
‘Off you go,’ he said. ‘We want all the chief officials, port authorities, military and naval men and the Mayor of Kalani. Lock them up. If they argue, shoot them. We haven’t time to discuss things. Let it be known that if there’s any resistance, I’ll have the Luftwaffe obliterate the place.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Major!’
‘We have one hour to get control. Once we’ve got Kalani, it’s done. See to it.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Major!’
‘Commandeer any vehicle you want on the way.’
Packed with armed men, the cars swung round and began to head towards the north, roaring over the grass in the direction of the port, while the German major deployed the: rest of his men about the airstrip, setting up heavy machine-guns and establishing them in and around the office and the hangar.
They had barely finished when the
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