Sean Gardiner sat in the back of an Italian truck, looking severely out of place on the island of Crete with his pale, sweaty skin. It was not that he didn’t like Greece’s climate, it was that he was unused to it - it was severely different to the drizzly and often cold temperatures he had grown accustomed to back home in Ireland, and the heat had been bothering him ever since the day he had arrived. As if it wasn’t bad enough that it was extremely hot, Sean had had to move about in his British Army uniform the entire time - which was made of a thick fabric which certainly didn’t make it easy to breathe.
The truck bounced and jostled about with every bump in the road, large or small, and there had even been a few times when Sean had nearly been thrown off his seat (although he did not think the uncomfortable plank of wood he was sitting upon could be called that, by any stretch of the imagination). His hands readjusted their grip around the cold metal barrel of the weapon that rested between his legs for the fortieth time that hour; palms warm and sticky with sweat, born from a combination of the heat, the uncomfortable transportation, and the overwhelming sense of unease that he felt beginning to consume him as it spread upward from the bottom of his stomach.
Where is that God damned Englishman?
He was referring, of course, to the man whom he had had the misfortune of being reassigned to upon his transferral to the island of Crete.
On mainland Greece, Sean had been assigned to an element of the British Army’s 38th (Northern Irish) Light Infantry, which had been sent along with the British Forces to assist the Greeks in their losing fight with the Germans. On mainland Greece, Sean’s commanding officers had been competent and highly efficient (as most Northern Irish men who make a career of being in the military are), and even caring. Although casualties had been larger than expected on the mainland and the British had been forced to pull back, Sean had always felt relatively confident of his survival when serving under the officers of the 38th. Now, however, he felt entirely different.
Upon arriving on Crete, he had been hastily reassigned by a rather stressed looking officer to serve in the platoon of a “Second Lieutenant Hedger”, along with a pair of young lads who had also come from the 38th - George Penfold and Harry McKee, 18 and 20 respectively. Sean immediately stepped up to make the changeover as smooth as possible, as was his duty (being a Corporal).
He reassured the two young lads in as appropriate a fashion as was possible (his superior rank preventing him from lavishing them with his full sympathetic attention, as his fatherly instincts were pushing him to), and the trio had then made their way to report to their new commanding officer - and, upon meeting him, Sean’s feeling of unease had begun. Since then, it had only grown, gradually consuming him with every day he was exposed to his CO’s drunken (and perhaps deliberate) incompetence.
Now, barely three weeks from the day of Sean’s arrival on the small Greek island (which had somehow become so critical in the fight between the Greeks, British and the Germans), he found himself in the back of a shitty Italian truck, sitting in the middle of George and Harry. The two young lads had seen combat, but less so than Sean - and even he was no seasoned soldier by any stretch of the imagination, and he knew it.
Across and slightly down from him sat one of the platoon’s Sergeants, a man who came from New Zealand. Sean had only been introduced to the man once, but he had remembered his name - Scott. The name of one of his cousins. The Irishman offered the man a small smile when their eyes made a brief moment of contact, before turning his head away - blue gaze focusing on a section of the tarpaulin above a nameless Private’s helmet.
Suddenly - and after what had seemed like an eternity in the back of the truck - the hunks of Italian scrap metal screeched to a halt. The ANZAC Sergeant and his section quickly exited the vehicle, followed just as swiftly by Sean and the two young Irishmen he had taken under his wing: George with his short ginger hair, youthful features and green eyes, and muscular Harry who had brown hair like Sean’s wife but broad shoulders like his father’s.
The two Privates stood in a braced position near the truck, awaiting orders - Corporal Gardiner taking a handful of steps toward his commanding officer, waiting just within earshot as the orders were given. His gaze followed Sergeant Harris and his section as they rushed to their position, eyes then flicking to the Greek as he and his men moved off to man their own position.
”Whoever is left, you’re with me in the centre.”
Those fateful words caused a feeling of hopelessness to rise over Sean that threatened to consume him, and for a moment he simply stood still, struggling with his internal feelings of despair. Come on, Sean! He may be an idiot, but he’s an Officer. You signed up for this. For King and Country! Think of your wife, of James and Susan.
Shifting the Bren that was resting on his shoulder, and with a hardened furrow to his brow, Sean finally managed to push himself to action after what seemed like an age (but had only been a handful of seconds). He approached his commanding officer (who himself seemed to be doing very little), an all-business look about him. He offered a hasty salute before launching into his speech, words distinctly marked by his County Down accent. “Sir! Myself and Privates McKeon and Penfold are left, along with a few others and some of the Greeks. We’ll set ourselves up in a defensive position near the AA Gun. Do you want me to move the other men into any particular formation?”
As he waited for a response, it was as if his ears had suddenly been switched on - the sounds of the German planes flying overhead filling his skull, alongside the chatter of machinegun fire and the dull sound of anti aircraft weapons being fired at the luftwaffe above.
Sean Gardiner was suddenly aware that he was on a battlefield, in the middle of a war - and that his CO’s breath reeked of alcohol.
It was going to be a very long day.