Some brief notes about the last days of RAF fighters in the first Greek campaign.
PETER SAW HER FIRST.
She was sitting on a stone, quite still, with her hands resting on her lap. She was staring
vacantly ahead, seeing nothing, and all around, up and down the little street, people were running
backward and forward with buckets of water, emptying them through the windows of the burning
houses.
Across the street on the cobblestones, there was a dead boy. Someone had moved his body close
in to the side so that it would not be in the way.
A little farther down an old man was working on a pile of stones and rubble1. One by one he was
carrying the stones away and dumping them to the side. Sometimes he would bend down and peer
into the ruins, repeating a name over and over again.
All around there was shouting and running and fires and buckets of water and dust. And the girl
sat quietly on the stone, staring ahead, not moving. There was blood running down the left side of
her face. It ran down from her forehead and dropped from her chin on to the dirty print dress she
was wearing.
Peter saw her and said, ‘Look at that little girl.’
We went up to her and Fin2 put his hand on her shoulder, bending down to examine the cut.
‘Looks like a piece of shrapnel,’ he said. ‘She ought to see the Doc.’
Peter and I made a chair with our hands and Fin lifted her up on to it. We started back through
the streets and out towards the aerodrome, the two of us walking a little awkwardly, bending
down, facing our burden. I could feel Peter’s fingers clasping tightly in mine and I could feel the
buttocks of the little girl resting lightly on my wrists. I was on the left side and the blood was
dripping down from her face on to the arm of my flying suit, running down the waterproof3 cloth
on to the back of my hand. The girl never moved or said anything.
Fin said, ‘She’s bleeding rather fast. We’d better walk a bit quicker.’
I couldn’t see much of her face because of the blood, but I could tell that she was lovely. She
had high cheekbones and large round eyes, pale blue like an autumn sky, and her hair was short
and fair. I guessed she was about nine years old.
This was in Greece in early April, 1941, at Paramythia. Our fighter squadron was stationed on a
muddy field near the village. We were in a deep valley and all around us were the mountains. The
freezing winter had passed, and now, almost before anyone knew it, spring had come. It had come
quietly and swiftly, melting the ice on the lakes and brushing the snow off the mountain tops; and
all over the airfield4 we could see the pale green shoots of grass pushing up through the mud,
making a carpet for our landings. In our valley there were warm winds and wild flowers.
The Germans, who had pushed in through Yugoslavia a few days before, were now operating in
force, and that afternoon they had come over very high with about thirty-five Dorniers and
bombed the village. Peter and Fin and I were off duty for a while, and the three of us had gone
down to see if there was anything we could do in the way of rescue work. We had spent a few
hours digging around in the ruins and helping5 to put out fires, and we were on our way back when
we saw the girl.
Now, as we approached the landing field, we could see the Hurricanes circling around coming
in to land, and there was the Doc standing6 out in front of the dispersal tent, just as he should have
been, waiting to see if anyone had been hurt. We walked towards him, carrying the child, and Fin,
who was a few yards in front, said,
‘Doc, you lazy old devil, here’s a job for you.’
The Doc was young and kind and morose7 except when he got drunk. When he got drunk he
sang very well.
‘Take her into the sick bay,’ he said. Peter and I carried her in and put her down on a chair.
Then we left her and wandered over to the dispersal tent to see how the boys had got along.
It was beginning to get dark. There was a sunset behind the ridge8 over in the west, and there
was a full moon, a bombers10’ moon, climbing up into the sky. The moon shone upon the shoulders
of the tents and made them white; small white pyramids, standing up straight, clustering in little
orderly groups around the edges of the aerodrome. They had a scared-sheep look about them the
way they clustered themselves together, and they had a human look about them the way they stood
up close to one another, and it seemed almost as though they knew that there was going to be
trouble, as though someone had warned them that they might be forgotten and left behind. Even as
I looked, I thought I saw them move. I thought I saw them huddle11 just a fraction nearer together.
And then, silently, without a sound, the mountains crept a little closer into our valley.
For the next two days there was much flying. There was the getting up at dawn, there was the
flying, the fighting and the sleeping; and there was the retreat of the army. That was about all there
was or all there was time for. But on the third day the clouds dropped down over the mountains
and slid into the valley. And it rained. So we sat around in the mess-tent drinking beer and
resinato, while the rain made a noise like a sewing machine on the roof. Then lunch. For the first
time in days the whole squadron was present. Fifteen pilots at a long table with benches on either
side and Monkey, the CO sitting at the head.
We were still in the middle of our fried corned beef when the flap of the tent opened and in
came the Doc with an enormous dripping raincoat over his head. And with him, under the coat,
was the little girl. She had a bandage round her head.
The Doc said, ‘Hello. I’ve brought a guest.’ We looked around and suddenly, automatically, we
all stood up.
The Doc was taking off his raincoat and the little girl was standing there with her hands hanging
loose by her sides looking at the men, and the men were all looking at her. With her fair hair and
pale skin she looked less like a Greek than anyone I’ve ever seen. She was frightened by the
fifteen scruffy-looking foreigners who had suddenly stood up when she came in, and for a moment
she half-turned as if she were going to run away out into the rain.
Monkey said, ‘Hallo. Hallo there. Come and sit down.’
‘Talk Greek,’ the Doc said. ‘She doesn’t understand.’
Fin and Peter and I looked at one another and Fin said, ‘Good God, it’s our little girl. Nice
work, Doc.’
She recognized Fin and walked round to where he was standing. He took her by the hand and
sat her down on the bench, and everyone else sat down too. We gave her some fried corned beef
and she ate it slowly, looking down at her plate while she ate. Monkey said, ‘Get Pericles.’
Pericles was the Greek interpreter attached to the squadron. He was a wonderful man we’d
picked up at Yanina, where he had been the local school teacher. He had been out of work ever
since the war started. ‘The children do not come to school,’ he said. ‘They are up in the mountains
and fight. I cannot teach sums to the stones.’
Pericles came in. He was old, with a beard, a long pointed12 nose and sad grey eyes. You couldn’t
see his mouth, but his beard had a way of smiling when he talked.
‘Ask her her name,’ said Monkey.
He said something to her in Greek. She looked up and said, ‘Katina.’ That was all she said.
‘Look, Pericles,’ Peter said, ‘ask her what she was doing sitting by that heap of ruins in the
village.’
Fin said. ‘For God’s sake leave her alone.’
‘Ask her, Pericles,’ said Peter.
‘What should I ask?’ said Pericles, frowning.
Peter said, ‘What she was doing sitting on that heap of stuff in the village when we found her.’
Pericles sat down on the bench beside her and he talked to her again. He spoke14 gently and you
could see that his beard was smiling a little as he spoke, helping her. She listened and it seemed a
long time before she answered. When she spoke, it was only a few words, and the old man
translated: ‘She says that her family were under the stones.’
Outside the rain was coming down harder than ever. It beat upon the roof of the mess-tent so
that the canvas shivered as the water bounced upon it. I got up and walked over and lifted the flap
of the tent. The mountains were invisible behind the rain, but I knew they were around us on every
side. I had a feeling that they were laughing at us, laughing at the smallness of our numbers and at
the hopeless courage of the pilots. I felt that it was the mountains, not us, who were the clever
ones. Had not the hills that very morning turned and looked northward15 towards Tepelene where
they had seen a thousand German aircraft gathered under the shadow of Olympus? Was it not true
that the snow on the top of Dodona had melted away in a day, sending little rivers of water
running down across our landing field? Had not Kataphidi buried his head in a cloud so that our
pilots might be tempted16 to fly through the whiteness and crash against his rugged17 shoulders?
And as I stood there looking at the rain through the tent flap, I knew for certain that the
mountains had turned against us. I could feel it in my stomach.
I went back into the tent and there was Fin, sitting beside Katina, trying to teach her English
words. I don’t know whether he made much progress, but I do know that once he made her laugh
and that was a wonderful thing for him to have done. I remember the sudden sound of her high
laughter and how we all looked up and saw her face; how we saw how different it was to what it
had been before. No one but Fin could have done it. He was so gay himself that it was difficult to
be serious in his presence. He was gay and tall and black-haired, and he was sitting there on the
bench, leaning forward, whispering and smiling, teaching Katina to speak English and teaching
her how to laugh.
The next day the skies cleared and once again we saw the mountains. We did a patrol over the
troops which were already retreating slowly towards Thermopylae, and we met some
Messerschmitts and Ju-87s dive-bombing the soldiers. I think we got a few of them, but they got
Sandy. I saw him going down. I sat quite still for thirty seconds and watched his plane spiralling
gently downward. I sat and waited for the parachute. I remember switching over my radio and
saying quietly, ‘Sandy, you must jump now. You must jump; you’re getting near the ground.’ But
there was no parachute.
When we landed and taxied in there was Katina, standing outside the dispersal tent with the
Doc; a tiny shrimp18 of a girl in a dirty print dress, standing there watching the machines as they
came in to land. To Fin, as he walked in, she said, ‘Tha girisis xana.’
Fin said, ‘What does it mean, Pericles?’
‘It just means “you are back again”,’ and he smiled.
The child had counted the aircraft on her fingers as they took off, and now she noticed that there
was one missing. We were standing around taking off our parachutes and she was trying to ask us
about it, when suddenly someone said, ‘Look out. Here they come.’ They came through a gap in
the hills, a mass of thin, black silhouettes20, coming down upon the aerodrome.
There was a scramble21 for the slit22 trenches24 and I remember seeing Fin catch Katina round the
waist and carry her off with us, and I remember seeing her fight like a tiger the whole way to the
trenches.
As soon as we got into the trench23 and Fin had let her go, she jumped out and ran over on to the
airfield. Down came the Messerschmitts with their guns blazing, swooping25 so low that you could
see the noses of the pilots sticking out under their goggles27. Their bullets threw up spurts28 of dust all
around and I saw one of our Hurricanes burst into flames. I saw Katina standing right in the
middle of the field, standing firmly with her legs astride and her back to us, looking up at the
Germans as they dived past. I have never seen anything smaller and more angry and more fierce in
my life. She seemed to be shouting at them, but the noise was great and one could hear nothing at
all except the engines and the guns of the aeroplanes.
Then it was over. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and no one said very much except Fin,
who said, ‘I wouldn’t have done that, ever; not even if I was crazy.’
That evening Monkey got out the squadron records and added Katina’s name to the list of
members, and the equipment officer was ordered to provide a tent for her. So, on the eleventh of
April, 1941, she became a member of the squadron.
In two days she knew the first name or nickname of every pilot and Fin had already taught her
to say ‘Any luck?’ and ‘Nice work.’
But that was a time of much activity, and when I try to think of it hour by hour, the whole
period becomes hazy29 in my mind. Mostly, I remember, it was escorting the Blenheims to Valona,
and if it wasn’t that, it was a ground-strafe of Italian trucks on the Albanian border or an SOS from
the Northumberland Regiment30 saying they were having the hell bombed out of them by half the
aircraft in Europe.
None of that can I remember. I can remember nothing of that time clearly, save for two things.
The one was Katina and how she was with us all the time; how she was everywhere and how
wherever she went the people were pleased to see her. The other thing that I remember was when
the Bull came into the mess-tent one evening after a lone13 patrol. The Bull was an enormous man
with massive, slightly hunched31 shoulders and his chest was like the top of an oak table. Before the
war he had done many things, most of them things which one could not do unless one conceded
beforehand that there was no difference between life and death. He was quiet and casual and when
he came into a room or into a tent, he always looked as though he had made a mistake and hadn’t
really meant to come in at all. It was getting dark and we were sitting round in the tent playing
shove-halfpenny when the Bull came in. We knew that he had just landed.
He glanced around a little apologetically, then he said, ‘Hello,’ and wandered over to the bar
and began to get out a bottle of beer.
Someone said, ‘See anything. Bull?’
The Bull said, ‘Yes,’ and went on fiddling32 with the bottle of beer.
I suppose we were all very interested in our game of shove-halfpenny because no one said
anything else for about five minutes. Then Peter said, What did you see, Bull?’
The Bull was leaning against the bar, alternately sipping33 his beer and trying to make a hooting34
noise by blowing down the neck of the empty bottle.
Peter said, ‘What did you see?’
The Bull put down the bottle and looked up. ‘Five S-79s,’ he said.
I remember hearing him say it, but I remember also that our game was exciting and that Fin had
one more shove to win. We all watched him miss it and Peter said, ‘Fin, I think you’re going to
lose.’ And Fin said, ‘Go to hell.’
We finished the game, then I looked up and saw the Bull still leaning against the bar making
noises with his beer bottle.
He said, ‘This sounds like the old Mauretania coming into New York harbour,’ and he started
blowing into the bottle again.
‘What happened with the S-79s?’ I said.
He stopped his blowing and put down the bottle.
‘I shot them down.’
Everyone heard it. At that moment eleven pilots in that tent stopped what they were doing and
eleven heads flicked35 around and looked at the Bull. He took another drink of his beer and said
quietly, ‘At one time I counted eighteen parachutes in the air together.’
A few days later he went on patrol and did not come back. Shortly afterwards Monkey got a
message from Athens. It said that the squadron was to move down to Elevsis and from there do a
defence of Athens itself and also cover the troops retreating through the Thermopylae Pass.
Katina was to go with the trucks and we told the Doc he was to see that she arrived safely. It
would take them a day to make the journey. We flew over the mountains towards the south,
fourteen of us, and at two-thirty we landed at Elevsis. It was a lovely aerodrome with runways and
hangars; and best of all, Athens was only twenty-five minutes away by car.
That evening, as it was getting dark, I stood outside my tent. I stood with my hands in my
pockets watching the sun go down and thinking of the work which we were to do. The more that I
thought of it, the more impossible I knew it to be. I looked up, and once again I saw the
mountains. They were closer to us here, crowding in upon us on all sides, standing shoulder to
shoulder, tall and naked, with their heads in the clouds, surrounding us everywhere save in the
south, where lay Piraeus and the open sea. I knew that each night, when it was very dark, when we
were all tired and sleeping in our tents, those mountains would move forward, creeping a little
closer, making no noise, until at last on the appointed day they would tumble forward with one
great rush and push us into the sea.
Fin emerged from his tent.
‘Have you seen the mountains?’ I said.
‘They’re full of gods. They aren’t any good,’ he answered.
‘I wish they’d stand still,’ I said.
Fin looked up at the great crags of Pames and Pentelikon.
‘They’re full of gods,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when there is a moon,
you can see the gods sitting on the summits. There was one on Kataphidi when we were at
Paramythia. He was huge, like a house but without any shape and quite black.’
‘You saw him?’
‘Of course I saw him.’
‘When?’ I said. ‘When did you see him, Fin?’
Fin said, ‘Let’s go into Athens. Let’s go and look at the women in Athens.’
The next day the trucks carrying the ground staff and the equipment rumbled36 on to the
aerodrome, and there was Katina sitting in the front seat of the leading vehicle with the Doc beside
her. She waved to us as she jumped down, and she came running towards us, laughing and calling
our names in a curious Greek way. She still had on the same dirty print dress and she still had a
bandage round her forehead; but the sun was shining in her hair.
We showed her the tent which we had prepared for her and we showed her the small cotton
nightdress which Fin had obtained in some mysterious way the night before in Athens. It was
white with a lot of little blue birds embroidered37 on the front and we all thought that it was very
beautiful. Katina wanted to put it on at once and it took a long time to persuade her that it was
meant only for sleeping in. Six times Fin had to perform a complicated act which consisted of
pretending to put on the nightdress, then jumping on to the bed and falling fast asleep. In the end
she nodded vigorously and understood.
For the next two days nothing happened, except that the remnants of another squadron came
down from the north and joined us. They brought six Hurricanes, so that altogether we had about
twenty machines.
Then we waited.
On the third day German reconnaissance aircraft appeared, circling high over Piraeus, and we
chased after them but never got up in time to catch them. This was understandable, because our
radar38 was of a very special type. It is obsolete39 now, and I doubt whether it will ever be used again.
All over the country, in all the villages, up on the mountains and out on the islands, there were
Greeks, all of whom were connected to our small operations room by field telephone.
We had no operations officer, so we took it in turns to be on duty for the day. My turn came on
the fourth day, and I remember clearly what happened.
At six-thirty in the morning the phone buzzed.
‘This is A-7,’ said a very Greek voice. ‘This is A-7. There are noises overhead.’
I looked at the map. There was a little ring with ‘A-7’ written inside it just beside Yanina. I put
a cross on the celluloid which covered the map and wrote ‘Noises’ beside it, as well as the time:
‘0631 hours.’
Three minutes later the phone went again.
‘This is A-4. This is A-4. There are many noises above me,’ said an old quavering voice, but I
cannot see because there are thick clouds.’
I looked at the map. A-4 was Mt Karava. I made another cross on the celluloid and wrote ‘Many
noises – 0634,’ and then I drew a line between Yanina and Karava. It pointed towards Athens, so I
signalled the ‘readiness’ crew to scramble, and they took off and circled the city. Later they saw a
Ju-88 on reconnaissance high above them, but they never caught it. It was in such a way that one
worked the radar.
That evening when I came off duty I could not help thinking of the old Greek, sitting all alone in
a hut up at A-4; sitting on the slope of Karava looking up into the whiteness and listening all day
and all night for noises in the sky. I imagined the eagerness with which he seized the telephone
when he heard something, and the joy he must have felt when the voice at the other end repeated
his message and thanked him. I thought of his clothes and wondered if they were warm enough
and I thought, for some reason, of his boots, which almost certainly had no soles left upon them
and were stuffed with tree bark and paper.
That was April seventeenth. It was the evening when Monkey said, ‘They say the Germans are
at Lamia, which means that we’re within range of their fighters. Tomorrow the fun should start.’
It did. At dawn the bombers came over, with the fighters circling around overhead, watching the
bombers, waiting to pounce40, but doing nothing unless someone interfered41 with the bombers.
I think we got eight Hurricanes into the air just before they arrived. It was not my turn to go up,
so with Katina standing by my side I watched the battle from the ground. The child never said a
word. Now and again she moved her head as she followed the little specks42 of silver dancing high
above in the sky. I saw a plane coming down in a trail of black smoke and I looked at Katina. The
hatred43 which was on the face of the child was the fierce burning hatred of an old woman who has
hatred in her heart; it was an old woman’s hatred and it was strange to see it.
In that battle we lost a sergeant44 called Donald.
At noon Monkey got another message from Athens. It said that morale45 was bad in the capital
and that every available Hurricane was to fly in formation low over the city in order to show the
inhabitants how strong we were and how many aircraft we had. Eighteen of us took off. We flew
in tight formation up and down the main streets just above the roofs of the houses. I could see the
people looking up, shielding their eyes from the sun, looking at us as we flew over, and in one
street I saw an old woman who never looked up at all. None of them waved, and I knew then that
they were resigned to their fate. None of them waved, and I knew, although I could not see their
faces, that they were not even glad as we flew past.
Then we headed out towards Thermopylae, but on the way we circled the Acropolis twice. It
was the first time I had seen it so close.
I saw a little hill – a mound46 almost, it seemed – and on the top of it I saw the white columns.
There were a great number of them, grouped together in perfect order, not crowding one another,
white in the sunshine, and I wondered, as I looked at them, how anyone could have put so much
on top of so small a hill in such an elegant way.
Then we flew up the great Thermopylae Pass and I saw long lines of vehicles moving slowly
southwards towards the sea. I saw occasional puffs47 of white smoke where a shell landed in the
valley and I saw a direct hit on the road which made a gap in the line of trucks. But we saw no
enemy aircraft.
When we landed Monkey said, ‘Refuel quickly and get in the air again; I think they’re waiting
to catch us on the ground.’
But it was no use. They came down out of the sky five minutes after we had landed. I remember
I was in the pilots’ room in Number Two Hangar, talking to Fin and to a big tall man with rumpled48
hair called Paddy. We heard the bullets on the corrugated-iron roof of the hangar, then we heard
explosions and the three of us dived under the little wooden table in the middle of the room But
the table upset. Paddy set it up again and crawled underneath49. ‘There’s something about being
under a table,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel safe unless I’m under a table.’
Fin said, ‘I never feel safe.’ He was sitting on the floor watching the bullets making holes in the
corrugated-iron wall of the room. There was a great clatter50 as the bullets hit the tin.
Then we became brave and got up and peeped outside the door. There were many
Messerschmitt 109s circling the aerodrome, and one by one they straightened out and dived past
the hangers51, spraying the ground with their guns. But they did something else. They slid back their
cockpit hoods53 and as they came past they threw out small bombs which exploded when they hit
the ground and fiercely flung quantities of large lead balls in every direction. Those were the
explosions which we had heard, and it was a great noise that the lead balls made as they hit the
hangar.
Then I saw the men, the ground crews, standing up in their slit trenches firing at the
Messerschmitts with rifles, reloading and firing as fast as they could, cursing and shouting as they
shot, aiming ludicrously, hopelessly, aiming at an aeroplane with just a rifle. At Elevsis there were
no other defences.
Suddenly the Messerschmitts all turned and headed for home, all except one, which glided54
down and made a smooth belly55 landing on the aerodrome.
Then there was chaos56. The Greeks around us raised a shout and jumped on to the fire tender and
headed out towards the crashed German aeroplane. At the same time more Greeks streamed out
from every comer of the field, shouting and yelling and crying for the blood of the pilot. It was a
mob intent upon vengeance57 and one could not blame them; but there were other considerations.
We wanted the pilot for questioning, and we wanted him alive.
Monkey, who was standing on the tarmac, shouted to us, and Fin and Paddy and I raced with
him towards the station wagon58 which was standing fifty yards away. Monkey was inside like a
flash, started the engine and drove off just as the three of us jumped on the running board. The fire
tender with the Greeks on it was not fast and it still had two hundred yards to go, and the other
people had a long way to run. Monkey drove quickly and we beat them by about fifty yards.
We jumped up and ran over to the Messerschmitt, and there, sitting in the cockpit, was a fair-
haired boy with pink cheeks and blue eyes. I have never seen anyone whose face showed so much
fear.
He said to Monkey in English, ‘I am hit in the leg.’
We pulled him out of the cockpit and got him into the car, while the Greeks stood around
watching. The bullet had shattered the bone in his shin.
We drove him back and as we handed him over to the Doc, I saw Katina standing close, looking
at the face of the German. This kid of nine was standing there looking at the German and she
could not speak; she could not even move. She clutched the skirt of her dress in her hands and
stared at the man’s face. ‘There is a mistake somewhere,’ she seemed to be saying. ’There must be
a mistake. This one has pink cheeks and fair hair and blue eyes. This cannot possibly be one of
them. This is an ordinary boy.’ She watched him as they put him on a stretcher and carried him
off, then she turned and ran across the grass to her tent.
In the evening at supper I ate my fried sardines59, but I could not eat the bread or the cheese. For
three days I had been conscious of my stomach, of a hollow feeling such as one gets just before an
operation or while waiting to have a tooth out in the dentist’s house. I had had it all day for three
days, from the moment I woke up to the time I fell asleep. Peter was sitting opposite me and I
asked him about it.
‘I’ve had it for a week,’ he said. ‘It’s good for the bowels60. It loosens them.’
‘German aircraft are like liver pills,’ said Fin from the bottom of the table. ’They are very good
for you, aren’t they, Doc?’
The Doc said, ‘Maybe you’ve had an overdose.’
‘I have,’ said Fin, ‘I’ve had an overdose of German liver pills. I didn’t read the instructions on
the bottle. Take two before retiring.’
Peter said, ‘I would love to retire.’
After supper three of us walked down to the hangers with Monkey, who said, ‘I’m worried
about this ground-strafing. They never attack the hangars because they know that we never put
anything inside them. Tonight I think we’ll collect four of the aircraft and put them into Number
Two Hangar.’
That was a good idea. Normally the Hurricanes were dispersed61 all over the edge of the
aerodrome, but they were picked off one by one, because it was impossible to be in the air the
whole time. The four of us took a machine each and taxied it into Number Two Hangar, and then
we pulled the great sliding doors together and locked them.
The next morning, before the sun had risen from behind the mountains, a flock of Ju-87s came
over and blew Number Two Hangar right off the face of the earth. Their bombing was good and
they did not even hit the hangars on either side of it.
That afternoon they got Peter. He went off towards a village called Khalkis, which was being
bombed by Ju-88s, and no one ever saw him again. Gay, laughing Peter, whose mother lived on a
farm in Kent and who used to write to him in long, pale-blue envelopes which he carried about in
his pockets.
I had always shared a tent with Peter, ever since I came to the squadron, and that evening after I
had gone to bed he came back to that tent. You need not believe me; I do not expect you to, but I
am telling you what happened.
I always went to bed first, because there is not room in one of those tents for two people to be
turning around at the same time. Peter usually came in two or three minutes afterwards. That
evening I went to bed and I lay thinking that tonight he would not be coming. I wondered whether
his body lay tangled62 in the wreckage63 of his aircraft on the side of some bleak64 mountain or whether
it was at the bottom of the sea, and I hoped only that he had had a decent funeral.
Suddenly I heard a movement. The flap of the tent opened and it shut again. But there were no
footsteps. Then I heard him sit down on his bed. It was a noise that I had heard every night for
weeks past and always it had been the same. It was just a thump65 and a creaking of the wooden legs
of the camp bed. One after the other the flying boots were pulled off and dropped upon the ground,
and as always one of them took three times as long to get off as the other. After that there was the
gentle rustle66 of a blanket being pulled back and then the creakings of the rickety bed as it took the
weight of a man’s body.
They were sounds I had heard every night, the same sounds in the same order, and now I sat up
in bed and said, ‘Peter.’ It was dark in the tent. My voice sounded very loud.
‘Hallo, Peter. That was tough luck you had today.’ But there was no answer.
I did not feel uneasy or frightened, but I remember at the time touching67 the tip of my nose with
my finger to make sure that I was there; then because I was very tired, I went to sleep.
In the morning I looked at the bed and saw it had been slept in. But I did not show it to anyone,
not even to Fin. I put the blankets back in place myself and patted the pillow.
It was on that day, the twentieth of April, 1941, that we fought the Battle of Athens. It was
perhaps the last of the great dog-fighting air battles that will ever be fought, because nowadays the
planes fly always in great formation of wings and squadrons, and attack is carried out methodically
and scientifically upon the orders of the leader. Nowadays one does not dog-fight at all over the
sky except upon very rare occasions. But the Battle of Athens was a long and beautiful dog-fight
in which fifteen Hurricanes fought for half an hour with between one hundred and fifty and two
hundred German bombers and fighters.
The bombers started coming over early in the afternoon. It was a lovely spring day and for the
first time the sun had in it a trace of real summer warmth. The sky was blue, save for a few wispy68
clouds here and there and the mountains stood out black and clear against the blue of the sky.
Pentelikon no longer hid his head in the clouds. He stood over us, grim and forbidding,
watching every move and knowing that each thing we did was of little purpose. Men were foolish
and were made only so that they should die, while mountains and rivers went on for ever and did
not notice the passing of time. Had not Pentelikon himself many years ago looked down upon
Thermopylae and seen a handful of Spartans69 defending the pass against the invaders70; seen them
fight until there was not one man left alive among them? Had he not seen the Persians cut to pieces
by Leonidas at Marathon, and had he not looked down upon Salamis and upon the sea when
Themistodes and the Athenians drove the enemy from their shores, causing them to lose more than
two hundred sails? All these things and many more he had seen, and now he looked down upon
us, we were as nothing in his eyes. Almost there was a look of scorn upon the face of the
mountain, and I thought for a moment that I could hear the laughter of the gods. They knew so
well that we were not enough and that in the end we must lose.
The bombers came over just after lunch, and at once we saw that there were a great number of
them. We looked up and saw that the sky was full of little silver specks and the sunlight danced
and sparkled upon a hundred different pairs of wings.
There were fifteen Hurricanes in all and they fought like a storm in the sky. It is not easy to
remember much about such a battle, but I remember looking up and seeing in the sky a mass of
small black dots. I remember thinking to myself that those could not be aeroplanes; they simply
could not be aeroplanes, because there were not so many aeroplanes in the world.
Then they were on us, and I remember that I applied71 a little flap so that I should be able to turn
in tighter circles; then I remember only one or two small incidents which photographed themselves
upon my mind. There were the spurts of flame from the guns of a Messerschmitt as he attacked
from the frontal quarter of my starboard side. There was the German whose parachute was on fire
as it opened. There was the German who flew up beside me and made rude signs at me with his
fingers. There was the Hurricane which collided with a Messerschmitt. There was the aeroplane
which collided with a man who was descending72 in a parachute, and which went into a crazy
frightful73 spin towards the earth with the man and the parachute dangling74 from its port wing. There
were the two bombers which collided while swerving75 to avoid a fighter, and I remember distinctly
seeing a man being thrown clear out of the smoke and debris76 of the collision, hanging in mid-air
with his arms outstretched and his legs apart. I tell you there was nothing that did not happen in
that battle. There was the moment when I saw a single Hurricane doing tight turns around the
summit of Mt Parnes with nine Messerschmitts on its tail and then I remember that suddenly the
skies seemed to dear. There was no longer any aircraft in sight. The battle was over. I turned
around and headed back towards Elevsis, and as I went I looked down and saw Athens and Piraeus
and the rim19 of the sea as it curved around the gulf77 and travelled southward towards the
Mediterranean78. I saw the port of Piraeus where the bombs had fallen and I saw the smoke and fire
rising above the docks. I saw the narrow coastal79 plain, and on it I saw tiny bonfires, thin columns
of black smoke curling upward and drifting away to the east. They were the fires of aircraft which
had been shot down, and I hoped only that none of them were Hurricanes.
Just then I ran straight into a Junkers 88; a straggler, the last bomber9 returning from the raid. He
was in trouble and there was black smoke streaming from one of his engines. Although I shot at
him, I don’t think that it made any difference. He was coming down anyway. We were over the
sea and I could tell that he wouldn’t make the land. He didn’t. He came down smoothly80 on his
belly in the blue Gulf of Piraeus, two miles from the shore. I followed him and circled, waiting to
make sure that the crew got out safely into their dinghy.
Slowly the machine began to sink, dipping its nose under the water and lifting its tail into the
air. But there was no sign of the crew. Suddenly, without any warning, the rear gun started to fire.
They opened up with their rear gun and the bullets made small jagged holes in my starboard wing.
I swerved81 away and I remember shouting at them. I slid back the hood52 of the cockpit and shouted,
‘You lousy brave bastards82. I hope you drown.’ The bomber sank soon backwards83.
When I got back they were all standing around outside the hangars counting the score, and
Katina was sitting on a box with tears rolling down her cheeks. But she was not crying, and Fin
was kneeling down beside her, talking to her in English, quietly and gently, forgetting that she
could not understand.
We lost one third of our Hurricanes in that battle, but the Germans lost more.
The Doc was dressing84 someone who had been burnt and he looked up and said, ‘You should
have heard the Greeks on the aerodrome cheering as the bombers fell out of the sky.’
As we stood around talking, a truck drove up and a Greek got out and said that he had some
pieces of body inside. ‘This is the watch,’ he said, ‘that was on the arm.’ It was a silver wrist
watch with a luminous85 dial, and on the back there were some initials. We did not look inside the
truck.
Now we had, I think, nine Hurricanes left.
That evening a very senior RAF officer came out from Athens and said, ‘Tomorrow at dawn
you will all fly to Megara. It is about ten miles down the coast. There is a small field there on
which you can land. The Army is working on it throughout the night. They have two big rollers
there and they are rolling it smooth. The moment you land you must hid your aircraft in the olive
grove86 which is on the south side of the field. The ground staff are going farther south to Argos and
you can join them later, but you may be able to operate from Megara for a day or two.’
Fin said, ‘Where’s Katina? Doc, you must find Katina and see that she gets to Argos safely.’
The Doc said, ‘I will,’ and we knew that we could trust him.
At dawn the next morning, when it was still dark, we took off and flew to the little field at Megara,
ten miles away. We landed and hid our Hurricanes in the olive grove and broke off branches of the
trees and put them over the aircraft. Then we sat down on the slope of a small hill and waited for
orders.
As the sun rose up over the mountains we looked across the field and saw a mass of Greek
villagers coming down from the village of Megara, coming down towards our field. There were
many hundreds of them, women and children mostly, and they all came down towards our field,
hurrying as they came.
Fin said, ‘What the hell,’ and we sat up on our little hill and watched, wondering what they
were going to do.
They dispersed all around the edge of the field and gathered armfuls of heather and bracken.
They carried it out on to the field, and forming themselves into long lines, they began to scatter87 the
heather and the bracken over the grass. They were camouflaging88 our landing field. The rollers,
when they had rolled out the ground and made it flat for landing, had left marks which were easily
visible from above, and so the Greeks came out of their village, every man, woman and child, and
began to put matters right. To this day I do not know who told them to do it. They stretched in a
long line across the field, walking forward slowly and scattering89 the heather, and Fin and I went
out and walked among them.
They were old women and old men mostly, very small and very sad-looking, with dark, deeply
wrinkled faces and they worked slowly scattering the heather. As we walked by, they would stop
their work and smile, saying something in Greek which we could not understand. One of the
children gave Fin a small pink flower and he did not know what to do with it, but walked around
carrying it in his hand.
Then we went back to the slope of the hill and waited. Soon the field telephone buzzed. It was
the very senior officer speaking. He said that someone must fly back to Elevsis at once and collect
important messages and money. He said also that all of us must leave our little field at Megara and
go to Argos that evening. The others said that they would wait until I came back with the money
so that we could all fly to Argos together.
At the same time, someone had told the two Army men who were still rolling our field, to
destroy their rollers so that the Germans would not get them. I remember, as I was getting into my
Hurricane, seeing the two huge rollers charging towards each other across the field and I
remember seeing the Army men jump aside just before they collided. There was a great crash and
I saw all the Greeks who were scattering heather stop in their work and look up. For a moment
they stood rock still, looking at the rollers. Then one of them started to run. It was an old woman
and she started to run back to the village as fast as she could, shouting something as she went, and
instantly every man, woman and child in the field seemed to take fright and ran after her. I wanted
to get out and run beside them and explain to them; to say I was sorry but that there was nothing
else we could do. I wanted to tell them that we would not forget them and that one day we would
come back. But it was no use. Bewildered and frightened, they ran back to their homes, and they
did not stop running until they were out of sight, not even the old men.
I took off and flew to Elevsis. I landed on a dead aerodrome. There was not a soul to be seen. I
parked my Hurricane, and as I walked over to the hangars the bombers came over once again. I
hid in a ditch until they had finished their work, then got up and walked over to the small
operations room. The telephone was still on the table, so for some reason I picked up the receiver
and said, ‘Hallo.’
A rather German voice at the other end answered.
I said, ‘Can you hear me?’ and the voice said:
‘Yes, yes, I can hear you.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘listen carefully.’
‘Yes, continue please.’
‘This is the RAF speaking. And one day we will come back, do you understand. One day we
will come back.’
Then I tore the telephone from its socket90 and threw it through the glass of the closed window.
When I went outside there was a small man in civilian91 clothes standing near the door. He had a
revolver in one hand and a small bag in the other.
‘Do you want anything?’ he said in quite good English.
I said, ‘Yes, I want important messages and papers which I am to carry back to Argos.’
‘Here you are,’ he said, as he handed me the bag. ‘And good luck.’
I flew back to Megara. There were two Greek destroyers standing offshore92, burning and sinking.
I circled our field and the others taxied out, took off and we all flew off towards Argos.
The landing ground at Argos was just a kind of small field. It was surrounded by thick olive
groves93 into which we taxied our aircraft for hiding. I don’t know how long the field was, but it was
not easy to land upon it. You had to come in low hanging on the prop94, and the moment you
touched down you had to start putting on brake, jerking it on and jerking it off again the moment
she started to nose over. But only one man overshot and crashed.
The ground staff had arrived already and as we got out of our aircraft Katina came running up
with a basket of black olives, offering them to us and pointing to our stomachs, indicating that we
must eat.
Fin bent95 down and ruffled96 her hair with his hand. He said, ‘Katina, one day we must go into
town and buy you a new dress.’ She smiled at him but did not understand and we all started to eat
black olives.
Then I looked around and saw that the wood was full of aircraft. Around every comer there was
an aeroplane hidden in the trees, and when we asked about it we learned that the Greeks had
brought the whole of their air force down to Argos and parked them in that little wood. They were
peculiar97 ancient models, not one of them less than five years old, and I don’t know how many
dozen there were there.
That night we slept under the trees. We wrapped Katina up in a large flying suit and gave her a
flying helmet for a pillow, and after she had gone to sleep we sat around eating black olives and
drinking resinato out of an enormous cask. But we were very tired, and soon we fell asleep.
All the next day we saw the truckloads of troops moving down the road towards the sea, and as
often as we could we took off and flew above them.
The Germans kept coming over and bombing the road near by, but they had not yet spotted98 our
airfield.
Later in the day we were told that every available Hurricane was to take off at six p.m. to
protect an important shipping99 move, and the nine machines, which were all that were now left,
were refuelled and got ready. At three minutes to six we began to taxi out of the olive grove on to
the field.
The first two machines took off, but just as they left the ground something black swept down out
of the sky and shot them both down in flames. I looked around and saw at least fifty Messerschmitt
110s circling our field, and even as I looked some of them turned and came down upon the
remaining seven Hurricanes which were waiting to take off.
There was no time to do anything. Each one of our aircraft was hit in that first swoop26, although
funnily enough only one of the pilots was hurt. It was impossible now to take off, so we jumped
out of our aircraft, hauled the wounded pilot out of his cockpit and ran with him back to the slit
trenches, to the wonderful big, deep zig-zagging slit trenches which had been dug by the Greeks.
The Messerschmitts took their time. There was no opposition100 either from the ground or from the
air, except that Fin was firing his revolver.
It is not a pleasant thing to be ground-strafed especially if they have cannon101 in their wings; and
unless one has a deep slit trench in which to lie, there is no future in it. For some reason, perhaps
because they thought it was a good joke, the German pilots went for the slit trenches before they
bothered about the aircraft. The first ten minutes was spent rushing madly around the corners of
the trenches so as not to be caught in a trench which ran parallel with the line of flight of the
attacking aircraft. It was a hectic102, dreadful ten minutes, with everyone shouting ‘Here comes
another,’ and scrambling103 and rushing to get around the corner into the other section of the trench.
Then the Germans went for the Hurricanes and at the same time for the mass of old Greek
aircraft parked all around the olive grove, and one by one, methodically and systematically104, they
set them on fire. The noise was terrific, and everywhere – in the trees, on the rocks and on the
grass – the bullets splattered.
I remember peeping cautiously over the top of our trench and seeing a small white flower
growing just a few inches away from my nose. It was pure white and it had three petals105. I
remember looking past it and seeing three of the Germans diving on my own Hurricane which was
parked on the other side of the field and I remember shouting at them, although I do not know
what I said.
Then suddenly I saw Katina. She was running out from the far corner of the aerodrome, running
right out into the middle of this mass of blazing guns and burning aircraft, running as fast as she
could. Once she stumbled, but she scrambled106 to her feet again and went on running. Then she
stopped and stood looking up, raising her fists at the planes as they flew past.
Now as she stood there, I remember seeing one of the Messer-schmitts turning and coming in
low straight towards her and I remember thinking that she was so small that she could not be hit. I
remember seeing the spurts of flame from his guns as he came, and I remember seeing the child,
for a split second, standing quite still, facing the machine. I remember that the wind was blowing
in her hair.
Then she was down.
The next moment I shall never forget. On every side, as if by magic, men appeared out of the
ground. They swarmed107 out of their trenches and like a crazy mob poured on to the aerodrome,
running towards the tiny little bundle, which lay motionless in the middle of the field. They ran
fast, crouching108 as they went, and I remember jumping up out of my slit trench and joining with
them. I remember thinking of nothing at all and watching the boots of the man in front of me,
noticing that he was a little bow-legged and that his blue trousers were much too long.
I remember seeing Fin arrive first, followed closely by a sergeant called Wishful, and I
remember seeing the two of them pick up Katina and start running with her back towards the
trenches. I saw her leg, which was just a lot of blood and bones, and I saw her chest where the
blood was spurting109 out on to her white print dress; I saw, for a moment, her face, which was white
as the snow on top of Olympus.
I ran beside Fin, and as he ran, he kept saying, ‘The lousy bastards, the lousy, bloody110 bastards’;
and then as we got to our trench I remember looking round and finding that there was no longer
any noise or shooting. The Germans had gone.
Fin said, ‘Where’s the Doc?’ and suddenly there he was, standing beside us, looking at Katina –
looking at her face.
The Doc gently touched her wrist and without looking up he said, ‘She is not alive.’
They put her down under a little tree, and when I turned away I saw on all sides the fires of
countless111 burning aircraft. I saw my own Hurricane burning near by and I stood staring hopelessly
into the flames as they danced around the engine and licked against the metal of the wings.
I stood staring into the flames, and as I stared the fire became a deeper red and I saw beyond it
not a tangled mass of smoking wreckage, but the flames of a hotter and intenser fire which now
burned and smouldered in the hearts of the people of Greece.
Still I stared, and as I stared I saw in the centre of the fire, whence the red flames sprang, a
bright, white heat, shining bright and without any colour.
As I stared, the brightness diffused112 and became soft and yellow like sunlight, and through it,
beyond it, I saw a young child standing in the middle of a field with the sunlight shining in her
hair. For a moment she stood looking up into the sky, which was clear and blue and without any
clouds; then she turned and looked towards me, and as she turned I saw that the front of her white
print dress was stained deep red, the colour of blood.
Then there was no longer any fire or any flames and I saw before me only the glowing twisted
wreckage of a burned-out plane. I must have been standing there for quite a long time.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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2
fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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3
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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4
airfield
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| n.飞机场 | |
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5
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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6
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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7
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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8
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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9
bomber
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| n.轰炸机，投弹手，投掷炸弹者 | |
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10
bombers
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| n.轰炸机( bomber的名词复数 )；投弹手；安非他明胶囊；大麻叶香烟 | |
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11
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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12
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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13
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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14
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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15
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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16
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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18
shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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19
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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21
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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25
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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27
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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28
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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31
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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32
fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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35
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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37
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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38
radar
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| n.雷达，无线电探测器 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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40
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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42
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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43
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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46
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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47
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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50
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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51
hangers
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| n.衣架( hanger的名词复数 )；挂耳 | |
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52
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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53
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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54
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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55
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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57
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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58
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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59
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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60
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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wispy
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| adj.模糊的；纤细的 | |
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spartans
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| n.斯巴达（spartan的复数形式） | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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81
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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87
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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camouflaging
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的现在分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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91
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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92
offshore
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| adj.海面的，吹向海面的；adv.向海面 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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94
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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97
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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98
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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99
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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100
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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101
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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102
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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103
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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104
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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105
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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106
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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107
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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108
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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109
spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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110
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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111
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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112
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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