building, the sound of shattering glass, the thud of falling masonry. Like hundreds of thousands of others, he sensed that time was running out to escape from this flaming city.
Down at the port, both residents and refugees were fighting for places on any boat they could. What had begun in an orderly fashion, with people quietly queuing and hopeful for a place, had descended into chaos. With the city on fire and atrocities being perpetrated just a few hundred metres away, panic was taking hold. The temperature of fear increased with every person who arrived to join the crowd, which was now enclosed in a space just one kilometre wide and a few hundred metres deep. It was a catastrophe.
Alone and unencumbered by possessions, Leonidas was able to manoeuvre himself towards the centre of the crowd. He could see small boats piled high with chairs, mattresses and trunks being rowed out to sea. Other vessels meant for one man and his fishing nets had twenty people on board. There was the sound of splashing as people threw themselves into the sea, intent on swimming out to one of the Italian boats to plead for refuge. Occasionally there was the sound of gunfire as a swimmer was picked off by a Turkish sniper.
Leonidas felt a wave of shame. Every Greek killed was revenge for a dead Turk. What a pointless game of numbers it seemed to have become. Death for the man he saw vanishing beneath the surface of the water was speedy but he knew there had been times when he and his men had ensured that a victim’s suffering was long and painful before they allowed him his final gasp.
Flashes of the shame and horror of the past few months had haunted his dreams, but now plagued his every waking moment too. He turned away from the water and pushed against the tide of people to find his way to the back of the crowd. His eyes were stinging with tears from the smoke but sobs came from deep within. He could not leave. With all the crimes that weighed on his conscience, how could he could push in front of any other man, woman or child? There was not one person here who did not deserve to live more than he. In all those months of the campaign, the soldiers had been swept along on a tide of hatred and self-justification, but now it was self-loathing that tore at his heart. Base acts of animal violence swam in front of his eyes, one after another, then another and another …The harbour of Smyrna had disappeared for him and in its place were dark images from the past weeks.
Anyone not entirely preoccupied by their own plans for escape would have noticed a skeletal, sunburned soldier walking as though in a trance away from the sea. His ragged hair was white with dust, and tears ran between the deep crevices of his prematurely aged and wrinkled skin.
Coming in the other direction, was the woman with her two girls in their embroidered frocks. She was desperate for places for herself and her daughters. ‘ Athina ?’ she asked repeatedly, as she followed directions towards the queue for a ship to Piraeus, the closest port to Athens. Her politeness and her elegance were a passport through the crowd and people parted to let her and her infants through. The baby’s pitiful cries were enough to arouse sympathy in even the hardest heart.
As the woman continued on her way, a building went up in flames close by and sparks flew. She was only metres from the front of the queue.
At that moment, a glowing ember dropped onto the little girl’s sleeve. The fabric immediately melted away, burning the skin beneath, and she shrieked in pain, pulling away from her mother to extinguish the flame. Meanwhile, her mother was being relentlessly swept forward, and in the next moment had been ushered onto a small boat. It would take her to the Piraeus-bound ship that was safely anchored some distance away.
Realising that her daughter was not with her, the woman began to scream.
‘Where’s my Katerina? Where’s my little girl? Katerina! Katerina! Katerina! My little
Down at the port, both residents and refugees were fighting for places on any boat they could. What had begun in an orderly fashion, with people quietly queuing and hopeful for a place, had descended into chaos. With the city on fire and atrocities being perpetrated just a few hundred metres away, panic was taking hold. The temperature of fear increased with every person who arrived to join the crowd, which was now enclosed in a space just one kilometre wide and a few hundred metres deep. It was a catastrophe.
Alone and unencumbered by possessions, Leonidas was able to manoeuvre himself towards the centre of the crowd. He could see small boats piled high with chairs, mattresses and trunks being rowed out to sea. Other vessels meant for one man and his fishing nets had twenty people on board. There was the sound of splashing as people threw themselves into the sea, intent on swimming out to one of the Italian boats to plead for refuge. Occasionally there was the sound of gunfire as a swimmer was picked off by a Turkish sniper.
Leonidas felt a wave of shame. Every Greek killed was revenge for a dead Turk. What a pointless game of numbers it seemed to have become. Death for the man he saw vanishing beneath the surface of the water was speedy but he knew there had been times when he and his men had ensured that a victim’s suffering was long and painful before they allowed him his final gasp.
Flashes of the shame and horror of the past few months had haunted his dreams, but now plagued his every waking moment too. He turned away from the water and pushed against the tide of people to find his way to the back of the crowd. His eyes were stinging with tears from the smoke but sobs came from deep within. He could not leave. With all the crimes that weighed on his conscience, how could he could push in front of any other man, woman or child? There was not one person here who did not deserve to live more than he. In all those months of the campaign, the soldiers had been swept along on a tide of hatred and self-justification, but now it was self-loathing that tore at his heart. Base acts of animal violence swam in front of his eyes, one after another, then another and another …The harbour of Smyrna had disappeared for him and in its place were dark images from the past weeks.
Anyone not entirely preoccupied by their own plans for escape would have noticed a skeletal, sunburned soldier walking as though in a trance away from the sea. His ragged hair was white with dust, and tears ran between the deep crevices of his prematurely aged and wrinkled skin.
Coming in the other direction, was the woman with her two girls in their embroidered frocks. She was desperate for places for herself and her daughters. ‘ Athina ?’ she asked repeatedly, as she followed directions towards the queue for a ship to Piraeus, the closest port to Athens. Her politeness and her elegance were a passport through the crowd and people parted to let her and her infants through. The baby’s pitiful cries were enough to arouse sympathy in even the hardest heart.
As the woman continued on her way, a building went up in flames close by and sparks flew. She was only metres from the front of the queue.
At that moment, a glowing ember dropped onto the little girl’s sleeve. The fabric immediately melted away, burning the skin beneath, and she shrieked in pain, pulling away from her mother to extinguish the flame. Meanwhile, her mother was being relentlessly swept forward, and in the next moment had been ushered onto a small boat. It would take her to the Piraeus-bound ship that was safely anchored some distance away.
Realising that her daughter was not with her, the woman began to scream.
‘Where’s my Katerina? Where’s my little girl? Katerina! Katerina! Katerina! My little
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