A story based upon the film The Guns of Navarone
and written by
Yuchtar

       Keith Mallory stood looking out the window of his London hotel room. The city was a shambles of wartime rubble - buildings blown to bits by German bombs; but there was a festive aire about none-the-less. The war was over. Rebuilding would start soon enough - for now, it was time to celebrate. Mallory didn't feel much like celebrating.
       He slipped off his military jacket and looked forlornly at the shiny new Major's clusters. With a sigh, he draped the jacket over the chair by the desk and stretched his long, lanky form out on the bed, cigarette in hand. His mind drifted back a couple years to 1943 and a face loomed larger than life in his mind's eye. Andrea Stavro.
       Mallory had been working for Military Intelligence on the Island of Crete, and Stavro was his local contact there. A big bear of a man, Stavro was a Colonel in the local militia and was badly wanted - dead or alive - by the Germans. Mallory would soon have a bounty on his head as well. The two men worked well together - they liked and respected each other.

       Mallory closed his eyes and he was back there again. The danger, the smell of gun powder and blood and sweat and fear, the heightened awareness of everything around him - it all made his heart beat just a little faster. He was in a cave now. It was a dark, cramped place, but the fire made it warm and Stavro was pulling a blanket out of his pack. Mallory was in and out of consciousness. They'd just been out doing a bit of sabotage and Mallory had cut his leg badly on some razor wire. The ensuing infection now had him feverish and often delirious.
       Stavro cleaned the wound again and rebandaged it, then wrapped the blanket and his strong arms around Mallory as the other man shivered despite the cloying heat in the cave. Mallory felt safe there in the big man's arms. Safe and comfortable and at peace. When morning arrived, Mallory felt refreshed and ready to tackle another day.
       Stavro was not in the cave, but his pack was still there, so he would be coming back. Mallory set what few rations they had on to cook at the fire and thought perhaps he should shave, but could not find his water canteen. Stavro's canteen was missing too, so the big man presumably went out in search of fresh water.
       When Stavro returned with the canteens, Mallory said, "Bout time you got back - I thought I was going to have to eat all this myself and with nothing to wash it down with."
       "Sorry - spotted a German patrol and just couldn't ignore it," replied Stavro with his husky Greek accent.
       "Dead?"
       "Of course." Stavro handed over Mallory's canteen and sat down by the fire to eat.
       "Were you singing to me last night?" Mallory wanted to know suddenly.
       "What?"
       "Last night - did you sing me a lullaby?"
       "Don't be ridiculous, Keith, of course I wasn't singing to you. That fever must have addled your brain."
       But Mallory could swear he could see a slight blush at the other man's cheeks. He had been singing to him. A sweet melancholy tune - sung in Greek, but some dialect he didn't understand, so he had no idea what it had been about. He smiled thinly and didn't say any more about it as they ate in silence.

       When they were done eating, Mallory packed up everything and prepared to head home.
       "Leg feeling any better?" Stavro asked.
       "Oh, yeah - tip top!" Mallory said. "And by the way," Mallory added as he leaned low and kissed Stavro quickly on his scratchy bearded cheek, "Thanks for the lullaby."
       Stavro grunted in disapproval and wiped at his cheek as if a snake had bit him, but he had a twinkle in his eyes that belied his true feelings.
       Mallory grinned. "You have a lovely voice, you know."
       "Shut up, Captain."
       "Oh, yes sir, sir," Mallory gave him a half dozen mock salutes and grinned broadly. "Whateveryousaysir, Sir!"
       With a roll of his eyes, Stavro shoved Mallory out of the cave and the two friends made their way back to their headquarters.

       Mallory's cigarette had burned down and burned his fingers, which snapped him out of the memory. With a string of curses in several languages, he threw the offending butt into the ashtray and wiped the ashes off the bedspread. Laying back with his hands behind his head, he thought back again.

       It had been just a few weeks after the cave, when a German patrol had requested safe passage to bring their wounded to hospital. Mallory - with somewhat romantic notions of gallantry still intact, had granted it. Stavro was a major thorn in the side of the Reich, and they wanted him badly. The Germans had killed their own wounded and made their way to Stavro's house. A well placed pipe bomb had leveled the small house to the ground. The big man was out on a job at the time, but his wife and three children were all killed in the explosion.
       Mallory felt a deep sadness in his heart even now, as he recalled the look on his friend's face as they sifted through the debris in search of the bodies. Stavro and Mallory were both covered with ash and blood and smoke and dust, as they pulled the four shattered forms out of the rubble. They had been together - probably around the kitchen table eating dinner. Mallory felt the lump returning to his throat now as he recalled the digging of the graves and how small and fragile the three little bodies of the children had seemed.
       When it was all done, Stavro, who had remained mute throughout the ordeal till now, spoke in a raspy, harsh but controlled voice. "When this war is over, Mallory, I will kill you."

       Mallory knew it was true. Andrea Stavro was always a man of his word. And he had damned good reason to kill him! If he hadn't been so high and mighty and full of foolish ideals, that lovely woman and the three charming children would still be alive! So, now that the war was over, he would sit here in London till Stavro came for him. Why make the poor bastard search all over the States for him? It's not like he had anything to go home to anyway.
       He lit another cigarette and thought back to that last job they had done together.

       The island of Navarone. God! But that was the craziest mission he'd ever been sent on! They hadn't had a chance in hell of pulling it off, but pulled it off they did. He smiled at the memory.

       His old friend Roy Franklin had recommended him for the job. *Thanks, old buddy,* he thought to himself with a silent chuckle. As part of a six man team, he was to get them up the side of a bloody steep cliff - at night - and in a rain storm too, as it happened! He'd been a well known rock climber in his youth and spoke both German and Greek like a native - that's why they had chosen him. Franklin would lead the expedition once Mallory got them to the top of the cliff. Corporal Miller was a good friend of Franklin's and was an opinionated, insubordinate, but very likable guy who happened to be very good at blowing things up. Spiro Papademos and "Butcher" Brown were coming along because they were experts at killing people. And Stavro was there because he and Mallory worked very well together.
       What a load on his mind Mallory had carried on that mission! Franklin had broken his leg during the climb, and so ended up being left behind in the hopes the Germans would treat him. Mallory had taken over command of the mission. He'd lied to his old friend - fed him false information with the understanding that the Germans would interrogate him and believe what he told them. He had hoped they would just use scopolamine, which they had, but not before torturing him for a while first. He still felt guilty over that too. And then there was Miller, who hated him with a passion because he was an officer and had used his good friend. Brown turned out to be a killer who didn't want to kill any more and Papademos was a hot headed young Greek kid who wanted too much to kill. Stavro, of course, was his best friend in the world and wanted to kill him - would he wait for the end of the war? Then there was Maria Papademos - Spiro's sister and leader of the local resistance group, and her poor mute friend who turned out to be a German collaborator. Maria was a strong woman and had saved him a lot of grief by shooting the other woman herself when they discovered she was a spy.
       Stavro had saved Mallory's life once on that mission - and Mallory had done the same for Stavro. The war wasn't over yet and a deal was a deal, wasn't it? After that job, Stavro had stayed on to help Maria fight the Germans - maybe the big man would settle down and forget about his vow.

       Ahhhhhhh, who was he kidding? Mallory sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray, he sighed heavily to himself. It was just a matter of time now. As soon as Stavro got his affairs in order, he'd come looking for him, and Mallory certainly hadn't made himself scarce. It seemed cowardly and downright unfriendly to try to hide himself and who the hell wanted to spend the rest of his life running anyway?
       No, he'd rather get it over with. He lit another cigarette and pondered. What will he do when Stavro does catch up to him? Will he try to talk him out of it? Will he try to kill the big man first? Will he just sit back and let himself be killed? Could he bring himself to do any of the above? Damn it! He threw his cigarette down and stepped on it as he stood. What a mess this whole situation was! He poured himself a drink and downed it in one go.
       Determined to get his mind off this business for a little while, anyway, Mallory grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. A little ambling led him to a nearby tavern. He went in, got himself a scotch and sat in a corner - KEEP AWAY etched clearly on his features. No one bothered him while he nursed that drink and contemplated the meaning of life. After a few hours, he finished off the drink and walked back to his hotel as the sun was setting.

       When he got to his room, he opened the door, tossed his jacket across the room onto the chair and switched on the light.
       "Are you drunk?"
       Mallory recognised the voice and had an influx of conflicting emotions as he turned to face Andrea Stavro. He was almost surprised, and yet he had halfway expected to find the man here. He was frightened and relieved and worried and happy to see him looking so well and pissed off that he'd been kept waiting and angry that he was now going to have to decide what to do about the whole situation. He couldn't help but smile at the big man lounging on the bed, though.
       "Andrea!" He called. "You're not dead!"
       "You are drunk."
       "No, I'm not drunk. And I haven't forgotten about your vow. That doesn't mean I can't be glad to see you survived the war, does it?"
       Both men's eyes turned toward the desk, on which sat a gun next to the half full bottle of scotch. Stavro must have put it there, because Mallory didn't leave his gun out like that.
       "Go for it," Stavro said.
       "You go for it."
       "Aren't you going to try to kill me before I kill you?"
       Mallory had been asking himself that same question for the last several hours. He hadn't come up with an answer until now. "No."
       Stavro rose slowly, glanced at the gun and then at Mallory. The other man looked good. Tall and lean as he'd remembered, but harder somehow. The pale eyes seemed darker, sadder.
       Mallory set his jaw in a stubborn line, refusing to show any emotion as Stavro went for the gun. The big man had lost a little weight, but he was still massive. The longish dark hair was unkempt as usual, and the dark eyes were piercing like daggers through his own. But Stavro didn't go for the gun.
       Instead, he closed the distance between them and took Mallory into his arms in a bear hug. "Keith!" he bellowed. "I was afraid you'd gotten yourself killed before I could do the job properly!"
       Mallory frowned at Stavro's wide grin and asked, "Well, how are you planning to kill me? Crush me to death?"
       Laughing, Stavro released his grip. "Actually, I kind of changed my mind. About killing you, I mean."
       "Oh, well, that's a relief. What are you doing here, then?"
       "Would you have preferred I stay away and leave you to wonder for the rest of your life when I would show up and stick a knife between your ribs?"
       "You have a point there." Mallory walked to the desk and poured them each a drink. Handing one to Stavro, he asked, "Is that the way you had decided on? A knife between the ribs?"
       Stavro downed his drink in one go and then flopped back down on the bed. "Sure - one of them. I had all kinds of things worked out. Ahhh, well - doesn't matter now, my friend. The war is over and we have survived!"
       "What about Maria?"
       "Oh, she's all right - tough as nails, that one."
       "Won't she be missing you?"
       "Maybe so. Maybe not. Should I be concerned by that?"
       Mallory drank his scotch and smiled. "You haven't changed a bit, have you, Andrea?"
       "Why should I change? I'm perfect the way I am!"
       Mallory laughed and Stavro grinned at the sound.
       "It is good to hear you laugh again, my friend. I've missed that."
       With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Mallory asked, "You know what I've missed?"
       "No - what?"
       "Your singing."
       "My what?"
       "Your singing! And your arms around me. The singing wouldn't be the same without your arms around me."
       "Good god! You're talking about that night in the cave on Crete, aren't you?"
       "So, you're admitting you sang to me?"
       Stavro rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, so what? You were wounded, delirious with fever - I held you like a child and sang you a lullaby. I didn't think you would remember."
       Mallory laughed and sat down next to his friend on the bed. "I did remember, though - and it was lovely. I couldn't understand the words, though - what dialect was it?"
       Stavro shrugged. "It was Russian - a song my mother's aunt would sing to me when I was small. I don't know what it means either."
       "Sing it for me now?"
       "No!"
       "Why not? The war is over, we've survived and we're not going to kill each other - the world is new!" Shoving the big man over so his back was against the wall, Mallory scooted himself up to sit between the muscular legs and leaned back against the massive chest. "Put your arms around me, dammit, and sing!"
       "Oh, you are sooooo weird, Keith - have I never told you that?" But Stavro put his arms around the lean form and sighed.
       "Well, that's a start, anyway."
       "You know I really wanted to kill you when I buried my Philana."
       "I know," Mallory replied sadly. "And believe it or not, I really wanted you to kill me."
       "I believe it. You were always an idiot."
       "Oh, thank YOU!"
       Stavro shrugged. "Don't mention it. Idiocy was new to me, though - took me a while to get over it."
       "You're not singing."
       "No, I don't feel like singing. "
       "That's okay. This is nice too."
       "Did I ever tell you how much I loved you?"
       "Yeah."
       "Yeah? When?"
       "That night in the cave when you held me and sang to me."
       "Oh, yes. But I didn't think you were listening then."
       "I was."
       "What now?"
       "I'll be officially discharged from military service tomorrow. How bout you?"
       "Hmmmmm, the militia has been disbanded all ready."
       "Then let's travel for a while. I have nothing to go home to and it might be nice to see some of the old haunts without the threat of German bombs falling on our heads."
       "You're serious, aren't you?"
       "Sure! Squeeze harder."
       Stavro laughed and tightened his grip around Mallory's body. When he'd finished laughing, he sat in silence for a moment, relishing the feel of the other man against him. Then he began to sing. In a deep, melancholy voice, he sang the lullaby his mother's aunt had taught him as a child.
       Mallory sighed contentedly and closed his eyes as a lifetime of tension eased out of his body all at once.