Battle on a Vacation Isle

Trapped in the fierce fighting last week on Cyprus were thousands of tourists. A11 together, in the course of a week, almost 10,000 people were evacuated by British and U.S. ships and planes. Tales told later were more than enough to fill a "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" scrapbook.

Jill Davis, a vivacious office worker from West London, flew home with the memory of 24 hours spent inside a Roman tomb with her boy friend while Turks shelled the area; the couple feared they would be buried alive. Twins Amanda and Penny Mieras of Kent spent their 16th birthday using lipstick, eye shadow and a bed sheet to make a Union Jack to identify them as neutrals. U.S. Businessman John Mazzarella of New York City was among a group of tourists forced to remain inside the Ledra Palace Hotel in Nicosia as hos tages of the Greeks against Turkish snip ers outside. He told of the "Hollywood scene with planes flying in formation and paratroopers dropping all over Nic osia. Our waiters disappeared and came back wearing khaki uniforms. But at least we never had to pay our bills."

Said another evacuee sadly: "You know, the sky is always blue on Cyprus. Suddenly it was gray. Even the birds were scared away."

Frequent Gallantry. The first wave of the Turkish invasion force to taled 8,000 men in three brigades, equipped with TOW missiles, armored personnel carriers and tanks. They were backed by jets that dominated the sky and naval forces that protected them with offshore shelling. Ranged against them were nearly 15,000 Greek Cypriot troops, plus a Greek Cypriot reserve force that came into battle dressed in everything from blue jeans to World War II helmets and armed with anything from shotguns to ancient bolt-action Lee-Enfield rifles. The reserves, like the regulars, fought with verve and frequent gallantry. Near the coastal resort of Famagusta, TIME Correspondent Karsten Prager watched in awe as a Greek Cypriot mobile unit that consisted of a Fiat, a BMW and a bright red open-top MG tried to turn the flank of a Turkish column.

In Famagusta, Prager reported, Turkish jets pounded targets that had no military value just two hours before the cease-fire went into effect. One heavily struck area was the city's famed Golden Mile, a chain of beach hotels. The last of the foreign tourists were still being evacuated when the afternoon strikes took place. In a first aid center near the beach, Greek volunteers flattened themselves on the floor. Young women bravely, if thinly, sang a song of the Greek underground that has as its theme the old Spartan saying about coming home carrying one's shield or on it. When the planes pulled up and headed back to Turkey, the waterfront was a shambles. Five hotels and many shops along Kennedy Avenue, the main hotel street, were smashed. In what had been the bar of the Salaminia Tower Hotel, the body of a beach boy hung upside down, legs caught in the wreckage. The Turkish planes also hit residential areas, and numerous civilians were killed or wounded.

Embarrassing Loss. One of the most dangerous places for foreign non-combatants was the resort of Kyrenia, where Turkish forces waded ashore to attack Greeks holed up in the ancient Byzantine waterfront fortress and the police station. TIME Correspondent William Marmon and TIME Photographer David Rubinger joined 300 tourists and alien residents who had taken shelter in the Castellis Dome Hotel. Many were British, and with typical cool they quickly formed a twelve-man committee to organize food supplies, provide protection and give medical care. One of the committee's first moves was to close the Dome's well-stocked bar. "Things were falling apart a bit from the strain," one committee member explained to Marmon. "Too much drink and not enough food."

Near by, at the Dudley Court Hotel, matters were more terrifying for 21 tourists huddled in the cellar. The building was raked with machine-gun fire. Propane tanks in the kitchen were shattered, and the gas seeped into the cellar where it was mistaken for chemical-warfare gas, creating momentary panic. The tourists had draped a large Union Jack over the hotel entrance, and it too was stitched with shots. After the shooting, one of the group complained to a Turkish major in charge about the desecration of the British flag. In response the major summoned the lieutenant in charge of the offending patrol, ripped off his officer's insignia and chivalrously presented them to the Briton.

Marmon and Rubinger were among the hundreds of foreigners rescued from the resort by British ships. By then, Turkish soldiers were in control of Kyrenia, formerly a Greek Cypriot enclave.

Turkish officers lounged in the town's open-air cafes and sipped Cypriot Keo beer. Their troops began looting Greek stores for food, medicines and clothing.

The Turks did not have it all their own way. They suffered the most embarrassing loss of the conflict: the sinking of the 3,500-ton Turkish destroyer Kocatepe by a Turkish jet. At least 16 sailors were killed. The accident happened when the Turkish navy provided the air force with incorrect map coordinates of the area in which it would be steaming. Since Turks and Greeks both sail warships provided by the U.S., the Turkish pilot mistook the Kocatepe (ex-U.S.S. Harwood) for a Greek destroyer and sank it with one well-placed bomb.

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