by Alan Bardos
The Dardanelles Conspiracy
Alan Bardos
© Alan Bardos 2021.
Alan Bardos has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
Originally published by Sharpe Books in 2021.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Historical Note
Chapter 1
A second salvo struck in a series of nerve-shattering explosions that lit up the grey sky and brought down half the trench wall. It felt like all the mud and filth in the world had been blown into Johnny Swift’s face. Choking he clawed at his eyes as the next salvo came.
The 5.9 inch shells made a rushing noise like an express train tearing through the sky towards him. Johnny clutched a small brass box hearing them arch down with a horrible whistling scream and hit the line with a ringing metallic bang that shook him to the bone.
Johnny exhaled slowly as the roaring faded and started to regain his senses, becoming aware of a chemical stench from black smoke. He was relieved for once not to hear the cries of the wounded. Despite everything he’d seen over the past few months, Johnny couldn’t get used to the helpless feeling he had when his men were hurt.
He choked down a mouthful of rum and tried to get a hold of himself. It had just been a bit of early evening hate, to remind everyone that they were still at war.
Johnny braced himself to check his platoon and started to slowly twist his way through the trench. Traversing the primitive buttresses and bays that made up the section of front his platoon held. Johnny’s feet were numb and swollen, as they crushed through the frozen mud.
He was relieved to find that no one had been killed. Thankfully, he’d had enough notice to get the men under cover before the shelling started. Lady Smyth, their trench, had brought them through.
A heavyset corporal wearing a goatskin jerkin nodded at him.
‘Everything all right, Williams 19666?’ Johnny clapped him on the back and felt Williams tremble. As Williams was Welsh, the men liked to add a number to his name, as would have happened in a Welsh regiment.
‘Oh aye, in the pink, sir - nothing like a couple of rounds with Jack Johnson to give you an appetite,’ he answered with a melancholic Welsh accent that reminded Johnny of his stepfather.
‘Glad to hear it. I need you to organise a fatigue party to check on the wire,’ Johnny said, pointing over the top.
‘Oh thank you, sir, and I hope the next lot we catch bloody pulverises you,’ Williams said the last part of the sentence in a half-mumble, half chant.
‘What was that, Corporal?’ Johnny asked.
‘Oh nothing, sir. Just offering up a prayer for your salvation.’ Williams 19666 had studied theology before the war. Which Johnny found had given him a questioning nature about his superiors and had inspired his numeric.
‘Would you like me to have tea served?’ Williams asked. ‘Only it has rather been delayed by enemy action.’
‘Yes, I don’t see why not.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Williams could always make ‘sir’ sound like a term of disrespect.
Johnny leant back against the side of the trench and took a long pull from his hip flask. The warmth of the rough rum slowly spreading through his body. Only stopping when it reached the tidemark where his knees submerged into the mud.
The sound of 5.9 shells always put him in mind of a train journey he’d taken to Vienna with the original Lady Elizabeth Smyth, the forthright wife of his superior in the Diplomatic Service.
Johnny touched the right hand breast pocket of his jacket, where he kept his talismans in the brass box. It had been a Christmas present from Princess Mary and a grateful nation. He traced its outline, embossed with a woman’s profile that was not unlike Lady Elizabeth.
He wondered if she would ever reply to the letter he’d sent her. He needed to see her and retrace the story of his life over her elegant contours once again.
The only joy he had left were hazy, crumpled memories. The most precious talisman in his box had been given to him at a reception for Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, by a stunning girl in a pink and white silk dress.
She’d taken a small piece of metal from his lapel. Handing it to him as if it were a magic coin she’d pulled from behind his ear and whispered, ‘Here you are Krumpli.’
Johnny tried not to dwell too much on the events of that day, or Kati Weisz. Whatever there had been between them had died that Sunday morning in June along with everything else.
The Archduke had been the first man Johnny had seen killed, but he certainly wouldn’t be the last. Johnny might not have stopped the war, but he wanted to get as many of his men through it as possible. The thought surprised him. He normally didn’t care about such things.
‘There you are, Lieutenant Swift.’ A high-pitched voice shouted at him. ‘Away with the fairies as usual?’
Johnny cringed and fumbled to hide his hip flask. The outline of a rakish Burberry trench coat was coming towards him. ‘Crassus’ Dawkins, the battalion Scout Officer had decided to pay him a visit.
‘I say Swift, are you aware Mr Boche is out there, bold as you please?’ Crassus shrieked as he reached Johnny. ‘Why aren’t you walloping them, don't you fancy yourself a crack shot?’
'I'm better with paper targets.’ Johnny smiled, he’d recently beaten Crassus in a battalion shooting contest.
‘Yes, had one of your old regulars teach you marksmanship, I gather?’ Crassus’s tone suggested Johnny had cheated.
‘Knowing how to handle a rifle comes in handy when the enemy snipers get a bit lively,’ Johnny said. The last thing he had wanted to do was get involved in the perpetual game of one-upmanship that Crassus engaged in with the world.
‘I prefer a bayonet myself, a lot less fussy,’ Crassus retorted, raising a chuckle from Williams.
Crassus glanced around at the men eating bully beef. The sight made Johnny feel slightly downhearted. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
‘The wonders of the modern world, Swift. Don’t you think it’s incredible that we’re able to keep all these men on the line with canned food, rather than having them idle in winter accommodation?’
‘I don’t know, Dawkins. The tradition has always been to fight in the spring, but now we can sustain an army in the field indefinitely, it’s a
ll a touch mercantile,’ Johnny said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He couldn’t believe that someone could talk like that in front of men living in this icebound waste.
Crassus gave Johnny a filthy look. Johnny knew his comment had been a bit near the knuckle. Crassus’s people owned a chain of grocers and were indeed more than a touch mercantile. Some wit in the officers’ mess had gone so far as to name him after the richest man in ancient Rome.
‘You do talk rot sometimes, Swift,’ Crassus said acidly. ‘I take it you’re aware that a new division is currently being formed from some of the finest regiments in the British Army?’
‘Yes the 29th, you have mentioned it.’
Johnny heard a call from no man’s land and started to lose patience. ‘Look Crassus, it was thoughtful of you to come and have a chat, but was there something you wanted?’
‘Well as a matter of fact I brought your mail.’ Crassus produced a letter from inside his trench coat. There was enough light for Johnny to see his name elegantly written in violet ink.
‘I say that’s most awfully decent of you.’ Johnny almost liked him at that moment.
‘It isn’t done to use a superior’s nickname, especially one as beastly as that, in front of the men.’
‘I’m sorry Lieutenant Dawkins. I didn’t mean to undermine your authority any further.’ Johnny would have said anything at that point. Crassus bowed courteously and passed him the letter.
Johnny ripped open the envelope and read the letter twice within a single match strike. “I’m not your plucky little sweetheart. Yours Lady Elizabeth Smyth etc etc.”
'Bad news? Hard lines Swift, but I’ve got a bit of a stunt on at the moment.’ Crassus cut through Johnny’s bitterness. ‘Plenty of glory to go round and you’re a half decent officer, despite everything.’
Johnny stuffed the letter into his box of tricks. ‘So is this what you do? Swank about the frontline looking for “stunts” to help bolster your posting to the 29th?’
‘Oh come now Swift, you can’t win a war hiding in ditches. England expects you to do your bit!’ Crassus said and pulled at his moustache.
‘Hey, Mr Tommy, have you any jam?’
The call came out of nowhere, unsettling Crassus. ‘Good God if you won’t do something about the Boche I will.’
Johnny climbed up the side of the trench and heaved his head over the disintegrating parapet.
‘Yes, Mr Fritz, we have apple and plum jam,’ Johnny called back in German and saw the surprise on Crassus’s face. He winked at him and added, ‘we’re a veritable grocer’s shop.’
‘You speak German, Swift!’ Crassus asked unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.
‘Yes, one of my many languages,’ Johnny replied. ‘Don’t you?’
‘You sound like a native Swift, have you a touch of Prussian?’
‘My German master at school served in the Pomeranian Grenadiers during the Franco-Prussian war,’ Johnny said in mitigation.
‘We’d be very interested in making a trade with you, Tommy,’ the German called back.
‘Splendid, I take it that you will stick to the rules, Fritz?’ Johnny asked, switching back to German.
‘Yes, we will play within the rules, all very proper and correct.’ The German responded. Johnny thought he heard laughter.
‘Alright, Corporal Williams, tea time’s over. Get the men organised for fatigue. Usual rules apply,’ Johnny said, climbing down from the parapet.
‘You actually fraternise with the Germans?’ Crassus seethed.
‘A bit of bravado with the enemy works wonders for morale. Keeps the men’s spirits up if they see their officers looking the enemy in the eye.’ Johnny said, trying to sound confident.
‘I see.’ Crassus was evidently not convinced, but he wanted something and didn’t pursue it.
‘Won’t you be joining us, sir? The water’s lovely!’ Williams called leading the wiring party over the top. Ordinarily Johnny would have gone out with them, but he wanted to keep Crassus away from no man’s land.
Crassus flustered. ‘It doesn’t do to be overly friendly with the men under one’s command, Swift. I’d have put any man who spoke to me like that on a charge.’
‘I used to,’ Johnny lied, ‘but I found that as quickly as I’d place a man on a charge the offence would be washed out for gallant conduct in the field.’
‘Good God Swift, I can’t believe how inordinately slack you are. You might be a temporary gentleman and a reservist, but you’re still a gentleman!’
‘Aren’t you a temporary gentleman, Crassus?’ Johnny asked.
‘I still have seniority over you, by nearly two years.’
‘I was still at school two years ago.’
‘Yes, it shows,’ Crassus spat, desperate to regain his authority. ‘Now Swift, this little stunt of mine. General Staff are worried. There is a strong feeling that we should be taking the fight to the enemy.’
‘Look –’ Crassus put his hand up to stop Johnny.
‘I intend to show my offensive spirit by raiding the enemy trenches tomorrow night.’
‘You want to raid the German trenches?’ Johnny asked not quite believing what he’d just heard.
‘Yes, so what say you, Swift? Play up and play the game!’
Chapter 2
Johnny stared at Crassus, amazed by the man’s gall, and couldn’t think of a single reason to stop the bloody idiot from getting everyone killed.
‘I had to twist the Colonel’s arm slightly to get permission, but it’s just the sort of show to get one’s name about.’
‘Crassus, is there nothing you wouldn’t do to advance yourself?’ Johnny asked.
‘Don’t adopt that superior tone with me, Swift. You’re not above playing the game. Rather than trying to make your way based on merit, you rely on family connections. The Colonel tells me you had an uncle arrange your entrance into the Foreign Office and the regiment.’
Johnny shrugged matter-of-factly. It had been the easiest way of getting out of a difficult situation. His ‘uncle’ helped him get nominated for an interview panel in the Diplomatic Service. It was his first and last act of patronage and it came with the requirement that he took a commission.
Johnny still had the last letter his uncle had written to him, in his tin. Full of advice on how to soldier in the tropics and deal with his servant. When things got really bad, Johnny meant to write to the old duffer and tell him just how much he appreciated his patronage.
‘Now, we’re to reconnoitre the area prior to the raid, to get a feel for the ground,’ Crassus continued.
‘We… you’re the Scout Officer,’ Johnny said.
‘Yes Swift, but this is your patch. I had rather assumed you might have the decency to volunteer.’ Before Johnny could respond, Crassus began to shout, ‘What the bloody hell? You, Corporal, what have you got there?’
Corporal Williams and some of the men from his fatigue party had climbed back down into the trench with armfuls of wine and beer.
Williams ignored Crassus and reported to Johnny. ‘I’ve finished checking the wire, sir, it’s in a bad state but the boys are doing the best they can with it.’
‘I asked you a question, Corporal!’ Crassus shouted, pointing at the contraband.
Williams held out a bottle of white wine to show him. ‘Vin blanc, sir, would you like some?’
Crassus climbed up the side of the trench and looked over the parapet. Johnny followed. Half the men on fatigue were trading with grey clad Germans.
Johnny swore. He’d forgotten to tell Williams to conduct the trade behind the German wire and out of sight. The whole thing had become so much part of the daily routine that the men didn’t realise or care that someone from battalion would think it inappropriate.
Crassus made a deep sigh of disgust and slid back down into the trench. Johnny jumped down after him and took the bottle of wine from Williams, had a swig and passed it to Crassus. The only thing he could do was bluff it out. ‘It�
�s really not that bad a vintage, considering.’
‘How beastly. I can’t believe you actually condone such behaviour,’ Crassus gasped.
‘It’s more that I turn a blind eye really. There needs to be a certain amount of live and let live, otherwise we’d never get anything done,’ Johnny said, hoping to appeal to Crassus’s practical nature.
‘Lieutenant Swift, I don’t know about you, but I’m here to kill the enemy. Not play house with them.’
‘Well, I’m here to try and get my men home.’ Johnny said.
‘How do you propose to get them home if we don’t get on with winning the war?’ Crassus asked.
‘I’m just trying to make life bearable.’
Crassus glared and stood himself to attention. ‘Lieutenant Swift, I had thought you would assist in my reconnaissance of the enemy positions out of duty. Now I see that I must insist.’
‘I have a platoon to run, Crassus. I can’t go charging off on some hair brained scheme.’
‘I’m sure the General Staff would be interested to hear of the lack of discipline in the men you command. Not to mention the total lack of moral fibre you show in allowing them to consort with the enemy!’
‘You can assure the General Staff that every effort will be made to assist you,’ Johnny said. He knew when he was beaten.
‘Stout fellow,’ Crassus said with glee. ‘That’s the spirit.’
‘I wasn’t Captain of the school rugby team for nothing,’ Johnny replied wearily.
‘I was never selected for the team, but I suppose I went to a school with higher standards.’
‘Am I expected to provide men for this “stunt” or is it just you and I?’ Johnny asked.
‘Oh, I have a man.’ Crassus turned and called behind him. ‘Savage, make yourself known.’ A tall man came out of the darkness and walked towards them, managing a brisk military march through the mud, and smartly snapped to attention. He had the solid professional manner of a regular.
‘We’ll go over once your chaps have finished clodhopping about out there, Swift. Stealth is the order of the day.’
‘It’s almost impossible to get through this mud quietly,’ Johnny explained, ‘we’ll be heard a few yards out and if the fatigue parties have finished, the Germans will be obliged to open fire.’
