by Alan Bardos
Johnny gave his most charming of leers. ‘If you think the doctor’s given an incorrect diagnosis perhaps you should conduct a more thorough medical examination.’
‘Perhaps I should at that.’ She got off him, removed her flowing cap and red cape, then slowly began to unbutton her grey uniform. The night Crassus had brought him in, she had carefully removed Johnny’s uniform and washed the dirt from his body. He'd been rambling with a fever, regressed to his school days, he'd started conjugating French verbs. Which seemed to have stirred Staff Nurse Lee-Perkins’s heart.
She removed the last of her soiled white undergarments and stood naked. Her full, healthy figure shining with a red bloom under the harsh yellow light, as if she’d just come in from a vigorous game of hockey. Johnny didn’t think he’d seen anything like it before, except in the Louvre. ‘I thought women like you only existed in the imagination of renaissance painters.’
The Staff Nurse smiled sadly. Lovemaking tended to make her fatalistic and French. ‘I see your manoeuvre, but you don’t have to seduce me. I am not here for pretty words. I allow you to honour me because I think what you did was noble. Trying to save the lives of your men. I wish that my fiancé had been more like you, instead of getting himself killed. I also wish I’d forgotten my dreary morality and let him deflower me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Johnny tried to sound sympathetic, but the last thing he wanted to hear when he was facing a firing squad was that her last lover had been killed.
‘I came to England to be near him, it was all such a big adventure and we would be in it together. He as a reserve officer in his father’s old Regiment and I was to become an army nurse. Of course by the time I got my posting to Belgium, he’d been killed.’
She climbed back on top of Johnny, pressing him deep inside her. She gasped and whispered in his ear, ‘But this is not possible, mon biquet.’ He felt her round breasts pressed tightly against his chest and the jarring of her hips. ‘They are going to shoot you too, my lamb to the slaughter.’
‘Not if I can help it, Staff Nurse Lee-Perkins,’ Johnny groaned. He had never been with a woman so enthusiastic and so vigorous. She gave herself up completely to the moment.
She giggled and he could feel her smile as she put her mouth on his and dug her nails into his back. ‘I think you might call me Gabrielle at a moment like this.’
‘You can stop smiling Swift, you’re not fooling anyone. There’s nothing wrong with you that a good kick up the backside wouldn’t cure,' the hard voice of Johnny’s Colonel, ‘Wakey’ Woking barked. ‘Stand up straight, man, good God, you are a commissioned officer in His Majesty’s army!’
Johnny pulled himself to attention as he was marched into the barn that served as the Colonel’s office. Fighting his nerves, he focused on the blue court martial form on the table and tried to show steely resolve.
‘Are you sure he’s fit?’ the Colonel said to the person sitting beside him. To Johnny’s dismay he saw that it was Crassus.
'Yes quite sure, sir’ Crassus said enjoying his moment. It was obvious now why Crassus hadn’t shot him. He wanted to make sure Johnny was fit for trial to maximise his humiliation, while emphasising Crassus’s own heroics.
The Colonel picked up the court martial form and studied it for a moment. Johnny knew his time was up. His Uncle had abandoned him yet again. The inevitability of it amused him.
‘Do you actually find this funny Swift, or are you pretending to be mad?’ the Colonel bellowed.
Johnny continued to smile and met his eyes. He hadn’t seen a look of such cold fury since he’d told Sir George about the affair he was having with his wife.
‘Have you any conception of the magnitude of what you’ve done?’ The Colonel put down the court martial form and unrolled the crumpled note that Johnny had written to the Germans. The Colonel flicked away a piece of mud. His face turned purple with revulsion, over the mud or what Johnny had written, Johnny couldn’t tell.
‘You’ve been caught giving a written warning of a pending attack to the enemy – in German!’ The Colonel was lost for words. The fact that Johnny could write in German seemed to have made his crime all the more unspeakable.
He handed the note to Crassus, who recited it from memory, slowly emphasising the implication of each word. ‘There’s going to be a raid, we don’t want to do it, it isn’t us.’
‘We don’t want to do it – WE DON’T WANT TO DO IT!’ The Colonel was beside himself, a tear forming in his eye. ‘Did you give any thought to the men who were going to make the raid? The men who would be going into a trap, thanks to you?’
‘I would have led the attack and drawn the enemy fire giving the men a chance to escape,’ Johnny said, and he probably would have, or let Crassus.
‘I hope to God that is true, Swift.’ Johnny knew the Colonel was a good man in his way. He even ignored his men trading with the enemy for food, but the fact that Johnny had been caught warning of an attack, was social embarrassment beyond his comprehension and vengeance would be quick and brutal.
‘Perhaps it might help if I took you through the events of the night in question, sir,’ Crassus asked.
‘Yes, that’s why you’re here after all, Dawkins,’ the Colonel said.
Crassus stood up and clearly and precisely retold what he’d seen when he went to inspect Johnny’s sector of the front. He didn’t make anything up. He didn’t have to. The only thing that really interested Johnny was what happened to his men.
‘He left me with one hell of a mess to clear up,’ Crassus said and the Colonel looked sickened. Aside from causing one’s colonel social embarrassment, Johnny was well aware that there was no greater crime than people thinking you had left a mess behind, for someone else to clear up.
‘I had to quell a near mutiny. Swift was popular with his men, but if we all allowed drinking and fraternising with the Germans, I shouldn’t wonder if we’d all be popular.’
‘Quite so,’ the Colonel said. ‘War is a bloody business, Swift, you don’t win by being everyone’s friend.’
‘The Bosch certainly didn’t play fair. They really let us in for one hell of a brush up. They came at us in droves, it was quite a scrap,’ Crassus said gleefully. ‘His platoon made quite a good fist of it when they were properly led. I’d strongly recommend that any offences they committed while under Swift’s command be washed out by gallant conduct in the field.’
‘Agreed.’ The Colonel gave Dawkins a look as if to say, ‘we’ll make a gentleman of you yet’. Johnny had to hand it to Crassus, he certainly knew how to play his man.
‘And as a matter of fact, the Corporal said he’d offer up a prayer for my salvation. First class fellow, I thought he’d make a half decent servant.’ Crassus added.
Johnny stifled a laugh, relieved to hear that Williams and his men wouldn’t be punished for what he’d done.
The Colonel glowered at him. ‘What was that Swift?’
‘May I ask about casualties, sir?’
‘No, you bloody well may not, you’ve forfeited that privilege. You’ve let them down and, what’s more, you’ve tarnished all the brave men of the battalion who grin and bear it in the mud, without seeing the need to conspire with the Germans. What made you do it, I wonder!’
Crassus leaped in before Johnny could speak. ‘Well, you can see the attitude, sir. Swift’s always been a bit superior about other men’s accomplishments. While he’s forced to rely on the limited connections he has.’
‘You should take note of this man, Swift. He single-handedly raided a German trench and fought off a determined enemy counterattack. He has now received a transfer to the Royal Fusiliers, one of the finest regiments in the British Army.’ The Colonel focused on Crassus. ‘I trust I can rely on your discretion, Dawkins?’
‘Yes, sir, I will do as honour and my conscience dictate, where this swine and the good name of the battalion are concerned,’ Crassus said and a blood vessel in his face bulged in an effort to control his frustration. Which Johnny t
hought a little over the top. He’d won, he was getting his posting while Johnny would be shot.
‘Hear that, Swift?’ The Colonel asked. ‘That is a man of character, he doesn’t go bawling to one of his cronies the minute he gets in trouble.’
‘Yes sir,’ Johnny said laconically.
The Colonel shook his head. ‘To think I had high hopes for you, Swift. You were one of my best officers. Not the right sort, of course, but you at least had the best interests of your men at heart. Just shows how wrong you can be about someone. Now get out of my sight.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Johnny asked, daring not to hope that his uncle had worked his magic.
‘I just wanted to see if you’d show any remorse.’ The Colonel picked up Johnny’s blue court martial form, slipped it into an envelope with a regimental crest on it and signalled to someone behind Johnny.
Two elderly sailors entered, one of them marched up to the colonel and took the envelope from him. Johnny grinned knowingly at them. It was kind of his uncle to lay on an unofficial escort to cut through the bureaucracy and dispose of the evidence.
Johnny waved goodbye to Crassus. Then allowed the sailors to lead him out into the first breath of freedom he’d had for months, and onto his leave.
Chapter 5
Sir George Smyth took a moment to enjoy the sensation of being in Number 10 Downing Street. He instinctively picked out the key members of the War Council, waiting for the meeting to commence.
The War Council had been formed from the leading military and political figures in the country to find a solution to the fiasco unfolding in Europe. The most pressing issue for them to resolve was whether to open a second front in the East and if so where.
The Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith, referred to the War Council as one of the strangest collection of men you were ever likely to see at one table. Sir George wouldn’t have wished to entertain its members as dinner guests but he didn’t consider them strange, just ineffective.
Lloyd George, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had failed to inject his usual energy and exuberance into the council. Even Lord Kitchener, the most famous soldier in the land and now the Secretary of State for War, did little more than provide a commanding presence.
Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Secretary, had managed to get himself cornered by Arthur Balfour, the urbane leader of the opposition, who was boring him about wheat exports.
Sir George moved toward the beleaguered Foreign Secretary, he had to ask him for a favour.
‘Just one moment, Smyth.’ A balding, middle aged man put a hand on his arm. Sir George smiled amiably at Maurice Hankey, the Secretary of the War Council and a wolf in pinstripe trousers.
‘It really isn’t good enough, Smyth. The War Council was scheduled to start ten minutes ago.’
‘The First Lord and Admiral Fisher had an urgent matter to discuss with the Prime Minister,’ Sir George replied indifferently.
‘Yes, I understand there has been some disagreement at the Admiralty,’ Hankey said in a probing tone.
‘There has been a frank exchange of views,’ Sir George answered. Fisher had continued to go around in circles over the plan to force the Dardanelles Strait and had now taken his concerns to the Prime Minister.
‘I’m sure a compromise will be reached,’ Sir George added.
‘A compromise, yes, Churchill will abandon his plans to attack the North European coast if Fisher supports the Dardanelles operation.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You seem shocked, Smyth, there is very little that happens around Whitehall that escapes me.’ Hankey eyed Sir George menacingly.
‘I don’t follow, Colonel,’ Sir George said.
‘Oh come now, don’t be coy, Sir George. You’ve latched onto my Constantinople mission.’
Sir George didn’t like Hankey’s manner. ‘I was directed by the First Lord of the Admiralty to act as his representative.’
‘Yes, play it that way if you like, Smyth.’ Hankey turned away as Churchill and Fisher entered the Cabinet room, followed by the stocky figure of Asquith. Sir George quelled his annoyance. He’d missed his opportunity to talk to Grey.
The War Council members took their places. Sir George joined Churchill and made a note of the date: 28th January 1915.
The meeting settled down and the Prime Minister engrossed himself in writing a letter, content for Churchill to provide direction.
‘At the last War Council meeting it was decided that the Admiralty examine the possibility of a naval demonstration in the Dardanelles Strait that would not require the use of troops as a covering force. The basis of our plan is therefore to use the superior firepower of our ships to systematically destroy the Dardanelles defences. Troops will not be needed to take the enemy fortifications, as they will cease to exist.’
Churchill turned to Fisher for his support, but the old Admiral maintained a dogged silence. Churchill frowned and the rest of the cabinet tactfully ignored this lack of unity.
'We plan to start by smashing the forts at the mouth of the Straits and then working our way up the inner fortifications, while the minefields are cleared. The estimates I’ve been given are that in a matter of weeks the only thing that will stand between our fleet and the glittering prize of Constantinople will be a few field guns and some rifle fire!'
A general murmur of approval went round the table. The Prime Minister even looked up momentarily distracted from his letter. Churchill paused and looked at his colleagues. 'Gentlemen, the ships are on their way to the Aegean and by mid-February will be in a position to attack. The only question that remains is what importance you attach to an undoubtedly risky operation.'
Admiral Fisher at last broke his silence. 'I had understood that this question would not be raised today.'
Asquith turned toward Fisher and replied solemnly, 'Admiral Fisher, you made your views clear to me. However, in light of the measures that have taken place we cannot possibly consider leaving the operation in abeyance.'
Fisher stood up abruptly and strode towards the door. Sir George watched in amazement as Lord Kitchener stalked after the Admiral and steered him to a nearby window.
Asquith ignored Admiral Fisher's outburst, his imagination evidently captured by the promise of Eastern adventure.
'Gentlemen, there can be no opportunity without risk. I say the forcing of the Dardanelles Strait should go forward. It will afford the chance to occupy Constantinople and bring in the whole Balkan Peninsula on our side.'
Colonel Hankey took Asquith’s view a step further. ‘Once the way through to the Black Sea has been cleared, our forces can join with the Russian navy and launch a combined assault up the Danube. Into the very heart of Austro-Hungary, sidestepping the stalemate in the West and bringing our sea power directly to bear on the heart of Europe.’
The members of the War Council were elated by the possibilities. Sir George was awed by their naivety, as the discussions continued. Great Britain, it appeared, could take Turkish possessions in Asia Minor and consolidate its position in Persia, containing Russian expansionism. Thereby curing the principle ailment that plagued the British Empire before the war, establish world domination and end the war in one fell swoop.
Amidst the general soundings of support, Kitchener escorted Admiral Fisher back to the table. With the War Council united once again Asquith repeated Churchill’s question. 'In light of these points, what importance does the council attach to the Dardanelles operation?'
Kitchener spoke first. 'If my troops are not needed, then I believe it’s worth a try. We can always leave off if the bombardment doesn't prove effective.'
'Quite so,' the Prime Minister agreed. 'Mr Balfour, as the representative of the opposition, what say you?'
Balfour gathered his thoughts. He reminded Sir George of a vicar addressing his congregation. 'I believe re-opening the trade routes with Russia would release wheat and shipping now locked up in the Black Sea. Along with its other benefits, it is difficult to imagine a more
helpful operation.'
Sir Edward Grey now deigned to involve himself with the mundane process of formulating policy. 'I concur wholeheartedly with what has already been stated. A successful naval attack on the Dardanelles could well result in chaos and revolution in Turkey and it returning to its former neutrality'.
‘I like the idea,’ Lloyd George continued the concord. 'I favour any intervention in the East that will build alliances with the states there.'
'I think, gentlemen, the consensus opinion is that an attack on the Dardanelles is the most obvious and promising proposal for us to follow,' Asquith concluded, and adjourned the meeting for lunch.
The War Council rumbled its acceptance. Admiral Fisher maintained a stubborn silence, deciding now to abide with the decision after his discussion with Lord Kitchener.
It was of little consequence. Sir George's initiative would supersede any decision they’d made. Sir George felt his solution was by far the more elegant, to simply pay Turkey to leave the war, rather than launch a costly expedition against them. He saw Grey gathering his papers and didn't waste a second in approaching him.
'Sir Edward, might I trouble you for a moment?'
'Oh Smyth, how are you finding the Admiralty? Winston’s not driving you too hard, is he?'
'I can't thank you enough for the opportunity,' Sir George said, avoiding the question. 'I wonder if I might be able to return the favour and do you a good turn.'
'How so?' Grey asked absently. 'Is this another one of your rather colourful schemes?'
'This one is more grounded in logic,' Sir George said, keeping his tone light.
'I see.' Grey turned to face him at last.
'I believe that it is possible to exploit the inherent instability in the Turkish Government, without having to resort to the crudities of gunboat diplomacy.'
'I see that would certainly be a major diplomatic victory,' Grey said, dryly.
'There is however a key individual in your service whom I need to carry out this initiative. Perhaps we could dine at my club and discuss the details?'
