by Alan Bardos
Aubrey and the other officers stared at him a little warily, not entirely sure what to make of him. He was an officer, but not after all a regular officer and not even from the regiment.
‘When you faced them, Swift, it was just the navy on its own. This time the Army will be there,’ Winterbottom, another of the subalterns, chimed in. He was terribly earnest and looked around at the other officers, desperate to be seen to have said the right thing.
‘Quite,’ Captain Willis, the commander of C Company said. ‘Beside the fact that the Turks are reported to be short of shells, their troops are not famed for their expertise in modern warfare. Their poor showing in the Crimean war has carried on into the recent Balkans wars and the current conflict, with the debacle in the Caucasus against the Russians. Not to mention our beating them at the Suez and in Mesopotamia.’
‘This time next month we’ll be in Constantinople,’ Aubrey said brightly.
‘And I’ll buy you all a drink at a café I know near the Tokatliyan Hotel,’ Johnny said, ‘the can-can dancers are quite stunning.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Willis said.
The idea of going back the Constantinople as a conqueror and ruffling some feathers appealed to Johnny. That was the way to end the war and redeem himself, not sneaking around bribing government ministers.
‘I say, Bromley, is there any news on covers for the men’s rifles?’ Willis called to a hard faced Captain striding towards them at full pelt. ‘They are still getting jammed in the sand.’
‘I’m afraid not, Willis, I’ll let you know when I hear something.’ The Captain looked at Johnny. ‘So this is where you’ve been skulking, Swift. Why the hell didn’t you report to me once the exercise had finished?’
‘I was just on my way to find you, sir,’ Johnny said. Captain Cuthbert Bromley was the regiment’s adjutant and to ensure Johnny earned his keep had made him his deputy.
‘Yes, so it would seem, swilling rum and playing up the war hero. I understand you were late cutting the wire. You weren’t issued with cutters so you could manicure your nails.’
‘Yes, sir, but the men –’ Johnny began to protest and was silenced with a stern look from the adjutant.
‘Have you even organised transport back to the ship?’
‘No, was I supposed to?’ Johnny asked. Bromley had shouted a lot of orders at him before the exercise.
Bromley’s face contorted with rage. ‘Good God man, who else is going to do it?’
‘I assumed you would, sir,’ Johnny said, the rum making him reckless.
‘You did what?’ Bromley was a former PT instructor and even by the army’s standards a forceful character. Johnny thought it better not to antagonise him any further.
‘I’m sorry, Captain Bromley, it must have slipped my mind. I’ll organise one of the signallers to contact the ship.’
‘The fleet is due to leave at 17:30 and I swear Swift if you make us late I’ll swing for you.’
‘Boil where the hell are you?’ Johnny turned shouting for the HQ signaller.
‘Excuse me Mr Swift the boats are waiting to take the battalion back to the ship.’ A melancholy Welsh voice cut into Johnny’s panic.
‘What?’ Johnny asked looking at Williams, ‘what are you talking about?’
‘I’ve organised transport.’ Williams replied.
Johnny gave Williams a relieved wink and turned back to Bromley, ‘sorry sir, I instructed my servant to organise the boats.’
‘Very good, carry on Williams.’ Bromley, pulled Johnny aside. ‘We’re going to war Swift. Get your act together man.’
Johnny followed the officers of the Lancashire Fusiliers into the stateroom of their transport ship and waited for the briefing to start. He saw Crassus strut past with the officers of the Royal Fusiliers. Johnny waved, but Crassus’s response was lost with the arrival of Brigadier General Hare, the commander of the 86th Brigade and his second in command Brigade Major Franklin.
‘Gentlemen, I come from a conference with General Hamilton and it now falls on me to brief you. Tomorrow we assault the Gallipoli peninsula,’ Hare announced to the hushed room. He took a swagger stick out from under his arm and signalled to Franklin, who placed a large map of the Gallipoli peninsula onto an easel.
‘The landings will be a pincer movement designed to envelop the enemy force in the south of the peninsula. The Australian and New Zealand Corps will make up the first pincer, landing in the northwest around Gaba Tepe; codenamed Z beach.’ He pointed at a slight bulge in the coast at the middle of the Gallipoli peninsula. ‘They will then seize the mountain range at the centre of Gallipoli, cutting it in two.
‘Meanwhile the 29th Division will land at Cape Helles, in the second pincer.’ Hare hit the bottom of the peninsula with the swagger stick and then faced the assembled officers. ‘Our brigade will have the honour of covering the landings for the entire Division.’
A cheer erupted around the room and Johnny was swept up in the enthusiasm, glad to be part of something again. Hare held his hands up for them to be silent and then continued.
‘The brigade will be split between three adjacent landing sites. The Royal Fusiliers will land at the western side of Cape Helles, at X Beach.’ Hare indicated a thin strip of land on the bottom left hand side of the peninsula, behind a jutting piece of land marked as Tekke Burnu, the most western point of Helles. Hare moved his swagger stick to a small inlet next to Tekke Burnu, surrounded by overhanging cliffs. ‘The Lancashire Fusiliers and myself will land here, at the centre, on W beach.
‘The Royal Dublin Fusiliers and the Royal Munster Fusiliers will land at V beach.’ He moved his stick to the bottom right hand side of the peninsula to a small semi-circular beach. It was flanked on the right by one of the entrance forts to the Straits and, like W beach, overhanging cliffs on its left.
Hare tapped at a strong point in the gap between V and W beach, marked as Hill 138. ‘Once bridgeheads have been established you will link up with the rest of the brigade. The Lancashires will anchor the centre of the line pushing to the right through Hill 138, joining up with the Munsters and the Dubliners coming through from V beach.’
Hare banged his stick onto the left hand cliff of W beach and followed the rising slope of Tekke Burnu to a redoubt at the summit, marked as Hill 114. ‘Elements of the Lancashires will also move left over Hill 114 linking up with the Royal Fusiliers who will be flanking Hill 114 from X beach.
‘With the landing area thus secured the 87th Brigade will move through us, spearheading the advance, taking the village of Krithia and then onto the high ground of Achi Baba Mountain, a few miles north of Cape Helles. These are our first day’s objectives.
That achieved, we will continue to advance north, pushing the Turks back onto the Australian and New Zealand troops, who would have by then secured the Kilid Bahr Plateau, cutting the Turkish line of retreat and trapping them between the two pincers.’ Hare studied the men in front of him, for a moment.
‘Gentlemen, what faces us is an extremely difficult task and we shall be outnumbered. Intelligence estimates that the enemy have an entire division in the South of the peninsula. However at the landing stage, at least, we shall have supporting fire from the fleet. After their bombardment I don’t foresee there being much more opposition to the landings than the odd pot shot from their long range artillery.
‘Besides the naval support, the Munsters and Dubliners will have their very own Trojan horse, to enable them to deploy rapidly at V beach. This is a former collier that will be beached, delivering them down on the enemy.’ Hare paused. ‘Once the initial landings have taken place and we advance further inland out of sight of our ships, it will finally come down to grit and cold steel.’
Johnny was feeling a little skittish now, it seemed like a very complicated plan and he could sense the men around him stirring, waiting for Hare to continue. ‘Let us carry out this task in a manner worthy of the traditions of the distinguished regiments of which the Fusilier Brigade is compos
ed, and let it be said of us, as it was said of the Fusilier Brigade at Albuhera, that nothing can stop this astonishing infantry! Remember also the men of Minden who advanced on the French driving off repeated cavalry charges, while under artillery fire, and sent them packing. Remember these men, so they may hail us as their equals in valour and military achievement.’
‘Remember Minden!’ Captain Willis echoed and the officers once again cheered and took up the call, remembering battles from the Napoleonic and Seven Years Wars. It didn't matter that they had been one hundred or two hundred years ago, it was part of the legend of the Fusilier Brigade as ingrained in the psyche of the officers as toasting the King. It made them who they were and now Johnny was one of them, he hoped he could get his act together and do his duty.
Chapter 45
Johnny held onto the gunwale of his boat as the water around him shook under the concussion from the Allied guns. The bombardment shattered the dawn with flashes of red and gold, that sent great shells roaring over the heads of the waiting Lancashire Fusiliers.
‘Come on, Swift, you're an officer for God’s sake,’ Bromley shouted over the noise. They'd been crammed into the prow of the cutter for an hour and a half and now he just wanted to get on with the job.
‘You should see me when the shells are coming the other way, sir,’ Johnny shouted back with forced jauntiness.
Through the cold mist he could see Cape Helles, two thousand yards away, rippling under the shell strikes of the naval bombardment. It reminded Johnny of rain hitting a puddle, but he'd expected more. From what he could see most of the shells were heading inland and missing the beach.
The bombardment eventually petered out and a little steam boat that was going to tow them part of the way, began to manoeuvre. A midshipman’s newly broken voice echoed orders across the water and at last they jerked forward. The cutter suddenly leant over and nearly spilled Johnny out.
‘Snotty, watch what you’re doing!’ Johnny called out to the amusement of the men behind him.
The cutter righted itself and they headed off, four boats in tandem, like a line of circus elephants with their trunks wrapped around the tail of the one in front. There were eight tows, each bearing four boats transporting the battalion to the beach. Johnny’s tow would be the first to land.
He instinctively touched his right hand breast pocket. He was wearing his service jacket in the hope of warding off sniper’s bullets. Through the rough material he felt the curves of the brass box where he kept the shell splinter from Sarajevo and the letter from Libby. Despite everything she had done, he couldn't go into battle without it and now he had a letter of sorts from Gabrielle, which still had the sweet scent of carbolic on it.
After she’d given him the letter Johnny had taken Gabrielle to the modest room he’d reserved in the hotel. Her small tongue waltzing around his, while she nimbly unbuttoned his trousers.
‘Ha ha ha, this one never sleeps!’ she’d laughed and wrapped silken thighs around him. There was always a sadness that underpinned her lovemaking, as if she was already making love to a dead man, whispering at the end, ‘Ah la petite mort, mon biquet... my lamb to the slaughter.’
Johnny jumped. The fleet had started to fire over their heads. The bombardment had shifted, aiming behind the beach to avoid hitting the incoming troops. The peninsula was alive with explosions, but the beach was still. No longer having to keep their heads down, Johnny hoped the defending troops would be running away. If the Turks didn’t know they were coming before, they certainly did now.
Johnny heard the midshipman shout another order. The little picket boat cast off the tow cable and turned away. It was up to the naval ratings on their boat now, to row them the last fifty yards to shore. Johnny’s stomach lurched as the muffled oars pulled them forward. He felt like Nelson embarking on a cutting out mission, as they steered toward the left of the beach.
Through the haze he thought he could see Achi Baba, their first day’s objective. The little mound looked so small and insignificant, yet it could be the key to destroying the guns that controlled the Dardanelles.
A calm settled over the boat as they neared the beach. It was clearing into a lovely morning and the sea was shining. Johnny could pick out the details of the beach, if it could be called that. Framed between rough yellow limestone cliffs 100 foot high on the left and right, it was little more than a cove, about 350 yards long and 40 yards wide. There were thick green sand dunes in the centre, rising into a high bank with a trench along the top. Rusty barbed wire entanglements ran along the waters edged three foot high and three rows thick. The massive naval bombardment had hardly touched it.
They were 100 yards out and still the only sound coming from the beach was the restful crashing of the waves. Johnny looked at the men. Williams was cradling a rucksack and quietly singing ‘Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer’. Each man was isolated in their own thoughts, preparing for whatever awaited them. Some just looked back at him with grim determination. Johnny felt a sense of belonging. They were all in it together.
‘I’m sure we’d have had a warmer welcome at Blackpool beach,’ Johnny said, raising a mirthless laugh. ‘But the pasha’s harem will be waiting for you on the other side of the wire.’
A man next to Johnny laughed loudly. Bromley looked at him approvingly. It was an obvious thing to say and what everyone expected.
The boat ground to a juddering halt and a Naval Rating shouted from the tiller. ‘We’ve hit a bank, this is as far as she goes.’
Johnny recoiled at the sound of a loud crack and was sprayed with the blood of the man behind him who’d just laughed at his joke. He realised it was Aubrey. His monocle was still wedged in place, but the back of his head had gone.
Bewildered, Johnny watched as the still silence of the beach exploded with the buzzing of rifle and machine gun fire. The men were shredded by an invisible scythe while the boat waddled and floundered helplessly.
‘Everyone out,’ Bromley shouted and Johnny heard himself repeat the order as he leapt over the side.
He landed in four feet of cold water. The boat began to drift away, the ratings that crewed her were dead. There was nowhere to go but forward.
Johnny flailed towards the beach following the few men who’d made it off the boat, while Turkish bullets zipped through the water.
A jolt of pain shot up Johnny’s leg and he was pulled under, his ankle tangled in wire. He tasted salt and remembered his stepfather, holding his head underwater, teaching him to swim. The same panic set in and Johnny choked and coughed, fighting against the weight of his kit dragging him down.
He felt a hand on the scruff of his neck, pulling his head above the surface. This time instead of the brutal voice of his stepfather he heard the melancholy sound of Williams.
‘Come on, sir, you can’t drown before the Turks get a chance to shoot you. It wouldn’t be sporting, like.’
‘My foot’s caught in something.’ Johnny gasped and brought up sea water.
‘Have you out in no time,’ Williams said, brandishing wire cutters. He ducked down and Johnny shrieked as the wire dug into his leg. Then felt blessed relief as his foot was freed.
Williams burst to the surface blowing like a whale and together they stumbled toward the beach, past the twisted bodies of men who’d died as they’d struggled to free themselves from the wire. Johnny quickened his pace, desperate to be out of this death trap.
Johnny and Williams reached the edge of the beach and threw themselves down next to the men already at the wire, smartly lined up as they’d been instructed, and calling for cutters. The water jumped alive with hundreds of tiny splashes that turned the men to pulp.
Unable to go forward Johnny pressed himself into the coarse sand at the mercy of the enemy, firing down at him from every direction. The Fusiliers struggled with their rifles, which without covers had been jammed by sand. One of the Fusiliers began to pull at a stake holding the wire in place. Shrieking with rage he ignored the gashes to his hands and a
rms from the barbs, and was thrown back by a bullet, he got up and continued.
A shell from the naval bombardment hit the cliff above them, showering Johnny with grit. A group of men on his left were engulfed in an explosion. Johnny assumed from a mine. The noise was unbearable, he couldn’t move, his uniform felt like it had been weight down with lead. The unreality of everything made him feel faint and he looked away. The sea sparkled like a picture postcard from a tropical resort. Bright blue, blurring into red as it neared the shore.
‘Where are your guts man?’ He thought he heard his Stepfather, but Williams was shaking him. ‘Cutters man, where are your bloody cutters?’
‘Where are yours?’ Johnny asked. Still in a daze, he turned back to the carnage around him.
‘You bloody kicked them out of my hand, flailing around like a donkey,’ Williams yelled. ‘Sir.’
Johnny saw Captain Willis brandishing a cane and shouting, ‘Come on C Company, remember Minden.’
The Lancashire Fusiliers were rallying, wading ashore holding their rifles above their heads, some had managed to find a way to step over the wire, others were cutting through or simply crawling under it, in small groups. Another officer had found a gap in the wire and was leading his men through. Johnny remembered what Hare had said at the briefing. ‘Nothing could stop this astonishing infantry!’
A stronger fear took over Johnny. He was a bloody disgrace, he was letting everyone down. Williams and the men around him, the regiment and the country he loved. Johnny felt his box of charms. They had seen him through so far. When Williams shook him again Johnny fumbled for his cutters.
He managed to fix the square head around a small gap between the barbs on the wire in front of him and somehow managed to stop his hands from trembling long enough to squeeze. It was impossible. He’d have had more luck with a pair of nail clippers.
Johnny felt the air flatten as a bullet whipped past his head. A sudden burst of terror surged through him forcing the wire to cut, with a satisfying snip. He forced his way through the gap into a triangular shaped inner courtyard of wire that funnelled the attackers into a killing zone. Johnny ran forward and went to put the cutters on the wire but Williams snatched them away. ‘You’re bloody useless, man.’
