The Dardanelles Conspiracy

by Alan Bardos

  When the maelstrom had finished, as far as Sir George could see the bombardment had made little effect other than to render him senseless. The men were still pinned down and the constant machine gun fire of the Turks could be heard once again.

  ‘It might as well be confetti that we’re firing at them for all the good it’s doing,’ Hamilton commented, then glared with frustration at Sir George. ‘If we had been able to get word to the troops on shore, they might have been able to advance during the bombardment.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Sir George had no idea how such a thing could have been achieved - it wasn’t his department - and wondered if he could send for Jack Churchill.

  ‘Hell and damnation, I should have ordered the landing parties at X and Y beaches to push inland. We could have flanked the Turks and nipped this in the bud,’ Hamilton said to Braithwaite.

  ‘We weren’t to know that the operations on X and Y beaches would come off so brilliantly,’ Braithwaite consoled him.

  Indeed, it was the first Sir George had heard of such a plan being carried out. He glanced at a map. He imagined that X and Y beaches, situated on the south west coast of the peninsula, were in a good position to outflank the Turkish defences on the tip of Cape Helles.

  Hamilton acquiesced to his Chief of Staff, ‘No use dwelling on such things. In any case I suspect that the enemy are too strong in the area for a manoeuvre of that kind to succeed. It is clear that the landing on V beach has stalled. There is no point sending more men in, to become target practice for the Turks.’

  ‘The Turks are making a splendid effort,’ Sir George muttered, half to himself. He couldn’t believe that an enemy that had been comprehensively beaten in every recent war they’d fought, was holding back some of the finest troops in the British Army.

  Hamilton remained silent, as he decided what to do next. Through the indecision Roger Keyes stepped forward. ‘Perhaps we could divert troops from V to Y beach, who can push on, and as you suggest, sir, flank the Turks. They’d certainly be of more use to the men on V beach there and we can use some of the trawlers earmarked for ferrying the wounded to hospital ships.’

  ‘Yes, capital idea, Roger,’ Hamilton said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Ian, do you think that wise?’ Braithwaite asked. ‘Hunter-Weston is after all in command of the landings at Helles. It would be a trifle unorthodox for general headquarters to interfere with his running of operations.’

  ‘Yes, quite right, Braithwaite. It wouldn’t do for us to barge into operations on the ground. Commanders should command,’ Hamilton agreed.

  ‘Perhaps we could telegraph a suggestion to General Hunter-Weston, on HMS Euryalus,’ Sir George said, wondering what the First Lord of the Admiralty would make of this impotent conversation and supposed it was just as well his brother was not present to witness it.

  ‘Yes, take this down, Smyth. General Hamilton to General Hunter-Weston, Euryalus. Do you want any more men landed at 'Y'? If so there are trawlers available.’

  Sir George made a careful note of the message and looked around for someone who might be able to send it.

  Chapter 49

  Johnny found Colonel Newenham directing the Royal Fusiliers’ advance up the northern side of Hill 114. The Colonel regarded Johnny coolly, as he and Williams presented themselves. ‘Who on Earth are you?’

  ‘Swift, sir, Lancashire Fusiliers. Major Franklin sent me to report that Brigadier General Hare has been wounded.’

  ‘Wounded? How the hell did that happen?’ Newenham shouted above the din.

  ‘He was trying to link up with you, sir, and was shot in the leg,’ Johnny replied.

  ‘He was what? Of all the damned fool things. He should have sent a runner. Still, Hare never could resist a fight.’

  ‘I'm to inform you, that you’re now in charge of the covering force,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Yes, I am aware of the chain of command, Swift,’ Newenham said. ‘Well, you've delivered your message, you can lend a hand now.’

  Johnny looked up the gentle slope that led to the summit of Hill 114. It was devoid of any cover and gave the Turks a perfect field of fire.

  ‘What are you waiting for, man?’ the Colonel shouted.

  Johnny baulked. Surely he had done his bit. He considered lying and saying that Franklin had ordered him to return immediately, but Colonel Newenham was in charge now and could supersede Franklin’s orders. Johnny remembered Hamilton’s words. If he didn’t make a good show of it he’d shoot him himself. After everything he'd been through. At least this time Johnny remembered that he had his revolver. Johnny took it out of the holster. It felt solid and reassuring.

  Johnny shrugged at Williams and together they half ran half crawled up the Hill to a line of Royal Fusiliers on the ground, firing at the enemy. An officer blew his whistle and the men sprang forward, dropped and fired a volley, advanced again to within a few yards of the enemy trench, and let lose a final blast of rapid fire.

  ‘Come on, lads, at them,’ the officer bellowed.

  The men of the Royal Fusiliers charged. Johnny heard cheering from one of the ships in the bay behind them, merging with the cries of the injured men on the ground and the constant zip of the bullets. He raced ahead of the line.

  A Turk, wearing one of their strange conical helmets, aimed a rifle at him, over the parapet of the trench. Johnny pointed his revolver at him and pulled the trigger until the Turk disappeared in a cloud of blood.

  The trench opened up before him and Johnny tumbled in. A scrawny Turkish soldier tried to stab him with a bayonet. Johnny shot him twice and climbed to his feet. He felt something hit him on the shoulder and a Turkish sergeant had his hands around Johnny’s throat, his pale eyes wide with frenzy. Johnny tried to push him off but stunned by the blow he couldn’t move his left arm.

  Johnny raised the revolver in his right hand, struggling to get the barrel against the side of the sergeant’s chest and pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. He was starting to see purple. With his last scrap of strength Johnny smashed the revolver against the sergeant’s elbow. He heard bone snap and the vice around his throat opened.

  The sergeant cried out and Johnny brought his forehead down on the bridge of the man’s nose. He crumpled to his knees. The force of the blow surprised Johnny for a moment, until he realised that Williams had bayoneted the sergeant.

  ‘Thanks,’ Johnny croaked between ragged breaths. The Royal Fusiliers had taken the trench and were pushing on to link up with the Lancashires. Johnny rubbed his shoulder, the feeling was starting to come back.

  ‘Do you think we should go after them?’ Johnny opened his Webley and tried to reload it, but his hands were trembling too much.

  Williams shook his head, leaning against the side of the trench, and started to roll a cigarette. ‘You bloody fool, what were you thinking running ahead like that, sir?’

  ‘I couldn’t bear it. The noise,’ Johnny whispered into a coughing fit. Then managed a grin. ‘I wasn’t the captain of the school rugby team for nothing.’

  He straightened up drawing comfort from the familiar words and moved round the trench to look over at W beach. The Turks had had a wonderful view of it, and now they’d been cleared from the strong point the men down there were advancing steadily on the trenches at the centre of the beach.

  The Lancashires had taken the opposite cliff and were moving forward towards Hill 138, the fortified position between W and V beach. Beyond that Johnny had clear sight of the rest of Cape Helles and the Turkish defences.

  ‘Here, I’ve managed to pick out the driest tobacco.’ Williams handed him a cigarette.

  ‘Hey, we’ve got a Jerry officer,’ a shout came up from the next bay in the trench, followed by a cry and a string of broken German oaths that explained exactly what the officer thought of the parentage of his British captors.

  Johnny threw the cigarette away and ran around the traverse into the bay. A group of Royal Fusiliers were standing over a wounded German, who was looking defiantly bac
k at them.

  ‘What the bloody hell are we meant to do with him?’ one of the Fusiliers asked. ‘It’s not as if we can take him to an aid station.’

  ‘No point, bastard’s probably had it,’ another replied.

  ‘It’s alright, corporal, leave him to me,’ Johnny said.

  The corporal eyed him suspiciously. ‘Want to do him in, sir? You’re a right blood thirsty one. I saw you run up this hill.’

  The German looked terrified and Johnny realised that he was still holding his revolver and put it back in his holster.

  ‘I need to question him.’ Johnny looked around and saw a dugout. ‘Take him in there, if you please.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the corporal said, glad to be released from the responsibility, and dragged the German into the dugout.

  ‘All the comforts of home,’ Johnny said to the corporal and helped the German onto a camp bed.

  ‘Is there anything else, sir? Would you like me to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story? Or should I get ready in case his mates decide to come back?’

  ‘You can get on with securing the trenches and less of the tone, thank you, corporal,’ Johnny said.

  The corporal looked about to turn on Johnny then caught William’s eye, standing with his rifle in one hand and his pack bound like a club in the other, and walked off bellowing orders at his men. Johnny went over to the German, who clearly couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  ‘Hello, Kurt, so this is where they sent you?’ Johnny said in German.

  ‘Thanks to our friend Stolz… Ernst, what are you doing here – why are you dressed as a British officer? What’s going on, are you a spy?’

  ‘My name’s actually Johnny Swift and I am a British officer, I’m not really a spy. I was in Constantinople on... business. When the deal I was arranging fell through I was sent here,’ Johnny said amiably. ‘Sorry if I wasn’t completely honest with you, but I couldn’t very well introduce myself as a British Officer on temporary secondment to special duties.’

  ‘No, that would have been quite improper,’ Kurt sneered, ‘you’re quite the British officer and gentleman.’

  Johnny gestured in the direction of the corporal who had left. ‘Some might disagree. I’m what they call a temporary gentleman.’

  Kurt laughed. ‘I really had no idea, but I should have. You were not like any embassy official I’ve ever met. So while we were drinking and carousing you were taking down our secrets… what there were of them?’

  ‘No, I was drinking and carousing.’ Johnny felt genuinely pleased to have found Kurt.

  Kurt clutched his arm, trying not to show the pain he was in. ‘I’m just glad you were here.’

  ‘Do you want some water?’ Johnny asked, passing him his water bottle. Kurt took it and drank deeply.

  Williams pulled out a rum jug from this pack and passed it to Johnny. ‘Here, have some of this.’

  ‘How did you manage to get that through everything?’ Johnny asked, amazed.

  ‘Easy when it’s something you love, sir.’

  ‘You’re bloody incredible, Williams.’ Johnny pulled out the cork and took a swig, the sweet nectar burnt his bruised throat, and helped Kurt take a few sips.

  ‘Thank you – Johnny,’ Kurt said, ‘your servant is very efficient.’

  Johnny translated for Williams. ‘Praise from Caesar indeed! Now let’s see about getting that arm looked at, shall we?’

  Williams looked in his pack then grinned sheepishly at Johnny, ‘I don’t suppose you have a bandage, sir? I had to use mine on the Brigadier’s leg.’

  Johnny handed him a field dressing and Williams began to apply it to Kurt’s wound. ‘We might be trying to kill the bastards, but that’s no reason to forget our humanity, is it?’

  The crash of distant rifle and machine gun fire opened up. ‘Sounds like the Turks are counterattacking, over on X beach,’ Johnny said to Williams, then spoke to Kurt in German. ‘The Turks are putting up a much better fight than we expected.’

  ‘They are fighting for their home,’ Kurt said, ‘it is the bravery of desperation. Once you reinforce this position they will be finished.’

  Johnny choked down another tot of the rum and gave Kurt a swig. This time he made sure that he took a good few gulps. ‘Why would we reinforce this hill? It’s just a minor defensive position.’

  ‘Do not play the fool “Johnny”, you know the strategic importance of this position as well as I do.’

  ‘I suppose it would offer a wonderful panoramic view for an artillery spotter,’ Johnny said, wondering how this barren rock could be of any use or importance to the Turks.

  ‘Really, you were much more subtle when you were spying on us in Constantinople. It is perfectly obvious that you have our defences completely outflanked from here and we have no means of taking it back.’

  ‘But you have a whole division out there,’ Johnny said, remembering the briefing from Hare.

  ‘A division? There are only a thousand men along Cape Helles. A covering force,’ Kurt said faintly. The shock and the pain were starting to wear him down.

  ‘Here, this should do the trick.’ Williams put a morphine tablet in Kurt’s mouth. ‘Friend of yours is he, sir? What is it with you and the Germans?’

  ‘I just like to take every opportunity to practice my languages.’ Johnny patted Williams on the back. ‘Can you take him down to the beach and get him looked after?’

  Johnny stumbled back down Hill 114 and presented himself to a Captain, at the brigade command post. He hadn’t meant to pump his friend for information, but now he had he was determined to exploit it to the best of his abilities.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Is Colonel Newenham here? I need to speak to him urgently?’

  ‘Afraid he’s been wounded,’ the Captain answered.

  ‘Well, who’s in command?’ Johnny asked, irritated by his tone.

  ‘Well, might you ask, Lieutenant,’ the Captain answered pointedly. ‘Brigadier General Marshall is, I believe, the most senior officer presently landed. But he only commands the 87th Brigade, not the covering force of I believe the 86th Brigade, they are therefore not under his direct orders. However, all the officers in charge of the covering force are casualties.’

  ‘Stop playing the bloody fool, man, and ask him what he wants,’ a Brigadier sitting in a tent behind him barked. He was being bandaged, but Johnny could see the badge of rank.

  ‘What do you want, Lieutenant?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘I wish to speak with the Brigadier,’ Johnny replied.

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry, but you’ll have to wait. We are expecting the 86th Brigade Intelligence officer, with an urgent briefing.’

  Johnny pushed his way past the captain into the tent. ‘Brigadier Marshall, may I speak with you, please? I have some rather important information.’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Marshall asked impatiently.

  ‘I have just questioned a German officer, sir.’

  ‘You’ve done what? Who are you and what business do you have questioning prisoners?’

  ‘Swift, sir, I’m an interpreter with the Lancashire Fusiliers. I understand it’s my allotted role to question prisoners.’

  ‘I see, proceed.’

  ‘The German officer told me that there are only a thousand enemy troops covering Cape Helles,’ Johnny said, trying not to sound too eager.

  ‘Rubbish, intelligence estimates there to be at least a division. He must mean facing us here at X beach.’

  ‘No, sir, along Cape Helles.’

  ‘And you believed him? Could you have misunderstood his German, perhaps?’ Marshall asked as a orderly finished fussing around him.

  ‘Yes, sir, I believed him, and my German is excellent. He didn't think that he was giving away anything important.’

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that a German officer would simply volunteer this kind of information?’

  ‘Well, we gave him rum, sir, he’d taken a nasty wound in the arm and he was quite badly
shaken up. But to be blunt, sir, he thought the tactical situation was obvious. We have the Turkish defences in the South completely outflanked from our positions here at X and W beaches.’

  Johnny tried to show him on a map, but it wasn’t clear on the blurry reproduction, how far their current position outflanked the enemy and gave up. ‘With the reserves we have coming ashore we can roll up the entire enemy defensive line and press onto our first day’s objectives.’

  ‘That is all very well, Swift, but I have no idea what is going on at the other beaches and I’ve no instructions. I can’t just charge off with men who are not mine to command,’ Marshall said, exasperated.

  ‘There is also the question of linking up with Y beach, our primary objective, sir,’ the captain said.

  ‘Quite, there is a terrific fight going on over there from what we can gather. There has also been a very determined Turkish counterattack at X beach. That can hardly be the work of a few companies. We’ve faced far more determined opposition than expected, taken serious casualties and the men are exhausted. If the reserve went we would have a hell of a time stopping the Turks from pushing us into the sea. No, we should keep the reserves together, until we know what on Earth is going on,’ the Brigadier said, thinking aloud rather than justifying himself to a subordinate.

  ‘We could take Krithia and Achi Baba, virtually unopposed,’ Johnny said, trying to sound respectful. ‘I can assure you, sir, we outnumber the Turks.’

  ‘You make some interesting points, Swift. How many men are ashore now?’ he asked the Captain.

  The Captain looked flabbergasted. ‘Brigadier Marshall, perhaps we should seek the views of the 86th Brigade Intelligence officer before we make any firm decisions. I can see that Lieutenant Dawkins has just arrived and is waiting to make his report.’

  ‘Very well, send him in,’ Marshall said.

  Johnny’s heart sank as Crassus Dawkins entered and snapped out a smart salute. ‘Sir, the right flank is now secure, the enemy have been dispatched and a defensive perimeter established.’