by Alan Bardos
‘Good work, Dawkins. What would you estimate the enemy numbers to be?’ the Brigadier asked.
‘Oh, I’d say at least a division, sir, they were coming at us pretty strong. Also there is the attack just north of us at Y beach, but we can't say for sure how large the opposition is there until we establish communication with them,’ Crassus answered.
Marshall frowned. ‘You don’t think it could be less? A few companies for instance?’
‘I have heard rumours of that sort attributed to Turkish prisoners. If they are to be believed then surely they refer to the men directly facing us, rather than the Cape as a whole. Judging from the strength of the opposition I would dispute even that suggestion.’
‘Yes, that was my initial assessment, however this officer has information that we only face a thousand men across the whole South of the peninsula.’ Marshall pointed at Johnny.
‘Tosh, sir.’ Crassus looked behind him for the first time and saw Johnny. He recoiled. ‘Might one enquire how he came by this information?’
‘He said he interrogated a German officer, wounded I believe,’ the captain said helpfully.
‘He did what?’ Crassus was indignant. ‘Brigadier Marshall, I implore you not to believe a word that comes out of this man’s mouth. Especially if he’s quoting a Boche. He has already been brought up on charges for fraternising with and providing assistance to the Germans. I myself caught him red-handed in Flanders.’
Marshall turned to Johnny. ‘Is this true?’
‘Sir, General Hamilton washed out those charges for good conduct in the field,’ Johnny answered, ‘as Dawkins -’
Crassus interrupted, ‘sir, none of that makes the slightest difference as to whether we can treat Swift as a credible source of information. I know for a fact that he is completely untrustworthy.’
‘Brigadier Marshall, if you doubt my word why don’t you send myself and Dawkins on a reconnaissance to establish enemy numbers?’ Johnny didn't like the idea, but he couldn’t think of another way to prove the point.
Crassus flinched. ‘That’s a heck of a risk to take on the word of a man like Swift, sir.’
‘Come on, Crassus old man, you've seen font line service as a scout officer. I would have thought that this would be just your sort of stunt.’
‘It's an asinine and ill thought out suggestion, we could be facing a serious counterattack –’
Marshall held his hand up to stop Crassus. ‘Regardless of the validity of the information, it is my responsibility to keep the divisional reserve intact. The most prudent course of action is to await orders. Now go back to your unit, Swift, dig in and wait for our people to link up with us.’
Johnny went to protest, but caught a gleam in Crassus’s eye egging him on to contradict the general further and thought better of it. ‘Yes, sir.’
Crassus followed Johnny out. In his moment of final triumph all he could think to say was, ‘I know you were the wag who made up that nickname. Just remember that it was Crassus who beat Spartacus’s slave revolt and had every man Jack of them crucified!’
‘The only side you’ve beaten Crassus, is your own. Besides, it was good old Colonel Wakey Woking who thought up the nickname.’ Johnny strode off back to Hill 114. He needed to find a signaller.
Chapter 50
Laszlo Breitner shouted a greeting to Major Toprak and slipped off his horse, glad to have finally reached the new headquarters of the 19th Division, and hobbled towards the Major. His fastidious appearance made a sharp contrast to the shabby men around him and acted like a beacon.
‘So you found your way from headquarters Breitner, however did you manage it?’ Despite their rivalry for Esther’s affections Toprak seemed relieved to see him.
‘I secured passage on a torpedo boat to Maidos and joined a column travelling over the Sari Bair mountain range.’
‘You must have orders directly from von Saunders to have done that?’ Toprak asked, nervously tapping a riding crop against his thigh.
‘I’ve been instructed to assess the strength of the British landings.’
‘We’re actually facing colonial troops, from Australia and New Zealand.’ Toprak said in his usual pedantic manner, then regained his friendly persona. ‘I suspect we have a similar mission.’
‘In that case I would be grateful for any assistance you can give me.’ Breitner said with all the sincerity he could muster.
‘The person you need to talk to is Lieutenant Colonel Mustafa Kemal, the commander of the 19th Division. He’s seen fit to deploy the strategic reserve on his own initiative.’ Toprak said leading Breitner away from the men rushing around them.
‘The entire division? That’s a hell of a risk.’ Breitner said.
‘Indeed.’ Toprak slashed his riding crop to emphasise the point and Breitner recognised it as the one he’d tried to beat Johnny Swift with at Enver Pasha’s house.
‘I’ve been sent here by Enver to keep an eye on things and we may need to work together to ensure he does not exceed his authority any further than he already has. The situation is quite desperate.'
‘I’ll do what I can.’ Breitner said.
They found the Colonel in his command post looking out at a distant mountain range. Kemal greeted Breitner with penetrating grey blue eyes. He was, Breitner observed, a strikingly handsome man, fair, with strong features that were sharpened by an Eastern intensity.
‘What are you doing here? We don’t need help from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy.’
‘I’m sure that is true, sir. I’m here to find out your situation and report on your lack of resource.’
‘A foreigner with some use, how refreshing. Please forgive my rudeness. The situation is that the enemy has landed in force and I am holding them, with one division!’
Breitner glanced at Toprak, ‘you have committed the entire strategic reserve, without orders?’
Kemal looked at him scornfully and ignored the question. ‘It has been sixty five days since the Allied naval assault ended. We have had sixty five days to prepare and when the Allies come, it is nothing but confusion.’
‘Headquarters are unsure where the main landings have taken place, so do not know where to send the reserves,’ Breitner said.
A wave of anger flared in Kemal and he pointed at the mountain range. ‘It seems the opinion of my fellow commanders is that the landings here in the west are a feint. Ari Burnu is rough ground and a strange place to land. Yet if the landings are a diversion why is the enemy advancing on the high ground of Sari Bair ridge?‘
‘I agree, if the enemy are advancing on such a key strategic position they must have landed in strength.’
Kemal frowned, he did not need Breitner’s agreement. ‘I have ridden to corps headquarters myself and they have granted me command of a further regiment, but it is not enough.’
Toprak spoke for the first time. ‘Our attacks are dying out in the face of determined opposition and counterattack. As soon as we push them off a hill they come back and retake it.’
‘Be quiet, you fool, do you want to spread unrest and repeat the humiliations of the Balkan Wars?’ He turned to Breitner. ‘We have held the invaders. We now need to drive them back. The plateau the enemy holds is vital. If it remains in Allied hands they can use it as a base to mount further advances. We have to retake it and hold the high ground, they will then be contained in a narrow strip of low ground, enfiladed and trapped.’
‘The situation is untenable sir, we should withdraw or risk losing the whole division.’ Toprak said desperately hitting the riding crop against his leg.
Kemal snatched the riding crop out of his hand, smashed it down on a camp table and threw it on the ground. ‘I cannot believe you wear the uniform of a Turkish officer. We will drive the enemy into the sea, even if it means sacrificing the whole division to do it. Take this down. I wish to issue an order of the day.’
Silenced, Toprak picked up his riding crop and fumbled for a notebook. Breitner watched Kemal pace around his command
post, his shoulders hunched, smoking and resolute in the decisions he’d taken. Then began to dictate.
‘We face invaders who come to take your homes, they do not respect you as soldiers. They do not think you will fight. They think you have forgotten the glorious past of your empire when the kings of Europe shivered in terror at the thought of your forefathers, who knocked on the very gates of Vienna.’
Kemal looked at Breitner and turned back to Toprak boring into his soul. ‘I am not ordering you to attack, I am ordering you to die. In the time which passes until we die, other troops and commanders can take our place. Until the invaders are stopped and driven back.’
Major Toprak looked up from his pad, his eyes alive with a fire Breitner had never seen in them before. ‘I will have that distributed to the troops, immediately and read it to as many as I can myself.’
‘I’ll go with you.’ Breitner said feeling the same fire.
Kemal held his hand up. ‘No you will stay by my side, I can’t risk losing someone who has the ear of Liman von Sanders.’
A series of crumps announced the Turkish attack, battering the sky with a storm of whistling shells that burst into boiling black clouds of shrapnel above the enemy, as they crouched in shallow pits.
Breitner stuck close to Kemal, watching the attack from a ridge overlooking the enemy positions on the plateau below. Breitner saw Toprak charge amongst the mass of men streaming down the slope towards the Australians.
He heard a call of ‘Come on you Bastards,’ and the defenders let loose a murderous cross fire, knocking the Turks down. But they kept coming, sounding trumpets and chanting, clambering over the bodies of the fallen and the wounded.
The Turks were brave, Breitner had to admit. He hadn’t seen finer, matched only by the Australians and New Zealanders who despite the lack of artillery continued to fire. There just weren’t enough to hold off the attackers and the Turks were on them, smashing through their line.
Breitner felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach, a massive Australian was charging at a Turkish officer with a riding crop. The officer shot the Australian with his pistol. The Australian stumbled, but continued his charge. The officer shot him again, at point blank range.
The Australian ran him through with his bayonet and the officer hit him in the face with his riding crop. Breitner saw the Australian screaming through his field glasses and the man lifted the officer up in the air. Breitner looked away and said a prayer for Toprak.
The colonial troops had little choice but to fall back, scrambling over the edge of the plateau and make for a defensive line on the reverse slope of the hill. The Turkish artillery adjusted their aim and continued to shell them.
The Turks swept over the crest of the plateau, forcing the Australians back across a thin neck of land that linked the mountain range. Where they turned and took up positions in a ragged row of rifle pits, in the low ground.
Chapter 51
‘Excuse me, Sir Ian, we’ve received a reply from General Hunter-Weston,’ Sir George Smyth shouted above the noise reverberating around the conning tower.
‘Eventually.’ Hamilton turned from his observation slit. ‘Yes, what does he say?’
‘He’s declined your offer to transport troops from V to Y beach. He says that it would interfere with the timetable for the landings.’
‘Very well, the trawlers can continue to be used to ferry the wounded to the hospital ships.’
Hamilton turned back to the landings. ‘By God, that’s a tonic. We’re watching men win the Victoria Cross, while we’re safe and sound in this cooking pot.’
Sir George lifted his binoculars and was shocked by the sight of men battling through barbed wire on the hill that separated W and V beaches. Sir George had never thought men capable of such things.
But from what Sir George could see the situation on V beach itself wasn’t improving. The allied bombardment was ripping it to pieces, setting the surrounding area alight, but the Turks still had the men pinned down.
A naval rating tapped Sir George on the shoulder and passed him a signal. Sir George was trying to keep Hamilton informed of events; but that was limited by the unreliability of the wireless and the green black clouds of gun smoke that made signalling to the shore impossible.
He glanced at the signal, Hunter-Bunter had decided not to land any further troops at V beach. The men already ashore on the various landing sites were to dig in and prepare for the coming day. Sir George passed the signal to Hamilton, who did not appear overly concerned.
The failure to take V beach will hold everything up Sir George reflected, the beachheads would not be able to join up and move inland.
‘Yes, I think we must dig in.’ Hamilton said agreeing with the signal.
‘Sir Ian, we have received reports that intelligence gleaned from prisoners –’
‘I do wish you wouldn’t waste my time with such nonsense, Smyth. The word of prisoners can’t possibly be accepted as true,’ Hamilton blustered.
‘Very good,’ Sir George wasn't about to question the decision of his superior.
‘Organise something for tonight with senior staff would you, Smyth,’ Hamilton continued. ‘Nothing too grand, just a quick dinner to celebrate the splendid performance of the 29th Division and the success of the landings. I should probably meet with Hunter-Western. I’m still concerned about the precarious position of the landings on V beach. Although once the rest of the men on the old collier are put ashore we will take it.’
‘Yes, I will see to it immediately,’ Sir George said dully. For the 29th Division to have established any kind of a beachhead, in the face of that opposition, had been nothing short of miraculous. Nonetheless, despite Hamilton’s confidence, Sir George knew the grand masterstroke that would turn the tide of the war was slipping into the night.
The wasted opportunity of it appalled Sir George, almost as much as the wasted sacrifice of the men on the beach. Even if they were to take V beach tomorrow their chance to distract the enemy from their true intentions must surely have gone, and with it any chance of reaching Constantinople and his share in the spoils. It looked like this pile of rocks would be his Saint Helena after all.
Chapter 52
Johnny offered a chunk of bully beef to a little green lizard walking along the parapet of his trench. It stopped and scurried away.
‘Not even he will eat the ghastly stuff,’ Johnny said over his shoulder and a few men in the trench next to him laughed.
Johnny moved his hand away from the parapet. A split second later it exploded in a puff of sand.
‘Watch it, sir, that bloody jacket doesn’t make you immune to every sniper’s bullet,’ Williams said, taking a swig from his rum jar.
Johnny realised that he was shaking again and threw away the rest of his bully beef. He took his tin of charms out of the right hand breast pocket of his jacket. He ran his fingers over the bomb fragment and could smell the violet scent of Libby’s letter. Although it was Staff Nurse Lee-Perkins’s letter that he wanted to see, now he’d proved her wrong and come through everything.
He tried to read it in the fading light, but couldn’t focus. Moments he’d scarcely noticed during the day came back to him, with disturbing clarity. The metallic taste of the sea turning red, the sand in his teeth, the shock on Winterbottom’s face when he was shot, the fresh smell of thyme when he rolled over the cliff, and the groans of the Turkish officer and the crunch of his ribs under Johnny’s boot.
‘Here, drink this.’ Williams passed Johnny his rum jug.
‘I tell you, Williams, if I can survive today, I can survive anything.’ Johnny drank a shot of the rum and passed it back.
Williams chewed for a moment, savouring his iron rations, as he considered that. ‘If you say so, sir. You should know, being an officer and all, but I’d say that this is going to be a long old war with plenty more opportunity for a brash young Englishman to get himself killed.’
Johnny opened a tin of apple and plum jam for want of
something better to do, and retched at its rancid stench. ‘I really can’t tell you how much I missed all this, when I was in Constantinople, eating delicacies fit for a Pasha.’
He put the jam on the parapet in front of him. A line of large ants began to swarm over it. A familiar roar cut through the peaceful twilight, rooting Johnny to the spot. A 5.9 shell detonated in front of the trench, shooting a shrapnel ball through the parapet, smashing the jam tin and hitting Johnny in the chest.
Johnny struggled to breathe and closed his eyes not wanting to see the wound, as Williams examined him.
‘It looks like I won’t survive today after all,’ Johnny said stoically.
‘Hey, boys, take a look at this,’ Williams called to the other Fusiliers, who promptly laughed. ‘Don’t worry, sir, you weren’t tempting fate.’
‘I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing Williams. I’ve got a bloody great hole in my chest,’ Johnny managed to get out as his ribs began to throb.
‘Oh come now, boy bach, you can stop shamming. It didn’t even break the skin. Your jacket’s not much good at warding off shrapnel balls, but that bloody little box of tricks of yours probably saved your life,’ Williams commented in his typical melancholy manner. Then passed Johnny the tin and helped him up against the side of the trench.
The front of the tin had been bashed in a bit, but everything inside was alright. Johnny took out Gabrielle’s letter. He needed to read it now more than ever. He put the tin in his left hand jacket pocket, as the right hand one now had a shrapnel hole in it.
‘You’re a lucky bugger and no mistake,’ Boil, the signaller, said sullenly.
‘It’s the jacket, not me.’ Johnny had made Boil stand up and signal a report to the support ships, relaying the information Kurt had given him. The only way Boil would do it was if Johnny lent him his jacket. They didn’t receive an acknowledgment and the second time Boil tried to send it a sniper shot at him.
