by Tony Roberts
“What is the meaning of this?” the captain demanded, staring at the two new arrivals. “I am about to retire to bed. This had better be good!”
“This man attacked me…” the lieutenant began. Casca clubbed him hard and the man collapsed to the ground soundlessly.
“What…?” Captain Abdullah began.
“Shut up,” Casca snapped. “This animal was raping one of his soldiers. I demand you arrest him and put him on trial accordingly.”
“And who are you to tell me, Private?” Abdullah said silkily, the whisk slapping in one palm. The two servants began edging towards Casca, waiting for a word or signal from their master. Casca stepped away from the prone figure of the lieutenant and waited for the two servants. They must have seen a signal, maybe a slight nod, for they suddenly sprang for the Eternal Mercenary. Casca swung the club upwards and this put off one of the men, even though the blow didn’t connect. But Casca’s other blow struck home, the pistol barrel raking down the temple of the second man. He grunted and fell forward to the floor.
Casca stepped sideways and the first servant’s attempt to grab him missed. Casca was close now and his knee slammed up into the man’s groin. As the Turk doubled up trying hard not to throw up, Casca clubbed him to the floor. The captain grabbed for his own pistol but Casca saw the movement and leaped across the table, disturbing the papers on it, and seized Abdullah’s wrist. The greasy fat Turk wriggled and hissed through his white teeth but could make no progress and the pistol remained out of reach. Casca took him by the throat and pushed him backwards until he came up against a post which shook with the impact. “Alright you ugly toad,” Casca hissed into his face, inches from his own, “I have no intention of dragging you across the lines to the English army, so either I kill you or you tell me where your maps and orders are.”
Abdullah stared at the stocky figure in front of him. He had no idea who he was or why he was here. His safe world had been ripped away in a matter of seconds and here he was helpless in the grip of this madman from the night. His look went to the pile of papers that had been disturbed off the table. Casca followed it and nodded. “That will do. Very well, I gave my word.” He stepped back, then flicked his pistol round in his hand so he was gripping the barrel and cylinder. Before Abdullah could react, the butt had struck him behind the ear and he slowly sank to his knees, then fell face forward.
Casca slipped the pistol into one of the jacket pockets. He quickly searched the scattered papers. A couple of maps he folded and shoved into more pockets, but the written documents were in the Arabic script which he still didn’t understand. Cursing he shoved a few into the last available pockets and then walked out boldly. The guards at the entrance looked at him, frowning, and then one took on himself to flick the flap aside to see inside.
Casca walked faster, his heart beating. There was a shout and he began running, entering the second trench and finding the zigzagging communication trench. He brushed passed a couple of soldiers who cursed him, then turned as shouting grew from behind. One of the soldiers swung back and saw Casca vanish around the next corner and unslung his rifle.
Casca ran faster, his eyes wild. He was muttering the word fuck over and over. He exploded out of the communication trench and skidded to a halt in the front line trench. Soldiers all turned to see what the noise was. “The general is on his way to inspect us all!” he hollered and ran for the place where he had encountered Mehmet and his comrades. Soldiers were galvanized into action, panicking into grabbing their equipment and weaponry. To be without the regulation uniform invited punishment.
A junior officer came out of his dugout and wanted to know what in the name of the Prophet was going on. Casca crashed into him, shoulder first, and sent the officer spinning round, his hat flying off. He saw the place and the Turkish soldiers he’d met earlier. Mehmet still wasn’t there.
“Captain Kasim,” one of them began, and stood back with jaw open as Casca vaulted up and over the sandbags. Thanking the gods that they hadn’t yet laid barbed wire, he pounded across no-man’s land.
“Get out of here!” he screamed to the four Australians who were still lying in their places. Shouts were going up all along the Turkish front line; some were trying to get the men ready for parade, others ordering the traitor/deserter/enemy to be shot down. Officers stood face to face screaming countermanding orders at each other, arguing they knew the truth.
The Australians got to their feet and ran for their lives. Shots rattled out from behind, still scattered and unorganized which gave the five extra incentives to get to their own line. One of the four others cried out and clutched his shoulder and staggered for a moment, but he kept his feet and carried on. Casca was the last since he had started way behind them, and as the others reached safety, encouraged by the waiting men, more shots came his way.
A machine gun began chattering away to the right, giving Casca covering fire. “Weave, you silly bastard!” came a helpful voice from ahead. Casca dodged from side to side, hoping to put off anyone who was aiming at his back. He was ten feet from the sandbags, plowing through the gap in the wire, when something punched him in the back hard and sent him flying forward, toppling as he went, his arms outstretched. He hit the top of the sandbags and went plunging through, pain shooting throughout his back. He had a vague awareness of sandbags falling with him into the trench before he struck the trench floor headfirst, sending stars shooting through his head.
Then blackness descended on him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Keep still,” a kindly voice came through a long, dark tunnel. “Don’t move.”
Casca groaned. Another rebirth. He was sure the bullet that got him would have killed mortal men. It didn’t feel like one that would have merely wounded. How long had he been out? More to the point, what was his condition? Who had seen the wound? He opened his eyes, fighting the waves of weakness and nausea. His back hurt. The shot had been enough to pitch him right off his feet. Had the bullet gone through him?
He looked round. There were drapes of material hanging from a canvas ceiling. There was a smell of ether and corruption. There were sounds of groaning and men in torment from the other side of the screen. The man tending him was in white. A doctor. A nurse stood behind him, half hidden, so that Casca couldn’t see her properly.
“How bad is the wound?” Casca croaked. His mouth was as dry as a desert.
“Now, now, lad,” the doctor gently chided him. “Save your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You were in a bad way when you were brought in yesterday.”
Yesterday! He’d been out for hours. His body would have gone on repairing itself while he slept. “I’m badly hurt?” He decided to play ignorant. Maybe he would get more luck that way.
“Shot through the back,” the doctor said, a smile on his face, “thought you would die on us. Luckily it turned out the bullet passed through and didn’t lodge somewhere in your ribs. Otherwise the surgeon would have had to ship you to Imbros. You’ve been plugged front and back and a rest is what you need. Nurse Turnbull here has volunteered to tend you further. I must go; other poor souls need my skills.” The doctor left and smiled once at the nurse as he passed.
Casca could now see it was Alison. He waved at her weakly. She knelt by his side. “You tried to be a hero, you stupid man.” There were tears on her face.
“I’m not that easy to kill, Alison,” he said. He reached up and wiped one of the tears away. She pressed her head against his hand. “My brother was taken away to Imbros two days ago,” she said in a little voice. “They say he’s likely to die. I tried to get a transfer but it was refused. Then you came in – more dead than alive. How you live is a mystery. Maybe God was looking after you.”
Casca was inclined to argue the point but Alison was too sunk in grief. It was better to say nothing. He shifted his back, wincing at the sharp stabbing pain that came with it. “I’m alive, and not too badly hurt either. Apart from the back…”
“Don’t be silly,” Alis
on scolded him, wiping away the rest of her tears. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and that bullet went through your back and chest. It’s a miracle your heart wasn’t hit.” She stood up.
Casca smiled. His heart would survive even if it were shattered. It would repair itself, thanks to the Curse. He’d survived his heart being cut out centuries back, so a mere bullet was child’s play.
“You think it funny?” Alison said, looking down at him. “A laugh, that’s what you men think! A test of your manhood!” Suddenly she was crying and Casca, momentarily taken aback, reached out to her. This time she didn’t push away. She allowed herself to be pulled against him. She cried for a minute or two, then slowly disengaged herself. “Crikey, I’m not much good, crying like that.”
“I bet Florence Nightingale cried when she saw those soldiers in the Crimea,” Casca said.
“How do you know? I bet she didn’t. She was wonderful. I’m not made of the same stuff. Bloody war; I hate it.”
“Wars need people like you. Soldiers need the comfort of a sympathetic shoulder. Even better when they’re as good looking as you. Always raises morale.”
She made a curious coughing noise, that sort of sound when a cry is interrupted by a small laugh. “You men are all the same! Shame on you.”
“I’m shamed, and happy with it,” Casca grinned. He wriggled in the bed and made himself more comfortable. “So are you going to nurse me to full health?”
“Try keeping me away. I don’t want you to die. But the surgeon thinks you’ll be sent to Imbros, since your wounds are serious.”
“Rubbish. I’m not as badly hurt as he thinks. He must be tired. I’ll be up and about in a couple of days, just you see.”
Alison frowned. “That’s something I don’t understand. You’re not as badly hurt as everyone thought when you came in yesterday. Either you’re a fast healer or you’re incredibly lucky.”
“Maybe a bit of both? But honestly, I think I’ll be up and about in a day or so.”
“You’re not going anywhere until the surgeon, and I, say you’re fit to do so!”
“Yes ma’am,” Casca saluted.
Alison tried to look severely at him, but just couldn’t. She giggled. “Oh, you’re incorrigible!”
“Part of my charm.” Casca grinned up at her.
“Agh! You’re impossible. I’ll be back soon. Got other patients to see.”
“No flirting, mind,” Casca waggled a finger at her.
“Oh? Jealous are we?” she smiled mischievously. She left, the screen falling down behind her, leaving Casca chuckling to himself in the bed.
He recovered rapidly, as he had predicted; he was soon fit enough to stand up out of bed, but the weakness thanks to the loss of blood had him grabbing the bed frame quickly enough. Alison came in and found him out of bed. She insisted he return to bed immediately. He didn’t complain, the weakness was as much a convincing factor as the nurse’s argument. But his recovery continued, confounding Alison and the surgeon. The wound had closed, even if it were still red and angry looking. That evening as the darkness fell, she came to him and sat by his side, very quietly.
“Your scars,” she said slowly, “how did you come by them? You’re covered! Some madman attack you in the past?”
“Something like that,” Casca said, looking at her. “Not something I really want to talk about.”
“Fair enough. I heard today my brother could survive; he had an operation to remove the bullet and is comfortable. He’ll return to Australia when he’s well enough for the voyage.”
“That’s good news.” At least that worry could be lifted from her mind. “What about you? You only joined up to keep an eye on him. Now he’s going home what will you do?”
“I’m part of this hospital. I’ll stay as long as we’re here.”
Casca was privately pleased; he didn’t want her to go. “So you can keep an eye on me instead?”
She smiled in the gloom. He could see her teeth. “Something like that.” He took hold of her hands and pulled her onto the bed. She half resisted, then gave in. They kissed long and hard, then she broke the contact and sat back on the chair. “If we’re found doing this I’ll be disciplined – and you as well.”
“Well in that case we’d better be quiet.” Casca pulled aside the bed sheets but she shook her head.
“Are you mad? The duty nurse could happen along at any minute! You behave yourself. I’m not doing anything with you here, and that’s final.” She got up and smiled down at him. “Not that I’m saying I wouldn’t – but don’t take me for the wrong kind of girl.” She kissed him again, lightly, and left him to think by himself.
And his thoughts were of the sort that didn’t do him any good lying there.
The next day he was surprised to get a visit from Rocky and Archie. The two of them had ‘volunteered’ for water carrying duty and had sneaked off to the hospital to see him. They brought him up to date with news from the trenches. It seemed both sides were digging in further and barbed wire was now up everywhere. Sniping was growing and it was impossible for anyone to show themselves above the level of the parapet in daylight. They’d lost twelve men that day to the snipers.
Archie was the same, smirking and smoking in equal measures. His devil-may-care outlook made Casca smile; nothing seemed to worry him. To Archie it was just another part of life, getting shot at. Rocky was a bit more subdued and the strain of trench life was getting to him. He did show interest in Alison when she came in, though. The young Aussie’s eyes went wide and he could hardly keep his eyes off her.
“Hey,” Casca waggled a finger at him, “you’ll go blind if you’re not careful.”
Rocky muttered something and looked away. Archie sniggered and pulled the youngster up off the small stool he’d been sitting on. “C’mon Rocky,” he said, “time we were bringing water back to our mates. Enough looking at the Sheilas.”
The two pushed past the screen and were gone in an instant. Casca grinned and took Alison’s hand. “You have a terrible effect on some people, you know.”
Alison tutted and pulled her hand free. “Some of you men act as if you’ve never seen a woman before!”
“Be thankful for that; think of what it’d be like of nobody took the slightest interest in you.”
“At least my bottom wouldn’t be pinched so often!”
Casca slapped her ass. Alison shouted in outrage and went to slap him back, but he pulled her down onto him and kissed her hard. She struggled for a moment, then relaxed and joined in. After a few minutes they disentangled. She smoothed her hair and stood up. “You’re getting back to normal, Sandy. A bit too fast for my liking. You ought to be on death’s door still. The doctor’s mystified by you, I can tell you. He’s never seen anyone heal so fast.”
“Must be the expert treatment I’m getting.”
“Hah!” she scoffed. “You’re as bad a liar as you are chatting me up. At this rate you’ll be out of here tomorrow.”
Casca shrugged, leaning up on one elbow. “You’ll be glad to see the back of me, won’t you?”
“Yes and no.” She sat down again and looked troubled. “I like you a lot, I really do, Sandy. But…. you’re not what I’d call a normal bloke. There’s something different about you and I can’t put my finger on what it is.” She looked at him full in the eyes. “And until I work that out I won’t let you take this any further. You understand?”
Casca flopped back onto his back. “Yeah, I understand.” He sounded bitter. He felt bitter. How could he tell her he was nineteen centuries old and had been cursed by Jesus on the cross? He wanted her so badly, but he also knew he couldn’t have her unless she wanted him too. And the Curse was what was getting in the way. Damn it, damn it! His fists clenched and he closed his eyes.
Alison looked at him for along moment, then pulled the canvas aside. She came face to face with two officers. “Oh!”
The man in front, a major, touched the brim of his cap. “Excuse me, nurse, but is Private Roma
n in there? The doctor said he was.”
“Ah, yes, he is.”
“Thank you nurse,” the major said and poked his head round the canvas flap. “Ah, Private Roman.”
Casca struggled in his bed but the major waggled his hand. “Naw, you stay there, Private. Glad to see you’re in one piece. We’re here to talk to you about the information you brought back from the Turkish lines. Very good job, by the way. Brave act. Stirred up the Turk a bit!”
“Thank you, Sir,” Casca said automatically. The second officer was a lieutenant who was carrying a sheaf of papers. The lieutenant sat on the stool while the major perched on the bed.
“Don’t mind the Lieutenant, he’s taking notes. He’s my intelligence officer.” The major waved a lazy hand in the lieutenant’s direction. “Now, what you brought back were maps showing the layout of the land here at Gallipoli plus the unit designation the enemy have allocated to this sector. It may be out of date now but it’s valuable enough as it is. The other stuff was nothing but lists of supplies and munitions. Good as far as it gives us an approximate number of Turks facing us along the German Officer’s Ridge but limited as we don’t know how many are facing us elsewhere.”
“Excuse me sir, the German Officer’s Ridge?”
“Ah, sorry. A name that’s been given to that part of the enemy lines. So named because a number of German officers have been seen there. The men have named quite a few places now; Lone Pine Ridge – that’s where you’ll be sent when you’re fit to return to duty, MacLaurin’s Hill, Johnston’s Jolly and so on. You’ll get to learn them once you get back. Now. What we want to know is what exactly did you see when you were over there?”
So Casca retold his crazy journey in the enemy trenches while it was written down assiduously. After a short while, during which time questions were asked repeatedly, and which Casca answered as best he could, the two officers stood up. The major thanked him and led the lieutenant out.
