by Griff Hosker
“We need more huts. We will have to send lorries back for them.”
“Then have them go back and Squadron Leader Thomson can escort them.” I knew that Jack would hate the task but it had to be done.
“Sir. In that case I reckon ten more days and we will be as secure as anywhere in this God forsaken country!”
“Sergeant Major there are academics who believe that this is where the Garden of Eden was.”
“Then thank God I am uneducated sir! Garden of Eden my…”
“We took off after being refuelled and headed towards Sulaimaniya. This was Sheikh Mahmud’s power base. I had only seen it in the distance. Now we had enough fuel to fly beyond it. We flew low over the town. I spied the Union Flag and the British troops there waved. As we passed over I saw that the commander had more guns facing east than west. He had the same opinion as I had. That was where the real danger lay. We flew for thirty minutes and I had just decided to turn around when I saw a smudge of smoke. I risked another five minutes flying east. Five minutes would bring us at least ten miles closer. There was another town there. It was an ancient town and looked to have a wall around it. Even as I turned I took in the armed men. I did not know the name of the place. I would have to look at the map when I returned. It looked to me to be worth investigating.
We refuelled quickly back at Kirkuk and headed south along, what was now, an empty road. I saw the Vernons as they lumbered north. Camp Harris was coming on! When we landed in Baghdad I went directly to the office and sought the maps. Major Fox came in while I was doing so. I waved him over. “I found somewhere here.” I jabbed a finger at the spot. The map had no name. I estimated the position from the distance we had travelled.
“That is in Iran, old Persia. I think the place you are looking at is called Maivan.”
“But, according to the map, there is nothing there!”
“The Turks were not the most efficient map makers. The only reason I know the name is because one of the men who tried to assault us the other day lived for half a day before he died. He was rambling but he said something about a little brother in a place called Maivan. The doc asked him where it was so that we could help his brother. Your description matches his.”
“Then that is where the insurgents are being organized.”
“And that makes sense. It is far enough from Tehran for them to be able to act with impunity and we can’t bomb it because their Shah would not be happy about interference.”
I took out my pipe. “So, we have a rat hole in the skirting board but as it is in a neighbour’s house we can’t plug it up?”
He laughed, “An interesting analogy sir but, yes, that is about it.”
I looked at the map again. We had had to climb to reach Maivan and I remembered the mountains. The Turks had built a road. As I looked at it on the map I saw that, as it crossed the border it twisted and turned to make its way through the mountains. “I can see a way. The rat can enjoy its freedom for a little while longer but I will stop up its hole!”
The next day I led the other half of the flight directly to Sulaimaniya. I wish to scout out the mountain pass. Before we left I explained to Ritchie what I intended. “I want to see if we could bomb the pass and create an avalanche. They could still come across but it would slow them up.”
“Sir.”
“I shall take a camera. That way we can study at leisure.” The Ninaks escorted the lorries with the supplies Squadron Leader Harris and the two Sergeant Majors needed as well as escorting other convoys to Sulaimaniya. I was indulging myself with this free patrol.
We were getting used to the country now. I had identified markers in the terrain and I used them to save me from constantly looking at the map. We saw the Ninaks to the north of us as they escorted the latest convoy from Kirkuk. The messages from the resident there were not good. The natives were definitely being stirred up. When we found the road, I estimated that we had travelled a hundred and ninety miles. Circling the road, I saw that there were a few travellers on the roads but they looked to be legitimate. Two or three men heading east and the same number heading west were not a band of insurgents intent upon causing mayhem. The road had been carved from the rock. It was not huge but it would accommodate a vehicle. Above the road, however, I saw rocks which looked like they were just waiting to be knocked down. This would involve some thought. I took half a dozen photographs and then headed to Kirkuk.
As we passed over the town I could hear firing. Sergeant Major Hale came over as I landed, “Trouble Sarn’t Major?”
He nodded, “We had a message from the garrison sir. There was a bombing in the town. When they went to investigate the troops were attacked by rebels.” He waved a hand, “Squadron Leader Harris took the Vernons back to Baghdad. Captain Willoughby requested some help, sir. The troops have been trapped in the bazaar area. He reckons it was coordinated. The bomb drew us in and then they unleashed hell.”
“Then let us give them some. Have my pilots refuel their aeroplanes. Get me a lorry and Sergeant Williams. I need twenty of your men, Sergeant Major.”
“Sir. I can come too if…”
“No Sarn’t Major, you keep on building this airfield but I want two of those bisht we took from the dead Kurds.”
There was one Nissen hut which was being used as an office. It also accommodated the radio and the armoury. I took off my flying helmet and flying coat as I went in. I threw them on a chair.
Sergeant Williams came in. “Sir?”
“We are going into to Kirkuk to give the army a hand. Lee Enfields and a Lewis gun mounted on the back of a lorry should do.”
“Right sir.” He disappeared into the back and came back out with a Lee Enfield for me and some ammunition. “The lads all have a rifle with them. I just get the Lewis. Sergeant Major Hale has the rest of the men with the lorry sir.”
I got outside and saw the eighteen men and driver being spoken to by the Sergeant Major. “Right, lads, I want to surprise the rebels. We keep hidden and drive in as though we are locals. Sergeant Major Hale fetch me three of those bisht we took.”
He disappeared as Sergeant Williams appeared, “Put the Lewis in the back of the lorry and have it facing over the tailgate.” As they did so the Sergeant Major appeared with the three bisht. I chose the best two and handed one to Williams. “Right Sergeant Williams put this on. You drive.” I donned mine. “You chaps in the back keep hidden. When I give the nod throw open the flap and do exactly as I say.”
Once inside I checked my Webley was loaded and that I had a grenade ready. “Williams drive to the bazaar. We are locals so just try to blend in. Drive slowly. Let them think we have stolen this lorry eh?”
“Yes sir.”
“Leave the talking to me.” I had enough Arabic to get by.
We headed towards the town which was just half a mile away. I kept my pistol by my side and I leaned out of the window. Williams had an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip. With the hood of his bisht over his head and his suntanned skin he could pass for a native. Thanks to the time I spent in the open cockpit I, too, was swarthy. I saw shops being looted as we passed them. The British troops had been dragged into the centre. The Residency would be under siege and the rest of the troops would be trapped in the bazaar area. The closer we came the harder it was to move. I leaned out of the cab and shouted, “Out of the way, we bring help to our brothers against the British. Allah is great!”
Gradually we drew closer. Williams leaned over and said, beneath his breath, “We are almost there, sir. Around the next corner.”
I banged on the back and said, “Get ready.”
There were four heavily armed men at the corner. Beyond them I heard the crack of bullets. Both sides were using whatever cover they could.
“Who are you? What are you doing with a British lorry?”
I waved him over and said, confidentially, “We were sent from Maivan. We have men in the rear. Let us reverse the lorry and we can overcome them.”
He nodde
d. I stepped up to the cab and made a circling motion with my hand. I stepped off the step and moved back to the wall. The four men were grinning. The big man said, “That Russian may have the manners of a pig but he knows the mind of the Englishmen!”
I nodded, “That he does.”
It took some time for the lorry to reverse. I made sure that I was behind the four men. As soon as it stopped I shouted, “Now!”
I pulled out my gun and held it to the head of the large warrior. As the Lewis gun chattered and cleared away the insurgents closest to it one of the other Arabs turned his gun on me. Even as I brought my gun up to shoot him the big warrior stabbed at me with his knife. Williams’ rifle barked twice and two Arabs fell dead. I tried to knock the knife away but he was a strong man and it scored a line down my leg. I pulled the trigger of my Webley which was pressed against the Arab’s side. It tore a hole in him and the man behind. Williams finished him off.
The bazaar was empty of insurgents now. There were fifteen dead and dying next to the rear of the smoking lorry. I saw Captain Willoughby and Sergeant Hughes. They were making their way towards the lorry.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, sir.”
“Yes, sorry we cut it fine.”
“It worked. If you will loan us your men we will enforce a curfew.” He looked down at my leg. “And you had better get to the residency. There is a doctor there.” He nodded to Williams, “Off load the Lewis gun and drive him there, Sergeant.”
“Sir.” We both took off our bisht and jammed them under the seat of the lorry. Who knew when they might come in handy again?
“When everything is back to normal we will send your chaps back, sir.”
“Before dark, if possible, Captain. We need them to guard the airfield. If things get hairy then that may well be your only way out of here.”
“I know sir.”
The fleeing crowds had taken away those besieging the residency. There was fire damage and bullet damage. As we approached it I said, “We learned one thing from that, Sergeant.”
“What’s that sir?”
“It is a Russian behind all of this. That narrows the field a little.”
“We still have to catch him though sir.”
“That will come Sergeant. We are narrowing down our search.”
The men at the gate opened it for us when they saw our uniforms. Williams leaned out of the cab. “Where is your doctor? My officer is wounded.”
The corporal said, “They are using the dining room as a makeshift hospital, Sarge. We were lucky. Just cuts and bruises from falling masonry.”
I was feeling a little weak. The blood had been flowing all the time. Williams had to help me. As soon as the doctor saw my condition he shouted, “Clear a space there!”
He cut open my trousers. Even as he did so I wondered where I would get a replacement pair. He took one look at it and shook his head, “This will need stitching and I am out of morphine.”
I nodded although I was feeling light headed and the action was not the cleverest one I had ever taken. “Just stitch it, doctor. I have to get back to Baghdad.”
“You are going nowhere, Wing Commander.”
Mercifully I passed out.
I dreamed. I was in France with Beattie and the kids and I was drinking wine. We were in the gardens of Versailles and the fountains were sending their plumes of water into the air in time to a four-piece baroque ensemble. Suddenly I heard the thunder of hooves and Cossack cavalry charged across the manicured lawns. I awoke with a start.
There was a grey-haired woman standing there. “You are quite safe, Wing Commander. Doctor Bainbridge hoped you would sleep a little longer.”
I tried to struggle to my feet but I felt as weak as a kitten and the woman easily restrained me.
“You are going nowhere. It is after dark and so you cannot possible fly home but as a lady such as myself can hold you down I don’t think that you are capable of flying one of those aeroplanes.”
I lay back and said, with eyes closed, “But they need me!”
“Poppycock! That sounds like every soldier I have ever known. If you aren’t there to do it then there will be someone else who will be! Now lie still. I am having a bed made up for you. I can’t promise a decent dinner but we shall do our best.”
I opened my eyes, “I am sorry to be so ungrateful and such a nuisance.”
She smiled, “From what Captain Willoughby told us, Wing Commander, you are anything but a nuisance. I am Lady Isabel Palmer. My brother is the resident here. I shall enjoy speaking with you at dinner. You sound a trifle more interesting than most military types.”
I did not know if I had been praised or insulted. I must have dozed off and I only woke when I felt someone dressing me. I opened my eyes with a start. There was a white-haired man fastening my trousers, “I am sorry sir. I hoped to dress you while you were asleep. I am Geoffrey, Lord Randolph’s man’s man.”
He fiddled on with my boots.
“I tried to get your boots as clean as I could sir but they are a mess.”
I smiled. He reminded me of John who had been my servant in the war. He too had always been vaguely critical of my appearance.
“Sorry, Geoffrey. I will try to do better next time.”
He nodded, “I hope the trousers fit. They belonged to Lieutenant O’Rourke. He was killed earlier today, in the bazaar. A nice chap. Now then, Wing Commander, if I help you will you be able to walk to the dining room or shall I fetch a bath chair? They are all awaiting your arrival.”
“I think I can manage. If you just let me put my weight on your shoulder.”
It was not so much painful as uncomfortable when I put my weight on my wounded leg. The stitches felt tight. Luckily, we only had thirty or so paces to go to reach the dining room. I recognised the doctor and Lady Isabel. The others I did not. However, when a distinguished looking man strode towards me with his hand held out I knew he must be the resident.
“Well done, Wing Commander, I am pleased you could join us.”
I gave a baleful look to the doctor. “It seems I had little choice in the matter.”
The doctor took a healthy swig from his wine, “I am afraid that I outrank everyone when it comes to medical matters. The wound was not that deep, Wing Commander, although you needed twenty stitches, but you lost a lot of blood. Get a good night’s sleep and I may consider letting you return to your squadron.”
I smiled, “In the Great War I was captured by Von Richthofen. If he couldn’t keep me locked up then I don’t think much of your chances, doctor.”
The resident, Lord Randolph Palmer shook his head, “But I wager he did not have the services of my sister!”
There was a great deal of banter around the table. I discovered that Lady Isabel’s husband had been killed in the Great War and, having no children of her own had taken it upon herself to run her brother’s home for him. Inevitably the conversation got around to the situation in Persia.
“There are so few soldiers these days Wing Commander, I fear for our safety.”
I nodded towards the west, “And that is one reason why we built the airfield. We have a squadron of transports aeroplanes who are more than capable of air lifting the whole of the residency and the garrison to safety.”
Lady Isabel lit a cigarette in her cigarette holder, “Air lift, Wing Commander?”
“Sorry, Lady Isabel, it is jargon. It means taking you all from one place to another. I first used it in Egypt. There was an outpost trapped by insurgents. We landed under fire and extracted them.”
“Remarkable. I remember when I was a young woman and we saw the first aeroplane. It seemed to be held together by string.”
I laughed, “I remember flying in one of those. It was called a Gunbus but they were more reliable than you might think.”
Lord Randolph lit a cigar as did the doctor. I declined, preferring my pipe, “And you say there is a Russian behind this?”
“Let us say that the rebels have someone with e
xperience in modern warfare. This is too organised to be just fermented by unhappy people. We had unhappy people in Egypt. This is not the same. And the chap who knifed me confirmed it. If we could have interrogated him we might have learned more.”
The doctor said, as he blew out a lazy smoke ring, “One of the natives I was called on to tend after the last unpleasantness mentioned a Russian. He was delirious with the pain of course and I took it to be rambling. I think he used the word, Count.”
Shivers ran down my neck. “This man, can I speak with him?”
“Sorry Wing Commander but he died. Do you think what he said was important?”
“I was in White Russia in nineteen. I met a really unpleasant White Russian, Count Yuri Fydorervich. He fled the country when his misdemeanours were discovered. He tried to have me killed. A thoroughly disreputable man but very clever for all that. If he is involved then everything makes sense.”
Lord Randolph said, “A bit of a tenuous link, what? There must be many Counts who fled Russia and are seeking employment as military advisers.”
“The difference is that most of them were not very good. Count Yuri Fydorervich was!” I placed my dead pipe on the ashtray, “It still does not help me save to make me realise that we are I even more danger than I thought.”
That night as I lay in an amazingly comfortable bed, having been fortified with wine, port and finally whisky, I went to sleep realising that I did know more than I thought. The Count was a clever man but he was no hero. He surrounded himself with thugs and killers. He would not trust the locals. These would be hired men. I guessed that they would be Russians themselves. They would be ruthless. He would also surround himself with the trappings of the nobility. What I needed was eyes on Maivan!
Sergeant Williams arrived just after dawn in the lorry. I was up early and I dressed. The replacement trousers were a good fit. Apparently, as I had discovered at dinner, the Lieutenant was not a young man. Lady Isabel was also up and I saw her frowning, “Sneaking away Wing Commander? I thought better of you.”
I liked Lady Isabel. She was a formidable lady. She was like an older version of Beattie- indomitable.
