‘Of course.’ Elspeth leant forward to give a hug, and then watched her disappear inside the station. A moment later she climbed back inside the taxi and turned to the driver.
‘Nottingham Place, please.’
9. Western Serbia, August–September 1914
Gabriel stood in the shade of a willow tree on the Serbian bank of the Drina, gazing down at a line of Austrian soldiers wading across from the Bosnian side. He had forded the river by horseback only a few minutes earlier, and after tethering the animal to the tree had stood watching the vanguard of the 6th Army follow him onto Serbian soil. Most of the soldiers were in pale blue uniforms, although some of the men were in the dark green of the elite Alpine regiments. However, all the troops were bare below the waist, having removed their trousers and boots, which hung – tied by their laces – around their necks as they waded through the thigh-deep water. Reconnaissance patrols had already scouted ahead, but no Serbian opposition – perhaps surprisingly – had yet been encountered. Just as well, thought Gabriel, as the men looked vulnerable, literally naked as they strode through the river, their rifles and ammunition belts held high above their heads.
So far it had not gone well for Field Marshall Potiorek. It had taken not one, but three weeks for the 6th Army to finish their preparations for war, and Gabriel and his medical column had only left Visigrad – the last town before the Serbian border – earlier that morning. They were already two weeks behind schedule and Gabriel had heard that Potiorek was furious at the delay, his hope of a quick victory over Serbia as a birthday gift to the emperor now foregone. The troops had been told they would have to make quick progress in order to make up for lost time, so Gabriel left the shade of the tree and trudged up the grassy slope to get a better view of the route they would soon take. A dried up water-track snaked uphill, a tributary along which water must once have gushed on its way down to join the river below. This defile meandered towards the hills of western Serbia, and beyond these were the mountains they would have to cross in order to reach the central Serbian plain and the town of Kragujevac on the far side.
Sudden laughter caught his attention and he turned to look down at the river bank. The soldiers who had just crossed were drying themselves in the sunshine, joking and sniggering at the sight of each other’s river-cold shrivelled penises. The men were in good spirits, Gabriel thought as he watched them reassemble and begin to tramp up the slope.
He observed them for a little while longer, and then looked across to the Bosnian side of the Drina, where a line of ponies and mules – essential for moving supplies in this terrain – were waiting patiently at the water’s edge. Beyond the animals a Red Cross flag marked the position of the Divisional Aid Station. A cluster of farm buildings had been identified near the river bank, and after requisitioning them for military use, Gabriel had arranged for the walls and floors to be cleaned and disinfected so they could be converted into a temporary hospital.
The last line of soldiers had finished crossing the river and Gabriel saw the first of the ponies being led into the water. From the red crosses on the animals’ flanks he knew they were carrying the dressing station medical supplies. So he straightened the Red Cross armband on the sleeve of his captain’s jacket – the only feature on his uniform that distinguished him from other officers of the same rank – and looked around to try and find the other staff from the medical column. Higher up the bank and a little further along Lieutenant Peter Flieger was talking to Klaus, Gabriel’s orderly, and the two new medical reservists, Berger and Schwann. The four men had serious expressions on their faces, their heads inclined together in a secretive huddle, and Gabriel was curious to know what they were discussing.
‘Corporal Sparmacher,’ he shouted up. Klaus quickly pulled away from the group – a guilty look on his face – and ambled down to Gabriel. Corporal Klaus Sparmacher had been with the Austrian army for many years, and during that time had been a faithful assistant to Gabriel, with a seemingly endless supply of good humour and a constant smile. However, some of Klaus’s habits – a liking for idle gossip, a deep love of schnapps (his breath had smelt heavily of it this morning) and a natural inclination to laziness – were a source of continual irritation for Gabriel,
‘Captain?’
‘Come on, Klaus, we’re under orders to make good time. Help get those ponies and medical supplies up here.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Klaus replied with a salute and then began to saunter down the bank.
‘And don’t be all day about it,’ Gabriel called after him and grinned as the old corporal started a slow rolling jog down the slope.
Flieger and the other two doctors arrived at Gabriel’s side.
‘Well, I’m relieved we’re finally on Serbian soil,’ Flieger said, and Gabriel couldn’t tell whether his First Surgeon was genuinely pleased or not. Gabriel had grown to like Flieger, a loyal colleague and family man devoted to his wife and five children. He was also normally a plucky, hard-working surgeon, who relished a challenge, but today Gabriel saw lines of tension beneath his round, silver-rimmed spectacles.
‘Well, Peter, I didn’t realise you were so keen for the fighting to begin,’ Gabriel said dryly, trying to keep a straight face.
Frown lines appeared on Flieger’s brow. ‘No, what I meant was, the quicker we start, the quicker…’ He stopped as Gabriel could no longer hide the grin from his face. ‘Oh,’ he said, and then gave a short tight smile to allay his embarrassment.
‘I know what you meant, Peter.’ Gabriel glanced at the two men standing beside Flieger; Dr Thomas Berger and Dr Karl Schwann were reservists who had qualified from Vienna only one year earlier. Berger, a gangly reservist with curly brown hair, had initially intended a career as a surgeon, but confessed to Gabriel he had lacked the necessary dexterity for tying surgical knots and thus had developed an interest in anaesthesia. This was welcome news for Gabriel, because although anaesthesia had traditionally been a nurse’s job, the chief now insisted that, wherever possible, trained doctors should take over this role. Dr Schwann, a reservist with short, sandy-coloured hair, had worked in a fever hospital in Vienna over the past year and was going to be the medical column’s physician. Both men had appeared quietly confident during the two-week preparation for war, but Gabriel was surprised to see that – like Flieger – both men looked unsettled.
‘Is everything alright?’ Gabriel asked them with a puzzled frown.
‘Oh yes, Captain,’ Berger replied – a little too quickly for Gabriel’s liking – and Schwann nodded his head.
‘Are you sure?’ Gabriel replied. ‘There’s nothing you are worried about, or want to ask?’
Both men shook their heads and Gabriel scratched his chin; something was obviously bothering them, he thought, as he turned back to Flieger. ‘So, Peter,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘How’s your little boy? Born the day the Archduke died; is that why you named him Franz?’
‘No.’ Flieger took his glasses off and wiped them on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘It’s nothing to do with the Archduke. Maria and I decided on names well before he was born. It was always going to be Francesca for a girl and Franz for a boy.’ He put the glasses back on and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. ‘Actually little Franz is driving his mother mad: he’s not a good sleeper. Maria’s often up with him during the night and during the day she has her hands full with the other four children.’ He squinted through the lenses. ‘Do you think this will be a long war, Gabriel? We heard the field marshal say it should all be over within a few weeks…but…’
‘But what?’ Gabriel asked.
Flieger hesitated. ‘Well…there are rumours.’
Gabriel tensed. ‘What have you heard?’
‘I don’t want to get anyone into trouble—’
‘Just tell me,’ Gabriel said, a note of impatience in his voice.
Flieger looked ill at ease as he spoke. ‘Well, Kramer in supply division told me that the 5th Army’s assault on the Cer plateau has been a
disaster. He said that when the 2nd Army were transferred to Russia, it left the 5th Army flank exposed, and they’ve had twenty thousand men killed or taken prisoner. Apparently it turned into a rout.’
‘Is this true?’ Berger asked.
At last Gabriel understood their agitation. Well, he thought, it was only been a matter of time before the story leaked out. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ he said. ‘Chief Fischer told me about it yesterday. He learnt it from the 5th Army’s chief surgeon when he asked the chief for an urgent transfer of medical supplies. The news is unofficial at the moment and you’re to keep quiet about it. High command is worried about the effect on morale.’
‘Is it as bad as the rumour says?’ Schwann asked.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘What does this mean for us?’ Flieger said.
All three men looked at Gabriel with concern. ‘Well, it means we’re on our own and that the Serbs can concentrate their forces against us. The chief had thought the field marshal might call our attack off, at least until the 5th Army has had time to recover. But for the time being, our orders are to carry on. Whether the field marshal will change his mind—’
A sudden harsh braying interrupted him, and all four men turned to look down at the river. The column of mules and ponies carrying the dressing station supplies was mid-way across the river, and Klaus was struggling with one of the mules, the animal whinnying with disapproval as the corporal hauled on the bridle, trying to coax it forwards. Suddenly the stubborn animal snapped its head back, jerking the reins in Klaus’s hands and pulling him off-balance. With a splash he disappeared head first into the river and reappeared a moment later, much to the amusement of the men around him. Flieger and Berger burst out laughing, and even Gabriel could not help smiling as he saw Klaus flounder in the river, shaking water from his hair and cursing the animal, which mutely regarded him. The incident broke through the despondency that had descended over the group, and Gabriel glanced up the slope and saw that the last of the troops had disappeared into the defile. It was the perfect time to end the discussion.
‘Look, Peter, there’s no point in dwelling on these rumours. We have our orders and you know what we must do. So you’d better get moving: the lead units are well ahead.’ He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then turned to walk back down the slope towards his horse.
***
For the rest of that day, Gabriel and his medical column followed the soldiers of the Austrian 6th struggling through the thick brush and undergrowth on the hills of western Serbia. It was a hard physical slog, transporting men, animals and their supplies through the densely wooded countryside and up the forested inclines towards the mountains. For much of the way, Gabriel had to dismount and lead his horse, as it was too treacherous to ride along the slender tracks, with precipitous drops into streams and gullies that lay on either side.
It was nine o’clock and dusk was falling when they finally set up camp close to a small Serbian hamlet on the far side of the hills, the shadow of the western Serbian mountains looming only a few miles further east. The regiment had temporarily requisitioned the well in the centre of the village and several scruffily dressed, sullen-faced Serbian men, clad in the typical tubular woollen caps and oriental-style straw shoes, glowered at the Austrians as they refilled their canteens. A gaggle of small children and a few women in brightly coloured peasant clothes stood a little way behind them. Gabriel was uneasy for the civilians, worried that their obvious antagonism might incite the soldiers to acts of violence. But the officers maintained good discipline amongst the troops, and after taking their fill of water the soldiers left the hamlet and erected their tents a few hundred metres away. It was a humid August night and Gabriel chose to sleep under the stars, chatting to Flieger and Klaus for a while before eventually falling asleep.
***
He woke before dawn and saw the first magenta tint of daybreak on the horizon. Then he closed his eyes again, and suddenly found himself standing on a station platform, dressed in civilian attire, waiting for a train to take him to Klagenfurt. A locomotive approached at speed, but did not stop: a blast of warm air and steam blew across his face, and the platform below his feet shook as the train screamed past him…
And then Gabriel realised that the screaming was not mechanical, but was like that of an injured animal…or person…
Waking from the dream, Gabriel heard the cries and shouts of men in pain. As he struggled to his feet he heard a strange whining sound: another artillery shell passed overhead and exploded twenty yards behind him, the rush of hot air and vibration from the shell burst knocking him off his feet.
He levered himself up again and saw that Flieger and Berger were already sprinting towards the screams of the wounded. Gabriel staggered up and stood in a crouch, squinting in the dawn half-light at the spot where the shell had landed: other men were already hurrying towards the smouldering crater. Quickly he followed them, the ground beneath his feet littered with debris from the explosion. Scattered amongst these smoking chunks of earth he saw charred scraps of uniform, and a piece of gleaming white substance laced with red that he realised with shock was a segment of human femur. Then there was the sudden crack of a rifle shot, the report echoing from the mountain behind, and one of the soldiers by the edge of the crater slumped silently to the ground. Another crack, and this time Gabriel heard the bullet whine as it passed overhead; then heard someone a short distance away let out a strangled cry. Gabriel threw himself down, trying to hide, trying to grind himself into the hard summer-baked earth, unnerved that Serb snipers could find their targets so easily in the early-morning gloom. He waited a moment and then began to crawl forwards again. Smoke drifted across the ground, and, hoping it would hide him, Gabriel quickly got to his feet and ran, half-crouched, towards the smouldering depression in the ground and slithered into it.
The smoke was coming from burning uniforms on pieces of body lying in the bottom of the crater. No one was alive, and Berger and Flieger were already scrambling up the other side towards cries for help from further away. Sweet Jesus, Gabriel thought, as he looked at the fragments at his feet: there was a tent and four men sleeping here last night. Then another swishing sound came from above – like a curtain being drawn. A mortar round sailed overhead and exploded near to where he had just crawled from, showering him with earth and stones. He crouched in the bottom of the crater, his hands over his head, his shirt clinging to his chest from the sweat pouring from his body. And then he heard a low moan. ‘Help me.’
Gabriel raised his head above the edge of the depression; Flieger and Berger were peering back at him from the rim of another hollow nearby. In between the two craters was a soldier lying on his back, waving a bloodstained arm in the air.
This is my job, my destiny, thought Gabriel, as he clambered out and ran across to the soldier. He slipped his hands under the man’s armpits and, ignoring his cries of pain, dragged him across to Flieger’s depression. As he fell over the rim of the crater, another mortar explosion showered them all with clods of earth and gravel.
‘Are you alright, Captain?’ Flieger was saying, but Gabriel was already pulling at the wounded soldier’s jacket sleeves.
‘Help me get this off him,’ Gabriel said.
Flieger and Berger helped him undress the man. Gabriel carefully examined him, and found a neat small bullet hole in the front of his thigh. Berger had a surgical pack with him, and as Gabriel applied a field dressing to the wound, he suddenly realised the gunfire and explosions had stopped.
‘I think it’s over,’ said Flieger, who was peering over the lip of the depression. Cautiously Gabriel stood up and saw other soldiers picking themselves up from the ground, other heads emerging from nearby craters. He turned to Flieger.
‘I want you to set up a temporary dressing station under the trees over there,’ he said, pointing to a nearby copse. ‘And send Schwann back to the hamlet to see if any civilians were injured.’
***
Schw
ann returned a short while later. ‘The hamlet’s deserted,’ he said to Gabriel. ‘Either the villagers were forewarned of the attack, or they fled when it started.’
‘I see.’ Gabriel was briefly troubled at this news, concerned that some among the Austrians might think the Serbian villagers had played a role in the ambush. But he was too busy to pay it much attention now: eleven men had been killed and seventeen wounded. ‘Alright: help Lieutenant Flieger stabilise the casualties, and find some stretcher bearers to carry the injured back to Chief Fischer at the Aid Station on the Drina.’
The Austrians broke camp, and after making sure that all the casualties had been treated, Gabriel and the rest of the medical column followed the vanguard east towards the mountains. By early afternoon they had arrived at the lower slopes and stopped to set up another dressing station. With a small telescope, Gabriel watched as the Alpine troops continued up the gradient, moving like mountain goats as they climbed from boulder to boulder, crevice to crevice. He saw several orange flashes and puffs of smoke, and a moment later heard the echoes of a volley of rifle shots. A few seconds after that, another brighter, bigger flash of yellow within a bursting mushroom of dirty grey smoke appeared and he realised that a grenade had exploded on the slope. The air was filled with the dull ringing thud of explosions, as both sides threw more grenades up and down the mountainside.
Gabriel moved the telescope higher: in the bluffs and crags on the upper mountain heights he could see movement as enemy soldiers ran between the rocks. The sharp crack of rifle shots and the deep boom of exploding grenades reverberated between the peaks as Gabriel watched the Serbian snipers above and the Alpine troops below exchange fire.
‘That fucking village we passed yesterday must have given our position away.’
The Furies Page 11
