The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

forgive me. One meets so many… people. Come.’ He turned on his heels and marched away, shouting over his shoulder. 'Is it true that you have been sent from Enver Pasha?’

‘Yes, it is true,’ Breitner replied, taking up station next to him and employing the clipped German he’d leant at the Austrian military academy he’d attended.

Stolz’s manner became more ingratiating, as he led Breitner through the house. ‘It is my pleasant duty to welcome you to headquarters, such as they are. I’m told that it was once the residence of the French consular agent.’

Breitner glanced around at the villa, little remained of the previous occupant. Everything of value had long since been stripped, giving a functional military atmosphere to the building. Breitner was impressed by the brisk organisation and industry of the staff. It was a place Breitner thought he would feel comfortable in.

‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’ Stolz asked.

‘Yes, it is just a short trip across the Straits from Chanak,’ Breitner said. The torpedo boat he'd been in had quickly and elegantly made its way through the minefield.

‘Splendid, of course you must have been stationed in the Dardanelles Strait when the Allies attacked,’ Stolz said. ‘Alas I was forfeit that honour, but we must all make sacrifices in war time. The general was in urgent need of staff officers. I was first in my class at the War College, so an obvious choice to remain.’

‘Yes, I quite understand.'

'Now of course with invasion pending you want to move where the real action is,' Stolz continued airily. Breitner supposed it would look like that. Stolz wouldn't understand the sense of obligation and duty that compelled Breitner to be here.

‘I wouldn’t get to at home, the last thing we need is a spy from Enver.’ Stolz showed Breitner into a room that was all but empty except for a large round table and some ornate wall mirrors. General Otto Liman von Sanders was hunched over the table studying a large map.

Stolz whispered something to von Sanders. The General evidently didn’t understand him, snatched Breitner’s orders and ushered Stolz away.

‘You are from Enver Pasha?’ The General accused as he read Breitner’s orders.

From what Breitner had heard, through the Embassy tittle-tattle, von Sanders and Enver had been at loggerheads for years. Enver had even tried to have von Sanders poisoned.

‘I have made myself useful to Enver Pasha,’ Breitner said, trying to sound noncommittal. ‘But I am here principally as an observer for the Austro-Hungarian Embassy and to be of service in any way I can.’

‘I see.’ The General stared at Breitner. ‘You look familiar.’

‘We were both at a reception given by the Austrian Ambassador, sir.’

‘Ah, of course and how is his Excellency von Pallavicini?’ von Sanders asked.

‘His Excellency was in good health the last time I was at the embassy,’ Breitner replied.

‘Was it von Pallavicini’s wish that you be sent here to observe?’

‘My immediate superior at the embassy was Baron von Grubber,’ Breitner said evasively.

‘Ah von Grubber is an excellent fellow, so you report directly to him?’ The suspicion was starting to recede from the General’s voice.

‘I have sent reports to the Embassy on the situation in the Straits.’ Breitner had no idea if his reports were relayed back to Vienna, let alone read, but he felt it important that he at least try to keep his government informed of the situation.

‘And what is it that you report exactly?’ Von Sanders asked and Breitner saw his chance.

‘Essentially that the Allies mean to take the Straits and open the way to Russia. As such this is a key theatre of operation that could decide the outcome of the war. More resources should therefore be sent here.’

Von Sanders looked at him sternly. ‘That is what you have told the Austrian Ambassador and your Government?’

‘Yes sir. I may also send reports to Enver Pasha, if I feel that a matter is worthy of his particular attention.’ Breitner hoped that was enough to suggest that he did not report directly to Enver, although he had his ear.

‘And you would like me to brief you on the situation here, so you can report it directly back to the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador?’ Von Sanders asked.

‘Yes, sir, that would be most helpful.’

‘Very well.’ Liman von Sanders swept his hand over the map. ‘We’ve had reports that the Allies are gathering their forces in the Aegean and across the Mediterranean in preparation for full-scale landings.’

‘Might I ask how you intend to meet such a threat?’

‘There are a number of possible landing sites along the Gallipoli and Anatolian coasts. However rather than dividing my forces and garrisoning each site in strength, I have concentrated the majority of my men into strategic reserves and placed small units of men at possible landing sites in a defensive screen. This screen will offer resistance to the landings and raise the alarm. When it is clear what the Allied plan is, I will bring up the reserve and counterattack in force.’

‘A sound tactic, sir,’ Breitner said. A flexible defence was, he thought, probably the best approach over such a large area of coast.

‘I have placed two divisions here.’ Von Sanders pointed at the Anatolian coast on the Asian side of the country. ‘A landing here could easily roll up our shore defences in Asia.’

He stabbed his finger at the northern end of the Dardanelles at the top of the isthmus, where it joined the European side of Turkey. ‘I have put a further two divisions at Bulair near the Gulf of Saros, a strong defensive position originally built by the British and French during the Crimean war. A landing here could cut us off from the rest of Turkey. It is my view that these are the most likely landing sites.’

Von Sanders moved his finger down to the South of the peninsula. ‘It