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

an extremely difficult task and we shall be outnumbered. Intelligence estimates that the enemy have an entire division in the South of the peninsula. However at the landing stage, at least, we shall have supporting fire from the fleet. After their bombardment I don’t foresee there being much more opposition to the landings than the odd pot shot from their long range artillery.

‘Besides the naval support, the Munsters and Dubliners will have their very own Trojan horse, to enable them to deploy rapidly at V beach. This is a former collier that will be beached, delivering them down on the enemy.’ Hare paused. ‘Once the initial landings have taken place and we advance further inland out of sight of our ships, it will finally come down to grit and cold steel.’

Johnny was feeling a little skittish now, it seemed like a very complicated plan and he could sense the men around him stirring, waiting for Hare to continue. ‘Let us carry out this task in a manner worthy of the traditions of the distinguished regiments of which the Fusilier Brigade is composed, and let it be said of us, as it was said of the Fusilier Brigade at Albuhera, that nothing can stop this astonishing infantry! Remember also the men of Minden who advanced on the French driving off repeated cavalry charges, while under artillery fire, and sent them packing. Remember these men, so they may hail us as their equals in valour and military achievement.’

‘Remember Minden!’ Captain Willis echoed and the officers once again cheered and took up the call, remembering battles from the Napoleonic and Seven Years Wars. It didn't matter that they had been one hundred or two hundred years ago, it was part of the legend of the Fusilier Brigade as ingrained in the psyche of the officers as toasting the King. It made them who they were and now Johnny was one of them, he hoped he could get his act together and do his duty.

Chapter 45

Johnny held onto the gunwale of his boat as the water around him shook under the concussion from the Allied guns. The bombardment shattered the dawn with flashes of red and gold, that sent great shells roaring over the heads of the waiting Lancashire Fusiliers.

‘Come on, Swift, you're an officer for God’s sake,’ Bromley shouted over the noise. They'd been crammed into the prow of the cutter for an hour and a half and now he just wanted to get on with the job.

‘You should see me when the shells are coming the other way, sir,’ Johnny shouted back with forced jauntiness.

Through the cold mist he could see Cape Helles, two thousand yards away, rippling under the shell strikes of the naval bombardment. It reminded Johnny of rain hitting a puddle, but he'd expected more. From what he could see most of the shells were heading inland and missing the beach.

The bombardment eventually petered out and a little steam boat that was going to tow them part of the way, began to manoeuvre. A midshipman’s newly broken voice echoed orders across the water and at last they jerked forward. The cutter suddenly leant over and nearly spilled Johnny out.

‘Snotty, watch what you’re doing!’ Johnny called out to the amusement of the men behind him.

The cutter righted itself and they headed off, four boats in tandem, like a line of circus elephants with their trunks wrapped around the tail of the one in front. There were eight tows, each bearing four boats transporting the battalion to the beach. Johnny’s tow would be the first to land.

He instinctively touched his right hand breast pocket. He was wearing his service jacket in the hope of warding off sniper’s bullets. Through the rough material he felt the curves of the brass box where he kept the shell splinter from Sarajevo and the letter from Libby. Despite everything she had done, he couldn't go into battle without it and now he had a letter of sorts from Gabrielle, which still had the sweet scent of carbolic on it.

After she’d given him the letter Johnny had taken Gabrielle to the modest room he’d reserved in the hotel. Her small tongue waltzing around his, while she nimbly unbuttoned his trousers.

‘Ha ha ha, this one never sleeps!’ she’d laughed and wrapped silken thighs around him. There was always a sadness that underpinned her lovemaking, as if she was already making love to a dead man, whispering at the end, ‘Ah la petite mort, mon biquet... my lamb to the slaughter.’

Johnny jumped. The fleet had started to fire over their heads. The bombardment had shifted, aiming behind the beach to avoid hitting the incoming troops. The peninsula was alive with explosions, but the beach was still. No longer having to keep their heads down, Johnny hoped the defending troops would be running away. If the Turks didn’t know they were coming before, they certainly did now.

Johnny heard the midshipman shout another order. The little picket boat cast off the tow cable and turned away. It was up to the naval ratings on their boat now, to row them the last fifty yards to shore. Johnny’s stomach lurched as the muffled oars pulled them forward. He felt like Nelson embarking on a cutting out mission, as they steered toward the left of the beach.

Through the haze he thought he could see Achi Baba, their first day’s objective. The little mound looked so small and insignificant, yet it could be the key to destroying the guns that controlled the Dardanelles.

A calm settled over the boat as they neared the beach. It was clearing into a lovely morning and the sea was shining. Johnny could pick out the details of the beach, if it could be called that. Framed between rough yellow limestone cliffs 100 foot high on the left and right, it was little more than a cove, about 350 yards