1982 - An Ice-Cream War (21 page)

“How are things?” Gabriel asked. “I mean, what’s the picture?” There were more bugle calls as he spoke.

“Stiffish resistance at the railway cutting,” the staff captain said. “We’re retiring. In good order,” he added hastily. “We’ll wait for the main landing today…Look, I must dash.”

Gabriel watched him bound back to the red house. He went back to Gleeson.

“They’ve had a message about us,” he said authoritatively. “Seems we’re to stay put.”

Gabriel and Gleeson kept their distance as the Rajputs and Pioneers straggled back into camp. The men were either talking with hysterical excitement or else were cowed and dejected. They watched dozens of wounded being carried and helped down to the beach. Soon the area around the red house was thick with exhausted troops.

“Doesn’t look so good,” Gleeson said. “Does it?” At lunch time Gabriel went up to the red house to see if he could get any more information. It seemed that the landing of the main force on beaches ‘B’ and ‘C’ round the headland was proceeding as normal, but the beaches were so congested with men and equipment that the Palamcottahs were still on the
Homayun
and probably wouldn’t be disembarked until the next day.

“Seems we’re still to stay put,” Gabriel reported back to Gleeson.

In the afternoon it rained for two hours and everyone was soaked again. Normally the men of the Palamcottahs had regimental bearers and servants to cook and care for them, but as these hadn’t been landed with them they had to fend for themselves. Gabriel found that he still wasn’t hungry though he drank some fresh coconut milk—of which there was a plentiful supply—with some relish. Unfortunately, an hour later, this brought on a severe attack of diarrhoea. As a result, as evening approached at the end of his first day on enemy soil, Gabriel was feeling weak and rather seedy as well as damp and dirty. He did, however, manage to have a shave before he went back to the red house to inquire if there had been any further news for ‘A’ company.

“My Christ! Are you all right?” Bilderbeck asked him. “You look dreadful.”

“Tummy upset,” Gabriel confessed. “But listen, what happened today?”

“A bloody shambles, that’s what,” Bilderbeck said fiercely. “A bloody shambles.”

“What have you got there? If you don’t mind my asking,” Gabriel said. Bilderbeck was standing halfway down the stairs that led to the upper floor of the red house. His arms were full of what looked, to Gabriel, like ladies’ underclothes.

“Ladies’ underclothes,” Bilderbeck said. “Courtesy of our absent hostess. They’re going to provide me with a soft bed tonight. You won’t believe this,” he glanced right and left to make sure he wasn’t overheard, “but I’ve lost my pillow.” He gave a great shout of laughter. Gabriel responded nervously. “Help yourself,” Bilderbeck offered, unloading half his bundle. “No sense in sleeping on the ground.”

Gabriel followed him out to the patch of piebald lawn that was on the landward side of the house and watched him construct a bed of palm fronds and petticoats.

“What happened today?” Gabriel asked again. “It didn’t look as if things went as planned.”

“To put it mildly,” Bilderbeck said, adjusting his makeshift couch with the toe of his boot. “Bloody damn fool Navy, that’s what,” he said. “This idiotic truce business. When the
Fox
sailed into Tanga harbour yesterday morning to abrogate the thing they gave the Germans twenty-four hours warning of our attack. Just enough time for von Lettow-Vorbeck to get his troops down from Moshi by rail.”

“So Tanga
was
deserted.”

“It was.”

“And now it’s well defended.”

“Getting stronger by the hour.” Bilderbeck’s face was lit up for an instant by a seraphic smile. He dug his tobacco pouch out of his pocket and offered it to Gabriel.

“Pipe?” he said.

“No thanks.” Gabriel took out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette while Bilderbeck got his pipe going.

“We’ll be attacking tomorrow, then,” Gabriel said, aware of a slight hollow feeling in his chest. “Are the North Lancs ashore?”

“Oh yes. They’ll be on the left.”

“Good,” Gabriel said. He felt that a battalion of British troops would make all the difference.

“But what about the right?” Bilderbeck asked, voicing Gabriel’s fears. “Who in God’s name will be on the right? A crowd of bloody catch-me-quicks, that’s who.”

3 November 1914,
Tanga, German East Africa

The next morning, the bald staff captain sauntered over and told Gabriel that his company was to be attached to the 13
th
Rajputs in the centre of the attack on Tanga. Gabriel formed his men up and checked their equipment. He asked subadar Rahman to do his best to instil some fighting spirit into the listless troop. At approximately ten-thirty they were told where to take up their preliminary position. This was the first time Gabriel had moved away from the red house and he was amazed to see thousands of men standing about in rough columns in the assembly area which was between the white house and the red house.

Dirt tracks led away from the beach-head and disappeared into the coconut groves.

‘A’ company took up their position. Looking back at the white house Gabriel could see the three generals and their aides clustered in a group. Orders were clearly being issued and staff officers were running around checking on the placings of different units.

After standing for an hour in mounting heat, Gabriel’s company and the Rajputs in front of them were ordered to advance three hundred yards into the bush. Gabriel followed the backs of the Rajputs and they left the open ground and moved into the welcome shade of the coconut plantations.

As they marched off Gabriel looked back and saw what looked like an entire battalion of the North Lancs wheeling round behind them to take up position on the Rajputs’ left. The British soldiers were in shirtsleeves and looked very red-faced and sunburnt, but Gabriel found it an immense comfort to see them. His own men still seemed taciturn and nervous. Subadar Rahman’s pep talk had done little good. Gleeson seemed quite jaunty, though, to Gabriel’s surprise. He was whistling quietly to himself through his yellow teeth.

As they moved into the trees and the denser undergrowth that grew between the pale grey trunks Gabriel lost sight of everyone except his own men and the tail-enders of the company in front. Somebody called halt and they all stopped. It was a genuine relief to be in the forest and out of the sun. At the Rajput briefing, which he had attended, their instructions had been to offer support to the Kashmir Rifles (who, Gabriel supposed, were somewhere in the trees up ahead) and capture and secure the jetty and customs sheds on the dockside. Tanga town, so they had been informed, was about two thousand yards ahead of them. Between them and the town were the coconut and rubber plantations, a native cemetery, a ditch and a deep railway cutting. Yesterday’s attack suggested that the far side of the cutting was the enemy’s first line of defence.

Gabriel looked at his wristwatch. Twenty to twelve. The advance was ordered for midday. Over to his right and left he could hear orders being shouted and whistles and bugles blowing as the two brigades were cumbersomely formed up. Announced by a cracking of vegetation, a young staff officer thrashed his way out of a thicket and walked up to Gabriel. His tunic was covered in sweat and dust. He consulted a small notebook.

“Are you the 101
st
Grenadiers?” he asked.

Gabriel said no and told him who they were. The man looked at his notebook again.

“Lord,” he muttered. Then, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the North Lancs?”

Gabriel said he thought they were somewhere to his left. The Rajputs were ahead and, as far as he knew, the Kashmir Rifles were in the vanguard.

“Oh good,” the staff officer said. “That seems about right.”

“Have you any idea where the Palamcottahs are?” Gabriel asked.

“Beyond the North Lancs, I think,” he said without much confidence. “By the way, could you form up in line rather than column? We’ve decided to advance in line.” He plunged off into the bush as Gabriel and Gleeson effortfully ushered their hot and bothered men into line abreast.

At ten past twelve the bugles sounded the advance. Gabriel waved his men forward and almost immediately the line began to undulate and break up as the men encountered denser vegetation and had to skirt impenetrable thorn thickets and clumps of bamboo. Gabriel and Gleeson, in the centre, found a rough path which took them in the right direction but this soon petered out. After a strenuous half hour they broke into the clearer ground of a rubber plantation. Up ahead Gabriel could just make out the disappearing backs of the Rajputs. “Come on,” he shouted to his men. “Faster.” A perspiring native runner panted up and handed him a note. It was from a captain in the North Lancs who said a gap was opening between them and the Rajputs and he would be obliged if the Rajputs could wheel slightly to the left. Gabriel sent the runner ahead to the Rajput columns and wondered if he and his men should alter course too. He looked about him as they made faster progress through the rubber trees. He couldn’t even see either wing of his own company. He sent Gleeson off to check it was all in order. He realized he was striding along as if he were on a country hike instead of marching into battle. A little self-consciously he unholstered his revolver and held it at the ready.

After the rubber plantation came more thick forest with high grass, creepers and bushes at ground level and their progress slowed again. Gabriel tried to visualize the advance as if from a bird’s-eye view—three thousand men moving on Tanga—but found it impossible. By now he was dripping with sweat. His leggings and trousers were thick with dust and torn from the many thorn hearing plants he’d had to push his way through. He took off his sun helmet and wiped his forehead with a palm. His hair was wet through: as if he’d just plunged it in a basin of warm salty water.

The thought of a basin of water, even warm and salty, reminded him that he was extremely thirsty. He was about to call for a water-chaggal when he realized the company didn’t have any, as the water-carriers had not been landed with them. He looked at his watch. Two o’clock. They’d been struggling through the bush for nearly two hours. He had no idea how far away they were from Tanga. It struck him that ordering the attack during the hottest time of the day wasn’t the brightest of ideas. Gleeson came up to report that the company was maintaining some sort of order. Five men had collapsed from heat exhaustion and he’d sent them back. He saw Gabriel had his revolver in his hand and took out his own.

“Think it’ll go off all right?” he asked with a nervous smile. “The attack, I mean, not my gun.”

Gabriel realized that Gleeson, like himself, had never seen active service. This was their first fight. He was pleased to note in himself no sensations of fear. He glanced at the men on either side of him. They looked tense, but that was scarcely surprising. They held their rifles loosely across their chests, the fixed bayonets flashing in the odd beam of sun that came through the canopy of leaves.

Suddenly they heard the sound of firing from up ahead and a confused shouting and cheering broke out. At this point Gabriel’s company was forcing its way through particularly dense bush and no view of what was going on could be gained.

He could hear sniggering bursts of fire from machine guns, more regular and controlled than the indiscriminate popping sound of the rifles.

“Over here,” Gleeson shouted. “There’s a sort of track.”

“This way,” Gabriel called to the native officers. He waded through thick grass to the track. As he stepped on to it he heard a crashing and trampling noise, the sound of men running. Suddenly, round the corner came a great mob of Indian soldiers, dozens it seemed, running at full speed away from the firing. Gabriel spun round. All at once, everywhere, he could make out figures struggling to escape through the under-growth, darting beneath the trees, flashing through the clearings of sunlight and dappled patches of shade. To his horror he saw some of his own men join the stampede, pausing only to ding away their rifles.

He crouched down behind a tree and aimed his revolver up the track expecting a charge of German askaris to be hard on the fleeing men’s heels. The firing up ahead continued with the same intensity but there seemed to be no pursuit. He stood up. He and Gleeson exchanged mystified glances. What was going on? They gathered the remaining men together and advanced on up the track. Soon the trees began to thin. The track ended at a large field of fully-grown maize which looked as if it had been smashed and trampled on by a giant pair of feet. Here they saw their first dead bodies, which set up a chatter of alarm amongst ‘A’ company’s remaining sepoys.

Enough of the maize stalks were still standing to obscure their view. Gabriel looked to his right. The Kashmir Rifles should be there. On the left were the Loyal North Lancs. Where were the Rajputs? Surely they couldn’t all have run away? He wondered if they’d wandered off course in the coconut plantations. But what lay beyond the maize field? Gabriel waved his men down into a crouch and got out his map. It made no sense at all. He looked aimlessly about him, trying not to let his gaze rest on the numerous dead bodies. Firing was continuing to his right and left but all seemed quiet up ahead.

Gleeson crawled up behind him. “Runner from head-quarters,” he said. Gabriel thought Gleeson didn’t look very well. The runner handed over the note. It was from Brigadier-General Wapshore. It said, “Your men should bring their left shoulders up and march towards this point so as to envelop the enemy’s right.” What point? Gabriel asked himself. He raised his left shoulder experimentally but it seemed no clearer. He turned the note over and saw a crude map with a bold arrow on it. There was no addressee. Surely the note couldn’t be meant for him? He turned round to question the runner but found that the man had gone.

There was nothing for it but to advance. Waving the men forward, Gabriel, followed by ‘A’ company, moved cautiously through the maize field. It seemed to be well provided with a harvest of corpses and the thought crossed Gabriel’s mind that machine guns must have been previously sighted and fixed on this point. At the edge of the field he fell flat on his belly and peered out at the view ahead. The land was clear: dried grass dotted with a few acacia trees and completely flat. Fifty yards ahead he could see the ditch, fringed with greener grass and straggling bushes, and beyond that the railway cutting. To his right was a slight rise and he saw some British troops there, and a machine-gun section firing short bursts in the direction of the town. Beyond the railway cutting the neat white buildings of the town were visible between trees. He could see the sea, away to the right, and two of the transports standing offshore. His view to the left was obscured by a plantation of young rubber trees. But a great deal of firing was coming from that direction. The North Lancs, he guessed, in the thick of things.