For Kingdom and Country (26 page)

‘Now what?’ grumbled Ross, as he followed Lock over to where Singh was standing.

There was a buzz of excitement amongst the ship’s crew now, for all along the shore stood hundreds of Arabs. They had emerged from their mud huts that lined the banks of the river and were now waving white flags and uttering shrill cries of welcome. Women held young children
up and men clutched their rifles by the barrels and were pumping them up and down in the air, cheering ‘
Salaam, salaam
’, over and over.

‘What is going on?’ Lock said, scanning the seemingly joyous faces of the local populous.

‘Ah,’ Ross said, ‘I may have had a little hand in this. Didn’t expect it to work so beautifully, though.’

‘Sir?’ Lock said.

‘Yesterday evening, I let slip to a local sheikh who hailed us from the bank, that some 15,000 British troops were rapidly “marching” upriver. I told the fellow to keep it under his hat. Which, of course, I knew damned well that he wouldn’t do,’ Ross said with a wry smile, gesturing to the waving, cheering mob. ‘Obviously the sheikh spread the word. All hail the victors, yes?’

‘And Amara, sir? Do you think …?’

‘Let’s hope so. But it’s a big place, some 10,000 inhabitants with caravan routes leading off to Kut Al Amara and the Persian passes. There’s a heavy Turk presence in that town.’

Most of the figures on the bank were dressed in ragged black abas, and many of the women, Lock noted, as well as the girls, were carrying baskets of eggs. One even had a live chicken held by its legs. The boys, on the other hand, and there were dozens of them, all mostly naked, turned Catherine wheels, and shouted and waved in delight.

‘
Baksheesh
, baksheesh
,’ one little girl shouted, as she ran down to the bank, clutching her basket of eggs. She was about twelve and skipped about coyly, showing off her gaudy cotton wrappings held together by a scarlet sash. Lock was instantly reminded of Aziz Azoo’s daughter, Fairuza.

One of the
Shaitan
’s seamen gave a pleading glance to Singleton. The commander gave a nod of approval in return.

‘If you’re quick. Amos, do the honours.’

‘Here, lads. Iggry, iggry!’ Able Seaman Amos said, holding out his hands. ‘Rupees. Come on, cough up!’

He collected a fair amount of coins from his crew mates, tied them up in a rag, and attached it to the end of a boathook. He thrust the boathook out to the bank. The girl snatched the bundle off the end, hooked the basket of eggs in its place, and whooped in delight when she opened up the rag to see how much money she’d made.

The crew cheered as Amos drew in the eggs, and they all grabbed at them greedily, eating them raw. One of the seamen handed an egg each to Lock and Ross.

Lock cracked his open on the gunwale and threw the contents into his mouth.

‘God, that’s good,’ he grinned at Ross. ‘If only we had some bacon.’

The girl didn’t leave, though, and she kept screaming and shouting across as she ran along the bank trying to keep pace with them.

‘What’s up with her?’ one of the seamen said, through a mouthful of raw egg.

‘Dunno, mate. Perhaps we short-changed her?’ Amos said.

‘The basket,’ Lock said.

‘Eh, sir?’ Amos said, glancing over to Lock.

‘The basket. She wants it back.’

‘Oh, right you are, sir,’ Amos said. ‘Here, lass,’ he shouted, tossing the basket towards the girl.

It landed with a plop in the water at the edge of the bank, and the girl dived in to fish it out. She held it aloft as if it was some prize trophy, her face beaming with delight, and whooped in thanks.

As the
Shaitan
steamed on by, leaving the cheering Arabs behind, Lock could see, with the rising sun, that the landscape had changed tremendously. Gone was the stiflingly damp and cloying stinking marsh, and now, all around them, as far as the eye could see, was a vast, desolate
plain covered in a low scrub. It was as flat and as green as a billiard table. The atmosphere had changed, too. It was still oven-hot, even at such an early hour, but the air felt much drier. For the first time in days Lock didn’t feel as if his clothes were sticking to his skin. Above the
Shaitan
’s engines, Lock could even hear the odd bird call welcoming the new day.

‘Major Ross, sir?’

Lock and Ross turned to see Lieutenant Singleton standing behind them, a pair of binoculars in his hands.

‘Lieutenant?’ Ross said.

‘We’re just about ten miles out of Amara now, sir. How shall we proceed?’

Ross glanced at Lock, then turned his gaze astern, staring back down the river. Lock could see the smoke plumes of the rest of Townshend’s Regatta, the
Comet
, no doubt, at its head.

‘I think, Lieutenant,’ Ross said, ‘judging by the white flags we’ve just seen, that news of our arrival has already reached Amara. I’m guessing that we’ll find a similar welcome there. I say we push on.’

‘And the
Comet
, sir?’

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant, the general and I have already discussed the various scenarios along with your Captain Nunn. They’ll be steaming up behind us soon enough.’

Singleton nodded. ‘Very good, sir.’

Just then the distant rumble of an approaching aeroplane broke in over the chug of the
Shaitan
’s engines. Lock peered up out of the canvas roof, shading his eyes against the dawn sun.

‘There, sahib,’ Singh said, pointing to the north-east.

‘I see him, Sid. Looks like our friend from the other day.’

‘One of the Mesopotamian Half-Flight,’ Ross said.

‘Australian Half-Flight, sir,’ Lock corrected.

Ross shook his head. ‘New title, laddie.’

Lock scoffed. ‘Of course. Can’t be crediting colonials, can we?’

‘Now, now, Lock. We’re all in this war together.’

England first, Britain second, everyone else can piss right off, Lock thought, turning his gaze back to the approaching aeroplane.

The beat of its engine grew louder and Lock could soon make out the familiar blue, white and red stripes on its double tail fins and the shape of the pilot and his observer in the nacelle. It caught the sun and flashed brilliantly as it banked, spluttered and swooped and putted overhead. As he had before, the observer dropped a message canister. Only his aim was a little off this morning. It bounced off of the canvas roof and splashed into the river. But one of the seamen was ready with a fishing net on a rod. He scooped it up and hurried it over to Singleton.

Ross and Lock gathered round as the Royal Navy lieutenant unscrewed the canister lid and removed a piece of paper from the inside.

‘Good news, Major,’ Singleton said. ‘Amara is in panic. Troops are fleeing north, a group are stranded to the south, being attacked by Arabs.’

Lock watched as the aeroplane spluttered and spat its way on downriver towards the
Comet
.

‘Right then, Lieutenant,’ Ross said. ‘Amara, full steam ahead.’

Singleton gave Ross a smart salute and a beaming smile, and then he turned and barked orders at his crew.

The
Shaitan
shuddered and quickly picked up speed, pitching and heaving against the shifting current of the Tigris, as it steamed on towards Amara.

As the sun rose higher into the brilliant deep blue of the cloudless sky, and the dry heat of the morning increased in temperature, the
Shaitan
entered the long straight of the river just below Amara. Up ahead, Lock could see movement on a bridge of boats that joined the east to the west banks.

‘Have you—’ Lock started to say.

Singh handed Lock his haversack with a grin.

Taking out the binoculars, Lock fixed them to his eyes, and adjusted the focus.

A column of Turkish troops were hurrying across and scrambling aboard a barge that was itself attached to a large steamer lying along the bank.

‘Guns, fire a warning shot!’ Singleton hollered to the seamen manning the
Shaitan
’s forward 3-pdr gun.

The 8ft barrel craned upwards and then, with a terrific cough, sent a shell fizzing over the bridge of boats. It exploded with a great boom and a shower of water only about twenty feet from the steamer’s port bow.

Lock watched through his binoculars as the Turks still crossing the bridge began to panic, pushing and shoving their way towards the barge. The steamer was already pulling away from the bank. The tie rope attached to the barge went taut and jerked violently, then seemed to snap. The barge crashed back into the bank and the troops on board began to scramble out of it again and run ashore. The steamer didn’t stop,
ploughing right through the bridge of boats, and charging on upriver and away from the
Shaitan
.

‘Fire!’ Singleton shouted, and again the 3-pdr sent a shell screaming off towards the Turks.

‘Head straight for that gap, Carrington!’ Singleton said.

‘Aye, sir,’ the coxswain replied, as he twisted the wheel about.

The
Shaitan
powered forward and had soon caught up with the stricken barge. Turk soldiers were fleeing in all directions, not one standing their ground and taking aim at the British boat. The
Shaitan
weaved easily through the gap in the smashed bridge of boats, debris and a number of dead soldiers bobbing about in its wake. The river then abruptly bent to the west and the Royal Navy gunboat bounced and skidded round the curve.

The river was about 150 yards wide now, and on the left bank Amara opened up before them. It was a large town of low, mud-brick buildings stretching along the eastern foreshore and opposite they passed a narrow fringe of date palms dotted with palatial riverside residences of two storeys, with open balconies, and jetties. Behind these were a few fields, and then open desert.

As they moved closer and closer to the town, everywhere Lock’s eye fell he could see troops hurriedly retreating in confusion. There were dust clouds to the north, and just 500 yards distant from where he was standing at the bow, over on the west bank, he estimated there to be well over 1,000 troops moving off, but in a more orderly fashion.

‘Jesus, I hope the
Comet
does catch up with us soon, after all,’ Ross said. ‘We’ll need the men.’

But, to Lock’s astonishment, still not one shot was fired at them, nor one company, one platoon or even one soldier turned to face them, nor made a stand to protect their town.

The
Shaitan
came to a quay that stretched away for about a mile, and on the river front was a long row of continental-looking houses with verandas
and balconies, simple block-built offices, stores with latticed frontages, a three-storey hospital and what appeared to be rows and rows of army billets, judging by the stacks of rifles and equipment set out in their yards.

‘There,’ Ross said, pointing to the east bank. A large group had gathered on the river front, and were standing and waving outside of an imposing four-storey office-like building that had the Ottoman flag hanging limply from its roof.

Lock adjusted the focus on his binoculars.

‘They look to be officials of some kind, sir,’ he said. ‘There are a few men in suits and quite a number of Turkish officers. No Germans, that I can see.’

‘All right, Lieutenant,’ Ross called back over his shoulder to Singleton, ‘let’s make for that Customs House over there.’

The
Shaitan
slowed and turned and began to drift towards the bank. The launch’s crew and Lock’s men kept their weapons trained on the waiting crowd. The
Shaitan
softly bumped into the quayside and the crew were quick to tie her off.

Lock, Ross and Singleton stepped ashore, along with Singh and Ram Lal who both kept their rifles held low across their midriffs. On the quayside, there were some thirty to forty officers with ranks ranging from
mülazimi sani
, second lieutenant, to
binbaşi
, major, standing in an ordered, silent group, along with a senior commander, a civilian dignitary and four
miralays
, colonels.

Lock slowly scanned the faces of the officers, searching vainly for that familiar pair of blue eyes. But he knew in his gut that Wassmuss wasn’t amongst them.

The civilian dignitary stepped forward, clicked his heels, and bowed his head stiffly.

He was a tall, wiry man in his fifties, with a neat, long beard and small round glasses that hid an astute, peaceful face. He wore a dark business suit,
a high-collared shirt and tie, and a lambskin kalpak hat on his head. He held out a ceremonial sword resting on the palms of his upturned hands. He shuffled on his feet nervously and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and weak, as if he’d been shouting for hours on end,

‘
I am Vali Aziz Bey, the Governor of Amara, and I hereby surrender our town
.’

Lock translated for Ross.

The major stepped forward, saluted, and graciously accepted the sword with a stiff nod of his head.

‘On behalf of His Britannic Majesty King George, I humbly accept your surrender. You and your men will be treated with dignity and respect.’

Again Lock translated. The governor gave a quick smile, a wave of relief washing across his face. He began to wring his hands now they were free of the sword, as if he were washing them in invisible water, washing them clean of his responsibility for this Mesopotamian town.

‘
You, sir. What is your name?
’ Lock suddenly asked the senior commander, the man standing just to the right of the governor.

‘
Halim
Bey, Yüzbaşi. Miralay Halim Bey
,’ the senior commander said with an air of arrogance, as if Lock should be awed by the name.

Miralay
Halim was a heavy-set man, jowly with small and dark fierce eyes, and his face was dominated by a stiff, upturned moustache. Like the rest of the military officers behind him, he was wearing khaki service dress, a kabalak military hat and leather riding boots. Lock had already marked him down as dangerous and his arrogant response confirmed the same.

‘
Well, my dear Miralay
,’ Lock said, ‘
do you see that man?
’ He indicated over to Elsworth, who was standing at the bow of the
Shaitan
with his rifle pointing directly at the Turkish officer.

The
miralay
nodded. ‘
Yes, I am not blind
.’

‘
Good
,’ Lock smiled insincerely. ‘
Well, he has orders to shoot you between
the
eyes if there is so much as a cross word from any of your men. Understand?
’

The
miralay
’s face dropped and his eyes darted from Lock to Elsworth’s rifle. He swallowed. ‘
I … I understand. You will have no trouble, Yüzbaşi Bey
.’

‘
Good
,’ Lock said. He turned his back on the
miralay
and beamed at Ross. ‘All yours, sir.’

‘Lieutenant,’ Ross said to Singleton, ‘have a couple of your men take that flag down and run up our Union Jack.’ He jerked a thumb towards the roof of the Customs House.

Singleton smiled. ‘With pleasure, Major.’ He turned and clicked his fingers at the two seamen standing beside the open gangway to the
Shaitan
. ‘Bates, Amos … You heard the major. Go grab the spare Jack from the locker and get that gaudy red pirate flag down. On the double.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Amos darted back onto the
Shaitan
, and returning with a folded Union Jack in his hands, he and Bates hurried into the Customs House to make their way up to the roof.

Ross leant forward and hissed in Lock’s ear, ‘Do you know who that fellow was you threatened?’

‘Threatened? What makes you think I threatened him?’ Lock said innocently.

‘Come, laddie, I don’t need to speak the language to know the tone. Besides, the look on his face told me plenty.’

‘Whoa! Whoa, there!’ came a shout.

Two of the
Shaitan
’s crew were nervously pointing their rifles at a rapidly approaching Arab infantry cyclist.

‘Hold your fire,’ Singleton ordered, and his men lowered their rifles.

The cyclist gave a tinkle of his bell and a wave of his hand as he wobbled down to the quayside. He skidded to a halt in front of Ross and gave the major a smart salute, immediately spewing forth a rapid
stream of Arabic, pointing and gesticulating back up the street he had just ridden down.

Ross turned to Lock and Singleton.

‘Seems there’s a whole battalion of Turkish
pompiers
at the main barracks ready to surrender.’

‘
Pompiers
?
’ Singleton asked.

‘Fire Brigade.’

‘Firemen? Wanting to surrender?’ Singleton said, looking bewildered.

‘Don’t let the name fool you, Lieutenant; the Fire Brigade Regiment are the crack troops of the Ottoman Empire,’ Ross said. ‘Well, Lock, would you do the honours? I’m staying here to await Townshend’s imminent arrival. Need to get this governor chap to organise supplies for our men. Fifteen thousand mouths to feed, remember?’ he beamed, having raised his voice on mentioning the amount of British troops that were soon to be expected. He, as did Lock, knew damned well that some of the Turkish officers amongst the little gathering on the quayside would have a good knowledge of English.

‘Besides,’ Ross added with a wink, ‘can’t wait to see Godwinson’s face when he hears you took the surrender of a crack regiment of Turkish troops.’

‘Very good, sir,’ Lock said. ‘Sid … Ram Lal … come with me.’ He turned to the Arab cyclist.

The man was wearing a grubby white uniform and the traditional Arab kufiya headcloth with an ’aqal camel hair ring around his head. And, despite having a bandolier full of shells wrapped around his waist, Lock could see that he was unarmed.

‘
Right my friend
,’ Lock said in Arabic, ‘
lead the way
.’

The Arab’s dark face cracked into a jagged-toothed smile. He wheeled his bicycle about, and led Lock and the two Indians up into the heart of Amara.

The dust-choked streets of the town were crowded with the Arab inhabitants all looking on in excited awe as Lock and the others marched by. Lock kept his shoulders back and his head high, but inside his stomach was churning. This was insanity, yet it was happening like a dream. Why the Turks and the Arabs of Amara had so readily surrendered, he just couldn’t fathom. The British were outnumbered by at least fifteen thousand to one. But the bluff was holding. He just hoped Townshend and his crazed regatta was close by.

Faces young and old, male and female, watched as Lock marched on. He caught many an eye as he scrunched up the wide, dusty street feeling slightly otherworldly. But he just nodded affably, saying the odd ‘
As-salaam alaykum
’, and strode on.

The town itself appeared to be well maintained, with street lamps and telegraph lines, and rows of four-storey buildings that were just as impressive and of a similar design to those in the older parts of Basra.

Soon the barracks loomed up ahead. It was a great block of four houses with a common courtyard in front. They passed through the stone arched gates into a vast cloistered yard edged by verandas of little inner courts, and with a bare flagpole in the centre. Waiting for them, like a battalion ready for inspection, were about 500 Turkish soldiers all standing to attention in orderly military rows, with rifles presented. At their head stood the officers, smart and erect in their service uniforms.

Lock gave Singh an uneasy glance, then with his chin held high, strode towards the senior commander.

The officer, a
binbaşi
, was dressed in the same khaki green as the rest of the Ottoman troops in Amara, but their uniforms bore the distinctive Firemen Regiment badge, a brass fireman’s helmet on a green collar. They also wore steel peakless helmets with a flame-proof cloth hanging down over the back of the neck. The men’s helmets were completely lacquered in red, with a brass Order of the Orta crescent badge in the centre, while
the junior officers’ had a polished brass brow, while the senior officers’ were in solid polished brass. They all wore brown leather halter straps, and the men also wore hatchets attached to their belts.

The
binbaşi
had an angular face, with a strong nose above a deep black and neatly manicured, upturned moustache. He was slightly shorter than Lock, standing at a little under five foot ten, but his body looked lean and athletic under the well-tailored uniform. He can’t have been much older than Lock, either, maybe just thirty at the most. His green eyes peered back with an intense glint, then briefly danced around Lock’s appearance, noting the holstered Beholla, the bullet hole in the left breast of the tunic, the Australia shoulder flashes, the slouch hat, before eventually coming to rest on Lock’s eyes. They flicked from one to the other, and Lock noted the gentle raise of a curious eyebrow.

‘
Monsieur le Capitaine
,’ the
binbaşi
said in perfect French, ‘
I would like to offer you our unconditional surrender
.’

He clicked his heels together, bowed his head and held out his Mauser M1910/14 pistol, butt first.

‘
Please, Binbaşi, keep your weapon
,’ Lock replied in Turkish, holding his palm up.

The Turkish officer looked Lock in the face with initial surprise, then he nodded, and reholstered his pistol.