Gallipoli Street (20 page)

She walked through the grass and came to stand in front of him at last, the white dress brushing against him. She stroked his face, love in every touch, and he inhaled the scent of her, a lingering earthiness that clung to her hair. She'd been swimming in the creek a
gain.

The bombs startled him out of his dream and he found he was covered in sweat, his skin on fire in the cool morning as the sergeant crept along the lines, waking the men and preparing them to advance. In an instant they were wide awake, clinging to their guns, some praying, others white faced, too scared to think, and a few determined, fiercely poised to get it over with.

‘Take over, lads.' He nodded to Iggy and Jack. Jack nodded back, trying not to notice the flash of sympathy that crossed Sarge's grim countenance.

‘Face the wall,' Iggy called, moving along, then doing so himself.

‘Straight and fast, boys,' Jack called loudly, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could manage. Dan's brown eyes were wide as he looked over at him and Jack gave him what he hoped was a nod of assurance. ‘We'll be right, mate.'

Dan nodded back, white faced.

Life paused for an unbearable few seconds.

Then the whistle pierced the air, slicing it like a knife. Boots hit the rungs of the ladders and suddenly they were running. Jack registered a pale-pink sky and an expanse of ground, then felt the blind panic of exposed prey. Men collapsed as the bullets found them, warm bodies spilling in sickening collision, then still. Jack's terror propelled him forward as he swerved and ran with Iggy and Dan by his side. Launching themselves into the first trench they shot their guns, stabbing blindly, ending the lives of those who would take their own.

The bombs pounded in close succession as they waited, strained against the sides, and prepared for advance towards the second trench. Heaving air, the whistle forced their legs once more.

They shot wildly as they ran, suddenly face to face with the Turks. Jack tried not to register expression, eyes, fear. He lunged, feeling the flesh give way beneath his bayonet, the blade exiting in a bright red smear. Launching over the carved, bloodied mess they slammed their bodies against the earth, hearts in frantic drum within their cages. Jack felt vaguely grateful the cries were silent against the roar of guns.

The third and final push came as they crossed deeper into Turkish lines, like fleas on the back of a lion. The lion roared, slashing at them, and there were heavy casualties alongside as men fell all around them. They found the next crevice on its back, desperately throwing themselves into the job of killing for a third time until the enemy ran out and they clung to the walls, stained with blood, every inch of their bodies wired.

The bombs were thick in a deafening rain and Jack felt a sudden weight on his leg.

‘Jack.'

He couldn't hear the word, he could only see Dan's mouth move as he collapsed in a pile of flesh and limbs, as if he were suddenly made of parts that had no relation to each other. He held onto Jack as he slipped away, his last expression frozen in a plea to live. Jack watched those brown eyes lose their sight, saw the young face without its owner. A gaping hole was ripped in the place where Dan's heart had beaten only moments before.

‘No!' Jack squeezed his own eyelids shut. No God. Please no.

‘Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus,' Iggy cried out and Jack opened his eyes, seeing Iggy's stricken expression as he stared at Dan, shaking his head back and forth in denial.

‘Don't look…we can't look.'

Iggy turned away and they stared in the opposite direction to wait for what hell would come next, survival instinct the only thing guiding their frantic minds.

If he'd a rational mind at the time Jack might have noticed his fingernails were clinging to the dirt deep to the cuticle as he hung against the trench and waited that morning. The sun was full by the time they realised all officers were either dead or injured and they were out of grenades. Jack and Iggy, although only corporals, were now in charge of their section and knew without ammunition they were all lost.

And all the while, Dan lay at their feet, an unbearable reality and a constant reminder of their probable fate.

The call came down the trenches from Major Glasgow for volunteers to go back for more supplies. Their objective of reaching the trenches at Dead Man's Ridge had been achieved, but the other battles at the Nek and Quinn's had been lost. They were stranded.

‘I'll go,' Simmo volunteered.

‘No,' Iggy said immediately, but Simmo squared his enormous shoulders.

‘I'll do it, mate.' He turned to Jack, who gave him a grim nod.

Simmo took one gigantic breath then leapt out of the trench. Iggy held the scope but Jack noted his trembling hands and took it off him.

In the end Jack wished he hadn't looked.

Simmo was cut down just a few feet before making it and Jack watched helplessly in the mirror as he writhed in pain then lay still. Iggy didn't ask as he lowered the scope and Jack didn't tell him.

Several others volunteered, a few making it across but none making it back. After two agonising hours peppered by the pitiful sounds of the wounded, the major sent a new message informing them they had to retreat. Jack and Iggy stared up towards the open ground, ground they had given so much to gain, only to give it back. Both knew the Turks were now free to shoot at their retreating backs, but there was no other choice.

Jack took one last look at Dan, wishing to God he could bury him, before holding his hand up and giving the signal with Iggy.

They went as one, the survivors carrying the wounded, hopelessly exposed to heavy machine-gun attack. Jack saw the rip through Iggy's upper arm and his legs folding.

‘No you bloody don't.' Jack grabbed at him and he hauled him along, every muscle straining those endless final yards until at last they fell together into the trench. Iggy looked at the blood spreading down his sleeve, then at Jack's retreating back.

‘Where the hell do you think you're going?' he shouted.

Jack had seen Simmo a few feet out and decided it was one body he'd bloody well bury, grabbing his belt and dragging him in as well. His last thought was that someone had kicked him in the chest as he flew backwards into the wall, landing across Iggy.

By the time help arrived the trench was red with the lifeblood of what remained of the two hundred men who'd made up the 1st Australian Light Horse that morning. Only fifty remained unscathed.

Cairo

Veronica wet the towel and wiped the young lieutenant's forehead, soothing him as best she could. So many had arrived in the past few hours that she had barely time for such things, but this man had waited so patiently, in such terrible pain, and now the majority were settled into beds she felt she could spare him a few moments. He was young, perhaps not much older than she, and as slight as a girl, but there was a strength in him that she recognised in so many of these young officers and she suspected he commanded his men's respect.

The wounded began to pour through the doors again and Veronica put down the towel, patting her charge on the arm and moving across to inspect the new arrivals. She thought about tomorrow then tried to put it out of her mind again. After two weeks in Cairo she still hadn't let her brothers know she was there, although she thought they would likely have received word by now that she had joined the VAD, and that they probably weren't very happy about it. The last thing she'd wanted was to cause them even more worry by working alongside them green as a leaf, but fortunately an understanding doctor on board the ship had allowed her to spend time in the infirmary. Then, when she'd arrived, Sister Wilma George, Constance Dickson's cousin, had taken her under her wing for two weeks here at the holding station.

Tomorrow was the day she had been waiting for these many months, having secured a place at the hospital where her brothers worked, the converted ‘Luna Park'. She hoped they would be proud of her and not try to shield her from her work, which had become a passion. Every day she saw men suffer indignities and torment, but with it came the opportunity to do something about it, even if it was only to be there for the wounded. If she had to put a word to it, this hellish place allowed her something she couldn't find at home: purpose.

Mick cursed as he read the letter again. What were his parents thinking allowing Vera to come over here to this? He hated to think that he couldn't protect her from witnessing the horrific costs this war was inflicting on body after body. It was hard enough for him and Tom, who worked long hours operating on them, often only to send them off to live their lives maimed, crippled, blinded or scarred – or back to the front, God help them. How could Vera possibly be expected to cope with it? A young, untrained, emotional girl? Especially with everything going on over in Turkey.

He looked across the ward towards Tom, who was examining some poor blighter's leg, yet still managing to lift the spirits of the man in the bed beyond the curtain by telling him some rather ribald jokes. He's amazing, my brother, Mick reflected. Never let the idea of despair overtake him, cracking jokes and making friends even here, in the worst nightmare imaginable. It made all the difference to their patients who often managed to laugh despite everything they had been through, thanks to Dr Tom.

‘Hear we're getting some new recruits today,' Jerry Rankin, a Canadian doctor, said, stopping to stretch for a minute before starting his next procedure. Jerry was from Vancouver, where he'd worked mainly with a group of other doctors in the development of X-rays and their impact on operative procedures. He was therefore somewhat of an expert in limb surgery, so Egypt had come as a shock. He'd had to accustom himself to just sewing bits back on as well as possible. Still, he tried to bring some of the latest ideas into their makeshift hospital. Mick and Tom had been most interested in the rudimentary X-ray area he had set up out the back.

‘Ambulance driver says there's a knockout blonde arriving,' Jerry told Mick, ‘so keep back and give us ordinary fellas half a chance for once, will you?'