Solomon's Song (55 page)

‘They’re going to cotton on sooner or later where our machine-gun fire is coming from and they’ll put a sniper onto us, try to take him out, Crow. How far do you reckon it is across the valley to the ridge?’

Crow Rigby looks through his telescopic sights, and after a few moments says, ‘About fourteen hundred yards, Ben.’ He turns to Woggy, ‘What yer reckon?’

‘Twelve hundred and fifty the most,’ Woggy says. They have learned in the desert that you can bet Woggy Mustafa against a tape measure. He has a wonderful eye, and when he isn’t observing for Crow Rigby he takes a turn with the sniper’s rifle. Ben has promised him that if they ever take out a Turkish sniper and can retrieve his Mauser, and with Hornbill no doubt able to fix the mount to fit the Lee-Enfield, the German telescopic sight will become his.

The men, having eaten and enjoyed a brew, are now much more optimistic and some of them privately wish they could push on, go after the enemy. They’ve all been scared crossing the plateau, but the adrenaline rush as they fixed bayonets to charge the trench has made them realise that it is the only occasion they’ve had to assert themselves. Up to this moment, all they’ve done is stumble through scrub and climb over rocks under a hail of shrapnel and enemy rifle and machine-gun fire but haven’t, as yet, fired a single shot in anger. The Clicks are still virgin soldiers even though seventeen of them are dead with only Hornbill having the distinction of being slightly wounded.

After five hours, around two o’clock in the afternoon, M’Cay is at last beginning to realise that he cannot hope to relieve the decimated 3rd Brigade and establish a new front at the base of the Third Ridge. The 400 Plateau lies thickly spread with bodies and he cannot yet claim a single gain or pretend to have inflicted any real damage on the enemy. The closer he gets to the Third Ridge, driving his troops into Wordy’s ’spoon’, or as it is now referred to by its military name, The Cup, the easier it becomes for the enemy to slaughter them. The Turkish shrapnel and rifle fire have steadily become more intense as each hour progresses and, with it, the danger of crossing the plateau increases.

In M’Cay’s defence it must be said that at no time does he have effective artillery to help him. Churchill’s assurance that the British battleship guns standing off the beach would pound the enemy positions remorselessly proves entirely wrong. They are less than useless and, if anything, present a danger to the Australian troops without inflicting the slightest damage on the Turks. They are soon abandoned, used only to fire at Gaba Tepe in the forlorn hope that they might destroy a gun battery thought to be positioned there.

The brigadiers, M’Cay and MacLagan to his north, have only rifles and machine guns firing at an enemy, whose whereabouts he can only hazard a guess at. It is popguns against brick walls all over again. For a short period M’Cay has enjoyed the morale-boosting effect of an Indian unit with four small mountain guns positioned two on either side of White’s Gully immediately behind 400 Plateau. The battery is commanded by Captain Kirby and at five minutes to noon it opens fire on the Third Ridge.

Although the sound of their own artillery giving the enemy a little of their own back cheers up the Australians, the Turks, clearly able to see Captain Kirby’s battery from the heights of Battleship Hill, simply turn their own artillery onto them and by half-past two the Indian battery is put out of the reckoning. Now the Turks increase the pressure on the plateau, The Cup and, further south, in Legge Valley, on Lone Pine and Pine Ridge. The Australian lambs are being systematically led to the slaughter.

Ben’s platoon starts firing the machine gun across Legge Valley shortly before noon. By this time the 6th Battalion, to which Jack Tau Paranihi and his New Zealanders were hastily seconded to reinforce the remnants of the 3rd Brigade, are having a torrid time at Pine Ridge and within Legge Valley. As the afternoon wears on they are driven back and in some parts are surrounded by the Turks coming down from the Third Ridge, who can see an opportunity to move around Pine Ridge and up Lone Pine. If they can do this in any numbers they will surround the Australians fighting on the southern section. Moreover, this will mean that the northern section will be caught in a pincer movement with no hope of escaping. For the Australians and New Zealanders the Gallipoli campaign will effectively be over on the first day.

It soon becomes apparent to Ben that firing at the Third Ridge, while attracting return fire from snipers and creating a contest between Crow Rigby and his team-mate Woggy Mustafa and four Turkish snipers on the Third Ridge, isn’t making a great deal of impact. Then he sees the Turkish troops coming into Legge Valley to engage the Pine Ridge front. At last he has a target and the platoon concentrates their fire on the Turks moving in numbers through the scrub. The machine gun works all afternoon to devastating effect, manned by Ben and Hornbill and Brokenose Brodie who has been loading ammunition strips. Hornbill eventually falls from the platform out of sheer exhaustion, and tumbles into the trench fast asleep. Ben too has been forced to sleep.

With Ben working the machine gun, Wordy Smith has taken over command of the rifle fire, manning the side of the trench looking down into the valley with fifteen men while the other fifteen sleep. Three of the men on duty cart ammunition, make tea, prepare rations and fill the machine-gun strips. Even Jack Tau Paranihi is put to work filling machine-gun strips. He has received a spoon of Wordy’s medicine every four hours which has managed to relieve much of his pain. By mid-afternoon the trench is working as a highly efficient unit and each of the men has killed or wounded to their certain knowledge a handful of Turks. All the Broadmeadows drill, the ceaseless concentration of handling a rifle, has come to fruition. The Clicks, with fifteen rifles firing at a maximum rate well in advance of perhaps any other platoon on Gallipoli, are almost the equivalent of a second machine gun.

On several occasions the Hotchkiss, together with the concerted fire directed at the same target by Wordy’s rifles, forces the Turks to scatter and retreat when they are at the point of reaching the Australian line.

Soon a Turkish gun on the Third Ridge tries to get their range and the ridge just below the trench is pounded all afternoon with shells. Clouds of dust often obscure their line of sight. Rifle shots whistle over their heads and sniper fire constantly hits the sandbags, but miraculously never enters the three narrow slots through which the Hotchkiss and Crow Rigby fire and Woggy Mustafa observes. Crow and Woggy have taken to picking out the Turkish officers, doing to the enemy what their snipers have been doing all day to the Australians on 400 Plateau. They’ve taken out more than thirty, Woggy’s incredible eyes calling the shots and Crow Rigby placing them. Used this way, Woggy’s eyes are worth several rifles firing at the enemy.

Ben knows that sooner or later they will either take a direct hit or sufficient shrapnel will explode over the trench and wipe them out. At four o’clock in the afternoon this happens at the southern end of the trench and while most of the shrapnel pellets rain down on the covered section, six of the platoon are killed. Ben orders their bodies to be taken into the shed, as the covered section is now known, so that the trench remains uncluttered. ‘We’ll grieve them later, lads,’ he says, knowing that it is only a matter of time before it happens again and they are all killed. Ben is rapidly coming to the conclusion that there is no escape from Gallipoli other than to be killed or wounded. Victory is simply out of the question. He now has only one objective, to inflict as much damage on the enemy as he is able before he dies. Two more of the platoon are wounded, though not too badly, Library Spencer has a chunk taken out of the fleshy part of his arm and a lad from Geelong, a quiet bloke known to all as ‘Moggy’ Katz, who played for the Geelong reserves, has lost the tip of his little finger. Wordy Smith proves to be a dab hand with a field dressing and both men continue to man a rifle, with a spoonful of Wordy’s medicine to comfort them.

Towards dusk Ben observes that the Australians in the valley below are pulling back and that the Turks are coming after them. In the indifferent light it is becoming more and more difficult to use the machine gun effectively and he is convinced that the Turks will attack them after dark. They have done an enormous amount of damage with the Hotchkiss and any Turkish company commander will want to stop them. Ben is about to pack it in when a Turkish sniper hits the barrel and casing of the Hotchkiss, putting it out of action. Hornbill is called to have a look and shakes his head. ‘Barrel’s bent, ain’t no way.’ In the dark and without the machine gun Ben realises they are even more vulnerable to attack.

With the light failing fast, they suddenly observe a soldier coming towards them from higher up on the plateau. The man, running down the slope without a pack, is obviously a messenger. He waves his arms, shouting, ‘Fall back, fall back!’ With nightfall the Turkish rifle fire seems to have temporarily stopped, only the artillery continues to pound the plateau higher up.

Ben turns to Numbers Cooligan. ‘Go get that man, bring him in.’

The soldier, a lance corporal named Penman, explains that the Australians are moving back across 400 Plateau to the original crest and that Sayers, Ben’s company commander, has pulled back from a position near the Daisy Patch and reorganised what’s left of the 5th Battalion and an assortment of others. Commanding the battalion, he is positioned on the rear slope of White’s Valley. ‘You’re not to try to join him, he wants you to pull back down Pine Ridge where the 6th is pulling back and needs help.’

‘How did you know we were here?’

Lance Corporal Penman laughs. ‘We seen what you blokes been doing all day to the Turks in the valley. Major Sayers says there’s only one platoon in the 1st Division can rapid fire at the rate you can and keep it up all day. He just said, “Tell Lieutenant Ormington-Smith and Sergeant Teekleman well done, we’d love them back with us when he’s through rescuing the 6th Battalion.”‘

‘He always did have a black sense of humour,’ Wordy Smith says.

‘Well, machine gun’s buggered, I guess we’re no better here than on Pine Ridge, maybe we’ll get to look a Turk in the eye before the night is out,’ Ben says.

‘I’ll be coming with you,’ Lance Corporal Penman says.

‘Good, we lost our “one stripe” earlier, that would be useful, one thing though, we don’t stand formal here, what’s your name, Lance Corporal?’ Ben replies.

‘Ben,’ the corporal says.

They all laugh. ‘Sorry, Corporal, but I’m afraid there’s only one Ben in this platoon, we’ll have to call you something else.’

‘Nibs! Nibs Penman!’ Cooligan offers, pleased with himself.

‘Nibs then?’ Ben asks the corporal.

The corporal shrugs. ‘Suits me fine, probably won’t be around long enough to hear it much anyhow.’

‘Subtle or what!’ Crow Rigby cries.

‘Aw shuddup, Crow!’ Cooligan calls. ‘Just ’cause you ain’t clever like me!’

‘Righto, let’s pack up,’ Ben calls. ‘It’s dark enough to get going and the moon won’t be up for a while. We’re taking Jack with us on the stretcher, I want four men on it. Nobby, Brokenose, Macca, Keith, you blokes first, change every ten minutes with someone else. There’s still a little water left in the barrel, fill your water bottles, it could be a long night. Everybody have something to eat now, you’ve got ten minutes before we pull out. Moon will be up soon, we want to get going.’

The platoon moves out down Lone Pine. The artillery fire has ceased over this part of the battlefield and to the south and while it is a welcome relief it is also a sign of danger to come. The Turks are about to mount an attack on the southern spur. Their plan obviously is to move around Pine Ridge, where the remnants of the 9th Battalion of the 3rd Brigade and the 6th Battalion of the 2nd have been fighting all day and are greatly weakened.

Ben and his platoon make their way down the slope and south to Pine Ridge without any fire directed at them. Perhaps the worst aspect of the trip is the scrub they must move through in the dark. On the southern side of Lone Pine and again on Pine Ridge the gorse is heavily mixed with thorn scrub and their uniforms and puttees are torn to pieces. Jack, lying supine on the stretcher, is, seemingly, one long scratch, the thorns having damn near ripped him apart. By the time the moon is up they have made their way down to the extreme northern end of the spur where it connects with Lone Pine and here they come across a captured Turkish gun-pit linked with a series of trenches which are occupied by Captain Daly of the 8th with a handful of men all exhausted from the day’s fighting. They welcome Wordy Smith with open arms.

‘Frankly, we’re about done in,’ Daly tells Wordy. ‘We’ve thirty-five men and half of them wounded. With your mob in reasonable shape we may be able to hold the bastards off, though I think you’ll need to break your platoon up. There’s a handful of men under Corporal Harrison and Lance Corporal Kenyon in a Turkish trench about a hundred yards to the north, I doubt if they can hold on without help. We’ve heard down the line of what your lads have done today, I guess we were the beneficiaries down in the valley, twelve men with your firepower could make all the difference.’

Ben asks Wordy Smith to recommend that Crow Rigby be promoted to corporal on the spot. He has lost Mooney, his corporal on the third landing craft that morning and Phillips, his lance corporal, on the plateau, but is reluctant to send Nibs Penman since he doesn’t even know the names of the men who would be placed under his charge. Daly, when he is told Crow Rigby is a sniper, immediately agrees to the promotion.

Crow asks Ben if he can take Woggy Mustafa and Numbers Cooligan. Ben agrees and picks the other nine, though none of them seem too happy to be broken up as a unit. ‘Give ‘em hell, lads, this is your chance to look the Turk in the eye,’ Ben says and for a fleeting moment wonders how many of them he will meet again.

Ben can see that Daly, who is wounded, and his lieutenant, an officer named Derham who is actually asleep in the trench at his feet, are exhausted and soon after discovers that both have been wounded. He quickly sets about organising the defence of the gun-pit which is situated in a separate trench behind the front one. It is occupied by a rag-tag of mixed platoons from the 9th, 8th and 6th under Lieutenants Levy and Hooper, both of whom are wounded. Ben breaks up his platoon once again, sending ten of the men to the forward trench and keeping eight in the gun-pit.