The Horizon (1993) (12 page)

‘It shouldn’t. Major Livesay will lead, that’s all.’

The drifting boats were soon lost astern, and Jonathan realised that the pinnace had been the one which had carried Ede and the dying midshipman out from the beach. Perhaps he should mention it to Waring. The pinnace might have been damaged by rifle fire, and her present crew might not know how to restart it.

He peered at Waring’s erect shadow and dismissed the idea. It was too late.

Payne touched his arm and whispered, ‘Look, sir! The land!’ His round Hampshire accent was somehow comforting as the rugged wall of cliffs loomed out of the night sea.

Waring grunted, ‘If there’s nobody here . . .’ But there was. A shuttered lamp flashed from very low down on the small beach where they were supposed to get ashore. Colonel Ede had kept his word, and had reached it first and without incident.

‘As soon as we’re in our H.Q., Blackwood, we’ll get a wiring party on the move. Rig field telephones that we’re used to. I don’t want any of their stuff!’

Then he waved his stick above his head. ‘Pass the word, Sergeant! Prepare to beach!’

Blackwood strained his ears above the noise of sea on sand, the clatter of tackle as their pinnace cast off and thrashed astern clear of danger. Nobody had fired a shot. The silence was almost painful.

‘
Now!
’ Waring clambered over the square bows as the horse-boat crashed onto the sand, with some marines leaping into the shallows to steady it, and others helping the next boats on the tow to punt their way in towards what appeared to be a narrow crescent of beach hemmed in by fallen rocks.

‘Take charge!’ Waring stamped his boots free of sand. ‘Sergeant McCann, scouts and pickets at the double!’

A corporal was leading a shadowy figure from the rocks, the guide sent by Colonel Ede.

Jonathan heard the men getting into some kind of order and wondered if Major Livesay’s contingent had got ashore yet on the other side of the beach. God, he thought, the cliff was even higher than he had imagined. It might take longer than hoped to get all their equipment up it to the Australian positions.

The anonymous guide said thickly, ‘Took yer time,
didn’t you?’ He gestured with his thumb. ‘Follow me close an’ do exactly what I say!’ Then he was gone, with Wyke and his platoon sergeant stumbling behind him.

Waring snapped, ‘Uncouth lout!’

Jonathan loosened his revolver and watched the men clambering past him. They had practised this sort of thing in their field-training. He looked up at the cliff, the pale stars so far away. But it was not the same. This was enemy territory. He saw a young marine unclipping his water bottle, and seized his wrist. ‘Not here, and not yet!’ The youth stared at him but hurried on, too breathless to speak.

Reliant
would be far away already, and tomorrow she might be required to offer covering fire.

He walked carefully after the last section and thought he heard the next steam pinnace panting towards the beach.

Tomorrow? It was today.

The Australian infantry captain rearranged a thick blanket across the entrance of what was obviously a natural cave and turned up a solitary oil lamp.

‘Colonel Ede’s sorry he couldn’t wait to get you settled in, but he’ll be starting the stand-down in half-an-hour.’

Jonathan sat on a packing case and stared wearily at the cramped place that was to be their headquarters until the Australians took over the line again. It had been a long, hard climb from the beach, their guide reaching out in the darkness like a blind man as he waved them into silence, or told them to duck when crossing a clearing. Even he had seemed surprised at the lack of firing, although several times they had heard the impartial clatter of machine-guns to the north.

The trench, which had been hastily hacked out after the first Australian advance, twisted and turned across the ridge, and would, the infantry captain explained, give a perfect view in daylight.

Jonathan heard the marines hurrying to take up their positions, confused and alarmed at the speed of the takeover. The Australians looked exhausted, and like this captain were dirty and unshaven, their uniforms cut and torn from climbing the rough terrain or dropping down hillsides to avoid sniper fire.

He asked, ‘Will they attack tonight, d’you think?’

‘Unlikely. They’ll wait until we’ve pulled out. They know your lot are new to this game. My guess is that they’ll try to retake this position tomorrow.’

So the stealth and the secrecy had been for nothing. Colonel Ede had warned them about that too. It was wrong to underestimate the Turks.

The curtain moved and Waring’s burly figure ducked into the light. One glance took in the field-telephone and the marine who was working on it, the litter of empty meat tins and bottles: a battlefield slum.

‘Not very satisfactory, is it?’

The Australian said curtly, ‘Not my fault, Colonel.’

Jonathan was afraid the man would leave, and yet there was so much he needed to know.

‘What about prisoners? I didn’t see any enclosures on the way.’

The captain accepted it like a peace offering. ‘No prisoners here. A bayonet is the best way of settling an argument.’

Waring was staring at a makeshift bunk. ‘What about him? Shouldn’t he be getting ready with the others?’

‘No, Colonel, we’ll take him when we go.’ He took a cigarette gratefully from Payne and lit it with great care. ‘It’s our brigade-major. Got too eager to see the enemy
positions. Sniper got him bang through the head.’ He added reflectively, ‘Not a bad old bird, so I thought we’d take him down with us.’ He looked at his cigarette and his hand, which was shaking suddenly as if with fever. ‘
Christ
.’

Second Lieutenant Tarrier came into the cave, swallowing hard. ‘All in position, sir.’ Despite his sunburn he looked deathly pale; like the dying midshipman, Jonathan thought.

‘What’s the matter?’

Tarrier licked his lips. ‘Corpses. Just over the parapet. The stench is terrible. I never thought . . .’ He retched and ran from the cave.

The Australian said, ‘Poor little bugger. He’s seen nothing yet, believe me.’

Some of his men came with a stretcher and rolled the dead officer onto it, but not before Jonathan had seen the bloodied bandages wrapped carelessly around his head, and one outthrust hand, tightly clenched as at the moment of impact.

‘Ask permission before you come in here!’ Waring was getting angrier by the minute. The soldiers ignored him and tramped out into the darkness.

There was a sudden crack, and the Australian opened out a stained map and spread it on another empty case. ‘That’s the gully leading to our next position, here.’ He pointed with a grimy finger. ‘A fixed rifle, we think, and a sniper fires every so often when he figures someone might be using it.’ He gave a strained grin. ‘Good thinking. It’s the only one we
can
use.’

A marine poked his head into the lamplight. ‘Major Livesay is here, sir.’

‘I’ll come at once. Officers’ meeting in thirty minutes.’

The Australian crossed his legs and looked at the empty bunk and the black stain beneath it.

‘I must say, I don’t care much for your colonel.’

Jonathan smiled. ‘I’d like to hear what might be of some help. Most of my men are new recruits. They were supposed to continue their training at Port Said, but . . .’

The man nodded. ‘
But
. What a lot of wars have hinged on that word.’ He leaned forward and put his hand on Jonathan’s sleeve. ‘When they come at you, you must show them you’re not going to run, see? They’ll attack all along the defence line, regardless of losses, and if they’re allowed to get near enough they’ll pitch bombs into the trenches.’ He added with sudden bitterness, ‘We don’t have any bloody bombs, of course!’

‘Nor do we.’

‘We make our own until supplies start coming through. Cocoa tins, bullets, short fuse – you know how it is.’ His hand pressed down harder. ‘But don’t let them get that close or you’re done for. Order your blokes up on the parapet and face them with bayonets, clubs, axes, anything you can find. There are plenty of spare rifles around here. Their owners don’t need ’em any more. Get your officers to use ’em. That fancy pistol of yours is a dead—’ He grinned again. ‘If you’ll pardon the expression, giveaway. Johnny Turk always picks off the officers first. Then there’s drinking-water . . .’

‘I’ve already passed the word about that.’

‘Good lad.’ He was probably three or four years younger than Jonathan but spoke with the authority of a veteran. ‘There should be a lighter coming into the cove
tomorrow.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But then, the war was supposed to be over by Christmas.’ He stood up and patted his pockets. ‘Last word on the subject of prisoners and then I’m off. Don’t let the bastards take any of your men.’ He looked at him steadily. ‘They’ll send ’em back to you, a piece at a time.’

Jonathan watched him, fascinated despite his chilling words. This man wanted to go, get away from all of it, but something stronger seemed to be holding him back.

‘This is the narrowest part of the peninsula, and to the left front is Sari Bair, the biggest ridge hereabouts. It commands the whole area. It’s only four miles across the peninsula to the narrows. Get to there and we’ve cut the bastards in half.’ He stared at the map with angry, reddened eyes. ‘They put us down here to do just that. I’m only a soldier, but I tell you now, it can’t be done.’

An Australian sergeant leaned through the entrance. ‘Ready for the off, Ben?’

‘Too right.’ He shook hands solemnly. ‘My name’s Duffy. My dad builds boats in Perth. Look us up some day if we both make it.’ He was gone as if he had not been real, a spectre from some other time and place.

Waring and Major Livesay pushed in, and after dusting off one of the empty crates they sat and compared their maps.

Livesay mopped his face and neck with a piece of rag. ‘God, what a place. Cross between a slaughterhouse and a cemetery!’ He nodded to Jonathan. ‘All our guns are in position. Lines have been rigged to the next trench, and I have two sections of men digging out deeper defences.
Tomorrow we’ll get a line run down to the beach, maybe two in case of accidents.’

Waring listened in silence as Jonathan related what the Australian captain had told him, his face expressionless and only his sprouting moustache giving any hint of irritation.

‘Officers with rifles and bayonets?’ He sounded shocked. ‘This is not the French Revolution!’ Then he smiled, like a schoolmaster with a slow-thinking pupil. ‘
Impulsive
’s contingent will soon be with us.’

Livesay seemed uneasy. ‘They may not have been able to get under way again, sir. Or one of the ships might have towed them back to the squadron.’

Waring looked pleased. ‘You’ve got to
think
, Livesay!’ He tapped his forehead. ‘That’s how you survive and win.’ He yawned. ‘I’ve already sent a pinnace to find them and bring them in.’

Livesay stared at him and then at Jonathan as if for support. ‘But – but, sir, they’d never arrive before dawn even if the pinnace found them without delay. They’d be coming ashore in broad daylight!’ He stared through the crudely curtained entrance as if he could see it. ‘Up that cliff? They’d never stand a chance!’

Waring lay down carefully on some sacking. ‘Must get some shut-eye. Call me if anything happens.’ Before he closed his eyes he looked over at Livesay and tapped his forehead again. ‘
Think
, man – it’s all you have to do.’ Then he was instantly asleep.

Jonathan and Livesay left the cave together and stood on what felt like broken boards while they allowed their eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. The steep cliff
and the rocky barriers that ran behind the defence line cut out every sound of the sea, and it was quiet, and somehow eerie. Finally Jonathan could see the faint outlines of sentries posted along the firing step, their sun-helmets showing clearly against the stars. He thought of the man from Perth and said, ‘I would have the men remove their helmets, sir. To any sniper they must look like enormous mushrooms, even in the dark.’

‘I’d better have a word with the colonel about that,’ Livesay said, and reconsidered immediately. ‘No, dammit, he’s asleep.’ He beckoned to a corporal and told him what to do, then added, ‘I don’t like this place, Jono. Not one little bit. It’s not proper soldiering. Sitting ducks, that’s what we are!’

They all looked up as a flare burst high over the ridge and lit the barren landscape like a desert.

Jonathan climbed up beside a sentry and stared across the undulating gullies and scattered rock formations. A corpse lay near the trench, its staring eyes like glass in the drifting glare. Others lay beyond, and the sour stench of death was everywhere.

To the young sentry he said quietly, ‘Watch the corpses, Tucker.’ He recalled what David had told him about the Chinese corpses in the Boxer Rebellion. The dead were the dead, but there they had moved imperceptibly until they were close enough to fall on the thin line of marines like crazed, screaming dervishes. ‘Just in case.’

‘Yessir.’

Jonathan sensed Payne beside him. He was holding out a silver cup. ‘Here, sir.’ Jonathan felt the Scotch
burning his empty stomach. How could men eat when they knew what to expect? It must be like that before climbing to the gallows, he thought. But even then you had some dignity.

‘Thanks. I needed that.’

Payne said gravely, ‘No, you don’t, sir. Not like some.’

Jonathan saw Payne place a spare rifle close at hand. So even he knew about that. He thought of Waring’s shocked response.
Officers with rifles and bayonets!
He had made it sound like an act of treachery.

The flare had extinguished itself and there was only darkness again. What did it mean? A signal, a warning? Who could tell?

He leaned his back against the rough side of the trench. At least it was cool. He would not have believed it possible at one time, but in seconds his head had lolled in sleep.

Payne tilted the silver cup to his lips until a solitary drop of Scotch ran down his tongue. Then he screwed up the flask and collected his own rifle.