Kingdoms Fall - The Laxenburg Message (10 page)

“But, Sir, I had orders,” objected Wilkins.

“Yes, of course, we all had orders, Captain.
Major Sills has told me that you ignored his instructions on the ridge and I am
frankly astonished! Astonished, I tell you! Ignoring a respectable officer like
Major Sills is a serious matter. Now, I have no desire to lay charges, but there
must be repercussions.”

“If you say so, Sir,” said Wilkins dismally.

 “Indeed I say so, Captain. I am your
commanding officer, and I do say so. I will not tolerate impertinence. If
Keeling had any brains in his head, I would make him the acting commander of
Davenport’s company. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Wilkins meekly.

“I do not mean to be too harsh with you, my
boy. As I said, you will certainly grow into the work, I have no doubt. Mind
yourself, and no more cheek, that’s what I expect.”

“Certainly. Thank you, Sir,” stammered Wilkins.

“Very well. Return to your company and await
your orders. Something is bound to happen before much longer.”

Wilkins quickly left the Colonel’s tent. He
felt hot, overheated, and, for the first time in his life, bitter. Then his
heart hardened. It was perfectly clear what needed to be done, and Wilkins was
determined to prove his worth. Colonel Banks was an absolute idiot, and Major
Sills was worse. Someone would need to fight the battles if the war was ever to
be won, and it wouldn’t be gentlemen from England with their noble countenances
and aristocratic airs. No, it would be men who knew how to slit old Abdul’s
throat without making too much noise and aim a machine gun and target the
artillery and get water and rations to the front lines. Wilkins hurried back to
his company, justifiably concerned that he had left Keeling in charge.

The next morning, a messenger brought up a
letter for Gresham as he, Keeling and Wilkins sat outside their tent trying to
enjoy a fresh breeze that was coming in off the bay. Gresham scanned the note
with surprising passivity:

All arrangements
previously discussed are hereby confirmed. Proceed immediately to 1/5 Norfolk
Regiment, Suvla Bay. M

“It seems I am to report for my new assignment,
gentlemen,” said Gresham. “Perhaps something is happening at last.”

“It’s about bleeding time,” said Keeling, who
had gone from morose to angry since he had quit drinking liquor. He was no
longer enjoying himself and could see that war only sounded like a grand
adventure to those who hadn’t tried it. “Try not to get yourself killed, there,
Gresham. It would be a bloody waste.”

“Thanks, Keeling. Same to you.”

“I should check with the Colonel,” said Wilkins
diligently and rising from his seat. “He may have orders for us. I am very
sorry to see you go, David.” He extended his hand. “It has been quite
instructive. Good luck to you, and thank you for your service to the
Manchesters,” he said calmly.

“And to you, James,” said Gresham, shaking
hands. His one small duffle was already packed, but Wilkins’ servant Dutton
helped him carry the bag down the shore towards headquarters.

Colonel Banks did have orders for Wilkins: The
Company was going back up the ridge, as they had expected. However, this time, instead
of a handful of ill-prepared Turkish reserves, they would face a large number
of reinforced and well-armed Turkish troops defending the ridge. It would be
hot work, and the Colonel warned Wilkins that casualties would be high on both
sides. Wilkins returned to the Company somber and shared the news with Keeling.

“The ridge again!” screamed Keeling. “The same
God-damned ridge? The ridge we bloody well took four days ago? The same
God-damned ridge we bloody well gave back to the bloody Turks?!” He swore
murder up and down the encampment, until he finally busted out a reserved
bottle of gin.

Wilkins was no happier, but then he did what he
knew he truly needed to do: He asked his experienced company sergeants into his
tent to plan the advance and get their advice about the best route of attack.

“This is damned unusual!” shouted Colonel
Beauchamp, Commanding Officer of the Fifth Battalion of the “Royal” Norfolk
Regiment. Captain Gresham and Sergeant Hart stood before him placidly in the
hot dugout that had been prepared for the commander in the newly-completed
trenches near Hill 10. Beauchamp was an older commander, portly and with huge
sideburns that made his head look bulbous. He seemed uncomfortable and,
perhaps, confused, and was quite agitated by the incursion into his dugout by
Gresham and Hart. Moreover, Hart stooped over the Colonel threateningly.
Standing with the shorter, darker and much hairier Gresham beside him, Hart and
the Captain looked like some fairy tale nightmare come to life.

“Of course, Colonel,” said Gresham. “I
understand your orders are to clear the hills north of the Anafarta Sagir in
advance of the main attack in the morning. Sergeant Hart and I are simply to
accompany you and take custody of any prisoners located near the village.”

“Prisoners?! I dare say there will be little
occasion to take prisoners, Captain!”

“I understand, Sir, but there’s a particular
interest at headquarters in capturing and interrogating enemy officers, so I
hope you will indulge my efforts to collect one or more to bring back.”

“My men are perfectly capable of capturing
officers! Why, may I ask, have you two been sent to me?!”

“Frankly, Sir, you may not ask.”

The Colonel turned beet red, but had been
struck dumb as well.

“As I said, we will not interfere with your
command,” continued Gresham, “but our orders are not your concern, nor am I
permitted to tell you what they are. The Sergeant and I must reach that village
this evening, and you must hold the lines open until midnight so that we can
bring back a prisoner.”

“I see,” said Beauchamp. “Well I can see you’re
not regular infantry, Captain. We will do our best, that’s all I can promise.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The Colonel sat down and steadied himself. “The
Turks have been busy the past few days drawing up reinforcements. The plains
are fairly clear, but the hills are full of snipers. The Fourth Battalion
infantry is moving up in reserve today, and our advance will be flanked by the
Eighth Hant and the Fifth Suffolk. A naval bombardment will soften up the Turks
shortly. I believe we will make an adequate force.”

“I quite agree, Sir,” Gresham replied.
Beauchamp was a blustering old fool, he thought, but he did understand what he
was supposed to do and seemed damned determined to do it.

“Then I suggest you stay with my adjutant,”
said Beauchamp.

“Thank you, Sir. That would be fine,” Gresham
and Hart saluted and stepped out of the dugout. The trench was packed with the
Fifth Norfolks. The men had been standing in the sun with little water for more
than a day already waiting for the order to advance. Like the men of the Tenth
Manchesters, these troops were also new enlistees; many of them had worked at
the King’s house at Sandringham, and were therefore known in the lists as the
Royal Norfolks. They looked nervous, as all untested troops do, but the company
commanders could be seen standing upright and confident among the Tommys and
the sergeants were screaming the men to a state of distraction. The trench
bristled with raised, shining bayonets, dust swirled in the air, and the hot
sun beat down on them all.

“Three battalions, another in reserve, and
naval artillery,” Hart chuckled, “you don’t f--- around, do you?”

“None of that is my doing,” said Gresham,
rolling a cigarette. “This battalion just happens to be the one going where we
need to go.”

“Frankly, I’d rather be going up that ridge
again with Wilkins tomorrow than back to that damned village with you. You saw
how many machine guns were pulling in there the other night.”

“Yes, but we shouldn’t have to go into the
village this time. We’re going back around near the cemetery. There’s an enemy
officer there we need to capture, alive if you don’t mind. He should be
cooperative. The rest is the Norfolks’ business. Then we’re back here as fast
as our legs can manage it, and you can rejoin the Manchesters whenever you
like.”

“As I said when you asked me along, I don’t
much care for subterfuge. I’ll do what I can to protect you and keep your route
open, but I prefer to do my fighting out in the open, so to speak.”

“I appreciate your candor, Sergeant.”

Suddenly the British destroyers in the bay
opened fire and the familiar sound of the artillery barrage announced that
battle would soon be joined. They could hear the massive shells whistling
overhead toward the Turkish-held ridges to the east. From this distance, the
boom of each shell exploding sounded like thunder. Gresham gripped his rifle
and waited for the order to advance, and waited some more. The shelling
continued minute after minute. The Turkish batteries opened fire on the bay in
reply. Although the British shells were falling three, four and five miles to
the east, Colonel Beauchamp had not yet been given the order to advance. Still
the shelling continued.

After forty-five minutes, the order to advance
was finally given and the battalion climbed out of the trench. Gresham and Hart
could see long lines of troops to the south and north of them advancing as
well. The Norfolks’ path lay straight across the plain. A mile or more ahead of
them, the scrub on the plain and hillside had caught fire from the artillery
barrage. It would burn out quickly, but all that could be seen ahead was a
dense smoke. It luckily screened the battalion’s advance and they moved forward
at a quick pace.

Gresham and Hart stayed close to Beauchamp’s
adjutant, Captain Ward. The Tommys were not quite marching in line, but still
far more clustered and slower than Gresham would have liked. Large explosive
shells were falling on the plain around them. The concussive wave of the
explosive shells was simply blowing men over, many more than the steel
fragments actually wounded, and those who were blown over more often than not
popped right back up and continued as if nothing had happened. As the battalion
neared the smoking edge of the plain and lightly wooded hillside, Turkish
snipers began to fire blindly from behind the stunted oaks and pines. On their
left, the Eighth Hants and the Fifth Suffolks were running into fierce machine
gun fire from the ridges to the north. Line after line of British troops was
falling there, and those battalions began to slow and dig in for a long hot
fight.

Gresham and Hart found the adjutant at the edge
of the thin woods. “Captain Ward,” yelled Gresham over the noise of shells
bursting on their right. “Ward, our left is tied up with those machine guns.
The Battalion needs to turn half-right, into the smoke. The village is on our
right. Please tell the Colonel.”

“Yes, Sir,” said the adjutant.

He scrambled to a small burnt and smoking copse
of trees nearby and spoke to Beauchamp. Beauchamp evidently agreed with his
adjutant, as he directed his company commanders to turn half-right. Three companies
of the Norfolks’ Fifth Battalion soon disappeared into the thick grey smoke.

Gresham and Hart moved with those companies
into the hills north of the road leading to the village. The smoke obscured the
view ahead, and each step revealed a new tree or bush, shell hole or shallow
trench containing one or more Turkish snipers. Sergeant Hart stayed close to
protect Gresham as the battalion advanced over the Turkish position yard by
yard. It was hot work, and their progress was slow. Working together as a team,
Hart and Gresham would pin down each Turkish sniper whilst one of them went
around to fire from the flank. With the Norfolks, they were successfully
clearing a wide swath through the hillside. Hart showed a particular talent for
killing snipers and seemed to revel in the one-on-one contest of wills as he
crouched and crawled through the light brush and smoke, found a position from
which to fire, and took his shot.

As the sun set, the men of the battalion began
to get worn down. The sense of excitement among the fresh recruits had worn
off, and many men succumbed from smoke inhalation and the lack of water. A few
men simply collapsed stone dead. The Turkish troops, at least, were faring no
better. As the Norfolks slowly advanced, they found more than one burnt corpse
of a Turkish soldier who had stayed at his post as the brush fire had swept
across the dry hillside. Everything was enshrouded in smoke. Still, many
Turkish snipers had stayed on the hillside and continued to shoot the enemy
entering their field of fire.

The British sergeants were busy keeping the
Norfolks quiet so as not to give away their positions as the companies
continued to spread out across the hill. Each tree and bush was approached as a
potential threat. Some of the platoon commanders were extremely methodical,
like landscape men carefully pruning the verge. Gresham could see they were
making slow but steady progress.

As the sun set, smoke made it more difficult to
identify their position. Gresham and Hart stayed in the leading edge of the
Norfolks as the battalion advanced east, but more and more of the Turkish
sorties appeared to be attacking from the south and they were turning the
Norfolks to their right flank in response. Gresham and Hart climbed onto a
bluff and could see where the village lay to the south and east. A huge network
of trenches, wire and barricades had been constructed in front of the
well-defended village. A great many Turkish troops had amassed there in
positions protected with multiple machine guns, mortars and trenches full of
snipers. It appeared the Turks had elected to withdraw to a strong defensive
position and send sorties up into the hills where they knew the British were
spread out.