Scorpion Sunset (25 page)

‘Reverend Butler says that America will be forced into the war sooner rather than later and they will come in on the side of the Allies.'

‘Do you think he's right?' Georgiana asked.

‘It's so long since I left America I have no idea what Americans believe. Theo seems to think that the German, Irish, and Scandinavian Americans will do all they can to keep America neutral, as does Dr Picard.'

‘No matter what happens we can't do anything to change it. Harry used to tell me to ignore anything that can't be influenced. So how about we discuss the practicalities of me moving in here with you and your new baby. Do you want a boy or a girl?'

Angela smiled. ‘A boy with red hair who looks exactly like Peter. That would be wonderful.'

‘It would be.'

Georgiana couldn't supress the thought that it would be even more wonderful if there were no more wars left for him to fight when he reached his father's age.

Sheikh Saad

September 1916

Peter, Charles, and David walked down the gangplank of the ship that had taken them upriver from Ali Gharbi to Sheikh Saad.

‘I would give whole worlds for an iced bath, a glass of good whisky, and a crack sniper to rid us of these bloody Arabs.' Charles instinctively ducked as a bullet whistled overhead.

‘It's not the bullets you have to worry about, Major Reid, but your disappearing kit. The Arabs are lousy shots, but expert thieves. They creep about at night stealing blankets, rifles, and even tents and mosquito nets from under and over officers as well as men.'

‘Captain Boris Bell,' Charles held out his hand and shook Boris's hand enthusiastically. ‘I haven't seen you since you were hospitalised after that final failed push to relieve Kut. How are you?'

‘As you see fit, active, and,' Boris fingered his insignia, ‘captain no longer.'

‘Then we're all majors. David Knight, medical corps, Peter Smythe, Dorsets, meet Boris Bell, 6
^th
Indian Cavalry.'

Boris shook their hands. ‘I take it you gentlemen are ready to have another go at Johnny Turk?'

‘We owe them one for forcing Townshend to surrender at Kut,' Peter said bitterly.

‘What's the organisation like here?' Charles asked.

‘Better than it was when the Relief Force was trying to fight through to Kut.' Boris ducked as yet another bullet whistled overhead, hit a tent pole, and fell harmlessly to the ground. ‘Maude has everything under control. The fittest men are being pushed straight on up to the front at Sannaiyat. The cavalry and mounted troops are being held back here because the animals require a greater quantity of supplies. You know what the grazing is like upstream.'

‘What grazing?' Charles asked.

‘Precisely. Ammunition, including the new Stokes trench mortars, is being stockpiled. Morale is good among officers and men …'

‘Really?' Peter was sceptical.

‘Maude knows what he's doing and he's determined to march into Baghdad. Once we take the city Johnny Turk will have to retreat from this part of the world.'

‘And all we'll have left to do is chase him back into Turkey,' David laughed. ‘A month or two and we should have it cleared and ready for the civil servants. They can import the surplus from India. They'll love pushing forms around beneath the minarets.'

‘But before that happens we have to advance.'

‘Is there a hospital here?' David asked.

‘Here and at Sannaiyat.'

‘Shouldn't you report for duty?' Charles asked.

David shook his head. ‘Command's managed without me until now. I'll wait until they track me down. So,' he turned to Boris, ‘where does a man go for fine dining and wine here?'

It was Boris's turn to laugh. ‘I see you brought the jokers with you, Charles.'

‘More than one by the look of it.' He spotted Michael walking towards him in Arab robes.

‘I've been in the desert interviewing the natives,' Michael explained, ‘And say what you like about skirts, this outfit is more comfortable than khaki or civvies.'

‘We'll take your word for it.' Peter was shaken by the sight of Michael in Arab dress. It reminded him of all the times Harry had sneaked into the Basra base after the nights he'd spent gambling in Abdul's.

‘What's the story among the Arabs?' Charles asked. ‘Are they on our side?'

‘You've been in this country longer than me, Charles, you should know.'

‘Know what?' Charles challenged Michael.

‘I'm surprised that you haven't yet learned that the only side the Bedawi are on is their own.'

‘Will they support us in the push upriver?' Charles pressed.

‘For what's it's worth – and it is just an opinion, they'll support us as long as we're pushing out the Turks. Once the Turks have gone they'll probably start pushing us out.'

‘It's rumoured the sepoys are making bully beef curry for tonight, but it won't be served for another hour, how about all you gentlemen retire to my tent …' Boris ducked as bullets started flying again.

‘Where the hell are they shooting from?' Peter demanded irritably.

‘Boats, camels, but they've yet to hit anything that bleeds. Brigadier sent out snipers earlier to see if they could cut them down. To continue, I have some Chianti and whisky in my tent, possibly enough for all of us. Anyone care for a pre-dinner snifter?'

‘Sounds good.' Charles looked around. His bearer, Chatta Ram, was already erecting his tent. ‘I'll just check on my gear and finish a letter that can go back downstream with the boat and I'll be with you.'

‘To hell with my gear,' David said to Boris, ‘I'll join you now.'

Chatta Ram had erected his own small tent and had started on Charles's.

‘Have you seen my travelling desk?' Charles asked.

‘Yes, sahib.' As always when they were in company Chatta Ram answered him formally. He unfolded a travelling chair, and handed Charles his desk.

Charles opened it and looked at the letter he'd started writing on the boat the night before.

My dear Kitty,

I know it must seem strange that I have to write what I couldn't say to you in words, but I wanted you to know how much and how totally and completely I love you and most of all how unworthy I am of receiving your love …

Charles unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped the pen into it, and continued to write.

I have a son, Kitty. His name is Robin, his mother is Maud Perry. The wife of my closest friend. I cannot tell you how ashamed I am at having to confess that to you. I will understand if you never want to see me again. Believe me, you cannot possibly despise me any more than I despise myself. I have not only betrayed the moral code of decency all Englishmen try to live by but my best friend …

‘These damned snipers are getting to be a bloody nuisance, sahib,' Chatta Ram grumbled. ‘I'm afraid to stand upright in this camp.

‘What do you mean getting to be, Chatta Ram?' David appeared and handed Charles a glass of whisky. ‘They are a bloody nuisance. Come and join us, Charles, there are loads of fellows here we know.' He glanced at the writing desk. ‘Your lady love can wait. You know what the post is like. That will be dumped in a mail bag in a warehouse at one of the boat changeover points like Qurna for a month or two.'

‘I suppose you're right.' Charles capitulated. He blotted what he'd written, returned it to his desk, and took the glass from David.

They walked away from Charles's tent towards Boris's.

‘Careful you don't catch the sun's rays with that,' David warned. ‘It'll give Sniper Abdul a target and you'll lose your fingers.'

Even as David spoke another shot pinged, and Charles fell.

‘Come on, old man.' David stooped down and turned Charles over. He stared in disbelief at the bullet hole in the centre of Charles's forehead.

Chatta Ram ran at speed towards them. Boris, Michael, and Peter charged from the tables and chairs in front of Boris's tent.

‘Charles?'

No one noticed Chatta Ram had used Charles' first name.

‘Is he?'

David looked up at Michael. ‘Dead? Yes.' He stared down at Charles. ‘I should never have taken him that whisky. I should have left him writing where he was. I should never …'

Peter recognised the signs of clinical shock and laid his hands on David's shoulders. He shouted at the top of his voice.

‘Stretcher-bearers!'

Chapter Seventeen

Internal Ottoman Empire border between Mesopotamia and Turkey

September 1916

‘You, Private Evans, have the constitution of an ox.'

John took the corners of the blanket beneath Evans's head and shoulders, Baker the corners below his feet, and they lifted him and his blanket out of the hospital tent and carried him to the cart.

‘I'm not going to die, am I, sir?' Evans asked when Mitkhal tucked a saddlebag beneath his head.

‘You have my permission to live, Evans, but I can't answer for the feelings of our colleagues if you continue to makes the kind of jokes you have been inflicting on us of late.' John had to force a smile. Only ten minutes before he'd read the burial service over five men. One who'd died in their hospital tent and four sun-dried corpses Greening had found in a ditch, recognisable as British troops only by the ID tags that identified them as privates of the Norfolks. The collection of tags he'd accumulated was now so large, he'd emptied a dead man's kit bag to store them in.

‘Comfortable, Evans?' Baker asked.

‘No. The bottom of this cart is hard.'

‘Then get out and bloody walk.'

‘Give me your legs, corporal, and I will.'

John ignored the banter and watched the Turkish captain and his men walk out of their makeshift camp to greet a border patrol that was approaching on horseback.

‘Leave the hospital tent until last, and let me know when the Turks return,' he ordered Jones and Williams who'd harnessed the mules to the second cart and brought it up ready to load the tents.

He ducked inside the hospital tent, Mitkhal followed.

‘You'll be crossing into Turkey in less than an hour. This is where I and my men leave you.' Mitkhal lifted John in a bear hug.

‘I'd hug you back if I had any breath left. You'll remember me to Hasan and Furja. Tell them I'd like to meet them again.'

‘I will tell them. Perhaps when this war is over we'll all sit in the garden of Ibn Shalan's house in Basra and drink iced sherbet.'

‘That garden was beautiful. I've never forgotten the time I spent there with Maud, Harry, and Furja. Will you go there from here?'

‘No, as all your men want to stay with you I will return to Baghdad. It will be good to see my wife and son and Hasan again. Don't let the Turks lift the bag from under Private Evans's head. It's stuffed with sovereigns. Knowing the Turks you'll need to buy food and possibly even water.'

‘Thank you, Mitkhal.' John returned Mitkhal's embrace.

Jones's voice echoed in from outside the tent. ‘Captain coming, sir.'

‘Thank you, Jones.' John picked up his medical bag. Mitkhal gathered together the spare mosquito nets and carried them out. He dropped them into the back of the cart they used to ferry their equipment.

‘Your men will have to work harder from this point on, Major Mason. We are losing our Arab auxiliaries,' the captain warned.

‘Do we have far to go?' John asked.

‘A week, maybe two, of hard travelling.'

‘We have transport?' John asked.

‘You have your carts.'

‘I was hoping we would complete our journey by train or failing that be supplied with fresh mules and horses.'

‘The Ottoman government has more pressing and important concerns to consider than the fate of a few prisoners of war, Major Mason.'

‘Can you at least tell me where we'll be taken in Turkey?'

‘You are asking too many questions, Major Mason. Besides, if I gave you the name of the place it would mean nothing to you.'

‘I have a fair knowledge of Turkish geography.'

‘You will be east of Istanbul. Is that knowledge enough for you?'

‘How far east?'

‘Does it matter when you won't be allowed to leave the confines of the POW camp?'

‘I need to know if there will be proper facilities for our sick.' John reined in his exasperation.

‘There will be facilities, Major Mason. You will be in charge of them.' The captain walked away and John joined the privates, the women, and the child, who'd already lined up behind the carts.

The last tent was loaded. Greening urged the mules forward. Baker lifted the child on to his cart and followed. John turned to take a last look at Mesopotamia before they entered Turkey.

Mitkhal was riding his camel behind those of his men. He saw John and raised his arm in salute. John risked returning the wave.

Sheikh Saad

September 1916

Peter woke to a shaft of blinding light when his tent flap was flung back. Keeping his eyes screwed tightly shut, he groped into consciousness. A tide of nausea was creeping up his throat and blasts of deafening snores resounded from the floor beside his cot.

He moved his head to the side of his pillow and looked down. Boris Bell and David Knight were lying on a blanket that had been flung over the groundsheet. Both were flat on their backs, their mouths open to the flies that were swarming outside of the mosquito tent that hung above his bed.

He tried to lift his head and a blinding pain shot through his skull. He slumped back on to his pillow and remembered – Charles was dead. The knowledge cut through his consciousness like a knife.

‘The funeral will be in half an hour, sahib.'

Charles's bearer was standing at the foot of his cot watching him.