Scorpion Sunset (8 page)

Both the army and insurance company had pressed for repayment. By emptying her bank account she'd managed to reimburse the insurance company, but not the army. The clerks had retaliated by freezing her wife's allowance, until such time as they reclaimed the over payment. She'd appealed, but the officer who'd interviewed her had tersely dismissed her suggestion that small amounts be taken from her allowance over a longer period. She'd walked away wondering if John had notified the military that he intended to divorce her, in which case she'd soon be entitled to no money whatsoever from the army.

She picked up the silver framed photograph of John that her maid had set next to her jewellery case. She looked at it – really looked at it for the first time since he'd left her to join the Expeditionary Force.

They'd met in India before the war. Her father had sent her and her mother from Basra, where he was ranking officer, to visit friends at his regiment's HQ. Ostensibly they went to escape the heat of a Mesopotamian summer, but she knew her father expected her to find a husband among the senior officers. He'd been concerned about her friendship with a young subaltern, Harry Downe, who'd been sent to Basra as punishment for bedding a senior officer's wife in India. To her disappointment, despite her father's concerns she'd been far more infatuated with Harry than he with her.

After John had asked her to marry him she'd told him she'd fallen in love with him at first sight. Had she? Or had she merely been attracted to his good looks? Tall, well-built, with dark auburn hair and deep brown eyes, women turned their heads whenever he entered a room – but unlike most of the other handsome officers she'd met, John had been unaware of his good looks.

Her father hadn't been enamoured of her choice when he'd discovered John Mason was an army medic, not a career officer. John had intended to return to England after their marriage, a plan that had been set aside like so many others when war broke out. Her father had been even more disappointed when he'd discovered John and Harry were not only close friends but cousins.

Harry! She smiled as an image of him came to mind. His fair hair tousled, his grey eyes glittering with mischief. How he'd loved shocking people, particularly the pompous. When her father sent Harry to negotiate a treaty with a Bedouin tribe, Harry had sealed the bargain by marrying a sheikh's daughter. She'd been as appalled as the rest of military society by Harry's native ‘marriage', but that didn't stop her from admiring Harry's complete disregard of anyone's opinion other than his own.

The last time she'd found herself in financial difficulties was shortly before Robin's birth. Everyone knew John couldn't possibly be the father of her child as he'd been on active service for over a year. To make matters even worse, the Gulf was awash with well-founded rumours of her infidelity and scandalous behaviour in India. Instead of judging or ostracising her, as all John's other friends had, Harry had visited her in the American mission she'd taken refuge in and given her money.

If only she could talk to him now – he would understand her plight and lend her money. But Harry was dead, killed by the Turks, and she was left with a father she'd never really known. An officer and a gentleman who'd made no secret of preferring the masculine confines of the officers' mess to domesticity and family.

She glanced at the clock, then headed for the kitchen to check if the curry was still edible.

Officers' Mess, Basra

June 1916

The moment Colonel George Perry stepped through the door, an orderly materialised before him.

‘Good to see you back in Basra, Colonel Perry, sir.'

Perry knew he'd seen the man before but if he ever knew his name, he'd forgotten it. ‘Good to be back.'

‘Can I get you a drink, Colonel Perry, sir? Your usual?'

Perry looked at him blankly.

‘Large whisky with ice, Colonel Perry, sir?'

‘Just the ticket.' Perry headed for the table where his immediate subordinate and fellow Kut survivor, Major Cleck-Heaton, was holding court with a group of younger officers. From the immaculate state of the junior officers' uniforms he assumed they were stationed in HQ.

Cleck-Heaton and the officers rose from their chairs as he approached.

‘Colonel Perry,' Cleck-Heaton effected the introductions. ‘May I introduce my godson, Major Reginald Brooke.'

‘Good to meet you, sir.' Reggie Brooke saluted.

‘Informal, captain. We're in the mess.'

‘Saluting a survivor of Kut, sir. A hero.'

Cleck-Heaton continued. ‘Lieutenant William Bowditch, Royal Navy …'

Perry peered at the young man. ‘We had a Bowditch in Kut.'

‘My brother, sir. I was hoping he'd be sent downstream when Townshend surrendered.'

‘As I explained, Bowditch, only the most severe cases of wounds and sickness were repatriated. Unlike Colonel Perry and I, your brother was fit to march,' Cleck-Heaton countered. ‘He's better off than us. Able to sit on his rear end and take his ease in a prison camp for the duration, while we continue to campaign.' He continued. ‘Colonel Perry, I present Captain Grace.'

‘Related to the naval officer who was also with us in Kut?' Perry enquired.

‘Yes, sir. The Grace and Bowditch families tend to do everything together, sir,' Grace replied. ‘We live in the same town and when our elder brothers joined the navy we decided to follow suit.'

‘All four of you opted for the navy?' Perry stated the obvious.

‘As did our fathers, Colonel Perry. How was my brother when you last saw him, sir?'

‘As Major Cleck-Heaton said, well enough to march. Your brothers will be sitting out the rest of the war in comfort in a Turkish camp, Bowditch, Grace.' Perry turned to the orderly and took his drink.

‘Shall we sit, sir?' Cleck-Heaton pulled out a chair for Perry. ‘I've been telling Reggie and the others of the hell that was Kut.'

‘I'm grateful to be out of the hospital and eating something other than mule and horseflesh. In any other circumstances, ninety per cent of our strength in Kut would have been regarded medically unfit for active service,' Perry added thoughtlessly.

‘Yet the Turks sent so few downstream,' Grace couldn't resist the comment after the ‘well enough to march' remark.

‘As I said, only the most severe cases,' Cleck-Heaton glanced at Perry. ‘Colonel Perry and I weren't discharged from Basra hospital until this morning. Fourteen died after admission and that was just on our ward.'

‘They were in addition to those who died on the journey,' Perry added. ‘More than fifty per cent of the medically unfit who were exchanged for our Turkish prisoners didn't live long enough to see Basra.'

‘Can we trust the Turks to provide medical care for our sick and wounded, Colonel Perry?' Bowditch enquired.

‘Absolutely!' the colonel was emphatic. ‘I'm certain the care they'll provide will be comparable to our own once the POWs reach Baghdad. Until then they'll be no worse off than Major Cleck-Heaton and I were, along with the rest of our sick on the journey downstream.'

‘I'm billeted with a medic. He said most of the men who were sent downstream from Kut, the survivors that is, will be discharged back to Blighty as unfit to return to active service,' Reggie Brooke observed.

‘Says something for our stamina, Colonel Perry,' Cleck-Heaton enthused. ‘Can't keep a good man down, or from doing his duty. Someone has to go upstream to teach the Turks our surrender at Kut was down to chance, not superior soldiering.'

‘It was down to the abysmal leadership of the Force sent to extricate us, Cleck-Heaton,' Perry was vehement. ‘If the Relief Force had a general worthy of the name, the Expeditionary Force would have been spirited out of Kut in January and we would never have been forced to surrender to the infidel.'

‘Things will be different when we go upstream. Next objective Baghdad, and once we take that the bloody Turk will have to leave Mesopotamia and the Anglo-Persian Oil Company in peace and keep their noses out of British business,' Cleck-Heaton added.

‘You think the Turks will surrender when we take Baghdad, Colonel Perry?' Grace asked hopefully.

‘The Turks will surrender all right – in Mesopotamia, but even when we overcome them here, they'll carry on fighting this sideshow elsewhere in the Middle East. Bloody as it is, it is a sideshow. I attended a debriefing in HQ this afternoon, and we all agreed that whatever we accomplish here will be minor in the scheme of a world war. The Turks won't surrender until the Germans capitulate. When the Germans surrender it will have a skittle effect and the Ottoman Empire and all its Johnny Turk soldiers will follow suit but until then the infidel will fight on, even after we drive them back into Turkey.'

‘And our POWs, sir?' Bowditch asked. ‘Can we trust the Turks to treat them well, even when we're pushing them back into Turkey?'

‘No doubt about it,' Cleck-Heaton signalled to the waiter to refill his glass. ‘The Turks have agreed to abide by the Hague Convention. Our men will remain prisoners but in the best of oriental tradition they will be treated as honoured guests. The enemy make poor soldiers but they are gentlemen. They not only gave every one of our officers but also our ranks cigarettes when we surrendered. There's no need to concern ourselves about the men who were marched into captivity. They'll be feather bedded.'

Perry wondered if Cleck-Heaton hadn't seen, or had simply chosen not to see, the Turkish rank and file inflicting blows on the men who'd been forced to surrender, looting their pitifully few possessions and stealing their shirts, underclothes, and boots.

Grace and Bowditch exchanged glances. ‘If you'll excuse us, sir, sir, we're dining with ladies in the Basra club.'

‘A gentleman never keeps a lady waiting,' Cleck-Heaton agreed. ‘Nurses?'

‘Yes, sir,' Grace smiled. ‘An influx of new blood came in on the boat last week. Some of them are quite presentable.'

‘No lady for you, Brooke?' Cleck-Heaton asked as Brooke raised a finger to the waiter.

‘No, sir. I've drawn night duty in the wireless office tonight.' He turned to the orderly. ‘Another round of drinks, for the colonel, the major, and myself, on my tab.'

The orderly looked to Perry and Cleck-Heaton. ‘Whisky, sir, sir?'

Perry and Cleck-Heaton nodded.

‘During your debriefing did you receive any inkling as to when we'll begin the advance on Baghdad, sir?' Cleck-Heaton asked Perry.

‘Only “soon”. Do you have better information, Brooke?'

‘Everyone's waiting on Gorringe. They're expecting better things of him than they did Aylmer …'

‘You mean General
Faylmer
, don't you?' Cleck-Heaton laughed loudly at his own well-worn joke. The General had been rechristened by the troops of both Relief and Expeditionary forces after his disastrous failure to relieve Kut.

‘There's talk of a new commander being appointed, but no one is certain who it will be. Although my money's on Maude.' Brooke placed his empty glass on the orderly's tray.

‘Good man,' Perry agreed, ‘but all urgency appears to have left the Relief Force now Kut has fallen. From what I've heard the directive is still the same. Take Baghdad and consolidate our position in Mesopotamia.'

‘To quote my CO, “Time is all that's needed to bring success to our endeavours”.' Reggie changed the subject. ‘I trust you have been allocated suitable quarters, Colonel Perry, Major Cleck-Heaton?'

‘I've been given a bungalow. Not as good as the one I had before I went upstream, but it will do. My daughter's there now. Fussing round as only a woman can.' Perry checked the time on the mess clock. ‘Another round before dinner?'

‘Or two. You're fortunate to have a daughter here, sir. Mrs Cleck-Heaton is in India, which is why I'm staying here, in the mess.'

‘Your daughter's been waiting for you in Basra throughout the siege of Kut?' Reggie enquired archly. He knew Maud Mason was Colonel Perry's daughter and was eager to pay her back for rejecting his offer to become his mistress after they'd made love in a ‘private' room he'd hired for the purpose. Believing herself a widow, Maud had been happy to bed him when she'd assumed he was about to propose. When he realised Maud expected marriage, he was shocked that a woman with her reputation could even consider herself suitable wife material for a Brooke.

‘My daughter is married,' Perry barked, raising his voice as he always did when he was forced to talk about something he found disagreeable. ‘She has a husband with the Expeditionary Force, now a prisoner of war. Not a regular – a, a medic. John Mason.'

‘Major John Mason?' Reggie feigned surprise.

‘You know him?' Perry asked.

‘I was in school with John Mason, Charles Reid, and Harry Downe.'

‘Harry Downe! Now that's a name to conjure with,' Cleck-Heaton sniggered.

A major raised a glass at the table behind them. ‘To Lieutenant-Colonel Harry Downe. A great soldier, diplomat, and one of the rare breed who understood the Arab. We could have done with his assistance when we were trying to negotiate with the Bani Lam today.'

‘Smythe, didn't see you sitting there,' Perry blustered loudly in an attempt to conceal his irritation with Cleck-Heaton's tactlessness.

Peter Smythe rose to his feet and indicated a fair-haired young man in civilian clothes sitting next to him. ‘Michael Downe, war correspondent.' He deliberately reversed protocol and introduced the younger, less important man to the higher rank. ‘Downe, this is Colonel Perry. Your brother Harry's commanding officer before the war. Colonel Perry, Harry Downe's brother, Michael Downe, war reporter.'

Perry snorted. ‘I see the family resemblance.'

Half a dozen political officers who were sitting close to the door rose to their feet and raised their glasses. ‘To Lieutenant-Colonel Downe. May he rest in peace wherever he lies.'