The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (you can read anyone txt) 📕

the air, tearing through Johnny’s mind. He fell to the ground, his mouth and ears filled with mud.

The whistling stopped and a train roared through the station. Johnny opened his eyes. He was surrounded by shiny black boots and looked up into the amused faces of the Germans.

Johnny’s first thought was that he'd given himself away, but no one rushed to arrest him. The Viking and his jolly friend pulled him to his feet.

'Thank you, slipped on the ice.' Johnny held up the brandy, which he’d instinctively managed to save. 'At least this is OK.'

‘I am Lieutenant Kurt Wirbelauer.’ The Viking clicked his heels and pointed at his friend still holding the empty Schnapps bottle. ‘This is my good friend Captain Adolphus Brauer.’

‘You may call me Dolly.’ A warm smile spread across the Captain’s massive face and he discreetly put his empty bottle down.

‘Ernst von Jager,’ Johnny said, pleased that he remembered the name of the German diplomat he’d assumed.

‘May we enquire whether you are travelling to Constantinople?’ Kurt asked.

‘Yes, I am,’ Johnny answered shaking their hands.

‘Then it is settled – we shall all travel together,’ Dolly said, not letting go of Johnny’s hand and pulling him towards the train.

Johnny and Kurt were in hysterics as the bulky figure of Adolphus Brauer staggered about their rocking carriage, struggling to uncork a bottle of champagne. They had been drinking since Bulgaria and well into Turkey, and now the simple task of pulling a cork was proving to be a struggle for even the most experienced amongst them.

Eventually Dolly managed to prize it out with a sweet, elegant pop. He held the cork up to the light and then smelt it wistfully. ‘I'm so glad to be away from Belgium.’

'Indeed.' Kurt beckoned for a drink.

Dolly poured out a healthy measure for himself and his travelling companions. They downed the champagne and Dolly poured out another round. 'This is far superior champagne to anything we got in Belgium, Ernst.'

‘I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to the Austrian Ambassador.’ Once the plum brandy had gone Johnny had remembered Eady saying the Germans sent Schnapps down the Berlin–Baghdad line and used his diplomatic credentials to talk himself into the guards carriage. The only place on the train Dolly hadn't been able to search. Johnny impounded the first alcohol he saw, which happened to be a case of champagne for the Austro-Hungarian Embassy.

‘You might need to get some more,’ Dolly said, pouring out the last of the champagne. ‘We appear to have run dry.’

‘I’m not sure that I can,’ Johnny said. ‘It was extremely difficult to get the last lot.’

'Come now, Ernst, how will you know unless you try?' Kurt asked solemnly.

'It is necessary to drink to our fallen comrades and those left behind at the front.’ Dolly placed the empty champagne bottle in Johnny's hand.

‘Tell me, Ernst, have you served?’ Kurt asked.

Johnny shrugged noncommittally. His time at the front was probably a subject that should be avoided. Things were taking a definite turn for the worse. Amidst the celebrations, he could feel a sense of guilt emerging. If the drink ran out, the reverie would end and they would start to think about where they had served and the friends they’d left behind.

Trying to avoid the conversation, Johnny glanced out at the rough green pasture flashing past, in the first light of day. It was wet and dreary and not unlike the holidays in Wales his stepfather had taken the family on.

‘I thought you had served, the way you dived for your life when that train passed through Sofia station,’ Kurt persisted.

‘I don’t blame him. If I’d been on the wrong end of a bombardment, I’d be diving for cover every time I heard a whistle,’ Dolly said.

Kurt nodded sadly. 'Yes, bombardments are our business, Ernst. We are artillery, I specialise in the 150mm howitzer – what the British call “5.9s” and “Jack Johnsons”, among other things, I believe. Dolly’s in the heavier stuff. Officially we’re volunteers for hazardous service, place unspecified. Although I suspect that we are on our way to train Turkish gunners.’

‘Powder-heads,’ Johnny said, remembering the German slang for artillerymen and wondered if these were the people who had been firing at him a few weeks ago.

‘You were in the infantry?’ Dolly asked.

‘Yes, before a run in with a Tommy during a trench raid.’ Johnny touched the scar on his forehead with his cup. Breitner had taught him that the best lies always come from the truth. ‘Now I’m back in the diplomatic service.’

‘And were you hit in the chest?’ Kurt asked.

Johnny realised that he was nervously rubbing the box of charms in the breast pocket of his jacket. He hauled himself up and staggered towards the guard’s coach.

'I’ll see what I can do about more drink. I am a courier now, it is my job to fetch and carry.'

The guard looked at Johnny sourly as he waved his diplomatic pass at him.

‘I need to impound a further case of that champagne.’ Johnny made sure to speak in his most clear Prussian German.

‘Please, Herr von Jager, it is meant for the Austrian Ambassador himself. I cannot allow you to take anymore.’

‘Do you know who I am? I represent the Imperial German Diplomatic Service and I am on an urgent mission to present diplomatic papers to the German Embassy in Constantinople.’ Johnny bowed, but the gravitas he was going for was undermined by the train lurching round a bend and he fell drunkenly against the side of the carriage.

The guard stood fast. Johnny put his hand in his pocket and passed the guard a handful of notes.

‘Herr von Jager. I can permit you to take one case, but it will require another signature.’

‘Very well,’ the rocking was making Johnny feel ill and he needed