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

‘I’ll go with you.’ Breitner said feeling the same fire.

Kemal held his hand up. ‘No you will stay by my side, I can’t risk losing someone who has the ear of Liman von Sanders.’

A series of crumps announced the Turkish attack, battering the sky with a storm of whistling shells that burst into boiling black clouds of shrapnel above the enemy, as they crouched in shallow pits.

Breitner stuck close to Kemal, watching the attack from a ridge overlooking the enemy positions on the plateau below. Breitner saw Toprak charge amongst the mass of men streaming down the slope towards the Australians.

He heard a call of ‘Come on you Bastards,’ and the defenders let loose a murderous cross fire, knocking the Turks down. But they kept coming, sounding trumpets and chanting, clambering over the bodies of the fallen and the wounded.

The Turks were brave, Breitner had to admit. He hadn’t seen finer, matched only by the Australians and New Zealanders who despite the lack of artillery continued to fire. There just weren’t enough to hold off the attackers and the Turks were on them, smashing through their line.

Breitner felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach, a massive Australian was charging at a Turkish officer with a riding crop. The officer shot the Australian with his pistol. The Australian stumbled, but continued his charge. The officer shot him again, at point blank range.

The Australian ran him through with his bayonet and the officer hit him in the face with his riding crop. Breitner saw the Australian screaming through his field glasses and the man lifted the officer up in the air. Breitner looked away and said a prayer for Toprak.

The colonial troops had little choice but to fall back, scrambling over the edge of the plateau and make for a defensive line on the reverse slope of the hill. The Turkish artillery adjusted their aim and continued to shell them.

The Turks swept over the crest of the plateau, forcing the Australians back across a thin neck of land that linked the mountain range. Where they turned and took up positions in a ragged row of rifle pits, in the low ground.

Chapter 51

‘Excuse me, Sir Ian, we’ve received a reply from General Hunter-Weston,’ Sir George Smyth shouted above the noise reverberating around the conning tower.

‘Eventually.’ Hamilton turned from his observation slit. ‘Yes, what does he say?’

‘He’s declined your offer to transport troops from V to Y beach. He says that it would interfere with the timetable for the landings.’

‘Very well, the trawlers can continue to be used to ferry the wounded to the hospital ships.’

Hamilton turned back to the landings. ‘By God, that’s a tonic. We’re watching men win the Victoria Cross, while we’re safe and sound in this cooking pot.’

Sir George lifted his binoculars and was shocked by the sight of men battling through barbed wire on the hill that separated W and V beaches. Sir George had never thought men capable of such things.

But from what Sir George could see the situation on V beach itself wasn’t improving. The allied bombardment was ripping it to pieces, setting the surrounding area alight, but the Turks still had the men pinned down.

A naval rating tapped Sir George on the shoulder and passed him a signal. Sir George was trying to keep Hamilton informed of events; but that was limited by the unreliability of the wireless and the green black clouds of gun smoke that made signalling to the shore impossible.

He glanced at the signal, Hunter-Bunter had decided not to land any further troops at V beach. The men already ashore on the various landing sites were to dig in and prepare for the coming day. Sir George passed the signal to Hamilton, who did not appear overly concerned.

The failure to take V beach will hold everything up Sir George reflected, the beachheads would not be able to join up and move inland.

‘Yes, I think we must dig in.’ Hamilton said agreeing with the signal.

‘Sir Ian, we have received reports that intelligence gleaned from prisoners –’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t waste my time with such nonsense, Smyth. The word of prisoners can’t possibly be accepted as true,’ Hamilton blustered.

‘Very good,’ Sir George wasn't about to question the decision of his superior.

‘Organise something for tonight with senior staff would you, Smyth,’ Hamilton continued. ‘Nothing too grand, just a quick dinner to celebrate the splendid performance of the 29th Division and the success of the landings. I should probably meet with Hunter-Western. I’m still concerned about the precarious position of the landings on V beach. Although once the rest of the men on the old collier are put ashore we will take it.’

‘Yes, I will see to it immediately,’ Sir George said dully. For the 29th Division to have established any kind of a beachhead, in the face of that opposition, had been nothing short of miraculous. Nonetheless, despite Hamilton’s confidence, Sir George knew the grand masterstroke that would turn the tide of the war was slipping into the night.

The wasted opportunity of it appalled Sir George, almost as much as the wasted sacrifice of the men on the beach. Even if they were to take V beach tomorrow their chance to distract the enemy from their true intentions must surely have gone, and with it any chance of reaching Constantinople and his share in the spoils. It looked like this pile of rocks would be his Saint Helena after all.

Chapter 52

Johnny offered a chunk of bully beef to a little green lizard walking along the parapet of his trench. It stopped and scurried away.

‘Not even he will eat the ghastly stuff,’ Johnny said over his shoulder and a few men in the trench next to him laughed.

Johnny moved