Dust Clouds of War

by John Wilcox

  He had left his hip flask on the floor beside her, so Alice furtively bent down and took another sip. Immediately she felt better, and fumbling for the notebook, still hung around her neck, and pulling the blanket around her, she walked towards the door and peered outside.

  Some sort of order now seemed to have been imposed on the Indian troops who had fled back from the general direction of the town of Tanga, with officers shouting and getting the men to fall into lines. She caught a glimpse of the captain to whom she had spoken earlier and, edging out under the overhanging guttering to avoid another drenching, she beckoned to him.

  Reluctantly, he came over.

  ‘Captain, I’ve found the general and he is going to brief me in a moment, but I wanted to get an impression of what has happened from someone who has been there. Just tell me what happened and I promise not to quote you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure I should …’

  Alice became brusque. ‘Oh, of course you can. I am a correspondent accredited by the War Office. Now, in your own words, what happened?’

  ‘Very well, madam. We set off at about 8 a.m. this morning, having waited for our full strength to build with the landings, but,’ his voice took on a bitter tone, ‘I can tell you that we were ordered to advance towards the town well before our three battalions had landed.’

  Alice nodded sympathetically. She was not taking notes. Experience had told her that, under the circumstances, this was a way of alarming her informants. Better to just try and remember it all.

  ‘We were ordered to take the town and had to advance,’ he jerked his head to where the firing still could be heard, ‘through thick scrub, a sort of mangrove swamp and a rubber plantation. It was hard going, particularly for men who had not yet got their shore legs. We had been told that there would be little, if any, resistance and we made good time at first. Then,’ he frowned at the memory, ‘machine guns opened up on us from a railway cutting that seemed to surround this end of town. My commanding officer, Colonel Codrington, and two other officers were mown down.

  ‘The same happened to the 61st Pioneers on our left – they are not really supposed to be fighting troops, you know, and they had never faced machine guns before. They lost their CO, too, and when the Germans counter-attacked – obviously having received reinforcements – the Pioneers buckled and ran and our left flank was completely exposed. We couldn’t hold on and we were forced to retreat too. Luckily, the Loyal North Lancs have landed now and have entrenched a line covering both landing beaches. It seems they are holding fast, thank goodness.’

  Alice nodded her thanks. ‘Only one more question. Have you any idea how many men you have lost?’

  ‘Not really. At a guess about fifteen per cent. Far too many.’

  ‘Thank you, I am most grateful.’ Alice suddenly realised that she was beginning to shake again and so she made her way back into the comparative warmth of the general’s headquarters. He and his staff were now gone, presumably to oversee the holding of the line, but she was delighted to see the little whiskey flask still nestling by the foot of her chair and, feeling slightly guilty, she stole another sip before beginning to scribble in her notebook.

  As her pencil raced, it became clear that two elementary mistakes had been made with the landings. Firstly, there had obviously been no reconnaissance on the ground made of the approaches to the town and the troops had been sanguinely told to expect no resistance, with no evidence to support that; and, secondly, to attack what was a well-guarded town with unseasoned Pioneer troops before the attacking force was at full strength was foolhardy, to say the least. Her dislike of General Aitken deepened.

  Pocketing the flask – she must, of course, return it to Brigadier Tighe – she ventured outside again. The rain, thank goodness, had slackened somewhat and Alice decided to find higher ground that would enable her to gain a view of the harbour, away to the west from Tighe’s position on the headland. Surely, given the setbacks sustained by Tighe’s command, the attack would now have been switched to effect landings on the jetty in the harbour, so enabling Tighe to gather his force for another advance? She must see.

  She scrambled up a hill rising behind the house and at last found the viewpoint she sought. She took out the small binoculars she carried in a case and focussed on the harbour down below. The warship HMS Fox was out in the harbour but her guns were silent and there were no attempts to land troops on the main jetty under cover of her fire. Instead, Alice could see that men were being put ashore on the two small beaches in Tanga’s inner harbour. Their combined frontage was no more than 400 yards and the congestion was obvious, even to her distant eye, but it seemed that the enemy was not contesting the landings.

  Frowning, Alice put down the glasses. It was obvious that the Germans had decided to defend the town – the evidence of Tighe’s losses made that clear. But why no firing on the men being put ashore in the harbour? Then slowly, she nodded. The Germans were doing everything they could not to risk the town itself being bombarded by British naval guns. They were obviously waiting until the main attack started from the landed troops and then, when shelling the town would mean inflicting damage on the warships’ own men, the enemy would open up, probably from well-defended positions.

  Hmmh. Whoever was in command of the German troops defending Tanga knew what he was doing. She had heard that a Prussian colonel was leading the defence of the colony; now, what was his name? She produced her pad and looked at earlier notes. Ah yes, here it was: Colonel von Lettow-Vorbeck. No one that Alice had spoken to had heard of the man. But here he was defending a town that Aitken was convinced would be virtually empty when the 8,000 British soldiers hove over the horizon. Where, oh where, was British intelligence? To land on an unknown enemy coast without reconnaissance was an unforgivable error. She bit her lip. Her heart was full of foreboding.

  She scrambled back down to the HQ and saw Brigadier Tighe striding back towards it. ‘Do you have a moment now, General?’ she called.

  ‘Just two minutes,’ he called back. ‘Come inside and sit down.’

  ‘Thank you for the whiskey,’ she said, offering the flask. ‘I think it saved my life.’

  ‘And I’m not too proud to take it back,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s saved me own on more than one occasion, I can tell you. Now,’ he perched on a corner of the table, as she sat on one of the camp stools, ‘what d’yer want to know?’

  ‘Will you attack again now? It seems as though troops are being landed without resistance on the beaches in the inner harbour. Now that the Loyals are here, will you move again?’

  ‘Hmmm. You’ve got a grasp of the situation pretty quickly, I must say. Will I attack now? Well, I’d love to – in fact, I’m itching to attack. But no, I won’t – at least not at the moment. I daren’t risk ruinin’ the whole thing, yer know, until we’ve got enough men ashore down there.’ He nodded towards the town. ‘One false move and I could upset the whole applecart.’

  ‘Was not the town reconnoitred properly before you and the others were put ashore?’

  The blue eyes stared at her from under bushy eyebrows and he paused before answering. ‘Ah now, m’lady,’ he said carefully. ‘You must ask the commander-in-chief those sorts of questions. I believe there was some sort of nonsense from the navy about sweeping the harbour for mines before goin’ in and that caused much of the delay. But once we’ve got sufficient men ashore, then I will certainly have another go at the Hun at this end. Now, you must leave me alone while I make me plans. Will yer have another tiny pull at this lovely Irish?’

  Alice shook her head as he offered her the flask. ‘You are very kind and solicitous but I must keep my head.’

  ‘And so must I. Now you must excuse me.’

  Throughout the evening, as the rain recommenced, there was no movement on either side, although the sniping continued spasmodically where the Loyals were dug in. Alice heard a rumour that General Aitken himself had at last landed down at the harbour in the late afternoon but if he had d
one so it did not precipitate any aggressive activity there and darkness fell on what seemed to be stalemate. She retained her by now dry blanket, gathered two cushions in a dark corner of the room where she hoped she would be virtually unnoticed and spent the night fitfully sleeping and dreaming that Simon had come ashore to take command of the landings.

  Alice arose at dawn and crept up the hill to her vantage point of the day before. Through her glasses she could see no sign of fighting in the town, even though it was clear that many more troops had been landed between Tighe’s position and the town itself, which was still not under bombardment from the navy ships in the harbour. Nor, indeed, did it seem that there were any preparations for attack by Tighe and his men from behind the line of trenches. In fact, it was not until just before noon that the advance began.

  Presuming that it would be another day of inactivity, Alice had left her viewing point and was munching a stale sandwich when she sensed from the bustle all around her that the attack was about to begin. Back up the hill, she had a perfect view of Tighe’s command begin to leave its trenches and move forward cautiously through the thick scrub. It immediately became apparent that the advance was proceeding at an exceedingly cautious pace, seemingly meeting no resistance from the Germans this time. Had they retreated during the night? wondered Alice, her eyes glued to her field glasses.

  If it had taken the 13th Jajputs just half an hour to march to the German machine guns at the railway cutting the previous morning, this present advance was being conducted at a snail’s pace. She knew that Brigadier General Tighe had a reputation as a fighting Irishman, but it was clear that he was being incredible cautious this time – a tribute to the enemy, perhaps, or fear of another collapse by the comparatively untrained Indians in his command? Then it became clear that Tighe’s men in the north had made contact with men who had landed after them and that all General Aitken’s seven battalions were now advancing on Tanga in one long straight line, moving at what seemed like the pace of a terrified centipede. The line was now disappearing out of range of Alice’s small binoculars, but she could not help thinking that to advance in this fashion was to turn back the military clock to the days of Marlborough.

  Then she heard the firing begin – particularly the rat-tat-tat of machine guns. Had the British been lured into a German trap? It seemed so, for, as she desperately tried to focus her inadequate glasses, into her view came tiny khaki figures running back from the left of the British line, where she had seen the Indian Palamcottahs advance. This had obviously left a gap in the line but smoke was now obscuring Alice’s view and she lowered her glasses and began quickly making notes.

  Eventually, she heard guns booming from the harbour and saw that HMS Fox had at last opened fire on the town. Did this mean that British troops had been repulsed from it? By late afternoon, she could see that the whole British line had been broken, with some sections still fighting but others in retreat, with troops streaming back the way they had come. The dreaded rattle of machine guns could now clearly be heard in what seemed like a malicious song of victory. She gnawed on her knuckle. Had the much vaunted invasion of German East Africa been defeated so comprehensively and so quickly? She hurried down the hill, anxious to seek confirmation.

  The first to arrive back at their starting point were the Palamcottahs, their white eyes staring from dark faces. ‘What happened, what happened?’ she shouted as she ran towards them. But they streamed by her without response. One British officer had been trying to stem the retreat, revolver in hand, and tears were streaming down his face as she caught his arm.

  ‘Damn it all, they broke and ran,’ he hissed, seemingly not at all distracted by being accosted by a woman on the battlefield. ‘It was the bloody machine guns, you see. Not used to ’em. Couldn’t hold them. Must get back.’ And he turned and, waving his arms, tried to stop the men running towards him.

  Soon, Alice realised that English troops were among those streaming back and she scrambled back up her hill to attempt to gain some sort of overall impression of what was happening. Now she could see German troops advancing from where they had obviously delivered a telling right hook on the British left. But she could see that not all was lost. The British line had certainly been broken but she could see from rifle flashes that isolated pockets of resistance were being sustained in the bush and the enemy was certainly not in hot pursuit.

  Why did they not follow up what had obviously been a great victory? In fact, she could catch glimpses now of the darker green uniforms of the German askaris moving back towards the town, before they disappeared from sight in the general dust and smoke. Even if the German counter-attack was not being pressed, one thing was certain. This was the end of the attempt to take Tanga.

  Wearily, Alice went back down her hill again and waited until she could catch a moment with General Tighe. He eventually came back in the gathering darkness, a bullet hole in his trousers and his face smeared with black powder marks.

  ‘General, for God’s sake, what happened?’ Alice cried as she ran towards him.

  ‘Can’t stop to talk now,’ the Irishman grunted. ‘But we are goin’ to get out of here, I can tell you that. We’re goin’ back to our bloody ships. It’s been a disaster. You’d better talk to Aitken if you want more. Now, I’ve got to get down to the beaches. Follow me down and I’ll see you get into a boat.’

  But Alice did not. Pencil in hand, she stayed by the red house, watching the troops wearily file back, some of the officers, she could see, white-faced with anger. She approached one.

  ‘Why the collapse?’ she asked.

  ‘God knows. Who the hell are you, anyway?’

  ‘Alice Griffith, Morning Post.’

  ‘Ah. Well, tell the folks back home that it wasn’t our fault. We had reached the town and even got into the Kaiserhof hotel and pulled down the two German flags on the roof, but the Germans were well positioned in buildings all around us and opened up a withering fire. There were plenty of them, too, I can tell you.’

  He wiped a weary hand across his face. ‘We lost a lot of men. The Hun must have been reinforced down the railway from the interior and were well positioned – just waiting for us. And they were well commanded. A damn sight better than us …’ He tailed away.

  Alice jumped in quickly; she sensed caution now creeping into his words. ‘If the Germans were in position in the town, why on earth do you think the navy didn’t bombard it? That could have flushed the Germans out.’

  ‘Absolutely. I think the bloody fool of a general commanding us,’ he frowned, ‘you must not quote me now, otherwise I will be in hot water. Aitken, I understand, didn’t want the railway damaged because he was relying on it to take us all into our great invasion of the interior. As it was, it was used by the Hun to bring in their men from the east. Now I must get my chaps down to the beaches to re-embark. Thank God the Hun haven’t pursued us, for some reason. What a mess!’ He summoned up an apologetic smile and walked past her.

  Alice scribbled what she could remember of his words and then wrote in capital letters DISASTER! And underlined it. How much of all this, she wondered, would the censors let her relay back to London? One thought, however, brought a slow smile to her face. As far as she could see, not one of her competitors had had as close-up a view of the battle as she. If they had been allowed to land, then they probably would have been kept back from the front line and the street fighting. Good. An exclusive! Thanks to that misogynistic, incompetent old Major General Arthur Aitken!

  A wind was beginning to come off the sea and she decided it was time to leave this ill-fated headland, for troops were now being marshalled and were shuffling past her down the paths to the beaches. Tucking her notepad under her now torn blanket and swinging her binocular case over her shoulder, she joined the sad stream of men evacuating German East Africa.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The general held no press conference to explain what had happened at Tanga and each journalist was left to report back to his newspaper in
his own way – except that each cable was strictly censored to avoid giving the impression that the attempted invasion had resulted in a major reversal. Hints, however, were allowed to leak to the correspondents that the navy had been overcautious in terms of minesweeping the harbour, so giving the Germans time to bring in reinforcements and establish their positions.

  These, of course, Alice ignored and, experienced as she was at avoiding censorship and accustomed as were her editors at home at reading between her lines, she was able to cloak the damning evidence against Aitken under such phrases as ‘the Germans seemed to spring from nowhere’ and ‘pre-landing reconnaissance was not clearly evident’.

  What could not be disguised, however, were the losses sustained by the British. It ensued that 817 men had been killed, wounded or had gone missing, totalling fifteen per cent of the invading force. The losses had been particularly heavy among the pith-helmeted British and Indian officers: thirty-one dead and thirty wounded. These figures loomed even larger when compared to the German statistics that British intelligence secured: just 150 men.

  Alice’s fury at the incompetence and arrogance of the British commander-in-chief lasted well after their return to Mombasa.

  It was compounded when the news trickled down from Aitken’s staff that, despite the fact that the Germans were not attacking the evacuating troops (it emerged that a bugle call had been misinterpreted and most of the defending troops had mistakenly retreated to the railway terminus), the general had ordered that re-embarkation could be undertaken more quickly if less portable equipment was left behind. As a result, eight serviceable machine guns, 455 rifles, half a million rounds of ammunition, telephone gear, coats, blankets and even uniforms were discarded, giving the supply-starved Germans an early and most welcome Christmas present.

  On arrival in Mombasa, Alice immediately sought a commercial cabling station, one free, of course, from army censorship, and sent a message to her editor, giving the facts and imploring him to reveal what he could in a critical leader, rather than under the byline of ‘Our Own Correspondent with the British Forces,’ which would, she knew, have resulted in formal complaints being laid against her by Aitken.