‘I have to check the wounded, so I’ll leave you here.’ John stopped at the entrance to the fort the Dorsets had commandeered which contained an aid station for minor injuries. He extended his hand to Mitkhal. ‘You won’t forget what I told you about keeping my presence here quiet.’
‘No.’
‘Good luck with returning the horses to Furja. Tell her I still carry the keepsake she gave me. The words of the prophet have kept this ferenghi alive so far and that I hope to live to see Harry’s children and tell them about him.’
‘Take care, Harry’s cousin.’ Mitkhal gripped John’s shoulders.
‘We’ll take care of one another.’ Crabbe waved them on towards the river. He lifted his watch to a sentry’s lantern. ‘Five minutes to the fusillade. We need to be on the other side of the old boat bridge within ten minutes.
They continued to move forward, slipping and sliding in the mud. Hampered by his unaccustomed Arab skirts and headdress, Peter tried not to consider what might happen to him if he fell into Turkish hands. He was conscious of the tarpaulin-wrapped dispatches bandaged to his chest, and his fair skin and blue eyes. Then he realised – this was what Harry had faced every time he’d gone out dressed as a native.
‘This is as far as we go.’ Crabbe herded Mitkhal, Smythe, and the grooms who were leading the horses into a redoubt on the British side of the defences next to the old boat bridge.
‘There’s the mahaila. Can you see it?’ Crabbe pointed. Mitkhal peered into the night. A shell burst overheard. The first of the British barrage. The outline of a native boat gleamed silver in its glare.
‘I see it.’
A Turkish gun blasted into life in response to the British fusillade.
‘Good luck.’ Crabbe gripped Peter’s hand, then Mitkhal’s.
The guns continued to resound deafeningly around them.
‘Go!’
Mitkhal took Dorset’s and Norfolk’s reins leaving Somerset for Peter. Instinctively ducking although the blasts were behind him, he splashed downstream through the mud.
Basra, Monday 10th January 1916
Colonel Allan examined Charles’s leg. ‘Stand and drop your stick.’
Charles laid it on the chair he’d been sitting on.
‘At attention. At ease. Pick up your stick before you fall down. Walk to the door. Turn. Walk back. Attention again. I’ve seen enough. Put your trousers on.’ He reached for his pen, dipped it in the ink bottle, and made a note on Charles’s medical record.
‘You’re discharging me?’ Charles fastened his braces over his shirt.
‘The infection you picked up in your wound ran deep. It affected the bones. In my opinion you’ll experience weakness there for the rest of your life. That means you’ll never be classified A1 fit again. You’ll be invalided out.’
‘Have you heard what’s happening upriver?’ Charles interrupted.
‘There’s no chance of me avoiding hearing what’s happening upriver given the way every convalescent officer I examine demands I mark him fit for active duty. But, before you ask, you’re most certainly not fit for duty.’
‘I’m fit enough to go upstream on the General’s staff. Nixon’s asked to be relieved because of ill-health.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that too.’
‘I’ve been offered a place by his replacement General Sir Percy Lake.’
‘Offered or volunteered?’ Allan probed.
‘Does it make a difference?’
‘When you volunteered you didn’t consider that the last thing a CO needs is an unfit officer on his staff?’
‘General Lake will need all the men he can get who have experience of the Turk and the terrain. I’ll be on Gorringe’s staff. He’s requisitioned Gerard Leachman’s boat, the Lewis Pelly. All I’ll have to do is sit on board and direct operations.’
‘Really?’ Colonel Allan raised a sceptical eyebrow, ‘and if the Turks shell the Lewis Pelly and you end up in the Tigris?’
‘Everyone knows the Turks would never shell the staff …’
‘Because they’re too damned useful to the Turks making a balls-up of British operations from the rear. Yes, I’ve heard that one too.’ Allan shook his head.
Charles finished lacing his boots and sat down. He tried not to allow his relief at being able to take the weight off his leg to show.
‘That wound of yours still isn’t totally healed. I’ll not answer for your health if you take a ducking in the river. Aside from the sewage, it’s thick with corpses …’
‘All the more reason for me to go upstream. The Relief Force needs every man.’
‘Only because Command is wasting men on a colossal scale.’ Colonel Allan dropped his pen. ‘You wouldn’t have been put on the discharge list from the hospital if it wasn’t for the flood of casualties coming down from the battles of Sheikh Saad and the Wadi. God alone knows how many more slaughters there’ll be before we reach Kut. That’s if we do. When I think of the conditions the men have described … being forced to march over open ground to face artillery … the sick and dying being left in the open because there are no medical facilities, and that’s without what the poor starving beggars in Kut are suffering. You’re insane for wanting to join them, Reid.’
‘I have friends with the Relief Force and in Kut, sir.’
‘That’s the crux of the problem. We all have friends with both forces, which is why we keep putting up with these bloody awful conditions that are killing more men than the Turks. Your quarters all right?’ Allan abruptly changed the subject when he heard footsteps outside the door.
‘The quarters are excellent. I’m in Major Chalmers’s bungalow with his cousin.’
‘I thought his cousin went upstream.’
‘Another cousin, sir. Captain Anthony Bell, Boris Bell’s brother. You will sign me off as fit for duty, won’t you, sir?’ Charles pleaded.
‘I’ll sign you as fit for light duties only and don’t try arguing your way out of that one. Take on more than you can cope with and it won’t only be your life on the line but the lives of everyone with the Expeditionary Force you come into contact with.’ Colonel Allan reached for another form from the piles on his desk. ‘If your leg starts acting up don’t be too proud to forego the stick for crutches.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Charles took the papers the colonel handed him. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘All the thanks I want is to see you back here in one piece after Kut has been relieved, Reid. Take care of yourself, and get Townshend and his men out.’
‘I’ll do my best, sir.’
Charles left Allan’s office and walked down the corridor. The hospital and the verandas were crowded with a fresh influx of wounded men. Clean, with newly applied dressings they were in better shape than he’d been when he’d arrived in Basra after a hellish journey on a filthy boat packed indiscriminately with wounded and dysentery cases.
‘Charlie Reid?’ Reggie Brooke walked up to him. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘What one generally does in a hospital. Getting my wounds seen to.’ Charles, John, and Harry had been at school with Reggie Brooke, but he hadn’t been a special friend, which probably had something to do with Harry using Reggie’s bed as a mortuary for the remains of the reptiles dissected in the biology lab. Reggie had declared war on Harry. He and John had been dragged into the conflict, but to Reggie’s annoyance most of the victories had been Harry’s.
Charles looked Reggie up and down. ‘You appear to be remarkably fit considering where you are.’
‘Collating intelligence from the wounded.’
‘You’re not going upstream?’
‘Intelligence, based in HQ.’
‘Wangled yourself a cushy number, Brooke? You haven’t changed.’
‘Neither have you, Charlie. Still playing the hero?’
A nurse came out of a side ward behind them. ‘Excuse me, sir.’ She tapped Charles’s shoulder.
Her accent was Welsh. She was dark-eyed and, from what little
he could see of her hair beneath her sister’s veil, dark-haired. She was also extremely pretty. He gave her a rare smile. ‘Hello, Sister.’
‘Are you Major Charles Reid?’
‘That depends on who’s asking. And you are Sister …’
‘Jones, Major.’
‘No Christian name?’ he prompted hopefully.
‘Are you Major Charles Reid?’ she repeated impatiently.
‘Yes. Who’s asking?’
‘Major Boris Bell. He heard your name and said you’re a friend of his cousin.’
‘I am. Major Bell is wounded?’
She capitulated when she saw the look of concern on Charles’s face. ‘He’s just arrived on a transport with the first of the injured from Sheikh Saad via Amara. The doctor’s examining him now, but he should be free in ten minutes. If you wait on the veranda, I’ll come and get you.’
‘Thank you.’ Charles turned back to Reginald. ‘I would say see you around, Reggie, but I won’t if you’re staying in HQ.’
‘You’re going on active service?’ Reggie looked pointedly at Charles’s stick.
‘We can’t all skive in HQ.’
The veranda was crowded. Charles sat on the first free seat he came across. A young lieutenant, bandaged from his waist to his throat, was propped in a wheelchair next to him.
‘You caught a packet,’ Charles commented.
‘Sheikh Saad, sir.’
‘I heard it was bloody.’
‘It was worse than bloody, sir. I’m with the Leicesters. We lost sixteen officers and 298 rank and file in the first attack.’
Charles pulled his chair closer. ‘Tell me about it, Lieutenant …’
‘Grove, sir.’
Charles sat back and listened while the young man talked. He could have been describing the battle of Ctesiphon and Charles wondered if anything had changed since he’d been wounded.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Basra Military Hospital, Monday 10th January 1916
Sister Jones stood in the doorway of the veranda. ‘You can see Major Bell, now. Major Reid.’
‘Thank you, Sister. I’m sorry to leave you, Lieutenant Grove. I’ve enjoyed our talk. I’ll call in and see you again tomorrow if I’m not sent upstream.’ Charles left his chair.
‘If you are sent upriver, good luck, sir, you’ll need it,’ Grove called after him.
‘You’re going to join the Relief Force?’ Sister Jones commented.
‘I hope to.’ Charles couldn’t help smiling at her. She was the most attractive woman he’d seen since he’d left England.
‘With that leg?’
‘I’ve wangled myself a cushy staff position.’
‘With a bath chair for you to sit in and a runner to carry your messages?’
‘I’m not that incapacitated,’ Charles protested.
‘Long John Silver was quicker on a peg leg.’ Her smile took the sting from her words. ‘Major Bell is on the right at the end of the ward.’
‘Thank you. Before you go, would you consider having dinner with me in the Basra Club tonight? I’ll book a table. Shall we say eight o’clock?’
‘You can say eight o’clock, Major Reid, but I don’t make a habit of dining with strange men.’
‘I could give you a full biography.’
‘Now?’
‘I’d be delighted.’
‘I’m working.’
‘Tonight?’
‘I’m dining with a friend.’
‘A fellow nurse?’
‘That could be construed as a personal question.’
‘Please bring your friend. It would be my pleasure to meet her.’
‘Or him. You’re certain you want to buy us both dinner?’
‘It would be my pleasure, whether it’s a her or him. Shall I pick you up here?’
‘You’re very sure of yourself, Major Reid. What if my friend takes a dislike to you?’
‘I’ll take care to be at my most charming.’
‘We’ll both meet you at the Basra Club at eight o’clock,’ she said decisively.
‘The table will be booked under the name of Reid. I’ll be waiting.’
‘As Major Bell is now. He’s in pain and he’s exhausted. Five minutes. Not a second more.’
Charles watched her walk away before turning into the ward.
Boris was propped up in bed, looking out of the window.
‘I’m your cousin’s friend, Charles Reid.’ Charles shook Boris’s hand.
‘Thank you for coming to see me. I heard someone call your name and I thought there couldn’t be two Charles Reids in Basra.’
‘It was an old schoolboy acquaintance.’ Charles made a face. ‘HQ Wallah, as we say in the Indian army.’
‘It’s good of you to wait until the quack finished with me. Do you know if Richard’s all right?’
‘His name isn’t on any of the lists that have come down so far. I know because I read them as soon as they’re posted. Your brother Anthony is bunking with me in Richard’s bungalow now.’
‘I knew he was shipping in from India.’
‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘Thank you.’ Boris grimaced in pain. ‘I won’t be happy until I know Richard’s made it.’
‘Like all Indian officers he knows how to look after himself,’ Charles reassured.
‘Before this show I would have said we all did. Be glad you weren’t with us. They wasted men. Absolutely wasted them. It was a complete shambles. Townshend’s put so much pressure on the brass they had men advancing into Turkish artillery without covering fire. I saw 400 men and sixteen officers go against the Turks. Only one man and one officer made it within ten yards of the Turkish lines, and the officer fell before he reached the Turkish first line.’
‘You’ve heard General Nixon’s gone?’
‘Ill health someone said – I’d like to believe it’s guilty conscience.’
‘Sir Percy Lake’s taking over.’
‘He can’t possibly do a worse job.’ Boris was bitter.
‘I managed to get myself posted on to Gorringe’s staff.’
‘You’re a brave man. Have you any idea what the men think of him?’
‘My close friend, John Mason, marched with him across the desert in the Karun campaign.’
‘He lived to tell the tale?’
‘For a short while.’ Charles wondered if he’d ever become accustomed to speaking about his two closest friends in the past tense. ‘As to working under Gorringe’s command, I have friends in Kut.’
‘That’s the problem. We all have friends in Kut or with the Expeditionary Force. We fight for our friends and the man next to us, while the Generals treat us as expendable. I’ve wondered if they even consider us as human.’
‘You lost close friends?’ Charles guessed.
‘The best.’
‘How much damage have you done to yourself?’ Charles felt a need to change the subject.
‘Broke both my legs when my horse went down under me. Dislocated my shoulder and caught a bullet in the sole of my foot crawling back to our lines.’
‘So you’ll be back up the lines by the end of the week.’
Boris laughed. ‘That depends on how desperate Lake is.’
‘Major Reid,’ Sister Jones stood at the foot of Boris’s bed. ‘I warned you not to tire my patient. I said five minutes, you’ve been here fifteen.’
‘My apologies, Sister.’
‘Visiting hours are between four and five o’clock, Major Reid. You may return tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Don’t suppose there’s any more of that iced orange juice standing around in a jug anywhere?’ Boris asked.
‘I’ll look.’ She faced Charles. ‘You still here, Major Reid?’
‘I’m going.’ He winked at her and limped away feeling brighter than he’d done in months.
Lansing Memorial Mission, Basra, Monday 10th January 1916
Mrs Butler followed Maud into the hal
l and watched her pin on her hat.
‘I wish you’d allow one of us to go with you, Maud,’ she protested.
‘No, really, Mrs Butler. You’re all so busy, Angela with her teaching and you with your Ladies’ Guild meeting. I’m perfectly well and quite capable of visiting a dress shop and picking up a few necessities for myself and Robin.’
‘At least take a servant?’
‘There’s really no need, Mrs Butler. The groom knows where the shop is, the nursemaid is best left with the baby, and I’ll probably be an age. I’ve never been able to make up my mind quickly in a dress shop and I need so much. I’ve put on so much weight having Robin I haven’t a thing that fits me. Now the rainy season is upon us, it will bring the cold weather. I need at least three winter day dresses, besides essentials and things for Robin. While I’m in town I’ll take the opportunity to call into Headquarters and see if they have a list of properties suitable for widows to rent. There must be other women in my position who are no longer eligible for military quarters.’
Maud was so used to Mrs Butler protesting that there was no hurry for her to move out of the mission that she was taken aback when she didn’t contradict her.
‘As you say, dear, there must be other widows. It will be nice for you to have the company of someone in the same position as yourself.’
‘Same position as yourself.’ The words burned. Maud knew Mrs Butler was aware that she’d been ostracised by the military wives and also that most widows returned to England quickly after their husband had been killed.
‘Is that the carriage, dear?’ Mrs Butler’s voice, as soft and gentle as ever, intruded on Maud’s thoughts.
‘It is. Thank you so much for allowing me to borrow it along with the groom.’
‘Not at all, dear. You’ve given the nursemaid instructions on caring for Robin?’
‘Of course. She’s as capable of looking after him as I am. Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you from town?’
‘Nothing, but thank you for asking, dear. The cook did all the marketing this morning.’
‘Then I’ll be off.’ Maud left the house and climbed into the carriage. ‘Parisienne Fashion Store.’ she ordered the groom.
Cold, she pulled her mourning cloak closer and lifted the hood. It was Monday afternoon. She’d arrive at the shop earlier than Reginald had stipulated, but she really did need to do some shopping.
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