For Kingdom and Country

by I. D. Roberts

  Lock felt a brief flicker of happiness wash over him. Then he shook his head. ‘Don’t be a naïve fool, Kingdom.’

  He lifted the binoculars back up again and scanned the vista from left to right, slower this time. How in the hell were they going to push past this lot? he thought. The 2nd Mendip Light Infantry overall was a small force, albeit now at full strength again and ready to be thrown back into action. But … Lock scoffed. Thrown to the wolves, more like. Still, he was glad of the problem, at least it would take his mind off Amy.

  ‘Bugger,’ he said under his breath. There she was again. No matter what, she always rose to the surface when least expected.

  Was she really going to go through with the pretence and let Bingham-Smith think the child was his? Lock knew it wouldn’t be the first time in history that a woman had hidden a past liaison behind a marriage and given the impression that the child was her husband’s. It would be presumed, no doubt, that it was a product of their lustful and passionate consummation on their wedding night. Lock swore foully. Why the hell was he torturing himself like this? But what if the child … had his eyes, had heterochromia? There could be no denying who the real father was then. And there would be no way of hiding the fact. Ever. From anyone. Yes, his heterochromia was from a childhood ‘accident’, but the defect could be hereditary, couldn’t it? He sighed, a wave of sadness flowing over him. The girl was heading for a world of trouble. He’d have to try to talk to her again. Calmly this time, but he knew he had to make her see sense.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That she’s a bloody fool.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Lock glanced to his right. Ross had climbed up to the observation tower platform and was now at his side. The major was a little out of breath, but that didn’t stop him from beginning his usual routine of filling his pipe.

  ‘The bloke who ordered this attack,’ Lock said, lying.

  ‘Come, laddie, it’s a challenge, I grant you, but not an impossible one,’ Ross said.

  ‘A frontal attack? With no flank support? Suicide.’

  Ross nodded. ‘Maybe. But you’ll get us through.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ross beamed, lighting his pipe and gazing out at the enemy positions.

  ‘And what exactly is the objective here, if I may ask. Sir.’

  Ross glanced over at the three officers to their right, then took a step closer to Lock and lowered his voice.

  ‘Sir John has told Townshend to drive the enemy from his present positions between the Pear Drop Bend, that’s north of Bahran, and Qurna and capture his guns.’

  ‘Yes? Is that all?’

  ‘But also,’ Ross continued, ‘to push him upriver and occupy Amara, without stopping.’

  Lock fell into silence, contemplating the task ahead. The major was right, of course, it wasn’t impossible, but it could be a bloodbath, depending on the strength and attitude of the Turks.

  ‘What exactly are we up against?’

  Ross, using his pipe as an indicator, turned to face the scene stretching out below them. ‘Right, well, the main line of Turkish resistance is Bahran, what, six miles away?

  Lock grunted. He’d guessed the distance at near enough the same.

  ‘The Rotah and Maziblah positions are just about visible, but in front of them we have a curtain of redoubts. Norfolk Hill is about 4,000 yards from us, beyond which is One Tower Hill and Two Gun Hill. Nearest to us, opposite Norfolk Hill, rising on that spit of sand, which is actually the east bank of the Tigris, is One Tree Hill. All are supported by the artillery we know to be a further 5,000 yards away at Bahran. Add to this that that position is being supported by the artillery fire from Rotah and Maziblah.’

  Lock nodded sagely. This knowledge still didn’t help. It still seemed like a thankless task and one that was going to be getting in the way. He was just itching to set off and pick up Wassmuss’s trail again.

  ‘I know who Feyzi is,’ he said.

  But the major wasn’t finished with his rundown of the Turk positions yet.

  ‘Then, of course, there’s Sakricha, that’s a further 4,500 yards from Maziblah. However, before our main force can even begin to attack, there’s the matter of the mines. They’re strewn across the Tigris channel north of the boom at Fort Snipe down there,’ Ross indicated at the raised position below them, to the left, where the heavy artillery was based. ‘Our most northerly point of the Qurna defences.’

  ‘Did you hear what I said, sir?’

  Ross fixed him with his hazel eyes. ‘According to the intelligence I’ve gathered,’ he continued unperturbed, ‘the Turkish force comprises a small division of some six battalions, ten guns and around six hundred Mujahidin. Then there’s the other name written down in Grössburger’s notebook, Marmaris. Is it the ship out there?’ he said with a jerk of his chin over to the smoke trails on the horizon. ‘Maybe. Is it their command ship? Possibly. Then there’s the river gunboat Mosul, not to mention our dear friends, the Marsh Arabs. There’s over a thousand of the blighters installed in the marshes and thick reeds on the west flank of Norfolk Hill and Gun Hill.’

  Lock sighed and moved his binoculars to that part of the landscape. The major wasn’t going to engage in any other conversation for the time being until he had gone through what lay before them.

  ‘Yes, I can see movement down there, all right,’ Lock said. ‘If our military advances against the Turk positions, they’ll counter-attack or delay any flanking movement we make from the west.’ He paused, thinking, adjusting the focus. ‘How many guns did you say the Turks have?’

  ‘Two a piece on Gun Hill and on One Tower Hill, as well as at Rotah. Plus four at Bahran.’

  ‘Jesus, sir. That’s a bloody strong position they’ve got.’

  ‘Aye, it is, and all this water doesn’t help, either,’ Ross said. ‘The floods are a good two feet above the level of our camp. I know. I’ve been out there. Still, the Turks are no better off. In fact, they are spread out and in a worse state really, cut off from one another on those four sand islands, particularly the solitary outpost of One Tree Hill on the east bank. That’s what we will take first. Although it’s technically behind enemy lines. Norfolk Hill is closer to our positions, on the west bank. However, if we can take the east bank we will have at least some flanking capability.’

  ‘How deep is the water, do we know?’

  ‘Mostly little more than three feet, but the trouble is the irrigation canals. We’ve no idea where they are until we hit them, and they can be some twenty feet deep.’

  Lock nodded and continued to scan the water.

  ‘There’s very little cover, except the reeds, which at least mark the edges of the river itself, or presumably do. But they can’t be more than five feet high. No good unless you’ve got a company of circus midgets at your disposal.’

  Ross snorted. ‘Not even a Welsh detachment, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, that rules out any surprise approach. In daylight.’

  ‘Yes. Townshend’s fretting about that and the fact that everything you see rules out any outflanking movement, too.’

  ‘So what the hell are we going to do?’ Lock said, lowering his binoculars.

  Ross waved his hand in a slow sweeping gesture in front of him.

  Lock blinked back at him. ‘You are joking? A frontal attack across this lake? Madness.’

  ‘Perhaps, but that’s the plan. That little gathering of floating vessels isn’t just for a colonial re-enactment of the Henley Regatta to appease the homesick aristocracy. No, Townshend’s Regatta is to be our latest weapon in modern warfare.’

  Lock snorted. He had called it the very same thing upon arrival.

  ‘That’s what the men have christened the little armada down by the quay,’ Ross said. ‘Townshend’s plan will be costly, but he believes it’s the best and only way to get the job done.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Like you guessed, a full frontal attack, but methodically u
ndertaken in successive phases.’

  ‘As in siege warfare.’

  The major nodded. ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘Do you know, sir,’ Lock said, taking his pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from his pocket, ‘if I had the position of whoever the Turkish general is out there …’ He paused, selecting a cigarette from the packet and striking a match, ‘… I’d be rubbing my hands with glee at the bloody defeat I was about to inflict on the damn fool British.’ He drew in a lungful of tobacco and exhaled slowly. ‘All he has to do is stand firm.’

  ‘Not very helpful, Kingdom,’ Ross said after a while.

  ‘No, sir, but it’s the truth. And you know it.’

  The major puffed away on his pipe, contemplating Lock’s words of warning.

  ‘Do you know, laddie, that Shaiba was a pretty damned important battle. I believe it could prove to be a turning point in the war, in the Mesopotamia theatre, that is.’

  ‘How so, sir? The Turks seem pretty solid to me. You and I both know they are a damned better and more competent fighter than our bloody idiot generals give them credit for.’

  ‘Yes, undeniably, but it’s their allies, the Arabs, you see. They sense a change. Like a storm on the wind. A number of the Shi’a mujtahids are beginning to distance themselves from their Ottoman overlords and that, of course, will put an end to our German friend’s jihad campaign.’

  ‘Wassmuss?’ Lock shook his head. ‘He isn’t going to give up so easily, sir. I know him, he’ll never concede defeat. Not until I put a bullet between his eyes.’

  Ross nodded his head in agreement and puffed on his pipe some more. ‘Yes, but what can he do if the tribes won’t play ball? There was an open revolt last month in Najaf and my sources tell of unrest brewing in Karbala. That’s only fifty miles south of Baghdad. Once it starts it’ll spread like wildfire, and then Wassmuss’s plans are finished.’

  ‘He’s still very strong in Persia, sir. The whole country is so fractured, what with the Russians pressing from the north and the British barely keeping a lid on things in the south. The centre of the country is a free-for-all.’ Lock drew on his cigarette again and shook his head once more. ‘No, sir, the only way Wassmuss’s plans are finished is when the bastard’s dead.’

  ‘Maybe so, laddie, maybe so.’

  ‘I know so, sir. He’s out there somewhere, I can smell him, and I aim to get him before he gets to Amy, before he gets to me.’

  ‘The girl is in no danger, Kingdom, not whilst you’re away from her. This is the safest place for you to be, for her sake.’

  Lock pushed himself away from the rail and turned to face the major. ‘You know something, don’t you?’

  Ross kept his lips tightly wrapped around the stem of his pipe as his gaze wandered about over the Turk positions on the distant horizon.

  ‘Don’t I have a right to know?’

  ‘You’re a soldier. You have a right to obey orders and a right to die. Nothing more.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but you’re talking bollocks.’

  Ross couldn’t help but break into a lopsided grin. ‘Well, I have to keep up appearances, don’t I, laddie? Still …’

  Lock gave a sigh of resignation. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Ross beamed back, and patted down his pockets. ‘Here, what do you make of this?’ From his side pocket he pulled out what looked at first like a stubby stick and handed it to Lock.

  Lock turned the object over in his hand. It was a bound piece of metal cable, rusted and pitted. ‘Ordinary telegraph cable.’

  ‘Like that?’ Ross said, indicating to the telegraph poles and the wires strung between them that ran the length of the east bank opposite.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Well, this came from down there not up there,’ Ross said pointing down to the murky, fast-flowing waters of the Tigris.

  ‘Very well. That would explain the rust.’

  Ross nodded. ‘Yes, but this was taken from one of the mines a sapper detail pulled out of the river a few days ago.’

  ‘Tangled?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘Connected to.’

  Lock frowned and studied the cable a little closer. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it that he could see.

  ‘I have a feeling that they are all connected in this way, Kingdom. The mines. And if that’s the case then it corroborates one of my intelligence reports.’

  ‘Which is?’ Lock was getting a little impatient now. He wished the major would just get to the point so he could get down from this damned platform and go and get some coffee and food in his belly.

  ‘That the whole network of mines that we know litters the Tigris are connected to an electronic switch that—’

  ‘That can be set off by one man. Jesus.’ Lock’s attention returned to the north and his eyes focused on the Turk redoubts that were scattered all the way up to the horizon and beyond. ‘It could be anywhere along their lines.’

  This was bad news, bad news indeed.

  ‘I know. That’s what worries me. If the attack goes ahead … When the attack goes ahead, no matter how many mines we clear or sweep away, the whole network could still be set off automatically, and then that’s the end of that. Townshend’s entire force will be blown from here to India.’

  ‘So what’s your plan, sir?’

  Ross scratched the side of his head with the stem of his pipe, then looked Lock directly in the eye.

  ‘It’ll be risky.’

  ‘When isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite. Still, there’s a hell of a lot of enemy troops out there, not to mention the Marsh Arabs in the surrounding countryside just waiting to snipe at us.’

  ‘I have an idea about the Marsh Arabs.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ross raised an eyebrow. But Lock wasn’t prepared to elaborate for now, so the major continued to lay out his plan. ‘It was before your time, but there was a group of farmers during the Boer War who were highly adept at making quick raids and reconnaissance behind enemy lines. They were very effective, very skilled, and very successful. We did capture and kill one such unit and the only survivor was held under interrogation in one of our concentration camps. When I visited, he told me that he was a Kommando.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of them, sir.’

  ‘No, well, we didn’t really advertise any Boer successes … Politics, propaganda and all that … Still, why I’m telling you this is because I want you to be like one of these units now and head upriver to find and disable that electronic switch. As soon as you do, send up a flare, and the assault will begin. The Turks will be confused enough with flares and rifle fire coming from behind their own lines.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, there’ll be just your platoon,’ Ross held up his hand to stop Lock butting in. ‘Just a moment. There will be you and your platoon, no explosives, no side arms, just rifles, so that the Turks in the redoubts will at first think they are being raided again by some disgruntled Marsh Arabs.’

  Lock nodded slowly. ‘That could work … But you said “platoon”. What of my company?’

  Ross pursed his lips and shuffled on his feet. ‘Ah. Yes. About your company …’

  ‘There is no company is there?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘Sorry, laddie. I tried, believe you me. It was yours but then the rumours … You know, of you supposedly having murdered this Turkish officer and of an impending court martial … Your promotion has been suspended for the time being, as a company commander, I mean. It took all my power to keep you in this regiment as it was, and with your platoon, not to mention your rank, although Godwinson tried. But as you are technically in the AIF he was powerless to do anything about that. Mind you, I’m sure he’s written to the Australian High Command. We’ll have to wait and see on that one. But there was no way he was going to let you have command of one of his companies. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. For now. We’ll get it sorted, don’t you worry.’

  ‘It’s all right, sir, I didn’t really believe
it would happen, anyway,’ Lock said. ‘I take it you’ve already had the meeting. For the commanders, that is?’

  Ross nodded.

  Lock turned back to face out towards the enemy positions. He was about to ask another question and then he stopped, frowning. There was something more that the major wasn’t telling him.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Um … How shall I put it …?’ Ross hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Carver’s been promoted, as you know, so C-Company does have a new commander …’

  ‘Yes?’ Lock had a bad feeling that he wasn’t going to like what the major was about to tell him.

  ‘It’s Bingham-Smith.’

  Lock was momentarily stunned. And then he let out a single mocking laugh, shaking his head. ‘You have got to be kidding.’

  ‘I wish I was. But nepotism is rife in this army of ours, as if you didn’t know that already.’

  ‘I thought the little shit was an assistant provost marshal? A base-wallah, safely tucked up in the barracks back at Basra.’

  ‘Not a glamorous enough position for the future husband of Amy Townshend, it seems.’

  Lock felt a sudden surge of angry betrayal. ‘General Townshend’s behind this, isn’t he?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘I think it is probably more likely to be pressure from Lady Townshend. Sorry, laddie. Anyway, did you really think Godwinson would let a nephew of his not have the chance at proving his bravery on the front lines? He’d have Bingham-Smith as his second in command if he could. Can you imagine? The whole thing’s a joke. Assistant provost marshals are supposed to be combat-experienced, not the other way around. Godwinson’s already trying to push for Bingham-Smith’s rank to be that of major, that’s the army equivalent to assistant provost marshal. I’m afraid I put a stop to that little farce. Had a quiet word in General Townshend’s ear.’