The guard closed the cell door, then led the way back along the corridor and up the worn stone steps to the antechamber. They stepped out into the vast echoing hall, passing the same solitary sergeant who was still scratching away at the ledger opened up on the sterile desk, and made their way to the main door.
As they left the building, Lock squinted up at the baking midday sun. He pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes and then followed the guard further still, out of the courtyard and into the beginnings of a large military encampment. The sounds of war were closer now, like an approaching thunderstorm.
Lock and the guard carried on down through the bivouacs, passing not only tent after tent, row upon neat row, but hundreds of soldiers, all busying themselves with the monotonous tasks they were undoubtedly ordered to do. At the head of the camp they came to a large sector-command tent.
The guard spoke with a youthful-looking adjutant. He was seated at a card table at the entrance with a sheaf of papers in front of him. He did little to hide his distaste for the Australian uniform Lock was wearing as he looked him over. The guard turned, saluted Lock, then marched away again.
The adjutant frowned at Lock, then using the pencil he had been writing with, indicated for Lock to enter the tent.
‘Wait inside, Lieutenant,’ he said, then returned to his writing.
Lock did as he was told and entered the tent.
Regimental colonels and their battalion commanders occupied the tent, nine officers in total, all of similar ages, backgrounds and breeding, all British aristocracy. Not one of them paid Lock any heed, as they stood around conversing and drinking out of delicate china teacups. Lock knew that to them he was just another minion, slightly older and more worn than the usual pimply boys, no doubt, but young all the same, and just as expendable.
He continued to wait, standing at ease, but with hands behind his back. He knew not to put them in his trouser pockets, not in this company. Eventually he found himself drawing circles in the straw-lined floor with the tip of his boot, his mind numb with boredom.
After half an hour, Lock was struggling to keep his eyes open. He had swayed once already, having nodded off on his feet, and despite trying to focus on the officers’ idle chat of hunts and estates to keep alert, was finding it hard to concentrate and was now convinced that he had been forgotten about completely. He was about to turn and leave when everybody suddenly stood to attention.
A hush descended on the tent; a middle-aged general had entered. Lock watched this new arrival toss his cap aside, smooth back his neatly trimmed slate-grey hair, and go to stand by the table at the rear. He sifted through a few papers piled on one side of the tabletop. He picked up a large tube that he unrolled and spread out across the surface, using a teacup, a Webley and two books to hold it in place. He then picked up a cane and, after a moment, looked up, passing his steely eyes over the room.
‘At ease, gentlemen. Gather round if you would.’ His voice was gruff, but he waited patiently, stroking his pencil-thin moustache between his index finger and thumb while the officers noisily put down their teacups and circled around his map.
‘You’d better move forward, too, Lieutenant.’
Lock turned to see that a rotund officer with sharp, intelligent eyes was addressing him.
The officer smiled affably. ‘I’m Major Hall. The gentleman at the table … General Delamain, section commander. You’ll be interested in what he has to say.’
‘Sir?’
‘Don’t look so worried, Lieutenant. You are no longer under arrest. I have Major Ross’s report. I know all about you.’
‘Sir. Is Major Ross here? How is he?’ Lock was lifted by the fact that Ross had managed to speak to someone at last.
‘On the mend, I gather. But no, still confined to bed. Anyhow, best listen up!’ Major Hall jerked one of his chins towards Delamain.
Lock had more questions, but the major had already stepped away. So Lock followed his advice and edged closer to the tight group of senior officers, all staring down at the map. It was a detailed drawing of the area surrounding Shaiba.
‘… just come from a briefing with General Melliss,’ Delamain was saying. ‘The situation south-west of Shaiba is precarious. We have lost nearly a thousand men since this morning and Johnny is showing no sign of buckling. They are continuing to march towards the south, and there has already been two attacks by the 104th in an attempt to stop them.’ He paused, looking from one man to the next. The mutters of approval died down. ‘But both have been rebuffed …’
As Delamain continued, Major Hall leant into Lock. ‘It seems your regimental commander, Lieutenant Colonel Godwinson, took it upon himself to send his men charging into the Turkish mob,’ he whispered. ‘A complete disaster. They were hopelessly outnumbered.’
‘The 2nd Mendips, sir?’ Lock said, peering down at the map through a gap in the officers’ bodies.
‘Yes, son. Decimated. General Melliss sent the 7th Hariana Lancers to their aid, but a Turk machine gun cut the lot to ribbons. Total carnage. Not to mention a morale-boosting victory for the Turks, too.’
‘Is Colonel Godwinson here, sir?’ Lock peered at the crowd. He was yet to meet his immediate commanding officer.
‘Good God, no. He’s had a major dressing-down. If I had any influence on the matter, he’d be court-martialled and stripped of his regiment. But, alas, he’s too well connected for that to happen. And he knows about you. Which I will tell you about later.’ Hall pressed a finger to his fleshy lips, putting a stop to any further questioning, and turned his attention back to Delamain.
‘… we are still managing to hold the line,’ the general continued. ‘I have been given the task of attacking this mound here … and the buildings in its vicinity.’ He pointed to the position on the map with the tip of his cane, tapping it lightly as if he hoped it would make it disappear. ‘This is the mound from which the 2nd Mendips and then the 7th Hariana Lancers failed to eject Johnny and his Buddoo chums. But they are thick on the ground there, and God knows how many are actually on the other side of the mound. Swarming like ants, no doubt, and stretching as far back as the eye can see.’
Delamain paused, and let the officers briefly confer with one another, before tapping on the desk with his cane to get their attention once more.
‘I have been ordered to send in three battalions, two of my own, as well as the 24th Punjabis, to help. I want the Dorsets to handle this. Think your boys are up to it, Chitty?’ He turned to his left.
Lock strained his neck to see who the general was addressing. It was a tall, youthful lieutenant colonel with a shock of white-blond hair and a flushed expression.
‘Glad to be of help,’ Chitty said, voice warm and distinctively well spoken.
‘Hmmm. I will remind you of that when this little scrap is over!’ Delamain smiled wryly, and the other officers chuckled. ‘But fear not, we have got Colonel Cleeve’s guns to lend us a hand. They will be moved … here … to opposite the mound. He is under orders to support all the infantry below …’
Lock pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to get caught up in a battle. He needed to get to Amy.
‘… if we can push Johnny back then the rest should tumble like a pack of cards. Questions? No? Good. Return to your posts and make ready. Kick-off is scheduled for 8 a.m. tomorrow. We’ll cross to Shaiba within the next few hours. Give the men some well-earned rest for the remainder of the day, hot food and a rum ration this evening. Good luck, gentlemen.’
If any of the officers had a question, they were given no opportunity to ask it, and Delamain began to roll the map away. The briefing was over. The officers mumbled their goodbyes and, in a murmur of conversation, drifted out of the command post. Chitty stopped at the entrance and briefly conferred with Hall. He indicated to Delamain. Hall nodded and Chitty placed his cap back on his head, gave Lock a cursory glance, then left.
‘Come with me, Lieutenant,’ Hall said to Lock, walking back over to where Delama
in was standing. ‘Sir, may I have a word?’
Delamain looked at the major and frowned. Then his face lit up. ‘Hall, isn’t it? Well?’
The general didn’t even acknowledge Lock’s existence.
‘Yes, sir. Compliments of Colonel Chitty, sir. He asked me to remain behind and talk to you, as I … er … know more about the … er … What I mean to say is, what about the floods separating Shaiba from Basra, sir?’
Delamain raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What about them?’
‘Well, I believe the Turks are planning to outflank us, sir, by sending a section into that area. Or attempting to.’
‘Oh?’ Delamain said.
Hall pointed to the map. ‘May I?’ he said, and Delamain waved him to continue. Hall opened up the map again and quickly ran his eyes over it. ‘This is the point here, sir, between us and Basra, where I believe that they may head for.’
Delamain frowned. ‘But the floodwaters are ankle-deep there,’ he said. ‘Heavy going for an army to march in. And there has been no report of any boats being transported by their column. Besides, we shall be crossing it ourselves in a matter of hours.’
‘I would say it would be cavalry, sir,’ Hall said. ‘Sometime over the next forty-eight hours. That would be good support for the force planning to march on Basra. If so, then we would be outflanked and cut off.’
Delamain brushed his moustache thoughtfully as he listened.
‘This section of the fort further east,’ Hall continued, ‘to that southerly point, is covered by the 24th Punjabis, with the Dorsets situated next to them. You have ordered us to attack the Turkish positions at the mound immediately opposite, to the west. But it is possible that a cavalry battalion could use the cover of confusion during the assault and sneak around out of range of our artillery, loop back, and begin their ride between the fort and the city.’
Delamain stared at the major. ‘And what makes you think that this is about to happen?’
‘That would be me, sir,’ Lock said.
Delamain turned and glared at Lock. ‘And just who might you be, Lieutenant?’
‘Lock, sir,’ he saluted.
Major Hall cleared his throat. ‘Seems the lieutenant here is with some special unit … the White Tabs?’ He paused to let Delamain comment, but the general remained silent.
‘The lieutenant was responsible for stopping a surprise attack on the south of Basra, sir,’ Hall said. ‘Scuttled dozens of bellums hidden on the Shatt that were meant for a Turkish column.’
‘What!?’ Delamain said. ‘This is the first time I have heard of this.’
‘It appears that a German spy planned to cross the Shatt with a force of nearly a thousand men,’ Hall said. ‘Working with Arab agents within Basra they plotted to take the south of the city by surprise. I believe that troops from the Turkish force to the south were to march to their assistance.’
Delamain stared down at the map. ‘The White Tabs, hey? They’re something to do with Intelligence, if I recall correctly. Don’t rightly know, though there was mention of some operation or other going on in Persia under a …’ He clicked his fingers, and pursed his lips. ‘What was his name? Rose? No …’ He frowned again.
‘Ross, sir,’ Lock said.
‘What? Oh, yes.’ Delamain studied Lock properly for the first time, his gaze looking from eye to eye, and then his attention fell on the bullet hole above Lock’s left breast. Delamain’s eyes widened in surprise, but when he looked back up Lock’s own gaze was at a point above the general’s right shoulder.
‘Or are they Communications? The White Tabs?’ Delamain said. ‘Was that it? Did you intercept a signal?’
‘Sir?’
‘You’re part of the AIF, are you not? One of their engineers? That’s the insignia there on your shoulder, Lieutenant.’ It was Delamain’s turn to frown. ‘I know there’s a section of the Australian Half-Flight around somewhere. But you’re no pilot, that I can see.’ He paused. ‘There’s a rumour that the 1st Australian Wireless Signal Squadron will be joining us soon. Perhaps that’s it?’
Lock nodded, but didn’t confirm or deny the general’s presumption. He didn’t know about the Signal Squadron. He’d heard that the Australians had been asked to provide air support in Mesopotamia. It was quite apt, really, if it was true about the Communications Company, seeing as he himself had been involved in telephones before the war. He wondered if Ross knew this about the AIF. It would be typical of the major not to have let that vital bit of information slip, holding his cards close to his chest as always.
‘Tell me, Lieutenant, you’re not from a Dorset family originally, are you?’ Delamain said, breaking Lock from his thoughts.
‘Er … No, sir. Somerset.’
‘Oh. Really?’ Delamain scowled. ‘Hmmm. And you’re attached to a British regiment, is that correct?’
‘Sir.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Apparently they were decimated, sir.’
Delamain shot Lock a black look. Then he turned to Major Hall. ‘Right. I will inform General Melliss of this new information personally. We reinforce that section. Stop any cavalry in their tracks. Major, you had best return to your company at Shaiba.’
‘Sir,’ Hall saluted. ‘Come along, Lieutenant, we have things to discuss.’
Outside the tent, Hall led the way back down through the ordered canvas streets of the Dorsetshire Regiment’s encampment. There was no provost guard waiting for them, and Lock hoped that what the major had said to him was true, that he was no longer under arrest. Still, he’d find out soon enough.
‘Here we are,’ Hall said, and he turned to one of the many nondescript tents.
An NCO, a man in his fifties, with a lazy left eye, was sat on a garden chair outside, and he quickly jumped to his feet and saluted. ‘Sir, all ready for you!’
‘Thank you, Pike,’ Hall said. ‘Right, come along, Lieutenant.’
Inside, the tent was bare, save for a large table serving as a desk with four chairs and a made-up bunk bed in the far corner. A steaming black kettle and two tin mugs were sat on top of the table next to a holstered Webley and the obligatory aristocratic officer’s cane. There was an overriding smell of paraffin oil and hair lacquer in the stuffy air, and something stronger. Lock was oddly reminded of Christmas.
‘Come in, Lieutenant, come in,’ Hall said. ‘Tea?’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘With rum … to give it some flavour?’ Hall smiled slyly.
Lock grinned. Hot rum. That was the festive smell. ‘My favourite variety, sir. Thank you, I will.’
Hall poured Lock a mug of brown liquid and handed it over. Lock nodded his thanks and had a large sip. There was barely any tea in it at all. The steamy aroma enveloped his face and the drink, hot on his tongue, filled his belly with fire as he supped it down.
‘Now, Lock, I’ve been reading a detailed report that will be of interest to you,’ Hall said, taking a seat and waving for Lock to do the same, ‘about your regiment.’
‘But, sir,’ Lock said, sitting down opposite the major, ‘we have no way of joining them. Too far across the fort and through the Turkish barrages. Not worth the risk.’ He knew he didn’t sound all that convincing.
‘Just listen,’ Hall said. ‘Although I don’t like it … not proper protocol and all that … Well, there is a good possibility that the 2nd Mendips may no longer exist.’ He paused, but Lock didn’t make any reaction to the news. ‘You don’t seem overly concerned as to their fate, Lieutenant?’
Lock shrugged. ‘Any more news of Major Ross, or Mohammerah, sir?’
‘None.’ Hall eyed Lock for a moment. ‘I’ve heard conflicting reports about you. Outrage from some blustering staff captain about your insubordination and disobeying orders to report to the front, accusations of striking an assistant provost marshal, striking a superior officer, suspicion of murder … which, quite frankly I’m at a loss to comprehend … You do realise, Lieutenant,’ Hall scowled, ‘the serious
ness of these … charges? Penal servitude, cashiering or imprisonment and even death. That’s what you and your men could face.’
‘My men were following orders, my orders,’ Lock growled. ‘To accuse them of anything other than that, sir, is a total fabrication.’
Hall held up his hand and Lock stopped ranting. ‘And then you thwart that Turkish attack on the city from the other side of the Shatt al-Arab. You trouble me, Lieutenant.’ Hall scratched his forehead. ‘You can’t even say “sir” with any proper conviction.’ His eyes fell on the bullet hole in Lock’s breast. He frowned. ‘There seems to be some confusion over your rank as well. Are you a subaltern or a lieutenant?’
Lock took a slurp of his rum to avoid answering.
Hall gave a deep sigh. ‘Still, it’s of no matter. You and your men have been ordered to the front. You have little more than a section, but they will be a useful addition in the attack that the Dorsets have been ordered to carry out.’
‘But, sir, I have a mission to complete. I need to pursue—’
Hall was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Lieutenant. That will all have to wait.’
‘What about General Townshend, sir, he—’
Again Hall interrupted. ‘General Townshend is somewhere on the Persian Gulf and cannot be contacted. So, for now, Lieutenant, you are to report for active duty on the front lines. Clear?’
‘No, sir. My orders are to catch and stop a German agent. He was making his escape on a launch when—’
Hall held up his hand to stop Lock once more, then leant forward and rifled through the pile of papers on the table. Lock noticed his previously confiscated Sam Browne belt and holstered Webley were on there, too.
Hall pulled out a single piece of paper. ‘While you have been resting in your cell a number of things occurred near to the wharf where you were arrested. A launch, a very smart gentleman’s launch, was found run aground only a few hundred yards upriver. It was abandoned and empty. There was a good deal of fuel oozing out of a hole just above the waterline, and despite signs of damage from gunfire on board, there was only one body, that identified as Abdullah Al-Souk, hospital orderly and a known informant for the provosts.’
Kingdom Lock Page 26