by Roland Perry
‘Christ!’ Mulherin gasped.
Below them, visible in the moonlight, was a sheer drop into a ravine. Mist did not allow them to make out how deep it was. Looking across at other massive dunes which were just visible in a grey shroud here and there, Shanahan estimated the drop to be at least eighty metres. He remounted Bill, patted his neck with more affection than normal and slipped him a sweet, whispering in his ear that it was a ‘real thank you and a reward’.
Shanahan leant across to Mulherin. ‘We never ride again without a black tracker to scout ahead for drops like that,’ he said. ‘Jackie Mullagh has to join the squadron proper, not just be a trainer.’
Given the pace at which they were travelling, Bill had just saved the lives of at least a dozen men and horses. This was the first time anyone in the squadron had experienced such a prescient action from one of the mounts. They had all heard stories about horses refusing to go on when the troopers were ‘blind’ to dangers ahead in the desert. Now they believed them. Troopers half-asleep were now wide awake.
Shanahan motioned for the column to turn around.
‘I’m very, very pleased you went to so much trouble to acquire your bastard mate,’ Mulherin said to Shanahan, who just smiled ruefully. Both men were shaken by the experience. They found a route down the side of the ravine and then resumed travelling in their original direction.
After a five-hour gallop through the desert, the regiment came across several wounded members of the British Cavalry Brigade in the half-light of dawn. They were on foot and had escaped in the night after a battle. The cavalrymen spoke of a one-sided encounter. The Turks had left some 300 British prisoners with a band of Bedouin ‘guards’. Shanahan and his squadron, rifles at the ready, galloped on to Oghratina to the worst sight any of the troopers—even veterans of the Boer War and other conflicts—had ever seen. More than 250 British cavalrymen, in various states of dismemberment, were strewn about the town. The camp had been looted, their horses stolen. The Arabs had fled by camel hours earlier and would have melted into the yellow landscape. There was no point in pursuing phantoms in the desert.
Shanahan and his men scrutinised the identity tags on some of the yeomanry.
‘Hey, Lieutenant,’ Mulherin called, ‘have a look at this one. He’s a captain.’
Shanahan held a handkerchief over his face to avoid the stench of rotting human and animal remains. Half a day’s exposure to the elements and some birds of prey had worsened an already appalling mess. The officer opened the cavalryman’s shirt to reveal his bloodstained torso. His shoulder was strapped.
‘I think this is the bloke that Bill bucked off on the Gallipoli despatch run,’ Mulherin said.
‘Captain Bickworth,’ Shanahan murmured, ‘I think you’re right.’
Shanahan and his troopers were sickened and sobered. He ordered a burial detail for the cavalrymen. A short religious ceremony was held.
It was clear to Shanahan and his men that the Arabs, who were being billed by the High Command as ‘friends’ of the British forces, were never again to be trusted. Some tribes in Arabia may have been in negotiations with the British to fight the Turks on the Hejaz railway, but the Bedouins wandering Palestine and the Sinai were under Turkish control and in their pay. This horrific, inhumane incident drove home the reality of the horrors of war. The troopers had been through the hell of Gallipoli where some of their squadrons had been decimated. So far in the desert they had experienced the odd firefight and skirmish. Some had been killed. A few had been murdered by Bedouins creeping into their camps at night and slitting throats. All that was frightening enough, but the experience at Oghratina placed the war in a new perspective. The concept of dismembering bodies was totally foreign to them. Until now the level of brutality administered by the Arabs to at least 250 men—the rest having escaped—had been unthinkable. From this terrible moment, the Anzacs believed they had two major enemies in the region.
14
PRECURSOR TO A
‘HOT’ WAR
An Australian Flying Corps biplane was the first to spot a Turkish army moving west in the Sinai at the village of Bayud, some sixty kilometres from the Suez Canal. It was travelling at a snail’s pace towards the important British-held town of Romani. There were 3000 soldiers and 2000 camels in this Turkish ‘caravan’. In any coming battle, it was going to be a contest between the effectiveness of the horses against that of the camels. The Turks and the Arabs used both in combat and favoured camels. The Anzacs, except for the Camel Division, believed in their Walers as their secret weapon. They had been turned out so fit and well trained by Paterson’s depot that they had coped with the conditions far beyond any expectations, even from the most optimistic horsemen. This development owed almost everything to the way the men treated their mounts. Many had learned to look after them in Australia. In the deserts of Egypt, this care was even more vital.
The encroaching Turkish force was carrying big guns —5.9 inch howitzers—which impeded their progress across the dunes. From the air, the force seemed hardly to be moving. It was retarded also by the heat and the need to stop and find water in the scarce wells at oases and villages scattered twenty to thirty kilometres inland from the Mediterranean coast. The biplane that had spotted this enemy march flew on around the region and picked up two more big contingents. One had about 1000 infantry and a further 2000 camels. The other had the biggest infantry number yet seen: some 3500 soldiers, accompanied by 1000 more camels. They were all heading in the same direction: towards Romani. The sporadic or ‘phoney’ war in the Sinai had lasted half a year to 19 July 1916, the day of the reconnaissance by that single biplane. The Turks’ aim was to take Romani, the most important town east of the Suez. Once the Turks had it, they would move quickly on Cairo and claim Egypt.
The pilot of the spotting biplane flew low over the Australian Light Horse and dropped a message. All regimental officers were informed of the advance. In the coming days intelligence sources in Cairo picked up that the invading army of Turks included 25,000 infantry and 20,000 camels. In desert terms, this was a considerable force. Taking any more men in the challenging conditions would be unwieldy and unmanageable. Food supply would be a major problem although the Turks could always forage for nutritious dates and other fruits. The major obstacle for so many men was water. The enemy army was split into eight contingents to make the water maintenance just manageable, provided that scouting engineers found old wells that could be refurbished and made to run again.
Shanahan was keen to know the make-up of the Turkish force. He had enemy prisoners interrogated. They confirmed that the incoming army was mainly from the Gallipoli battle, including mostly Anatolians, among the best fighters of the Turkish Empire. Learning this, Shanahan wanted to know if Mustafa Kemal would be their commander. He had been largely responsible for the Turks’ spirit and drive in defiance of the Allied attack on Gallipoli. The prisoners claimed they did not know.
Shanahan gathered his troopers and informed them of the invading enemy’s complexion. This electrified the Light Horsemen. They had been waiting impatiently for this moment. Any thoughts of deserting evaporated. The Anzacs would be desperate for victory. Meeting the Turks in the Sinai would be ‘round two’.
‘The gentlemen’s war is over,’ Shanahan told them. ‘This will be the real thing.’
The intensity of encounters and small battles increased as the Turks inched closer to their main target until they were twelve kilometres from the line of posts manned by the British infantry in front of Romani. This defence ran ten kilometres south from the sea and faced the lower hills and Romani sand dunes. Shanahan’s regiment moved out on patrol east towards the Turks at Oghratina, which, after the massacre of the yeomanry, had been taken by the enemy. He rode out on patrols every day to seek Turkish locations.
One night he was leading a dozen troopers trotting out over the dunes beyond the defence perimeter when Bill stopped. He would not budge. He snorted nervously and this put Shanahan on edge. They w
ere 100 metres from a hill. In silence, he motioned for his squad to dismount. Two troopers took control of the mounts while Shanahan led the rest on foot, crouching low with rifles and pistols at the ready. He indicated the hill, directing half his men around to the left and the others with him to the right. They were fifty metres from their target when about 100 Turks bobbed up in ambush. Shanahan ordered his men to retreat to the horses. He fired at the enemy, covering his men. Turkish fire from several directions hit the sand around them and created sparks. They had been surrounded.
The troopers reached the horses and mounted, only to see more Turks close by. One lunged at Bill’s bridle while a second grabbed at Shanahan. Bill reared high, throwing off the two men. In the same action he kicked one attacker in the face. The man groaned and slumped unconscious. Bill began to back off, dragging the other Turk who had gripped his bridle. Shanahan swung his rifle butt, smashing the attacker in the head. The Turk fell and lay motionless. Shanahan galloped off as enemy fire followed him and his men. It was heavy but ill directed. No trooper or horse was hit. They galloped about 300 metres before Shanahan called a halt. He had the horses taken from out of the line of fire and ordered his men to shoot at the advancing Turks, who were on foot. After a twenty-minute encounter, he directed his men to mount up and retreat another 250 metres. The Turks arrived once more and fighting ensued for a third time. Shanahan and his men dashed for their mounts again and backed off a further 200 metres. Without explanation, he next headed north towards the sea for another 300 metres instead of west towards his regiment’s outposts. He stopped and asked for someone to make a fire and boil tea.
‘What’s happening, Major?’ a bewildered trooper asked. ‘They’ll spot the fire for sure.’
‘That’s the idea, trooper,’ he replied as the others gathered around. ‘Did you notice how they all fired at us, but not one of us or our neddies was hit?’
‘So? They’re bad shots.’
‘Not that bad. Back there when we first met them, a couple of them tried to pull me off Bill. Would have got me too if he hadn’t been strong enough to shake ’em off. But Johnny Turk could have killed me, easily.’ He looked up at the expectant faces. ‘He didn’t, as you can see. They were trying to capture me. They want information.’ He paused and added, ‘I’m glad they didn’t nab me or any of you. Believe me, their methods of questioning would have been far worse than being shot.’
The billy boiled. Two of the troopers poured tea and filled mugs for the others.
‘They have been following us,’ Shanahan added. ‘They want to find out where our defence perimeter is, one way or the other. We’ll lead them on a merry dance away from our outpost.’
After five minutes he asked them to mount up.
‘We’re taking a wide route to near the coast where we’ll lose them, and then head back to the outpost,’ he said, and jumped on Bill. He stroked his neck, fumbled sweets into his mouth and said into the horse’s ear: ‘Thanks again, cobber. That’s two I owe you.’
‘Three, Lieutenant,’ the trooper next to him said. ‘If he hadn’t stopped when he did, we woulda ridden right into that ambush.’
In the last week of July Shanahan and his men braced themselves for the waves of Turks coming at them. He and his regiment were part of the first line of the defence of Romani. Chauvel had 1500 Light Horsemen to hold the line against the 25,000 Turkish infantry. It was going to be a huge battle against the odds. The British commanders insisted on attempting to manage the fast-approaching war from Cairo and Kantara, forty kilometres away on the Suez Canal, which Chauvel worried was going to put him at a big disadvantage as the senior commander in the field. If he wanted reinforcements, which was likely given he was outnumbered so badly, could he get them to arrive in time? If he had to wait for a command from Kantara, a battle might be lost before a decision was made, especially if the commander-in-chief (General H A Lawrence) had no ‘feel’ for what was happening on the battlefield. Time was running out and the enemy was expected to launch a massive coordinated attack by early August. Chauvel had no choice but to accept the disjointed and unharmonious command from a distance. But there was one advantage to this ineffective direction from above. Chauvel would be left very much to his own initiative.
To that end on 2 August he took a handful of his Light Horse officers, including Shanahan, on horseback to the end of the line of Romani outposts. Shanahan had not seen much of Chauvel since Gallipoli and he noticed the change in the commander’s appearance. The experience at Gallipoli and a serious bout of pleurisy there had taken their toll and etched themselves into Chauvel’s features. His hair was thinner, his face was haggard and he now seemed every bit of his fifty-one years. The stress of the current challenge was not going to help him. Chauvel had to make a decision on the defence and consider options concerning withdrawal, which was more likely than not given the numbers arraigned against them. He asked his officers for their thoughts.
The 1st Brigade’s forceful, restless Lieutenant-Colonel Meredith spoke up. ‘We have to take them head-on,’ he said. ‘Our blokes want the hand-to-hand stuff. They have wanted it ever since Gallipoli.’
‘There will be huge casualty numbers,’ another officer cautioned.
‘There will be anyway,’ Meredith replied.
Others put forth their opinions. Shanahan was the only one in the group of seven who said nothing. Chauvel first asked him about his horse.
‘Congratulations are in order,’ he said, ‘taming that mighty beast is a real feat. I saw him on the Gallipoli despatch run. But I’d like to get a close-up look at him. Why haven’t you got him with you?’
‘He’s resting. He’s going to be working overtime.’
‘How did you break him?’
‘With respect, General, I couldn’t.’
‘Then how did you make him so, shall we say, “compliant”?’
‘I earned his respect and friendship.’
Chauvel nodded and then congratulated him further on his promotion to the rank of major. Then he asked for his opinion on tactics.
Shanahan didn’t rush to respond. After several seconds he replied: ‘There has to be a compromise between defence and strategic backing away.’
There was silence. No one else had stated the ‘retreat’ option.
‘Good God, man,’ Meredith blurted after several suspenseful seconds, ‘that’s so damned negative! If you have that mindset we have no hope of victory!’
‘I speak as someone who will be in the thick of the fighting, Lieutenant-Colonel,’ Shanahan said firmly, locking eyes with Meredith. ‘We have to draw them to us and use our mounts here and there to fall back. The longer we keep them fighting, the better our chances.’
Meredith went to interject but Chauvel stopped him: ‘Continue, Major.’
‘Their supplies will be limited. They will no doubt attack at night. If we keep them fighting through the night, we will have the advantage in the morning. We have the wells at Romani and in the area. Johnny Turk will be out of water and, we can hope, low on ammunition by dawn. It will be 100 degrees at 6 am.’ He paused and added, ‘Then they will suffer. Our opportunities for a “win” will occur then.’
Silence followed as the others digested his words.
‘I tend to agree with the major,’ Chauvel commented. ‘I have asked for other brigades. General Lawrence has not been forthcoming with them. I can’t even rely on the British garrison troops. They will only help us if Lawrence tells them to.’
Chauvel led the group on a canter about the area for half an hour, then they trotted up to a high sand ridge. They used binoculars to survey the area. The moonlight was good. They could see the most important locations clearly enough. He ordered the 1st Light Horse Brigade, including Shanahan’s regiment, to create a ‘hockey stick’ formation. The figurative top of the ‘handle’ touched the coast to the north. The curve at the bottom made up the Light Horse outposts which ran west towards the Suez Canal.
Intelligence coming in to Chauvel
indicated the Turks planned to surround the entire British force, close on it, strangle it and take Romani, but no one knew whether they would try to break through the Light Horse barrier or make a sweep south below the ‘hockey stick’, which would mean traversing the Sinai’s heavy, steep dunes. Perhaps they would try to do both. They had the numbers but were probably unsure of how many of the Light Horse they would be up against. If they had known it was a relatively small number, they may well have opted to break the barrier as soon as possible, but in the night, an opposition’s size would be difficult to judge.
Anticipating they would attempt to crash through the Light Horse, Chauvel set up fixed battery positions. Telephone lines were laid between outposts, which covered five kilometres. He consulted the others on when they believed the Turks would attack. The consensus was either late on 3 August or very early on 4 August. The educated guess from most was that the Turks would attempt to march up the sand gullies of Wellington Ridge, a key point close to the all-important Romani camp. Assuming they achieved that at some point in the night, they would wait until dawn to charge down and destroy the camp. They would then be behind the outposts of the British infantry. Their second objective would be to attack and destroy them, which would put the enemy in control of the British-built railway from the Suez Canal at Kantara. But there was a vital catch: time. They had to achieve all this by midmorning and gain access to the Romani wells, otherwise the contest could swing back towards the Light Horse.
15
HIGH FIVE FOR BILL—
HERO OF ROMANI
‘Allah, Allah, Allah!’ The Turks screamed a battle-cry as they advanced: ‘Finish Australia!’
It was 1 am on 4 August 1916 and the battle for Romani—indeed, the most important step in the battle for Egypt—had begun. The yelling was followed by heavy fire right along the Australian line. At his posts Shanahan ordered return fire. Despite the brave cries, the Turks were not in sight. Everyone was as yet firing blind under a cloud-covered moon, its light diminishing in the earliest hours. At 2 am the sheer weight of enemy numbers allowed them to infiltrate the Light Horse barrier. The Australian squadrons made a decision to pull back. One covered the other as the staggered, slow retreat began. Shanahan, leading a squadron on Bill, was the last to move. He galloped along the line about 400 metres, up and back, firing at the enemy as they appeared, while retreating with the rest of the Light Horse. It was chaotic but, within the turmoil, the troopers were staying with their controlled withdrawal metres at a time.