Gallipoli (36 page)

‘The Landing', by Ellis Silas (AWM ART90807)

And then it happens. A single shot rings out in the silent stillness … as nerves jangle and soldiers instinctively hold their rifles closer. Is it a random shot in the dark, or something else?

‘Look at that!' hisses a son of South Australia, Captain Raymond Leane, in one of the forward boats, now approaching the Turkish shore.
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Against the ethereal glow of the eastern sky, on the clifftop, stands the ghostly silhouette of a man …

An uncertain, enquiring voice rings out, in a foreign language.

Perhaps 20 seconds later come flashes of rifles in the distance as a volley of shots whistles over them. ‘Hullo!' an Australian soldier calls. ‘Now we're spotted.'
⁴⁰

And then, just as rain follows drizzle, and storms oft follow rain, it begins in earnest. Fire is furiously
poured
upon the foremost boats by a platoon of 70 Turks, with the bullets beginning to splash in the water very close. But there is no panic. Some Australian soldiers are even heard to sing a few snatches of the popular song ‘This Little Bit of the World Belongs to Us' as the fire upon them gets heavier.
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‘They want to cut that shooting out,' one soldier notes wryly, ‘somebody might get killed.'
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And then one of the men in the first boats
is
killed, slumping forward with a bullet through his head, with some parts of his brain splattering those behind with a sickly wetness. And then another man groans and slips sideways, as oars are splintered and boats suddenly holed.

Such groans, gurgles, death rattles and impacts are accompanied by the surprisingly melodic hum of bullets soaring overhead, and the staccato rhythm being kept by the bullets splashing into the water all around them. Private ‘Combo' Smith of the 11th Battalion looks up and quips to Lieutenant ‘Snowy' Howe, ‘Just like little birds, ain't they, Snow?'
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The entire boat rocks with the soldiers' laughter, despite themselves.

Notwithstanding the shots now raining on them, if all goes well, it is possible they will be in Constantinople by nightfall.
⁴⁴

It is Private Âdil and the other men of his platoon – dug in on the ridge lying directly above where the enemy is landing – who are the first to fire upon the Australians.

Meanwhile, Captain Faik is still at his observation post up on the Second Ridge behind them, and the 50-odd men of the reserve platoon are primed for further orders, rifles in hand. They are not long in waiting, as the engagement escalates and rapid gunfire begins to pour over them, coming from some of the steamboats armed with machine-guns.

Immediately, Captain Faik orders most of the platoon to occupy the trenches on the plateau above the northern end of the cove, a place the Anzacs will come to call Russell's Top. He also sends two sections, of nine lads each, down to reinforce the trenches closest to the beach.

He then writes a report to Major Ismet at Gaba Tepe, that ‘the enemy is about to start landing at Ari Burnu. I am going with my reserve platoon to our emplacements at that location.'
⁴⁵

The enemy ships are now even closer, and there is no doubt that the invaders will shortly land.

And here they go. Just ten yards away now …

‘Make a landing where you can, lads,' an officer roars, ‘and hold on!'
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As soon as the bows of the first boats touch the Turkish shore at around 4.15 am,
⁴⁷
the first of the Australian soldiers of the 9th and 10th Battalions of the 3rd Brigade jump into three feet of water and begin scrambling forward on the slippery round stones beneath their boots, eager to get onto the crunchy, gravelly beach ahead, which extends only about 20 yards … still looking for the 200 yards of open land they know awaits them before they get to the first steep incline.

But it's not there! There is just this small beach tucked into near cliffs, from the top of which a ‘fierce rifle-fire',
⁴⁸
a ‘perfect hail of bullets'
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is now sweeping over them.

As they stagger forward, their clothes and backpacks suddenly heavy with water, many of their rifles are soon choked with sand and gravel. The first men on the ‘beach' – though Bondi on a blistering day it ain't – are joined by the soldiers of the 11th Battalion, who have landed a little to the north. Together, they help each other – ‘Here, take off my pack, and I'll take off yours'
⁵⁰
– while they furtively look around.

Nothing of the topography looks the way it is meant to, and in the hurly-burly of landing, all of the platoons have got mixed up – all while bullets from on high continue to be a menace.

Some lucky ones manage to get shelter behind a rough sandbank, while others have been landed in spots where there is no protection at all on the sandy slopes. Among them, Major Miles Fitzroy Beevor, Commander of A Company, 10th Battalion, is having a particularly tough time. He had planned to get to the beach first to organise his men – who call themselves his ‘Little Lambs', as in ‘anywhere that Beevor goes his lambs are sure to follow'
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– but as he jumps from his boat, the water comes right up to his neck. Finally stumbling onto the shore, he sees a group of men coming towards him and, unsure whether they are friend or foe, scrambles forward and draws his service pistol, shaking the water out of it as he goes, before going to ground and waiting.

When they are just ten yards away, he jumps up and challenges them, only to hear the reply, ‘Brigadier, 3rd Brigade and staff.'
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Ah. It's Colonel MacLagan. Beevor sneaks his pistol back into its holster, giving the Commander his name and unit. But MacLagan is disturbed. He marches up to Beevor, grabs his arms and whispers hoarsely, as if trying to contain his alarm, ‘Beevor, we've landed in the wrong place!'
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Aware of this, and drenched to the bone, Beevor offers a laconic reply: ‘I know that, sir … but we are here now – my men are assembling a bit further up – will you please give us orders what to do.'
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It is the common question, all along the beach.

‘What are we to do next, sir?' another soldier asks a senior officer, as the rifle fire from above continues to press the need for rapid decisions.

‘I don't know, I'm sure,' comes the uncertain reply. ‘Everything is in a terrible muddle.'
⁵⁵

But one officer, who with his men has been among the first to land, even ahead of MacLagan, is particularly quick. ‘Fix bayonets, lads,' he sings out, ‘and up we go.'
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Just as they have been trained, as they have done so many times in Australia, in Egypt, and more recently at Lemnos, the soldiers fix bayonets with one smooth movement.

Click.

And now they form into a rough line and –
‘Forward!'
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– marching as to war, charge at the first enemy trenches, just 50 yards away from where they have landed.

As they charge, the roar goes up from dozens of Sons of the Southern Cross: ‘Come on, Australia!'

‘Australia for ever!'

‘Come on, boys!'

‘Give it to 'em, boys!'
⁵⁸

The men of the 3rd Brigade push forward. (And they are lucky, in fact, not to have been landed precisely on the selected spot, as the closer proximity of the Turkish artillery on Gaba Tepe would have been even more devastating.)

4.30 AM, 25 APRIL 1915, ABOVE THE LANDING SPOT, SHOTS IN THE DARK

Terrified, but still resolute and determined to do their duty come what may, Private Âdil and his fellow soldiers continue to frantically fire down on the beaches where the boats are now landing in force. It appears that an entire army corps is being disgorged onto their treasured soil.

In the face of this swarm of foreign invaders, these white faces in the gloom, who keep climbing no matter how many fall, it appears the Turks will have no choice but to relinquish their trenches on the First Ridge before their opportunity for retreat is cut off. Already, machine-gun bullets are kicking up dirt-spurts all around and whistling past their ears. All is confusion. All is terrifying. But this does not dissuade Private Âdil and the rest of the dwindling Turkish platoon from continuing to fight, isolated and facing successive waves of advancing enemy soldiers.

Those soldiers eventually get to the lip of their hill, at which point the brave Turks race back to their next defensible position – anything with cover – and defend from there, before moving further back again, looking over their shoulders as they go. The situation for the Turks is desperate, but at least reinforcements are on the way. They think. Major Ismet had received Faik's last report of the situation at Ari Burnu, and he has passed word on to the Commander of the 9th Division, Colonel Sami, headquartered at Maidos:

Soon after, Major Ismet orders the men of his artillery battery to open fire with the Mantelli gun that is stationed in one of the artillery fortifications at Gaba Tepe. Capable of three rounds per minute, this three-and-a-half-inch gun is soon raining down shrapnel shells and high-explosive shells, causing devastation on the beaches within a radius of some 25 yards from wherever they land.

MacLagan, still on the beach with Beevor and his Little Lambs, is recovered somewhat from his initial shock at ‘such a complete upsetting of his carefully laid plans' and is now ‘sizing up the situation'.
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Okay, Beevor, here's what you and your men are to do: ‘As soon as your company is assembled, extend it into line and move straight up the heights in front, clearing out any of the enemy who might be in your line of advance. Then, as soon as you reach the top, swing your left flank around, and move southward, clearing the ground as you go.'
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Yes, Sir!

MacLagan then adds, ‘Move a considerable distance, but not too far, to the South. Select a defensive position facing inland and dig in.'
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Beevor relays the order to his men – ‘who were in splendid physical condition' – and they begin to move ‘up the heights with a will and eager for fight'.
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