Leon Uris (54 page)

“A couple of you grab his legs,” Johnny said, reaching under Subaltern Richards’s remaining shoulder. “All right, lads, heave him over the side.”

I wiped Richards’s blood off my field glasses. The Otago Battalion was moving inland! All morning all I could think of was getting on land, but now I was consumed with a vague notion that time might suddenly stand still and a voice from the sky might order us back to the
Wagga Wagga
and we would sail away….

Time seemed to flee. 0542.

Johnny jabbed me in the ribs and smiled.

“Rowers! Man your oars!”

Our wave of some fifty boats grunted forward from a half-mile out. Oarsmen rotated, sweated, cursed. The racket of gunfire was so overwhelming we had to depend on hand signals. Come on, get this fucker on land!

“
YOOOOWWWW!
”

JESUS! SOMETHING LIKE TO TORE MY HEAD OFF! BLOOD AND OTHER STUFF SHOWERED ME
! I instinctively felt myself frantically. Nothing hurt, nothing burned. I could move my arms and legs, but I was awash in blood
and…and…BRAINS! My face! My face! It was all there. My chest, fine!
NO! NO!
The top of Johnny Tarbox’s head was gone.

I don’t know what happened to me then…I was almost blacked out…I heard vague distant voices.

“Cut off his pips…get his identification tag….”

“Empty his pockets.”

“All right, lads, heave him over the side.”

I was hurtling down into a hole and very sleepy. Something hurt me. A sharp blow to my face! Someone was shaking me, screaming at me. My eyes crawled open.

Chester stood over me. He had me by the lapels and he came slowly into focus, slapping my face and jostling me with all his might.

“Snap out of it, Rory!” he screamed.

“What…what…?”

“Goddamn you, Rory. Get yourself together. We’ve got work to do.”

I groped for him and hung on to him for dear life, but he shoved me off. A soldier behind him handed him a bucket of seawater, which he poured on me, and then another.

“Johnny!” I screamed, “Johnny! Johnny! Johnny!”

“Johnny Tarbox is dead! What is my name? Tell me my name!”

“Johnny…”

“Fuck, I’m not Johnny. He’s dead, Rory. Tell me my name, you son of a bitch!”

“Chester,” I whimpered. “Chester Targood…”

“That’s not my fucking name!”

I dropped my face into my hands, but he grabbed me by the hair. “What’s my name, you no good asshole? Tell me my name.”

“Subaltern Chester Goodwood, Seventh New Zealand Light Horse.”

“Where are we?”

“Gallipoli.”

“What’s your job!”

“Soon as we get our people ashore and unloaded and join up with Jeremy…he’ll secure a perimeter and we’ll find a paddock and stake it out.”

“Who’s running this half of the platoon?”

“Platoon Serjeant…Amberson…up front…I’m all right now, Chester.”

“Where are we?”

“Heading into Brighton Beach. Jeremy’s boat is a little behind us. Send Johnny’s pips and pistol up front to the Amberson lad.”

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I did and assured him I was on “go.”

“Give me Johnny’s pips and pistol. I’ll take them up front,” I said. “I’m going ashore first with a squad. You take the rest of the lads, unload, and hang out near the beach.”

“Don’t go too far inland,” Chester said.

“Take the semaphore flags out of my pack,” I said. “By the sounds of this racket, we’re not too far from the front lines. You and Jeremy catch up to me as fast as you can.”

I pushed to the front of the boat. Jesus, I was shaky. My head was working but my legs didn’t want to mind. I found the Platoon Serjeant.

“What’s your name, Serj?”

“Chipper Amberson. Call me Chipper. You’re Rory Landers. I saw you destroy the Aussie at Port Albany.”

“Well, he’s on our side now. Chipper, you hang back on the beach with Chester back there, the kid with the glasses. Get the boat unloaded and hold. Now, I need the light machine gun with me. I’m going a little inland.”

“Corporal O’Rourke!”

“Here.”

“Bring your squad in with Lieutenant Landers.”

“Righto.”

The boat banged into land, throwing us awry.

“Over the side!”

Shit, we were waist-deep in water. I assembled O’Rourke and his three lads and looked back at the boat just in time to see Chipper Amberson ripped open by machine-gun bullets. He went under with the boat cracking him and then a blob of red pushing up from the sea. God Almighty. He was an officer for three minutes, maybe.

Chester was at my side and told me he had control. I waved for Corporal O’Rourke and his lads to follow.

I could see Chester turning command over to a warrant officer and then running down the beach waving Jeremy’s boat in.

OH DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN!

For the first time in years, Mary’s name came to my lips in prayer. Brighton Beach was littered with dead and dying men! There were only a few yards of beach to be had and then a steep uphill climb. The bodies were thick, thick like seagulls after a fishing trawler, dozens, hundreds, lying still or screaming or moaning while others were trying to put on iodine and wrap them up…like…I walked over the beach unable to step between them…sorry, mate…medics will be here soon…sorry, mates…shit, one of my squad went down.

We were in thick, prickly brush five and six feet high. It was no gentle slope, we were fucking going fucking uphill and the brush held dozens and dozens of dead men tangled in it.

I found a concave area big enough to hold the four of us and we huddled in.

“O’Rourke, I’m Rory. We’ve worked together at Lemnos.” Turning to my left, I said, “What’s your name, pal?” slapping a young Anzac on the shoulder.

“Happy Stevens from Palmerston North.”

“Rory Landers. How many rounds have we got?”

“Two hundred.”

“Not enough. Happy, get back to the beach. Find Chester Goodwood.”

“Righto.”

“We need a box of maybe three or four hundred more rounds. We’ll stay right here.”

“I’m gone,” Happy said as he crouched and dashed for the beach.

“You read a map, O’Rourke?”

“They didn’t make me corporal for nothing.”

I opened my map. It was sticky with Johnny’s blood. I looked uphill. Too steep. Something wrong. I studied the curve of the coastline. The jut of land called Gaba Tepe was nowhere to be seen to the south…but north…a large knob of landfall and then a long, long sweep of coast.

“If this is Brighton Beach I’ll kiss your ass at battalion assembly,” O’Rourke said.

“North?”

“North,” he agreed, “we’re north of our beach.”

“Looks like they brought us ashore into the middle of the Turkish Army.” I cleaned my field glasses. “Dead men as far uphill as I can see.” I could make out Otagos pushing toward the Aussie line just beyond my sight. “There’s a battle going on up there, maybe a little over a half-mile. The terrain is really dirty,” I said, passing the binoculars to O’Rourke.

“Seems like the Turks are above our front line on higher ground and firing into the beach,” he said.

“You’ve got it,” I answered. “They’re hitting us up here and down there with artillery. We’re in a soft spot for now. Jesus, there goes a landing boat…blew it to hell.”

I caught a semaphore flag just twenty yards away behind some brush.

“Over here!”

Happy Stevens of Palmerston North…why did I think of Palmerston North?…dashed up to us followed by a pair lugging an ammo box between them.

“Lieutenant Hubble is ashore and connected with Lieutenant Goodwood. They’ll be up in a few moments, soon as they organize the beach party.”

“You’re Dan Elgin,” I said.

He smiled. “Gisborne, Poverty Bay.”

“I’d say we found poverty bay right here,” O’Rourke said.

“And you’re Spears,” I said.

“By God, you remembered. Kaikoura, South Island.”

“Sure, I remembered,” I said, “Spears put the pack on your mule backward on Lemnos. Don’t let him feed the ammo belts.”

“Now, that’s something to be remembered for,” Spears said.

“Find yourselves cover. Don’t go more than a few yards. Face the beach so any new troops heading uphill won’t mistake you for Turks.”

No sooner had I spoken than a new wave of men were quickly moving through us toward the front. I inquired. Things were no better on the beach. I could see why Stevens of Palmerston North was called Happy. He grinned as he caught sight of me and came in with Jeremy and Chester on his heels. They tucked in with me.

“My boat was a mess,” Jeremy huffed. “We got caught on a sand spit, had to wade in from chest high. Lost three men and several reels of wire. Chester said Johnny Tarbox didn’t make it.”

“He’s gone.”

“Beach is under control,” Jeremy said. “We’ve stacked the barbed-wire reels up against a little knoll. It should be safe. Rest of the platoon knows where to dig in. Right now, they’re trying to get the wounded back to the hospitalship.”

I nodded.

“Well so much for naval gunfire obliterating the Turks,” Jeremy said. “I can’t locate us on the map.”

“Neither can I,” I said, “and I don’t see any place here to set up a paddock.”

“Look!” O’Rourke cried, pointing uphill.

Coming over the rise above us, the walking wounded
dragged their way back from the front. Litters holding the more seriously wounded were being hauled by two to four men, most of the walking wounded helping someone or trying to carry a part of the stretchers.

I flagged down a captain, arm shattered at the elbow.

“Give us a drink,” he gasped.

“Can you talk?” Jeremy asked.

“Captain Huddleson, C Company, Otagos…what’s left of it…over this ridge there’s a deep gully, then a real high hill…it’s not on the bloody map…can’t see it from here…but you won’t miss it. The Turks are dug in with a sweep of the entire field…they’re kicking the shit out of us….”

He began to tremble and his eyes rolled back in his head. Huddleson mumbled he had to get his men to safety. We tried to calm him, assure him they would make the beach safety. Up ahead, a dead man was rolled off a stretcher. O’Rourke brought the litter to us and we set the Captain on it.

About twenty yards uphill was a nice big boulder. The view of things would be better from there. “Let’s go upstairs and take a look. O’Rourke!”

“Here!”

“Come up to that rock with us! Happy Stevens of Palmerston North!”

“Yo!”

“You’re in charge of the machine gun. Sit tight. Do not help with the wounded unless they fall on you!”

“Yo!”

One by one we made the sprint to the boulder and tucked in, our backs uphill to the front lines. The view to the coastline from here was better. While we studied it through our field glasses, wounded still poured down from the front and newly landed troops were passing through them on their way up.

“North,” Jeremy said. “They’ve landed us north of Brighton Beach.”

“North,” Chester agreed. “We’re more than a mile from where we should be. Down there is the Plain of Maidos. We’re supposed to be crossing it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “We’re going right into the jaws of the Turkish defenses. We might be heading right into Chunuk Bair.”

“Damn!” Jeremy cried. “First the naval gunfire draws a nil and now this. Isn’t anybody talking to anybody in our command?”

“Hell, don’t worry, it’s only the first day,” Chester said.

“Fucking funny.”

“Well, I guess I’d better find us a paddock,” I said. “Right off the beach over there starts up with gullies and ravines. Chester, want to keep me company?”

“I’m coming, too,” Jeremy said.

“You’re the one they sent to beach master school with Johnny. You better get back there and give some direction to the incoming boats and get those fucking piers lashed up.”

“Are you giving me orders?” Jeremy demanded.

“Yes,” Chester said. “It’s your beach, Jeremy. We’ll find the stables.”

Jeremy grumbled acquiescence.

“We all want to go up the hill and fight Turks,” I said, “but on the other hand, we seem to be the only ones here who know what the hell we’re doing. I’m taking the machine-gun squad with us. If we can locate a paddock by, say, 0330, I’ll send one of the men back to you. Get as many men and barbed-wire reels up to me as you can. If we go past 0400, we’ll have to dig in for the night.”

“Do you have flares?”

“I’ve got a pair. No time to look for more.”

“There’s a meltrami blowing,” Chester said. “Look, a reverse wind. Everything in the sea is being pushed north. We’ll be scouting that region over there.” He pointed. “We’ll try to stay within a couple of hundred yards of the beach.”

“See you later or first thing in the morning,” Jeremy said, and turned for the beach. A man with a leg wound was on his knees. Jeremy pulled him up and put an arm over his shoulder to help him.

I brought my lads together. “We’re hunting for a gully or ravine north by east, say at twenty degrees to forty degrees, or like one o’clock if that knob of land is noon. I’ll move in twenty-yard bursts, more or less. Chester is always in sight at my rear. You are twenty yards behind.”

It was the most fucking miserable day of my life. No one had warned us that the sun shot the temperature up over a hundred degrees, even in the springtime. There wasn’t much in the way of firefights, but the day was spent crawling on our bellies. We must have been in a line of fire from Chunuk Bair into what was supposed to be Brighton Beach. Shit! Had we landed on the true Brighton, we’d be beyond their fire.

I couldn’t go too fast because the lads behind me were packing a fair load. I wanted to drop my jacket but the rock and underbrush would have ripped my flesh to pieces.

At one time or another we all came close to fainting from the heat. I had to keep telling them, “Easy on the water, lads, easy on the water.”

Each gully was either in Turkish gun sights or had a ridge sticking up in the air exposing us to the skyline.

SHIT, NO! GODDAMN SONOFABITCH!

We were huddled in safe shade when our entire field started blowing apart! Our own destroyers were shooting us up. As we scattered for better cover I saw O’Rourke go…in God only knows how many pieces.