Loyal Creatures (9 page)

It was grand to see the old faces.

They were chuffed to see us, Bosworth and Lesney specially.

‘What kept you?' said Bosworth. ‘Afternoon tea in Cairo again? Did the nurses make you wash the dishes?'

Lots of chiacking, but I could see how tense the blokes were underneath. They knew this was a big one. Most important battle we'd fronted up for.Do-or-die effort.

Daisy must have known it was serious too. Muster and decampment in the dark. Usual long hot ride to the battle pozzie. Got there dusty and tired. Not a complaint from her.

On the battlefield we saw straight off this was a different class of stoush.

Our infantry had been going at it for hours.

Big Turkish defence lines. Miles of trenches. Infantry stopped whingeing for a change. Almost broke through.

But they didn't. Poor blighters were getting mowed down.

Then the order came.

We'd waited two years for this.

Gallop at the Turks. Break through the mongrels on horseback. No horse-holding here. We were all in it. Well and truly in it.

Charge!

Galloping hard across four miles of open desert. Hundreds of us but we were soon spread.

Couldn't even see the Turkish trenches through our own dust. But they could see us. Machine-guns, artillery, they let us know they could see us.

Otton was next to me. His usual style of riding. Hang on and pray. Harder for him today because we had bayonets in hand.

Regulation ones, but they'd do the job.

I should have been yelling with excitement like the other blokes. This was my chance. Give the mongrels a big serve for Dad. Rack up some corpses to impress Joan's folks. I should have been happier than a wagtail in a wheat field.

But I wasn't.

I kept seeing the face of the Turk I'd let go. Would it be the same this time? Would I pike out at the last minute?

Horses started going down. Men screaming. Horses screaming.

Suddenly I could see the trenches.

Blokes were diving off their horses onto the Turks. Vicious fighting. Chaotic.

Johnson in the thick of it.

I went in after them. And saw what the Turks were doing. Targetting the horses. Bayonets into their bellies as they reached the trenches. Bullets into their throats.

The horses without riders were trying to get away.

Machine-gunned. Blown to pieces.

Two Turks in weird camouflage jackets rose up out of a trench, guns aimed at Daisy.

No time to turn her away.

I swung my rifle round from my back, clamped it tight against my side and pulled the trigger. Trained for this, but it still nearly kicked me out of the saddle.

One of the Turks went down. So did my rifle, out of my grasp.

Daisy didn't stop. Straight at the other Turk.

I gave him my bayonet.

In deep.

Daisy leaped over the trench.

I took her reins in both hands. Urged her on and we flew. Soared over trench after trench. She never faltered, never wavered.

Otton was doing the same I hoped. But I couldn't see him.

Next thing, we were behind the trenches.

In the town. It was almost deserted. Few Turks running. Couple of our scouts yelled at me.

‘Stop the mongrels duffing the wells.'

I saw what they meant.

Turks in the town square were trying to blow up the wells. So we'd have no water after the battle. Pipeline was hours away. We'd never have made it.

The scouts dealt with the Turks. I dealt with the explosives. When you knew wells, you knew where the charges'd be.

They did a top job, those scouts. I was down deep, dragging detonator wire out of the rock crevices. Desperate Turk tried to lob a grenade down onto me. Scouts showed him the error of his ways.

I saw his body by the well-mouth when I came up. And the crater the grenade had made over the other side of the square.

Then I saw that Daisy was bleeding.

She was standing where I'd left her, trembling.

Her chest and flanks were red.

At first I thought she'd copped shrapnel from the grenade. But I looked closer and it wasn't that. It was bayonet wounds. Turks must have got her as we jumped the trenches.

I grabbed water from one of the wells and tore my shirt into pieces and wiped away the blood, gentle as I could.

They'd got her five times. But not deep. She must have been flying too fast.

‘Easy mate,' I said. ‘Have to get these clean. Don't want you festering up.'

She understood. Calm and balanced.

Me and Dad knew what to do when a horse got cut. Boil up sprigs of lemon myrtle and dab it on. But you couldn't get lemon myrtle in Palestine, so I mixed disinfectant and chlorine tablets from my first-aid kit and used that.

‘We'll have you right in no time,' I said to Daisy. ‘Rested up and fit as a fence post.'

I didn't tell her how important that was. Or just how much depended on it.

In the distance I could hear gunshots out on the battlefield, even though the battle had been over for a while. No place for wounded horses in an army on the move.

‘Trooper, attenshun,' roared a voice.

I turned. Commotion behind me. Our blokes leading their horses to canvas troughs being set up near the wells. Everyone desperate for water.

A sergeant yelling at me.

Behind him, a captain.

I stood to attention. Praying I'd patched Daisy up sufficient so they wouldn't see how wounded she was.

‘Is this the one?' demanded the captain.

‘Yes, sir,' yelled the sergeant.

I stood rigid, ready to hurl myself at them if they tried to shoot Daisy.

‘Good work, trooper,' said the captain.

I blinked, confused.

‘The Beersheba wells are of immense strategic significance,' said the captain. ‘Superb initiative, that response of yours.'

I didn't know what to say.

Strategic significance? Superb initiative?

Where was Otton when you needed him.

‘Ballantyne's our water monkey, sir,' said a voice. ‘He's got a nose for it.'

It was Bosworth.

Lesney with him.

‘Very well done,' said the captain to me. ‘I'll be recommending you for a commendation.'

He saluted, the sergeant saluted, I saluted, Bosworth and Lesney saluted, and then the officers were gone.

‘Jeez,' said Bosworth. ‘You're getting a medal.'

I was chuffed of course, but there were more important things.

‘Rather have ointment for Daisy,' I said, checking to see how her bleeding was going.

It wasn't so bad now. I stroked her head. I could see she agreed about the ointment.

‘Wait on,' I said, remembering. ‘Otton's got ointment. For his feet.'

Bosworth and Lesney didn't say anything.

‘Where is Otton?' I said.

Bosworth and Lesney still didn't say anything.

They didn't need to.

Their faces said it for them.

We found Otton on the plain we'd charged across. About a hundred yards from the trenches. Lying under his horse.

Both of them taken by the machine-guns.

I sank to my knees next to them.

When I opened my eyes, I saw it wasn't just a battlefield any more. It was a cemetery. Dozens of graves being dug.

Blokes who'd tried to do their bit.

We dug a grave for Otton. I'd have buried his horse as well, but the ground was too hard and rocky. We didn't have the right gear. We barely managed to get down deep enough for Otton's skinny body.

Gently we lowered him into the earth. I put his songbook onto his chest. The chaplain appeared, said a few words and moved on.

Then we covered our Australian mate with Palestinian soil. We scratched his name onto the stock of his rifle, stuck it into the ground as a grave marker, and tied his emu feather hat to it.

Me and Bosworth and Lesney stood, heads bowed, and said our silent words.

We stood for a long time.

Late that night, I did something else.

Didn't tell anyone about it on account of they probably wouldn't understand and they might very likely take it the wrong way.

I crept out of camp with Daisy.

Back to the Turkish lines. Found the spot where me and her first hit their trenches.

There were plenty of Turkish bodies still unburied. After a lot of hunting I found my rifle. Near to it was my bayonet, deep in the body of a bloke wearing a camouflage jacket. Next to him was another bloke, same jacket, bullet hole in the guts.

My bullet hole, I reckoned.

I lifted the two Turkish blokes onto Daisy's back. She bowed her head and we walked out into the open desert. I found a spot and dug two graves.

As gently as I could I lifted the Turkish blokes down and buried them.

I stood by the graves. Wasn't sure what to say.

Stayed there anyway.

After a while, I felt Daisy's head on my shoulder.

Truth was I didn't know those blokes at all. But thinking about them made me think about Dad, and soon my whole body was shaking with tears.

In war you never knew what was up ahead. Sure as tinned meat I didn't.

Starting with Joan's parcel.

It arrived six months after Beersheba.

I'd had a pretty low Christmas on account of Otton. Pretty low start to 1918, too. Bosworth and Lesney were posted further north. After Beersheba they'd wanted to go back into the water deployment unit with me, but the brass made them stay with the fighting.

Daisy came with me of course. The army had abandoned the pipeline and we were foraging water on the run as we pushed the Turks back towards their joint.

I saw Johnson one night in April, heading off on one of his solo hunting trips. He told me how a really crook thing had happened the week before.

Bosworth and Lesney had been killed by snipers. One careless campfire, six blokes gone.

‘Tonight's for them,' said Johnson.

His face and his bayonet both had boot polish on them. But I could still see the gleaming teeth. His and the bayonet's.

I didn't go. My place was with Daisy.

I was knocked hard by the news. Very sad I'd missed both their funerals. So me and Daisy had our own. Just a few words into an old well and a cup of water each in their memory.

Few weeks later Joan's parcel arrived. Day after my nineteenth birthday.

Nearly three years I'd been waiting to hear from her and now, out of the blue, a hefty parcel tied up with eight miles of string.

Couldn't hardly get it open, I was so excited.

Finally did, and everything fell out. Two pairs of socks. Four tins of meat. Sugar lumps for Daisy. Cough lozenges for me. Half a page from the local paper with a mention of my medal. More socks.

And a letter.

I disposed of her letter too.

But not unread.

I read it about a hundred times. Then I went out into the desert and built a small fire, inside a billy so no enemy sniper would spot the burning letter and get me through the heart like it had.

I stared at the flames, and then the embers, and then the cold ashes.

After a long time, I realised Daisy was looking at me. Sympathy on her face.

Some wouldn't have reckoned that was possible, but I saw it. Daisy knew about heartache.

‘Thanks,' I said to her. ‘A bloke with half a brain would probably have spotted this coming.'

Daisy didn't comment.

Just chewed a sugar lump.

‘Some of us creatures might think we're smarter than other creatures,' I said to her. ‘But we're not. We get an idea in our head and we hang onto it even when a six-year-old could tell us it's a dopey one.'

Daisy gently blew sugary air into my face.

I wasn't just talking about me and Joan.

Otton had tried to explain to me how this war started. I didn't grasp all the details, but when he talked about the squabbling between France and Germany and England and Russia and Serbia and the rest, I could see it wasn't real smart.

Didn't matter now.

Blokes were doing their bit. Giving their all.

We had a job to do.

I emptied the billy, wiped it out, and we headed back to camp for a feed and a sleep.

‘It's just you and me now,' I said to Daisy.