Scorpion Sunset (17 page)

‘Because God has not turned his back on us. We have to trust in him and have faith.' Mrs Gulbenkian held out her hand to Rebeka. The girl slipped on the robe that did indeed stink of goat before taking it.

‘Now we walk as upright and as tall as we can, like princesses at a court to show these evil men that they haven't broken our spirit.'

Rebeka took her place beside Mrs Gulbenkian but her thoughts were of home and the past, not mythical help that may, or what she thought was more likely for all of Mrs Gulbenkian's confidence, may not, lie ahead.

Turkish Hospital, Baghdad

July 1916

The Turkish guards escorted John's party to the gates of the Baghdad hospital that had been requisitioned by the Ottoman Army. They spoke to the sentry, who opened the gates and ushered John, Sergeant Greening, Corporal Baker, and the three privates with their two carts inside the compound. Their guards didn't follow.

John turned when the gates closed behind them. One of the guards, the youngest, waved to him before walking down the street behind the others.

‘I hope we never see any of those beggars again,' Greening said feelingly. ‘They never lifted a finger to help us.'

‘They didn't beat us either,' John pointed out mildly. ‘And they were the ones with the guns.' He saw an entrance to the building and leaned on the cart as Baker drove towards it. A man in a white coat came out to meet them.

‘You are British soldiers?'

John stood to attention and saluted. ‘Major John Mason, medical officer with the Indian Army. We have six sick men in the carts.'

‘Colonel Muller. I am also a medical officer, Major Mason.' The German officer saluted John before walking around to the back of the carts. He looked inside. ‘Dysentery?'

‘Cholera,' John corrected. ‘They need …'

‘Hydration, care, ice, and chalk. My officers and nurses will look after them, Major Mason. Where have you come from?'

‘Shumran.'

‘I thought the last of the British POWs had been sent up from there weeks ago.'

‘We followed the men who were marched up, taking care of the sick and the dying on the way.'

‘Yet you only have six patients.'

‘Six we found in a Bedouin tent yesterday. We sent ten up river by steamboat. All the others died en route.'

‘I am so sorry,' the colonel sounded sincere. ‘The Turkish command made poor provision for your troops.'

‘They made no provision,' John countered.

Colonel Muller shouted an order through the open door. Half a dozen orderlies ran out and went to the carts.

‘I need to see what treatment you will be giving the men,' John insisted.

‘Of course, but if I may, might I suggest that first you and your men see to yourselves. We have spare rooms and a bathroom in the staff quarters. I can arrange clean clothes and meals.'

‘The sick …'

‘I promise you, Major Mason, they will be well looked after. I will take you to see them as soon as you are clean, fed, and rested. Afterwards perhaps we can discuss the future. You and your men are prisoners of war. Your men will be expected to work. We could certainly use another doctor and orderlies here. I assure you the conditions at this hospital are far more pleasant than those of a Turkish prison camp.'

‘I have to follow my regiment, Colonel Muller.'

‘At least think about it. We'll talk later.' The colonel led them down a path that ran in front of the hospital.

‘Are the British prisoners still in Baghdad?' John asked when Muller opened the door to the staff quarters.

‘I can't tell you anything about the British regiments other than they have been sent on at intervals out of Baghdad for the last few weeks.'

‘To Turkey?'

‘That's what the authorities are telling us, Major Mason. Quite a walk, wouldn't you agree?'

John pushed an image of dead men littering the desert from his mind, only to have it supplanted by one of flattened, obliterated graves.

‘Quite a walk,' he echoed grimly.

Turkish Hospital, Baghdad

July 1916

John woke in complete darkness. He opened his eyes and stretched his limbs. He was warm; lying on something so smooth and soft it felt peculiar. It took him a few moments to realise he was no longer in the desert but in a Turkish hospital in Baghdad.

He revelled in the sensation of a comfortable mattress beneath him and clean sheets against his bare skin while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he recalled seeing a candle on the locker next to his bed. He reached out, found a box of matches, opened it, struck one, and lit the candle. He left the bed and washed in a travelling washstand that stood in the corner of the cubicle-sized room.

Every muscle ached and the skin on his face and arms was raw, sore, and sensitive from sunburn. The water was cool, sparkling, and, after the muddied Tigris, unbelievably clear even in the subdued light of a single flame. The lather from the soap was soft, the towels sheer luxury. Someone had cleared away his filthy uniform while he'd slept and left a clean shirt, trousers, and socks in their place.

He dressed and ran his hand ruefully over his unshaven chin. His razor – if he still possessed it – was in his depleted kit bag somewhere in the back of one of the carts.

He opened the door of the cubicle and looked up and down the corridor. Oil lamps flickered in sconces on the wall. Hearing voices in the distance, he headed towards them and found himself in a room furnished with basic wooden chairs and tables. Sergeant Greening was sitting with Corporal Baker, Dira, and the three privates. Bowls of yoghurt, chopped melon, mint, jam, butter, cheese, and a wooden trencher that held great hunks of Turkish bread were set out in front of them.

‘Sir.' Sergeant Greening leapt to his feet and the others followed suit.

‘As you were, sergeant. That looks good.' John pulled out a chair and joined them.

‘It is, sir.' Greening handed John a bowl and spoon.

‘Anyone any idea of the time?' John looked around as his question was met with silence.

‘The four o'clock morning prayer call was about half an hour ago,' Baker volunteered.

‘I slept all afternoon and night?' John helped himself to yoghurt.

‘You slept two afternoons and two nights, sir.'

John froze, holding the ladle over his bowl.

‘But you don't have to worry about the men we brought in, sir,' Greening assured him. ‘They're all alive and on the mend. I saw them myself before I went to bed last night. The German colonel's done us proud, sir. The men are being looked after and we've all been given proper beds and as you see, as much food as we can eat.'

‘Have you talked to any British officers?'

‘Not outside this hospital, sir. The brigadier's here, along with about a hundred others. In fact there are two entire wards full of our men. They all seem to getting good care as far as I can see, although of course I'm no medical man.'

‘Which is more than …'

‘Baker, let the major eat in peace.'

‘Whatever it is, I'll find out so you may as well tell me now, sergeant,' John prompted.

‘My mate Alfred's in here, sir, with dysentery and fever,' Baker divulged. ‘He told me that most of our men have been sent on into the desert, sir. The blasted Turks are walking them to Turkey.'

‘The Dorsets?'

‘Left Baghdad two weeks ago, sir. Major Crabbe went with them.'

‘If our sick are being well cared for here, we should go after the men who are heading into Turkey as soon as possible.' John lifted the spoon to his mouth. The yoghurt was thick with the consistency of clotted cream, the melon ripe and sweet, but his stomach cramped at the smell of the food. He dropped his spoon and the food untasted back into the bowl.

‘Are you all right, sir?' Greening looked at him in concern.

‘Not used to food, Greening. Good food, that is.' John poured himself a cup of water from a jug on the table.

‘Right, you lot, to work on the wards,' the sergeant ordered. ‘I'll be along presently to check you're making yourselves useful.'

The corporal and privates left.

‘They've been put to work?' John asked.

‘Taking care of our men. They're happy to do it, sir.'

John left the table. ‘If the brigadier's here, I should talk to him.'

‘You haven't eaten, sir.'

‘I'll eat later.'

‘There won't be anything laid out here again for four hours or more.' Greening picked up a piece of bread and handed it to him. ‘You have to eat something, sir.'

‘It's been a long time since I needed a nanny, Greening.'

‘Someone has to look after you, sir. We wouldn't have made it to this place if it wasn't for you and we need you to lead us into whatever lies ahead.'

‘If anyone brought us through, it was you, sergeant. You're even capable of taking command when your CO decides to fall asleep for two days and nights.' John went to the door. ‘Which way is the ward?'

British POW Ward, Turkish Hospital, Baghdad

July 1916

The brigadier's voice was so faint John had to lean forward to hear what he was saying.

‘The Turks split the officers into four groups. The first two comprised all the high-ranking officers and generals, about a hundred in each. They left three weeks ago. They were given transport of sorts, principally mules and a few carts.'

‘They were sent into Turkey?' John checked.

The brigadier nodded.

‘They were allowed to take orderlies?'

‘Two apiece. If you don't have two with you, take one from the convalescents here. The ranks stand a better chance of surviving if they're detailed to serve us.'

‘The third group?' John asked.

‘Junior officers and orderlies. They left Baghdad last week on foot. The fourth were mainly sick and wounded. Some ended up here some were sent elsewhere. I don't –'

It was so painful to hear the brigadier speak in his weakened voice, John interrupted him. ‘I'll find out where they are and try to see them, sir.'

‘I visited the men's camp every day before I ended up here with this blasted fever. The ranks were kept in the most appalling conditions. Open field, no water, no latrines, except what they could dig themselves, and they had no strength left for fatigues. I've since heard they've all been marched out to Turkey …'

‘I'll check, sir,' John promised.

‘Turks said the men were going to construct railways …'

‘I've heard that too, sir.'

The brigadier managed a small smile. ‘Your sergeant told me you've been sleeping for two days.'

‘I have, sir.'

‘From the look of you could do with another two months.'

‘I'll sleep on the boat home when the peace treaties have been signed, sir.'

‘Did you manage to save any of the men the Turks forced us to abandon on the march here?'

‘Some, sir, not many. I found a few of them berths on steamboats. I hope they were cared for afterwards. Most of our time on the journey here was spent comforting the dying and burying the dead.'

The brigadier's eyes closed and his voice dropped even lower. ‘Look after yourself, Mason. You'll be no good to our men if you succumb. We need all our doctors. Too many were sent downstream from Kut with our sick and wounded. No Englishman would treat a dog the way the way the Turks have treated …'

John saw the German doctor enter the ward. He grasped the brigadier's hand.

‘I'll talk to you again before I leave here, sir.' He rose and pushed the stool he'd been sitting on back beneath the brigadier's bed.

‘Good to see you up, Major Mason, even if you are tiring my patient,' Dr Muller said.

‘The brigadier's very weak,' John diagnosed.

‘He was close to death when he was brought in here.'

‘I didn't mean that as a criticism.' John looked around the ward. It was clean, as were the patients and the bedlinen. ‘You run a fine hospital.'

‘We do our best. It was easier before the war when we only had patients from the European civilian and local communities.'

‘This is not a military hospital?'

‘It wasn't until the war broke out. Although you wouldn't think it now from the number of soldiers we're treating. As for the brigadier, I would like to keep him here for at least another two weeks, three would be better. The American consul is attempting to get some of the British sick exchanged for the Turkish POWs your forces are holding in Basra, but the Turks are loath to release any of the British higher ranks because they make good bargaining chips.' Colonel Muller glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I usually have coffee and a roll in my office at this hour. I would be pleased if you would join me.'

John followed Muller. A coffee pot, cups, plates, knives, and a basket of cheese rolls stood on the desk.

‘Please, help yourself,' Muller offered.

‘Thank you.' John took a roll and set it on a plate.

‘I meant what I said about offering you a post in this hospital. We are short of doctors. You wouldn't have to treat Turkish military personnel, only your own soldiers and local civilians. The men who arrived with you have proved themselves excellent orderlies. You could all stay here and sit out the rest of the war in safety with sufficient food and reasonable accommodation.'

‘As opposed to the starvation rations and appalling accommodation our comrades will have to endure in Turkey.'

‘You and I both know the Turk won't care for his prisoners, Major Mason. Your rank and file have been treated very badly in Baghdad and your officers not much better.' Muller picked up the up the coffee pot and poured two cups of coffee. ‘What do you say to my offer? Will you accept my invitation to work alongside me and my colleagues?'