The Dardanelles Conspiracy Alan Bardos (reading a book txt) 📖

Another salvo from the Queen Elizabeth knocked the ground out from beneath Breitner's feet. The sound of roaring water filled his head. He thought for a moment that the ramparts had collapsed and water from the Straits was washing over him, drowning his screams.

Horrified, he managed to struggle to his feet. Half the gun crew he’d been directing were dead and the breach of the gun was buried under dirt and rocks, but already the surviving members of the crew were trying to clear it. Breitner became aware of Dolly pulling on his arm.

‘This is no good, we have to get the men into the shelters. We’ll come back and dig the guns out when the British switch target and it can start all over again.’ Then Dolly cheered and pointed down the Straits. ‘Hey, look.’

In the distance Breitner could see that the Bouvet and the other French ships were turning away, but another line was forming up to replace them. Breitner couldn’t understand why Dolly was cheering.

Dolly smiled grimly. ‘I told you we’ve left a little surprise for the enemy ships.’

***

Kurt Wirbelauer cried every obscenity he could think of, the Allied fleet were succeeding in silencing the large calibre batteries.

The Allies were now bringing up a new line of ships to replace the battered French, to further test the exhausted German and Turkish gunners. The French ships were serenely turning to starboard, heading back to the mouth of the Dardanelles.

Kurt watched the manoeuvre through his binoculars and was dazzled by a sharp flash from the second ship in the line, the Bouvet. A deep thud sounded and the Bouvet was immersed in steam and a great cloud of smoke. The whole ship rocked with a sudden much larger explosion and it immediately began to list to stern, then turned over. Kurt said a silent prayer, as a stream of men ran down the side of the ship before it was taken by the sea.

Despite the horror of what he had just witnessed, Kurt was lifted. They weren’t finished yet. He picked up his telephone and shouted to his sergeant. ‘We’ve sunk one of their battleships.'

He heard a cheer come up behind him and the hurried orders as his men put renewed efforts into their work and not a moment too soon. Kurt saw an approaching line of enemy fishing trawlers. Now was his time.

***

Johnny tried to remain steadfast as the trawler battered itself against the current. Paired with another trawler, they were managing to drag a cable along, to sweep for mines. The little boat strained to get every ounce of power from its steam engine, as its propeller span with a horrible grating noise.

The Turks were firing high explosive and shrapnel shells that came straight towards their flimsy boat with the distinctive whistle and roar of an express train, bringing home to Johnny the realisation that Breitner, the sneaky bastard, had completely fooled him.

High explosive shells straddled the trawler throwing her about in a maelstrom of black water. While the shrapnel shells fizzed overhead and rained down a hail of bullets on the wheelhouse’s steel plating. The boat pitched on its side and Johnny lost his bully beef breakfast, and annoyingly his rum ration.

‘Oh, how disgusting,’ Barringtons remarked, glancing at Johnny before barking at Broaden, ‘Damn it, keep your bearings, man, or we’ll be pulled off course completely.’

‘The compass is out by at least two points, sir,' Broaden said, embarrassed.

‘I’m not surprised, it’s lashed together with bits of string,’ Barringtons answered.

The boat abruptly lurched backwards and stopped. Johnny’s grip on the side finally broke and he was slammed headfirst onto the deck.

‘We must have snagged one,’ Barringtons shouted above a harsh rasping sound from the side of the boat.

‘One what?’ Johnny asked, straightening up.

‘Mine, obviously,’ Barringtons said impatiently.

‘Sounds like the winch could do with a bit of work, sir,’ Broaden remarked laconically.

The rasping stopped and the boat continued its slow progress towards the narrows. Barringtons turned to Johnny. ‘Right, we might have brought one up, you better get ready with a rifle.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Johnny asked.

‘You told PO Broaden here that you were in the infantry and know how to use a rifle.’

Johnny looked resentfully at Broaden, who grinned. ‘Sorry mate, impossible to keep a secret on a boat this size.’

‘We can't have passengers at a time like this. Now get out there and assist Leading Seaman Dudley with the mine.’ Barringtons handed Johnny a rifle and pushed him towards the door.

Johnny gathered himself. He would play the game. The social embarrassment of letting the side down was too deeply ingrained in him to do anything else. He gingerly stepped outside the protection of the wheelhouse.

A shell came down two hundred yards from the boat hurling up a tower of water, burying Johnny under a mass of stinking water. Coughing he managed to cling on as the boat righted itself.

Johnny heard a shout. Dud was at the stern pointing at something in the water. Hanging onto the side of the trawler Johnny moved towards him, past the Skipper who was lovingly tending his sweep, which now had a thick cable hanging from it.

Dud lifted his rifle and Johnny stopped to see what he was firing at, then instinctively threw himself down. A 5.9 shell was merrily whistling towards them. It exploded just above the stern, in a black burst that shredded the sea and pinged shrapnel balls off the steal plating. When Johnny opened his eyes, Dud was gone, replaced by a bloody mess hanging over the side of the boat.

Johnny retched and pressed himself into the deck, as the shells continued to crash down. He felt a sharp pain in his shin and thought for a moment he'd caught one. Then felt another blow in exactly the same place.

Wincing Johnny