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

air flatten as a bullet whipped past his head. A sudden burst of terror surged through him forcing the wire to cut, with a satisfying snip. He forced his way through the gap into a triangular shaped inner courtyard of wire that funnelled the attackers into a killing zone. Johnny ran forward and went to put the cutters on the wire but Williams snatched them away. ‘You’re bloody useless, man.’

Williams cut a neat gap in the wire with irritating ease. That got Johnny’s back up. He wasn’t going to be outdone and snatched the cutters back as they dived through the gap to the next line of wire.

Johnny felt a bullet suck the air as it passed his cheek and he heard a sickening thud. A Fusilier who’d followed them was clutching his face, blood spilling through his fingers as he fell. Johnny looked up and saw a sniper in the foliage on the cliff, pointing a rifle at him, and ducked. The bullet grazed the wire cutters and knocked them out of his hands in a stinging spray of sand and metal.

Johnny tried to put the cutters back on the wire but they’d been jammed. Exasperated, Williams grabbed them and swore. ‘Now look what you’ve bloody well done – sir.’

Chapter 46

Johnny could see the relative safety of a grassy sand dune a few yards away. ‘Come on, we’ll have to dig. You’re practically a miner, should be second nature to you.’

He began to tunnel under the wire, feeling it rip into his back as he clawed his way through the wet sand and had a brief flash of Lady Smyth in the throes of ecstasy. Spurred on by the pinging of bullets, he scrambled out and ran at a crouch to protect his essentials and dived under the green sand dune. Williams crashed down beside him, still cradling his rucksack.

‘Just like the dunes on Port Talbot beach, hey, Williams?’ Johnny said, remembering his swimming lessons at the Welsh seaside.

‘I wouldn’t know, I’m a Turk.’ Williams said.

‘You’re a what?’ Johnny spun round.

‘Ironically that’s what they call people from Llanelli, no one knows why. As it happens, the last time I was at the seaside I was in Blackpool. Won the prettiest little mill girl you ever saw a bag of sweets on the shooting range. Ever so grateful she was, when we took a stroll along the beach. Still taste the peppermint I can,’ Williams smiled wistfully. ‘Wish I was there now.’

Johnny smiled his agreement. He could have been summering at the Venice Lido, with a honey blonde clawing at him.

Boil, the signaller, and a handful of men came through the wire, and joined Johnny under the sand dune.

More of the Fusiliers were finding a way through the wire, prying out the stakes, or climbing over dead men hanging on the wire. Johnny saw Sergeant Richards, his leg shot to bits, dragging himself out of the wire spurring his platoon to follow him.

Enfilade fire from the cliffs was taking a terrible toll on the attackers. A hidden machine gun knocked down scores of men every time it traversed along the side of the beach. With their rifles jammed it was impossible to return fire, let alone bring overwhelming fire to bear on the enemy, as the manual directed.

Johnny watched in awe as Fusiliers pinned down all across the beach, disassembled their jammed rifles, cleaning the bolts with toothbrushes and re-oiling them.

A figure caught Johnny’s eye crawling out from under the wire and came pelting towards him. He realised it was Winterbottom the earnest young subaltern. The men under the sand dunes cheered him on. Johnny screamed as Winterbottom’s chest exploded and looked up at the cliff. He caught sight of the sniper dropping down behind a rock, his dull brown uniform blending in with the surroundings.

Incensed, Johnny took a rifle from one of the fallen men and using the heel of his boot forced the bolt down, to cock the weapon and drew a bead on where he’d seen the sniper hide. The next time he popped up Johnny took the top of his head off in a satisfying mist of blood and brains. He was actually fighting back. Using his boot to cock the rifle again, he switched his aim to the trench that ran along the cliff and picked off another Turk.

Williams tapped Johnny on the shoulder and pointed out the next wave of boats coming in. Brigadier General Hare was standing up in the lead boat, signalling for them to go round the side of the cliff, to land in front of Tekke Burnu. On a spit of land next to the beach, away from enemy fire.

‘What the hell are you doing skulking down there, Swift?’ The broad figure of Captain Cuthbert Bromley was glaring down at him, ignoring the enemy fire.

‘I’m er trying to establish …’ Johnny began but was cut short by Bromley.

‘Never mind that. I’ve spoken to Willis and we’re carrying on with the plan of attack. He’s going to take the trenches to the front. We’re going to take that small hill and continue the advance.’ Bromley nodded at a hill on the left hand side of the beach that sloped up from the top of the cliff and had been marked as Hill 114 on the briefing map.

‘I need you to lead these men up the cliff and take the Turkish positions.’ Bromley pointed at a narrow path that twisted its way up the side of the cliff to the precipice.

‘Yes, sir.’ Johnny was grateful to be doing something and shouted to the men next to him. ‘Right lads, fix bayonets and follow me.’

He was surprised by the stillness in his voice, as he took a bayonet from a dead Fusilier and slotted it into place on his rifle. It hadn’t been the first time he’d given