Читать книгу The Desert Column - Ion Idriess - Страница 19

April 25th—-Was on outpost duty last night—shivering. While still dark, an aeroplane buzzed overhead, flying east. It must have been arctic up there. ... We smiled last night. A dozen Bedouin women and children camped in their goatskin tents right against our regimental camp. Two of our men were ordered to take them into our camp lest they give our position away to their menfolk. But the women were more obstinate than mules—refused to come in. At last one of our fellows picked up a child and walked towards the camp. The mother cried pitifully and ran after him. The other soldier blocked her path with levelled bayonet, but she stood with her breast against the steel and tried to kiss his hands. Our fellows swore at the women and let them go.

...The Tommies really are fools. Some of the Arabs who were shot in the attack, were fraternizing with the camel-drivers the day before and cadging food from the Tommies. The prisoners say that some of the Arabs were living in the camp here days before the attack. One of our patrols found a dying Turkish officer miles out in the desert yesterday. He says that the force which attacked this post numbered seven hundred and fifty men.

No doubt the Tommies, or rather the Scotties, put up a desperate resistance. A few hours after the fight started a ‘plane swooped so low over the redoubt that the sand was whirled from below her propeller. The observer shouted “Hold on—the supports are coming!” then blazed into the Turks with the machine-gun. The Bedouins sprang up from the holes they had scooped in the sand and scattered wildly while the Scotties blazed at them. When the Turks saw C Squadron galloping close up with us, and the Scots infantry coming in the rear to their right and left flanks, they rushed back to their camels and fled. They had a 15lb field-gun that the ‘plane dropped a bomb on and put out of action. The Scotties swear by the ‘plane.

Evidently they were in desperate need at that moment. She had to fly so low in using her machine-gun that the Scotties in the redoubt could plainly hear the smack, smack, smack, of the Turkish bullets through her canvas wings. The ‘plane was badly damaged. The Turks drew their field-gun or guns by mules. Some of the mules shot were loaded with ammunition packed in splendidly-made iron boxes, eight shells to a box, each shell fitting into a groove. The shells were prettily made.

April 26th—We found ten more dead Turks out in the desert, dressed in their unusual yellow uniform with a red sash. ... There was a patrol of Worcestershire Yeomanry with the Scotties. ... Was on patrol again yesterday. We found a Yeomanry man lost in the desert with a lot of camel-drivers. He was one of the men who had got away from Katia: they were mad from thirst. We have found such a lot of them now, scattered all over the sands. And numbers of riderless horses have come into camp—they gallop for the water neighing like mad things. The men and horses we find now though, are dead. Now we know what really happened to the 6th Mounted Brigade. The men at Oghratina and Katia were destroyed. They were also pushed out of Romani and Hamisah. The brigade has lost six hundred men. After we relieved Dueidar and news of the disaster trickled in, the 6th and 7th Light Horse away back at Salhia on the Canal hurried to Romani by forced marches. They found that the Yeomanry at Oghratina and Katia had died hard. Numbers of men had been bayoneted in their blankets. But many others after the first surprise had burrowed holes in the sand and fought to the death. Beside each man was a little pile of empty cartridge-cases. The 6th and 7th Light Horse were pretty mad when they found some of the wounded Tommies had been slowly choked to death. The Bedouins had twisted wire around their throats. They got the wire, a thin wire that binds the bales of horse-fodder. They tore the clothes off the wounded, first sneering “Finish British! Turks Kantara! Turks Port Said! Turks Cairo!” When the 6th and 7th got there long after the fight, they found dead men and wounded, stragglers and horses scattered for miles over the sands. Away out at Oghratina, days afterward, they got some Yeomanry wounded, still alive.

The Yeomanry officers lived pretty well: they seem to have been the sons of wealthy families. Lord Elcho was one of the captured, so the survivors tell us. We haven’t seen a real lord yet.

...The horses are at last earning their feed. They stand the heavy patrol work splendidly. They are trained to the last sinew.

April 27th—Was on Listening Post last night—very cold. It is a nervy job, standing wrapped in a greatcoat, like a shrouded shadow that dare not move, staring out into the desert.

Our main outpost hill is three hundred and eighty-three, standing like a pyramid of sand three miles out from our Oasis camp.

...I am sitting on a warm sandhill free for four hours. Writing fills in time wonderfully. This sort of active service promises to be very interesting; so I’ll explain my theories even if only to myself. Twelve of us are up here on the peak of the world; four are down the hill in a sheltered spur with the horses. Stretching before us is a sea of sand peaks. At a surprising distance away over the hills we can plainly see the tracks of Australian horse patrols, or of Bedouin camelry. About six miles to our left are the 6th and 7th Light Horse by the Romani oasis. Three miles behind us is the dark green little patch which are the palms of Dueidar, where our regiment—no not rests—is ever ready.

Now, the prize of nations, at present, is the Suez Canal, about ten miles behind us. So we, that is, our outpost, are really guarding that hundred miles of waterway with its load of ships and all that it means. That sounds comical, but is true. If the Turks come, our job is to detect them miles away. We then helio the regiment, which turns out to fight after it has helioed Hill 70, which phones back to the Canal Army and instantly the fighting machinery of an army is set in motion. Meanwhile our outpost fights. If superior numbers drive us back on the regiment, the regiment fights. If numbers are still superior, the brigade fights. If the brigade, or what might be left of it is driven back on Hill 70, then the infantry fight. While we are fighting and holding back the enemy all we can, the army behind is rushing up reinforcements, for time means everything. If Hill 70 is captured then the whole army along the Canal fights. And if the army is pushed into the canal, then England loses the Canal, and all her army in Egypt, and all her stores and her ships. She loses all Egypt and her prestige, and perhaps the very war. So now, England, all your might and power and the lives of hundreds of thousands of men might well rest on this sun-browned outpost gazing away out across the desert.

So that’s that! I’ll have a smoke now: I reckon I’ve deserved it. And the old colonel has put some sort of a stunt across the canteen funds, so that we can have a plentiful supply of tobacco.

Afternoon—This morning I explained the fate of an army, or rather two armies, and of the Canal and Egypt and England. I reckon it was good work, considering I’m only Trooper 358. I’m off watch for another four hours, so I’ll explain a bit about the regiment. We are all concentrated in sections. A section is four men. A section lives together, eats together, sleeps together, fights together, and when a shell lands on it, dies together. A full troop of men has eight sections. There are four troops to a squadron, three squadrons to a regiment. I’m not going farther than the regiment. Our big world is the regiment and even then most of us don’t know intimately the men out of our own squadron. Our life is just concentrated in the “section.” We growl together, we swear together, we take one another’s blasted horses to water, we conspire against the damned troop-sergeant together, we growl against the war and we damn the officers up hill and down dale together; we do everything together—in fact, this whole blasted war is being fought in sections. The fate of all the East at least, depends entirely upon the section.

Well now, my section is old Morry, and Stanley, and Bert Card. Gus Gaunt is a great mate but he fights and growls in another section. So that’s that. Now I’m not going into details of the little troop even, let alone the squadron and the regiment. They all have their sections. Our squadron officer at present is Captain Bolingbroke, for the Old Bird has gone to France. Bolingbroke is well liked. He is a long, lanky fire-eater, fitting successor to the Old Bird. Dr Dods has also gone to France. Major Maclean is the doctor now—he is such a decent old chap the regiment has taken him to its heart.

A wind is eddying curls of dust from the sandhill tops. Here goes for a smoke before it is my watch again.

April 28th—The Turks have all retired towards Mageibra. The 6th and 7th Light Horse patrols sent in word of burying sixty dead Yeomanry at Katia. Two days ago they found twenty other poor chaps. We are wondering as to the fate of the prisoners. The Turks must have taken some, surely. Poor devils.

...The regiment is in great spirits. There is constantly the chance of excitement in the air. We are actually getting a little bread right out here in the wilderness. ... The colonel must be an observant old cuss. He has introduced “spearpoint pumps.” He saw them used in the Ayr sugar district, in Northern Queensland. They are very effective. They are only a pointed tube, perforated. We can hammer one into the sand and draw water from it in under a quarter of an hour. Previously, it took two men at least half a day’s hard work before they reached water.

April 29th—On outpost last night towards Beetle Hill. Ideal country for snipers, but not troubled ... No one would recognize the tiny Scottish redoubt now. We are turning it into a formidable position. We hope the Turks will attack, just to try it out.

April 30th—The lice are wretched damn things. A man’s daily tally is about thirty except when he’s right off duty and gets a chance to take his pants down, and then God knows how many he gets.

May 2nd—The regiment “Stands to!” every morning at three o’clock, a silent rising of armed men—ready. The Turks love to attack in those sleepy hours before dawn. They will get a shocking surprise if they tackle us. We are a crack regiment now—ceaseless training has made us so. A crack regiment of Australian Light Horse possess a terrible fighting-power—and instant mobility adds to our regiment the strength of two. Out in the open desert our mounted regiment could defeat two thousand Turkish infantry, and experience has taught us how they can fight. Our canny colonel will never let us be taken by surprise.

Besides the circle of redoubts we are building around the oasis, we have dismounted outposts all around, especially at night. A strong post three miles out on top of 383. By day, they can helio to the invisible 6th and 7th Regiments out at Romani and miles away back to our rear to the Hill 70 infantry garrison near the Suez Canal. By night, a ground telephone-line connects from the outposts to the regiment. And as an encircling chain, with each link silently alert, in likely dongas, wherever the enemy would most likely crawl to the attack, await our Cossack posts, grim hands ready to fight and give the alarm on the instant—then fly should the case demand.

May 5th—German taubes are a dammed nuisance. Almost daily they drone over the oasis, seeking a target to lay eggs. Our outpost on 383 generally see them miles away with their glasses. They ring up the regiment and instantly the oasis springs to life. Every man rushes his horse, leaps on and gallops straight out into the desert in a thundering scatter of six hundred horses. The taubes have never surprised us yet. They haven’t scored a single casualty. And, a curious fact, they can’t see us when we remain perfectly still. We have proved this from experience and captured orders. It is a curiously triumphant feeling, a feeling with a delicious little scornful thrill, holding your horse motionless and gazing up at the ominous metalled bird flying so low that you can distinctly see the hooded heads of pilot and observer gazing down, and yet though hundreds of men are watching them they can’t see a single thing on which to loose their bombs—so long as we remain scattered and still. So much for the aeroplane—modern vulture of war beaten by the instinct of ground things.

May 6th—We are getting quite decent tucker here. Nothing like private life of course—but still quite a number of grateful changes from the steel-hard biscuits and bully-beef. ... They found the bodies of three hundred more Yeomanry lying around Katia. Hope the report is incorrect, but am afraid now it is not. We heard of it a week ago and it has not been contradicted.