Read Winds of Eden for Free Online Page A

‘Covering fire! Pin Johnny Turk down! Into the forward trenches!’ he ordered, before joining Crabbe and Sandes in the dugout. He indicated the mass of Turkish snipers on the opposite bank. ‘We’ll have to wait until nightfall to destroy your bridge Sandes. Crabbe, organise volunteers from the sappers, miners and Gurkhas and find two officers to go over to the opposite bank with them tonight.’
    â€˜The officers will be easy, sir.’ Crabbe looked to where Peter and Matthews were lying low in their boat, scanning the bridge with binoculars.
    Kut al Amara, nightfall, Friday 10th December 1915
    Peter watched the sun turn from gold to red as it sank slowly to the horizon. He was mentally and physically drained. The Turkish snipers hadn’t let up since their main force had abandoned their failed attack on the bridge early that morning. As a result, over two hundred British troops had been stretchered into the town. The fortunate to the makeshift improvised hospitals set up by the medics, the less fortunate to the mortuaries.
    When the Turks had attacked he’d been prepared to fight a battalion single-handed without covering fire, but interminably long hours spent lying in the bottom of the boat before he and Matthews had managed to paddle back to the home bank, had sapped his enthusiasm and energy.
    Crabbe slithered down the bank on elbows and knees to where Peter and Lieutenants Mathews and Sweet were waiting. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.
    Peter nodded. He and the two lieutenants waded into the river alongside the poised and waiting Gurkhas. Before they could push out the first boat, the Turkish fusillade started up again. Bullets hailed into the water around them.
    Within seconds covering fire from the 2nd and 7th Gurkhas whistled over their heads.
    â€˜Mellis’s men,’ Mathews breathed.
    Peter dropped the gun cotton charges into a boat and pushed it towards the centre of the river. Clinging to the stern, he and his two fellow officers headed for the opposite bank. Behind them two boats steered by volunteers from the ranks floated in their wake.
    â€˜We’ve sent those men on a suicide mission,’ Sandes declared when Crabbe crawled back into the dugout.
    â€˜Smythe’s come through worse.’
    â€˜Didn’t it occur to the bloody brass when they ordered me to build that pontoon bridge that the Turks would see it as an invitation to visit?’
    â€˜Possibly they thought you needed something to occupy yourself and your men.’
    â€˜I know just how I’d like to occupy myself.’
    â€˜Engineering officers are not permitted to blow up HQ.’
    â€˜More’s the pity.’
    They stood side by side, peering over the sandbags. Tense minutes ticked past as they strained their eyes monitoring the shadowy figures of the small party pushing boats packed with explosive to the opposite bank.
    â€˜Suicide!’ Sandes reiterated as a bullet hit a Gurkha. The man fell back into the river. His body was carried downstream.
    A voice resounded behind them. ‘If they’ll succeed there’ll be a medal in it for the officer in charge.’
    Crabbe turned. Colonel George Perry had entered the dugout.
    Crabbe couldn’t resist answering. ‘Medals lose their gloss when they’re pinned on a corpse, Colonel Perry.’
    Perry snorted and moved on. The first explosion rent the air.
    â€˜They did it!’ Sandes grabbed Crabbe’s shoulder as his bridge was thrown high and splintered in the air. ‘They bloody well did it!’
    â€˜They’re back, sir. Look.’ A private pointed to Peter who was dragging the wounded Gurkha out of the water. Close behind him were the sodden figures of Lieutenants Alec Matthews and Roy Sweet.

Chapter Four
    Lansing Memorial Mission, Basra, Saturday 25th December 1915
    â€˜All day people have been asking me. “How can we celebrate Christmas with so many men dead?” ʼ The