The Kangaroo Marines Part 11

"The Australians will retire," said an officer, jumping in front of the attacking line.

"Who said so?" asked Colonel Killem, looking at the man.

"I say so. I'm one of zee Staff."

"You d.a.m.ned German!" shouted the colonel, shooting him dead. The game which had been so well played in France did not come off.

The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and b.u.t.ted to death; but the main body were fleeing up the hill.

"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already after the enemy with the bayonet. Up the steep, steep sides of the cliff they clambered and stumbled. It was more like a race for a prize than a juggle with death. Occasionally the morning light showed the red blood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men.

These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top of the hill. Their tactics had surprised them. They had looked for the usual musketry a.s.sault; instead, they had received the chilling steel.

And the bayonet on a cold morning is a sight that sickens the best.

Furiously they pumped another dose of lead into the gallant Australians. More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spattered the gra.s.s, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard the cries of:

"Bearers--stretcher bearers!"

"Water, for G.o.d's sake!"

"Send up the doctor."

"I'm done, boys--I'm d-o-n-e!"

The units, by this time, had become mixed. Many officers had been killed. There was that confusion which is found in all attacks.

Still, all these men knew that "forward--forward" was the game. The roughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these, they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of the green plateau. Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more weary and stubborn to defend the hill.

"Kill the beggars!"

"Plug his bread-basket!"

These were some of the things that were shouted, for all soldiers, in a charge, curse like Marlborough's troops did in Flanders.

A charge seems a terrible thing when reading of it at one's fireside.

Folks s.h.i.+ver and ask, "How can they do it? Don't they feel afraid?"

They may at the outset; but the noise, the swing, the officers'

inspiration, the sight of blood and a fleeing foe damp down the sensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive l.u.s.t to kill.

For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils of wounds and death. Duty steels him harder still, and pride of race tells him that he must do as his fathers did--die like a gentleman and a soldier.

The success of the first troops inspired the following reserves. They all wanted to emulate the Kangaroo Marines and other das.h.i.+ng corps.

Without waiting for their complete units, these little groups crawled, floundered, and wriggled their way up the gully on to the hill. It was now daylight. As they gained the summit the Turks greeted them with terrific bursts of shrapnel and common sh.e.l.l. The crack, the white puff of smoke, then the scattering b.a.l.l.s of lead did not dismay these warriors.

It roused their curiosity, and, like schoolboys, some stopped to see the fun of the show. Cover they disdained. They were too proud to duck and hide in a hole or trench. This was the recklessness for which they had to pay. Yet it was useful. It taught them that to take advantage of all cover was the modern soldier's game.

"Extend, boys, extend!" roared an officer as the reserves came up.

They ran out and tried to make a long, rough line. They could see the fleeing Turks, and behind them the Kangaroo Marines and other members of the first landing force. Ahead was a little valley and then a slope. This was commanded by the Turks.

"Come on, boys," shouted an officer.

Little groups, under subalterns, N.C.O.'s, or privates with the leader's instinct, dashed towards this hill. More were killed, more wounded on the way; but, undaunted, they pushed on. Up the slopes crawled, clambered, and cursed the das.h.i.+ng infantry. They reached their objective, and, again, the Turks had gone.

"My G.o.d--what a sight!" said Claud, looking behind. The ground was dotted with dead and dying. Wounded men crawled and limped to the rear, their clothes soaked in blood. Men with limbs shattered to pulp lay moaning and pleading for death. Others, slightly wounded, poured water down the parched throats of the suffering. It was a shambles.

It was war.

Yet the touch of mercy and humanity was not absent. Doctors and bearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying. Under a ruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below.

Many were killed at the job. n.o.bly they stuck to it. The heroism of these Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show.

The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit. Turks were demoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on the course. There was no regular line. Little units were here and there.

It was the day for the born leader. Having no precise information as to where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushed right on with a courage that was amazing.

One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushed almost across the Peninsula, were either killed, wounded, or captured.

The remainder, realising the need of consolidating into a general line, came back to the main body. With their entrenching tools they dug holes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth they kept up a steady fire. Without rations, without water--and, at times, without ammunition--they patiently hung on.

All this, too, in a sweltering heat and in the centre of a terrific bombardment. It was the greatest trial any force could have experienced. The Australians exceeded all expectations.

"They're coming back again," said an officer late that afternoon.

Sure enough, there was the Turkish host. Rapid fire wiped many out; still on they came right up to the line. The Australians charged. And all day it was charge and counter-charge. Officers have seldom displayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders. They played the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historic schools. And then G.o.d, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night.

This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowed the living to s.n.a.t.c.h a drink and bite.

But none were idle. On their knees, on their backs, on their sides, they had to dig in, for the fire was still deadly and many were being killed and wounded. The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations, ammunition, and reserves ash.o.r.e. Thanks to them, the gunners, and the untiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly well established.

The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans had advertised as the impossible. Australians have, therefore, every right to feel proud. And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too.

"Well, boys--how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, when visiting his men in the trenches.

"A1 at Lloyd's, colonel. But I reckon we ought to pull old Johnny Turk's leg."

"How?"

"Play tricks on him. Give a cheer an' kid we're going to charge.

They'll fire every bally round they've got."

"Good idea, Buster--good idea! We'll do that to-night."

About 8 P.M. that night the whole front line fixed bayonets and showed them above the parapet. At a given signal all let out a ringing cheer.

The poor old Turks got into an awful stew. Machine-guns, field-guns, and rifles opened up a terrific fire. They kept it up for over half an hour, firing thousands of rounds.

"Another cheer, boys," ordered the colonel.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" went the Turks again. The ruse was a splendid one. But the wily Turk tumbled to the game at last.

"We'll need to get something new, boys; that game's played out," said the colonel next day.

After consulting his men they hit on another scheme. About twenty men were ordered to fix bayonets and continually pa.s.s along the line, allowing their bayonets to show above the parapet as they marched along.