Redemption - Leon Uris [233]
I’m sleepy…and she is lying on the bed in the ship’s cabin, all so white and rounded and the green silk shining and weaving in and out of her body, between her legs…. How’s that now? With all that’s on my mind, there’s a stirring for her between my legs. Jesus, do you know how I loved you, Georgia. Oh Lord, why can I never tell you?
It seemed as though I had just closed my eyes when a predawn burst shook the Wagga Wagga. We rushed outside to see the warships cannonading. Orange bursts and flames were visible several miles off.
The light of day was so inundated with smoke from the gunfire we could not see the land.
The bos’n’s whistle pierced the din.
“First wave assemble!”
A large lighter pulled up shipside. Reels of barbed wire, machine-gun ammo, water cans, were lowered and set in the boat.
Major Chris pulled us back away from the railing.
“The Aussies hit heavy resistance yesterday,” he said.
“We’re pushing up our landing schedule. The Otagos and Wellingtons will hit shore at 0515. Move your time up to 0545.”
“How far inland are our people?”
“Don’t know. Keep your men as near to the beach as you can. Set up your own perimeter. Landers, Goodwood, you’d better take a light machine-gun squad with you when you go scouting. See you later.”
“All right,” Jeremy called twenty yards down the deck, “over the side.”
“Webbing open! If anything falls off you, let it go.”
My lighter signaled they had our gear stowed.
“Let’s go, lads!” I called.
Oh Jesus! Two steps down the ladder I got my first true view of the water. It was foaming from shrapnel and bullets! The chop of the water slammed our lighter against the side of the Wagga Wagga. The man below me fell from the ladder and was crushed between the boat and the ship.
“Keep those fucking lines tight against the ship!”
I jumped into the boat, and began pulling men into the lighter and shoving them into their places. Johnny Tarbox was in last. We let go of the ropes and a wave hurled us away from the ship.
As the Wagga Wagga did a sweeping turn and retreated to rendezvous with the other troopships, a dozen destroyers bore down on us and tossed lines to our lighters, then maneuvered so that we were behind them. Our destroyer, HMS Greenport, was already towing a pair of pontoon piers. With a group of lighters hooked onto her stern, the Greenport waited for the remaining destroyers to ready their tows, and we all moved in a deliberate line for the shore.
The wake from the destroyers, the shells, and a sea gone angry rolled and pitched us without mercy. Vomiting broke out.
“Puke between your legs!”
Suddenly our line moved underneath the curtain of smoke and there she was, Gallipoli! My first reaction was, it was like New Zealand in a drought season. Rolling hills and…
Our boat went into shock as everybody dove to the bottom. As we inched toward land the racket grew. Now the Greenport and other destroyers dropped anchor and began slamming shells into the hills.
We needed to transfer one more time, from the lighters into lifeboat-size skiffs. Fortunately the lighter was higher than the boats and we could hurl ourselves over.
Johnny pointed. “That’s the first wave, Rory. The Otagos. They’re ashore!”
I saw Subaltern Richards, our platoon commander, working his way to the back of our boat. Shrapnel had torn off his arm and part of his shoulder. How in the hell he remained conscious I don’t know. There was no place to put a tourniquet on him. He’d be gone in a few minutes.
“Platoon Serjeant Amberson has my command,” he said, and he went down fast, twitched, screamed, and was still.
“Take off his pips, half his identification tag. Get his wallet to send