Redemption - Leon Uris [252]
I grabbed Elgin and shoved him at the bridge. He turned and hesitated and I kicked his ass over it, then snarled to Happy and Spears to follow me. All up and down the lines a haka battle cry arose as we surged into no-man’s-land.
We were not greeted by gunfire from the Turkish trenches. Clearly, they were assaulting in waves from the gullies behind their trenches.
Just like so! The gullies were emptying thousands of Turks, coming at us at high port.
“Allah Akbar!”
We had beaten them onto no-man’s-land by a full precious minute. Colonel Malone’s outrageous gamble was working! We were at the edge of their trenches when Abdul tried to cross to us. They were shocked to see us greet them. I emptied my pistol, tossed it aside. A rifle and bayonet were not hard to find this day. We gutted their first line of attackers down into their own trenches. Their second line ran right up the backs of the first line.
The Turks were thrown from offense to defense. It was they who had to hold us off, then fight their way back onto no-man’s-land where they thought they had free access.
In an attempt to achieve surprise, the Turks had not preceded their assault by cannon barrage so there was no clouding and smoke. The field was clear. As Abdul saw his comrades scream and sink, guts in hand, his nerve was shaken.
The second wave of Turks, boiling after their long dash from the gullies, threw off their jackets as well and it was naked Turk and naked Kiwi stabbing and slicing with their pointed razors.
Now I was filled with the antifear. In the insanity of no-man’s-land, two things would get me out alive. I must not lock up my brains through maniacal rage. I must think about what I’m doing. My moves must be decisive and correctly drawn. I must also work like hell. This is harder than taking a barrage, harder than digging, harder than climbing a cliff. This is plain, bloody, hard work…think and work.
This was the gladiator’s pit blown up by ten thousand! In the midst of fury and heat and confusion there came the blackest of black humor. Our uniforms—both Turks and Kiwis—were nearly the same color. Naked it was even more difficult to tell us apart. I went for men with swarthy color and big moustaches. An opening of flesh and in the point went…sometimes sticking tightly between his ribs…bring the rifle butt to the man’s head. Take him fast, pop him off balance, and pounce.
Was I still human? I was human in the speed my mind was working. I was not human in what I was doing. We were a bit bigger and stronger than the Turk with a great deal of bayonet training in Egypt, but the main thing was the tide…we had the tide with us, we had outfoxed them, and they were digging out of a hole.
By their sheer numbers we inched back.
Colonel Malone then unleashed a second battalion of bayonets—Maoris from our trenches, and their sudden fierce arrival was like a hard wave bashing.
Turks fell into disarray, which only made us press harder until finally they broke off the engagement and scrambled back beyond their trenches.
Another wave of Turks was arriving from the far gully stumbling over their own men in retreat.
Three sharp whistles, repeated and repeated, signaled us to return to our own trenches and take up firing positions. I found myself behind an empty Maxim gun and pressed a pair of lads into duty with me.
The new lines of Turks were confused. They did not know if we were going to come out again and meet them with bayonets. Perhaps we were going to counterassault and crack their trench lines.
Whatever, the storm and fury had been taken out of their assault. They came at us again, but rather gingerly, over the narrow no-man’s-land filled with bodies, crying, moaning, still.
Colonel Malone had managed our maneuver brilliantly…may be the Turks’ steam was gone…we waited, waited, waited…then twenty Maxim guns went off at once.
Word from Colonel Monash’s sector! It was brutally active beating back wave after wave of Turks who still had momentum. Monash