Redemption - Leon Uris [261]
“Major, I have fought my way through a bureaucratic nightmare to be able to come here and I have been given carte blanche. I do not quake before English generals.”
“What the Major is trying to tell you,” I jumped in quickly, “is that once you are familiar with conditions, a concentration on priorities might be the most rewarding path in the long run. In short, Doctor, no fucking way we’re going to get rid of the flies, the smell of the corpses, the lice, the dysentery, the heat, and the Turks, so let’s work on the wounded.”
Calvin Norman did not tip off a yes, a no, or a go to hell.
I’m sorry some future military historian wasn’t there to record Chester Goodwood’s dissertation before the big map. From the northern reach opposite Turkish Hill #80 right down the line to Chatham’s Post hinged to the beach, Chester explained the strength and reason of every post and trench. Calvin and his people followed the book of forty trail maps with their individual quirks and unseen dangers. As he spoke, members of Brodhead’s staff, including Colonel Hugh Markham, listened as though it were Napoleon lecturing.
Chester’s voice had not taken on its final tenor or baritone designation, but without saying it in so many words, blunders and communications of the general staff became apparent. He had to answer many questions with, “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Corps staff that, sir. I’d rather not speculate.”
“There seems to be one overriding question,” Norman said at the end. “Why in hell did anyone ever land you in this place?”
“That will be an interesting question for future military symposiums,” Colonel Markham said from the rear, and departed.
Dr. Norman’s air had gone from his balloon. He shifted about uncomfortably with the first smell of a reality that Anzac Cove was in Turkish jaws.
“How do you suppose we should carry on?” he asked Christopher. “I think, perhaps, I should make a round of the frontline positions.”
The Major nodded. “Landers here is the man to take you around.”
“Major, the paddock is quite hectic since Yurlob died,” I said with a knee-jerk reaction.
“Jeremy can cover for you. Can you manage without him for a few days, Goodwood?”
Chester felt a sense of dread. “The beach is under control,” he answered.
Speak of serendipity! I didn’t like the sense of menace dripping into my thoughts. I didn’t like the way my mind was working. When the others left I tried to justify what wanted to force its way out of me.
“Doctor, here’s my suggestion,” I said. “We can’t run your entire staff around the hills. I suggest, if they need familiarization, that they go out with the mule trains beginning tomorrow. If we rotate them properly, they’ll have a very good general picture in three days.”
“Go on, Landers.”
“There are all kinds of nuances on the terrain,” I said. “The two of us alone can give you a better detailed picture of things. Now, I warn you, it is bloody hot and some of the climbing is rough.”
“I am perfectly fit,” he snapped.
“Good,” I said.
He was pretty much as Georgia had described him. A cold number covering childhood pimples. What was his motive for coming to Gallipoli? If he was looking for glory and colonel’s pips, he’d win them here. Whatever his motive, his objective was humanitarian. So, why the hell should I care why he came? He’s probably a hell of a surgeon. Around Christchurch he sees a lot of bashed-up cases: timbermen, miners, ranchers, sailors.
I felt annoyed that I had hoped for his death. I could see him, all right, in a big-time London clinic putting his hands up the ladies’ thighs.
Each time I began to doze, I’d see him making love to Georgia…MY Georgia. Prick, bastard!
It would be so easy in the hills with just the two of us. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Maybe some Turkish sniper would do it for me. Get a grip, Rory. The Anzacs’ need for Calvin Norman is greater than your desire to murder him. It better be. What a queer world.
Odd moment, the first time I offered him my hand while we were climbing our overlook at a rock formation called the Sphinx. It protected