"London, then. A top-of-the-line clinic."
"I'm staying in the Army, Landers. I've done too many things for the wrong reasons in my life. We're going to come into a lot of new medicine before this thing is over. I'd like to do another tour of duty to help put some of these lads on their feet and make their lives more livable. How's that for the old hippopotamus oath?"
"A lot of thinking changes out here, doesn't it?"
"Thank God for that," he said.
I told myself, "Rory, get a grip. He's getting too drunk." What the hell, I've seen him either drunk or out on his feet and snap out of it in a blink and go on to operate on twenty more men without a mishap.
"You've no wife, Landers."
"No."
"But you've a sweetheart of a sweetheart."
"In actual fact, when I left home, the future was so far away I decided to leave New Zealand without commitments."
"I did, too," Norman said, "but it was the worst decision I ever made."
"But you've a wife," I blurted.
"Second wife. Brigadier Christian Holiday's widow. Decent sort."
"But you've no wife in New Zealand?"
"Noooo. I was divorced by the most lovely, quick-witted, capable woman any man could wish for. We were actually divorced six months before the war started. I knew I'd be heading back to the Army, what with my reserve commission. Georgia-that was her name-was decent enough to keep the divorce secret to protect my professional standing. I was a lecher, you see. She let me remain in our house until I went off to the Army...and I decided to make my mark in Alexandria...and I did. Brigadier Christian Holiday's widow is a decent sort, good career move for me.... I'm talking too much...."
"Not at all, sir."
"Feels rather a relief to be able to speak about it. My Ghurka lads wouldn't understand, what? I was a rotter, Landers, driven to try to have sex with every woman I came upon."
"But...this Georgia woman..."
"Ah, Georgia."
"Didn't you ever write again to her?"
"I wrote once to ask for a chance and she wrote back inferring that she had found the love of her life and would probably be leaving New Zealand. Oh Landers, do keep this hush-hush. Bernice Holiday is a decent sort."
We were interrupted by a barrage that nearly shook us out of the shelter. From the sharpness of the explosions I guessed it was from mortar rounds.
"Cripes!" someone from outside called, "they got the Red Cross tent!"
My Beloved Georgia, I pray that Wally knows where you are and gets this to you. I can scarce forgive myself for not declaring the enormity of the love I hold for you. I know you turned me loose because you thought it was a shallow fling of a wild boy, but it is not that way.
I have seen the trenches in a hard way and I write you not as a homesick lad, but as a man who has grown to know himself. If I do not find you, I will never get over it.
Your former husband, Calvin Norman, and I are in common cause here. He has become a giant, not only for the lives he has saved and for sacrificing himself physically and mentally...but because he has set lovely new values for his life.
He is a difficult man to know. I am the only one he speaks to in confidence. I'm sure you know, he gets pissed on two drinks and having taken to me, he's poured his guts out.
Calvin Norman has been good for me, Georgia. I have seen this nasty man become human and stand up under the cruel pressures of deciding life and death.
I also know that you did not tell me the truth when you told me he was writing to you every day and pleading with you. I know now you wanted to free me, to give me my own life. My only life is with you. I will not believe you don't love me until I hear it from your own lips.
Norman has married again, apparently the right marriage for him. She is the widow of a Brigadier. He confided that he is going to remain in the Army, but for the right reasons. A lot of men are going to need a lot of help after the war.
I don't know how to say this, but I've felt your love transcending time and space and it has reached me and told me we're still holding on to one another...
Please God, let's find each other.
We were sure glad as hell to see June over and done with, but July was no better. Until now, few among us believed we would get out of this alive.
Changes were happening that did not bode well. Our conditions continued to deteriorate. Calvin Norman's estimation that the individual soldiers were living at half-strength was a generous appraisal. So long as our spirit was there, we'd always find the strength for one more scrap.
I suppose it is standard when sending men into battle to berate the courage and capability of the enemy. Before we landed, our staff had downgraded the Turks. After all, the Turks spent years getting the bejesus kicked out of them, losing all of their empire in Europe.
Well, something woke Abdul up. Sometimes I believe that most battles are not won or lost by the tacticians or even the courage of the soldiers. I think it often comes down to a case of who has the most stamina. I'd wager my last quid that every battle in history was fought on two hours' sleep.
The Turks had stopped us cold, and although they were unable to throw us into the sea, there was a discernible shift in their spirit. We were no closer to Chunuk Bair than the first day we landed.
Word was that the Turks had defeated the Armenians and the Russians in the Caucasus and now had new divisions to shift down to Gallipoli.
There was also talk of a nationalistic rebellion by junior Turkish officers who had infused the troops with a real sense of nation.
The thought of a Turkish victory horrified London. It meant that the British would "lose face" in a part of the world where loss of face was the most catastrophic event in a nation's history.
So we hung on, not moving forward, not moving backward, not surrendering, and with no hope of winning.
Day after day it all came to roost in Calvin Norman's surgery. Anzac was slowly being sucked lifeless and bled to death.
At Corps, quandary begat quandary.
A series of tactical blunders and foolish assaults began to smell of desperation on the part of our generals. All during July, Widow's Gully was filled to capacity.
What keeps a group of men going? Each other, I suppose. We found ways of fending off despair, not letting each other sink. There was some despair but no thought of defeat, although our confidence fell concerning Generals Darlington and Brodhead. As for Godley-he may as well have been a Turk.
I had my own hope. Georgia was my hope. I could allow my mind to think of her again, every moment I was free to think. I could dream of her again, be tantalized by the thought of her.
I worried about Calvin Norman. He had cut off five hundred limbs in July. I feared for his sanity. More than once he blacked out at the operating table. His Ghurkas worshiped him. They'd lay him out in his shelter and call for me and he'd soon ask for rum. I didn't know what the fuck to do.
I stood outside the surgery netting and watched him when he'd been on his feet for hours. He became more and more irritated, but his hands remained steady and his mind was focused until he hit the wall.
At times I felt he was going crazy before my eyes. He disdained our entreaties to take a rest, his obsession to save lives turning maniacal and his frustration over losing too many men in the surgery destroying his innards.
There had been three bad days in a row at Lone Pine. Although we hadn't had rain for two weeks, Widow's Gully had turned muddy from blood.
A shell knocked out the surgery generator so they had to go on with torches and candlelight. I checked Norman. He was saturated with blood and brains and intestines. Rocking, he was like a pendulum on his feet. I went to argue with him, to get him out. He whacked me with his elbow.
I couldn't handle any more. I left and, after a quick dip, slunk into my bunker. My only connection with reality, as it had been many times lately, was Chester's voice.
"You can't live other people's lives, can you now, Rory?"
"No," I whimpered. "Sometimes I wonder if God isn't punishing me for all those married women I fucked."
"Jesus, have I got to hold a revival meeting for you? Sinners, assemble at Quinn's Post at 0530. Charge Bloody Angle and atone! Repent, Landers!"
"Ah, cut it out, Chester, it's no laughing matter."
"Then why are you smiling.... Look, you can't keep from laughing...look at me."
He got me settled down. He always did. Little bugger.
"What would you like? Godley's pate, Godley's frog legs, or Godley's lamb curry?"
"Godley's rum."
Dr. Shurhum suddenly appeared in the opening, a calm number until this moment. I knew from his expression.
"We have the doctor outside. Please, may I bring him in?"
Two of the Ghurka operation assistants led a waxen, zombied Calvin Norman in and sat him on the floor. Dr. Shurhum looked uncomfortably at Chester.
"Lieutenant Goodwood can be trusted with this," I said quickly.
Shurhum ordered the Ghurkas to stand guard outside. He refused a drink and slowly brought himself under control.
"It had to happen," the little Nepalese said shakily. "He simply locked up, unable to move his hands, his mind shut off, not knowing us. We had to wrestle him down on the floor, tie his hands behind him, as you can see."
"We'd better turn him in," I said.
"No!" Shurhum said pointedly. "It will destroy Dr. Norman's career. We are fortunate that only he and I were together in the surgery without other physicians at the moment."
"The doctor is completely shut down," Chester said. "We can't hide him."
"No," Shurhum said, "I have seen this happen to other surgeons. He will recover after rest, but we cannot send him out as insane. Believe me, gentlemen, I know the Army...particularly when it comes to a colonial. He is a great doctor. This cannot happen to him. I studied under him in India."
"I've got the picture, Dr. Shurhum," I said.
"What the hell can we do?" Chester wondered.
"I brought him to you because I knew your decision would be the proper one. Please...I tried...every night when we tried to sleep he would go over his mistakes...his sleep was one long scream to be able to transfuse blood."
"I said I have the picture. Please, give me some time to think."
"What he was doing was beyond any man's capacity."
"I know, Dr. Shurhum. Can you...shut up!"
"He is the greatest surgeon in the Army. He is my teacher. He is my father."
"Anyone we can trust at Corps?" I asked. "What about Colonel Markham?"
"Markham is a prick," Chester said. "I don't see how we can cover this up."
Message, message, I need a message. Goddamnit, think, Rory...wait a minute...oh, you clever lad...think, think, there we go...
"I can hear you thinking, Rory," Chester said.
I looked at Norman. He was beyond and away from us all, oblivious.
"We're going to perform a little surgery on the doctor. Here's the program," I said. "He is hit by shrapnel on the beach. I rush him here and send for Dr. Shurhum. Dr. Shurhum certifies that Norman must be evacuated and he's out of here on the first boat in the morning."
"But when he arrives in Alexandria and they find no wound?"
"He's going to have one. You're going to put it on him right now."
"Me? How?"
"Cut him, then stitch him up. One across the forehead, one on the side, I don't know. Wrap his head up in bandages. Stick his arm in a sling...I don't know. Do it, goddamnit, and we'll put him in the first boat out in the morning."
"Look at him. He has no stamina to survive!" Shurhum cried.
"Do it, asshole! And keep him unconscious until the boat pulls out. Wait! Send one of the orderlies with him. We'll give him a wound, too. Do it!"
Shurhum nodded in accord and snapped an order to one of the Ghurkas outside. He returned in a few moments with the necessary surgical equipment.
I've got to say the rest of it went rather well. We put a neat cut on his cheek, like a German dueling scar, and Shurhum opened and closed a grand-looking hole in Norman's side, although it was hard to pull flesh away from his bones to make the cut. When we finished bandaging him up he looked like he had taken a direct hit from Farting Ferdinand.
Shurhum wrote a report citing the head wound and "a terrible loss of blood." I put on an addendum taking personal responsibility for the evacuation in lieu of going through regular channels, the norm for a ranking officer.
Poor bastard Shurhum had to return to the surgery.
I sat with Calvin Norman through the night, breaking into a sort of laughter from time to time at the paradox of it all. Two months ago I was a ha'penny away from murdering him.
Can you imagine?
IV.
Chunuk Bair August 1915 Major Christopher Hubble was happier than a hog wallowing in a ton of tailings. Oh, was the pommy boy in his element! He commanded a mixed bag of troops: a company of Aucklands, a company of Wellingtons, a company of Maoris, a battery of Sikh howitzers, six machine guns, heavy weapons platoon, and the pride of the battalion, Reconn A, a platoon of Canterbury Scouts commanded by his brother, Jeremy. The twelve hundred men of this reinforced battalion were known as the Kiwi All-Blacks in honor of our world championship rugby squad.
The Kiwis held the front line from the Apex to Rhododendron Spur about a half-mile beyond Quinn's on the other side of the Ravine. Across the Ravine was the Chunuk Bair Plateau, the illusive pot of gold of the entire campaign.
Between the Kiwi All-Blacks' line and Chunuk Bair, the Ravine lay several hundred feet below and several miles long, creating an impenetrable barrier to our prize of war.
Jeremy Hubble took command of Reconn A, fifty Canterbury Scouts with the most vital of missions. Each night and some days, part or all of Reconn A slipped into the Ravine, partly to contest its possession but mainly to look for some sort of hole or path up to Chunuk Bair Plateau.