Redemption. - Redemption. Part 84
Library

Redemption. Part 84

"Seeing that the situation is highly in your favor, I'll do my best."

"Are you certain that Llewelyn Brodhead isn't setting you up so he can make you spill the name of every Brotherhood man left in Ireland when they get you on the torture rack?"

"It's crossed me mind. However, I've got to go with instinct. I don't think he's that smart."

"How smart was he commanding seven divisions of infantry?"

"From the beginning?"

She nodded.

"In Egypt it seemed that he was a little less uppity than most career pommy officers. We were his Anzacs and we were going to be the best troops in the expedition. He demonstrated, on numerous occasions, he'd go to bat for us. He got us the equipment and animals we needed by taking on the theatre commander. He overlooked a lot of...naughty adventures, say, in Cairo, including Chris at the Aida Hotel.

"He was a brutal disciplinarian in getting the troops ready. Some medical people say he put as many men into the hospital with his training as he left standing.

"In my opinion, considering what we were going into, I think he did the right thing. A lot of men wouldn't have survived Gallipoli otherwise. But that was just good standard British Army training. Well, you know his history with Chris before the war," Rory said.

"You mean the gunrunning and the mutiny at Camp Bushy?"

"Aye. Chris had to really swallow ten tons of crap to get that mule corps shaped up. What Chris did with our battalion was to make something work. It would have been a disaster without the mules. Brodhead knew it. Chris was all man about it. In fairness to the General, he went on record with the War Office against the entire Gallipoli expedition. Once assigned to the Anzacs, however, he played the good soldier. He lived and moved among the men, shared our hardships. Maybe he got a better brand of booze than we were stilling and had better rations, but his hole and my hole looked pretty much the same. He was fairly popular with the officers and men."

"So, you don't fault him," Caroline said.

"I didn't say that. The rest of it is fucking sad."

"All right, once again, how smart was he in commanding seven divisions of infantry?"

"Bearing in mind Napoleon and Caesar wouldn't have had a chance-"

"I'm speaking about Llewelyn Brodhead," she demanded.

Rory's voice dipped low. "He was a lousy general. The planning for this campaign guaranteed a disaster. On those things he had say, he was somewhat less than no good. Nothing worked, from the landing site to the most simple communications. Naval gunfire was a disaster, and in six months they couldn't get it straightened out. We were badly underequipped, underfed. Evacuation plans were nonexistent. Medical facilities were beyond primitive...but that wasn't the half of it, Caroline...."

Rory hung his head and took time to get control of himself. "War is war and any man who aspires to be a general must steel himself against losses. He was from some century long ago," Rory said harshly. "He thought he owned the Anzacs. He made blunders that were real pissers, but the worst of it was, he didn't give a big rat's ass. I was with the man time and again after we'd taken terrible casualties and never once saw him blink an eye. He had no conscience. Troops were his for the slaughter, no more, no less. His tactics were archaic, often mad...he was born without tears to shed."

Some of the iron had drained from Caroline. Fear of her next question hung over both of them.

"All right," she said, eyes tearing, "you know what I want to know."

"The short version or the long version? The Aussie charge over the Nek was a suicide mission with no tactical purpose. Llewelyn Brodhead simply lost his head."

"You did not read the Commission of Inquiry's first report, did you?" she asked.

"One of those nice blue ladies in the hospital read it to me."

"Well?"

"Brodhead lied to cover his ass. As one incompetent general in a pot of a dozen other incompetent generals, he was able to ooze his way past the bitter truth."

"And Chunuk Bair?" Caroline asked.

"We arrived at the top at daybreak after a most dangerous all-night march and climb. Shortly thereafter the Suvla Corps landed but stopped on the beach without even attempting to make contact with us. We were only a battalion strong with no chance to thwart a Turkish counterattack. Some forty to fifty thousand British soldiers just sat there on the beach.

"Brodhead should have ordered us off Chunuk Bair immediately. Instead, he did the opposite. He sent Colonel Markham up to us with orders to remain there seven hours after we should have evacuated. The New Zealander, Colonel Malone, refused to stay any longer and he and Markham got into an argument.

"Brodhead, by phone, ordered Chris to arrest Colonel Malone. Chris refused. Brodhead was expecting eight hundred of us on totally exposed ground to stand off thirty to fifty thousand Turks.

"Anyhow, Malone ordered the evacuation. As it started, he and Markham were killed by a shell."

"Where were my sons?"

"The Turks were inching up on us. Chris and Jeremy went out to our perimeter and charged into several nests of machine guns to try to buy us time to get off the hill."

"You heard all of this between Malone and Markham?"

"Yes."

"Do you know that Brodhead has testified that it was he who ordered the evacuation?"

"Yes, he lied...and he's asked me to lie as well."

They sat there, chalk-faced.

"How did my sons die?"

Rory wept a bit and continued shaking his head.

"How did my sons die?"

"By British naval gunfire!" Rory said. "Now fucking leave me alone!"

"What are your intentions now, son?"

"When I know yours," Rory answered. He dried his tears and gave a hardy blow of the nose.

"Brotherhood?" she asked.

"Maybe."

"They'll want you to stay in Dublin Castle. You can't carry that off for too long."

"We all know that."

"How far will you go?" she asked.

"How far will you go?" he retorted.

"How many more villages does he plan to tumble?" she asked.

"As many as it takes to crush the Irish spirit.... Your flirtation with Brodhead?"

"I wasn't positive. I am now."

"Lure him?"

"To his death. Seems that we've been thrown together, Rory. Of course, you have no choice but to trust me."

"I do trust you."

"I've been wondering all along if I could really do it," she said. "Even as a general in battle, he killed my sons needlessly through his incompetence and panic. Is that right?"

"Yes," Rory said.

"I am the daughter of Freddie Weed and all that inplies. Father and daughter are a paradox. Freddie longs to die but he cannot die until Brodhead is assassinated. I long to live but I cannot live until the same thing happens. He killed my sons and now he plans to kill Ireland. I'm not a republican, Rory, but I have learned from the executions that I am an Irishwoman...and I love hearing myself say it. You can't take out Brodhead by yourself, Rory. Suspicion will fall immediately on his staff, and you can't stand too much scrutiny. On the other hand, I can do it, but I need an ally, be it the Brotherhood or yourself, alone."

"There's some talk about making a move if they sentence Roger Casement to death."

"I've always adored Roger Casement," Caroline said. "Is vengeance wrong? It would be wrong knowing what Llewelyn Brodhead will do to Ireland, having the means to stop him, and not doing it-that would be wrong. Sometimes a man or woman has to stand up and take responsibility for thousands who can't. Is it wrong to kill a killer to stop him from further killing?" she cried.

"I came here wondering what I could possibly do in Ireland.... Now I know," Rory said.

83.

When the Tara Street Railroad Station was planned and built in the last century, two sets of architects had worked on it. The firm in London engineered the tunnel and tracks from the central depot, while a firm in Dublin produced the blueprints for the terminal building.

Only problem was, either the tracks or the building was on the wrong side of Tara Street. After due discussion, arbitration, and court action, the net result was seventy-five feet of abandoned tunnel, which was boarded up on both ends.

The Brotherhood gained secret access to this abandoned stretch of line and, using it as a starting point, charted a labyrinth of sealed rooms, hidden ladders, movable sections of flooring and roofing, over rooftops that ultimately led to a garret three stories up over Poolbeg Street, an area of general commerce near the river.

If you were looking for the safest hideaway in Ireland, look no further. It had been crafted over a six-month period by Conor Larkin, took a half-hour to reach once one entered the tunnel, and it never came close to coughing up its final destination.

Furthermore, it was airtight because the location was known only to Conor, Dan Sweeney, Seamus O'Neill, and Atty. Only Atty survived the Lettershambo Raid and only then shared the secret with Theo.

Over time its larder was stocked with nonperishable food including essential liquids. It sported a small turf fire and a secure phone line. It was now reopened as the rendezvous for Rory, Theo, and Atty.

Rory followed Theo down from the roof, remarking about the incredibility of the place. Theo removed the ladder and with a long handle, slid the roof shut.

"Hello, Mother."

Atty Fitzpatrick was waiting on a well-worn settee.

"Hello, Rory lad," Atty said. "This is where we meet from now on. There will only be the three of us. Needs a bit of dusting and some new supplies. I'll bring them up. The telephone still works. Never pick it up until you hear five full rings, a stop, then a redial."

Rory surveyed the place. A small dormer brought up sounds and smells of steel-ringed wheels on cobblestones and the omnipresent Dublin aroma of ales from no lack of nearby public houses.

As the sky darkened and the town blinked on in waves of twinkling lights, low roofs made a fairyland silhouette. Even curtains, Rory thought. He let them fall together.

"Kind of rare up here," Rory said.

Atty had a bittersweet reaction to the place. She checked the cupboards, stopped here and again by returning memories.

Theo trailed after her, shaking empty bottles and chucking them. At last! A keeper.

Atty became all business. "Theo and I will be your only contacts. No one else in Ireland knows we're getting information out of the Castle. Your name is nonexistent. We still have a Supreme Council, although, as you can imagine, communicating and meeting is a very dicey proposition these days. Theo and I are gong to take much of the responsibility and make plans and decisions until we can form a cohesive group again. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, that's fine with me."

"How is it going in the Castle?" Theo asked.

"Some of the security is really sloppy," Rory said. "I might have a crack at some informers' lists."

"That's good, but we have to be very careful. First of all, you aren't the only Brotherhood man working inside the Castle. Secondly, there are double agents playing both sides. Thirdly, they may plant a list with several false names on it to trap someone like you in their midst. Anything you touch, do it with suspicion," Atty instructed.

Rory blew a breath and nodded, acknowledging her years and skills at the game and also realizing the thin ice he himself was skating on.

"I've got one thing," Rory said. "Brodhead is planning a series of setups. The Army or the Constabulary is going to plant a few cases of rifles or bombs in various locations around the country, then go through the pretense of a raid, find the arms, and tumble the building as they did at Clonlicky. Kilorglin is first, during the Puck Fair in August."

"Bastards," Theo said. "If we alert anyone in Kilorglin the Brits will suspect someone in the Castle tipped them off." He smacked his fist into his palm. "We might just have to let them level the place to keep our source secure."

"Bad show," Rory said.

"August," Atty said. "That's about the time we'll be getting a decision on Sir Roger Casement. Brodhead's subtle way of turning the screws."

"So?" Rory asked.

"So?" Atty echoed.

"So," Theo said, "it all seems to add up to one thing, doesn't it?"

"Brodhead has to be assassinated," Rory said.

"So say we all," Theo said.

"No," Atty said, "I'm afraid of British reprisals."

"Mother, he's going to murder countless Irishmen and rip down all of the country he can get his hands on. Will reprisals be that much worse?"

"On the other hand, Brodhead's being killed or disappearing just might cause the British to reflect for a moment or two. It could have the opposite effect. It could just put a stop to the wanton destruction and killing," Rory said.

"Rory might be right, Mom. It's a calculated risk we have to take."

"Jesus, I hate assassinations," Atty said.