The Forgotten Soul (extract)
11th July 1915: Gallipoli: 40th Field Ambulance
The small wooden boat, packed with troops, slops sideways in the heaving waves as it approaches the beach of Cape Helles, Gallipoli. Eric’s knuckles are white as he grips the sides of the boat and prays he doesn’t throw up on his fellow soldiers. His Field Ambulance is attempting to land with their unit, 13th (Western) Division, to relieve 29th Division in the battle against the Turks. As the boat is cast loose from the steam tug, the navy lads start rowing for shore. Thirty yards to go, and then all hell breaks loose. The water churns with bullets as Turkish riflemen up on the cliffs overlooking the beaches let rip at the unprotected soldiers huddled in their boats. Oh God, thinks Eric, how can we get out of this alive?
Screams erupt from all around him, blood blossoms from limbs, heads, bodies, and the men leap for the cover of the water, their faces full of terror as well as resolution. Some drown with the weight of their equipment, some are wounded and sink without a trace, some clamber over the bodies of the fallen and struggle onto the blood-marked sands, making for the meagre shelter of rocks. Somehow Eric makes land, and gasps with relief as he shelters with others of his unit and checks his medical supplies are still intact. His hands are shaking, but he finds it calming to go through his pack – water purification tablets, disinfectant, tourniques, bandages, morphine for the worst of the wounded to help them manage the pain. Yes, it’s all there, even the forms he’s supposed to fill in as part of his triage. “Ridiculous” he thinks, and almost chuckles at the thought of folding the forms into paper planes instead, as another bullet swipes the sand near his feet.
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