Transcendence

J. Berenger William

Description

Captured at Gallipoli on 25 April, 1915, Sergeant Berenger, an uncompromising professional soldier, escapes Turkish imprisonment. He enlists the assistance of three unlikely co-conspirators: Ali, a simple Arab boy forcibly drafted into the Ottoman army with his brother, Mohammad; and Avraham, a Jewish merchant, who determines his future is no longer with the Ottoman Empire.Pursued by the sadistic Tolga from the Turkish prison at Fort Kilitbahir, Berenger discovers the date of the Turkish counter-attack on ANZAC positions. Berenger must return to the ANZAC lines to deliver the intelligence that a massive Turkish counter-attack will commence on 19 May 1915; and he must slip through Mustafa Kemal's 57th Turkish Regiment in order to do so.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528962797
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Transcendence
William J. Berenger
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-02-28
Transcendence About the Author Copyright Information © Dedication Chapter 1 Inevitability Chapter 2 Acceptance Chapter 3 Rejection Chapter 4 Uncertainty Chapter 5 Contrition Chapter 6 Retribution Chapter 7 Insanity Chapter 8 Epiphany Chapter 9 Doubt Chapter 10 Redemption Chapter 11 Intention Chapter 12 Intuition Chapter 13 Transcendence Chapter 14 Actus Reus Chapter 15 Sacrifice Chapter 16 Rehabilitation Chapter 17 Awkwardness
About the Author
William J. Berenger works as a lawyer in Auckland, New Zealand; plays rugby, does Crossfit and triathlons and basically just gets on with life.

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13:39 of 15 min in the hurtbox: what a great life we lead.

orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.
fortem posce animum mortis terrore carentem,
qui spatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat
naturae, qui ferre queat quoscumque labores,
nesciat irasci, cupiat nihil
You should pray for a healthy mind in a healthy body.
Ask for a stout heart that has no fear of death,
and deems length of days the least of Nature’s gifts
that can endure any kind of toil,
that knows neither wrath nor desire.
Juvenal
Copyright Information ©
William J. Berenger (2020)
The right of William J. Berenger to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528919685 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528919692 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528962797 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Dedication
10th/27th Battalion, Royal South Australia Regiment
Pro Patria
Chapter 1

Inevitability
The wrath sing, goddess, of Peleus’ son, Achilles, that destructive wrath which brought countless woes upon the Achaeans, and sent forth to Hades many valiant souls of heroes, and made them themselves spoil for dogs and every bird; thus the plan of Zeus came to fulfilment…
The Iliad
Snowy White’s bewildered eyes searched Sergeant Berenger’s face in vain in the evanescent starlight. His contortions subsiding, Snowy realised he would soon be dead. He attempted to grasp his sergeant’s hand, but Berenger remained impassive. Snowy’s dying vision was of Berenger’s inscrutable face.
Snowy had been shot in the chest. Blood seeped through the serge fabric of his shirt. Snowy had scrambled up the sandy bank, swerving directly into Sgt Berenger’s line of advance. Before disappearing into the arbutus, Snowy was thrown ignominiously back onto the stony shore, where he lay writhing at Berenger’s feet. By the absence of barbed wire and obstacles, Berenger confirmed they had landed in the wrong place: damned Navy.
At 11:00 pm on 24 April 1915, before clambering from the Ionian onto the Scourge , Sgt Berenger ordered the ‘diggers’ of 13 Platoon, serving with the 10 th South Australian infantry battalion, to load magazines; contrary to orders not to. No shots were to be fired prior to dawn; they had been ordered. Berenger had extracted more rounds for the men by advising the quartermaster, they had not yet received their full complement of 200-rounds each. The quartermaster grimaced as if he had paid for the rounds himself, but reluctantly acquiesced.
The quartermaster wore a large pair of trousers to fit his relatively large girth. Sergeant Berenger had contemptuously renamed him, ‘fat-pants’. Subsequently, each man carried fully loaded magazines and a further complement of 200-rounds: damned Commissariat.
To conserve water in expectation of a long day, Sgt Berenger ordered the men not to drink from their water bottles until told otherwise. Consequently, at 1:00 am on 25 April, the diggers were grateful when they were each served a mug of cocoa by a jack tar aboard the Scourge. Berenger menacingly suggested that the jack tar supply the men with another, to which the sailor obsequiously obliged.
At 2:30 am, the men descended from the Scourge ; about 30 soldiers, four seamen and a coxswain per pinnace, destined for the shore. The moon crept behind a cloud. The chill air magnified the slightest sound; not the least of which was the putt-putt-putting of the little steamers, emanating from behind the Scourge to spearhead the assault.
The jack tars connected three pinnaces by hawsers, (one-behind-the-other to each steamer), which none too successfully attempted to putt-putt into their correct position: 12-steamers, each towing three pinnaces, about 150-yards abreast totalling about 1800-yards, (in practice); ready to chug-off into the dark for the shore.
What Sgt Berenger had threatened to do to the diggers if they lost their rifles in the water should not be repeated here. However, he tempered his oaths; should they fall overboard, the saltwater would soften the hard biscuits they were issued as rations. This had elicited a cynical laugh in training at Lemnos.
The platoon commander, Second Lieutenant Faber had deferred to his sergeant, when Berenger requested he call 13 platoon, the ‘diggers’, to distinguish them from the rest of the company.
“It raises morale,” Berenger had said facetiously, in training.
Originally, the diggers thought otherwise. At the end of an arduous and strength-sapping assault, ‘digging-in’ had not raised morale. But as the diggers became fitter and more disciplined, they began to appreciate their new appellation and they realised they had reduced their potential exposure to enemy fire by digging-in… and it raised morale.
The private soldiers tended to laugh nervously whilst the corporals expectorated a kind of cynical guffaw, as if there was a direct nexus between a soldier’s cynicism and his experience. Upon this observation, amongst the battalion, the apex of active military experience, Sgt Berenger regarded as himself. Although the Company Sergeant Major was senior in rank to him; having not served in South Africa as Berenger had, he was not more experienced.
Sergeant Berenger instructed the men to wear two sandbags (as part of their issue for the landings) folded double, down the inside-front of their shirts. Second Lieutenant Faber had intentionally overlooked this unusual detail in his inspection at 8:00 pm on the Ionian . Berenger suspected Faber had again deferred to his logic as Faber had observed the diggers diving on barbed wire entanglements in training. Despite the chill of the evening, beads of sweat covered Faber’s forehead, pince-nez glasses perched precariously on his nose, from which dripped a clear drop of mucus, as he whispered, “Very good, sergeant.”
Three men would throw themselves on the barbed wire so the rest of the men would be able to safely clamber over them. All of Faber’s diggers had prepared for this, as Berenger was uncertain, which three men would still be alive by the time they reached the wire obstacles. The task of whom, to select to sacrifice themselves on the wire, Berenger had allocated to the corporals.
Sergeant Berenger had discussed the problem of barbed wire with one of the machine-gun corporals, who said he’d spoken to a Japanese sailor over a mug of hot char, serving on the Ibuki on the trip out from Albany, Western Australia. The Japanese sailor said he knew a bloke, who had served in the Russo-Japanese war.
Judging from the ignorant gapped-tooth expression of the machine-gun corporal, Berenger deduced it was the Japanese sailor, who spoke English, not the machine-gun corporal, who spoke Japanese.
However, the machine-gun corporal said if he were defending the beach, he would construct the barbed-wire obstacles in such a way as to channel the assaulters around it, into the field of fire of his machine-gun. He explained matter-of-factly, that he would shoot Berenger with enfilading fire as he approached.
“At least…” he said, scratching his chin between thumb and forefinger, “… I think that’s how the Japanese did it.”
He gave Sgt Berenger a wink followed by a gapped-tooth smile to which, Berenger did not reply but looked at him dispassionately.
At 3:30 am the steamers, which had formed in disarray, were ordered to the shore. This was not conducted well. Having observed the waning moon this past week, Berenger predicted the coxswains, not having the advantage of moonlight, would close-up before reaching the shore. From their night-time exercises, he calculated the total breadth of the advancing flotilla would decrease from about 1,800 yards to no greater than the coxswains of the steamers could see or hear each other; in some cases probably less than 50 yards between each steamer.
Commanding this disorganised little flotilla was the responsibility of the naval officer in command of the pinnace on the extreme right. Although traditionally correct, Berenger did not think that commanding from the flank at night was a prescient idea under these circumstances. As it turned out, despite the calm sea, the commander remained unable to control his flotilla as it unsteadily manoeuvred towards the shore.
From time to time, on the breeze, an irritated Berenger caught the sound of jack tars cursing at each other to keep their distance and direction but as it precipitated, ultimately to no avail. The order of steamers had changed as some of them squeezed into the wrong sequence; an error unable to be rectified due to the advancing ships behind them, which would be compounded when soldiers disembarked at the beach.
The ste