The Map Of Honour. Max Carmichael

the dock and despaired of finding the train let alone a supply wagon. But the lieutenant’s advice appealed to his ‘old soldier’ instinct to see to his personal comfort whenever possible, and he determined to at least attempt to follow it. He shouldered his pack and weapon, pushed his way into the disembarking troops, and began to make his way down the steeply inclined gang plank. Then just as he reached the dock, a rather insignificant sign on the façade of a long building situated on the far side of the dock caught his attention. The sign read simply: ‘AAOC.’

      ‘Blanket counters!’ he mused using the somewhat derogatory term combat troops sometimes unfairly used to refer to the Australian Army Ordnance Corps. He felt certain if there was any chance at all of avoiding the train journey to the Front, the men who worked beneath that sign represented his best hope. He began to make his way toward the sign, through a throng of uniformed humanity. The trick, he knew, would be to avoid officious pommy bastards, particularly young officers thrusting for promotion. Either of those personalities would see him promptly directed back to the train.

      It took some minutes to elbow and push his way through the crowd to the building that bore the AAOC sign. He peered in through a wide doorway. A mountain of stores laid out across the floor confirmed that he had arrived at a major warehouse. A number of soldiers in their shirt sleeves were working loading stores on to wagons and a corporal armed with a notebook appeared to be recording the product of their labour.

      ‘No joy with that lot,’ muttered Green. He needed someone with slightly more authority.

      An office in the corner of the building caught his attention and he walked boldly toward it, but before he reached this destination, the office door opened, and an older man stepped out. The man wore a medal bar on his left breast indicating that he had seen service in the Boer War, and for a moment, Green and the man regarded each other in silence. Then the man grinned and extended a hand: ‘Bloody hell, it’s young Green!’ he said.

      Chapter 7

      Green smiled broadly and grasped the man’s hand, ‘Warrant Officer Bennett,’ he said.

      ‘Well son,’ said Bennet, stepping back and regarding Green with interest, ‘you look all right, and a sergeant too, I see. Let’s see, the first time I saw you was on the beach at ANZAC Cove. I didn’t know whether to hand you over to the MPs, or turn the other way while you flogged me stores!’

      ‘Instead, you helped me to whatever I wanted,’ laughed Green.

      ‘Shh! Not so loud, I don’t want these young buggers to think I’m a crook!’ Bennett nodded toward the working soldiers. ‘Could you handle a brew?’

      ‘Love one,’ replied Green and followed Bennet back into his office.

      ‘Take a seat.’ Bennet indicated a dusty wooden stool. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘How did you find me?’

      ‘Well truth is,’ admitted Green, ‘I didn’t. It’s a complete fluke. I am on my own and I saw your sign from the ferry.’

      ‘Milk?’

      ‘No thanks. Listen mate, I’m after a favour.’

      Bennet laughed. ‘So nothing’s changed!’ He pushed a steaming cup of tea across the table that served as his desk. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Now tell me, what’s going on? Are you posted across here as reinforcement?’

      ‘Nothing as easy as that,’ replied Green grimly. ‘Monash’s division will come across here soon and he’s sent me over to see how things are being done.’ He was now totally committed to Monash’s mission and the cover story came easily to his lips; even so, he felt some discomfort to be lying to a friend.

      ‘Sounds like a sensible thing to do,’ Bennett remarked, ‘and it’s no surprise he picked you. It was clear at ANZAC that he had a lot of time for you.’

      ‘Yeah well, you know what the Toff’s used to call me…Monash’s pet nigger!’

      ‘I know, I know. But that was then, and the blokes you were with, well, surely it’s different now?’

      Green shrugged. ‘Yeah, most of them are all right. Some of the new ones still find it hard to take orders from a black fellow sergeant, but they get over it.’

      ‘So, where do you have to get to?’

      ‘3 Brigade.’

      ‘Shit! It could take you a week by train!’

      ‘So I’m told; that’s why I came in here. I was hoping to hitch a ride on a supply convoy.’

      Bennett snorted. ‘That’s no problem at all, but it could take even longer. The roads down round the Somme are pretty bad at the best of times, and the Hun likes to bomb and shell supply trains whenever he can.’

      Greed was despondent. ‘So maybe the train is the best way after all.’

      ‘Not a bit of it!’ Bennett retorted. ‘How’d you like to get there tomorrow morning?’

      Green laughed. ‘What, you’re into magic now?’

      ‘Well, as good as, son. I’ve just received a stores request for urgent medical supplies from a Field Hospital at Amiens; 3 Brigade’s near there. Nothing big, but apparently the medicos need it. In fact, I was just going out to organise it when you arrived. What we’ve done a couple of times recently for this kind of thing has been to stick the package on an aeroplane and fly it there. I send one of my blokes to sit in the back seat of the thing and carry the stuff. I could send you to do the job.’

      ‘Sounds good,’ replied Green, ‘but I’ve never flown before. Are you sure it’s all right?’

      ‘Look, I won’t lie to you, son. It’s a dangerous trip. I reckon just flying is bad enough. Personally, I wouldn’t be seen dead in one of the bloody things. But aside from that, the Hun tries to shoot our aircraft down every time they see one and there are about one hundred and fifty miles of dangerous space between here and the Somme. The only plus for the whole idea is, if you survive, you get there in a about an hour and a half as compared to days in a bloody train.’

      Green took a long sip at his tea and thought hard. There was an embarrassing flaw in Bennett’s plan; Green was terrified of heights. For a moment, he was about to thank Bennett and make his way to the railway station. Then he remembered another Boer War veteran’s advice to him as he embarked on the ship bound for Egypt: ‘take advantage of every experience that is offered you…’ The memory was enough.

      ‘Let’s do it,’ he said

      Bennett smiled. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You had best stay here until I square it all up. If you walk around outside, someone will spot you and order you on to the train. You can kip in here. Shitters are out the back, and we have enough extra rations to feed a battalion, so you won’t starve. I’ll make a few calls and then we should be ready to go sometime early tomorrow morning.’

      As events turned out, Green’s flight was not quite as easy to arrange as Bennett had hoped. While there was no problem with his filling the observer’s seat in the aircraft, the Major commanding the Air Corps squadron was insistent that his pilot had an observer for the return flight too.

      ‘He will need someone to man the old Lewis gun,’ the Major complained. ‘Bad enough when the Hun tries to jump one when the bloody thing is manned. No hope at all if we have an empty seat back there. Sorry old man, no observer for the way home it just won’t do.’

      Bennett was not to be defeated. A few more inquiries established that an able-bodied man at the Somme end, who was familiar with the workings of the Lewis gun, was going on leave in England. This man jumped at the opportunity to get to Calais in an hour and a bit, thus turning the two-day train journey into two days of additional time in the arms of his wife back in Britain. The man was happy, the pilot was happy, and Bennett was happy. Only Green remained as a less than enthusiastic party to the plot, particularly when the Major told him that he must be extremely vigilant during the