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defences.’
    â€˜Has Command any idea of the work I and my men put into building that bridge?’
    â€˜The precise orders the staff told me to convey are, “Major Sandes is to demolish the bridge the moment the last of the Punjabis are safe behind our lines lest the enemy utilise the structure.” ʼ
    â€˜I’d like to see the red collars destroy their work willingly. Oh dear, I forgot,’ Sandes said caustically, ‘the staff don’t do anything as demeaning as work.’
    â€˜I have another order for you.’
    â€˜Yes?’ Major Sandes eyed Crabbe warily.
    â€˜General Townshend would like you to build a pontoon bridge a mile downstream connecting the fort to the right-hand bank of the river.’
    â€˜This boat bridge is built. It’s as serviceable a bridge as he’s likely to get given the materials I have to work with.’
    â€˜The orders are “It’s to be constructed a mile downstream”.’
    â€˜Why?’
    Crabbe offered Sandes his pack of cigarettes. ‘You have your choice of two rumours.’
    â€˜The first?’
    â€˜In the case of an overwhelming attack by superior Turkish forces, General Townshend can retire our force to the right bank and from there we can make our way downstream and on to Ali Gharbi.’
    â€˜In direct contradiction of Nixon’s orders for us to keep Johnny Turk tied up here. I discount that rumour.’ Sandes produced a box of Lucifers and lit their cigarettes. ‘What’s the other?’
    â€˜General Townshend’s intention is to use the bridge as a thoroughfare to either bank so our force can engage the enemy on either side of the river.’
    â€˜As that rumour suggests imminent battle, I don’t like it. The staff do realise I’ll need infantry cover for my men while they dismantle this bridge and construct another?’
    â€˜I asked. The request was refused.’
    â€˜They want me and my men to play sitting duck targets for Turkish snipers?’
    â€˜Brass has taken the line that the men are exhausted and need to rest. Orders have come down that the only duties to be carried out are the bare, necessary minimum to secure the town.’
    â€˜What about my exhausted men?’ Sandes raged.
    â€˜It’s common knowledge engineers don’t require rest, sleep, or food, but if you promise to keep quiet about it, I’ll find you some Dorsets who aren’t afraid of shooting Turks.’
    â€˜â€œKeep quiet” – “Off the record” – that’s all I’m hearing. Do the brass ever move outside of their improvised HQ and temporary messes to take a look at the hole we’ve dug ourselves into?’
    â€˜Not that I’ve seen.’
    â€˜Why did I join the Engineers? Why didn’t I demand a cushy berth with the red tab collar brigade?’
    â€˜Because you’re not the shirking sort? I’ll round up volunteers to cover your men.’ Crabbe tossed his cigarette to the ground and headed for the forward trench the Dorsets were digging.
    â€˜Crabbe?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    London, Thursday 9th December 1915
    Georgiana charged into the foyer of the nurses’ home. Breathlessly she gasped, ‘Is Clarissa Amey still here?’
    The porter left his desk and opened the inner door that led to the rooms. ‘Sister Amey went upstairs to pack half an hour ago, Dr Downe. We were all very sorry …’
    Georgiana didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She ran through the door and up two flights of stairs. Panting, she knocked on Clarissa’s door. When there was no reply she tried the handle.
    Clarissa was sitting on her bed. An open tapestry weekend bag was beside her, a jumble of clothes on her lap. White-faced, dry-eyed, she was staring into space.
    Georgiana shrugged off her wet coat and gloves and tossed them to the floor. She kneeled and grasped