Read Online Scorpion Sunset by Catrin Collier - Free Book Online

didn’t.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, I’m probably not making much sense …’
    â€˜You’re not.’
    â€˜I need a little time to sort out my responsibilities. And when I have …’ There was so much he wanted to say but it wasn’t the right time. ‘We’ll talk again.’
    â€˜We’re coming into the wharf.’ She picked up her shawl.
    Charles glanced at the boatman as he reached for the stick that had become indispensable since he suffered a leg wound. The man was too concerned with avoiding the other boats in the dock to watch what his passengers were doing. Taking advantage of his preoccupation, Charles bent his head to Kitty’s and kissed her.
    To his amazement, even after the conversation they’d had, she kissed him back.
    Open prison for British Ranks, Baghdad
    June 1916
    Mitkhal rode his horse slowly out of the city towards the fenced off area the Turks had set aside to house the British ranks. The air grew putrid with the stench of raw sewage, men’s sweat, and rotting flesh long before he reached the high metal wire that enclosed the camp. He dismounted at the gate, turned his horse’s reins over to Ibn Shalan’s servant, Farik, who’d accompanied him, and lifted a bundle from his saddle.
    He approached the guard and handed him a fistful of silver. The guard counted it before unlocking the high wooden doors that had been reinforced with barbed wire. Mitkhal held the bundle close as he walked into the compound. As on all his visits, the ground around the single pump, the sole source of water for over four thousand men, was crowded with men patiently queuing to fill the motley collection of containers they’d scavenged to hold drinking water.
    He looked for Warren Crabbe. He’d told him he would return at midday, but apart from the sun, the major had no way of knowing when midday was. Pocket and wrist watches, like everything of value – right down to the men’s boots and underclothes – had been stripped and stolen from the British POWs by their Turkish and Arab guards.
    He spotted Crabbe in the north-east corner of the fenced off area, shifted the bundle he was holding under his arm to protect it, and, stepping carefully, headed towards him. A few platoons were sitting in closed circles from force of habit. There were no camp fires because anything that could be used as fuel had long been burned, and the only food in evidence was the dreaded, thick black Turkish ‘biscuit’.
    The handful of senior officers who’d been allowed to stay with the men and their sergeants had ordered latrine trenches to be dug, siting them at the furthest possible point from the entrance, but they had proved pitifully inadequate to cater for the needs of so many, especially as dysentery and cholera were endemic. As a result the ground around the northern half of the camp was damp, and slimed with human waste and excrement.
    â€˜I meant to meet you at the gate so you wouldn’t have to smell the aroma.’ Crabbe pointed to the ‘facilities’ behind him. ‘Am I late or are you early?’
    â€˜Does it matter when both of us have time to spare?’ Mitkhal handed the bundle he carried to the major. ‘Bread, cigarettes, dates, a couple of flasks of brandy.’
    â€˜Thank you. I and some of the other men here wouldn’t have survived this hellhole if it wasn’t for you.’
    Mitkhal lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You won’t have to survive it much longer.’
    â€˜We’re leaving?’
    â€˜I spoke to an officer in Turkish HQ. They’re clearing the camp in stages. The Dorsets will be marched out first thing in the morning.’
    â€˜Marched – no transport?’ Crabbe paled.
    â€˜The American consul, Mr Brissel, is negotiating with the Turks. He’s offered to supply carts to accommodate the sick and haul supplies. He’s doing all he can as are some of