God be with you in this dreadful hour
Diary of Lieutenant Horace S. Browntrout
Stanley and I experienced our first desert combat today — and our first using the new guerilla tactics that Captain Lawrence has shown us. This style of warfare is completely different from the full-frontal assaults made by thousands of men in the trenches on the Western Front. We have only a handful of men, come in at night, set the explosive charges, lay our ambush and leave. From start to finish the whole operation took less than twelve hours. The fighting itself was over in under ten minutes. Stanley greatly enjoyed molding the explosive gelatin charges and helping me pick a site for the Maxim gun.
The melee itself was more of a massacre than a fight, per say. After the initial explosions, we opened up on them with the machine gun, killing most of them with just over a belt of ammunition before the gun jammed. I brought my surgery kit with me in case any of our men were wounded. It had not occurred to me that my skills might be used to save enemy soldiers. Stanley and I had shot many of the Turks just seconds before tending to them. There were far too many to save the majority of them. I ran from man to man, amputating limbs and sewing gaping wounds closed that deserved the care and attention of a full operating theater. The Turks cowered in fear when they saw Stanley approach; never having seen a Saysquack before, they assumed they would meet their final demise at the hands of a terrifying monster.
Lawrence ordered me to stop treating the ones that were too far gone to be moved, as we could not take them with us. One fresh-faced lad with an abdominal wound spoke a little English. He was not afraid of Stanley, but welcomed his touch when we carried him away from the train tracks. After I gave him morphine, between gasps he reached into his pocket and pulled out some letters and a pen. He asked that we write to his mother to tell her what had happened. Then, with a trembling hand, he held up another paper towards us. He told us he wanted Stanley’s autograph. He also had on his person a pamphlet advertising our Frightening Forest of the Saysquack Education Show, (the entertainment show highlighting my previous expedition to the Olympic Peninsula of America, for which we had become quite famous). He pointed to the pamphlet, then to us and smiled and said, “It is you!” He looked for all the world like a child receiving his gift from Father Christmas. The boy told us he had been saving his meager Turkish army pay to afford a trip to Wooly Acres and see the show. Stanley made his mark (since he has difficulty signing his name) and placed the blood-flecked paper back in the boy’s grimy hand. A pained smile found its way across his lips. His eyes went wide. After a few more labored breaths, he expired.
I was treating one last patient when the commander [Lawrence] yelled that it was time to go. I stalled, saying I needed to place a hemostatic clamp on one further vessel to get the bleeding under control. I was working on the soldier’s leg. Lawrence yelled again. Stanley grunted loudly, but I kept working. I heard the report of a gunshot and my face was wet, spattered with blood. I looked up from the leg of the patient I was working on to see that he had drawn his pistol and was about to shoot me when Lawrence shot him dead. I wiped the blood out of my eyes and ran to my camel. I was the last to mount up.
February 26th, 1917
Letter from Captain Horace S. Browntrout to the mother of Private Okan Akbas, Turkish soldier
Dear Mrs. Akbas,
Please pardon me any awkward words. I use dictionary since Turkish is not my language. It is with great sorrow that I tell you that your son Okan died in action valiantly fighting for his country on February 25th, 1917. He was killed in action on the Hejaz Railway defending himself and his comrades from an assault made by my unit. I am a doctor and I was with Okan in his final minutes. I tried my best to save Okan, but his wounds were very serious. I did, however, ease his suffering. It was his wish that I send these letters on to you. He thought tenderly of you and asked me to give these parting words on his behalf. By one of those odd coincidences of war, it so happened that Okan was also an enthusiast of my Frightening Forest of the Saysquack Education Show and begging for (and readily received) the autograph of Stanley the Saysquack (who was also with us) before his passing. I assured him that after this awful war is over, I would admit his entire family to the show. I intend to honor that promise. I will go further. I will pay for your family’s fare on the Orient Express from Constantinople to London to see the show any time you wish. Please be at peace and know that Okan fought well and wished to be with you. God be with you in this dreadful hour.
Yours sincerely,
Captain Horace S. Browntrout, M.D.
British Expeditionary Force
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