By Sempad Shahnazarian

Chapter Fifteen (Continued)

  At the Captain’s desk he listened to the instructions for the forthcoming raid, the object of which was to safeguard the hospital from an imminent Turkish assault. They had attacked it that very day and had killed some patients in their beds. As to the details, he should report to the doctor in charge of the hospital. He came out and informed his men of their new assignment.

  At one corner of the courtyard, a ditch had been dug. They followed the guide into it, crawled through a hole below the wall and into an outside trench. They moved on quietly and cautiously with their heads lowered, until they reached a stone house a block away. There they stopped. An opening in the wall connected the trench with the basement of the building. A guard stopped them. After identifying themselves, they were permitted to proceed. They continued their march several blocks, through trenches and basements until they reached the hospital.

  When they got there, they were taken into a room on the ground floor and were told to wait for the Major who was the doctor in charge of the hospital. Soon he came in and took the Sergeant to the adjoining lot that was enclosed by a brick wall. Cautiously and silently they walked to the farthest corner of the lot just opposite a three-story building. The middle and lower parts of it were of stone and the upper part of frame construction and was occupied by Kemalist sharp shooters. That building with the adjoining bastions had to be destroyed. 

  In the Doctor’s opinion no attack was expected that night. The Sergeant and his men could therefore rest for the moment. The action was to take place at two o’clock the following afternoon. Before retiring that night, the Major took the Sergeant to the ward that was on the second floor. Two rows of beds ran parallel in that large hall occupied by the wounded. Windows had been shattered by the bullets and patches of plaster had been knocked off the walls.

  He was startled by the familiar voice that called his name. He turned around and saw Adjutant Ardash, lying in bed, struggling to get into a sitting position. He approached him excitedly and asked how he was.

   “Fine, fine!” said Ardash, who had been wounded at El Oghlou in their first encounter with the enemy. “It was terrible, yesterday.  Look at those windows. Some of us got wounded again and others were killed in their beds.”

  “Everything will be all right tomorrow, I hope. Now lie down and try to sleep.” said Sempad, tenderly.

  “Good night and good luck,” murmured Ardash and got under the blanket. That night Sergeant Sempad did not sleep a wink. A French corporal kept him awake all night by telling him about his experiences and his philosophy of life. “I have been in the French Foreign Legion for over six years, have taken part in many campaigns, fought on the Western front against the Germans and have seen thousands of dead people strewn all over the battlefield. I have seen entire platoons buried alive under ingeniously dynamited hills and towns and cities bombed and burned down into heaps of ashes. I have been wounded several times and have suffered a lot. Don’t think I am unable to cry. Don’t ever think it is a shame to cry...You just can’t help crying when your heart is wrenched with pain and torment. I have lost my youth, lost my girl, lost everything. I am still here fighting on foreign soil with no patriotic feelings whatsoever, with no personal or national grudge against anyone. We are here, just ordered to fight, and we fight like robots, with no inner impulse, no sense of revenge, no intoxicating dream...  I joined the Foreign Legion impulsively in an idealistic mood, so I could take part in unusual actions, to scan vast deserts with their waning horizons and to touch the Heavenly ceiling studded with innumerable shining jewels. I got this uniform in order to fight for my flag for the security and the welfare of my people and to get rid of the nightmare that had been torturing me, day and night. Physical force should be replaced by loving kindness and tolerance. Love and justice should be the bonds between individuals and nations as they are the noblest and the most lasting foundation upon which they can base their common interests and their struggle for a better life. We need teachers and leaders for this kind of idealism, not diplomats who only practice heartless and soulless philosophy and kick nations into the gutter.”

  After a minute’s silence, he added: “I hope I didn’t annoy you with my reflections. The last few weeks we have had one hell of a time with these bloody Turks. It was only yesterday when a bullet shattered Sergeant Bideau’s mouth while he was standing by the window, cautiously watching the movements outside. We have tried everything to destroy that house across the street, with its nearby bastions, but all in vain...I hope you have better luck!!”

  The candle light went out but the narration kept on all night.

  At dawn, Sergeant Sempad felt a cool breeze caressing his feverish forehead, tortured by uncertainties and foreboding. Today is the day! We have got to succeed...We’ve got to! he thought out loud. Just then a shot was heard from the courtyard. He ran outside at once, and to his great surprise saw a Legionnaire crawling over the threshold of the gate. When he scrambled to his feet, he noticed the intestines of the poor fellow dangling out in a bloody mass from an opening torn in his belly. With his trembling hands he was struggling to push them back in but suddenly, collapsed on the ground...dead!

  At two o’clock that afternoon, the signal of the attack was given by the Major. Sergeant Sempad had already placed his men at vantage points facing the fortified building. He and his men began to throw burning balls of benzine soaked rags at the house, quietly and without undue alarm. Turkish bullets began to whistle through the holes in the walls while Legionnaires ceaselessly kept up their fire-ball attack with an occasional hand grenade. Moments of anxiety and suspense continued, when all of a sudden, one of the hospital guards cried out excitedly: “You got it Sergeant! You got it! Look over there, at the window!”

  Sure enough, a fire-ball had stuck at the window sill and flames were shooting around. Loud voices, screams and curses, came from the house. Sergeant Sempad and his men started a barrage of hand grenades, blocking the exit at the rear of the building. Terrified screams and confusion continued by the Kemalists, trying to flee safely from the burning bastion. Hand grenades were working havoc among them as the building was engulfed in flames and smoke.

  In an hour’s time when the attack stopped only a heap of smoking ruins remained.

  “Bravo!” was heard being shouted while the Legionnaires were coming out onto the street from their barricaded positions. The mission was a complete success: The hospital was saved!

  When Sergeant Sempad and his men came back to the courtyard covered with dust, soot and sweat, the Major and the entire hospital staff congratulated them with warmth and emotion. Before they left, Sempad went upstairs to see Ardash, who with tearful eyes pressed his hand and said: “You saved us, Sempad! God bless you all!”

  Returning to the barracks from his successful mission, he reported to Lieutenant Adge, who after congratulating him, ordered him to leave immediately with his men to the hilltop trenches to relieve a platoon of Algerians. The night passed with random shots, here and there, but the Legionnaires remained tense and alert while also watching the star-studded sky.

  In the morning a faint drone of an airplane attracted their attention. Everybody started looking upward, searching the sky eagerly, until they spotted a lone French airplane circling overhead. A current of joy went through them. The pilot apparently knew the location of the Legionnaires. After circling and observing the entire battleground, some packages were dropped right behind the headquarters building.

  Word soon got around that the plane had brought the order to retreat. It was now clear that something was cooking in the pot of diplomacy!! Some maneuvering was being done. Military operations had, lately, turned out in favor of the Legion. The insurgents were ready to put down their arms. In spite of all this, however, the Allies wanted to pull out and surrender the territory to the Turks, which had been taken by the precious blood of thousands of Armenians. Their ancestral home was to be turned over to the Turks. That is diplomacy, the heartless and godless monster.

  That night, Sergeant Sempad’s platoon was replaced by another and he was now back at the casern where there was displayed a pathetic scene of commotion and a surge of high-strung nerves. Hundreds of refugees had swarmed the compounds as word had gotten around that the retreat was going to start that very night. The High Command, however, had issued an order forbidding the retreat of the civilians along with the Legionnaires.

  How cruel!!! How could such an order have been issued?

  Lieutenant Movses Kaloustian was pushing his way through the crowd, excitedly, sputtering savage curses.  He was so enraged at the attitude of the High Command that he had lost control of his speech and poise. That great patriotic leader of the Musa Dagh struggle spotted Sergeant Sempad standing at one corner of the hall watching the crowd, thoughtfully, rushed to him and exclaimed: “This is no time for philosophical reflections! We have to do something about all this and do it quickly. You must have heard about the order issued by the High Command! Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

  “How?” he asked, perplexed.

  “You must appear before the General, in person and ask him for a favor.”

  “You talk as if the General were my pal. How can you think of such a thing?”

  “He is your pal, in a way. I have heard the officers say he thinks very highly of you. Come on! Let’s not argue or hesitate. For God’s sake, do something!”

  Hesitatingly at first, then confidently he gave his consent. Fortunately, the General changed his order and granted grace to the request of the refugees to follow the transport that night only. He had categorically forbidden the civilians to follow the infantry the next day interfering with their movements. When the crowd was informed of the new order another surge of murmuring filled the air. Suspicious looks were cast around by the civilians. They were undecided as to what course to take. Some of their Legionnaire friends had suggested to them secretly, that it would be safer for them to wait until the next day. Everybody was hesitating. They didn’t know what to do and the time for retreat struck. It was nine o’clock at night and the transport began to move.

  The night was very dark and overcast and the mules moved on silently with their ears drooping down as if even they fully realized how dangerous the situation was.

  The captain ordered the civilians to fall in line and to follow the transport. Half an hour later there were no civilians around to be seen.

  The following night, around eight thirty, the main body of the infantry battalion began moving. Sergeant Sempad and his men were assigned to rear guard duty. His section of twenty-five strong occupied a large arc of trenches in front of the casern.  They overlooked the city and could see huge conflagrations all around.

 It was now nine o’clock, dark and cold. Minarets stood in the red glow of the burning city as though they were bloody spears. Blackness had enveloped the distant fields and hills. The thought that they were the only Legionnaires in the entire northern quarter of the city, to cover the retreat, sent shivers through the spines of Sempad and his men.

  Nine-thirty was their deadline there. The Sergeant stood in the dugout, watching the time excitedly, sending out shots every now and then, to make the Turks believe that the Legion was still in the city. He shivered!!  The silence in the dugout was getting heavier and heavier. He could clearly follow his heart beats. He looked at his wrist watch... “five minutes to go.” He said to himself, when suddenly, someone stood in front of his trench. It was a girl of about eight years old, dazed and terrified.

  “Who are you?  Where are you going?” asked Sempad.

  “Which way are the Gamavor Akhbarner, Volunteer Brothers going? I am lost.” she murmured in Armenian.

  “Stay right here for a while!” said Sempad. “You will go with us!”

  He looked at his watch again...nine-thirty sharp. He went through the long line of trenches, assembled his men, counted them one by one and said: “Let’s go!” Everybody followed him, including the little girl, quietly, cautiously and aware. They moved on through a corridor of the enemy line finding on their way groups of women and children who were lost. They took them along and after two hours of risky march, they reached the column, which was waiting on the highway with their eyes turned toward the burning city.

  Thousands of civilians and soldiers covered the highway. Muffled voices came from the civilians who were told not to make any noise but could not help sobbing and crying for their dead and lost ones.

  When Sergeant Sempad reported the arrival of the rear guard to the captain-in-charge, another sergeant approached him saying: “Sergeant Kaspar and his men were already out of the city and were on their way here.”

  The captain was now sure that there were no Legionnaires left in Marash, so he gave the order to the artillerymen to bombard the casern out of existence.

  At dawn, the column began to move on with the civilians trailing along between the main body and the rear guard.