Winds of Eden by Catrin Collier

and cigarettes back into the blanket and returned to his spot in the leeward side of the trench.
    â€˜That order about keeping our boots on?’
    â€˜You on the doctors’ side?’ Crabbe asked.
    â€˜Not on anyone’s side, just wondering if it was it passed down because HQ is expecting Johnny Turk to attack any minute and don’t want us to lose any time dressing before fighting them off. Or do they want us to keep them on so we can run away the instant we hear them coming.’
    â€˜With the Turks in front of a loop of the Tigris that covers our back and both flanks where the hell do you think we can we run to except the guns in Johnny Turk’s front line?’ Crabbe demanded.
    â€˜To join the fishes.’
    â€˜I don’t think the brass has mass suicide in mind for Force D.’
    â€˜Too quick and painless? And before you take me to task again about morale that was a joke.’ Peter took the last of the cigarettes from his kitbag. ‘After giving this lot away we’d better be relieved soon. If we’re not, the price of these is going to rocket sky high. Always supposing we have any left at all.’
    â€˜I was in the wireless room this morning. Relief Force is assembling at Ali Gharbi. That’s only 56 miles away. The weather is fine …’
    â€˜And cold.’
    â€˜Thank you for that. I would never have guessed. According to HQ Basra there’s absolutely no reason why the Relief Force shouldn’t arrive here early in January.’
    â€˜You believe that?’ Peter sought reassurance.
    â€˜I do, and if you don’t want to drive yourself mad, you should too,’ Crabbe advised.

Chapter Five
    Furja’s house, Basra, morning, Thursday 30th December 1915
    Hasan Mahmoud was lying on a divan, his pain evident in the creases of what could be seen of his face below the bandages that covered his right eye.
    â€˜You feel like company?’ Mitkhal whispered from the doorway, reluctant to disturb his friend if he was close to sleep.
    â€˜If it’s yours.’
    Mitkhal sank down on the cushions opposite the divan. He unscrewed the top of a metal flask and passed it over. Hasan took it from him with his left hand. The stump – all that remained of his right – was swathed in linen.
    â€˜Furja said you slept most of yesterday afternoon and evening.’
    â€˜I did.’ Hasan took a draught of brandy and handed the flask back to Mitkhal. ‘Which is probably why I didn’t sleep last night.’
    â€˜Drink enough of this, and you’ll sleep tonight.’ Mitkhal returned the flask.
    â€˜When I sleep I dream …’
    â€˜Of what?’ Mitkhal was cautious. He’d discussed Hasan’s dreams with Furja. She was adamant. Other than the life he’d lived with her, their children and Mitkhal, her husband’s past was best left forgotten. He’d agreed, but he’d also voiced reservations, doubting that it was possible for a man to truly forget the major part of his life.
    â€˜The desert. Always the desert,’ Hasan murmured through cracked lips. ‘I feel at home there.’
    â€˜Not surprising, given the number of times we’ve ridden across it.’ Mitkhal reached for his tobacco pouch.
    â€˜Where were we going?’
    â€˜Travelling out of and into Ibn Shalan’s camp. Looking for hostile Bakhtairi Khans and Bani Lam who wished the tribe ill. Watching soldiers …’
    â€˜Turkish or British?’
    â€˜As you’ve discovered, both enjoy torturing Arabs and Bedawi in particular.’
    â€˜I was riding a horse in my dream. A magnificent grey. It had a strange name – Dorset.’ Hasan’s remaining eye shone, light grey, probing into Mitkhal’s.
    â€˜That was your mount’s name.’
    â€˜What does it mean?’
    Mitkhal shrugged. ‘Who knows, you acquired the name along with the mare. You won it gambling with British