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May 24, Anzac Cove — The most ghastly day. We were met by some Turkish officers who arrived on horseback followed by 50 very fine looking Turks, carrying Red Crescent and white flags. One of the officers was a German doctor. Every hundred yards or so we stationed a man with a white flag, and opposite to him the Turks posted one of their men. We clambered through dripping bushes, with beautiful poppies and flowers, reaching the top wet-through.
From here we could see, over to our right flank, rough high hills covered with dense, waist-high scrub, and occasional open patches of cultivated land. At the top of the second hill, we halted for a slight argument as to our route. The Turks wanted to keep up toward our trench, but Col. Skeen refused so we kept straight down a steep narrow cleft between. A few yards climb brought us on to a plateau, and a most awful sight was here.
The Turkish dead lay so thick that it was almost impossible to pass without treading on the bodies. The awful destructive power of high explosives was very evident. Huge holes surrounded by circles of corpses, blown to pieces. One body was cut clean in half; the upper half I could not see, it was some distance away.
One shell had apparently fallen and set fire to a bush, as a dead man lay charred to the bone. Everywhere one looked lay dead, swollen, black, hideous, and over all, a nauseating stench that nearly made one vomit. We exchanged cigarettes with the other officers frequently and the senior Turkish medico gave me two pieces of scented wool to put in my nostrils.
Further along the plateau, the distance between the trenches narrowed. We kept very carefully in the centre. The narrowest place was not 17 feet apart. Our men and the Turks peered over the sandbags and all seemed pleased at the chance of seeing each other without the fear of immediate death as the price of curiosity. At one place a curious sight fascinated me.
In one charge five or six Turks had reached our trench and died with their heads on our sandbags. At another place a dead T. From here we looked down that awful cut between the mountains. We could see the winding road, crossed by sandbag traverses to prevent the snipers killing the men as they marched up.
Here we parted from the Turks. They went to the right and we descended the side of the cliff, and up again. We climbed up through deep, narrow, winding trenches, emerged on the plateau again and met the Turks. Again there was a mass of dead Turks. From here the land was flatter and we moved on through a welter of corpses. Behind us, for at least two miles, we could see our burial parties working furiously.
In some cases the dead actually formed part of the trench wall. It was a terrible sight to see arms and legs sticking out of the sand, underneath sandbags. The final stage was opposite the extreme left flank. There was a narrow path, absolutely blocked with dead, also a swathe of men who had fallen face down as if on parade — victims to our machine-guns.
Our journey took from 7. Ryan came up here and after superintending the interment, I left, feeling badly ill. I pray God I may never see such an awful sight again. I got back deadly sick and got phenacetin and brandy and lay down. I shall certainly have eternal nightmares.
If this is war, I trust NZ will never be fool enough to forget that to avoid war one must be too strong to invite war. Luck decided whether a man would live, die or be maimed on Gallipoli. Four were hit and two of us got off scot free.
Often they crawled from the battlefield or were carried by mates and stretcher-bearers down to the beach for preliminary treatment. Surgeons operated on the most urgent cases in the open air. Lesser wounds were dressed and the men had to wait, sometimes for days, to be transferred to hospital ships where doctors worked overtime cutting, stitching and amputating.
From there the wounded men would be taken to Malta, Egypt and Britain to recuperate. Some were returned to New Zealand and were discharged as unfit for medical service. The nurses and medical staff who treated the men were profoundly impressed by their courage and stoicism despite their shocking injuries. Among the hundreds of patients he treated, Lieutenant Colonel Fenwick said only one man complained, and that was because he was hit while lying on a stretcher. I found he had got a second wound from a burst of shrapnel. Joking about serious injury was not uncommon in letters written from hospital.
Perhaps it was the shock or possibly just a clumsy attempt to reassure the folk back home. Many letter writers did not seem to understand that their description of horrific injuries must have been anything but reassuring. But sometimes, perhaps because the censors were not being as vigilant as usual, a letter slipped through that showed not everyone was so careless about their wounds or so keen to be back in the firing line. In private some men made no attempt to veil bloody reality.
One was John Duder, the young third mate on the Maheno who kept a diary of his experiences as he came down from the bridge off Gallipoli to lend a hand carrying and caring for the wounded as they came on board during the August offensive. August 26, Anzac Cove — We have 50 wounded on board now. The wounds are really shocking. Two poor fellows aged 21 and 26 passed away half an hour after they came on board.
One was shot by shrapnel in the neck and the piece travelled down his body and lodged in his groin. The other poor fellow had his leg blown off at the knee and I never wish to see a sadder sight. He fought hard but we all knew he must die. Our priest tried to comfort him and his last words were for his girl. He asked the priest to write to her and say that it was the thought of her and her example that had kept him straight and made him play the game.
It absolutely broke us all up. Another awful experience was to help an orderly carry a stretcher bearing a boy of 21 with one leg shot off and now they are taking the other off in the operating theatre. Fancy, both legs off. We all hope he will pull through, but the horrible part about the poor men is that they are all run down and as soon as they receive a bad wound mortification sets in. We are all helping in every possible way, ourselves, sailors and firemen working at carrying wounded, feeding them and I have been in the theatre.
We are needed everywhere as long as we can lift and assist nurses. August 28, Anzac Cove — All the men that we have on board now are, apart from wounds, just wasted away and broken down for the want of food and rest. They never get a spell but go on in the trenches until killed or wounded. Some are only too glad to receive a wound so as to have a spell. Dysentery and fever play havoc with a lot of them.
August 30, Anzac Cove —This morning we stopped and buried ten, two were so bad that they would not sink. I think I had the worst experience that anyone could have. I had to go away in our gig with four men and tie more weight onto the canvas and then they would sink. I cannot write what I had to do, it is too awful. I came back and was ill at the thought of it.
They and myself will never forget it as long as we live. We have to do such things and see such awful sights that at night, although tired, I cannot sleep or read. I only hope I shall get used to it. September 2, Anzac Cove — Last night about 8pm there was heavy fighting on the right flank which lasted about two hours. We are seeing the effects of it today. The wounded are coming off in dozens, some will not live. Others, with care, will pull through.
One man had the whole cap of a shell in his calf. They had to take the scalp off and cut a piece of the bone away. I could see the bullet quite plain and fancy it just stopped about one eighth of an inch from the brain. September 7, Anzac Cove — The wounded are coming aboard pretty fast. It is cruel to see some of the poor fellows, nothing on but shorts and singlet.
Fine big men wasted away with sickness and awful wounds. There are four to my knowledge who are stone blind and numbers with limbs off. I am afraid we are going to lose a lot of these poor fellows. September 17, Anzac Cove — Our men, especially New Zealanders, are being absolutely murdered and no good is gained by it.
The men on the peninsula are brave enough for anything but they are being murdered by a lot of damn fools who are at the head of affairs. Before very long it will come out in the papers. No doubt you must have thought that I have forgotten you altogether. If such thoughts have entered your head I hope you will forgive me for I have been very bad. Even now my hand is all in a tremble as I have only been out of bed for about a week and have only been outside in a bath chair.
But I [am] getting on all right now so I hope I will keep on improving as I have had a serious relapse when I got shipped from Malta Hospital to England. If I had not been transferred so soon then I may have been in the fighting line long before now, but fate would have it otherwise. I have now been in the Hospitals of England since the 17th of October and have been transferred on three different occasions. This last place is right in the country, this big mansion belongs to Sir Walter Shakerley in which I am at present as this fresh country air is supposed to do me more good, and I am well feeling the results of it.
I suppose you [now] know what has been the case with me, as I have had a letter from Miss Lambourne a few days ago. She said you wrote to her that I have had the enteric [typhoid] and wish that it would have [been] nothing else, but I have had the dysentery very bad in the trenches and followed on with enteric when I was taken away from that infernal place of hell, and I was not a bit sorry.
After I had been in Malta a few weeks and the climate was too hot there, we all got transferred to England. Well, Gill you should have seen our pleasant smiles when we heard that news. Smiling then was much easier at that moment than bearing the terrific pain, as I was almost a half-dead skeleton for I had been through the Aug 6th big attack and right up to the Aug 16th [nothing] but fighting day and night.
Oh my God it was dreadful. My greatest trouble was I got a relapse on my way to England, with the result that my whole left side from my toes to my fingertips got swollen and powerless with frightful pain. It is through this that I am suffering most, up to the present time I have had twenty injections of strychnine in all parts of my body and am very pleased to say that I am almost able to use my limbs again, as the doctor says I am getting on beautiful.
As you may understand that we were not allowed to write a letter all the time we were in Anzac as we like to call that never to be forgotten place I have not been able to tell you much about it even now. I doubt if I could tell you much through writing as it is too much to write about so it is useless to make anything like a job of it. You will have to be contented until I come home. You know that us mounted troops went there a few days after the landing which was almost as bad as the landing in one way. Of course we did not have the same amount of fighting but the Turks big guns had the proper range of our landing place and a lot of our boys got killed before they could fire a shot or even see a Turk.
Our real heaviest fight with the Auckland boys were [on] the 17th of May. We accounted for over two thousand of the … Turks as we only lost about Oh what a gruesome sight to see [your] best pals brains get blown out right alongside you, for nearly everyone on that morning got shot through the head. Many a time I quite unconsciously ducked my head as I really believe that bullet was meant for me and often wondered when my turn would be next.
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I have had some marvellous escapes. I got wounded in my leg with pieces of shell but only flesh wounds. I have had my hat shot off a couple of times and felt for the blood but the nearest was when I got hit on my cheek with a bullet cutting it with the blood all over my tunic and another bullet took all the hairs of my eyebrow just leaving a little scratch. Very strange it was just then when we see blood, your own blood, when you get right in the thick of it. It was simply dreadful at times.
It used to turn me sick at times to see the dreadful pieces of human bodys lying about, with a head rolling without a body, legs and arms all over the place. Often I have taken cover behind our own dead. As Mr Turk was having a shot at you, the bullet would plunk in the body in front of you. I stuck to it and through the last fatal Aug 6th, it was here [I] lost all my mates for ten of us in the same tent all through our time in Egypt. Eight are killed and the other alive beside myself had his arm blown off. Our boys suffered as only New Zealand boys can suffer.
We were being slaughtered in thousands, of us charged Hill and about returned. I could fill a book but I [am] getting sad to think of my poor comrades, and as you will know by now all for nothing as our boys are withdrawn. I always will have a good word for him. Well Gill old chap, I think you must have read about some of our doings on the dreadful place so I will be glad to let it rest. So far bar the last few days since I have been out of bed, I have been two months in Manchester and the weather has been something dreadful.
Terrible storms hail and snow falls and I am sure that we did [not] have a single hour of fine weather in those two months. Manchester is a big manufacturing town and a very dirty place. With foggy days [and] with the smoke hanging low you were almost suffocated at times. In fact the lamps in the hospital were burning nights and days for weeks as there are only a few lamps in the streets as they are terrible afraid of aeroplanes attacks. The town is almost in darkness. So I was glad when I got transfered to my present locality as we have had a few days fine weather, as this place is quite in the country it is more pleasant here although it is very lonely.
Well Gill old chap most likely by the time you get this letter I will be thinking of leaving England for the front as I will try to get to France this time. I hope you will forgive me for the bad spelling, but really my head at times gets very sore. In 29 days under fire from April 25, Corporal Robert Beswick of the 3rd Auckland Infantry Company took part in two battles and two bayonet charges.
Between those terrific encounters, life in the trenches had to go on, although death was never very far away. In a letter published on August 10, Randall Melville, a Herald sub-editor serving as divisional signaller, described the day-to-day routines of living under siege. Others wrote about the bad food and scarce water, the lice and disease and debated whether the shrapnel or the snipers were more to be feared. They were grateful for small pleasures: visits from the postman and the occasional swim, albeit in waters peppered by shrapnel.
Dashing out of their boats they drove the Turks helter skelter up the cliffs at the point of the bayonet, when by all rules of war they ought themselves to have been annihilated. But a great change has come since the early hours of the action. The whole face of the cliffs, which a few weeks ago were deserted, now swarms and pulsates with restless life. The ground is fairly well adapted for the purpose, though rendered difficult by tangled roots. Still, shrapnel is a wonderful incentive to zealous digging, and the greatest difficulties disappear before the dictates of safety.
The dug-outs are made preferably in the face of a gentle slope. The earth, removed, is packed into sandbags, by which the sides are reinforced, and overhead cover is made. In these little structures — half burrow, half mudhouse — the soldier lives when not occupied in the firing line, or in the thousand and one duties incumbent upon the feeding and administration of an army in the field.
More elaborate bomb-proof shelters house the headquarters of the various branches of the service. The chief centre of activity is the small strip of beach. Huge piles of supplies, ammunition, and war material, methodically arranged, almost hide the sand.
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Day and night long lines of pack mules file up and down the steep tracks, distributing the stores to the men in the trenches. Broad-beamed lighters, towed by powerful little steam pinnaces, swing in and out with never a hitch in the system, helping to keep the troops well fed and in good fighting trim. By night the scene is touched with a weird beauty.
As darkness falls, little cooking fires begin to gleam and flicker outside the dugouts, the whole face of the cliffs being starred with their sparkle. Here and there, in the distance, the searchlight of a silent, watching warship swings over section after section of the outlying country, a reminder to the enemy of the never-ending vigilance of the Navy. Under cover of the darkness work continues unceasingly.
The jingling harness of mule teams, the tramp of many feet, and the voices of working parties all help to strike the keynote of restless life. All this, which may be seen from the sea, is, of course, merely the vestibule to the grim theatre of war. Beyond the brow of the cliffs lie line after line of trenches where the unceasing battle has swayed from day to day. Beyond all is the firing line itself, where our men stand tenaciously holding their ground, at death grips with the enemy, and undismayed by all the horrors of modern war. The impression which may be gathered from all that is seen, is that our forces are holding the hard-won soil in a grip which will never relax.
Returned to trench, first firing line 5pm for 24 hours. Lieutenant Jim Ferris of the Maori Contingent explained the consequences of the poor diet. He was very ill himself for about a week, and still felt weak. Nearly everyone who landed there was troubled with it, and very many had to leave the peninsula altogether. Lance-Corporal Francis Tanner wrote that he and his fellow stretcher-bearers went for a swim every day, not just to freshen themselves but to keep fit.
But it was a pleasure that came with a high degree of risk. Many men were killed and wounded when Turkish artillery targeted the beach. Then a rush for the shore. They never fired a shot nor struck any kind of blow against the enemy. But they risked their lives almost as much as any frontline soldier. Or if they do write they always supposed that the other are telling all the news and it is useless for them to write some news. One reason for the difference in the way the men felt was that snipers concentrated on certain known hotspots whereas shrapnel could strike anywhere as Herald man Randall Melville found out.
Although most men who expressed an opinion thought the shrapnel was worse, they could vent a special fury on a sniper if they caught one. Private Archibald Hunt of the Canterbury Infantry Battalion, told a chilling story of how he and his comrades used bayonets to kill three snipers on the day of the landing.
They got a lot of it, too. Our bayonets went in up to the hilt about a dozen times. They are the biggest cowards. When they see they are caught, they will not make a fight for it; they want mercy. They know that word well enough. The Anzacs faced a host of other enemies besides the snipers and the big guns. These began to take their toll within days of the landing. You have to brush them off just as you put each bit of food into your mouth, otherwise you eat flies, because they decline to leave the food, even when inside your mouth.
The conditions favoured these miniature armies. It was either boiling hot or freezing cold. Either way, the lack of water made it impossible to keep clean. This applied even to Fenwick who, as a doctor, had a greater claim than most to an adequate supply of water for washing.
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Every day or men are being sent out to hospital ships, and in most cases suffering from dysentery. I am feeling much better now, but am absolutely exhausted, and when I fall off to sleep I begin dreaming of the last week or two we had fighting. It would be a huge relief to get hit oneself. I believe we are all suffering from nerve strain. By the end of July the New Zealand forces on Gallipoli had suffered nearly casualties — of them were dead from wounds or disease. Back home, families and friends could not avoid the reminders of the growing toll.
The daily newspapers published long lists of casualties and, every Thursday in Auckland, the Weekly News ran four pages devoted to pictures of the dead, wounded and missing. Apart from this routine accountancy of death, there were moments when the shock was driven home with extra force. One such moment occurred at the Auckland railway station when a cheering crowd was silenced by the sight of wounded men, in obvious pain and too weak to stand, being carried on stretchers from a hospital train.
Other moments occurred in private when, because of the distance and the erratic mail service, mixed messages arrived on the fate of loved ones in the firing line. And yet, despite the personal anguish on the home front, there were always more men to fill the gaps in the line. Every two months fresh shiploads of reinforcements were sent, usually numbering about The original idea was to use them for garrison duties first in Egypt and then in Malta but the warriors were not content to sit on the sidelines.
The mounting casualties, the insistence of the men and the obvious fact that the British Army was using Indian and Gurkha troops eventually broke down this racial policy and Maori warriors landed on Gallipoli on July 3, in time to fight in the August offensive.
One argument against their participation was that there was no need for New Zealand nurses because there were plenty in Britain. Eventually more than New Zealand nurses went to war — about a quarter of all those in the country. On the home front people did what they could to help. In the spring of the women of Auckland organised Daffodil Day to raise money to buy leather waistcoats for the troops who were about to face a bitter winter in the trenches. Herald feature writer Elsie K Morton wrote about the day with cheery optimism similar to the tone in many of the letters of the fighting men.
Another Herald reporter described the moment the cheering crowd was silenced on the railway station platform. The story of Mrs Emily Weir brought home the anguish of a mother getting mixed messages about life and death from the front line and letters from nurse Lottie Le Gallais and Lieutenant Jim Ferris convey how proud women and Maori were to take part, she setting out on a voyage of mercy aboard the hospital ship Maheno and he off to take his place in the firing line. Lieutenant Colonel Percival Fenwick worried about mixed messages on life and death being sent from the front.
The mail was slow and sometimes did not get through and men would write letters to contacts in Alexandria with messages to be cabled to family in New Zealand. Enough to drive the average woman silly. Fenwick had good reason to worry and his morbid prediction came true for Mrs Emily Weir of Remuera.
The first, from his commanding officer Lieutenant Colonel Charles Mackesy, said her son had been shot and wounded in action on May Her brother Leddra was a private in the Auckland Infantry Battalion and she wrote numerous letters urging him to write back or to come and see her on the Maheno if he could get away. But a month later she had still not heard from him. The reason for the silence was that he had been killed in action on July Wellington, 7 July — We are now on our way, arrived here on Monday afternoon; yesterday went up and got sworn in.
The ship leaves on Saturday 2pm. We go on board tomorrow I believe, so very soon now we will be out of New Zealand, and I am on the staff of the ship — 10 nurses and I am one of the The ship is beautiful. It will be too sad for cheering. This scrap of conversation, overheard in the crowd which waited at the Auckland railway station for the coming of the hospital train, may perhaps be taken as an indication of the feelings of those who witnessed the arrival and welcoming back to Auckland of heroes from the Dardanelles.
The people cheered those men who were able to hobble to the motor cars provided for them, but when the sick men on the stretchers were carried past, it was too sad. The flag-bedecked engine was almost at the crossing before the people saw her. Then a great cheer went up. As soon as the train stopped half a dozen of the returned soldiers descended to the platform.
Presently some railway porters ran along the platform calling to the people in the roped-off enclosure to stand back. The engine pushed back and then pulled forward again, leaving one-half of the train some distance down the track. A sloping gangway was laid from the platform of the end car to the ground. While this was being done the men who could hobble with the aid of crutches and walking sticks were being conducted to the line of motor cars. Most of these soldiers had friends or relatives with them — women and girls with happy, yet anxious, faces, men, who tried to help the hobblers along.
One big handsome youth limped with his right leg held out before him, with the knee bent! On his face was an almost apologetic smile as though he hated to be the least bother to anyone. As another passed someone whispered. Almost last among the men who could hobble came a boyish soldier. And the crowd cheered happily. The St John Ambulance workers had taken stretchers into the hospital cars. They were assisted by a squad of men of the No. Very slowly and carefully, with the hospital train doctors hovering anxiously about him, the first stretcher-borne man was disembarked.
No one interfered with the two men who were carrying the stretcher, but a dozen hands were ready, in case of the least slip on the gangway, to save the soldier from the slightest jar. In slow sequence the other serious cases followed and were carried to the ambulances and motor cars. Then it was that the cheering broke down and the crowd looked on in sympathetic silence. When all had been comfortably bestowed in the cars, the order was given to march. They worked with skilful fingers, but heavy hearts; who could even think of a daffodil day with pavements running in water and a wind that blew your umbrella inside out if you so much as ventured across the street?
In rows of tubs, in baskets, in boxes, they lay round the big room in exquisite confusion, and the scent of them was the quintessence of all the fragrant loveliness of spring. At long tables women stood hour after hour, weaving tiny flowers into buttonholes, arranging daffodils and violets into tempting bunches. When businessmen and girls came crowding in from boat and train and tram, they beheld a Queen Street transformed with bowers of trellis-work all cunningly hidden with forest greenery, nikau ponga, lycopodium, clematis, even spreading branches of flowering kowhai.
Very few of these people got past even the first few stations without a reminder that Daffodil Day was inaugurated for a definite purpose quite apart from the merely picturesque, a purpose which included every individual who set foot in Queen Street that day. From Ferry Building to Wellesley Street the wayfarer found his path blocked every 20 yards or so by an insistent white-clad damsel with basket beribboned and bedecked, and in the early hours of the morning all were willing purchasers.
The sun shone down brilliantly from blue skies all the morning and befitted the occasion; the gods of wind and weather realised what was their manifest duty, and lent their aid. It was inevitable that the purpose of the collection should make direct and personal appeal to the hearts of the people, for the gallant sick and wounded, and the men fighting on Gallipoli and facing its bitter winter, are the men who only one short year ago were in our midst, strong and eager to be up and doing, little knowing the glory and the tragedy mercifully hidden in the year that was to be.
A woman dressed in deepest black drew out her purse and dropped a coin in the box. Right on into the brief blue twilight the flower-sellers pursued their campaign till nothing was left to sell. Early June, Malta — We have just had good news. They cheered and shouted for joy, and a holiday was granted to celebrate the occasion. Tell everybody that we are going to the front, and that every soul to a man is happy to do so. They must see what a great event it is for the Maori race.
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No one must worry a bit. Tom Broughton was killed outright at the Dardanelles. He fought like a real oId Maori warrior. He was, by the way, in the Australian forces. We tried to get him to join us in Egypt, but his officers would not let him. Do not fear for us. Despite the optimism in many of the letters, the soldiers could hardly disguise the hard truth: they were, as Lieutenant Colonel Percival Fenwick put it privately, like rats in a trap.
They had expected to fight across the peninsula to reach their objective of Mal Tepe in about three days. The men were in poor physical shape, malnourished and afflicted by disease. When the Fifth Reinforcements landed on August 8, one veteran could not help but notice how, in contrast to himself, these new men were clean, smart and in good condition.
The commanders planned to use this ragtag army of thin men as the spearhead of a master plan to break the deadlock. They could see no chance of advancing at Cape Helles so they planned a complicated series of coordinated attacks to capture the high ground of the Sari Bair ranges which overlooked Anzac Cove. The attack would be led by the Anzacs supported by two British divisions landing at Suvla Bay to the north. Those objectives would be reached by a series of attacks and feints with each Anzac unit assigned a particular task.
The attack began with an artillery barrage at 4. From about 8. It was a promising start but the rough terrain, compounded by the darkness, disrupted the army, as it had done on the day of the landing. How the battle unfolded has long been the subject of controversy among military historians but, allowing for the different points of view and the distortion caused by the fog of war, it was broadly as follows.
Whole regiments lost their way and the ravines and gullies — especially Chailak Dere — became jammed with troops trying to move into position on time. But they were not ready to launch the planned dawn attack and so were not in position when the time came for a coordinated assault on the Nek. The Australian Light Horse went ahead with that attack anyway and were repulsed by machine-gun fire with heavy casualties. It was mid-morning before the Auckland Infantry Battalion began its advance.
Machine-guns quickly accounted for killed or wounded, including Major Grant, and the survivors had no choice but to take cover in a shallow trench m from their objective. As they advanced they passed the dead and wounded from the Auckland charge of the morning before. Fortune smiled on the Wellingtons — for the moment at least.
For some reason, possibly to reinforce their line against the Australian feint at Lone Pine — the Turks had withdrawn most of the defenders and the hill was finally taken. When the dawn rose, the invaders were able to see the straits of the Dardanelles for the first and only time in the campaign. It did not take long before the Turks realised their mistake in leaving the door open and mounted a series of heavy counter attacks to regain the lost ground.
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In doing so, the people of Pylira put the kingdom's daughter at the mercy of the curse. Now Tyson Cole needs to find the princess, and a way to bring her back to the real world and to him. Maga's a Beast. Renee is still battling with her emotions for Ty when they reach Hearthstone Palace. She is met by her father—who has a much clearer picture of things—Falling into his arms she lets all the anger she was harboring release. An unlikely source has more clues for her regarding the curse, but those clues, like all the rest, come with a price.
Immortal Slumber. Perrine The Crawford Witch Chronicles, 1 "You are about to enter into a family beyond the one you were born to. A bonding of blood, melding into that which exists where birth and death, dark and light, joy and pain - meet and make one. Do you enter without fear in your heart, nor dread? Power Surge. The Crawford Witch Chronicles, 2 Death. Death cannot claim me, for I am the daughter they were told about. The one who would right all the wrongs. Collision of Fate. Elyse must travel to the home of Seraphina Crawford to align her powers and find the missing ingredient to help her against Sabina.
When Elyse arrives at the property used by Seraphina in the late s, it looks as if it has been abandoned for a century Elyse and her coven are united with another House, The Raven's Watch, which proves to be almost too much for her to bear. Mysterium Excelsum by Ellie Piersol. Mysterium Excelsum 1 Stella's life is upset when she moves to Nebraska to live with her mom after her dad's death.
She realizes, at Mysterium Excelsum, everyone has a certain magic to them. Students go missing in the school and she must find out why In Obscura Silvae by Ellie Piersol. Without help, access, or supplies they must survive with their imperfect magic. Mysterium Excelsum Duobus. Mysterium Excelsum Duobus is the third in the series, Mysterium Excelsum from Ellie Piersol Stella's second year at Mysterium starts with conflict brewing between the gang and students belonging to a crazy religious cult.
Hell literally breaks loose when a prank war rages both inside and beyond the walls of the school. The Road to Jericho. That's a lesson Finn McCallan will soon learn. While saving the life of a critically injured woman, Finn gains the attention of a powerful demon.
Amused by Finn's selfless heroics, the fiend tricks him into a contest, one designed to help Finn "find" his soul. What Finn doesn't know is this contest will push him beyond the darkest regions of our mortal world. El Sendero. All that was left in its wake were hallowed husks of the brick and concrete buildings that comprised the once thriving Mexican village.
The federale enlists the aide of Finn McCallan, a man who possesses the ability to see beyond. Finn McCallan is the Scion of Dismas, the last descendant of the only mortal to accompany Christ on his journey through Hell. His mission: Stop the antichrist from rising and claiming dominion over the world. At the Valley of Hinnom, buried within its ancient caves lies the portal to perdition, where Finn is forced to put his faith in the unexpected guidance of an old nemesis. In , the United States was attacked by beings called Eban from another world.
President Eisenhower was coerced into signing a treaty after we lost over pilots in this initial strike. One is commonly called Area 51, and the other is somewhere in New Mexico. In the years to follow, animal mutilations, abductions along with UFO The Head Hunter. Year The Government of Defense becomes the new world order while Caesar lives a life of seclusion, everything he has ever known gone in the wake of the creatures brought to life by the Syc Parasite brought to Earth by the meteorites.
All while the world as we know it crumbles Follow the Ashes by Kindra Sowder. The Executioner Trilogy 1 What does it mean to be the Executioner? Is it the struggle between good and evil, and the fulfillment of a Gypsy legend? That is until she meets Gordon, a crazed demon with a conscience. Follow the Screams by Kindra Sowder. The Executioner Trilogy 2 Robin had made the ultimate sacrifice; losing life, love and fate in the process.
Or so it seemed. When all hope was lost her destiny was finally made clear. What would you do if you were trapped in a prison where most were put there by you?
At the end of the day
You rise…. Follow the Bloodeshed. Now she is back in the explosive final chapter of the Executioner Trilogy for revenge. And her power is growing. Los Angeles is a ghost town, with the world following close behind. Like most twenty-somethings, she goes out and enjoys the night life and New York City has so much to offer her; booze, dancing and a close friend. Pain-Killer by Kindra Sowder. It would seem that her escapades into darkness are being watched. A painting, a very personal painting, has arrived in her gallery and the artist seems to know more than she should.
A very unforgettable night leads her to realize that her plight into another world that devours flesh and punishes men will not be an easy one. Or will it? Big Bad Wolf by Kindra Sowder. A Miss Hyde Novella 3 Blythe wants nothing more than to get away from this. Not to just survive it, but forget it. Strapped down, nearly naked, beaten, scared and drugged she has no idea where this dark and dismal place is.
Kidnapped and being set up to be tortured again by the men who hold her, she has to find a way to break free and get away. Can she dig deep inside and awaken the force that is her alter ego? Can she awaken the beast within? Sick Like Me. Musk said at that he had spent much of this time working hours a week to get things back on track. Tesla reported a big quarterly loss, but most investors seemed to take it in stride. That was until Mr. Musk got on a conference call with financial analysts and began berating them for their questions.
The necklace she was wearing appeared to be in the shape of a Tesla logo. Musk again complained about short-sellers. In speaking with The Times this week, Mr. Musk broke down while describing this moment. Musk said he had tried to take care of his health, but it had been a struggle. But the effort paid off. With production having resumed, the company met its goal of making 5, Model 3s in a seven-day period for the first time.
Engineers from companies led by Mr. Musk went to Thailand to help rescue 12 boys and their soccer coach who had been trapped in a cave in northern Thailand. A plan emerged to build a submarine using a part from a SpaceX rocket. SpaceX is another one of Mr. But the offer of help was taken by some as a sign of a God complex. After the rescue, a diver involved in the operation called Mr. Musk lashed back at the diver, implying in one tweet that he was a pedophile. Musk later deleted the tweets and apologized. Musk came away with impression that the Saudi fund would provide financing for a Tesla privatization.
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But the Saudi fund had not committed to provide any cash, two people briefed on the discussions have since said. The stock soared, trading on the Nasdaq was halted and the Tesla board, blindsided by Mr. Musk gave a detailed timeline of the day.