A/N: Just Kidding! No announcement this time. Please enjoy the first chapter of this story of history. Only 2 parts for this chapter. Without further ado... here We GO!

WARNING: Heavy cursing, blood and smoking are in this chapter. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.


Chapter I: The Landing On The Cove.

Part I: The Boats and The Chaos.

April 25th, 1915. 1:52 AM.

Over his trench, on a hilltop high above the Dardanelles Strait, Captain Adem Polat Bey, a 35 year old commander of local Turkish forces in the Gallipoli Peninsula, looks up over the moon's heavy glow to see shadows cascading over the Dardanelles down below.

He then took his binoculars from around his neck and looked through them, to see the dark, yet barely visible shadows of ships, British ships, cascading from over the horizon of the Dardanelles and not the Sea of Marmara, not that far away from his current position.

But, Captain Polat thought they gave off a creepy vibe as he felt goosebumps on his arms. He then looked back at the ships, as the sound of bugs buzzing and crickets chirping in the distance were heard, yet that didn't seem to distract the much-experienced Turkish Captain.

He then took a cigar out of his pocket, that had been hidden in there for safekeeping, wrapped his binoculars around his neck, whilst holding the cigar tightly, as to not drop it, and then calmly walked back to his trench, keeping quiet, cool and collective the whole time he walked back, still holding his unlit cigar.

Once he was back in his now deep trench, two miles from the nearby artillery guns at Gaba Tepe, he ordered his wireless operator to send a message to Turkish Army HQ in Constantinople, and to tell them they had seen several enemy ships, and had asked them if he could order to get the important long-range artillery guns at Gaba Tepe ready.

20 minutes later, at 2:15 AM, Turkish Army HQ sent a simple reply via the wireless telecommunications: -Evet.- (Yes.)

Captain Polat lit his cigar, rung up Gaba Tepe, and told them of the order their HQ had given them. The Junior Commander there, Captain Eymen Arslan Bey, then ordered his men to get the guns ready, passing the news to the 2 Main Commanders there, Major Halis and Major Ismet, before Polat gives orders to his men.

-Savasa Hazirlanin, Baylar.- (Prepare for battle, gentlemen.), Captain Polat ordered to his men. -Türk Topraklarina Gercekten Kimin Hükmettigini Düsmanlarimiza Gösterecegiz!- (We will show our enemies who REALLY rules the Turkish Lands!)

As the Turks prepared for battle in the hills up above, meanwhile, at the ships' current position in the Dardanelles, not that far from the shoreline, Australian and New Zealand soldiers got ready to disembark...


April 25th, 1915. 2:30 AM.

Amongst these brave soldiers were 2 men who had been rivals and frenemies for years, since their late school years: Private Dipper Pines and Lance Corporal Robert Ludington, nickname Robbie.

As they packed into the last boat to leave from their ship, the HMS Scourge, Dipper and Robbie exchanged looks of anger towards one another, but kept their cool as they got into their boat, filled with their friends and inexperienced men who had been newly trained and had never seen combat before.

These two men weren't part of the latter group, however... they had seen combat before Gallipoli. From German Samoa to German New Guinea, these 2 experienced men had seen the benefit of a doubt of war's wrath of hell.

Due to one simple occasion, despite hating one another, the Private had saved Robbie when he was wounded from an attack by German troops in German New Guinea, both barely making it back to base alive.

However, Robbie was awarded the Military Cross and Distinguished Conduct Medal for showing heavy gallantry in combat, whilst Dipper was awarded both the Distinguished Service Order and Military Cross for saving a fellow wounded soldier and showing heavy gallantry in combat against the German defenders, who eventually surrendered not that long after, before eventually moving on to German Samoa, where it didn't take them that long to surrender, as well.

But now, they were in a lowered down lifeboat, tied to a steamboat, rowing ashore, the men whispering amongst themselves, along with worry, fear, surprise, hell, any emotion that couldn't express happiness nor laziness, but rather tiredness and fear.

But now... the Scourge had disappeared into the darkness yet again.


April 25th, 1915. 4:20 AM.

It had since been 5 minutes after the steamboats had cast the men off towards the beaches.

Dipper and Robbie looked at each other, Robbie noticing the worried look on Dipper's face.

Robbie asked Dipper silently in what was almost a whisper: "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine.", Dipper said with a shudder. "It's just that I don't like the way that the Turks... well... how they might be ready for us."

Robbie stopped before he could say a word, instead looking far towards the beaches of the Turkish mainland, not even 2 miles or 3.2 kilometers away.

All he could see was a dark and empty beach. And they were rowing towards it, presumably a trap, Dipper had thought earlier. But Robbie couldn't get anymore into his thoughts as he perked his ears up.

*FWOOM*

Both men with their slouch hats on turned back, gripping their rifles with the bayonets on, suddenly saw a ploom of light coming from one of the steamboat's funnels, letting off sparks and flames accidentally.

"Shit, we're exposed!", their commander said quietly.

The plume of smoke, sparks and flames then abruptly stops 20 seconds later, but it was already too little, too late for the men to pull back.

A minute later, a beacon fire is alit ashore, something that Robbie sees, and he is petrified with fear, knowing that due to that damned steamboat, their sneaky plan had gone awry.

2 minutes later, the Turkish shores are hit, but a few men are hit by whizzing bullet fire, some dropping dead instantly, others wounded in the boats and water and dying slowly, but Dipper and Robbie were not among the men that were hit.

Meanwhile, the other unwounded ANZACS in their boat and in nearby boats jumped out of the other boats, Robbie and Dipper jumping in a few seconds later, wading in shallow water, whilst the other boats had their oars high up in the air.

Now, Dipper, carrying a wounded friend of his by the weight of his pack, dragged him to the beach and in the now blood-filled shallow water around him, whilst Robbie ran straight forward with his rifle in his hands and his heavy pack on his back.

Dipper finally got to shore, laying his wounded friend down, who had gotten hit in the leg. Now, it was 4:30 AM, and he saw Robbie nearby with their lead commander: Lieutenant Colonel Stanley Price Weir.

A medic came by, amidst the bloody carnage of tenfold hellish battles, including the one happening right now, to check on his wounded friend and Dipper, now satisfied that his friend was in the right hands of a medic, rushed forward to join Robbie and Lt. Col. Weir.

"Men, drop your packs, you mustn't need them anymore. You only need your rifles, for we are going to move upwards, charging that hill above, for we will capture it!", Lt. Col. Weir, with an interesting Aussie accent, orders to the men, whilst more ANZACS jump ashore, running onto the cove, men dropping one by one, hit by Ottoman gunfire, the moon slowly starting to go down over the horizon nearby, giving way to the incoming sun and stars.

Up above, on Hell Spit, Ottoman forces fire down below amidst the cove and sharp cliff edges, taking down ANZAC soldiers one by one with their bullets, but eventually were forced towards the position known as (Kilich Bayir), AKA Baby 700, as they are heavily outnumbered.

Meanwhile, Dipper and Robbie move forwards towards Hell Spit with the rest of the men, with Lt. Col. Weir staying behind to help other men who have lost sight of their companies and regiments.


4:45 AM. April 25th, 1915.

Meanwhile, far south of ANZAC Cove, one mile away at Gaba Tepe, the ANZAC'S original landing beach, but got confused in the mess, Captain Arslan told the Majors that he had lost full contact with Captain Polat, the Junior Commander of the 27th Regiment, and that they had lost communications with Captain Faik, another platoon commander who spotted the ships at the exact same time Polat did.

By 4:50 AM, all 3 men ordered to get their 2 well-concealed, yet heavy artillery guns ready for battle and to reign hell upon the invaders once and for all. And so they were ready within a couple seconds.

Within that time, Captain Arslan ordered the guns to get ready to fire their massive shells, as the objective was to destroy the enemy's landing boats.

(Erkekler, Topcu Atesi Acmaya Hazir Olun...) -Men, get ready to fire the artillery...-, the Captain ordered. (Hazir... Ayarlamak...) -Ready... Set...-

(ATES!) -FIRE!-, the Captain and the Majors ordered all at once. Once they ordered that, the men fired the cannons, letting off deafening booms, as Captain Arslan looked through his binoculars to see where the enemy had gone to, but he couldn't see anything due to the deep darkness of the Dardanelles and the stars.

Eventually, he heard screams from afar, and the Captain was stunned by the screams, as he later wrote into his diary, (Tecrübeli Genc Bir Türk Savas, Kan Ve Cehennem Kaptaninin Günlugu) -The Diary of a Young Experienced Turk Captain of Blood, War and Hell- later that morning: (Dusmanin Cigliklarini Suyun Icinde Uzaktan Duydum... Sanki Allah'in Ellerinde Degil, O Genc Oglanlara, Bize, Sanli Imparatorlugumuza Ve Dünyaya Aci, Istirap Ve Cehennem Yakmak Isteyen Tanrisal Bir Seytan'in Ellerinde Binlerce Ölum Cekiyormus Gibi Geliyordu.)

-I heard the enemy's screams from afar in the water... it sounded like they were dying a thousand deaths at the hands of not Allah, but at the hands of a godly Devil who wanted to invoke pain, suffering and hell upon those young boys, us, our glorious Empire and the world.-

He eventually later said in an interview in 1976, when he was 95, but as a retired Turkish Lieutenant General, that he would never forget the screams of the young Aussies and Kiwis rowing ashore, as it sounded as if, in his own words: (Seytan O Genc Oglanlari, Ama Bizim Genc Düsmanlarimizi Onunla Birlikte Cehenneme Sürüklemeye Gelmisti.) -The Devil had come to drag those young boys, yet our young enemies, all to Hell with him.-

But that was the future, this was now. As he stood listening to the screams of the dying men, he felt a sense of injustice and pity for them, for the hell that they were now going through, and Captain Arslan took that for full honesty and took it all for granted, down deep in his heart.


April 25th, 1915. 5:25 AM.

Whilst the Ottomans kept their hands full on the Gaba Tepe artillery guns, a few miles nearby, back at ANZAC Cove, the Ottomans had been driven back, with most fleeing, some killed in the chaos even. A couple of the Turks had been captured, but now, the Aussies and Kiwis had captured and now held the position.

"Well, what do you think, Ludington?", Lt. Col. Weir said to Robbie as he looked ahead. Weir had now advanced upwards with the men.

Nearly 3,000 ANZACS were now dead or wounded, the wounded screaming in pain, whilst the medics rushed to check pulses, letting the commanders know that their brave or once-brave troops were either dead or alive.

"No idea, sir... but we lost many men today. Many brave and good ones at that... but, I will say one thing: damn this war all to hell. We are now hundreds of thousands miles away from home... and I don't think the majority of us will be returning home anytime soon.", Robbie confessed with a half solemn and half angered tone to Weir.

"I see, Corporal. Of course, I want to see my family again too, but... it could take a while before this bloodied war is over. But, our war service is war service and we give our lives for our countries, but for what?", Weir said to Robbie.

"More hell and war, perhaps? We've already seen that happen with Napoleon... who waged military campaigns and won all of them... until the Russian campaign and the Russian Winter screwed up his conquests and sent him into exile in Elba, off of the main Italian Coastline, before coming back again, but was defeated at Waterloo by the Duke of Wellington and Prince Blücher and sent to Saint Helena in the middle of the god-damned Atlantic.", Robbie said.

"I guess I could agree with that, Corporal... good job on learning your military history.", Weir said, confident.

"Now... let's go up this hill and kill these fucking Turks so we could go home, aye?", Robbie said, cursing out loud.

Weir was surprised at the Corporal's F-drop, something rarely heard during these early eras.

Already he'd thought that the Corporal was a civilized person, but Robbie was... somewhat civilized. The plan had reversed on him instantly, and he knew the dark secrets Robbie had carried.

"Aye. But one thing, Ludington.", Weir said with a sudden sharp and angry tone before continuing to speak.

"What, sir?", Robbie said with a chuckle, making it seem as if he were listening to Weir, which he really wasn't, but this had caught his attention, tenfold.

"You don't kill any of our own men, Turkish civilians or unarmed men, and I still remember Melbourne... you drunkenly killed 2 of our soldiers, 3 of Our civilians and 5 of OUR unarmed men, all out of damned spite and lazy drunkenness in a bar brawl. I curse you for that, Corporal... I curse you for all eternity to damnation in the fiery pits of HELL... that's what the priests would say about you. But I hope it never happens again, or else you'd be executed, and I'd accept that in one instant. Especially after what you did to Private Pines, in the cursed PAST of your "childhood"... Oh, and I know that chuckle was a fake one.", Weir then spit back, with a much more angry tone, before looking at Robbie with a death stare.

Robbie was shocked. He didn't even know what to make of this. And, the most important question to Robbie was: How the hell did Weir find out about my damned childhood?, he thought, before thinking back to the records and looking back to the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Y-yes, Sir.", Robbie said with a shocked tone.

"Good, now I'm off, and don't do what I fucking told you not to do.", Weir said, cursing quietly at Robbie as he walked off.

"I won't do no such thing! Heh...", he said, before walking a few small steps and hearing Weir once again in the distance.

"I heard that, Corporal!", Weir yelled back, causing Robbie to sprint up the hill towards his men, stumbling and nearly tripping a few times, prompting Weir to have a smirk on his face and huff, before waiting for more of his men on the hill, and knowing ALL of Robbie's secrets, which no one else besides him, Weir, Central Command and Private Pines knew, which Robbie didn't know that the brave Private, secretly in mental decline, knew about it all.

Now, as the ANZACS had now survived the hell of combat in the dark... the Brits were going to start their charge in the early morning light, potentially a massacre, with hell to be paid, commanders blamed, wrongfully and rightfully and lives all shed in blood, slaughtered by machine guns, the new, powerful ones.

For now, the ANZACS had withheld the Ottoman assault and guns... but how much longer could it last?


Part II: The Commanders' Charging, SLAUGHTERING Plan.

April 25th, 1915. 6:00 AM.

General Sir Ian Hamilton, aboard the HMS Queen Elizabeth, his primary HQ, stood outside of the inside of the ship and looked out to the shore, not even 5 miles, thinking that the Gaba Tepe landings were a great success, which it was but it had happened on the WRONG cove, only a mile south of Gaba Tepe, with the ANZACS suffering nearly 3,000 casualties and hell to basically be paid on the cove.

"Good. Now, that our men have landed on the beach, we must establish a plan to overwhelm the Turks...", he quietly thought to himself.

Before he could retrace his steps, he looked to the shoreline again now awaiting the order that the Brits and Irish had been readied, and sent off onto Cape Helles, a strategic strongpoint, with the old Sedd el Bahr Castle nearby, but the Ottomans had held onto the castle and now were ready for the British onslaught, hoping to slaughter them when they were either out of the boats or in the boats.

Then, another noise was heard. Footsteps. Hamilton quickly heard it, but didn't turn to who was making the noise. He then said, "Braithwaite."

Colonel Sir Walter Braithwaite, Hamilton's main Aide-de-Camp, then stood at attention, only a few feet away from the veteran General.

"Sir, shall we begin the process of the landing at Cape Helles? Where the old Sedd el Bahr castle resides?", Braithwaite spoke up, lighting a cigar as he did so.

"It's 6:00 AM, Walt. You can begin it now... Colonel. Let Hunter-Weston know to ready the men up.", Hamilton said, with a little, yet noticeable smirk, not knowing the second bloodied massacre was about to come.

"Aye, sir.", Braithwaite said before saluting, walking back to where he needed to go, to send the first wave towards V Beach... The Royal Irish Fusiliers, The Royal Cork Fusiliers and The Royal Dublin Fusiliers.


April 25th, 1915. 6:15 AM.

Now, the Irish, Dublin and Cork Fusiliers, along with some highly top-secret special forces: The Canadian and Newfoundland Expeditionary Forces, whom were obviously either all Canadians, Irishmen, Welshmen or Scots, were heading towards V Beach, yet again, in 105 interesting wooden lifeboats, 45 men in each one.

They were lowered carefully, with the lowering of the lifeboats comparing to that of the Titanic's lifeboats' lowering, but without chaos, gunfire, screaming and the ship sinking.

Finally, they were lowered down, all carefully, not knowing what was coming up ahead of them... a zone of a complete bloodbath, not seen except on the Western Front, the Eastern Front, The Southern Front (Serbia), and the Russian Front.

Meanwhile, back in the lead boat of the Newfoundland Expeditionary Forces, General Sir Mason Pines, the Lord Littham, smoked a cigar, whilst looking through his binoculars.

The young man was 30 years old, (within a month, he would be 31), and no stranger to hellish battles, he had grown a little beard, but had grown a big mustache, and was secretly, unknown to his British allies, an Honorary Marshal of France.

"Well, gents. Nice morning for a damned landing, ain't it?", Pines called out, still with the cigar in his mouth, and holding the binoculars.

"No, sire.", one soldier chuckled. Pines looked to the soldier, raised an eyebrow and then smirked, before clearing his throat and then spitting into the Dardanelles.

"Why, must I ask, Private Johnson... why do you think it ain't a nice morning to have this goddamned landing?", Pines then said, holding his match up to his cigar, lighting it and then tossing the match into the Strait, and then smoking the big, brown and puffy-looking cigar and then huffing the smoke out of it.

"Well, sire... you see, it may be morning, but since it is and the Ottomans are holding the old castle up over there, uh, we could get massacred by any machine guns or artillery they have up-", Private Thomas Johnson said, before a explosion took out one of the boats, killing 40 out of the 45 men in that one boat alone, and causing 4 of the 5 wounded men to swim away, whilst the final one drowned due to the weight of his heavy pack.

"Holy shite!", Pines exclaimed, causing the cigar to fall into the strait, whilst the massive orange ball and flying shrapnel headed towards the boats' direction. "GET YOUR FUCKING HEADS DOWN, LADS!"

Now, every soldier has panic in their eyes and ears, and artillery shells continued hitting the water. Pines, now the 4th Lord Littham, which has had gotten on the passing of his father, had tried to keep his men calm and cool, whilst he tried to remain composed and collected.

"GET DOWN!", Pines said, as bullets rippled the boat and the men screamed, ducking down out of sight of the bullets. Pines held his Webley revolver, fully loaded with a 6-round magazine, and he pulled out a whisky flask, fully filled to the brim with good Irish whisky, to calm himself down, amidst the chaos's hell of battle, artillery shells coming down and bullets flying past his men's head.

"Shit... there's the beach! Continue to row, goddammit!", Pines ordered as a few more unharmed boats came in from behind Pines' boat, with all 40 men, himself included among them, somehow miraculously still alive and the 4 wounded men from the destroyed boat in his boat as well, thankfully. But, now, all the boats were coming under heavy Maxim machine gun fire, the Ottoman soldiers' yelling heard amidst the firing of the hot, fast-pacing bullets of the German-made machine gun.

Whilst rowing, and the soft sounds of the oars hitting the water, Private Johnson, yet again, decided to ask General Pines another question.

"Sire, must I ask, why do you believe that war is a good thing?", Johnson spoke up.

Pines turned around, gave a little bit of a menacing look to Johnson, but then regained his cool and composure. "Johnson, I must not ask why you asked that simple, yet very stupid question... but I, and not just I, but several others believe that war isn't a good thing. If you think that, then, well... you're wrong. You're totally. Fucking. WRONG. Now, Private... keep your mouth quiet for now.", Pines spoke, before returning to his quiet, yet calm composure. "Oh... and call me Lord Lattham from now on, Robert."

"Aye, sire.", Johnson said, as he had only those words to say, after Pines had described to him just a few moments before, but, they were now 30 feet from V Beach and the so-called "Massacre Zone."

Meanwhile, gunfire and artillery shells continued to boom and wizz around them, shattering some of the wood, hitting some of the men, most minorly wounded, a few critically wounded, but Pines was among the few other men not hit by the bullets, as the artillery shells were missing the boat, hitting the water instead, but the resulting explosions of the shells in the water caused their ears to ring, and splash the same bloodied water all over their uniforms.

"What the hell can we do now, Sir?", asked Johnson, now fully curious to any plan.

"We row to the shoreline, Johnson... oh, shit.", Pines exclaimed, as the boat hit the shoreline and more bullets wizzed down upon them, as if the charismatic forces of Heaven and Hell had teamed with the Ottomans to take down the British, tenfold.

"MEN, GET OUT OF THIS DAMNED BOAT! NOW!", Pines yelled harshly, causing all his men, including the 4 wounded from the other boat, to jump out of their boat and find cover all across the short V Beach, whilst other boats didn't make it to the shore, due to no survivors in those boats, only 5 other boats made it ashore, some several others backed away towards the ships for heavy cover or were damaged, many were destroyed and gone, but the ones that did make it ashore and were unharmed, carried some survivors from some of the destroyed and damaged boats, some filled with shrapnel, others with their own dark blood seeping out of the bloodied, dark bullet wounds.

Meanwhile, on the now blood-filled V Beach, Pines and his men got ready to charge and cut the barbed wire, when the cutter was hit and killed instantly, whilst a few other soldiers, fell into the water, dead and bleeding after being hit by hot, sharp metal and also by the fast, yet hot, wizzing, sharp bullets.

Now, due to their originally being 450 men survived, being cut down to 430, 20 men cut down in 10 minutes, Pines and his men could only wait for hope, no room to maneuver around, just praying for hope...

Meanwhile, on the converted collier SS River Clyde, the Royal Regiments waited for their landing at Cape Helles, where even more hell awaited them...

TO BE CONTINUED. CHAPTER II IS COMING SOON...