Turkish general in the retreat of two days before. It was the sort of
coupé one associates entirely with well-kept parks and crowded city
streets, and the incongruity of its lonely isolation amid the sand-dunes
caused an amused ripple of comment.

Our instructions were to march back to Samarra early next morning, but
shortly before midnight orders came through from General Maude for us to
advance again upon Tekrit and take it. Next day we halted and took stock
in view of the new orders. The cavalry again suffered at the hands of the
Turkish aircraft. I went to corps headquarters in the afternoon, and a
crowd of "red tabs," as the staff-officers were called, were seated around
a little table having the inevitable tea. A number of the generals had
come in to discuss the plan of attack for the following day. Suddenly a
Turk aeroplane made its appearance, flying quite low, and dropping bombs
at regular intervals. It dropped two, and then a third on a little hill in
a straight line from the staff conclave. It looked as if the next would be
a direct hit, and the staff did the only wise thing, and took cover as
flat on the ground as nature would allow; but the Hun's spacing was bad,
and the next bomb fell some little way beyond. I remember our glee at
what we regarded as a capital joke on the staff. The line-officer's humor
becomes a trifle robust where the "gilded staff" is concerned,
notwithstanding the fact that most staff-officers have seen active and
distinguished service in the line.

Our anti-aircraft guns--"Archies" we called them--were mounted on trucks,
and on account of their weight had some difficulty getting up. I shall not
soon forget our delight when they lumbered into view, for although I never
happened personally to see an aeroplane brought down by an "Archie," there
was no doubt about it but that they did not bomb us with the same
equanimity when our anti-aircrafts were at hand.