The General Staff had heard that the Turks were concentrating men and munitions for a great attack. Information was scarce; information was imperative, for on information the modern general depends. And this information had to come from the very centre of the Turkish defence. It was the hour for a man, and that man had to be found. That was the problem which faced the Chief of Staff. He knew that almost every officer would volunteer. He thought of many Australians; but no, their reckless bravery might wreck his schemes. And then he pictured in his eye the New Zealanders he knew. One by one they passed in review. At last he recalled "Tony," a young subaltern from Hawkes Bay. He was a graduate of an Auckland school—a strong, well-built, swarthy youth, with that coolness, daring, and acumen necessary for the job. "Yes, he'll do," muttered the Chief as he rang up the New Zealand Dragoons.
"Send Lieutenant Tony Brown to headquarters at once."
"Very good, sir," answered an orderly. In two hours Tony entered the dug-out and saluted.
"I've a job for you, Mr. Brown. It might mean your death; it might mean the D.S.O. Are you on?"
"I'm on, sir; but please explain."
"Get one of the Navy boats. Go up the coast for two miles. Land and get across into the Turkish camp. Find out the strength of these reinforcements, the guns, the ammunition, food and water supplies, and, more important, the probable date, if not the hour, of this big attack. I'll give you two days to do it. If you're not back on the third day I'll count you as dead. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, my lad. Here's an order to the commander of the torpedo boat at the beach. Make your own arrangements. Good luck to you," concluded the Chief, shaking him by the hand. And out went Tony on his job. It was a tough proposition for a youngster to tackle, yet he deemed it an honour. And there was no time for delay. He secured the services of two Maoris because of their strength and swarthy complexion. Turkish uniforms would make them "Turks," if need be.
The commander of the destroyer gave him a boat. This was loaded up with water, biscuits, some Turkish uniforms, and rifles, with other necessaries for the job. At night they pulled out. It was quite dark, so all was favourable at the outset. For hours the Maoris seemed to row, their only guide being the stars and dark coast-line. And then came the first peep of dawn.
"Come on, you fellows; get into these things," said the subaltern, pointing to the Turkish clothes. He did likewise. The disguise was perfect. They looked thoroughly respectable members of the Sultan's community.