Cry Wolf Part 33

"No we can't, old son. I sited those positions myself.

They're tight. You just keep going for the gorge. Our only hope is to get into the second line of positions that I have prepared at the first waterfall." Then he shook his head sorrowfully, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes against the stinging raindrops. "You and this crazy old b.a.s.t.a.r.d,"

he turned his head to the Ras beside him, "you'll be the death of me, you two will The Ras grinned happily at him, convinced that they were charging into a battle again, and deliriously happy at the prospect.

"How do you do?" he cackled, and punched Gareth's shoulder gleefully.

"Could be better, old boy," Gareth a.s.sured him. "Could be a lot better," and they both ducked as the next sh.e.l.l came howling low over their heads.

"Those fellows are improving Gareth observed mildly.

"G.o.d knows they've had plenty of practice recently, "Jake shouted, and Gareth rolled his eyes upwards to the heavy bruised cloud banks.

"Let there be rain," he intoned, and instantly the thunder cracked and the clouds lit internally with a brilliant electric burst of light.

The splattering drops increased their tempo, and the air turned milky with slanting drumming lances of rain.

"Amazing, Major Swales. I would not have believed it," said Gregorius Maryam from the turret above Gareth's head, and his voice was hushed with awe.

"Nothing to it, my lad," Gareth disclaimed. "Just a direct line to the top." Rain filled the air in a white teeming fog, so that Jake had to screw up his eyes against the driving needles, and his black curls clung in a sodden ma.s.s to his scalp.

Rain wiped out the mountains and the rocky portals of the gorge, so that Jake steered by instinct alone. It roared against the racing steel hull, and closed down visibility to a circle of twenty yards.

The Italian sh.e.l.lfire stopped abruptly, as the gunners were unsighted.

Rain pounded every inch of exposed skin, striking with a force that stung painfully, snapping against their faces with a jarring impact that made the teeth ache in their jaws, and sent them crouching for what little cover there was on the exposed hull.

"Good Lord, how long does this go on for?" protested Gareth, and he spat the sodden b.u.t.t of his cheroot over the side.

"Four months," shouted Gregorius. "It rains for four months now."

"Or until you tell it to stop." Jake grinned wryly, and glanced across at the other machine.

Sara waved rea.s.suringly from the turret of Miss Wobbly, her face screwed up against the driving raindrops and the thick mane of hair plastered to her shoulders and face. Icy rain had soaked the silken sharnma she wore and it clung transparently to her body, and her fat little b.r.e.a.s.t.s showed through as though they were naked, bouncing to each exaggerated movement of the car.

Suddenly the mist of rain ahead of them was filled with hurrying figures, all of them clad in the long sodden sharnmas of the Harari; carrying their weapons, they were running and staggering forward through the rain towards the mouth of the gorge.

Gregorius shouted encouragement to them as they sped past, and then translated quickly.

"I have told them we will hold the enemy at the first waterfall they are to spread the word." And he turned back to shout again when suddenly with a startled oath Jake braked and swung the car violently to avoid a pile of human bodies strewn in their path.

"This is where the Italian machine-gunners caught them," Sara yelled across the gap, and as if in confirmation there came the tearing ripping sound of the machine guns off in the rain mist.

Jake threaded the car past the piles of bodies and then looked around to make sure Vicky was following.

"Now what the h.e.l.l!" He realized they were alone. "That woman.

That crazy woman," and he braked, slammed Priscilla into reverse and roared back into the fog until the dark shape of Miss Wobbly loomed up again.

"No," said Gareth. "I can't bear it." Vicky and Sara were out of the parked car, hurrying amongst the piles of bodies, stooping over a wounded warrior and between them dragging him upright and thrusting him through the open rear doors of the cab. Others, less gravely wounded, were limping and crawling towards the machine, and dragging themselves aboard.

"Come on, Vicky, "Jake yelled.

"We can't leave them here, she yelled back.

"We've got to get to the waterfall," he tried to explain.

"We've got to stop the retreat." But he might not have spoken, for the two women turned back to their task.

"Vicky!" Jake shouted again.

"If you help it won't take so long, "she called obstinately, and Jake shrugged helplessly before climbing down out of the hatch.

Both cars were crammed with dreadfully wounded and dying Harari, and the hulls were thick with those who still had strength to hold on, before Vicky was satisfied.

"We've lost fifteen minutes. "Gareth glanced at his pocket watch in the rain that still poured down with unabated fury.

"And that could be enough to get us all killed, and lose us the gorge."

"It was worth it," Vicky told him stubbornly, and ran to her car. Again the heavily burdened machines ground on towards the mountain pa.s.s, and now they had to ignore the pitiful appeals of the wounded they pa.s.sed. They lay in huddles of rags soaked with rain and diluted pink blood, or they crawled painfully and doggedly on towards the mountain, lifting brown, agonized faces and pleading, clawlike hands, hands as the two machines roared past in the mist.

Once a freak gap in the rain opened visibility to a mile around them, and a pale shaft of watery sunlight slanted down to strike the cars like a stage light, glistening on the wet steel hulls.

Immediately the Italian machine guns opened on them from a range of a mere two hundred yards, and the bullets cut into the clinging ma.s.s of humanity, knocking a dozen of them shrieking from their perch before the rain closed in again, hiding them in its soft white protective bosom.

They ran into the main camp below the gorge, and found that it was plunged into terrible confusion. It had been heavily sh.e.l.led and machine-gunned, and then the rain had turned it all into a deep muddy soup of broken flattened tents, and scattered equipment.

Dead horses and human corpses were half buried in the mud, here and there a terrified dog or a lost child scurried through the rain.

Spasmodic fighting was still taking place in the rocky ground around the camp, and they caught glimpses of Italian uniforms on the slopes and muzzle-flashes in the gloom.

Every few seconds a sh.e.l.l would howl in through the rain and cloud and burst with sullen fury somewhere out of sight.

"Head for the gorge," shouted Gareth. "Don't stop here," and Jake took the path that skirted the grove of camel thorns the direct path that pa.s.sed below and out of sight of the fighting on the slopes, crossed the Sardi River and plunged into the gaping maw of the gorge.

"My men are holding them," Gregorius shouted proudly.

"They are holding the gorge. We must go to their aid."

"Our place is at the first waterfall. "Gareth raised his voice for the first time.

"They can't hold here not when the Eyetie brings up his guns. We've got to get set at the first waterfall to have a chance." He looked back to where the other car should have been following them, and he groaned.

"No! Oh, please G.o.d, no."

"What is it? "jake head popped out of the driver's hatch with alarm.

"They've done it again."

"Who ?" But Jake need not have asked.

The following car had swung off the direct track, and was now storming up through the rain-blurred camel-Thorn trees, heading for the old tented camp in the grove, and only incidentally running directly into the area where the heavy fighting was still rattling and crackling in the rain.

"Catch her," Gareth said. "Head her off." Jake swung off the track and went zigzagging up through the grove with the rear wheels spinning and spraying red mud and slush. But Miss Wobbly had a clear start and a straight run up the secondary track directly into the enemy advance; she disappeared amongst the trees and curtains of rain.

Jake brought the car bellowing out into the camp to find Miss Wobbly parked in the open clearing. The tents had been flattened and the whole area trodden and looted, cases of rations and clothing burst open and soaked with rain; the muddy red canvas of the tents hung flapping in the trees or lay half buried.

From the turret, Sara was firing the Vickers into the trees of the grove, and answering fire whined and crackled around the car. Jake glimpsed running Italian figures, and turned the car so that his own gun would bear.

"Get into them, Greg," he yelled, and the boy crouched down behind the gun and fired a long thunderous burst that tore shreds of bark off the trees and dropped at least one of the running Italians. Jake lifted himself out of the driver's hatch, and then froze and stared in disbelief.

Victoria Camberwell was out of the armoured car, plodding around in the soup of red mud, oblivious to the gunfire that whickered and crackled about her.

"Vicky!" he cried in despair, and she stooped and s.n.a.t.c.hed something out of the mud with a cry of triumph. Now at last she turned and scampered back to Miss Wobbly, crossing a few feet in front of Jake.

"What the h.e.l.l-" he protested.

"My typewriter and my toilet bag," she explained reasonably, holding her muddy trophies aloft. "One has got my make-up in it, and I.

can't do my job without the other," and then she smiled like a wet bedraggled puppy.

"We can go now, "she said.

The track up the gorge was crowded with men and "animals, toiling wearily upwards in the icy rain.

The pack animals slipped and slithered in the loose footing.

Gareth's relief was intense when he saw the bulky shapes of the Vickers strapped to the humpy backs of a dozen camels, and the cases of ammunition riding high in the panniers. His men had done their work and saved the guns.

"Go with them, Greg," he ordered. "See them safely up to the first waterfall," and the boy jumped down to take command, while the two cars ploughed on slowly through the sea of humanity.

"There's no fight left in them," said Jake, looking down into the dispirited brown faces, running with rainwater and shivering in the cold.

"They'll fight," answered Gareth, and he nudged the Ras.

"What do you say, Grandpa?" The Ras grinned a weary toothless grin, but his wet clothing clung to the gaunt old frame like the rags of a scarecrow, as Jake brought the car round the slippery, gla.s.sy hairpin bend below the first waterfall.

"Pull in here," Gareth told him, and then scrambled down beside the hull, drawing the Ras down with him.

"Thanks, old son." He looked up at Jake. "Take the cars up to Sardi, and get rid of these-" He indicated the sorry cargo of wounded.

"Try and find a suitable building for a hospital. Leave that to Vicky it'll keep her out of mischief.

Either that or we'll have to tie her up--2 he grinned, and then was serious. "Try and contact Lij Mikhael. Tell him the position here. Tell him the Gallas have deserted and I'll be hard pressed to hold the gorge another week. Tell him we need ammunition, guns, medicine, blankets, food anything he can spare. Ask him to send a train down to Sardi with supplies, and to take out the wounded." He paused, and thought for a moment. "That's it, I think.

Do that and then come back, with all the food you can carry. I think we left most of our supplies down there" he glanced down into the misty depths of the gorge "and these fellows won't fight on an empty stomach." Jake reversed the car and pulled back on to the track.

"Oh, and Jake, try and find a few cheroots. I lost my entire stock down there. Can't fight without a whiff or two." He grinned and waved. "Keep it warm, old son," he called, and turned away to begin stopping the trudging column of refugees, pushing them off the track towards the prepared trenches that had been dug into the rocky sides of the gorge, overlooking the double sweep of the track below them.

"Come along, chaps," Gareth shouted cheerfully. "Who's for a touch of old glory!" ROM GENERAL BADOGLIO, COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF THE AFRICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE BEFORE AMBA ARA DAM TO COLONEL COUNT ALDO.

BELLI, OFFICER COMMANDING THE DANAKIL COLUMN AT THE WELLS OF CHALDI.

THE MOMENT FOR WHICH WE HAVE PLANNED IS.

NOW AT HAND STOP I CONFRONT THE MAIN BODY OF THE ENEMY, AND HAVE.

HAD THEM UNDER CONTINUOUS BOMBARDMENT FOR FIVE DAYS. AT DAWN.

TOMORROW.

I SHALL ATTACK IN FORCE AND DRIVE THEM FROM THE HIGH GROUND BACK.

ALONG.

THE DE SSI ROAD. DO YOU NOW ADVANCE WITH ALL DESPATCH TO TAKE UP A.

POSITION ASTRIDE THE DESSIE ROAD AND STEM THE TIDE OF THE ENEMY's RETREAT, SO THAT WE MAY TAKE THEM ON BOTH TINES OF THE PITCHFORK. "forty thousand men lay upon Ambo Aradam, cowering in their trenches and caves. They were the heart and spine of the Ethiopian armies, and the man who led them, Ras Muguletu, was the ablest and most experienced of all the warlords. But he was powerless and uncertain in the face of such strength and fury as now broke around him. He had not imagined it could be so, and he lay with his men, quiescent and stoic. There was no enemy to confront, nothing to strike out at, for the huge Cap.r.o.ni bombers droned high overhead and the great guns that fired the sh.e.l.ls were miles below in the valley.

All they could do was pull their dusty shammas over their heads and endure the bone-jarring, bowel-shaking detonations and breathe the filthy fume-laden air.

Day after day the storm of explosive roared around them until they were dazed and stupefied, deafened and uncaring, enduring, only enduring not thinking, not feeling, not caring.

On the sixth night the drone of the big three-engined bombers pa.s.sed overhead, and Ras Muguletu's men, peering up fearfully, saw the sinister shapes pa.s.s overhead, dark against the silver p.r.i.c.king of the stars.

They waited for the bombs to tumble down upon them once more, but the bombers circled above the flat-topped mountain for many minutes and there were no bombs. Then the bombers turned away and the drone of the engines died into the lightening dawn sky.

Only then did the soft insidious dew that they had sown come sifting down out of the still night sky. Gently as the fall of snowflakes, it settled upon the upturned brown faces, into the fearfully staring eyes, on to the bare hands that held the ancient firearms at the ready.

It burned into the exposed skin, blistering and eating into the living flesh like some terrible canker; it burned the eyes in their sockets, turning them into cherry-red, glistening orbs from which the yellow mucus poured thickly. The pain it inflicted combined both the seating of concentrated acid and the fierce heat of live coals.

In the dawn, while thousands of Ras Muguletu's men whimpered and cried out in their consuming agony, and their comrades, bemused and bewildered, tried unavailingly to render aid, in that dreadful moment, the first wave of Italian infantry came up over the lip of the mountain, and they were into the Ethiopian trenches before the defenders realized what had happened. The Italian bayonets blurred redly in the first rays of the morning sun.

The cloud lay upon the highlands, blotting out the peaks, and the rain fell in a constant deluge. It had rained without ceasing for the two days and three nights since the disaster of Aruba Aradarn. The rain had saved them, it had saved the thirty thousand survivors of the battle from being overtaken by the same fate as had befallen the ten thousand casualties they had left on the mountain.

High above the cloud, the Italian bombers circled hungrily; Lij Mikhael could hear them clearly, although the thick blanket of cloud muted the sound of the powerful triple engines. They waited for a break in the cloud, to come swooping down upon the retreat. What a target they would enjoy if that happened! The Dessie road was choked for a dozen miles with the slow unwieldy column of the retreat, the ragged files of trudging figures, bowed in the rain, their heads covered with their shammas, their bare feet sliding and slipping in the mud. Hungry, cold and dispirited, they toiled onwards, carrying weapons that grew heavier with every painful step still they kept on.

The rain had hampered the Italian pursuit. Their big troop-carriers were bogged down helplessly in the treacherous mud, and each engorged mountain stream, each ravine raged with the muddy brown rain waters. They had to be bridged by the Italian engineers before the transports could be manhandled across, and the pursuit continued.

The Italian General Badoglio had been denied a crushing victory and thirty thousand Ethiopian troops had escaped him at Aradam.

It was Lij Mikhael's special charge, placed upon him -personally by the King of Kings, Baile Sela.s.sie, to bring out those thirty thousand men. To extricate them from Badogho's talons, and regroup them with the southern army under the Emperor's personal command upon the sh.o.r.es of Lake Tona. Another thirty-six hours and the task would be accomplished.

He sat on the rear seat of the mud-spattered Ford sedan, huddled into the thick coa.r.s.e folds of his greatcoat, and although it was worn and lulling in the sedan interior, and although he was exhausted to the point at which his hands and feet felt completely numb and his eyes as though they were filled with sand, yet no thought of sleep entered his mind. There was too much to plan, too many eventualities to meet, too many details to ponder and he was afraid. A terrible black fear pervaded his whole being.

The ease with which the Italian victory had been won at Araoam filled him with fear for the future. It seemed as though nothing could stand against the force of Italian arms against the big guns, and the bombs and the nitrogen Mustard. He feared that another terrible defeat awaited them on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Tona.

He feared also for the safety of the thirty thousand in his charge. He knew that the Danakil column of the Italian expeditionary force had fought its way into the Sardi Gorge and must by now have almost reached the town of Sardi itself. He knew that Ras Golam's small force had been heavily defeated on the plains and had suffered doleful losses in the subsequent defence of the gorge. He feared that they might be swept aside at any moment now and that the Italian column would come roaring like a lion across his rear cutting off his retreat to Dessie. He must have time, a little more time, a mere thirty-six hours more.