Cry Wolf

Cry Wolf

Cry Wolf

Born in Zambia and educated at Michaelhouse and RhodesUniversity, Wilbur Smith has lived all his life in Africa and hiscommitment to that continent is deep.

A fulltime writer since 1964, he also finds time to travel outsideAfrica and enjoy his other interests - such as numismatics, wildlifephotography and big game fishing. Ke and his wife make an annualsafari into the dwindling wildernesses of Central Africa, and at otherseasons he fishes by boat in the Indian Ocean for tuna and othergame fish.

Wilbur Smith and his wife live in Cape Town on the slopes ofTable Mountain.

Also by Wilbur Smith in Pan BooksWhen the Lion Feeds

Shout at the Devil (filmed with the same title)

The Dark of the Sun (filmed as The Mercenaries)

Gold Mine (filmed as Gold)

The Diamond Hunters

The Sunbird

Eagle in the Sky

The Sound of Thunder

Eye of the Tiger

Wilbur Smith

Cry Wolf

Pan Books in association with William Heinemann

First published 1976 by William Heinemann Ltd

This edition first published 1977 by Pan Books Ltd,

Cavaye Place, London SW10 9PG,

in association with William Heinemann Ltd

© Wilbur Smith 1976

ISBN 0330 25097 3

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Cox & Wyman Ltd, London, Reading and Fakenham

This book is sold subject to the condition that itshall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's priorconsent in any form of binding or cover other than that in whichit is published and without a similar condition including thiscondition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

This book is for my wife Danielle

To Jake Barton, machinery was always feminine - with all thefemale's fascination, wiles and bitchery. So when he first sawthem standing in a row beneath the spreading dark green foliageof the mango trees, they became for him the iron ladies.

There were five of them, standing aloof from the other heapsof worn-out and redundant equipment that His Majesty'sGovernment was offering for sale. Although it was May and thecooler season between the monsoons, the heat on this cloudlessmorning in Dar es Salaam was mounting like a force-fed fur-nace and Jake went thankfully into the shade of the mangoes tostand closer to the ladies and begin his examination.

He glanced round the enclosed yard, and noticed that heseemed to be the only one interested in the five vehicles. Themotley crowd of potential buyers was picking over the heaps ofbroken shovels and picks, the rows of battered wheelbarrowsand the other mounds of unidentifiable rubbish.

He turned his attention back to the ladies, as he slipped offthe light tropical moleskin jacket he wore and hung it on thebranch of a mango tree.

The ladies were aristocrats fallen on hard times; their hardbut rakish lines were dulled by the faded and scratched paint-work and the cancerous blotches of rust that showed through.The foxy-faced fruit bats that hung inverted in the mangobranches above them had splattered them with their dung, andoil and grease had oozed from their elderly joints and caked withdust in unsightly black streaks and blobs.

Jake knew their lineage and their history and as he laid asidethe small carpet bag that held his tools, he reviewed it swiftly.Five fine pieces of craftsmanship lying rotting away on the fevercoast of Tanganyika. The bodies and chassis had been built bySchreiner - the stately high cupola in which the open mountingfor the Maxim machine-gun now glared like an empty eye-socket, the square sloping platform of the engine housing, withits heavy armour plate and the neat rows of rivets and the steelshutters that could be closed to protect the radiator against in-coming enemy fire. They stood tall on the metal-bossed wheelswith their solid rubber tyres, and Jake felt a sneaking regret

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that he would be the one to tear their engines out of them andtoss aside the worn-out but gallant old bodies.

They did not deserve such cavalier treatment, these fightingiron ladies who in their youth had chased the wily Germancommander von Lettow-Vorbeck across the wide plains andover the fierce hills of East Africa. The thorns of the wildernesshad deeply scarred the paintwork of the five armoured cars andthere were places where rifle fire had glanced off their armour,leaving the distinctive dimple in the steel.

Those were their grandest days, streaming into battle withtheir cavalry pennants flying, dust billowing behind them,bounding and crashing through the dongas and ant-bear holes,their machine-guns blazing and the terrified German askarisscattering before them.

After that, the original engines had been replaced by thebeautiful new 6J-litre Bentleys, and they had begun the longdecline of police patrol work on the border, chasing the occa-sional cattle raider and slowly being pounded by a succession ofbrutal drivers into the condition which had at last brought themhere to the Government sale-yards in this fiery May of the yearof our Lord 1935. But Jake knew that even the savage abuse towhich they had been subjected could not have destroyed theengines completely and that was what interested him.

He rolled up his sleeves like a surgeon about to begin hisexamination.

'Ready or not, girls,' he muttered, 'here comes old Jake.'

He was a tall man with a big bony frame that was cramped inthe confined area of the armoured car's body, but he workedwith a quiet concentration so close to rapture that the discom-fort went unnoticed. Jake's wide friendly mouth was pursed in awhistle that went on endlessly, the opening bars of 'Tiger Rag'repeated over and over again, and his eyes were screwed upagainst the gloom of the interior.

He worked swiftly, checking the throttle and ignition settingsof the controls, tracing out the fuel lines from the rear-mountedfuel tank, finding the cocks under the driver's seat and gruntingwith satisfaction. He scrambled out of the turret and dropped

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down the high side of the vehicle, pausing to wipe away withhis forearm the thin trickle of sweat that broke from his thickcurly black hair and ran down his cheek, then he hurried for-ward and knocked the clamps open on the side flaps of thearmoured engine-cover.

eGh sweet, sweet!' he whispered, as he saw the fine outlinesof the old Bentley engine block beneath the layer of thick dustand greasy filth.

His hands with the big square palms and thick spatulatefingers went out to touch it with what was almost a caress.

'The bastards have beaten you up, darling,' he whispered.'But we will have you singing again as lovely as ever, that's apromise.'

He pulled the dipstick from the engine sump and took a dropof oil between his fingers.

'Shit!' he grunted with disgust, as he felt the grittiness, andhe thrust the stick back into its slot. He pulled the plugs and,with the promise of a shilling, had a loitering African swing thecrank for him while he felt the compression against the palm ofhis hand.

Swiftly he moved along the line of armoured cars, checking,probing and testing, and when he reached the last of them heknew he could have three of them running again for certain -and four maybe.

One was shot beyond hope. There was a crack in the engineblock through which he could have driven a horse, and thepistons had seized so solid in their pots that not even the com-bined muscle upon the crank handle of Jake and his helpercould move them.

Two of them had the entire carburettor assemblies missing,but he could cannibalize from the wreck. That left him short ofone carburettor - and he felt only gloom at his chances of find-ing another in Dar es Salaam.

Three, then, he could reckon on with certainty. At one hun-dred and ten pounds apiece, that was £330. Less an estimatedoutlay of one hundred, it gave him a clear profit of two hundredand thirty pounds - for surely he would not have to bid more

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than twenty pounds each for these wrecks. Jake felt a warmspreading glow of satisfaction as he tossed his African helperthe promised shilling. Two hundred and thirty pounds was agreat deal of money in these lean and hungry times.

A quick glance at the fob-watch he hauled from his backpocket showed him there was still over two hours before theadvertised time of the commencement of the sale. He was iin-patient to begin work on those Bentleys - not only for the money.For Jake it would be a labour of love.

The one in the centre of the line seemed the best bet for quickresults. He placed his carpet bag on the armoured wing of themudguard and selected a f-inch spanner. Immediately he wastotally absorbed.

After half-an-hour he pulled his head out of the engine, wipedhis hands on a handful of cotton waste and hurried around to thefront of the car.

The big muscles in his right arm bunched and rippled as heswung the crank handle, spinning the heavy engine easily witha steady whirring rhythm. After a minute of this, he releasedthe handle and wiped off his sweat with the cotton waste thatleft grease marks down his cheeks. He was breathing quicklybut lightly.

'I knew you for a temperamental bitch the moment I laideyes on you,' he muttered. 'But you are going to do it my way,darling. You really are.'

Once more his head and shoulders disappeared under theengine cowling and there was the clink of the spanner againstmetal and the monotonous repetition of 'Tiger Rag' in a lowoff-key whistle for another ten minutes, then again Jake went tothe crank handle.

'You are going to do it my way, baby - and what's more you'regoing to like it.'

He spun the handle and the engine kicked viciously, back-fired like a rifle shot, and the crank handle snapped out of Jake'shand with enough force to have taken his thumb off if he hadbeen holding it with an opposed grip.

'Jesus,' whispered Jake, 'a real little hell cat!' He scrambled

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up into the turret and reached down to the controls and resetthe ignition.

At the next swing of the crank handle she bucked and fired,caught and surged, then fell back into a steady beat, quiveringslightly on her rigid suspension, but come alive.

Jake stepped back, sweating, flushed, but with his dark greeneyes shining with delight.

'Oh you beauty,' he said. 'You bloody little beauty.'

'Bravo,' said a voice behind him, and Jake started and turnedquickly. He had forgotten that he was not the only person lefton earth, in his complete absorption with the machine, and nowhe felt embarrassed, as though he had been observed in someintimate and private bodily function. He glowered at the figurethat was leaning elegantly against the bole of the mango tree.

'Jolly good show,' said the stranger, and the voice was suffi-cient to stir the hair upon the nape of Jake's neck. It was one ofthose pricey Limey accents.

The man was dressed in a cream suit of expensive tropicallinen and two-tone shoes of white and brown. On his head hewore a white straw hat with a wide brim that cast'a shadow overhis face. But Jake could see the man had a friendly smile and aneasy engaging manner. He was handsome in a conventionalmanner, with noble and regular features, a face that had flusteredmany a female's emotions and that fitted well with the voice.He would be a ranking government official probably, or anofficer in one of the regular regiments stationed in Dar es Salaam.Upper-class establishment, even to the necktie with its narrowdiagonal stripes by which the British advertised at which seat oflearning they had obtained their education and their place in thesocial order.

'It didn't take you long to get her going.' The man lolledgracefully against the mango, his ankles crossed and one handthrust into his coat pocket. He smiled again, and this time Jakesaw the mockery and challenge in the eyes more clearly. He hadjudged him wrongly. This was not one of those cardboard men.They were pirate eyes, mocking and wolfish, dangerous as theglint of a knife in the shadows.

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'I have 110 doubt the others are in as good a state of repair.' Itwas an inquiry, not a statement.

'Well, you're wrong, friend.' Jake felt a pang of dismay. Itwas absurd that this fancy lad could have a real interest in thefive vehicles - but if he did, then Jake had just given him agenerous demonstration of their value. 'This is the only onethat will run, and even her guts are blown. Listen to her knock.Sounds like a mad carpenter.'

He reached under the cowling and earthed the magneto. Inthe sudden silence as the engine died, he said loudly, 'Junk!'and spat on the ground near the front wheel - but not on it. Hecouldn't bring himself to do that. Then he gathered his tools,flung his jacket over his shoulder, hefted the carpet bag and,without another glance at the Englishman, ambled off towardsthe gates of the works yard.

'You not bidding then, old chap ?' The stranger had left hispost at the mango and fallen into step beside him.

'God, no.' Jake tried to fill his voice with disdain. 'Are you ?'

'Now what would I do with five broken-down armouredcars ?' The man laughed silently, and then went on. 'Yankee,are you ? Texas, what ?'

'You've been reading my mail.'

'Engineer ?'

'I try, I try.'

'Buy you a drink ?'

'Give me the money instead. I've got a train to catch.'

The elegant stranger laughed again, a light friendly laugh.

'God speed, then, old chap,' he said, and Jake hurried outthrough the gates into the dusty heat-dazed streets of noondayDar es Salaam and walked away without a backward glance,trying to convey with his determined stride and the set of hisshoulders that his departure was final.

Jake found a canteen round the first corner and within fiveminutes' walk of the works-yard, where he went into hiding.The Tusker beer he ordered was blood warm, but he drank itwhile he worried. The Englishman gave him a very queasy

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feeling, his interest was too bright to be mere curiosity. On theother hand, however, Jake might have to go over the twentypounds bid that he had calculated - and he took from the insidepocket of his jacket the worn pigskin wallet that contained hisentire worldly wealth and, prudently using the table top as ascreen, he counted the wad of notes.

Five hundred and seventeen pounds in Bank of Englandnotes, three hundred and twenty-sevefi dollars in United Statescurrency, and four hundred and ninety East African shillingswas not a great fortune with which to take on the likes of theelegant Limey. However, Jake drained his warm beer, set hisjaw and inspected his watch once more. It gave him five minutesto noon.

Major Gareth Swales was mildly dismayed, but not at all sur-prised to see the big American entering the works-yard gatesonce more in a manner which was obviously intended to be un-obtrusive but reminded him of Jack Dempsey sidling furtivelyinto an old ladies' tea party.

Gareth Swales sat in the shade of the mangoes upon an up-turned wheelbarrow, over which he had spread a silk handker-chief to protect the pristine linen of his suit. He had set aside hisstraw hat, and his hair was meticulously trimmed and combed,shining softly in that rare colour between golden blond and red,and there was just a sparkle of silver in the wings at his temples.His moustache was the same colour and carefully moulded tothe curve of his upper lip. His face was deeply tanned by thetropical sun to a dark chestnut brown, so that the contrastingblue of his eyes was startlingly pale and penetrating, as hewatched Jake Barton cross the yard to join the gathering ofbuyers under the mango trees. He sighed with resignation andreturned his attention to the folded envelope on which he wasmaking his financial calculations.

He really was finely drawn out, the previous eighteen monthshad been very unkind to him. The cargo that had been seizedin the Liao River by the Japanese gunboat when he was onlyhours away from delivering it to the Chinese commander atMukden - and receiving payment for it - had wiped away the

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accumulated capital of ten years. It had taken all his ingenuityand a deal of financial agility to assemble the package that wasstored at this moment in Number 4 warehouse down at the maindocks of Dar es Salaam port. His buyers would be arriving totake delivery in twelve days - and the five armoured cars wouldhave rounded out the package beautifully.

Armour, by God, he could fix his own price. Only aircraftwould have been more desirable from his client's point of view.

When Gareth had first seen them that morning in theirneglected and decrepit state of repair, he had discounted themcompletely, and was on the point of turning away when he hadnoticed the long muscular pair of legs protruding from theengine of one of the vehicles and heard the barely recognizablestrains of'Tiger Rag'.

Now he knew that one of them at least was a runner. A fewgallons of paint, and a new Vickers machine-gun set in themountings, and the five machines would look magnificent.Gareth would give one of his justly famous sales routines. Hewould start the one good engine and fire the machine-gun - byGod, the jolly old prince would pull out his purse and startspilling sovereigns all over the scenery.

There was only the damned Yankee to worry about, it mightcost him a few bob more than he had reckoned to edge him out,but Gareth was not too worried. The man looked as though hewould have difficulty raising the price of a beer.

Gareth flicked at his sleeve where a speck of dust might havesettled; he placed the panama back on his golden head, adjustedthe wide brim carefully and removed the long slim cheroot fromhis lips to inspect the ash, before he rose and sauntered acrossto the group.

The auctioneer was an elfin Sikh in a black suit with his beardtwisted up under his chin, and a large dazzling white turbanwrapped about his head.

He was perched like a little black bird on the turret of thenearest armoured car, and his voice was plaintive as he pleadedwith the audience that stared up at him stolidly with expression-less faces and glazed eyes.

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'Come, gentlemens, let me be hearing some melliflious voicecry out “ten pounds”. Do I hear “ten pounds each” for thesemagnificent conveyances ?'

He cocked his head and listened to the hot noon breeze in thetop branches of the mango. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.

'Five pounds, please ? Will some wise gentlemens tell me fivepounds ? Two pounds ten - gentlemens - for a mere fifty shil-lings these royal machines, these fine, these beautiful' Hebroke off, and lowered his gaze, placed a delicate chocolatebrown hand over his troubled brow. 'A price, gentlemens.Please, start me with a price.'

'One pound!' a voice called in the lilting accents of the Texanranges. For a moment the Sikh did not move, then raised hishead with dramatic slowness and stared at Jake who toweredabove the crowd around him.

'A pound?' the Sikh whispered huskily. 'Twenty shillingseach for these fine, these beautiful' he broke off and shookhis head sorrowfully. Then abruptly his manner changed andbecame brisk and business-like. 'One pound, I am bid. Do Ihear two, two pounds ? No advance on one pound ? Going forthe first time at one pound!'

Gareth Swales drifted forward, and the crowd opened mira-culously, drawing aside respectfully.

'Two pounds.' He spoke softly, but his voice carried clearlyin the hush. Jake's long, angular frame stiffened, and a darkwine-coloured flush spread slowly up the back of his neck.Slowly, his head swivelled and he stared across at the English-man who had now reached the front row.

Gareth smiled brilliantly and tipped the brim of his panamato acknowledge Jake's glare. The Sikh's commercial instinctinstantly sensed the rivalry between them and his moodbrightened.

T have two' he chirruped.

'Five,' snapped Jake.

'Ten,' murmured Gareth, and Jake felt a hot, uncontrollableanger come seething up from his guts. He knew the feeling sowell, and he tried to control it, but it was no use. It came up in a

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savage red tide to swamp his reason.

The crowd stirred with delight, and all their heads swung inunison towards the tall American.

'Fifteen,' said Jake, and every head swung back towards theslim Englishman.

Gareth inclined his head gracefully.

'Twenty,' piped the Sikh delightedly. 'I have twenty.'

'And five.' Dimly through the mists of his anger, Jake knewthat there was no way that he would let the Limey have theseladies. If he couldn't buy them, he would burn them.

The Sikh sparkled at Gareth with gazelle eyes.

'Thirty, sir ?' he asked, and Gareth grinned easily and wavedhis cheroot. He was experiencing a rising sense of alarm - al-ready they were far past what he had calculated was the Yank'slimit.

'And five more.' Jake's voice was gravelly with the strengthof his outrage. They were his, even if he had to pay out everyshilling in his wallet, they had to be his.

'Forty.' Gareth Swales' smile was slightly strained now. Hewas fast approaching his own limit. The terms of the sale werecash or bank-guaranteed cheque. He had long ago milked everysource of cash that was available to him, and any bank managerwho guaranteed a Gareth Swales cheque was destined for aswift change of employment.

'Forty-five.' Jake's voice was hard and uncompromising; hewas fast approaching the figure where he would be working fornothing but the satisfaction of blocking out the Limey.

'Fifty.'

'And five.'

'Sixty.'

'And another five.'

That was break-even price for Jake - after this he was tossingaway bright shining shillings.

'Seventy,' drawled Gareth Swales, and that was his limit.With regret he discarded all hopes of an easy acquisition of thecars. Three hundred and fifty pounds represented his entireliquid reserves - he could bid no further. All right, the easy way

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had not worked out. There were a dozen other ways, and by oneof them Gareth Swales was going to have them. By God, theprince might go as high as a thousand each and he was not goingto pass by that sort of profit for lack of a few lousy hundredquid.

'Seventy-five,5 said Jake, and the crowd murmured and everyeye flew to Major Gareth Swales.

'Ah, kind gentlemens, do you speak of eighty ?' inquired theSikh eagerly. His commission was five per cent.

Graciously, but regretfully, Gareth shook his head.

'No, my dear chap. It was a mere whim of mine.' He smiledacross at Jake. 'May they give you much joy,' he said, and driftedaway towards the gates. There was clearly nothing to be gainedin approaching the American now. The man was in a toweringrage - and Gareth had judged him as the type who habituallygave expression to his emotion by swinging with his fists. Longago, Gareth Swales had reached the conclusion that only foolsfight, and wise men supply them with the means to do so - at aprofit, naturally.

It was three days before Jake Barton saw the Englishman again- and during that time he had towed the five iron ladies to theoutskirts of the town where he had set up his camp on the banksof a small stream among a stand of African mahogany trees.

With a block and tackle slung from the branch of a mahogany,he had lifted out the engines and worked on them far into eachnight by the smoky light of a hurricane lamp.

Coaxing and sweet-talking the machines, changing and jug-gling faulty and worn parts, hand-forging others on the charcoalbrazier, whistling to himself endlessly, swearing and sweatingand scheming, he had three of the Bentleys running by the after-noon of the third day. Set up on improvised timber blocks, theyhad regained something of their former gleam and glory beneathhis loving hands.

Gareth Swales arrived at Jake's camp in the somnolent heatof the third afternoon. He arrived in a ricksha pulled by a half-naked and sweating black man - and he lolled with the grace of

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a resting leopard on the padded seat, looking cool in beautifullycut and snowy crisp linen.

Jake straightened up from the engine which he was tuning.He was naked to the waist and his arms were greased black tothe elbows. Sweat gleamed on his shoulders and chest, asthough he had been oiled.

'Don't even bother to stop,' Jake said softly. 'Just keep straighton down the road, friend.'

Gareth grinned at him engagingly and from the seat besidehim he lifted a large silver champagne bucket, frosted with dew,and tinkling with ice. Over the edge of the bucket showed thenecks of a dozen bottles of Tusker beer.

'Peace offering, old chap,' said Gareth, and Jake's throatcontracted so violently with thirst that he couldn't speak for amoment.

'A free gift - with no strings attached, what ?'

Even in this cloying humid heat, Jake Barton had been socompletely absorbed by his task that he had taken little liquidin three days, and none of it was pale golden, bubbling and iced.His eyes began to water with the strength of his desire.

Gareth dismounted from the ricksha and came forward withthe champagne bucket under one arm.

'Swales,' he said. 'Major Gareth Swales,' and held out hishand.

'Barton. Jake.' Jake took the hand, but his eyes were still fixedon the bucket.

Twenty minutes later, Jake sat waist-deep in a steaming gal-vanized iron bath, set out alfresco under the mahogany trees.The bottle of Tusker stood close at hand and he whistled happilyas he worked up a foaming lather in his armpits and across thedark hairy plain of his chest.

'Trouble was, we got off on the wrong foot,' explainedGareth, and sipped at the neck of a Tusker bottle. He made itseem that he was taking Dom Perignon from a crystal flute. Hewas lying back in Jake's single canvas camp chair under theshade flap of the old sun-faded tent.

'Friend, you nearly got a wrong foot right up your backside.'

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But Jake's threat was without fire, marinated in Tusker.

'I surely understand how you felt,' said Gareth. 'But thenyou did tell me you weren't bidding. If only you had told methe truth, we could have worked out an arrangement.'

Jake reached out with a soap-frothed hand and lifted theTusker bottle to his lips. He swallowed twice, sighed andbelched softly.

'Bless you,' said Gareth, and then went on. 'As soon as Irealized that you were bidding seriously, I backed out. I knewthat you and I could make a mutually beneficial deal later. Andso here I am now, drinking beer with you and talking a deal.'

'You are talking - I'm just listening,' Jake pointed out.

'Quite so.' Gareth took out his cheroot case, carefully selectedone and leaned forward to place it tenderly between Jake's wil-ling lips. He struck a match off the sole of his boot and cuppedthe match for Jake.

'It seems clear to me that you have a buyer for the cars,right ?'

'I'm still listening.' Jake exhaled a long feather of cherootsmoke with evident pleasure.

'You must have a price already set, and I am prepared tobetter that price.'

Jake took the cheroot out of his mouth and for the first timeregarded Gareth levelly.

'You want all five cars at that price in their present condi-tion ?'

'Right,' said Gareth.

'What if I tell you that only three are runners - two are shotall to hell.'

'That wouldn't affect my offer.'

Jake reached out and drained the Tusker bottle. Garethopened another for him and placed it in his hand.

Swiftly Jake ran over the offer. He had an open contract withAnglo-Tanganyika Sugar Company to supply gasoline-poweredsugar-cane crushers at a fixed price of £110 each. From the threecars he could make up three units - maximum of £330.

The Limey's offer was for all five units, at a price to be deter-mined. , Q

'I've done one hell of a lot of work on them,' Jake softenedhim a little.

'I can see that.'

'One hundred and fifty pounds each-for all five. That's sevenhundred and fifty.'

'You would replace the engines and make them look all ship-shape.'

'Sure.'

'Done,' said Gareth. 'I knew we could work something out,'and they beamed at each other. 'I'll make out a deed of saleright away,' Gareth produced a cheque book, 'and then I'll giveyou my cheque for the full amount.'

'Your what ?' The beam on Jake's face faded.

'My personal cheque on Coutts of Piccadilly.'

It was true that Gareth Swales did have a chequing accountwith Coutts. According to his last statement, the account was indebit to the sum of eighteen pounds seventeen and sixpence.The manager had written him a spicy little letter in red ink.

'Safe as the Bank of England.' Gareth flourished his chequebook. It would take three weeks for the cheque to be presentedin London - and bounce through the roof. By that time, hehoped to be on his way to Madrid. There looked to be a veryprofitable little piece of business brewing up satisfactorily inthat area, and by then Gareth Swales would have the capital toexploit it.

'Funny thing about cheques.' Jake removed the cheroot fromhis mouth. 'They bring me out in a rash. If it's all the same toyou, I'll just take the seven fifty in cash money.'

Gareth pursed his lips. Very well, so it wasn't going to be thateasy either.

'Dear me,' he said. 'It will take a little while to clear.'

'No hurry,' Jake grinned at him. 'Any time before noon to-morrow. That's the delivery date I have for my original buyer.You be here with the money before that, and they are all yours.'He rose abruptly from the bath, cascading soapy water, and hisblack servant handed him a towel.

'What plans have you for dinner ?' Gareth asked.

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'I think Abou here has cooked up a pot of his lion-killingstew.'

'Won't you be my guest at the Royal ?'

'I drank your beer for free - why shouldn't I eat your food ?'asked Jake reasonably.

The dining room of the Royal Hotel had high ceilings and tallinsect-screened sash windows. The mechanical fans set in theroof stirred the warm humid air sluggishly into a substitute forcoolness, and Gareth Swales was a splendid host.

His engaging charm was irresistible, and his choice of foodand wine induced in Jake a sense of such well-being that theylaughed together like old friends, and were delighted to findthat they had mutual acquaintances - mostly barmen and brothel-keepers in various parts of the world - and that they had parallelexperience.

Gareth had been doing business with a revolutionary leaderin Venezuela while Jake was helping build the railroad in thatsame country. Jake had been chief engineer on a Blake Linecoaster on the China run when Gareth had been making contactwith the Chinese Communists on Yellow River.

They had been in France at the same time, and on that terribleday at Amiens, when the German machine guns had acceleratedGareth Swales's promotion from subaltern to major in the spaceof six hours, Jake had been four miles down the line, a sergeantdriver in the Royal Tank Corps - seconded from the AmericanThird Army.

They discovered that they were almost of an age, neither ofthem yet forty, but that both of them had packed a world ofexperience and wandering into that short span.

They recognized in each other that same restlessness that wasalways driving them on to new adventure, never staying longenough in one place or at one job to grow roots, unfettered byoffspring or possessions, by spouse or responsibilities, taking upeach new adventure eagerly and discarding it again withoutqualms or regrets. Always moving onwards - never lookingbackwards.

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Understanding each other a little, they began to respect oneanother. Halfway through the meal, they were no longer scorn-ful of the other's differences. Neither of them thought of theother as Limey or Yank any longer - but this didn't mean thatJake was about to accept any cheques or that Gareth had givenup his plans to acquire the five armoured cars. At last Garethswilled the last few drops around his brandy balloon and glancedat his pocket watch.

'Nine o'clock. It's too early for bed. What shall we do now ?'

Jake suggested, 'There are two new girls down at MadameCecile's. They came in on the mail boat.'

Gareth quickly turned the suggestion aside.

'Later perhaps - but too soon after dinner, it gives me heart-burn. You don't, by any chance, feel like a few hands at cards ?There is usually a decent game at the club.'

'We can't go in there. We aren't members.'

'I have reciprocity with my London club, old boy. Sign youin, what ?'

They had played for an hour and a half. Jake was enjoying thegame. He liked the style of the establishment, for he usuallyplayed in less salubrious surroundings - the back room behindthe bar, an upturned fruit-crate behind the main boiler in anengine room, or a scratch game in a dockside warehouse.

This was a hushed room with draped velvet curtains, expansesof dark wood panelling, dark-toned oil paintings and huntingtrophies - shaggy-maned lions, buffalo with huge bossed hornsdrooping mournfully, all of them staring down with glassy eyesfrom the walls.

From the three billiard tables came the discreet click of theivory balls, as half a dozen players in dress shirts and braces,black ties and black trousers, evening jackets discarded for thegame, leaned across the heavy green-topped tables to play theirshots.

There were three tables of contract bridge from which camethe murmur of bid and counterbid in the cultivated tones of theBritish upper class, all the players in the dress that Jake thought

22

of as penguin suits - black and white, with black bows.

Between the tables, the waiters moved on silent bare feet, inankle-length white robes and pillbox fez, like priests of someancient religion - bearing trays of sparkling crystal glass.

There was only one table of draw poker, a huge teak structurewith brass ashtrays set into the woodwork, and niches and traysto hold the whisky glasses and the coloured ivory chips. At thetable sat five players, and only Jake was not in evening dress -the other three were the type of poker piayers that Jake woulddearly love to have kept locked up for his exclusive pleasure.

There was a minor British peer, out in Africa to decimate thewildlife. He had recently returned from the interior, where awhite hunter had stood respectfully at his elbow with a heavy-calibre rifle, while the peer mowed down vast numbers of buf-falo, lion and rhinoceros. This gentleman had a nervous ticunder his right eye which jumped whenever he held three of akind or better in his hand. Despite this affliction, a phenomenalrun of good cards had allowed him to be the only winner, otherthan Jake, at the table.

There was a coffee planter with a deeply tanned and wrinkledface who made an involuntary little hissing sound whenever heimprovised on the draw or squeezed out a pleasing combination.

On Jake's right hand was an elderly civil servant with thin-ning hair and a fever-yellow complexion who broke out in amuck sweat whenever he judged himself on the point of winninga pot - an expectation which was seldom realized.

In an hour's careful play, Jake had built up his winnings to alittle over a hundred pounds and he felt very warm and con-tented down there where his dinner was digesting. The onlyelement in his life that afforded him any disquiet was his newfriend and sponsor.

Gareth Swales sat at his ease, conversing with the peer as anequal, condescending graciously to the planter and commiserat-ing with the civil servant on his run of luck. He had neither wonnor lost any significant amount, yet he handled the cards with adexterity that was impressive. In those long tapering fingerswith the carefully manicured nails, the pasteboards rustled and

23

rippled, blurred and snapped, with a speed that defied the eye.

Jake watched carefully, without appearing to do so, when-ever the deal passed to Major Gareth Swales. There is no waythat a dealer, even with the most magical touch, can stack a deckof cards without facing them during the shuffle - and Garethnever faced the deck as he manipulated it. His eyes never evendropped to the cards, but played lightly over the faces of theothers as he chatted. Jake began to relax a little.

The planter dealt him four to an open-ended flush, and hefilled it with the six of hearts. The civil servant, who had aninsatiable curiosity, called his raise to twenty pounds and sighedand muttered mournfully as he paid the ivory chips into the potand Jake swept them away and stacked them neatly in front ofhim.

'Let's have a new pack' smiled Gareth, lifting a finger for aservant, 'and hope that it breaks your rim of luck.'

Gareth offered the seal on the new pack for inspection, thensplit it with his thumbnail and unwrapped the pristine cardswith the bicycle-wheel designs, fanned them, lifted the jokersand began to shuffle, at the same time starting a very funny andobscene story about a bishop who entered the women's restroom at Charing Cross Station in error. The joke took a minuteor two in the telling and in the roar of masculine laughter thatfollowed, Gareth began to deal, skimming the cards across thegreen baize, so that they piled up neatly before each player.Only Jake had noticed that, during the bishop's harrowing ex-periences in the ladies' room, Gareth had blocked the cardsbetween shuffles, and that each time as he lifted the two blockshe had rolled his wrists so that for a fleeting instant they hadfanned slightly and faced.

Guffawing loudly, the baron gathered up his hand and lookedat it. He choked in the middle of his next guffaw, and his eyelidstarted to jump and twitch, as though it was making love to hisnose. From across the table came a loud hiss of indrawn breathas the planter closed his cards quickly and covered them withboth hands. At Jake's right hand, the civil servant's face shonelike polished yellow ivory and a little trickle of sweat broke from

24

his thinning hairline, ran down his nose, and dripped unheededon to the front of his dress shirt, as he stared at his cards.

Jake opened his own hand, and glanced at the three queensit contained. He sighed and began his own story.

'When I was first engineer on the old Harvest Maid tied upin Kowloon, the skipper brought a fancy little dude on boardand we all got into a game. The stakes kept jumping up and up,and just after midnight this dude dealt one hell of a hand.'

Nobody appeared to be listening to Jake's story, they were alltoo absorbed with their own cards.

'The skipper ended up with four kings, I got four jacks andthe ship's doctor pulled a mere four tens.'

Jake rearranged the queens in his hand and broke off his storywhile Gareth Swales fulfilled the civil servant's request for twocards.

'The dude himself took one card from the draw and the bet-ting went mad. We were throwing everything we owned into thepot. Thanks, friend, I'll take two cards also.'

Gareth flicked two cards across the table, and Jake discardedfrom his hand before picking them up.

'As I was saying, we were almost stripping off our under-pants to throw it all in the middle. I was in for a little over athousand bucks'

Jake squeezed open the new cards - and could hardly sup-press a grin. All the ladies were there. Four pretty little queenspeered out at him.

'We signed lOUs, we pledged our wages, and the dude cameright along on the ride, not pushing the betting but staying rightthere.'

Gareth gave the baron one card and drew one himself. Theywere listening now, eyes darting from Jake's lips to their owncards.

'Well, when it came to the showdown, we were looking ateach other across a pile of cash that came to the ceiling - and thedude hit us with a straight flush. I remember it so clearly, inclubs - three to the eight. It took the skipper and me twelvehours to recover from the shock and then we worked out the

25

odds on that deal just happening naturally - it was somethinglike sixteen million to one. The odds were against the dude andwe went looking for him. Found him down at the old PeninsulaHotel, spending our hard-won gold. We were preparing for seaat the time. Our boilers were cold. We sat the dude on top ofthem, and fired them. Had to tie him down, of course, and aftera few hours his knackers were roasting like chestnuts.'

'By God,' exclaimed the peer. 'How awful.'

'Quite right,' Jake agreed. 'Hell of a stink in my engine room.'

A heavy charged silence settled over the table - all of themaware that something explosive was about to happen, that anaccusation had been made, but most of them not certain whatthe accusation was, and at whom it had been levelled. They heldup their cards like protective shields, and their eyes dartedsuspiciously from face to face. The atmosphere was so tensethat it pervaded the gracious room, and the players at the othertables paused and looked up.

'I think,' Gareth Swales drawled in crisp tones that carriedto every corner of the listening room, 'that what Mr Barton istrying to say is that somebody is cheating.'

That word, spoken in these surroundings, was so shocking,so charged with dire consequence, that strong men gasped andblanched. Cheating-in the club, by God, better a man beaccused of adultery or ordinary murder.

'I must say that I have to agree with Mr Barton.' The icy blueeyes snapped with angry lights, and he turned deliberately to thebewildered member of the House of Lords beside him.

'I wonder if you would be good enough, sir, to inform us asto the exact amount of our money that you have won.' Thevoice cracked like a whiplash, and the peer stared at him withcomplete incomprehension for a moment and then his facemottled purple and crimson, and he gobbled angrily.

Cry Wolf

'Sir! How dare you. Good God, sir!' and he rose in hisseat, breathless, choking with outrage.

'Have at him!' cried Gareth, and overturned the heavy teaktable with a single upward thrust of both hands. It crashed over,pinning the planter and the civil servant under it, and scattering

26

ivory chips and playing cards in such profusion that nobodywould ever know what cards Gareth Swales had dealt to him-self in that last remarkable deal.

Gareth leaned across the struggling mass of downed playersand clipped the peer smartly under the left ear.

'Cheating! Ha! Caught you cheating!'

The peer roared like a bull and swung a full-armed punchunder which Gareth ducked lightly, but which went on to catchthe club secretary between the eyes, as he hurried up to inter-vene.

The room erupted into violence, as the other membersrushed in to assist the secretary.

Jake tried to reach Gareth, through the sudden seethingstorm of bodies.

'Not him-you!' he shouted angrily, flexing his arms andknotting his fists.

There were forty club members in the room. Only one personwas not dressed in the uniform that showed they belonged -Jake in his baggy moleskins - and the pack turned on him.

'Watch out behind you, old boy,' Gareth warned Jake in afriendly fashion, as he reached out to take the lapels of Gareth'ssuit in his hands.

Jake whirled to meet the rush of angry members, and the fiststhat were bunched for Major Swales thudded into the charginggroup. Two of them dropped but the rest swarmed on.

'Lay on!' Gareth encouraged him merrily. 'And damned behe who cries “Enough”.' Miraculously he had armed himselfwith a billiard cue.

By now, Jake was almost totally submerged under a heavingmound of black evening dress. There were three of them ridingon his back, two hanging around his legs, and one tucked undereach of his arms.

'Not me, you fools. Not me-him!' He tried to point toGareth, but both his arms were occupied.

'Quite right,' Gareth agreed. 'Dirty cheating dog!' and hewielded the billiard cue with uncanny skill, holding it invertedand tapping the thick end smartly against the skulls of the well-

27

dressed gentlemen riding on Jake's back. They dropped away,and freed of their weight Jake turned to Gareth once more.

'Listen' he bellowed, advancing despite the bodies thatclung to his legs.

'Listen, indeed.' Gareth cocked his head, and the sound of apolice whistle shrilled, and there was the glimpse of uniformsbeyond double doors. 'Peelers, by Jove,' Gareth announced.'Perhaps we should move on. Follow me, old son.' With a fewexpert swings of the billiard cue, he knocked the glass from thewindow beside him, and stepped lightly and unruffled into thedarkened garden.

Jake strode along the unlit footpath under the dark jacarandatrees. He followed the main road out towards his camp besidethe stream. The outraged cries and the sound of police whistleshad long since died away in the night behind.

Jake's anger had also died away, and he chuckled once as hethought of the peer's purple face and his bulging affronted eyes.Then behind him, following along the dark street, he heard therhythmic squeak of the springs of a ricksha, and the pad of barefeet.

Even before he looked back, he knew who was following.

'Thought I'd lost you,' Gareth Swales remarked lightly, hishandsome noble features lit by the glow of the cheroot betweenhis teeth as he lolled against the cushions of the ricksha. 'Youtook off like a long dog after a bitch - fantastic turn of speed. Iwas very impressed.'

Jake said nothing, but strode on towards his camp.

'You can't possibly be bound for bed.' The ricksha keptstation beside Jake. 'The night is still a pup - and who can saywhat beautiful thoughts and stirring deeds are still to be thoughtand performed.'

Jake tried not to grin, and kept going.

'Madame Cecile's ?' Gareth wheedled.

'You really do want those cars - don't you ?'

'I am hurt,' announced Gareth, 'that you should imply grossmaterialism to my friendly overtures.'

28

'Who is paying ?' demanded Jake.

'You are my guest.'

'Well, I've drunk your beer, eaten your food - why should Istop now ?' He stopped and walked to the ricksha. 'Move over,then,' he said.

The ricksha driver wheeled in a tight turn and trotted backinto town, while Gareth pressed a cheroot between Jake's lips.

'What did you deal yourself?' Jake asked, between puffs ofthe fragrant smoke. 'Four aces ? Straight flush ?'

'I am appalled at the implied slur on my character, sir. I shallignore the question.'

They jogged a little farther in silence until it was Gareth'sturn to ask the next question.

'You didn't really roast that poor fellow's chestnuts, did you?'

'No,' Jake admitted. 'But it made a better story.'

They reached the door of Madame Cecile's, discreetly setback in a walled garden, with a lamp burning over the lintel.Gareth paused with his hand on the brass knocker.

'You know - damned if I don't owe you an apology. I've mis-judged you all along the line.'

'It's been a lot of laughs.'

'I think I'm going to have to be honest with you.'

'I don't know if I can stand the shock.' They grinned at eachother and Gareth punched his shoulder lightly.

'It's still my treat, what ?'

Madame Cecile was so tall and thin and bosomless that sheseemed in danger of snapping off like a brittle stick. She wore aseverely cut dress of dark and indeterminate colour which sweptthe ground and buttoned up under her chin and at the wrists.Her hair was drawn back tightly into a large bun at the back ofher neck and her expression was prim and disapproving, but itsoftened a little when she let them into the front room.

'Major Swales, it is always a pleasure. Mr Barton, we haven'tseen you in a long while. I was afraid you'd left town.'

'Let us have a bottle of Charlie Champers, my dear.' Garethhanded his silk scarf to the maid. 'Have you run out of the PolRoger 1923?'

29

'Indeed not, Major.'

'And we'd like to talk alone for a while before meeting any ofthe young ladies. Is your private lounge vacant ?'

Gareth was settled comfortably in one of the big leather arm-chairs with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cheroot inthe other.

'II Duce is about to put himself in to bat. Though God aloneknows what he hopes to gain by it. From all accounts, it's themost desolate stretch of desert and mountain one could imagine.However, Mussolini wants it - perhaps he has visions of empireand glory. The old Napoleonic itch, you know.'

'How do you know this ?' Jake was sprawled on the buttonedcouch across the room. He wasn't drinking the champagne. Hedidn't like the taste.

'It's my business to know, old chap. I can smell out a barneybefore the fellows themselves know they are going to fight. Thisone is a racing certainty. II Duce is going through all the classicstages of protestations of peaceful intentions, combined withwholesale military preparations. The other big powers - France,our chaps and yours - have given him the wink. Of course, they'llall squeal like blazes, and make all sorts of protests at theLeague of Nations - but nobody is about to stop old Benitomaking a big grab for Ethiopia. Haile Selassie, the king of kings,knows it and so do all his princes and rases and chieftains andmerry men. And they are desperately trying to prepare somekind of defence. That's where I come in, old boy.'

'Why must they buy from you - at the prices you say they areoffering ? Surely they could get this sort of stuff direct from themanufacturers ?'

'Embargo, old chap. The League of Nations have slapped anarms embargo on the whole of Eritrea, Somaliland and Ethiopia.No imports of war material into the area. It's intended to reducetension - but of course it works out completely one-sided. Mus-solini doesn't have to go shopping for his armaments - he has allthe guns, aircraft and armour that he needs already landed atEritrea. Just ready to go - and the jolly old Ethiop has a fewancient rifles and a lot of those long two-handed swords. It

30

should be a close match. You aren't drinking your CharlieChampers?'

'I think I'll go get myself a Tusker. Back in a minute.' Jakerose and moved to the door and Gareth shook his head sadly.

'You've got taste buds like a crocodile's back. Tusker, for-sooth, when I'm offering you a vintage Charlie.'

It was more for a chance to think out his position and planhis moves than desire for beer that made Jake seek the bar inthe front room. He leaned against the counter in the crowdedroom, and his mind went swiftly over what Gareth Swales hadtold him. He tried to decide how much was fact and how muchwas fantasy. How the facts affected him - and where, if therewere any, the profits to himself might lie.

He had almost decided not to involve himself in the deal -there were too many thorns along that path - and to go aheadwith his original intentions, selling the engines as cane-crushingunits - when he was made the victim of one of those coincidenceswhich were too neat not to be one of the sardonic jokes of fate.

Beside him at the bar were two young men in the sober dressof clerks or accountants. Each of them had a girl tucked underhis arm and they fondled them absentmindedly as they talkedin loud assertive voices. Jake had been too busy making hisdecision to follow this conversation until a name caught hisattention.

'By the way, did you hear that Anglo Sugar has gone bang ?'

'No, I don't believe it.'

'It's true. Heard it from the Master of the Court himself.They say they've gone bust for half a million.'

'Good God - that's the third big company this month.'

'It's hard times we live in. This will bring down a lot of littlemen with it.'

Jake agreed silently. He poured the beer into his glass, tosseda coin on the counter and headed back for the private lounge.

They were hard times indeed, Jake thought. This was thesecond time in as many months that he had been caught up in

them.

The freighter on which he had arrived in Dar es Salaam as

31

chief engineer had been seized by the sheriff of the court assurety in a bankruptcy action. The owners had gone bust inLondon, and the ship had been unable to pay off.

Jake had walked down the gang-plank with all his worldlypossessions in the kit-bag over his shoulder - abandoning hisclaim to almost six months' back wages, together with all hissavings in the bankrupt company's pension fund.

He had just started to shape up with the cane-crusher con-tract, when once again the tidal waves of depression sweepingacross the world had swamped him. They were all going bang -the big ones and the small, and Jake Barton now found himselfthe owner of five armoured cars for which there remained but asingle buyer in the market.

Gareth was standing by the window, looking down to theharbour where the lights of the anchored ships flickered acrossthe dark waters. He turned to face Jake and went on as thoughthere had been no break in the conversation.

'While we are still being disgustingly honest with each other,let me estimate that the Ethiopians would pay as much as athousand pounds each for those vehicles. Of course, they wouldhave to be spruced up. A coat of paint, and a machine-gun inthe turret.'

'I'm still listening.' Jake sank back on the couch.

'I have the buyer lined up - and the Vickers machine-guns,without which the cars have no value. You have the vehiclesthemselves and the technical know-how to get them working.'

Jake was seeing a different man in Gareth Swales now. Thelazy drawling voice and foppish manner were gone. He spokecrisply and once again there was the piratical blue sparkle in hiseyes.

'I have never worked with a partner before. I always knew Icould do it better on my own - but I've had a chance to get agood look at you. This could be the first time. What do youthink?'

'If you cross me, Gareth -1 will truly roast your chestnuts foryou.'

Gareth threw back his head and laughed delightedly. 'I be-

32

lieve you really would, Jake!' He crossed the room and offeredhis hand.

'Equal partners. You put in the cars, and I'll throw in my pileof goodies - everything down the middle ?' he asked, and Jaketook the hand.

'Right down the middle,5 he agreed.

'That's enough business for tonight - let's meet the ladies.'

Jake suggested that Gareth as a full partner might like to assistin refitting the engines and painting the bodywork of the cars,and Gareth blanched and lit a cheroot.

'Look here, old chap. Don't let's take this equal partners larktoo far. Manual labour isn't really my style at all.'

'I'll have to hire a gang, then.'

'Please don't stint yourself. Hire what and who you need.'Gareth waved the cheroot magnanimously. Tve got to get downto the docks - grease a few palms and that sort of thing. ThenI'm dining at Government House this evening, making the con-tacts that may be useful to us, you understand ?'

In a ricksha, bearing the silver champagne bucket full ofTusker, Gareth appeared at the camp under the mahogany treesthe following morning to find half a dozen blacks labouringunder Jake's supervision. The colour Jake had chosen was abusinesslike battleship grey, and one of the cars had receivedits first coat. The effect was miraculous. The vehicle had beentransformed from a slovenly wreck into a formidable-lookingwar machine.

'By Jove,' Gareth enthused. 'Even I am impressed. The oldEthiops will go wild.' He walked along the line of cars, andstopped at the end. 'Only three being painted. What about thesetwo ?'

'I explained to you. There are only three runners.'

'Look, old chap. Don't let's be too fussy. Slap paint on all ofthem - and I'll put them into the package. We aren't selling witha guarantee, what ?'

Garetfy smiled brilliantly and winked at Jake. 'By the time the

33

complaints come in, you and I will have moved on - and no for-warding address.'

He did not realize that the suggestion was trampling rudelyon Jake's craftsman's pride, until he saw the familiar stiffeningof the wide shoulders and the colour coming up Jake's neck.

Half an hour later they were still arguing.

'I've got a reputation on three oceans and across seven seasthat I'm not likely to pass up for a couple of pox-ridden oldbangers like these,' shouted Jake, and he kicked the wheel ofone of the condemned vehicles. 'Nobody's ever going to say thatJake Barton sold a bum.'

Gareth had swiftly gained a working knowledge of his man'stemper. He knew instinctively that they were on the very brinkof physical violence - and quite suddenly he changed his atti-tude.

'Listen, old chap. There's no point in shouting at eachother'

'I am not shouting' roared Jake.

'No, of course not,' Gareth soothed him. 'I see your pointentirely. Quite right too. I'd feel exactly the same way.'

Only slightly mollified, Jake opened his mouth to protestfurther, but before sound passed his lips, Gareth had pressed along black cheroot between them and lit it.

'Now let's use what brains God gave us, shall we ? Tell mewhy these two won't run - and what we need to make them doso.'

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting under the sun-flap ofJake's old tent, drinking iced Tusker, and under Gareth's skilfulsoothing the atmosphere was once more of friendly cooperation.

'A Smith-Bentley carburettor?' Gareth repeated thoughtfully.

'I've tried every possible supplier. The local agent evencabled Cape Town and Nairobi. We'd have to order one fromEngland - eight weeks delivery, if we are lucky.'

'Look here, old son. I don't mind telling you that this meansfacing a fate worse than death - but for the good of our mutualventure, I'll do it.'

*

The Governor of Tanganyika had a daughter who was a spinsterof thirty-two years, this despite her father's large fortune andrespected title.

Gareth glanced sideways at her and saw all too clearly whythis should be. The first adjective which sprang to mind was'horsey', but it was not the correct one, Gareth decided. 'Camely'or 'camel-like' would convey a much more accurate description.A besotted camel, he thought, as he intercepted the adoringgaze which she fixed upon him as she sat sideways upon theluxurious leather seats.

'Jolly good of you to let me take your Pater's bus for a spin,old girl.'

And she simpered at the endearment, exposing the hugeyellowish teeth under the large nose.

'Definitely thinking of buying one myself, when I get home.Can't beat the old Benters, what ?'

Gareth swung the long black limousine off the metalled roadand it plunged forward smoothly over the dusty rutted trackthat led northwards along the coast through the palm trees.

An askari policeman recognized the fluttering pennant on thefront wing, red and blue and gold with rampant lion and uni-corn, and he pulled himself to foot-stamping attention and flunga flamboyant salute. Gareth touched the brim of his hat to themanner born, then turned to his companion who had not takenher eyes from his tanned and noble face since they had left thegrounds of Government House.

'There is a good view place up ahead, looks out across thechannel, very beautiful - actually. Thought we'd park there fora while.'

She nodded vehemently, unable to trust herself to speak.Gareth was glad of that - she had a squeaky little treble - andhe smiled his gratitude. That brilliant, completely irresistiblesmile, and the girl blushed a mottled purple.

She had good eyes, Gareth tried to convince himself, that isif you like camels' eyes. Huge sorrowful pools with long mattedlashes. He would concentrate on the eyes - and try and avoidthe teeth. He felt a sudden small twinge of concern. 'I hope she

35

doesn't bite in the critical moments. With those choppers, shecould inflict a mortal wound.' For a moment he consideredabandoning the project. Then he made himself imagine a pileof one thousand sovereigns, and his courage returned.

Gareth braked the Bentley and searched for the turn-off. Itwas well concealed by underbrush and he missed it and had toback up.

Gently he eased the gleaming limousine down into a smallclearing, walled in by fern and scrub and roofed over by thecathedral arches of the palms.

'Well, here we are, what ?' Gareth pulled on the handbrake,and turned to his companion. 'Actually you can see the channelif you twist your neck a bit.'

He leaned forward to demonstrate, and with a convulsiveleap the Governor's daughter sprang upon him. Gareth's lastcontrolled thought was that he must avoid the teeth.

Jake Barton waited until the huge glistening Bentley beganto heave and toss on its suspension like a lifeboat in a gale,before he rose from the cover of the ferns and, carpet-bag inhand, crept around to the bonnet with its gleaming wingedinitial 'B' and the stiffly embroidered household pennant.

The noise he made in opening and lifting the engine cowlingwas effectively smothered by the whinnying cries of passionthat issued from the car, and Jake glanced through the wind-screen and caught one horrifying glimpse of the Governor'sdaughter's white limbs, long and shapeless and knobbly kneedas a camel's, kicking ecstatically at the roof of the cab before heducked his head into the engine.

He worked swiftly, his lips pursed but the tune stealthilymuted, and his brow creased with concentration as the carbur-ettor jumped and heaved unpredictably under his hands andthe whinnies of passion and the high-pitched exhortations togreater effort and speed rang louder.

The resentment he had felt at Gareth Swales's refusal to assistin painting the iron ladies faded swiftly. He was pushing andpulling his full weight now, and his efforts made even the mostgruelling manual labour seem insignificant.

36

As Jake lifted the entire carburettor assembly off the engineblock and stowed it into the carpet-bag, there was one lastpiercing shriek and the Bentley came to an abrupt rest while aringing silence fell over the palm grove.

Jake Barton crept silently away through the undergrowthleaving his partner stunned and entangled in a mesh of lankylimbs and expensive French underwear.

'I want you to believe that in my weakened condition it was along walk home. At the same time, I had to try and convince thelady that we were not betrothed.5

4We511 get you a citation,5 Jake promised him, and emergedfrom the engine housing of the armoured car. 'With disregardfor his own personal safety Major Gareth Swales held the pass,stormed the breach, battered down the gates5

'Terribly amusing,5 growled Gareth. 'But, just like you, Ihave a reputation to maintain. It would embarrass me in certaincircles if this got out, old son. Mum's the word, what ?5

'You have my word of honour,5 Jake told him seriously, andstooped over the crank handle. She fired at the first turn andsettled to a steady rhythm to which Jake listened for a fewmoments before he grinned.

'Listen to her, the bloody little beauty,5 and he turned toGareth. 'Wasn't it worth it just to hear that sweet burblingsong ?5

Gareth rolled his eyes in agonized memory and Jake went on.'Four of them. Four lovely, well-behaved ladies. What morecould you ask out of life ?5'Five,5 said Gareth promptly, and Jake scowled.'We5d put my name on the fifth one,5 he wheedled. 'I'd signa statement to protect your reputation.5 But the expression onJake's face was sufficient answer.

'No ?5 Gareth sighed. 'I predict that your sentimental, old-fashioned outlook is going to get us both into a lot of trouble.5'We can split up now.5 v

'Wouldn't dream of it, old son. Actually, it would have beendicey peddling a dead 5un to those Ethiops. They've got these

37

dirty great swords, and it's not only your head that they lop off- or so I hear. No, we'll settle for just the four, then.'

On 22 May the Dunnottar Castle anchored in the Dar es Salaamroads and was immediately surrounded by a swarm of bargesand lighters. She was the flagship of the Union Castle Line,outward bound from Southampton to Cape Town, Durban,Lourengo Marques, Dar es Salaam and Jibuti.

Two suites and ten double cabins of the first class accom-modation were taken up by Lij Mikhael Wasan Sagud and hisentourage. The Lij was a scion of the royal house of Ethiopiathat traced its line back to King Solomon and the Queen ofSheba. He was a trusted member of the Emperor's inner circleand, under his father, the deputy governor of a piece of moun-tain and desert country in the northern provinces the size ofScotland and Wales combined.

The Ras was returning to his homeland after six months ofpetitioning the foreign ministers of Great Britain and France,and lobbying in the halls of the League of Nations in Geneva,trying to gather pledges of support for his country in the faceof the gathering storm clouds of Fascist Italian aspirations to-wards an African Empire.

The Lij was a disillusioned man when he disembarked withfour of his senior advisers and made the short journey by lighterto where two hired open tourers awaited his arrival on the wharf.Hire of the motor vehicles had been arranged by Major GarethSwales and the drivers had been given their instructions.

'Now, you leave the talking to me, old chap,' Gareth advisedJake, as they waited anxiously in the cavernous and gloomydepths of Number 4 Warehouse. 'This really is my part of theshow, you know. You just look stern and do the demonstrating.That will impress the old Ethiop no end.'

Gareth was resplendent in a pale blue tropical suit with afresh white carnation in the buttonhole, and silk shirt. He worethe diagonally striped old school tie, his hair was brilliantinedand carefully brushed, and the sleek lines of the moustache hadbeen trimmed that morning. He ran a judicious eye over his

38

partner and was mildly satisfied. Jake's suit had not been cut inSavile Row, of course, but it was adequate for the occasion,clean and freshly pressed. His shoes had been newly polishedand the usually unruly profusion of curls had been wetted andslicked down neatly. He had scrubbed all traces of grease fromhis large bony hands and from his fingernails.

'They probably don't even speak English,' Gareth gave hisopinion. 'Have to use the old sign language, you know. Wishyou'd let me have that dead 'un. We could have palmed it off onthem. They are bound to be a gullible lot, throw in a handful ofbeads and a bag of salt' He was interrupted by the sound ofapproaching engines.

'This will be them, now. Don't forget what I told you.'

The two open tourers pulled up in the bright sunlight beyondthe doors and disgorged their passengers. Four of them wore thelong flowing white shammas, full-length robes like Roman togasdraped across the shoulder. Under the robes they wore blackgaberdine riding breeches and open sandals. They were all ofthem elderly men, the dense bushes of their hair shot throughwith strands of grey and the dark faces wrinkled and lined. Indignified silence they gathered about the taller, younger figureclad in a dark western-style suit and they moved forward intothe cool gloom of the warehouse.

Lij Mikhael was well over six feet in height, with a slightscholarly stoop to his shoulders. His skin was the colour of darkhoney and his hair and beard were a thick curly halo about thefinely boned face, with dark thoughtful eyes and the narrownose with its Semitic beak. Despite the stoop, he walked withthe grace of a swordsman and his teeth when he smiled wereglisteningly white against the dark skin.

'By Jove,' said the Lij, in the drawling accent that echoedGareth's with surprising accuracy. 'It is Farty Swales - isn't it ?'

Major Gareth Swales's composure seemed to fall away, leav-ing him tottering mentally at the use of a nickname he had lastheard twenty years before. He had been so branded when hisunexpected attack of flatus had clapped and echoed from thevaulted ceiling and stone walls of College Chapel. He had hoped

39

never to hear it spoken again, and now its use took him back tothat moment when he had stood in the cold stone chapel andthe waves of suppressed laughter had broken over his head likephysical blows.

The Prince laughed now, and touched the knot of his necktie.For the first time Jake realized that the diagonal stripes wereidentical to those that Gareth Swales wore at his own throat.

'Eton 1915 Waynflete's. I was Captain of the House. I gaveyou six for smoking in the bogs - don't you remember ?'

'My God,' gasped Gareth. 'Toffee Sagud. My God. I justdon't know what to say.'

'Try him with the old sign language, then,' murmured Jakehelpfully.

'Shut up, damn you,' hissed Gareth, and then, with a con-scious effort, he resurrected the smile that lit the gloomy ware-house like the rising of the sun.

'You Excellency - Toffee - my dear fellow.' He hurriedforward with hand outstretched. 'What a great and unexpectedpleasure.'

They shook hands laughing, and the solemn dark faces of theelderly advisers lightened with sympathetic merriment.

'Let me introduce my partner, Mr Jake Barton of Texas. MrBarton is a brilliant engineer and financier - Jake, this is HisExcellency Lij Mikhael Wasan Sagud, Deputy Governor ofShoa and an old and dear friend of mine.'

The Prince's hand was narrow-boned, cool and firm. Hisgaze was quick and penetrating before he turned back to Gareth.

'When were you expelled ? Summer of 1915 - wasn't it.Caught boffing one of the maids, as I recall.'

'Good Lord, no!' Gareth was horrified. 'Never the hired help.Actually, it was the house master's daughter.'

'That's right. I remember now. You were famous - went outin a blaze of glory. Talk about your feat lasted for months. Theysaid you went to France with the Duke's, and did jolly well foryourself.'

Gareth made a deprecating gesture, and Lij Mikhael asked,'Since then what have you been doing, old chap ?'

40

Which was a thoroughly embarrassing question for Gareth.He made a few airy gestures with his cheroot.

'This and that, you know. One thing and another. Business,you understand. Importing, exporting, buying and selling.'

'Which brings us to the present business, does it not ?' thePrince asked gently.

'Indeed, it does,' agreed Gareth and took the Prince's arm.'Now that I realize who is buying, it only increases my pleasurein managing to assemble a package of such high quality.'

The wooden crates were stacked neatly along one wall of thewarehouse.

'Fourteen Vickers machine-guns, most of them straight fromthe factory - hardly a shot through the barrels'

They passed slowly down the array of merchandise to whereone of the machine guns had been uncrated and set up on itstripod.

'As you can see, all first-class stuff.'

The five Ethiopians were all warriors, from a long warlikeline, and they had the true warrior's love of and delight in theweapons of war. They crowded eagerly around the gun.

Gareth winked at Jake, and went on, 'One hundred and forty-four Lee-Enfield service rifles, still in the grease' Half a dozenof the rifles had been cleaned and laid out on display.

Number 4 Warehouse was an Aladdin's Cave for them. Theelderly courtiers forgot their dignity, and fell upon the weaponslike a flock of crows, cackling in Amharic as they fondled thecold oiled steel. They hoisted up the skirts of their shammas tocrouch behind the demonstration machine-gun and traversed ithappily, making the staccato schoolboy imitations of automaticfire as they mowed down imaginary hordes of their enemies.

Even Lij Mikhael forsook his Etonian manners and joined inthe delightful examination of the hoard, pushing aside an oldgreybeard of seventy to take his place at the Vickers gun andtriggering off a noisy squabble amongst the others in whichGareth diplomatically intervened.

'I say, Toffee, old chap. This isn't all I have for you. Not by along chalk. I've kept the plums for the last.' And Jake helped

41

him to gather up the robed and bearded group of excited oldmen and herd them gently away from the display of weaponsand down the warehouse to the open tourers.

The motorcade, headed by Gareth, Jake and the Prince in theleading tourer, came bumping down the dusty track throughthe mahogany forest and parked in the clearing in front of thecandy-striped marquee that had taken the place of Jake'sweather-beaten bell tent.

The Royal Hotel had undertaken to cater for the occasion,despite Jake's protests at the cost.

'Give them a bottle of Tusker each - and open a tin of beans,'he insisted, but Gareth had shaken his head sadly. 'Just becausethey are savages doesn't mean that we have to behave like bar-barians, old chap. Style. One has to have style - that's what lifeis all about. Style and timing. Fill them up with Charlie andthen take them for a stroll down the garden path, what ?'

Now there were white-robed waiters with red sashes andlittle red pill-box fezes upon their heads. Under the marquee,long trestle-tables were laden with displays of choice food -decorated sucking pig, heaped salvers of boiled scarlet reeflobster, a smoked salmon, imported apples and peaches fromthe Cape of Good Hope - and case upon case, bucket uponbucket of champagne. Although Gareth had been swayed byJake's pleas for economy sufficiently to order a Veuve Clicquotnot of a selected vintage.

The Prince and his entourage disembarked to a salvo ofchampagne corks and the elderly courtiers crowed with delight.Quite by chance, Gareth had struck upon the Ethiopians' loveof feasting and strong sense of hospitality. Little that he couldhave done would have endeared him more to his guests.

'I say, this is very decent of you, my dear Swales,' said thePrince. With his innate sense of courtesy, he had not usedGareth's nickname since the first greeting. Gareth was gratefuland when the glasses were filled he called for the first toast.

'His Majesty, Negusa Nagast, King of Kings, Emperor HaileSelassie, Lion of Judah.'

And they drained their glasses, which seemed to be the cor-

42

rect form, so Gareth and Jake imitated them, and then they fellupon the food, giving Gareth a chance to whisper to Jake.

'Think up some more toasts - we've got to get them filled up.'But he needn't have worried for the Prince came in with:

'His Britannic Majesty, George V, King of England andEmperor of India.' And no sooner were the glasses filled againthan he bowed to Jake and lifted his glass.

'The President of the United States of America, Mr FranklinD. Roosevelt.'

Not to be outdone, each of the courtiers shouted an unintel-ligible toast in Amharic, presumably to the Prince and his fatherand mother and aunts, uncles and nieces, and the glasses wereupended. The waiters rushed back and forth to the steady reportof champagne corks.

'The Governor of the British Colony of Tanganyika.' Garethlifted his glass, slurring slightly.

'And the Governor's daughter,' Jake murmured sardonically.

This provoked another round of toasts from the robed guests,and then it dawned on Jake and Gareth simultaneously that itwas folly to try drinking level with men who had been bred andreared on the fiery tej of Ethiopia.

'How are you feeling ?' muttered Gareth anxiously, squintingslightly to focus.

'Beautiful,' Jake grinned at him beatifically.

'By God, these fellows know how to pack it away.'

'Keep pounding them, Farty. You've got them on the run.'With his empty glass he indicated the smiling but sober groupof courtiers.

'I'd be grateful if you could refrain from using that name, oldchap. Distasteful, what ? Not in the best of style.' Gareth slappedhis shoulder with bonhomie and almost missed. A look of con-cern crossed his face. 'How do I sound ?'

'You sound like I feel. We'd better get out of here before theydrink us flat on our backs.'

'Oh God, there he goes again,' Gareth muttered with alarmas the Prince raised his brimming glass and looked about himexpectantly. 'Wine with you, my dear Swales,' he called as hecaught Gareth's eyes. 43

'Enchanted, I'm sure.' Gareth had no choice but to acknow-ledge and toss off the contents of his glass before hurryingforward to intercept the waiter who darted in to recharge thePrince's empty glass.

'Toffee, old sport, I do want you to see this little surprise Ihave for you.' He grabbed the Prince's drinking arm and prisedthe glass from his grip. 'Come along, everybody. This way,chaps.'

Among the grey-bearded courtiers there was a decided reluc-tance to leave the marquee, and Jake had to assist Gareth. Bothof them spreading their arms and making shooing noises, finallygot the Ethiopians moving down the track through the forestwhich emerged a hundred yards farther on into an open gladethe size of a polo field.

A stunned silence fell upon the party as they saw the row offour iron ladies, gleaming in their new coats of grey, with theheavily jacketed water-cooled barrels of the Vickers machine-guns protruding from the ports and the rakish turrets embla-zoned with the tricolour horizontal bars of the Ethiopiannational colours - green, yellow and red.

Like sleep-walkers, they allowed themselves to be led to therow of chairs under the umbrellas, and without removing theirgaze from the war machines they sank into their seats. Garethstood in front of them like a schoolmaster, but swaying slightly.

'Gentlemen, we have here one of the most versatile armouredvehicles ever brought into service by any major military power'And while he paused for the Prince to translate, he grinnedtriumphantly at Jake.

'Start them up, old son.'

As the first engine burst into life, the elderly courtiers cameto their feet and applauded like the crowd at a prize fight.

'Fifteen hundred quid each,' whispered Gareth, his eyessparkling, 'they'll go fifteen hundred!'

Lij Mikhael had invited them to dine in his suite aboard the Dunnottar Castle , and over Jake's protests a short-order tailorhad run up a passable dinner jacket to fit Jake's tall rangy frame.

44

'I look like I'm in fancy dress,' he objected.

'You look like a duke,' Gareth contradicted. 'It gives you abit of style. Style, Jake me lad, always remember. Style! If youlook like a tramp, people will treat you as one.'

Lij Mikhael Sagud wore a magnificently embroidered cloakin gold and scarlet and black, clasped at the throat with a darkred ruby the size of a ripe acorn, tight-fitting velvet breechesand slippers embroidered with twenty-four carat gold wire. Thedinner had been excellent - and the Prince seemed in a mellowmood.

'Now, my dear Swales. The prices for the machine-guns andthe other armaments were decided months ago - but the ar-moured cars were never mentioned. Would you like to suggesta reasonable figure ?'

'Your Excellency, I had in mind a fair figure before I realizedit was you I was dealing with' Gareth drew deeply on one ofthe Prince's Havana cigars, steeling himself for the wild flyingchance he was going to take. 'Now, of course, I am preparedmerely to cover my costs and leave only a modest profit for mypartner and myself to share.'

The Prince showed his appreciation with a gracious gesture.

'Two thousand pounds each,' said Gareth quickly, runningthe words together to make it sound less shocking, but still Jakealmost choked on a mouthful of whisky soda.

The Prince nodded thoughtfully. 'I see,' he said. 'That isprobably five times the actual value.'

Gareth looked shocked. 'Your Excellency'

But the Prince silenced him with a raised hand.

'During the last six months, I have spent a great deal of timeinspecting and pricing various items of military equipment. Mydear Swales, please don't insult us both by protesting.'

There was a long silence and the atmosphere in the cabin wastaut as guitar strings - then the Prince sighed.

'I could price those weapons - but I could not buy. The greatpowers of the world have denied me that right - the right todefend my country against the predator.' There was an age ofweariness in the dark eyes and smooth brow furrowed with

45

thought. 'My country is land-locked, as you know, gentlemen.We do not have access to the sea. All imports must comethrough the territories of French and British Somaliland - orItalian Eritrea. Italy the predator - or the French and the Britishwho have placed us under embargo.' Lij Mikhael sipped at thedrink in his hand, and then frowned into the depths of the glass,as though it were a crystal ball and he could read the futurethere.

'The great powers are prepared to deliver us to the Fascisttyrant, with our swordhand empty and trussed behind our back.'He sighed again heavily and then looked up at Gareth. His ex-pression changed.

'Major Swales, you have offered me a collection of worn andobsolete vehicles and weapons at many times their actual value.I am a desperate man. I must accept your offer and the priceyou demand.'

Gareth relaxed slightly and glanced at Jake.

'I must even accept your condition that payment be made inBritish sterling.'

Gareth smiled now. 'My dear fellow' he began, but againthe Prince silenced him with a raised hand.

'In turn I impose only one condition. It is vital to my accep-tance of your offer. You and your partner, Mr Barton, will beresponsible for the delivery of all these weapons into the terri-tory of Ethiopia. Payment will be made only when you handover the shipment to me or my agent within the borders of hisImperial Majesty, Haile Selassie.'

'Good God, man,' exploded Gareth. 'That involves smug-gling them through hundreds of miles of hostile territory. That'sridiculous!'

'Ridiculous, Major Swales ? I think not. Your merchandiseis of no value to me or to you in Dar es Salaam. I am your onlycustomer - nobody else in the entire world would be foolishenough to buy it from you. On the other hand, any attempt thatI should make to import it into my homeland would certainlybe frustrated. I am being watched carefully by agents of all themajor powers. I know I shall be searched the moment that I

46

land at Jibuti. Lying here, the merchandise has no value.5 Hepaused and glanced from Gareth to Jake. Jake rubbed his jawthoughtfully.

'I see your point, Your Excellency.5

'You are a reasonable man, Mr Barton,5 said the Prince, andthen returned his attention to Gareth, and repeated his laststatement. 'Lying here it has no value. In Ethiopia, it is worthfifteen thousand British sovereigns to you. The choice is yours.Abandon it - or get it into Ethiopia.5

'I am appalled,9 said Gareth solemnly, as he paced back andforth. 'I mean, after all the fellow is an old Etonian. God, I canhardly believe that he would welsh on our agreement. It5s abso-lutely frightful. I mean, I trusted him.5

Jake was sprawled on the couch in Madame Cecile5s privateroom. He had shed his dinner jacket, and perched on his kneethere was a plump young lady with a cap of brassy blonde hair.She was dressed in a flimsy daffodil-coloured dress, the skirtsof which had pulled up to show bright blue garters around herripe thighs. Jake was weighing one of her ample breasts in hishand with all the concentration of a housewife choosing toma-toes from a greengrocer's tray. The girl giggled and wriggledprovocatively into his lap.

'Damn it, Jake, listen to me.5

Cry Wolf

'I am listening,5 said Jake.

'The man was positively insulting,5 protested Gareth, andthen seemed for a moment to lose his concentration as Jake'scompanion unbuttoned the bodice of her wispy dress.

'By Jove, Jake, they are rather delicious, what ?' and they bothregarded the display with interest.

'You've got your own,' Jake muttered.

'You're right,' agreed Gareth, and turned to the junoesquefemale who waited patiently for him on the other couch. Herglossy black hair was piled upon her head in an elaborate nestof curls and plaits, and she had large, intense, toffee-colouredeyes in a face whose paleness was emphasized by the vividly

47

painted crimson lips. She pouted at Gareth, and draped onearm languidly around his shoulders.

'Are you sure neither of them understands English ?' Garethcalled, as he entered into the practised embrace of the whitearms.

'Portuguese, both of them,' Jake assured him. 'But you'dbetter test them.'

'Very well.' Gareth thought a moment. 'Girls, I must warnyou that we aren't paying for your company - not a penny. Thisis for love alone.'

Neither of their expressions changed, and the enfoldingmovements of sinuous limbs continued without pause.

'That settles it,' Gareth opined. 'We can talk.'

'At a time like this ?'

'We've only got until morning to decide what we are goingto do.'

Jake made a muffled remark and Gareth admonished him, 'Ican't hear a word.'

'That gullible old Ethiop of yours has us over a barrel,' re-peated Jake with sardonic relish. Before he could reply, vividlips, pouting and red as ripened fruit, closed over Gareth's.There was silence for a while until Gareth wrested himself looseand his head popped up - moustache in disarray and stainedwith lipstick.

'Jake, what the hell are we going to do ?'

And Jake told him in nautical language which left no roomfor misunderstanding precisely what he was about to do.

'I don't mean that, I mean what are we going to tell oldToffee tomorrow ? Are we going to deliver the goods ?'

Gareth's companion reached up, took him in a head lock anddrew his mouth down again.

'Jake, for God's sake, concentrate on the problem,' he pleadedas he was engulfed.

'I am, I am!' Jake assured him, rolling his eyes sideways tomeet Gareth's, but without interrupting his efforts with theplump blonde.

'How the hell do we get four armoured cars ashore on a

48

hostile coast, just for a start - then how do we run them twohundred miles to the Ethiopian border?' Gareth lamented,speaking out of the unemployed comer of his mouth, and thensomething caught his attention. He pulled free and raised him-self on one elbow.'I say, your companion isn't a blonde after all.Extraordinary.'

Jake glanced sideways and grinned. 'And yours seems to beScottish - she's wearing a sporran, by God.'

'Jake, we've got to make a decision. Do we go or don't we ?'

'Action first, decisions later. Let's engage the targets.'

'Right,' Gareth agreed, realizing the futility of discussion atthis moment..'Driver advance.'

'Gunner. Traverse right. Steady. On. Independent rapid fire.'

'Shoot!' cried Gareth, and the conversation languished. Itwas half an hour before it was resumed, with the two of them inshirt sleeves, braces dangling and black ties discarded, poringover a large-scale map of the East African coast that MadameCecile had produced.

'There's a thousand miles of unguarded coast line.5 Garethtraced the great horn of Africa in the light of the Petromaxlamp and then ran his finger inland. 'And this is marked assemi-desert all the way to the border. We aren't likely to runinto a crowd.5

'It's a hell of a way to make a living,' said Jake.

'Are we going then ?' Gareth looked up.

'You know we are.'

'Yes,5 Gareth laughed. 'I know we are. Fifteen thousandsovereigns say we have to.5

Lij Mikhael received their decision with a curt nod and then

asked,

'Have you planned yet how you will accomplish this task ?Perhaps I can be of assistance, I know the coast well and mostof the routes to the interior.5 He gestured for one of his advisersto spread a map upon the stateroom table. Jake ran his fingeracross it, as he spoke.

'We thought to hire a shallow-draughted vessel here in Dar

49

es Salaam, and make a landing somewhere in this area. Then toload the cases on the cars, and, carrying our own fuel, rundirectly inland to some pre-arranged rendezvous with yourpeople.9

'Yes,' agreed the Prince. 'The basic idea is right. But I shouldavoid British territory. They maintain a very intensive patrolsystem to discourage the export of slaves from their territory tothe East. No, keep clear of British Somaliland. The Frenchterritory is more suitable.'

They plunged into the planning of the expedition, both Jakeand Gareth realizing swiftly how lightly they had discounted thedifficulties that faced them, and how valuable was the Prince'sadvice.

'Your landing will be one of the critical stages. There is atidal fall of almost twenty feet on this coast and an unfavourableshelving of the bottom. However, at this point - about fortymiles north of Jibuti - there is an ancient harbour called Mondi.It's not marked on the chart. It was one of the centres of theslave trade before its abolition, like Zanzibar and MozambiqueIsland. It was stormed and sacked by a British force in 1842.The port is without fresh water and since then it has beendeserted. Yet it has a deep-water channel and a good approachto the shore. This would be a suitable place to land the vehicles- an awkward task without good wharfage and overhead cranes.'

Gareth was scribbling notes on a sheet of Union Castle note-paper, while Jake leaned attentively over the chart.

'What about patrols in this area ?' he asked, and the Princeshrugged.

'There is a battalion of the Legion Etrangere at Jibuti - andthey send an occasional camel patrol through this area. Theodds are much against an encounter.'

'Those are the kind of odds I like,' muttered Gareth.

'Once we are ashore - what then ?'

The prince touched the map. 'You should then move parallelwith the border of Italian Eritrea - a south-westerly heading -until you encounter the swamp area where the Awash Riversinks into the desert. Then turn directly westwards and you will

50

cross the French Somali border and enter the Danakil countryof Ethiopia. I will arrange to meet your column here5 Heturned to his group of elderly advisers and asked a question.Immediately an animated and high-volume discussion brokeout, at the end of which the Prince turned back to them with asmile.

'We seem to be in general agreement that the rendezvousshould be at the Wells of Chaldi - here.5 He showed them themap again. 'As you can see, it is well within Ethiopian territory.This will suit my Government as well - for the cars will be usedin the defence of the Sardi Gorge and the road to Dessie - in theevent of an Italian offensive in that direction5 The Prince wasinterrupted by one of his advisers and he listened for a fewminutes before nodding in agreement and turning back to thetwo white men. 'It has been suggested that as your journey fromMondi to the Wells of Chaldi will be through trackless desertcountry - some areas of which would be impassable to wheeledvehicles - we should provide you with a guide who knows thearea5

'That's more like it,5 Jake growled with relief.

'That5s absolutely splendid, Toffee,5 agreed Gareth.

'Very well. The young man I have chosen is a relative of mine,a nephew. He speaks English well, having also spent three yearsat school in England, and he knows the area through which youwill be travelling, as he has often hunted the lion there as a guestof a chief in French territory.5 He spoke to one of the advisers inAmharic, and the man nodded and left the cabin. 'I have sentfor him now. His name is Gregorius Maryam.5

When he came, Gregorius was a young man probably in hisearly twenties. However, he was almost as tall as his uncle withthe warrior5s fierce dark eyes and eagle features - but his skinwas smooth and hairless as a girl's, the colour of pale honey. Healso was dressed in Western European fashion, and his expres-sion was intense and intelligent.

His uncle spoke to him quietly in Amharic and he nodded,then turned to meet Jake and Gareth.

'My uncle has explained what is required of me - and I am

51

honoured to be of service.' Gregorius' voice was clear and eager.

'Can you drive a motor car ?' Jake asked unexpectedly, andGregorius smiled and nodded.

'Indeed, sir. I have my own Morgan sports car in AddisAbaba.'

'That's great.' Jake returned the smile. 'But you'll find anarmoured car a rougher ride.'

'Gregorius will pack what he needs for the journey, and joinyou immediately. As you know, this ship sails at noon,' observedthe Prince, and the young Ethiopian nobleman bowed to hisuncle and left the cabin.

'You now owe me a favour, Major Swales, and I requestrepayment immediately.' Lij Mikhael turned back to Gareth,whose complacency evaporated immediately, to be replaced byan expression of mild alarm. Gareth had developed a healthyrespect for the Prince's ability to drive a bargain.

'Now listen here, old chap' he began to protest, but thePrince went on as though there had been no interruption.

'One of the few weapons that my country has to exploit is theconscience of the civilized world'

'I wouldn't give you much change for that,' observed Jake.

'No,' agreed the Prince sadly. 'Not a very effective weaponas yet. But if we can only inform the world of the injustices andunprovoked aggression which we suffer - then we can force thedemocratic nations to come to our support. We need popularsupport - we must reach the people. If the common peoples areinformed of our lot, they will force their own governments totake action.'

'It's a pretty thought,' Gareth agreed.

'Travelling with me now is one of the most highly thought ofand influential journalists in America. Someone who has theear of hundreds of thousands of readers across the United Statesof America, and the rest of the English-speaking world as well.A person of liberal conscience, a champion of the oppressed.'The Prince passed. 'However, this person's reputation has pre-ceded us. The Italians realize that their case might be damaged,if the truth is written by a journalist of this calibre - and they

52

have taken measures to prevent this happening. We have todayheard by radio that transit of English, French and Italian terri-tories will be refused, and that this ally of ours will be deniedaccess to Ethiopia. They do not only embargo weapons - butthey prevent our friends from giving us succour.'

'No,' said Gareth. 'I've got enough trouble - that I must actas a taxi service for the entire press corps of the world. I'll bedamned if I will'

'Can he drive a motor car ?' Jake interrupted. 'We are stillshort of a driver for the last car.'

'If I know journalists, all he can drive is a whisky bottle,'grunted Gareth gloomily.

'If he can drive-we'd save the wages of hiring another driver,'Jake pointed out, and Gareth's gloom lightened a little.

'That's true - if he can drive.'

'Let us find out,' suggested the Prince, and spoke quietly toone of his men who slipped out of the cabin. Gareth tookadvantage of the pause to take the Prince's arm and draw himaside from the main group.

'I have drawn up an estimate of the additional expenses wewill encounter - the hire of a ship and that sort of thing - itstretches the old finances. I wonder if you could see your wayclear to making a gesture of good faith - just a small advance. Afew hundred guineas.'

'Major Swales, I have made the gesture already by giving mynephew into your care.'

'Not that I don't appreciate that' Gareth was about toenlarge his argument, but he was prevented from doing so bythe opening of the cabin door and the entry of the journalist.Gareth Swales straightened up and touched the knot of his tie.His smile broke across the cabin like the early morning sun.

Jake Barton had slumped down into one of the chairs besidethe chart table and was about to light a cheroot, the matchflaring in the cup of his hands, but he did not complete themovement. The match burned on forgotten, as he stared at thenewcomer.

'Gentlemen,' said the Prince. 'I have the honour to introduce

53

Miss Victoria Camberwell, a distinguished member of theAmerican press and a good friend of my country.'

Vicky Camberwell was not yet thirty years of age, and shewas also an unusually attractive and nubile young woman; Shehad learned long ago that youth and feminine beauty were notassets in her chosen career and she tried, with little success, todisguise both.

She adopted a severe, almost mannish, dress. A military-styleshirt with cloth epaulets and button-down breast pockets thatwere pushed out by the large but shapely breasts. Her skirt wastailored in the same cream linen with more button-down pocketson the thighs, and clasped at the slim waist with a leather beltand heavy snake's buckle. Her shoes were of the lace-up typethat women call 'sensible'. On her long lovely legs they lookedalmost frivolous.

Her hair was drawn severely back to expose a long swan neck.The hair was fine and silken, sun-bleached, in places, almostwhite and shaded over her high broad forehead to the colour ofwheat and autumn leaves.

Gareth recovered first. 'Miss Camberwell, of course. I knowyour work. Your column is syndicated in the Observer .' Shelooked at him without expression, remarkably immune to thecelebrated Swales smile. Her eyes, he noticed, were serious andlevel, sage green in colour, but shot with speckles of tawny gold.

Jake's match burned his fingers and he swore. She turned tohim and he stood up quickly.

'I didn't expect a woman.'

'You don't like women ?' Her voice was pitched low and hada husky tone that raised goose bumps on Jake's forearms.

'Some of my favourite people are women.'

He saw that she was tall, reaching almost to his shoulder, andthat her body had a poised athletic carriage. She held her headat a haughty angle which emphasized the strong independentline of mouth and jaw.

'In fact, I can't think of anyone I like more.' And she smiledfor the first time. It had surprising warmth, and Jake saw thather front teeth were slightly uneven - one pushed out of line

54

with the other. He stared at it fascinated for a moment, then helooked up into the appraising green eyes.

'Do you drive a car ?' he asked seriously, and her smile turnedto surprised laughter.

'I do,' said Vicky, laughing. 'I also ride a horse and a bicycle,I can ski, pilot an aeroplane, play snooker and bridge, sing,dance and play the piano.'

'That will do,' Jake laughed with her. 'That will do just fine.'

Vicky turned back to the Prince. 'What is all this about, LijMikhael ?' she asked. 'Just what do these two gentlemen have todo with our plans ?'

The towering purple hull of the Dunnottar Castle swung slowlyacross the back-drop of palm trees and the high sun-gildedranges of cumulus cloud, as she pulled her anchors and camearound for the harbour entrance.

At the rail of the upper deck, the tall figure of the Prince wasflanked by the white-robed figures of his staff, and as the shipincreased speed and kicked up a white sparkling bow wave, helifted an arm in a gesture of farewell.

Swiftly, the shape of the liner dwindled away into the limit-less eastern ocean as she made her offing before turning north-wards once more.

The four figures on the wharf lingered after it had disappeared,staring out at the horizon whose long sweep was uninterruptedexcept by the tiny white triangular sails of the fishing fleetcoming in off the banks.

Jake spoke first. 'We'll have to find digs for Miss Camber-well.' And at the thought, both he and Gareth made a grab forher single battered portmanteau and the typewriter in its leathercase.

'Spin you for it,' suggested Gareth, and an East African shil-ling appeared in his hand.

'Tails,' decided Jake.

'Rough luck, old son,' Gareth commiserated, and returnedthe coin to his pocket. 'I'll take care of Miss Camberwell' hewent on,'then I'll start looking for a ship to take us up coast.

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In the meantime, I suggest you have another look at those cars.'As he spoke, he hailed a ricksha from the row which waited atthe head of the wharf. 'Remember, Jake, it was one thing drivingthem down to the harbour - but an altogether different matterdriving them through two hundred miles of desert. You'd bestmake sure we don't have to walk home,' he advised, and handedVicky Camberwell into the ricksha. 'Driver, advance!' he called,and with a cheery wave they jogged away up town.

'It looks as though we are on our own, sir,' said Gregorius,and Jake grunted, still staring after the departing ricksha. 'Ithink I should also find accommodation,' and Jake roused him-self.

'Come along, lad. You can doss down in my tent for the fewdays before we leave.' And then he grinned. 'I hope you won'tbe offended if I wish it was Miss Camberwell rather than you,Greg.'

The boy laughed delightedly. 'I understand your feelings -but perhaps she snores, sir.'

'No girl who looks like that could possibly snore,' Jake toldhim. 'And another thing-don't call me “sir”, it makes menervous. My name's Jake.' He picked up one of Greg's bags.'We'll walk,' he said. 'I have a horrible hollow feeling that it'sgoing to be a long weary wait until next the eagle screams.'

They set off along the dusty unpaved verge of the road.

'You said you own a Morgan ?' Jake asked.

'That's right, Jake.'

'Do you know what makes it move ?'

'The internal combustion engine.'

'Oh brother,' applauded Jake. 'That is a flying start. Youhave just been appointed second engineer - get your sleevesrolled up.'

Gareth Swales had a theory about seduction which in twentyyears he had never had reason to revise. Ladies liked the com-pany of aristocrats, they were all of them basically snobs and acoat of arms usually made the coldest of them swoon. No soonerhad they settled into the padded seats of the ricksha, than he

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turned upon Vicky Camberwell the full dazzling beam of hiswit and charm.

No one who had built up an international reputation in thehard field of journalism by the age of twenty-nine could beexpected to lack perception, or be naive in the wicked ways ofthe world. Vicky Camberwell had made a preliminary judge-ment of Gareth within minutes of meeting him. She had knownothers with the same urbane good looks and meticulous groom-ing, the light bantering tone and the Steely glint in the eye.Rogue, she had decided-and every second in his companyconfirmed the initial judgement - but damned good-lookingrogue, and very funny rogue with the exaggerated accent andturn of speech which she had recognized immediately as a hugeput-on. She listened with amusement as he set out to impresswith his lineage.

'As the colonel used to say - we always referred to my oldman as the colonel.' Gareth's father had indeed died a colonel,but not in an illustrious regiment, as the rank suggested. He hadworked his way up from the lowly rank of constable in theIndian police.

'Of course, the family estates were from my mother's side'His mother had been the only daughter of an unsuccessfulbaker, and the family estate had comprised the mortgagedpremises in Swansea.

'The colonel was always a bit of a rogue, and moved with awild crowd, you know. Fast ladies and slow horses. The estateswent to the block, I'm afraid.' Victims themselves of the grind-ing injustices of the British class system, mother and father haddevoted themselves to lifting their only son beyond that invisiblebarrier that divides the middle from the upper classes.

'Of course, I was at Eton and he was mostly on foreign ser-vice. Wish I'd got to know the old devil better. He must havebeen a wonderful character' Entrance to the school had beenassisted by the Commissioner of Police, himself an old Etonian.The mother's small inheritance and the greater part of thefather's salary went into the costly business of turning the soninto a gentleman.

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'Killed in a duel, would you believe it. Pistols at dawn. Hewas a romantic, too much fire in his veins.' When the choleratook the mother, the father's salary was insufficient to meet thebills that a young man casually ran up when he mixed sociablywith the sons of dukes. In India, bribery was a convention, away of living - but the colonel was found out. It was indeedpistols at dawn. The colonel rode out into the dark Indian forestwith his Webley service pistol, and his bay mare trotted backto the stables an hour later with an empty saddle and the reinstrailing.

'Had to leave Eton, naturally.' Under considerable duress.It was coincidence that Gareth's friendship with the housemaster's daughter took place at the same time as the colonel'slast ride, but at least it allowed Gareth to leave in a blaze ofglory, as Lij Mikhael remarked, rather than as a nobody whosefees had not been met.

He went out into the world with the speech, the manners andthe tastes of a gentleman - but without the means to supportthem.

'Luckily they were having this war at the time' and even aregiment like the Duke's were not enquiring too deeply into theprivate means of their new officers. Eton was sufficient recom-mendation, and, with the help of the German machine-guns,promotion was swift. However, after the armistice, things wereback to normal and it required three thousand a year for anofficer to support himself in the style the regiment expected.Gareth moved on, and had kept moving ever since.

Vicky Camberwell listened to him, fascinated despite herself.She knew that this was the cobra dance before the chicken, sheknew herself well enough to realize that part of the attraction heheld for her was the very devilry and roguishness she had soreadily recognized.

There had been others like this one. Her job took her to thetrouble spots of the world, and men of this breed were attractedto the same hot spots. With these men there was always theexcitement and danger, the thrill and the fun - but inevitablythere was also the sting and the pain in the end.

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She tried not to respond, wishing the ride would end, butGareth's sallies were too much for her and as the ricksha drewup in front of the Royal Hotel entrance, she could not resistthe almost suffocating urge to laugh. She threw back herhead, shaking her shining pale hair in the wind as she let it ringout.

Gareth had learned also to use the calibre of a woman'slaughter as a yardstick. Vicky laughed with an unaffected gaiety,a straightforward physical response that he found reassuring,and he took her arm possessively as he helped her out of thericksha.

He showed her through the royal suite with a proprietorialair. 'Only one suite in the place. Balcony looks out over thegardens, and you get the sea breeze in the evening.' And 'Onlyprivate loo in the building, even one of those French jobs forsluicing the old privates, you know.' And, 'The bed is quiteextraordinary, like sleeping on a cloud and all that rot. Neverexperienced anything like it.'

'Is this where I am to stay ?' Vicky asked, with a small-girlinnocence.

'Well, I thought we could make some sort of arrangement,old girl.' And she was left with no doubts as to the type ofarrangement Gareth Swales had in mind.

'You are very kind, major,' she murmured, and crossed to thehandset of the telephone.

'This is Miss Camberwell. Major Swales is vacating the royalsuite for me. Please have a servant move his clothes to alterna-tive accommodation.'

'I say' gasped Gareth, and she covered the mouthpiece andsmiled at him. 'It's so sweet of you.' Then she listened to themanager's voice. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'Well, if that's the onlyroom you have vacant, it will just have to do then. I am sure themajor has experienced more uncomfortable billets.'

When Gareth saw the room that was now his, he tried honestlyto remember humbler and less comfortable billets. The Chineseprison in Mukden had been cooler and not placed directly overthe boisterous uproar of the public bar, and the frontline dugout

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during the winter of 1917 at Arras had been more spacious andbetter furnished.

The next three days Gareth Swales spent at the harbour, drink-ing tea and whisky in the office of the harbour master, riding outwith the pilot to meet every new vessel as it crossed the bar,jogging in a ricksha along the wharf to speak with the skippersof dhows and luggers, rusty old coal-burners and neater, neweroil-burners, or rowing about the harbour in a hired ferry to hailthe vessels that lay at anchor in the roads.

His evenings he spent plying Victoria Camberwell withcharm, flattery and vintage champagne - for all of which sheseemed to have an insatiable appetite and complete immunity.She listened to him, laughed with him and drank his cham-pagne, and at midnight excused herself prettily, and nimblyside-stepped his efforts to press her to his snowy shirt-front orget a foot in the door of the royal suite.

By the morning of the fourth day, Gareth was understandablybecoming a little discouraged. He thought of taking a bucket ofTusker out to Jake's camp and cheering himself up with a littleof the American's genial company. However, he did not relishhaving to admit failure to Jake, so he fought off the temptationand took his usual ricksha ride down to the harbour.

During the night a new vessel had anchored in the outerroads and Gareth examined her through his binoculars. She wassalt-rimed and dirty, old and scarred with a dark nondescripthull and a ragged crew, but Gareth saw that her rigging wassound and that although she was schooner-rigged with mastswhich could spread a mass of canvas, yet she had propeller driveat the stern - probably she had been converted to take a dieselengine under the high poop. She looked the most likely prospecthe had yet seen in the harbour and Gareth ran down the stepsto the ferry and exuberantly tipped the oarsman a shilling overhis usual fare.

At closer range the vessel seemed even more disreputablethan she had at a distance. The paintwork proved to be a mottledpatchwork of layer peeling from layer, and it was clear what the

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sanitary arrangements were aboard. The sides were zebra-stripedwith human excrement.

Yet closer still, Gareth noticed that the planking was tightand sound beneath the execrable paint cover, and her bottom,seen through the clear water, was clean copper and free of theusual fuzzy green beard of weed. Also her rigging was well setup and all sheets had the bright yellow colour and resilient lookof new hemp. The name on her stern was in Arabic and French, Hirondelle , and she was Seychelles registered.

Gareth wondered at her purpose, for she was certainly aringer, a thoroughbred masquerading as a cart horse. That bigbronze propeller would drive her handily, and the hull itselflooked fast and sea-kindly.

Then as he came alongside he smelled her, and knew preciselywhat she was. He had smelled that peculiar odour of pollutedbilges and suffering humanity before in the China Sea. He hadheard it said that it was an odour that could never be scouredfrom a hull, not even sheep dip and boiling salt water wouldcleanse it. They said that on a dark night, the patrol boats couldsmell a slaver from over the horizon.

A man who made his daily bread buying and selling slaveswould be unlikely to baulk at a mere trifle like gun-running,decided Gareth, and hailed her.

'Ahoy, HirondelleV

The response was hostile, the closed dark faces of the raggedcrew stared down at the ferry. They were a mixed batch, Arab,Indian, Chinese, Negro - and there was no answer to his hail.

Standing in the ferry, Gareth cupped his hands to his mouthand, with the Englishman's unconscious arrogance that assumesall the world speaks English, called again.

'I want to speak to your captain.'

Now there was a stir under the poop and a white man cameto the rail. He was swarthy, darkly sunburned and so short thathis head barely showed above the gunwale.

'What you want ? You police, hey ?'

Gareth guessed he was Greek or Armenian. He wore a darkpatch over his one eye, and the effect was theatrical. The good

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eye was bright and stony as water-washed agate.

'No police!5 Gareth assured him. 'No trouble,5 and producedthe whisky bottle from his coat pocket and waved it airily.

The captain leaned out over the rail and peered closely atGareth. Perhaps he recognized the twinkle in the eye and thejaunty piratical smile that Gareth flashed up at him. It oftentakes one to know one. Anyway, he seemed to reach a decisionand he snapped an order in Arabic. A rope ladder tumbleddown the side.

'Come,5 invited the Captain. He had nothing to hide. On thisleg of his voyage he carried only a cargo of baled cotton goodsfrom Bombay. He would discharge this here at Dar es Salaambefore continuing northwards to make a nocturnal landfall onthe great horn of Africa, there to take on his more lucrativecargo of human wares.

As long as the merchants of Arabia, India and the East stilloffered huge sums for the slender black girls of the DanakilandGalla, men like this would brave the British warships and patrolboats to supply them.

'I thought we might drink a little whisky together and talkabout money,5 Gareth greeted the Captain. 'My name is Swales.Major Swales.5

The Captain had trained his oiled black hair into a queue thathung down his back. He seemed to cultivate the buccaneerimage.

'My name is Papadopoulos.5 He grinned for the first time.'And the talk of money is sweet like music.5 He held out hishand.

Gareth and Vicky Camberwell came to Jake5s camp in themahogany forest, bearing gifts.

'This is a surprise.5 Jake greeted them sardonically as hestraightened up from the welding set with the torch still flaringin his hand. 'I thought you two had eloped.5

'Business first, pleasure later.5 Gareth handed Vicky downfrom the ricksha. 'No, my dear Jake, we have been workinghard.5

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'I can see that. You look really worn out with your labours.'Jake doused the welding torch and accepted the bucket ofTusker beer. He broached two bottles immediately, handingone to Greg and lifting the other to his own lips. He wore onlya pair of greasy khaki shorts.

When he lowered it, he grinned. 'But, what the hell, I wasdying of thirst and so I forgive you.'

'You have saved our lives, Major Swales and Miss Camber-well,' agreed Greg, and saluted them with the dewed bottle.

'What on earth is this ?' Gareth turned to inspect the massiveconstruction on which Jake and Greg had been working, andJake patted it proudly.

'It's a raft.' He circled the complicated platform of empty oildrums with its decking of timber slats, indicating its finer fea-tures with the half-empty beer bottle.

'Armoured cars don't swim, and we have to land them on ashelving beach. It's unlikely we will be able to get within ahundred yards of the shore. We'll float them off.'

Vicky was looking at the fine muscling of Jake's shouldersand arms, at the flat belly and the dark pelt of hair that coveredhis chest, but Gareth was fascinated by the crudely constructedraft.

'I was going to talk to you about landing the cars, and suggestsomething like this,' Gareth said, and Jake lifted an eyebrow athim in disbelief.

'All we must make sure of is that the vessel that lands us hasa derrick strong enough to swing the cars outboard.'

'What do they weigh ?'

'Five tons each.'

'Fine, the Hirondelle can handle that.'

'The Hirondelle ?'

'The vessel that's transporting us.'

'So you have been working.' Jake laughed. 'I would neverhave believed it of you. When do we sail ?'

'Dawn, the day after tomorrow. We will load during the night- not wanting to advertise our cargo - and we will sail at firstlight.'

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'That doesn't give me much time to teach Miss Camberwellto drive one of the cars.' Jake turned to her now, and once againfelt the thrill of looking into those speckled eyes of green andgold. 'I'm going to need a deal of your time.'

'That's one thing I've got plenty of at the moment.' For Vickythe interlude in Dar es Salaam had served to rest tired andstrained nerves - her previous assignment at Geneva had beenirksome and wearying. She had spent the last few days explor-ing the ancient port and writing a two-thousand-word filler onits origins and history. She had enjoyed Gareth Swales' atten-tions and the by-play of avoiding his more serious advances.Now she was becoming aware of Jake Barton's smoulderingadmiration. Nothing like being pursued by two tough, danger-ous and forceful males to relax a girl, she thought, and smiled atJake, enjoying his reaction, and watching Gareth Swales bridleand move in to intervene.

'I can give Vicky a bit of instruction on the jolly old machines- don't want to take you off important work.'

Vicky did not turn her head, but went on smiling at Jake.

'I think that's rather Mr Barton's department,' she said.

'Jake,' said Jake.

'Vicky,' said Vicky.

This whole business was turning out very well indeed. Agood story to chase, a worthy cause to support, another daringescapade to add to the blooming lustre of her reputation. Sheknew none of her colleagues had dared the League's sanctionsand violated international frontiers with a gang of gun-runnersto file a story.

As a bonus, there were two attractive males for company. Itall looked very good indeed, just as long as she kept it all on amanageable basis, and did not let her emotions get into an up-roar once more.

They followed the path down through the mahogany forest,and she smiled secretly to herself as she watched Gareth andJake jockeying for position beside her. However, when theyreached the clearing, Gareth stopped abruptly.

'What now ?' he demanded.

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'The paint job is Greg's idea,' explained Jake. 'Make peoplethink twice before they start shooting at us.'

The four vehicles were now painted a glistening snowy white,and the turrets were emblazoned with a flaming scarlet cross.

'If the French or the Italians try to stop us, we are a unit ofarmoured ambulances of the International Red Cross. You,Greg and I are doctors, and Vicky is a nursing sister.'

'My God, you have been busy.' Vicky was impressed.

'Also the white paint will be cooler in the desert,' Greg ex-plained seriously. 'They call it the “Great Burn” with goodreason.'

'The carrying racks I designed,' said Jake. 'Each vehicle willbe able to carry two forty-gallon drums of gasoline and one ofwater at the rear of the turret. The crates of arms and ammuni-tion we will distribute between the four of them and rope themdown here across the sponsons -1 have welded cleats here to takethe ropes.'

'The crates will be a dead give-away,' objected Gareth. 'Theyare all marked'

'We'll plane off the marking and re-label them as medicalsupplies,' Jake told him, then took Vicky's arm. 'I've chosenthis one for you. She's the most docile and friendly of the four.'

'Do they have characters of their own ?' Vicky teased him,and laughed at the seriousness of his reply.

'They are just like women. My iron ladies,' he slapped thenearest machine. 'This one is an absolute darling - except thather rear suspension is slightly out of alignment, so she wagglesher bottom a bit at speed. It's nothing serious, however, but it'swhy her name is Miss Wobbly. She's yours. You'll grow to loveher.' Jake walked on and kicked the tyre of the next car. 'Thisone is the bitch of the party. She tried to break my wrist thevery first time I ever cranked her. She is known as Priscilla thePig. I'm the only one who can handle her. She doesn't love me,but she respects me.' He moved on. 'Greg has chosen this oneand called her Tenastelin - which means “God is with us” - Ihope he is right, but I doubt it. Greg is a bit funny about thatsort of thing. He tells me he was going to be a priest once.' He

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winked at the youngster. 'Gareth, this one is yours - she has abrand new carburettor. I think it is only fair you should enjoyher, since you are the one who risked all to obtain it.'

'Oh ?' Vicky's eyes lit with interest, the news-hound in heraroused. 'What happened ?'

'It's a long story,' Jake grinned, 'but it involved a long anddangerous ride on a camel.' Gareth choked on a lungful ofcheroot smoke and coughed, but Jake went on remorselessly,'She shall therefore be known in future as Henrietta the Hump- the Hump for short.'

'How very cute,' said Vicky.

After midnight the four vehicles moved in column through thedark and sleeping streets of the old town. The steel shutterswere closed down over the headlights so that only a narrowstrip of light was thrown forwards and downwards. The engineswere idling as they moved at walking speed under the treeswhose spread branches hung over the road and hid the stars.

The silhouette of the cars was drastically altered by the bur-den that each of them carried - drums and crates, coils of ropeand netting, trenching tools and camping equipment.

Gareth Swales led the column, freshly shaven and dressed ingrey flannel Oxford bags and a white jersey with the I Zingaricricket colours adorning the neck and cuffs. He was mildlyconcerned that the proprietor of the Royal Hotel might becomeaware of his imminent departure, for there was a bill for threeweeks' board outstanding and a formidable pile of unpaid chit-ties signed with the Swales flourish for champagne supplied.Gareth would definitely feel happier out at sea.

Gregorius Maryam followed him closely. His hereditary titlewas Gerazmach, 'Commander of the Left Wing', and his warriorblood coursed through his veins mingling with the deeply reli-gious Old Testament teachings of the Coptic Christian Church,so that his eyes shone with an almost mystic fanaticism and hisheart soared with a young man's fierce patriotism, for he wasstill young enough and inexperienced enough to look on the

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dirty bloody business of war as something glamorous and manly.

Behind him came Vicky Camberwell, driving Miss Wobblywith competence and precision. Jake was delighted with herability to judge the engine beat, and to mesh the ancient gearswith a light touch on clutch and stick. She too was excited bythe prospect of adventure, and new experience. That afternoonshe had filed her preliminary report, despatching five thousandwords by the new airmail service that would deposit them onher editor's desk in New York within ten days. She had explainedthe background, the clear intent of Benito Mussolini to annexthe sovereign territories of Ethiopia, the world's indifference,the arms embargo. 'Do not delude yourselves,' she had written,'into the belief that I am crying wolf. The wolf of Rome isalready hunting. What is about to happen in the mountains ofnorthern Africa will shame the civilized world.' And then shehad gone on to expose the intention of the great nations to pre-vent her reaching the embattled empire and reporting its plight.She had ended the dispatch, 'Your correspondent has rejectedthis restriction placed upon her movements and her integrity.Tonight I have joined a group of intrepid men who are riskingtheir lives to defy the embargo, and to carry through the closedterritories a quantity of arms and supplies desperately neededby the beleaguered nation. By the time you read this, we shallhave failed and have died upon the desert coast of Africa, whichthe natives fearfully call the “Great Burn” - or we shall havesucceeded. We shall have landed by night from a small coastingvessel and trekked through hundreds of miles of savage andhostile territory to a meeting with an Ethiopian prince. I hopethat in my next dispatch, I shall be able to describe our journeyto you, but if the gods of chance decree otherwise - at least weshall have tried.' Vicky was very pleased with the first article. Inher usual flamboyant style, she particularly liked the 'trekking'bit which gave a touch of local colour. It had everything: drama,mystery, the little guy taking on the big. She knew that the com-pleted series would be a giant and she was excited and aglowwith anticipation.

Behind her Jake Barton followed. He listened with half his

Cry Wolf

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attention to the engine beat of the Pig. For no apparent reason,except perhaps a premonition of what awaited her, the car hadthat night refused to start. Jake had cranked her until his armwas cramped and aching. He had blown through the fuelsystem, checked the plugs, magneto and every other movingpart that could possibly be at fault. Then, after another hour oftinkering, she had started and run sweetly, without giving theslightest hint of what had prevented her doing so earlier.

With the other half of his attention, he was mentally checkingout his preparations - knowing that this was his last chance to fillany gaps in his list. It was one hell of a long trail from Mondi tothe Wells of Chaldi and not many service stations on the road.The pontoon raft of drums had been stowed aboard the Hirondelle that afternoon, and each car carried its own means of sustenanceand survival - a load which taxed their ancient suspensions andbodywork.

Thus Jake's conscious mind was fully occupied, but belowthat level was a gut memory that tightened his nerves andcharged his blood with adrenaline. There had been anothernight like this, moving in column in the darkness, with thethrottled-back engine beat drumming softly in his ears - butthen there had been the glow of star shell in the sky ahead, thedistant juddering of a Maxim firing at a gap in the wire and thesmell of death and mud in his nostrils. Unlike GregoriusMaryam in the car ahead, Jake Barton knew about war and allits glories.

Papadopoulos was waiting for them on the wharf, carrying ahurricane lamp and dressed in an ankle-length greatcoat thatgave him the air of a down-at-heel gnome. He signalled thecolumn forward, waving the lamp, and his ragged crewswarmed off the deck of the Hirondelle on to the stone wharf.

It was clear that they were accustomed to loading unusualcargo in the middle of the night. As each car was driven for-ward, it was stripped of its burden of drums and crates. Thesewere stowed separately in cargo nets. Then they thrust sturdywooden pallets under the chassis of the car and fixed the heavy

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hemp lines. At a signal from Papadopoulos, the men at thewinches started the donkey engines and the lines ran throughthe blocks on the booms of the derricks. The bulky cars roseslowly and then swung inboard.

The whole operation was carried out swiftly, with no raisedvoices or unnecessary noise. Only a muttered command, thegrunt of straining men, the muted clatter of the donkey enginesand then the thump of the cars settling oh the deck.

'These fellows know their business.' Gareth watched approv-ingly, then turned to Jake. Til go down to the harbour masterand clear the bills of lading. We'll be ready to sail in an hour orso.' He sauntered away and disappeared into the shadows.

'Let's inspect the accommodation,' Jake suggested, and tookVicky's arm. 'It looks like a regular Cunarder.' They climbedthe gangplank to the deck and only then did they get the firstwhiff of the slave stench. By the time Gareth returned from hisnefarious negotiations with bills of lading showing a consign-ment of four ambulances and medical supplies to the Inter-national Red Cross Association at Alexandria, the others hadmade a brief examination of the single tiny odoriferous cabinwhich Papadopoulos had put at their disposal and decided toleave it to the cockroaches and bed bugs which were already inresidence.

'It's only a few days' sailing. I think I prefer the open deck.If it rains, we can take shelter in the cars.' Jake spoke for all ofthem as they stood in a group at the rail, watching the lights ofDar es Salaam glide away into the night, while the diesel engineof the schooner thumped under their feet and the sweet coolsea breeze washed over the deck, cleansing their nostrils andmouths of the slave stench.

Vicky was awakened by the brilliance of the starlight shininginto her face and she opened her eyes and stared up at a sky thatblazed with the splendours of the universe, as fields and seas ofpearly light swirled across the heavens.

Quietly she slipped out of her blankets and went to the ship'srail. The sea was lustrous glittering sable; each wave seemed to

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be carved from some solid and precious metal, bejewelled by thereflections of the starlight and through it the ship's wake glowedwith phosphorescence like a trail of green fire.

The sea wind was the touch of lovers' hands against her skinand in her hair, the great mainsail whispered above her head,and there was an almost physical ache in her chest at the beautyof this night.

When Gareth came up silently behind her and slipped hisarms about her waist, she did not even turn her head, but layback against him. She did not want to argue and tease. As sheherself had written, she might soon be dead and the night wastoo beautiful to let it pass.

Neither of them spoke, but Vicky sighed and shudderedvoluptuously as she felt his hands, smooth and skilful, slide upunder the light cotton blouse. His touch, like the wind, wassoftly caressing.

Through their thin clothing she could feel the warmth andresilience of his flesh pressed against her, feel his chest surgeand subside to the urgency of his breathing.

She turned slowly within the circle of his arms and lifted herface to his as he stopped, meeting his body with a forward thrustof her hips. The taste of his mouth and the musky male smell ofhis body hastened her own arousal.

It took all her determination to tear her lips loose from his,and to draw away from his embrace. She crossed quickly towhere her blankets lay and picked them up with hands thatshook.

She spread them again between the dark supine forms of Jakeand Gregorius, and only when she rolled herself into their coarsefolds and lay upon her back trying to control her ragged breath-ing was she aware that Jake Barton was awake.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even,but she knew with complete certainty that he was awake.

General Emilio De Bono stood at the window of his office andlooked across the squalid roofs of the town of Asmara towardsthe great brooding massif of the Ethiopian highlands. It looked

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like the backbone of a dragon, he thought, and suppressed ashudder.

The General was seventy years of age, so he recalled vividlythe last Italian army that had ventured into that mountain fast-ness. The name Adowa was a dark blot on the history of Italianarms, and after forty years, that terrible bloody defeat of amodern European army was still unavenged.

Now destiny had chosen him as the avenger and Emilio DeBono was not certain that the role suited him. It would be muchmore to his liking if wars could be fought without anybodygetting hurt. The General would go to great lengths to avoidinflicting pain or even discomfort. Orders that might be dis-tasteful to the recipients were avoided. Operations that mightplace anybody in jeopardy were frowned upon severely by thecommanding General and his officers had learned not to suggestsuch extravagances.

The General was at heart a diplomat and a politician - not awarrior. He liked to see smiling faces, so he smiled a great dealhimself. He resembled a sprightly, wizened little goat, with thepointed white beard that gave him the nickname of 'LittleBeard'. And he addressed his officers as 'Caro', and his men as'Bambino'. He just wanted to be loved. So he smiled and smiled.

However, the General was not smiling now. This morninghe had received from Rome another one of those importunatecoded telegrams signed Benito Mussolini. The wording hadbeen even more peremptory than usual. 'The King of Italywishes, and I, Benito Mussolini, Minister of the armed forces,order that'

Suddenly he struck himself a blow on his medal-bedeckedchest which startled Captain Crespi, his aide-de-camp.

'They do not understand,' cried De Bono bitterly. 'It is allvery beautiful to sit in Rome and urge haste. To cry “Strike!”But they do not see the picture as we do, who stand here look-ing across the Mareb River at the swarming multitudes of theenemy.'

The Captain came to the General's side and he also staredout of the window. The building that housed the expeditionary

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army headquarters in Asmara was double-storied, and theGeneral's office on the top floor commanded a sweeping viewto the foot of the mountains. The Captain observed wryly thatthe swarming multitudes were not readily apparent. The landwas a vast emptiness slumbering in the brilliant sunlight. Airreconnaissance in depth had described no concentrations ofEthiopian troops, and reliable intelligence reported that theEmperor Haile Selassie had ordered that none of his rudimentarymilitary units approach the border as close as fifty kilometres, toavoid giving the Italians an excuse to march.

'They do not understand that I must consolidate my positionhere in Eritrea. That I must have a firm base and supply train,'cried De Bono pitifully. For over a year he had been consoli-dating his position and assembling his supplies. The crude littleharbour of Massawa, which once had lazily served the needs ofan occasional tramp steamer or one of the little Japanese salt-traders, had been reconstructed completely. Magnificent stonepiers ran out into the sea, great wharves bustled with steamcranes, and busy locomotives shuttled the incredible array ofwarlike stores that poured ashore by the thousands of tons a dayfor month after month. The Suez Canal remained open to thetransports of the Italian adventure, and a constant stream ofthem poured southwards, -unaffected by the embargo that theLeague of Nations had declared on the importation of militarymaterials into Eastern Africa.

Up to the present time, over three million tons of stores hadbeen landed, and this did not include the five thousand vehiclesof war - troop transports, armoured cars, tanks and aircraft -that had come ashore. To distribute this vast assembly of vehiclesand stores, a road system had been constructed fanning into theinterior, a system so magnificent as to recall that of the Caesarsof ancient Rome.

General De Bono smote his chest again, startling his aide.'They urge me to untimely endeavour. They do not seem torealize that my force is insufficient.'

The force which the General lamented was the greatest andmost powerful army ever assembled on the African continent.

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He commanded three hundred and sixty thousand men, armedwith the most sophisticated tools of destruction the world hadyet devised - from the Caproni CA.133 three-engined mono-plane which could carry two tons of high explosive and poisongas a range of nine hundred miles, to the most modern armouredcars and heavily armoured CV.3 tanks with their 50 mm guns,and supporting units of heavy artillery.

This great assembly was encamped about Asmara and uponthe cliffs overlooking the Mareb River. It was made up ofdistinct elements, the green-clad regular army formations withtheir wide-brimmed tropical helmets, the blackshirt Fascistmilitia with their high boots and cross-straps, their deathsheadand thunderbolt badges and their glittering daggers, the regularcolonial units of black Somalis and Eritreans in their tall tasselledred fezes and baggy shirts, their gaily coloured regimental sashesand putteed legs above bare feet. Lastly, the irregular volunteersor 'banda' who were a group of desert bandits and cut-throatcattle thieves attracted by the possibility of war in the way thatthe taint of blood gathers sharks.

De Bono knew but did not ponder the fact that nearly seventyyears previously, the British General Napier had marched onMagdala with less than fifty thousand men, meeting and defeat-ing the entire Ethiopian army on the way, storming the moun-tain fortress and releasing the British prisoners held there, beforeretiring in good order. Such heroics were outside the realms ofthe General's imagination.

eCaro.' The General placed an arm about the gold-braidedshoulders of his aide. 'We must compose a reply to the Duce.He must be made to realize my difficulties.' He patted theshoulder affectionately and his face lightened once more into itshabitual expression as he began composing.

'My dear and respected leader, please be assured of myloyalty to you and to the glorious fatherland of Italy.' TheCaptain hastened to take up a message pad and scribble indus-triously. 'Be assured also that I never cease to toil by night andby day towards'

It took almost two hours of creative effort before the General

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was satisfied with his flowery and rambling refusal to carry outhis orders.

'Now,' he ceased his pacing and smiled tenderly at the Cap-tain, 'although we are not yet ready for an advance in force, itwill serve to placate II Duce if we initiate the opening phases ofthe southern offensive.'

The General's plans for the invasion, when it was finally putin hand, had been laid with as ponderous regard to detail as hisearlier preparations. Historical necessity dictated that the mainattack should be centred on Adowa. Already a marble monu-ment, brought from Italy and engraved with the words 'Thedead of Adowa avenged...' with the date left open, lay amongstthe huge mountains of his stores.

However, the plan called for a secondary flanking attackfarther south through one of the very few gateways to thecentral highlands. This was the Sardi Gorge. A narrow openingthat was riven up from the desert floor, splitting like an axe-stroke the precipitous mountain ranges, and forming a passthrough which an army might reach the plateau that rearedseven thousand feet above the desert. The first phase of thisplan entailed the seizure of the approaches to the Sardi Gorge -and particularly important in this dry and scalded desert wouldbe the water supplies of the attacking army.

The General crossed the floor to the large-scale map ofEastern Africa which covered one wall, and he picked up theivory pointer to touch an isolated spot in the emptiness belowthe mountains.

'The Wells of Chaldi,' he read the name aloud. 'Whom shallwe send ?'

The Captain looked up from his pad, and observed how thespot was surrounded by the forbidding yellow of the desert. Hehad been in Africa long enough to know what that meant, andthere was only one person who he would wish were there.

'Belli,' he said.

'Ah,' said the General. 'Count Aldo Belli - the fire-eater.'

'The clown,' said the Captain.

'Come, caro,' the General admonished his aide mildly. 'You

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are too harsh. The Count is a distinguished diplomat, he wasfor three years ambassador to the court of St James in London.His family is old and noble - and very very rich.'

'He is a blow-hard,' said the Captain stubbornly, and theGeneral sighed.

'He is a personal friend of Benito Mussolini. II Duce is aconstant guest at his castle. He has great political power'

'He would be well out of harm's way at this desolate spot,'said the Captain, and the General sighed again.

'Perhaps you are correct, caro. Send for the good Count ifyou please.'

Captain Crespi stood on the steps of the headquarters building,beneath the portico with its imitation marble columns and theclumsily painted fresco depicting a heroic band of heavilymuscled Italians defeating heathens, ploughing the earth, har-vesting the corn, and generally building an empire.

The Captain watched sourly as the huge Rolls-Royce opentourer bumped down the dusty, pot-holed main street. Its head-lights glared like monstrously startled eyes, and its burnishedsky-blue paintwork was dulled by a light flouring of pale dust.The purchase price of this vehicle would have consumed fiveyears of his service pay, which accounted for much of the Cap-tain's sourness.

Count Aldo Belli, as one of the nation's great landowners andamongst the five most wealthy men in Italy, did not rely on thearmy for his transportation. The Rolls had been adapted anddesigned to his personal specifications by the makers.

As it slid to a graceful halt beneath the portico, the Captainnoticed the Count's personal arms blazoned on the front door -a rampant golden wolf supporting a shield with a quartereddevice of scarlet and silver. The legend unfurled beneath it read,'Courage arms me.'

As the car stopped, a small wiry sun-blackened little man inthe uniform of a blackshirt sergeant leaped from the seat besidethe driver and dropped on one knee in the roadway with a bulkycamera at the ready to capture the moment when the figure in

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the wide rear seat of the Rolls should descend.

Count Aldo Belli adjusted his black beret carefully, sucked inhis belly and rose to his feet as the driver scurried around to holdopen the door. The Count smiled. It was a smile of flashingwhite teeth and powerful charisma. His eyes were dark andromantic with the sweeping lashes of a lady of fashion, his skinwas lightly tanned to a golden olive and the lustrous curls of hishair that escaped from under the black beret shone in the sun-light. Although he was almost thirty-five years of age, not asingle grey strand adulterated that splendid mane.

From his commanding position his height was exaggerated,so he seemed to tower god-like above the men who scamperedabout him. The highly polished cross-straps glittered acrosshis chest as did the silver deathshead cap badges. The shortregimental dagger on his hip set with small diamonds and seedpearls was to the Count's own design, and the ivory-handledrevolver had been hand-made for him by Beretta; the holsterwas belted in tightly to subdue a waistline that was showingsigns of rebellion.

The Count paused and glanced down at the little sergeant.

'Yes, Gino ?' he asked.

'Good, my Count. Just a little up with the chin.'

The Count's chin caused them both much concern. At cer-tain angles, it showed an alarming tendency to duplicate itselflike the ripples on a pond. The Count threw up his chin sternly,rather like II Duce, and the gesture ironed out the jowls below.

'Bellissimo,' cried Gino, and tripped the shutter. The Countstepped down from the Rolls, enjoying the way the soft spark-ling leather of his high boots gave like the bellows of a concertinaabove his instep as he moved, and he hooked the thumb of hisgloved left hand into the belt above his dagger as he flung hisright arm up and outwards in the Fascist salute.

'The General awaits you, Colonel,' Crespi greeted him.

'I came the moment I received the summons.'

The Captain made a moue. He knew the summons had beendelivered at ten o'clock that morning and it was now almostthree in the afternoon. The Count's primping had taken most

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of the day, and now he glowed from bathing and shaving andmassaging and smelled like a rose garden in full bloom.

'Clown,5 thought the Captain again. It had taken Crespi tenyears of unswerving service and dedication to reach his rank,while this man had opened his purse, invited Mussolini for aweek of hunting and carousal to his estates at the foot of theApennines, and had in return been given the colonelcy of a fullbattalion. The man had never fired a shot at anything largerthan a boar, and until six months ago had commanded nothingmore formidable than a squad of accountants, a troop of gar-deners or a platoon of strumpets to his bed.

'Clown,5 thought the Captain bitterly, bowing over the handand grinning ingratiatingly. 'Have your photograph taken swat-ting flies in the Danakil desert, or sniffing camel dung beside theWells of Chaldi,5 he thought, and backed away through the widedoors into the relative cool of the administrative building. 'Thisway, Colonel, if you would be so kind.5

General De Bono lowered the binoculars through which withbrooding disquiet he had been studying the Ethiopian massif,and almost with relief turned to greet the Colonel.

'Caro,5 smiled the General, extending both hands as hecrossed the uncarpeted hand-painted tiles. 'My dear Count, itis so good of you to come.5

The Count drew himself up at the threshold and flung theFascist salute at the advancing General, stopping him in con-fusion.

'In the services of my country and my king, I would count nosacrifice too dear.5 Aldo Belli was stirred by his own words. Hemust remember them. They could be used again.

'Yes, of course,5 De Bono agreed hurriedly. Tm sure we allfeel that way.5'General De Bono, you have only to command me.5'Thank you, caro mio. But a glass of Madeira and a biscuitfirst?5 suggested the General. A little sweetmeat to take awaythe taste of the medicine. The General felt very bad aboutsending anyone down into the Danakil country - it was hothere in Asmara, God alone knew what it would be like down

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there, and the General felt a pang of dismay that he had allowedCrespi to select anyone with such political influence as theCount. He would not further insult the good Count by toohurriedly coming to the business in hand.

'I hoped that you might have had an opportunity to hear thenew production of La Traviata before leaving Rome ?'

'Indeed, General. I was fortunate enough to be included inthe Duce's party for the opening night.9 The Count relaxed alittle, smiling that flashing smile.

The General sighed as he poured the wine. 'Ha! The civilizedlife, so far a cry from this land of thorns and savages.. .9

It was late afternoon before the General had steeled himselfto approach the painful subject of the interview and, smilingapologetically, he gave his orders.

'The Wells of Chaldi,9 repeated the Count, and immediatelya change came over him. He leapt to his feet, knocking over theMadeira glass, and strode majestically back and forth, his heelscracking on the tiles, belly sucked in and noble chin on high.

'Death before dishonour,9 cried Aldo Belli, the Madeirawarming his ardour.

'I hope not, caro,9 muttered the General. 'All I want you todo is take up a guard position on an untenanted water-hole.9But the Count seemed not to hear him. His eyes were dark andglowing.

'I am greatly indebted to you for this opportunity to distin-guish my command. You can count on me to the death.9 TheCount stopped short as a fresh thought occurred to him. 'Youwill support my advance with armour and aircraft ?9 he askedanxiously.

'I don't really think that will be necessary, caro.9 The Generalspoke mildly. All this talk of death and honour troubled him,but he did not want to give offence. 'I don't think you will meetany resistance.9

'But if I do ?9 the Count demanded with mounting agitation,so that the General went to stroke his arm placatingly.

'You have a radio, caro. Call on me for any assistance youneed.'

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The Count thought about that for a moment and clearlyfound it acceptable. Once more the patriotic fervour returnedto the glowing eyes.

'Ours is the victory/ he cried, and the General echoed himvigorously.

'I hope so, caro. Indeed I hope so.' Suddenly the Countswirled and strode to the door. He flung it open and called.

'Gino!'

The little black-haired sergeant hurried into the room, fran-tically adjusting the huge camera that hung about his neck.

'The General does not mind ?' asked Aldo Belli leading himto the window. 'The light is better here.' The slanting rays ofthe dying sun poured in to light the two men theatrically as theCount seized De Bono's hand.

'Closer together, please. Back a trifle, General, you are cover-ing the Count. That's excellent. Chin up a little, my Count. Ha!Bello!' cried Gino, and recorded faithfully the startled expres-sion above the General's little white goatee.

The senior major of the Blackshirt 'Africa' Battalion was a hardprofessional soldier of thirty years' experience, a veteran ofVittorio Veneto and Caporetto, where he had been commis-sioned in the field.

He was a fighting man and he reacted with disgust to hisposting from his prestigious regiment in the regular army tothis rabble of political militia. He had protested at length andwith all the power at his command, but the order came from onhigh, from divisional headquarters itself. The divisional Generalwas a friend of Count Aldo Belli, and owed favours. He alsoknew the Count intimately and decided that he needed a realsoldier to guide and counsel him. Major Castelani was probablyone of the most real soldiers in the entire army of Italy. Once herealized that his posting was inevitable, he had resigned himselfand settled to his new duties - whipping and bullying his newcommand into order.

He was a big man witii a close-cropped skull of grey bristle,and a hound-dog, heavily lined face burned and eroded by the

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weathering of a dozen campaigns. He walked with the rollinggait of a sailor or a horseman, though he was neither, and hisvoice could carry a mile into a moderate wind.

Almost entirely due to his single-handed efforts, the battalionwas drawn up in marching order an hour before dawn. Sixhundred and ninety men with their motorized transports strungout down the main street of Asmara. The lorries were crammedwith silent men huddling in their greatcoats against the mildmorning chill. The motorcycle outriders were sitting astridetheir machines flanking the newly polished but passengerlessRolls-Royce command car, with its gay pennants and its driversitting lugubriously at the wheel. A charged sense of apprehen-sion and uncertainty gripped the entire assembly of warriors.

There had been wild rumours flying about the battalion forthe last twelve hours - they had been selected for some desperateand dangerous mission. The previous evening the mess sergeanthad actually witnessed the Count Colonel Aldo Belli weepingwith emotion as he toasted his junior officers with the fightingslogan of the regiment, 'Death before dishonour,5 which mightsound fine on a bellyful of chianti, but left a hollow feeling atfive in the morning on top of a breakfast of black bread andweak coffee.

The Third Battalion was in a collectively sombre mood asthe sun came up in a blaze of hot scarlet, forcing them almostimmediately to discard the greatcoats. The sun climbed into asky of burning blue and the men waited as patiently as oxen inthe traces. Someone once observed that war is ninety-nine percent boredom and one per cent unmitigated terror. The ThirdBattalion was learning the ninety-nine per cent.

Major Luigi Castelani sent yet another messenger to theColonel's quarters a little before noon, and this time received areply that the Count was now actually out of bed and had almostcompleted his toilet. He would join the battalion shortly. TheMajor swore with the practice of an old campaigner and set offwith his rolling swagger down the column to quell the mutinousmutterings from the half-mile-long column of canvas-coveredlorries sweltering in the midday sun.

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The Count came like the rising sun itself, glowing andglorious, flanked by two captains and preceded by a troopercarrying the battle standard which the Count had personallydesigned. It was based on the eagles of a Roman legion, com-plete with shrieking birds of prey and dangling silken tassels.

The Count floated on a cloud of bonhomie and expensiveeau de cologne. Gino got a few good shots of him embracinghis junior officers, and slapping the backs of the senior NCOs.At the common soldiers he smiled like a father and spurredtheir spleens with a few apt homilies on duty and sacrifice as hestrode down the column.

4 What a fine body of warriors,' he told the Major. 'I am movedto song.'

Luigi Castelani winced. The Colonel was frequently movedto song. He had taken lessons with the most famous teachers inItaly and as a younger man he had seriously considered a careerin opera.

Now he halted and spread his arms, threw back his head andlet the song flow in a deep ringing baritone. Dutifully, hisofficers joined in the stirring chorus of £La Giovinezza', theFascist marching song.

The Colonel moved slowly back along the patient column inthe sunlight, pausing to strike a pose as he went for a high note,lifting his right hand with the tip of the second finger lightlytouching the thumb, while the other hand grasped the be-jewelled dagger at his waist.

The song ended and the Colonel cried, 'Enough! It is time tomarch - where are the maps ?' and one of his subalterns hurriedforward with the map case.

'Colonel, sir,' Luigi Castelani intervened tactfully. 'The roadis well sign-posted, and I have two native guides'

The Count ignored him and watched while the maps werespread on the glistening bonnet of the Rolls.

'Ah!' He studied the maps learnedly, then looked up at histwo captains. 'One of you on each side of me,' he instructed.'Major Vito - you here! A stern expression, if you please, anddo not look at the camera.' He pointed with a lordly gesture at

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Johannesburg - four thousand miles to the south - and held thepose long enough for Gino to record it. Next, he climbed intothe rear seat of the Rolls and, standing, he pointed imperativelyahead along the road to the Danakil desert.

Mistakenly, Luigi Castelani took this as a command to ad-vance. He let out a series of bull-like bellows and the battalionwas galvanized into frantic action. Like one man, they scrambledinto the covered lorries and took their seats on the long benches,each in full marching order with a hundred rounds of ammuni-tion in his bandolier and a rifle between his knees.

However, by the time 690 men were embarked, the Colonelhad once more descended from the Rolls. It was an unfortunatechance that dictated that the Rolls should be parked directly infront of the casino.

The casino was a government-licensed institution underwhose auspices young ladies were brought out from Italy onsix-month contracts to cater to the carnal needs of tens ofthousands of lusty young men in a womanless environment.Very few of these ladies had the stamina to sign a renewal of thecontract and none of them found it necessary. Possessed of asubstantial dowry, they returned home to find a husband.

The casino had a silver roof of galvanized corrugated iron andits eaves and balconies were decorated with intricate cast-ironwork. The windows of the girls' rooms opened on to the street.

The young hostesses, who usually rose in the mid afternoon,had been prematurely awakened by the bellowing of orders andthe clash of weapons. They had traipsed out on to the longsecond-floor veranda, clad in brightly coloured but flimsy night-wear, and now entered into the spirit of the occasion, gigglingand blowing kisses to the officers. One of them had a bottle oficed Lacrima Cristi, which she knew from experience was theColonel's favourite beverage, and she beckoned with the colddewed bottle.

The Colonel realized suddenly that the singing and excite-ment had made him thirsty and peckish.

'A cup for the stirrup, as the English say,' he suggested jocu-larly, and slapped one of the captains on the shoulder. Most of

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his staff followed him with alacrity into the casino. A little afterfive o'clock, one of the junior subalterns emerged, slightly ine-briated, from the casino with a message from the Colonel to theMajor.

'At dawn tomorrow, we advance without fail.'

The battalion rumbled out of Asmara the following morning atten o'clock. The Colonel was feeling-liverish and disgruntled.The previous night's excitement had got out of hand, he hadsung until his throat was hoarse and had drunk great quantitiesof Lacrima Cristi, before going upstairs with two of the younghostesses.

Gino knelt on the seat of the Rolls beside him, holding anumbrella over his head, and the driver tried to avoid potholesand irregularities in the road. But the Count was pale and hisbrow sparkled with the sweat of nausea.

Sergeant Gino wished to cheer him. He hated to see hisCount in misery and so he attempted to rekindle the warlikespirit of yesterday.

'Think on it, my Count. We of the entire army of Italy willbe the very first to confront the enemy. The first to meet theblood-thirsty barbarian with his cruel heart and red hands.'

The Count thought on it as he was bidden. He thought onit with great concentration and increasing nausea. Suddenly hebecame aware that of all the 360,000 men that comprised theexpeditionary forces of Italy, he, Aldo Belli, was the very first,the veritable point of the spear aimed at Ethiopia. He remem-bered suddenly the horror stories he had heard from the disasterof Adowa. One of the atrocity stories outweighed all others - theEthiopians castrated their prisoners. He felt the contents of thatnoble sac between his thighs retracting forcibly and a freshsweat broke out upon his brow.

'Stop!' he shrieked at the driver. 'Stop, this instant.'

A bare two miles from the centre of the town, the column wasplunged into confusion by the abrupt halt of thef lead vehicle,and, answering the loud and urgent shouts of the commandingofficer, the Major hurried forward to learn that the order of

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march had been altered. The command car would take upstation in the exact centre of the column with six motorcycleoutriders brought back to ride as flank guards.

It was another hour before the new arrangement could be putinto effect and once more the column headed south and westinto the great empty land with its distant smoky horizons andits vast vaulted blue dome of the burning heavens.

Count Aldo Belli rode easier on the luxurious leather of theRolls, cheered by the knowledge that preceding him were threehundred and forty-five fine rubbery sets of peasant testiclesupon which the barbarian could blunt his blade.

The column went into bivouac that evening fifty-three kilo-metres from Asmara. Not even the Count could pretend thatthis was a forced march for motorized infantry - but the advan-tage was that a pair of motorcyclists could be sent back with adispatch for General De Bono reassuring him of the patriotism,the loyalty and the fighting ardour of the Third Battalion - and,of course, on their return the cyclists could carry blocks of icefrom the casino packed in salt and straw and stowed in the side-cars.

The following morning, the Count had recovered much of hisgood cheer. He rose early - at nine o'clock - and took a heartyalfresco breakfast with his officers under the shade of a spreadtarpaulin and then, from the rear seat of the Rolls, he gave theclenched fist cavalry order to advance.

Still in the centre of the column, pennants fluttering andbattle standard glittering, the Rolls glided forward and it looked,even to the disillusioned Major, as if they might make goodgoing of the day's march.

The undulating grassland fell away almost imperceptiblybeneath the speeding wheels, and the blue loom of the moun-tains on their right hand merged gradually with the lighterfiercer blue of the sky. The transition to desert country was sogradual as to lull the unobservant traveller. The intervals be-tween the flat-topped acacia trees became greater and the treesthemselves were more stunted, more twisted and spiky, as they

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progressed, until at last they ceased and the bushes of spinaCristi replaced them - grey and low and viciously thorned. Theearth was parched and crumbled, dotted with clumps of camelgrass - and the horizon was unbroken, enclosing them entirely.The land itself was so flat and featureless that it gave the illusionof being saucer-shaped, as though the rim of the land roseslightly to meet the sky.

Through this wilderness, the road was slashed like the clawmark of a predator into the fleshy red soil. The tracks were sodeeply rutted that the middle hump constantly brushed thechassis of the Rolls, and a mist of fine red dust stood in theheated air long after the column had passed.

The Colonel was bored and uncomfortable. It was becomingincreasingly clear, even to the Count, that the wildernessharboured no hostile horde, and his courage and impatiencereturned.

'Drive to the head of the column,' he instructed Giuseppe,and the Rolls pulled out and sped past the leading trucks, theCount bestowing a cheery salute on Castelani as he left himglowering and muttering behind him.

When Castelani caught up with him again, two hours later,the Count was standing on the burnished bonnet of the Rollsstaring through his binoculars at the horizon and doing anexcited little dance while he urged Gino to make haste in un-packing the special Mannlicher 9.3 mm sporting rifle from itsleather case. The weapon was of seasoned walnut, butt andstock, and the blued steel was inlaid with twenty-four-caratgold hunting scenes of the chase - boar and stag, huntsmen onhorseback and hounds in full cry. It was a masterpiece of thegunsmith's art.

Without lowering the binoculars, he gave orders to Castelanito erect the radio aerial and send a message of good cheer andenthusiasm to General De Bono, to report the magnificentprogress made by the battalion to date and assure him that theywould soon command all the approaches to the Sardi Gorge.The Major should also put the column into laager and set upthe ice machine while the Colonel undertook a reconnaissance

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patrol in the direction in which he was now staring so intently.

The group of big dun-coloured animals he was watchingwere a mile off and moving steadily away into the mirage-fevered distance, but their gracefully straight horns showeddark and long against the distant sky.

Gino had the loaded Mannlicher in the rear seat and theCount jumped down into the passenger seat beside the driver.Standing holding the windshield with one hand, he gave hisofficers the Fascist salute, and the Rolls roared forward, left theroad and careered away, weaving amongst the thorn scrub andbounding over the rough ground in pursuit of the distant herd.

The beisa oryx is a large and beautiful desert antelope. Therewere eight of them in the herd and with their sharp eyesightthey were in flight before the Rolls had approached within three-quarters of a mile.

They ran lightly over the rough ground, their pale beige hidesblending cunningly with the soft colours of the desert, but thelong wicked black horns rode proudly as any battle standard.

The Rolls gained steadily on the running herd, with theCount hysterically urging his driver to greater speed, ignoringthe thorn branches that scored the flawless sides of the big bluemachine as it passed. Hunting was one of the Count's manypleasures. Boar and stag were specially bred on his estates, butthis was the first large game he had encountered since his arrivalin Africa. The herd was strung out, two old bulls leading,plunging ahead with a light rocking-horse gait, while the cowsand two younger males trailed them.

The bouncing, roaring machine drew level with the lastanimal and ran alongside at a range of twenty yards. The gal-loping oryx did not turn its head but ran on doggedly after itsstronger companions.

'Halt,' shrieked the Count, and the driver stood on his brakes,the car broadsiding to rest in a billowing cloud of dust. TheCount tumbled out of the open door and threw up the Mann-licher. The barrel kicked up and the shots crashed out - the firstwas a touch high and it threw a puff of dust off the earth farbeyond the running animal - the second slapped into the pale

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fur in front of the shoulder and the young oryx somersaultedover its broken neck and went down in a clumsy tangle of limbs.

'Onwards!' shouted the Count, leaping aboard the Rolls as itroared away once again. The herd was already far ahead butinexorably the Rolls closed the gap and at last drew level. Againthe ringing crack of rifle-fire and the sliding, tumbling fall of aheavy pale body.

Cry Wolf

Like a paper chase, they left the wasteland littered with thepale bodies until only one old bull ran on alone. And he wascunning, swinging away westward into the broken ground forwhich he had clearly headed at the outset of the chase.

It was hours and many miles later when the Count lost allpatience. On the lip of another wadi he stopped the Rolls andordered Gino, protesting volubly, to stand at attention and offerhis shoulder as a dead-rest for the Mannlicher.

The beisa had slowed now to an exhausted trot, but the rangewas six hundred yards as the Count sighted across the inter-vening scrub and through heat-dancing air that swirled likegelatinous liquid.

The rifle-fire cracked the desert silences and the antelope kepttrotting steadily away, while the Count shrieked abuse at it andcrammed a fresh load of brass cartridges into the magazine.

The animal was almost beyond effective range now, but thenext bullet fired with the rear sight at maximum elevation fellin a long arcing trajectory and they heard the thump of thestrike, long after the beisa had collapsed abruptly and disap-peared below the line of grey scrub.

When they had found another crossing and forced the Rollsthrough the deep ravine, scraping the rear fender and dentingone of the big silver wheel-hubs, they came up to the spot wherethe antelope lay on its side. Leaving the rifle on the back seat inhis eagerness, the Count leapt out before the Rolls had stoppedcompletely.

'Get one of me completing the coup de grace? he shouted atGino, as he unholstered the ivory-handled Beretta and ran tothe downed animal.

The soft bullet had shattered the spinal column a few inches

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forward of the pelvis, paralysing the hindquarters, and theblood pumped gently from the wound in a bright rivulet downthe pale beige flank.

The Count posed dramatically, pointing the pistol at themagnificently horned head with its elaborate face-mask of darkchocolate stripes. Near by, Gino knelt in the soft earth focusingthe camera.

At the critical moment, the antelope heaved itself up into asitting position and stared with swimming agonized eyes intothe Count's face. The beisa is one of the most aggressive ante-lopes in Africa, capable of killing even a fully grown lion withits long rapier horns. This old bull weighed 450 lb and stoodfour feet high at the shoulder while the horns rose another threefeet above that.

The beisa snorted, and the Count forgot all about the levelledpistol in his hand in his sudden desperate desire to reach thesafety of the Rolls.

Leading the beisa by six inches, he vaulted lightly into theback seat and crouched on the floorboards, covering his headwith both arms while the beisa battered the sides of the Rolls,driving in one door and ripping the paintwork with the deadlyhorns.

Gino was trying to disappear into the earth by sheer pressure,and he was making a pitiful wailing sound. The driver hadstalled the engine, and he sat frozen in his seat and everytimethe beisa crashed into the Rolls, he was thrown so violentlyforward that his forehead struck the windshield, and he pleaded,'Shoot it, my Count. Please, my Count, shoot the monster.'

The Count's posterior was pointed to the sky. It was the onlypart of his anatomy that was visible above the rear seat of theRolls and he was shrieking for somebody to hand him the rifle,but not raising his head to search for it.

The bullet that had severed the beisa's spine had angled for-ward and pierced the lung as well. The violent exertions of thestricken animal tore open a large artery and, with a pitiful bel-low and a sudden double spurt of blood through the nostrils, itcollapsed.

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In the long silence that followed, the Count's pale face roseslowly above the level of the back door and he stared fearfullyat the carcass. Its stillness reassured him. Cautiously, he gropedfor the Mannlicher, lifted it slowly and poured a stream ofbullets into the inert beisa. His hands were shaking so violentlythat some of the shots missed the body and came perilouslyclose to where Gino still lay, producing a fresh outburst of wailsand more mole-like efforts to become subterranean.

Satisfied that the beisa was at last dead, the Count descendedand walked slowly towards a nearby clump of thorn scrub, buthis gait was bow-legged and stiff, for he had lightly soiled hismagnificently monogrammed silk underwear.

In the cool of the evening, the slightly crumpled Rolls returnedto the battalion bivouac. Draped over the bonnet and across thewide mudguards lay the bleeding carcasses of the antelopes.The Count stood to acknowledge the cheers of his troops, averitable triumphant Nimrod.

A radio message from General De Bono awaited him. It wasnot a reprimand, the General would not go that far, but itpointed out that although the General was grateful for theCount's efforts up to the present time, and for his fine senti-ments and loyal messages, nevertheless the General would bevery grateful if the Count could find some way in which tospeed up his advance.

The Count sent him a five-hundred-word reply ending, 'Oursis the Victory,' and then went to feast on barbecued antelopelivers and iced chianti with his officers.

Leaving the sailing and handling of the Hirondelle to his Mo-hammedan mate and his raggedy crew, Captain Papadopouloshad spent the preceding five days sitting at the table in his low-roofed poop cabin playing two-handed gin rummy with MajorGareth Swales. Gareth had suggested the diversion and it hadoccurred to the Captain by this time that there was somethingunnatural in the consistent run of winning cards which haddistinguished Gareth's play.

The agreed fare for transporting the cars and the four pas-

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sengers had totalled two hundred and fifty of sterling. TheCaptain's losses had just exceeded that figure, and Garethsmiled winningly at Papadopoulos and smoothed the goldenmoustaches.

'What do you say we give it a break now, Papa old sport, goup on deck and stretch the legs, what ?'

Having recovered the passage money, Gareth had accom-plished the task he had set himself, and he was now anxious toreturn to the open deck where Vicky Camberwell and Jake werebecoming much too friendly for his peace of mind. Every timeGareth had been forced by nature to make a brief journey to thepoop rail, he had seen the two of them together and they seemedto be laughing a great deal, which was always a bad sign. Vickywas in the forefront of any action, passing tools to Jake andoffering general encouragement, as he worked at fine-tuningthe cars and making last-minute preparations for the desertcrossing - or the two of them sat with Gregorius while amidstgreat hilarity he gave them basic lessons in the Amharic language.He wondered distractedly what else they were up to.

However, Gareth was a man sure of his priorities and his firstconcern was to recover his money from Papadopoulos. Havingdone so, he could now return to sheep-dogging Vicky Camber-well.

'It's been a lot of fun, Papa.' He half rose from the table,folding the grimy wad of banknotes into his back pocket andgathering the pile of coins with his free hand.

Captain Papadopoulos reached into the depth of the Arabicgown he wore and produced a knife with an ornately carvedhandle and a viciously curved blade. He balanced it lightly inthe palm of his hand and his single eye glittered coldly at Gareth.

'Deal!' he said, and Gareth smiled blandly and sank back intohis seat. He picked up the cards and cut them with a rippingsound and the knife disappeared into Papadopoulos' gown oncemore as he watched the shuffle intently.

'Actually, I do feel like a few more hands,' Gareth murmured.'Just getting warmed up, hey ?'

The slaver altered course as she cleared the tip of the great

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horn of Africa and rounded Cape Guardafui. Before her lay thelong gut of the Gulf of Aden and a run of five hundred mileswestward to French Somaliland.

The Hindu mate came down and whispered fearfully to hisCaptain.

'What troubles the fellow ?' Gareth asked.

'He worries about the English blockade.'

'So do I,' Gareth answered. 'Shouldn't we go up on deck ?'

'Deal,' said Papadopoulos.

Below them they heard the steady thumping beat of the bigdiesel engine begin, and the vibration of the propeller shaftspinning in its bed. The mate had her under sail and powernow, and the motion of the ship changed immediately, thethrust of the propeller combining with the push of the fullspread of her canvas, and she flew towards the vivid purple andpink flush of sky and piled cumulus cloud behind which the sunwas beginning to set.

The mate had set a course which would take him swiftlydown the middle of the Gulf, out of sight of Africa on his portside and Arabia on the starboard. The Hirondelle was makingtwenty-five knots, for the sea breeze was on her best point ofsailing and a day and two nights would see them in and outagain. He sent one of his best men to the masthead with a tele-scope and he wondered which the English viewed more sternly -young black girls in chains or Vickers machine-guns in woodencases. Mournfully he concluded that either of them would belethal and he shrilled at his masthead to keep a strict watch.

The sun was sinking with agonizing slowness, almost deadahead and the wind rose steadily, driving the Hirondelle ondeeper into the gut.

Jake Barton wriggled out of the engine hatch of Miss Wobblyand grinned at Vicky Camberwell who sat on the sponson abovehim swinging her long legs idly, with the wind in her hair andthe tan she had picked up in the last days gilding her arms andflushing at her cheeks. She had lost the dark rings of worry andthe paleness of fatigue, and looked now like a schoolgirl, youngand carefree and gay. o,

'That's the best I can do,' said Jake, beginning to scour theblack grease from his arms with Scrubbs Ammonia. 'She's run-ning so sweetly, I could take her out at Le Mans.' Her kneeswere at the level of Jake's eyes and her skirts had rucked uphigh. He felt his heart stop as he glanced down the smoothlength of her thigh. Her skin had a lustre and sheen, as thoughmade of some precious and rare substance. Vicky saw the direc-tion of his gaze and brought her knees together sharply, althougha smile touched her lips. She jumped down lightly on to thedeck, steadying herself against the Hirondelle's rolling actionwith a touch on the muscled hardness of his arm. Vickythoroughly enjoyed the admiration of an attractive male andGareth had been closeted in the Captain's cabin these last fivedays. She smiled up at Jake. He was tall but the bush of darkhair that curled around his ears gave him the look of a small boywhich was again quickly dispelled by the strong jaw line and thefine networks of creases that radiated from the outer corners ofhis eyes.

She realized suddenly that he was on the point of stoopingto kiss her, and she felt a delicious indecision - the slightestencouragement would set Jake on a violent collision course withGareth and might seriously endanger the whole expedition andthe story she wanted so badly. At that moment she noticed, asif for the first time, that Jake's mouth was wide and full and hislips were delicately shaped for the bigness and hairiness of him.His chin and cheeks were blued with a day's growth of beardand she knew it would feel rough and electric against her ownpeach-smooth cheeks. Suddenly she wanted to feel that, and shelifted her chin slightly and knew that he would read that want inthe sparkle of her eyes.

The masthead shrieked like a startled gull and instantly the Hirondelle was plunged into frantic activity. The Mohammedanmate echoed his shrieks, but at a higher volume, and his grubbyrobes flapped around him in the wind. His eyes rolled in hisdark brown skull and his toothless maw opened so wide thatJake could see the little pink glottis dangling in the back of histhroat.

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'What is it ?' Vicky demanded, her hand still on Jake's arm.

'Trouble,' he answered grimly, and they turned as the door ofthe poop cabin flew open and Papadopoulos rushed out with hisqueue twitching like the tail of a lioness and his single eye blink-ing rapidly. He still clutched a fan of cards in his right hand.

'One more card and I make gin!' he howled bitterly, andthrew the cards into the wind and grabbed the mate by thefront of his gown, shouting into his open but now silent mouth.

The mate pointed aloft and Papadopoulos dropped him andhailed the masthead in Arabic, and Jake listened to the swiftexchange.

'A British destroyer - sounds like “Dauntless”,' he muttered.

'You speak Arabic ?' Vicky asked, and Jake stilled the ques-tion irritably and listened again.

'The destroyer has seen us. She's altering course to intercept.'Jake looked quickly at the smouldering globe of the sun, thecrinkles around his eyes puckering up thoughtfully as he listenedto the heated argument in Arabic taking place on the poop deck.

'Are you two having fun ?' Gareth Swales asked, smiling butwith a glitter in his eyes as he glanced significantly at Vicky'shand still on Jake's arm. He had come out of the cabin assilently as a panther.

Vicky dropped her hand guiltily and immediately wished shehad not. She owed Gareth Swales no debts and she answeredhis stare defiantly, before turning back to Jake and finding himgone.

'What is it, Papa ?' Gareth called up at the poop-deck, andthe Captain snarled.

'Your Royal mucking Navy-that's what it is.' And he shookhis fist at the northern horizon. 'The Dauntless - she based atAden, blockade for slavers.'

'Where is she ?' Gareth's expression changed swiftly and hestrode to the rail.

'She's coming fast - masthead watching her. She'll be over thehorizon pretty damn quick.' Papadopoulos turned from Garethand roared a series of orders at his crew. Immediately theyswarmed down on to the main deck and gathered about the first

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car - it was Priscilla the Pig - swaying gently on her suspensionas the schooner plunged ahead.

'I say/ Gareth exclaimed. 'What are you up to ?'

'They catch me with arms aboard, big trouble,' Papadopoulosexplained. 'No arms, no trouble,' and he watched his men fallon the lines that secured the big white-painted vehicle. 'We dosame trick with slaves, they go down pretty damn fast with thechains.'

'Now, just hold on a shake. I paid you a fortune to transportthis cargo.'

'Where that fortune now, Major?' Papadopoulos shouteddown at him derisively. 'I got nothing in my pants - how aboutyou ?' and the Captain turned away to urge his men on.

The turret of Priscilla the Pig opened suddenly and from itemerged the head and shoulders of Jake Barton with his hairblowing in the wind and a Vickers machine-gun in his arms.He braced himself in the turret with the thick water-jacketedbarrel of the Vickers across the crook of his left arm, and thepistol grip firmly enclosed in his other hand. Across his shoulderwas draped a heavy necklace of belted ammunition.

He fired a roaring clattering burst, the tracer streaking infiery white balls of flame a mere twelve inches over the Cap-tain's head. The Greek threw himself flat on his deck, howlingwith terror, and his crew scattered like a flock of startled hens,while Jake looked down on them benignly from his post in theturret.

'I think we should understand each other, Captain. Nobodyis going to touch these machines. The only way you are goingto save your ship is by outsailing the Englishman,' Jake calledmildly.

'She can make thirty knots,' protested the Captain, still facedown on the deck.

'The longer you talk the less time you have,' Jake told him.'It'll be dark in twenty minutes. Turn away, and make a sternchase of it until it is dark.'

Papadopoulos rose uncertainly to his feet and stood blinkinghis one eye rapidly and miserably wringing his hands.

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'Kindly move your arse/ said Jake affably, and fired anotherburst of machine-gun bullets over his head.

The Captain dropped once again to the deck, howling theorders to bring the Hirondelle around on a course directly awayfrom the closing British warship.

As the schooner came around on to her new course, Jakecalled Gareth across to him, and handed him the machine-gun.'I want this bunch of bastards covered while I work with theGreek. You, Vicky and Greg can batten down the hatches onthe cars in the meantime.'

'Where did you get that gun ?' Gareth asked. 'I thought theywere all cased.'

'I like to keep a little insurance at all times,' Jake grinned, andGareth selected two cheroots from his case, lit them both, andpassed one up to Jake.

'Compliments of the management,' he said. 'I'm beginningto know why I picked you as a partner.' Jake stuck the cherootin the side of his mouth, exhaled a long blue feather of smokeand grinned jauntily.

'If you've got any pull with your Royal Navy, lad, then getready to use it.'

Jake stood in the deep canvas crows-nest at the crosstrees ofthe main mast, and swayed with a gut-swooping rhythm throughthe arc of the swinging mast as he tried to keep the grey silhouettethat closed them rapidly in the field of the telescope.

Although the warship was only ten miles off, already hershape was fading into the deepening dusk, for the sea breezehad chopped the surface to a wave-flecked immensity and thesun behind Jake was touching the watery horizon and throwingthe east into mysterious blue shade.

Suddenly a bright prick of light began winking rapidly fromthe hazy shape of the warship, and Jake read the urgent query.

'What ship ?' and Jake grinned and tried to judge how con-spicuous the schooner, with her mass of canvas, was to thedestroyer, and to decide the moment when he would trade speedfor invisibility.

The destroyer was signalling again.

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'Heave to or I will fire upon you.'

'Bloody pirates,' Jake growled indignantly, and cupped hishand to bellow down at the bridge.

'Get the canvas off her.' On the deck far below, he saw theGreek's face, pale in the dusk looking up at hini, then heardhis orders repeated and watched the motley crew climb swiftlyaloft.

Jake glanced back towards the tiny dark shape of the destroyeron the limitless dark sea and saw the angry red flash of her for-ward gun bloom in the dark. He remembered that flash so welland his skin crawled with the insects of fear as he waited out thelong seconds while the shell climbed high into the sombre skyand then fell towards the schooner.

He heard it come, passing overhead in a rising shriek, beforeit pitched into the sea half a mile ahead of Hirondelle . A swift,blooming pillar of spray gleamed in the last rays of the sun likepink Carrara marble and then was blown swiftly away on thewind.

The crewmen froze in the rigging, petrified by the howlingpassage of the shot, and then suddenly they were galvanizedinto frantic babbling activity and the gleaming white canvasdisappeared as swiftly as a wild goose furls its wings when itsettles on the lake surface.

Jake looked back at the destroyer and searched for secondsbefore he found her. He wondered what they would make of thedisappearance of the sails. They might believe the Hirondelle had obeyed the order to heave to, not guessing that she wasunder propeller power as well. Certainly she would have dis-appeared from their view, her low dark hull no longer beaconedby the towering white pyramid of canvas. He waited impatientlyfor the last few minutes until the warship itself was no longervisible from the masthead before bellowing down to the Greekthe orders that sent Hirondelle swinging away into the wind andpounding back into the head sea along her original track, side-stepping the headlong charge of the destroyer.

Jake held that course while the tropical night fell over theGulf like a warm thick blanket, pricked only by the cold white

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stars. He strained his eyes into the impenetrable blackness,chilled by the fear that the destroyer Captain might have double-guessed him and anticipated his turn. At any moment, heexpected to see the towering steel hull emerge at close rangefrom the night and flood the schooner with the brilliant whitebeams of her battle lights and hear the squawking peremptorychallenge of her bull horn.

Then suddenly, with a violent lift of relief, he saw the coldwhite fingers of the lights far behind - at least six miles away -at the spot where the destroyer had seen him taking in sail. TheCaptain had bought the dummy, believing that Hirondelle hadheaved to and waited for him to come up.

Jake threw back his head and laughed with relief before hecaught himself and began shouting new orders down to thedeck, swinging the schooner once again across the wind on thereciprocal of the warship's course, and beginning the longdelicate contest of skill in which the Hirondelle ducked andweaved on to her old course, while the warship plunged blindlyback and forth across the darkened Gulf, searching desperatelywith the mile-long beams of the battle lights for the dark andstinking hull of the slaver - or switching them off and runningunder full power with all her ports darkened in the hope oftaking Hirondelle unawares.

Once the destroyer Captain almost succeeded, but Jake caughtthe flashing phosphorescence of her bow-wave a mile off. Des-perately he yelled at the Greek to heave to and they lay silentand unseen while the low greyhound-waisted warship slid swiftlyacross their bows, her engines beating like a gigantic pulse, andwas swallowed once again by the night. The nervous sweat thatbathed Jake's shirt dried icy cold in the night wind as he put Hirondelle cautiously on course again.

Two hours later he saw the lights of the destroyer again, aglow of white light far astern, that pulsed like summer sheetlightning as the arc lamps traversed back and forth. Then therewas only the stars and many hours later the first steely light ofdawn growing steadily and expanding the circle of the dark seaaround the schooner.

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Chilled to the bone by the night wind and the long hours ofinactivity, Jake swept the horizon back and forth as the lightstrengthened, and only when he knew that it was empty of anytrace of the warship did he close the telescope, climb stiffly fromthe crows-nest and begin the long slow journey down the rig-ging to the deck below.

Papadopoulos greeted him like a brother, reaching up to hughim and breathe garlic in his face, and Vicky had the chop-boxopen and the primus stove hissing. She brought him an enamelmug of steaming black coffee and looked at him with a newrespect tinged with admiration. Gareth opened the hatch of theturret from which during the whole night he had commandedthe crew with a loaded Vickers machine-gun and came to fetchthe other mug of coffee from Vicky and gave Jake a cheroot asthey moved to the rail together.

'I keep underestimating you,' he grinned, as he cupped hishands around the flaring match he offered Jake. 'Just becauseyou are big -1 keep thinking you are stupid.'

'You'll get over it,' Jake promised him. Instinctively theyboth glanced across the deck at where Vicky was breaking eggsinto the pan - and they understood each other very clearly.

She shook them both awake a little before noon. They weresprawled on their blankets in the shade under one of the carstrying to catch up on the sleep they had missed that night.However, they followed Vicky without protest to the bows andthe three of them peered ahead at the low lion-coloured coastline, upon which the surf creamed softly and over which thehard aching blue shield of the sky blazed with an intensity thathurt the eyes.

There was no clear dividing line between earth and sky. Itwas blurred by the low mist of dust and heat that wavered andrippled like the yellow mane of the lion. Vicky wonderedwhether she had ever seen such an uninviting scene, and decidedshe had not. She began to compose the words with which shewould describe it to her tens of thousands of readers.

Gregorius came up to join the group. He had discarded thewestern dress and donned instead the traditional shamma and

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tight breeches. He had become the man of Africa once again,and the smooth chocolate-brown face, with its halo of dark thickcurls, was lit by the passion of the returning exile.

?You cannot see the mountains - the haze is too thick,' heexplained. 'But sometimes in the dawn when the air is cooler'and he stared into the west, with his longing expressed clearlyin the liquid flashing eyes and upon the full sculptured lips.

The schooner crept in shore, gliding over the shallows wherethe water was like that of a mountain stream, so clear that theycould make out every detail of the reef thirty feet down andwatch the shoals pf coral fish below like bejewelled cloudsthrough the crystal waters.

Papadopoulos turned the Hirondelle to approach the shore atan oblique angle so that the details of the coast resolved them-selves gradually and they saw the golden red beaches broken byheadlands and points of jagged rock, and beyond it the landrose gradually, barren and awful, speckled only with the lowscrubby spina Christi and camel grass.

For an hour they ran parallel with the shore, a thousand yardsoff, and the group by the rail stood and stared at it with fascina-tion. Only Jake had left the group and was making the prepara-tions to begin unloading, but he also came back to the rail whenabruptly a deep bay opened ahead of them.

'The Bay of Chains,' said Gregorius, and it was clear how ithad got its name, for, huddled under the cliffs of one headlandand protected from the prevailing winds and the run of the surfby the horn of land, were the ruins of the ancient slave city ofMondi.

Gregorius pointed it out to them, for it did not look like acity. It was merely an area of broken rock and stone blocks run-ning down to the water's edge. They were close enough now tomake out the roughly geometrical layout of smothered streetsand roofless buildings.

Hirondelle dropped anchor and snubbed up gently. Jakefinished his final preparations for unloading and crossed towhere Gareth stood by the rail.

'One of us will have to swim a line ashore.'

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'Spin you for it,5 suggested Gareth, and before Jake couldprotest he had the coin in his hand.

'Heads!' Jake looked resigned.

'Bad luck, old son. Give the sharks my love.5 Gareth smiledand stroked his moustache.

Jake balanced on the clumsy pontoon raft as it was lifted bythe donkey engine arid lowered over the side, dangling on theheavy lines.

It settled on to the surface and floated alongside as ungrace-fully as a pregnant hippo. Jake grinned up at Vicky who wasleaning over the rail, watching with interest.

'Unless you want to be blinded with splendour, you'd betterclose your eyes.5 For a moment she did not understand, butthen as he started to strip off his shirt and unbutton his pants,she turned modestly away.

With the end of a coil of light line tied about his waist Jakeplunged naked into the sea and struck out for the shore. Vicky'scuriosity got the better of her at this stage, and she glanced slylyoverboard. There was something so childlike and defencelessabout a man with his trousers off, she thought, as she consideredJake's bobbing white buttocks. She might develop that as atheme in one of her columns, she thought, and then realizedthat Gareth Swales was watching her with one mockingly raisedeyebrow, as he paid out the coil of line that snaked after Jake.She blushed pinkly under her tan and hurried away to makesure her typewriter and personal duffel bag were packed awayinto Miss Wobbly.

Jake touched bottom and waded ashore to secure the lineonto one of the stone blocks, and already the first car was on itswooden blocks, and, with the winch clattering, was being liftedover the side.

With each man performing his own task skilfully, one at atime the cars were lowered on to the bobbing raft. There itswheels were hastily lashed and it was hauled carefully towardsthe beach by the land line.

As soon as the raft ran aground on the sloping yellow sand,Jake started the engine while Gregorius clamped the foot-

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boards into place. Then with the engine revving noisily and theraft swaying dangerously, it rolled over the footboards and upthe slope to park well above the high-water mark. Then the raftwas hauled back alongside the schooner for its next load.

Although they worked as swiftly as safety would allow, thehours sped away just as swiftly, and it was late afternoon whenthe last load of fuel drums and wooden cases, with Vicky Cam-berwell sitting on top of the precarious load, made the shortcrossing to the beach.

Almost the instant it left the ship's side, the diesel thumpedinto life, the anchor chain rattled in over the bows and Papa-dopoulos gave the order to cast off the line of the raft.

By the time Vicky jumped down on the crunchy sand, the Hirondelle was moving steadily out between the horns of thebayj and spreading her wings of white canvas to the eveningbreeze. The four of them stood upon the beach in the loweringdusk and watched her go. None of them waved, and yet they allfelt a loss at her going. Stinking slaver, with a crew of pirates,yet she had been their link with the outer world. Hirondelle cleared the cliffs and caught the full drive of the wind, heeledeagerly and went away, with her wake leaving a long oily slickacross the surface long after she had disappeared into the Gulf.

Jake broke the spell of silence and loneliness that held them.

eAll right, my children. Let's make camp.'

They had landed on the open beach between the ruined cityand the headland, and now the evening wind was sweeping dustand grit across their exposed position.

Jake selected a sheltered hollow under the lee of the ruins,and they moved the cars up and parked them in the protectivehollow square of the laager.

The ancient buildings were choked with piled sand and thickwith the spiny camel-thorn growth that blocked the narrowstreets. While Jake and Gregorius checked the fuelling andlubrication of the vehicles, and Gareth scraped a fireplaceagainst a shielding stone wall, Vicky wandered off to explorethe ruins in the dusk.

She did not go far. A tangible sense of menace and human

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suffering seemed to emanate from the rubble of buildings thathad been burned over a century before. It made her skin crawl,but she picked her way cautiously along a narrow alleyway thatopened at last into an open square.

She knew instinctively that this had been the trading squareof the slave city and she imagined the long chained lines ofhuman beings. The pervading aura of their misery still per-sisted. She wondered if she could capture it on paper, and makeher readers see that it had not changed. Once again, a consum-ing greed was to place a nation in chains, once again hundredsof thousands of human beings would be forced to learn the samemisery that this city had engendered. She must write that, shedecided, she must capture the sense of outrage and despair shefelt now and convey it to the civilized peoples of the world.

A small scuffling sound distracted her and she looked down,then drew back with a shudder from the finger-length purplescorpion, with its lobster claws and the high curved tail bearinga single-hooked fang that scuttled towards the toe of her boot.She turned and hurried back along the alleyway.

The chill of horror stayed with her, so that she crossed grate-fully to the bright fire of thorn twigs that blazed under theruined wall. Gareth looked up as she knelt beside him and heldout her hands to the blaze.

'I was just coming to look for you. Better not wander off onyour own.'

'I can look after myself,' she told him quickly, with an edgeto her voice which was becoming familiar.

'I agree.' He smiled placatingly at her. CA bit too damnedwell, I sometimes think,' and he dug in his pocket.

'I found something in the sand as I was digging the fireplace.'He held out a broken circle of metal which gleamed yellow inthefirelight. It was fashioned as a snake bangle, with a serpent'sforged head and coiled body.

Vicky felt her irritation evaporate magically. cOh, Gary,' shelifted it in both hands, 'it's beautiful. Is it gold ?'

'I suspect it is.'

She slipped the heavy bangle over her wrist and admired it 102

with a glowing expression, twisting it to catch the light.

'Not one of them can resist a gift,' Gareth thought comfort-ably, watching her face in the dancing firelight.

'It belonged to a princess, who was famous for her beautyand her compassion to besotted suitors,' said Gareth lightly.'So I thought how fitting that you should have it.'

'Oh!' she gasped. 'For me.' And impulsively she leaned for-ward to kiss his cheek, and was startled when he turned his headquickly and her lips pressed full against his. For a moment shetried to pull away - and then it did not seem worth the effort.After all, it was a truly magnificent bracelet.

In the light of the single hurricane lamp, Jake and Gregoriuswere studying the large-scale map spread on the engine bonnetof Priscilla the Pig. Gregorius was tracing the route they musttake to the shed of the Awash River and lamenting the map'smany inaccuracies and omissions.

'If you had tried to follow this, you'd have got into serioustrouble, Jake.'

Jake looked up suddenly from the map, and thirty paces awayhe saw the two figures in the firelight come together and staythat way. He felt his pulse begin to pound and the blood comeup his neck, scalding hot.

'Let's get some coffee,' he grunted.

'In a minute,' Gregorius protested. 'First I want to show youwhere we have to cross the sand desert' He pointed at themap, tracing a route and not realizing that he was talking tohimself alone. Jake had left him to interrupt the action at the

fireside.

Vicky awoke in the first uncertain light of dawn to the realizationthat the wind had dropped. It had whistled dismally all night,so that now when she pulled back her blanket, it was thicklypowdered with golden grit and she could feel it stiff in her hairand crunchy between her teeth. One of the men was snoringloudly, but they were three long blanket-wrapped bundles closetogetiier, so she was not sure which of them it was. She fetched

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her toilet bag, towel and a change of underwear, then slippedout of the laager, climbed the slope of the dune and ran downto the beach.

The dawn was absolutely still, the surface of the bay assmooth as a sheet of pink satin as the glow of the hidden suntouched it. The silence was the complete silence of the desert,unbroken by bird or beast, wind or surf - and the dismay shehad felt the previous day evaporated.

She stripped off her clothing and walked down the wet sandthat the tide had smoothed during the night and waded out intothe pink waters, sucking in her belly against the sudden chill ofit, and gasping with pleasure as she squatted suddenly neckdeep and began to scrub her body of the night's grit and dirt.

When she waded ashore, the sun was cresting the sweepingwatery horizon of the Gulf. The tone of light had altereddrastically. Already the soft hues of dawn were giving way tothe harsher brilliance of Africa to which she had becomeaccustomed.

She dressed quickly, bundling her used underwear in thetowel and combing her wet hair as she climbed the dune. Atthe crest, she halted abruptly with the comb still caught in thetangle of her hair and she gasped again as she stared out into thewest.

As Gregorius had told them, the still cool air and the peculiarlight of the rising sun created a stage effect, foreshortening thehundred miles of flat featureless desert and throwing up into thesky the sheer massif of the highlands, so that it seemed shemight stretch out her hand and touch it.

It was dark purplish blue in the early light, but as Vickywatched in awe, it changed colour like some gargantuanchameleon, becoming gilded with the bright sun colours andbeginning at the same time to recede swiftly, until it was a palewraith that dissolved into the first dancing heat mirages of thedesert day, and she felt the sultry puff of the rising wind.

She roused herself and hurried down the dune into the laager.Jake looked up from the pan of beans and bacon that was splut-tering over the fire and grinned at her.

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'Five minutes for breakfast.' He spooned a mess of food intoher pannikin and offered it to her. 'I thought about night travelto avoid the heat - but the chance of smashing up the cars onrough going was too great.'

Vicky took the food and ate with high relish, pausing only tostare at Gareth Swales as he came to the fire freshly shaven andperfectly groomed, wearing a spotless open-neck shirt and abaggy pair of plus-four trousers in an expensive thorn-prooftweed. His brogues gleamed with polish, and he smoothed hisgolden moustaches and raised an eyebrow when Jake explodedwith delightful laughter.

'Jesus,' he laughed. 'Anyone for golf?'

'I say, old son,' Gareth admonished him, amiably running aneye over Jake's faded moleskins, scruffed Chukka boots andplaid shirt with a tear in the sleeve. 'Your breeding is showing.Just because we are in Africa, there is no need to go native,what ?' Then he glanced at Gregorius and flashed that brilliantsmile. 'No offence, of course, I must say you look jolly dashingin that get-up.'

Gregorius swathed in his shamma looked up from his break-fast and returned the smile. 'East is east, and west is west,' hesaid.

'Old Wordsworth certainly knew his stuff,' Gareth agreed,and dipped a spoon into the pan.

The four vehicles, grotesquely burdened and strung out atintervals of two hundred yards to avoid each other's dust,crawled out of the coastal dunes into the vast littoral where thewind rustled endlessly but brought no relief from the steadilyrising heat.

Jake was pointing the column on a compass-bearing slightlysoutherly of that which he would have chosen without Gregorius'advice. They aimed to pass below the sprawling salt pans whichGregorius warned were treacherous going.

For the first two hours, the fluffy yellow earth offered noserious obstacle to their passage, except that the narrow solid

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tyres cut in deeply and created a wearying drag that kept thespeed down below ten miles an hour and the old engines grind-ing in the lower gears,

Then the earth firmed, but was strewn with black stones thathad been rounded and polished by the grit-laden wind andvaried in size from acorns to ostrich eggs. Their speed droppedaway a little more as the cars bounced and jolted over thismurderous surface, and the black rock threw the heat back atthem, so they rode with all hatches and engine-louvres wideopen. Though all of them, including Vicky, had stripped totheir underwear, still they ran with sweat that dried almostimmediately it oozed from their pores. The exposed metal ofthe cars, although it was painted white, would blister the handthat touched it, and the engine heat and stench of hot oil andfuel in the driver's compartments was swiftly becoming unbear-able as the sun climbed to its zenith.

Cry Wolf

An hour before noon, Priscilla the Pig blew the safety valveon her radiator and sent a shrieking plume of steam high intothe air. Jake earthed the magneto and stopped her immediately.He climbed, half-naked and shiny with sweat, from the turretand shaded his eyes to peer out across the wavering heat-distorted plain. There was no horizon in this haze and visibilitywas uncertain after a few hundred yards. Even the other vehicleslumbering far behind him seemed monstrous and unreal.He waited for the others to come up before calling,'Switch off. We can't go on in this - the engine oil will bethin as water, and we'll ruin all the bearings if we try. We'llwait for it to cool a little.'

Thankfully, they climbed from the cars and crawled into theshade of the chassis where they lay panting like dogs while Jakewent down the line with a five-gallon tin of blood-warm waterand gave them each as much as they could drink before collaps-ing on the blanket beside Vicky.

'It's too hot to walk back to my own car,' he explained, andshe took it with good grace, merely nodding and closing onemore button of herhalf-open blouse.Jake wet his handkerchief from the water can and offered it to

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her. Gratefully, she wiped her neck and face and sighed withpleasure.

'It's too hot to sleep,' she murmured. 'Entertain me, Jake.'

'Well now I' he grinned, and she laughed.

'I said it's too hot. Let's talk.'

'About?'

'About you. Tell me about you - what part of Texas are youfrom?'

'All of it. Wherever my pa could find work.'

'What did he do?'

'Wrangled cattle, and rode rodeo.'

'Sounds fun.'

Jake shrugged. 'I preferred machines to horses.'

'Then?'

'There was this war, and they needed mechanics to drivetanks.'

'Afterwards ? Why didn't you go home ?'

'Pa was dead - a steer fell on him, and it wasn't worth thejourney to go collect his old saddle and blanket.'

They were silent for a while, just lying and riding the solidwaves of heat that came olf the earth.

'Tell me about your dream, Jake,' she said at last.

'My dream ?'

'Everybody has a dream.'

He smiled ruefully. 'I've got a dream' he hesitated, 'thereis this idea of mine. It's an engine, the Barton engine. It's allthere.' He tapped his forehead. 'All I need is the money to buildit. For ten years, I've tried to get it together. Nearly had it acoup}e of times.'

'After this trip, you will have it,' she suggested.

'Perhaps.' He shook his head. 'I've been too sure too manytimes to make any bets, though.'

'Tell me about the engine,' she said and he talked quietly buteagerly for ten minutes.

It was a new design, a lightweight, economical design. 'Itwould drive anything, water pump, saw mill, motorcycle, thatsort of thing.' He was intent, happy, she saw. 'I'd only need a

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small workshop to begin with, some place back west-I'vethought about Fort Worth5 he stopped himself, and glancedat her. 'Sorry, I was running on a bit.'

'No,' she said quickly. 'I enjoyed listening. I hope it worksout for you, Jake.'

He nodded. 'Thanks.' And they rode the heat for a few moreminutes in companionable silence.

'What's your dream ?' he asked at last, and she laughed lightly.

'No, tell me,' he insisted.

'There is this book. It's a novel -1 have thought about it foryears. I have written it in my head a hundred times - all I haveto do is find the time and the place to write it on paper' shebroke off, and then laughed again. 'And then, of course, itsounds corny - but I think about kids and a home. I have beentravelling too long.'

'I know what you mean.' Jake nodded. 'That's a good dreamyou've got,' he said thoughtfully. 'Better than mine.'

Gareth Swales heard the murmur of their voices and raisedhimself on one elbow. For a while he thought seriously aboutcrossing the dozen yards of sunbaked black stones to where theylay - but the effort required was just too much and he fell back.A fist-sized rock jarred his kidneys and he cursed quietly.

It was five o'clock before Jake judged they could start enginesagain. They refuelled from the cans strapped on the sponsons,and once more they set off in column at an agonized walkingpace over the rough surface, each jolt shaking driver and vehiclecruelly.

Two hours later, the plain of black boulders ended abruptly,and beyond it stretched an area of low red sand hills. ThankfullyJake increased speed and the column sped towards a sunset thatwas inflamed by the dust-laden sky until it filled half the heavenswith great swirls of purple and pink and flaming scarlets. Thedesert wind dropped and the air was still and heavy with memoryof the day's heat. Each vehicle drew a long dark shadow behindit and threw up a fat rolling sausage of red dust into the airabove it.

The night fell with the tropical suddenness that is alarming 108

to those who have known only the gentle dusks of the northerncontinents. Jake calculated that they had covered less thantwenty miles in a day of travel and he was reluctant to call ahalt, now that they had hit this level going and were bowlingalong with engine temperatures dropping in the cool of nightand the drivers' tempers cooling in sympathy. Jake took a bear-ing off Orion's belt as the easiest constellation, then he switchedon the headlights and looked back, to see that the others hadfollowed his example. The lights threw a brilliant path a hun-dred yards ahead of Jake's car, giving him plenty of time toavoid the odd thick clump of thorn scrub, and occasionallytrapping a large grey desert hare, dazzling it so that its eyesblazed diamond bright before it turned and loped, long-legged,ahead of the car, seemingly unable to break out of the path oflight, dodging and doubling with its long floppy ears laid alongits back, until at the last instant it ducked out from under thewheels and dived into the darkness.

He was just deciding to call a halt for food and drink, with apossible further march later that night, when the sand hillsdropped away gradually and in the headlights he saw ahead ofhim a glistening white expanse of perfectly level sand, as smoothand as inviting as the Brooklands motor-racing circuit.

Jake changed up into high gear for the first time that day, andthe car plunged forward eagerly - for a hundred yards - beforethe thick hard crust of the salt pan collapsed and the heavychassis fell through, belly deep, floundering instantly so thatJake was thrown violently forward at the abrupt halt, strikinghis shoulder and forehead painfully on the steel visor.

The engine shrieked in the frenzy of high revolutions andlifting valves before Jake recovered himself, then slammed thethrottle closed. He dragged himself from the turret to signal ahalt to the following vehicles, and then mournfully clambereddown to inspect the heavily bogged vehicle. Gareth walked outacross the snowy surface of the pan, and stood beside him sur-veying the damage intently.

'Let him make one crack,' Jake thought through the mists ofhis anger and frustration. He felt his hands curling into big bonyhammers. 109

'Cheroot?' Gareth offered him the case, and Jake felt hisanger deflate slightly.

'Good place to camp tonight,' Gareth went on. 'We'll seeabout hauling her out in the morning.' He clapped Jake'sshoulder. 'Come on, I'll buy you a warm beer.'

'I was waiting for you to say something, anything but that -and I would have swung on you.' Jake shook his head, grinningwith surprise at Gareth's perception.

'You think I didn't know that, old son ?' Gareth grinned backat him.

Vicky woke in the hours immediately after midnight whenhuman vitality is at its lowest, and the night was utterly silent -except for the gentle sound of one of the men snoring. Sherecognized the sound from the previous evening, and wonderedwhich of diem it was. Something like that could influence agirl's decision, she thought, imagine sleeping every night ofyour life in a saw mill.

It was not that which had woken her, however. Perhaps itwas the cold. The temperature had plunged in that phenomenaltemperature range of the desert, and she drew her blanketstighter over her shoulder and settled to sleep again - when thesound came again and she shot upright into a rigid sittingposition.

It was a long-drawn rolling, rattling sound, quite unlike any-thing she had ever heard before. The sound rose to a pitchwhich clawed her nerves, and then ended in a series of deep gut-shaking grunts. It was so fierce and menacing a sound that shefelt the slow ice of terror spreading through her body. Shewanted to shout to the others, to wake them, but she was afraidto draw attention to herself and she sat frozen and wide-eyed inthe next silence - waiting for it to happen again.

'It's all right, Miss Camberwell.' Vicky started at the quietvoice. 'It's miles away. Nothing to worry about.' And she lookedround to see the young Ethiopian, still wrapped in his blanketswatching her.

'My God, Greg - what on earth is it ?'

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'A lion, Miss Camberwell,' Gregorius explained, obviouslysurprised that she did not recognize such a commonplace sound.

'A lion ? That is a lion roaring ?' She had not expected it tosound anything like that.

'My people say that even a brave man is frightened threetimes by a lion - and the first time is when he hears it roar.'

'I believe it,' she whispered. 'I truly do.' And she picked upher blankets and went to where Jake and Gareth slept on, un-disturbed. She lay down carefully between them, and felt a littleeasier that the lion had now a wider choice, but still she did notsleep.

Count Aldo Belli had retired to his tent with the sincerest andfirmest resolve that in the morning he would press forward tothe Wells of Chaldi. The General's pleas had touched him.Nothing would check him now, he decided, as he composedhimself to sleep.

He woke in the utter dark of the dog hours to find that theChianti he had drunk at dinner was now exerting internalpressure. Where a lesser man might have slipped without cere-mony from his bed to deal with this problem, the Count didthings in greater style.

He lay back on his pillows and let out a single loud bellow,and immediately there was the frantic activity in the night, andwithin minutes Gino had arrived with a bull's-eye lantern,hastily dressed in a camelhair gown, and tousle-haired and owl-eyed with sleep. He was followed by the Count's personal valetand his galloper, all in the same state of freshly awoken bewil-derment.

The Count stated his physical needs, and the dedicated groupgathered around his bed solicitously. Gino helped him up asthough he were an invalid, the valet held a dressing-gown ofquilted blue Chinese silk, embroidered with ferocious scarletdragons, and then knelt to place a calf-skin slipper on each of theCount's feet, while his aide hastened to kick the Count's personalguard awake and fall them in outside the tent.

The Count emerged from the tent and a small procession,

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well armed and lighted, filed down to the latrine which had beendug exclusively for the Count's personal use. Gino entered firstand checked the small thatched edifice for snakes, scorpions andbrigands. Only when he emerged and declared it safe did theCount enter. His escort stood to attention and listened respect-fully to the copious outpouring taking place within - until theywere interrupted by the sky-shaking, earth-rattling, heart-stopping roar of a male lion.

The Count shot from the latrine, his face a startled glisteningwhite in the lantern light.

'Sweet and merciful Mother of God!' he cried. 'What in thename of Peter and all the saints is that ?'

Nobody could answer him, in fact nobody showed any interestin the question whatever, and the Count had to move swiftly tocatch up with his armed escort which had already started backtowards the bivouac in a sprightly fashion.

Once within the security of his own brightly lit tent, andsurrounded by his hastily assembled staff, the Count's pulse ratereturned to normal, and one of his officers suggested that thenative Eritrean guides be sent for and questioned on the terriblenight sounds that had plunged the entire battalion into conster-nation.

'Lion ?' said the Count, and then again, 'Lion!' Instantly theformless terrors of the night evaporated, for by this time thefirst light of dawn was gleaming in the east, and the Count'sbreast swelled with the fierce instincts of the huntsman.

'It appears, my Colonel, that the beasts will be feeding on theantelope carcasses that you left lying out on the desert,' theinterpreter explained. 'The smell of blood has attracted them.'

'Gino,' snapped the Count. 'Fetch the Mannlicher and havethe driver bring the Rolls-Royce to my tent immediately.'

'My Colonel,' protested Major Luigi Castelani. 'The batta-lion, by your own orders, is to march at dawn.'

'Countermanded!' snapped the Colonel. Already he imaginedthe magnificent trophy skin spread before his Louis XIV deskin the library of his castle. He would have it prepared with wideopen jaws, flashing white fangs and fierce yellow glass eyes. The

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picture of open jaws and fangs suddenly reminded him withconsiderable force of his nerve-racking brush with the beisaoryx.

'Major,' he ordered, 'I want twenty men to accompany me,a truck to transport them, full battle order, and one hundredrounds of ammunition each.' The Count was not about to takeany more silly chances.

The lion was a fully mature male, six years of age, and, likemost of the desert strain of leo panther a, he was much largerthan the forest lions. He stood well over three feet high at theshoulder, and he weighed in excess of four hundred pounds.The late sun enhanced the sleek reddish ochre of his skin andtransformed his mane into a glowing halo of gold. The manewas dense and long, framing the broad flattened head, reachingfar back beyond the shoulder, and hanging so low under hischest and belly as almost to sweep the earth.

He walked stiffly, head held very low and swinging heavilyfrom side to side with each laborious step. His breathing camewith a low explosive grunt at each exhalation, and occasionallyhe stopped and swung his head to snap irritably at the buzzingblue cloud of flies that swarmed about the wound in his flank.Then he would lick at the small dark hole from which palewatery blood oozed steadily. The long pink tongue curled outand, rough as shagreen, rasped against the supple hide. Theconstant licking had worn away the hair around the wound,giving it a pale shaven appearance.

The 9.3 Mannlicher billet had caught him at the instant hehad begun to turn away to run. It had angled in from two inchesbehind the last rib, striking with a force of nine tons that hadbowled the lion down, rolling him in a cloud of pale dust. Thecopper-jacketed bullet was tipped with soft expanding lead, andit mushroomed as it raked the belly cavity, lacerating the bowelsand tearing four large abdominal veins. The slug had passedclose enough to the kidneys to bruise both of them severely, sonow, when the lion stopped, arched his back and crouched to

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pass a spattering of blood-stained urine, he groaned like the rollof drums at an execution. Then, finally, the bullet had struckthe arch of the pelvic girdle and lodged there against the bone.

After the first massive shock of impact, the lion had rolled tohis feet and flattened into a dead streaking rim, jinking awaybelow the level of the coarse scrub. Although a dozen morebullets had thrown up soft jumping spurts of dust around him,one so close as to throw grit into his eyes, not another touchedhim.

There had been seven lions in the pride. Another older,heavier, darker-maned male, two younger daintier breedingfemales, one with her lithe-waisted body thickened with theheavy bearing of young in her womb, and three immature ani-mals still dappled with their cub spots and boisterous as kittens.

The younger male was the only one to survive that longshattering roll of rifle fire, and now as he moved on he felt thethick jelly-like weight of congealing blood sloshing back andforth across his belly cavity at each step. There was a heavylethargy slowing his movements, but thirst drove him onwards.Thirst was a scalding agony that consumed his whole body, andthe lower pools of the Awash River were a dozen miles ahead.

In the dawn Priscilla the Pig was heavily bogged down on herbelly with all four wheels helpless in the porridge of pale saltmire below the crust of the pan.

Jake stripped to the waist and swung the long two-handedaxe relentlessly, while the others gathered the piles of thornyscrub he mowed down, and, cursing at the pricks and scratches,carried them out across the snowy surface of the pan.

Jake worked with a self-punishing fury, angry with his lackof attention which had bogged the car and was going to costthem a day at the least. It was no valid excuse that exhaustionand heat had clouded his judgement - that he had not recog-nized the treacherous smooth white surface of the pan - forGregorius had warned him specifically of this hazard. Heworked with the axe from an hour before sunrise until the heat

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had climbed with the sun and a small mountain of cut branchesstood beside the car.

Then Gareth helped him build a firm foundation of flatstones and thicker branches under the engine compartment ofthe car. They had to lie on their sides and grovel in the dust toget the big screw jack set up on the base and they slowly liftedthe front of the car, turning the handle between them.

As the front wheels rose an inch a time, Vicky and Gre-gorius packed the wiry scrub branches under them. It was slowand laborious work which had to be repeated at the rear of thecar.

It was past noon before Priscilla the Pig stood forlornlybalanced on four piles of compacted branches - but her bellywas clear of the surface.

4 What do we do now ?' Gareth asked. 'Drive her back ?'

'One spin of the wheels will kick that trash out and she'll bogdown again,' Jake grunted, and wiped his sweat-glistening cheston the bundled shirt in his hand. He looked at Gareth and felt aflare of irritation that after five hours' work in the sun, aftergrovelling on his belly in the dust, and heaving on the jackhandle, the man had barely raised a sweat, his clothes were un-marked and - final provocation - his hair was still neatly combed.

Working under Jake's direction, they cut and laid a corduroyof branches back to the hard ground at the edge of the pan.This would distribute the weight of the vehicle and prevent itbreaking through the crust again.

Then Vicky manoeuvred and reversed Miss Wobbly down tothe edge of the pan and lined her up with the causeway ofbranches. The men joined three coils of the thick manila lineand carried it out to the stranded vehicle, unrolling it behindthem as they went, until at last the two cars were joined by thatfragile thread.

Gareth climbed in and took the wheel of Priscilla while Jakeand Gregorius, armed with two of the thickest branches, stoodready to lever the wheels.

'You any good at praying, Gary ?' Jake shouted.

'Not my strong suit, old son.'

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'Well, stiffen the old upper lip then.' Jake mimicked him, andthen let out a bellow at Vicky who acknowledged with a wavebefore her golden head disappeared into the driver's hatch ofMiss Wobbly. The engine beat accelerated and the line came uptaught as Miss Wobbly rolled forward up the incline above thepan.

'Keep the wheels straight,' shouted Jake, and he and Gre-gorius threw their weight on the branches, giving just that ounceof leverage sufficient to transfer part of the vehicle's weight onto the corduroyed pathway.

Slowly, ponderously, the cumbersome vehicle rolled backacross the pan, until she reached the hard ground and the fourof them shouted with relief and triumph.

Jake retrieved two celebratory bottles of Tusker beer fromhis secret hoard, but the liquid was so warm that half of itexploded in a fizzing gush from the mouth of each bottle as itwas opened, and there was only a mouthful for each of them.

'Can we reach the lower Awash by nightfall ?' Jake demanded,and Gregorius looked up and judged the angle of the sun beforereplying.

'If we don't waste any more time,' he said.

Still on a compass heading, and giving the salt-white pans awide berth, the column ground on steadily into the west.

In the mid afternoon they reached the sand desert, with itstowering whale-backed dunes throwing lovely lyrical shadowsin the hollows between. The colour of the sand varied fromdark purple to the softest pinks and talcum white, and was sofine and soft that the wind blew long smokelike plumes fromthe crest of each dune.

Under Gregorius's direction they turned northwards, andwithin half an hour they had found the long narrow ridge ofironstone that bisected the sand desert and formed a narrowcauseway through the shifting dunes. They crept slowly acrossthis rocky bridge, following its winding course for twelve miles,while the dunes rose on each side of them.

Vicky thought that this was much like the passage of the RedSea by the fleeing Israelites. Even the dunes seemed like frozen

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waves that might at each moment come crashing down to swampthem - and she despaired that she could ever adequately describethe wild and disordered beauty of this multi-coloured sea ofsand.

They emerged at last and with startling suddenness in o thedry flat grasslands of the Ethiopian lowlands. The desert properwas at last behind them - and although this was a harsh andarid savannah, there was, at least, the ©ccasional thorn tree andan almost unbroken carpet of sered grass amongst the lowthorny scrub. Although the grass was so fine and dry that allcolour had been bleached from it by the sun, it shone silver andstiff as though coated with hoar frost.

Most cheering of all was the distant but discernible blueoutline of the far mountains. Now they hovered at the edge oftheir awareness, a far beacon calling them onward.

Over the short crisp grass, the four vehicles roared forwardjoyously, bumping through an occasional ant-bear hole andflattening the clumps of low thorn that stood in their way asthey plunged ahead.

In the last glimmering of the day, just when Jake had decidedto halt the day's march, the flat land ahead of them openedmiraculously and they looked down into the steep boulder-strewn gorge of the Awash River fifty feet below them. Theyclimbed out of the parked vehicles and gathered stiffly in a smallgroup on the lip of the ravine.

'There is Ethiopia, two hundred yards away. It's two yearssince last I stood upon the soil of my own country,' saidGregorius, his big dark eyes catching the last of the light. Hestopped himself and explained. 'The river rises in the highcountry near Addis Ababa and comes down one of the gorgesinto the lowland. A short distance downstream from here itends in a shallow swamp. There its waters sink away into thedesert sand and disappear. Here we are standing on Frenchterritory still, ahead of us is Ethiopia, there far to the north isItalian Eritrea.'

'How far is it to the Wells of Chaldi ?' Gareth interrupted.That for him was the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold.

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Gregorius shrugged. 'Another forty miles, perhaps.'

'How do we get across this lot ?' Jake muttered, staring downinto the dim depths of the ravine where the shallow pools stillglowed dull silver.

'Upstream there is an old camel route to Jibuti,5 Gregoriustold him. 'We might have to dig out the banks a little, but Ithink we'll be able to cross.'

'I hope you are right,' Gareth told him. 'It's a long way home,if we have to go back.'

The view of water that she had glimpsed in the depths of theravine haunted Vicky Camberwell during the night. Shedreamed of foaming mountain streams and spilling waterfalls,of moss-covered boulders, swaying green ferns about a deepcold pool, and she awoke, restless and tired, with sweat plaster-ing her hair to her neck and forehead. There was just the firstpromise of dawn in the sky.

She thought that she was the only one awake and she creptinto the vehicle and fetched her towel and toilet bag, but as shejumped down to the ground she heard the clink of spanner onsteel and she saw Jake stooped over the engine compartment ofhis car.

She tried to sneak away before he saw her, but he straightenedsuddenly.

'Where are you going ?' he demanded. 'As if I didn't know.Listen, Vicky, I don't like you wandering around out of campon your own.'

'Jake Barton, I feel so filthy I can smell myself. Nothing andnobody is going to stop me getting down to the river.'

Jake hesitated. 'I'd better come down with you.'

'This isn't the Folies Bergere, my dear,' she laughed, and hehad learned enough not to argue with this lady. He watched herhurry to the lip of the ravine and disappear down the steep slopewith vague misgivings, for which he could find no real sub-stance.

The earth and loose stone rolled easily underfoot, and Vicky 118

restrained her impatience and picked her way carefully towardsthe water, until she reached a narrow game trail that tippeddown at a more comfortable angle, and she followed it withrelief. Her footsteps, falling silently on to the soft earth, followedfaithfully the string of round five-toed pad marks, larger than asaucer, which had been plugged deeply by the heavy weight ofthe animal that had made them. Vicky did not look down, how-ever, and if she had, it was doubtful if she would have recog-nized what she was seeing. The faintly reflected light of thepools drew her like a beacon.

When she reached the bottom of the ravine, she found thatthe river was so shrunken that it was no longer flowing. Thepools were shallow, stagnant and still warm from the previousday's sun. The storm waters of the Awash had cut downthrough the softer upper layers of earth until they exposed thesheet of hard black ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.

Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and steppeddown into one of the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasur-able feel of water on her skin. She sat waist-deep and scoopedhandfuls of water over her face and breasts, washing away thedust and salt-sticky sweat of the desert.

Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottleof shampoo from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftlyworked up a thick coating of white suds that covered her headand ran down her neck on to her bare shoulders.

She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wethead like a turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool andsoaping her entire body, delighting at the slipperiness of thesuds and their fragrance. By the time she was finished, the lighthad strengthened and she knew that the others would be up andchafing to resume the march.

She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded thepool and stood for a moment to feel the first gentie movementof the morning breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly shehad a strong sensation that she was being watched. She turnedswiftly, half crouching, her hands flying instinctively to coverher bosom and her groin.

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The eyes that watched her were of a savage golden colour,and the pupils were glistening black slits. The stare was steadyand unblinking.

The huge reddish-gold beast crouched on a level ledge of rock,halfway up the far bank of the ravine. It lay with its forepawsdrawn up under its chin and there was a sense of deadly stillnessabout it that was chilling, although Vicky did not readily recog-nize what she was seeing.

Then very slowly the dark ruff of the mane came erect, swell-ing out around the head and exaggerating its already impressivebulk. Then the tail twitched and began to slash back and forthwith the steady beat of a metronome.

Suddenly Vicky knew what it was. She heard again in herimagination the echoes of that terrible sound in the night - andshe screamed.

Jake had just completed the adjustments he was making to theignition of his car and closed the engine cowling. He picked upthe fluted bottle of Scrubbs Cloudy Ammonia to dissolve thegrease from his hands. At that instant he heard the scream andhe began to run without a conscious thought.

The scream was so high and shrill, an expression of mortalterror, that Jake's heart raced in sympathy and when the screamcame again, if anything shriller still, he leaped the bank andwent sliding and running down the steep slope of the ravine.

It was only seconds from when he heard the first scream untilhe came skidding and sliding down on to the rocky floor of theravine beside the pool.

He saw the naked girl crouching at the edge of the pool, bothhands pressed to her mouth. Her body was pale and slim, withthe small tight round buttocks of a lad and long graceful legs.

c Vicky,' he shouted. eWhat is it ?'

And she turned quickly to him, her breasts swinging heavilyat the movement, round and white with large pink nipplesstanding out tightly with cold and shock. Even in the extremityof the moment, he could not help but glance down at the smoothvelvety plain of her belly and the fluffy dusky triangle at its base.Then she was running towards him on those long coltish legs,

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and her face was deadly white, and the speckled green eyes hugeand swimming with rampant terror.

'Jake,' she cried. 'Oh God, Jake,5 and then he saw movementbeyond her, halfway up the bank of the water course.

The wound had stiffened during the night, almost paralysingthe lion's hindquarters, and the torn entrails were leaking poisonand infection into the belly cavity. It had slowed the animal sodrastically that the natural reflexive anger which the sight of ahuman form had roused was not strong enough to precipitatethe charge.

However, the sound of a human voice immediately invokedmemories of the hunters who had inflicted this terrible achingagony and the anger flared higher.

Then suddenly there was another of the hated two-leggedfigures, more noise and movement, all of this enough to counterthe stiffness and paralysing lethargy. The lion rose slightly outof his crouch and he growled.

Jake ran four paces to meet Vicky and she tried to throw herarms about his neck for protection, but he avoided the embraceand grasped her upper arm with his left hand, his fingers dig-ging so deeply into her flesh that the pain steadied her. Usingthe impetus of her nm, he swung her on towards the path thatclimbed the slope.

'Run,5 he shouted. 'Keep running.5 And he turned back toface the crippled animal as it launched itself from the ledge intothe bed of the river.

It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a fullbottle of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came boundingswiftly through the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despitethe wounds, it flowed with a lithe and sinuous menace. It wasso close that he could see each stiff white whisker in the curledupper lip and hear the rattle of air in its throat. He let it comeon, for to turn and run was suicide. At the last moment hereared back like a baseball pitcher and hurled the bottle. It wasan instinctive action, using the only weapon - however puny -that was at hand.

The bottle flew straight at the lion's head, catching it in the

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direct centre of its broad forehead as it lunged smoothly up-wards towards the ledge where Jake stood.

The bottle exploded in a burst of sparkling glass splintersand a creamy gush of the pungent liquid. It filled both the lion'seyes, blinding it instantly, and the stench of concentrated am-monia in its open mouth and flaring nostrils killed its sense ofsmell and shocked its whole system so violently that it missedits footing and fell, roaring with the agony of scalded eyeballsand burning throat, into the shallow water where it rolled help-lessly on its back.

Jake ran forward, seizing the few seconds of advantage he hadgained. He stopped to pick up a water-worn ironstone boulderthe shape and size of a football, and swung it up above his headwith both hands.

As he poised himself on the ledge above the pool, the lionrecovered its balance and came up at him blindly. Jake swungthe boulder down from on high and, like a cannon ball, itsmashed into the back of the animal's neck, where the soddenmane covered the juncture of skull and vertebrae, crushing bothso that the dreadfully mutilated beast collapsed and rolled on toits side, half in the water and half on the black rock ledge.

For long seconds Jake stood over it, panting with exertionand reaction, then he leaned forward and touched with hisfingertip the long pale lashes that fringed the lion's open staringgolden eye. Already the sheen of the eyeball was clouded by thecorrosive liquid. At Jake's touch there was no blinking reflex,and he knew that the animal was dead. He turned to find thatVicky had not obeyed his instruction to run. She stood frozenwhere he had left her, naked and vulnerable, so that he felt hisheart shift within him and he went to her quickly. With a sobshe flew into his arms and clung to him with startling strength.Jake knew that the embrace was the consequence of terror notaffection, but as his own heart-beat slowed and the tingle of theadrenalin in his blood receded, he thought that he had achieveda solid advantage. If you save a girl's life, she just has to takeyou seriously, he reasoned, and grinned to himself still a littleunsteadily. All his senses were enhanced by the high point of

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recent danger. He could smell the perfumed soap and the stinkof ammonia. He could feel with excruciating clarity the slimhard length of the girl's body pressed to his and the smoothwarmth of her skin under his hands.

4Oh Jake!' she whispered brokenly, and with sudden achingcertainty he knew that in this moment she was his to take, topossess right here on the black rock bank of the Awash, besidethe warm carcass of the lion.

The knowledge was certain and his hands moved on her body,receiving instant confirmation - her body was quick and respon-sive, and her face turned up to his. Her lips trembled and hecould feel her breath upon his moutii.

'What the hell is going on down there ?' Gareth's voice rangacross the murky depths of the gorge. He stood at the top of thebank high above them. He had one of the Lee Enfield bolt-action rifles under his arm and seemed on the point of comingdown to them.

Jake turned Vicky, shielding her with his own big body andslipping off his moleskin jacket to cover her nakedness. Thejacket reached halfway down her thighs and folded volumin-ously around under her armpits. She was still shivering like akitten in a snowstorm, and her breathing was broken and thick.

'Don't worry about it,' Jake called up at Gareth. 'You weren'tin time to help, and you aren't needed now.' He groped in hiship pocket and produced a large, slightly grubby handkerchief,which Vicky accepted with a tearful, quivering smile.

'Blow your nose,' said Jake. 'Then get your pants on, beforethe whole gang arrives to give you a hand.'

Gregorius was so impressed that he was speechless for severalminutes. In Ethiopia there is no act of valour so highly esteemedas the single-handed hunting and killing of a full-grown adultlion. The warrior who accomplishes this feat wears the manethereafter as a badge of his courage and earns the respect of all.The man who shoots his lion is respected, the man who killswith the spear is venerated - Gregorius had never heard of onekilled with a single rock and a bottle of ammonia.

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Gregorius skinned out the carcass with his own hands. Beforehe had finished, the black pinioned vultures were sailing in widecircles overhead. He left the naked pink carcass lying in the riverbed, and carried the wet skin up to the bivouac where Jake wasfretting to continue the trek towards the Wells. He was irreverentin his disdain of the trophy, and Greg tried to explain it tohim.

'You will gain great prestige amongst my people, Jake. Wher-ever you go, people will point you out to each other.9

'Fine, Greg. That's just fine. Now will you kindly haul arse.9

'I will have a war bonnet made for you out of the mane,9 Greginsisted, as he strapped the bundle of wet skin to the sponson ofJake's car. 'With the hair combed out, it will look very grand.9

'It could only be an improvement on his present hair style,'Gareth observed dryly. 'I agree it's been a beautiful honey-moon, and Jake is a splendid lad - but like he said, let's moveon, before I am violently ill.'

As they moved towards their respective cars, Gregorius fellin beside Jake and quietly showed him the mushroomed copper-jacketed bullet he had removed from its niche in the pelvic boneof the carcass.

Jake paused to examine it closely, turning it in the palm of hishand.

'Nine millimeter, or nine point three,' he said. 'It's a sportingcalibre - not military.'

'I doubt if there is a single rifle in Ethiopia that would firethis bullet,' said Greg seriously. 'It's a foreigner's rifle.'

'No need to blow the bugle yet,' said Jake, and flicked thebullet back to him. 'But we'll bear it in mind.'

Gregorius almost turned away, then said shyly, 'Jake, even ifthe lion was already wounded - it's still the bravest thing I everheard of. I have often hunted for them, but never killed one yet.'Jake was touched by the boy's admiration. He laughed roughlyand slapped his shoulder.

'I'll leave the next one for you,' he promised.

*

They followed the windings of the River Awash through thesavannah grassland, running in towards the mountains so thatwith each hour travelled the peaks stood higher and clearer intothe sky. The ridges of rock and the deep-forested gorges cameinto hazy focus, like a wall across the sky.

Suddenly they intersected the old caravan road, hitting it at apoint where the steep banks of the Awash flattened a little. Theford of the river had been deeply worn over the ages by thepassage of laden beasts of burden and the men who drove them,so that the many footpaths down each bank were deep trenchesin the red earth, that jinked to avoid any large boulder or ridgeof rock.

The three men worked in the brilliant sunlight and swungshovel and mattock in a fine mist of red dust that powderedtheir hair and bodies. They filled in the uneven ground anddeeply worn trenches, levering the boulders free and lettingthem roll and bounce down into the river bed, and slept thatnight the deathlike sleep of utter exhaustion that ignored theache of abused muscle and burst blisters.

Jake had them at work before it was fully light the next morn-ing, clearing and levelling, shovelling and packing the dry hard-baked earth, until at last each bank had been shaped into a roughbut passable ramp.

Gareth was to take the first car through and he stood in theturret, somehow managing to look debonair and sartorially ele-gant, under the fine layer of red dust. He grinned at Jake andshouted dramatically,

Cry Wolf

'Noli illegitimi carborundum / and disappeared into the steelinterior. The engine roared and he went bounding and slidingdown the steep ramp of newly turned earth, bounced and joltedacross the black rock bottom and flew at the far bank.

When the wheels spun viciously in the loose red earth, blow-ing out a storm of grit and pebbles, Jake and Gregorius wereready to throw their weight against it and this was just sufficientto keep the vehicle moving. Slowly it ground its way up thealmost vertical climb, the rear end kicking and yawing underthe thrust of the spinning wheels, until at last it burst out over

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the top, and Gareth shut down the power and jumped outlaughing.

'Right, now we can tow the other cars up the bank/ and heproduced a celebratory cheroot.

'What was that piece of dog Latin you recited just then ?'Jake asked, as he accepted the cheroot.

'Old family war cry,' Gareth explained. 'Shouted by thefighting Swales at Hastings, Agincourt and in the knock shopsof the world.'

'What does it mean ?'

'Noli illegitimi carborundum ?' Gareth grinned again as he litthe cheroots. 'It means, “Don't let the bastards grind youdown”.'

One at a time, they brought the other three cars down intothe ravine, and hitched them up to the vehicle on the far bank.Then with Vicky driving, Gareth towing, and Jake and Grego-rius shoving, they hauled them up on to the level, sunbaked soilof Ethiopia. It was late afternoon when at last they fell pantingin the long shadow thrown by Miss Wobbly's chassis, to restand smoke and drink steaming mugs of hastily brewed tea.Gregorius told them:

'No more obstacles ahead of us now. It's open ground all theway to the Wells,' and then he smiled at the three of them withwhite teeth in a smooth honey-coloured face. 'Welcome toEthiopia!'

'Quite frankly, old chap, I'd much prefer to be sitting atHarry's Bar in the rue Daunou,' said Gareth soberly, 'which isexactly what I will be doing not long after Toffee Sagud pressesa purse of gold into my milk-white hand.'

Jake stood up suddenly and peered out into the dancing heatwaves that still poured from the hot earth like swirling liquid.Then he ran quickly across to his own car and leapt up into theturret, emerging seconds later with his binoculars.

The others stood up uneasily and watched him focus theglasses.

'Rider,'said Jake.

'How many ?' Gareth demanded.

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'Just one. Coming this way fast.' Gareth moved across tofetch the Lee-Enfield and work a cartridge into the breech.

They saw him now, galloping through the dizzy heat mirage,so that at one moment horse and rider seemed to float free of theearth, and then sink back and swell miraculously, growing toelephantine proportions in the heat-tortured air. Dust driftedbehind the running horse and it was only at close range that therider came into crisp focus.

Gregorius let out a bellow like a rutting stag and raced outinto the sunshine to meet the newcomer. In a brilliant displayof horsemanship the rider reined in the big white stallion soabruptly that he plunged and reared, cutting at the air with hisforehooves. With white robes billowing, he flung himself fromthe horse, and into Gregorius' wide-spread arms.

The two figures joined together rapturously, the strangersuddenly seeming small and delicate in Gregorius' arms, andthe cries of laughter and greeting high and birdlike.

Then hand in hand, looking into each other's faces, they cameback to the group that waited by the cars.

'My God, it's another girl,' said Gareth with amazement,setting the loaded rifle aside, and they all stared at the slim,dark-eyed child in her late teens with a skin like dusky silk andimmense dark eyes fringed with long curling lashes.

'May I introduce Sara Sagud ?' asked Gregorius. 'She is mycousin, my uncle's youngest daughter, and she is also withoutdoubt the prettiest lady in Ethiopia.'

'I see what you mean,' said Gareth. 'Very decorative indeed.'As Gregorius introduced each of them to her by name, the girlsmiled at them, and the long aristocratic face with the serenityof an Egyptian princess, the delicate features and chiselled noseof a Nefertiti, changed instantly to a sparkling childlike mis-chievousness.

'I knew you must cross the Awash here, it is the only place -and I came to meet you.'

'She speaks English also,' Gregorius pointed out proudly.'My grandfather insists that all his children and his grand-children learn to speak English. He is a great lover of theEnglish.' ir7

'You speak it well/ Vicky congratulated Sara, although infact her English was heavily accented, and the girl turned toher, smiling anew.

'The sisters at the convent of the Sacred Heart in Berberataught me,' she explained, and she examined Vicky with frankand unabashed admiration. 'You are very beautiful, MissCamberwell, your hair is the colour of the winter grass in thehighlands,' and Vicky's usual composure was rocked. Sheblushed faintly and laughed, but Sara's attention had flickedaway to the armoured cars.

'Ah, they also are beautiful - nobody has spoken of anythingelse, since they heard these were coming.' She hoisted the skirtsof her robe up over her tight-fitting embroidered breeches, andhopped agilely up on to the steel body of Miss Wobbly. 'Withthese we shall throw the Italians back into the sea. Nothing canstand before the courage of our warriors and these fine warmachines.' She flung her arms wide in a dramatic gesture andthen turned to Jake and Gareth. 'I am honoured to be the firstof all my people to thank you.'

'Don't mention it, my dear girl,' Gareth murmured, 'ourpleasure, I assure you.' He refrained from asking if her fatherhad remembered to bring the cash with him, but asked instead,'Are your people waiting for us at the Wells ?'

'My grandfather has come with my father and all my uncles.His personal guard is with him, and many hundreds of othersof the Harari, together with their women and animals.'

'My God,' growled Jake. 'It sounds like a helluva receptioncommittee.'

They camped that last night of the journey on the bank ofthe Awash under the spreading umbrella branches of a camel-thorn tree, sitting late and talking in the ruddy flickering glowof the fire, secure within the square fort formed by the fourhulking steel vehicles. At last the talk died away into a wearybut friendly silence, and Vicky stood up.

'A short walk for me, and then bed.'

Sara stood with her. 'I'll come with you.'

Her fascination with and admiration for Vicky was increas-

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ingly apparent, and she followed her out of the laager like afaithful puppy.

Away from the camp, they squatted side by side in com-panionable fashion under a night sky splendid with star shot,and Sara told Vicky seriously,

'They both desire you greatly-Jake and Gareth.' Vickylaughed awkwardly again, once more discomposed by the girl'sdirect manner.

'Oh, come now.'

'Oh yes, when you come near them, they are like two dogs,all stiff and walking around each other as though they will sniffeach other up the tail.' Sara giggled, and Vicky had to smilewith her.

'Which one will you choose, Miss Camberwell ?' Sara de-manded.

'Lordy, do I have to ?' Vicky was still smiling.

'Oh no,' Sara reassured her. 'You can make love with both ofthem. I would do so.'

'You would ?' Vicky asked.

'Yes, I would. What other way can you tell which one youlike best ?'

'That's true.' Vicky was becoming breathless with suppressedlaughter, but fascinated by this bit of logic. The idea had a cer-tain appeal, she admitted to herself.

'I will make love with twenty men before I marry Gregorius.That way I will be sure I have missed nothing, and I will notregret it when I am old,' declared the girl.

'Why twenty, Sara ?' Vicky tried to keep her voice as seriousas the girl's. 'Why not twenty-three or twenty-six ?'

'Oh no,' said Sara primly. 'I would not want people to thinkme a loose woman,' and Vicky could hold her laughter no longer.

'But you' Sara returned to the immediate problem. 'Whichof them will you try first ?'

'You pick for me,' Vicky invited.

'It is difficult/ Sara admitted. 'One is very strong and hasmuch warmth in his heart, the other is very beautiful and willhave much skill/ She shook her head and sighed. 'It is very

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difficult. No, I cannot choose for you. I can only wish you muchjoy.9

The conversation had disturbed Vicky more than she realized,and although she was exhausted by the long hard-driven day,she could not sleep, but lay restlessly under a single blanket onthe hard sun-warmed earth, considering the wicked and barelythinkable thoughts that the girl had sown in her mind. So it wasthat she was still awake when Sara rose from beside her and,silently as a wraith, crossed the laager to where Gregorius lay.The girl had discarded the robe and wore only the skin-tightvelvet breeches, encrusted with silver embroidery. Her bodywas slim and polished as ebony in the light of the stars and thenew moon. She had small high breasts and a narrow mouldedwaist. She stooped over Gregorius and instantly he rose, andhand in hand, carrying their blankets, the pair slipped out of thelaager, leaving Vicky more disturbed than ever. She lay andlistened to the night sounds of the desert. Once she thought sheheard the soft cry of a human voice in the darkness, but it mayhave been only the plaintive yelp of a jackal. The two youngEthiopians had not returned by the time Vicky at last fell asleep.

The radio message that Count Aldo Belli received from GeneralDe Bono on the seventh day after leaving Asmara caused himmuch pain and outrage.

'The man addresses me as an inferior,' he protested to hisofficers. He shook the yellow sheet from the message pad angrilybefore reading in a choked voice,' “I hereby directly order you”.'He shook his head in mock disbelief. 'No “request”, no “if youplease”, you notice.' He crumpled the message sheet and hurledit against the canvas wall of the headquarters tent and beganpacing in a magisterial manner back and forth, with one handon the butt of his pistol and the other on the handle of hisdagger.

'It seems he does not understand my messages. It seems thatI must explain my position in person.' He thought about thiswith burgeoning enthusiasm. The discomfort of the drive backto Asmara would be greatly reduced by the superb upholstery

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and suspension designed by Messrs Rolls and Royce, and wouldbe more than adequately offset by the quasi-civilized amenitiesof the town. A marble bath, clean laundry, cool rooms with highceilings and electric fans, the latest newspapers from Rome, thecompany of the dear and kind young hostesses at the casino - allthis was suddenly immensely attractive. Furthermore, it wouldbe an opportunity to supervise the curing and packaging of thehunting trophies he had so far accumulated. He was anxiousthat the lionskins were correctly handled and the numerousbullet holes were properly patched. The further prospect ofreminding the General of his background, upbringing and poli-tical expendability also had much appeal.

'Gino,' he bellowed abruptly, and the sergeant dashed intothe tent, automatically focusing his camera.

'Not now! Not now!' The Count waved the camera asidetestily. 'We are going back to Asmara for conference with theGeneral. Inform my driver accordingly.'

Twenty-four hours later, the Count returned from Asmarain a mood of bile and thunder. The interview with General DeBono had been one of the low points in the Count's entire life.He had not believed that the General was serious in his threatto remove him from his command and pack him off ignoblyback to Rome - until the General had actually begun dictatingthe order to his smirking aide-de-camp, Captain Crespi.

The threat still hung over the Count's handsome curly head.He had just twelve hours to reach and secure the Wells ofChaldi - or a second-class cabin on the troopship Garibaldi, sailing five days later from Massawa for Napoli, had been re-served for him by the General.

Count Aldo Belli had sent a long and eloquent cable to BenitoMussolini, describing the General's atrocious behaviour, andhad returned in high pique to his battalion - completely un-aware that the General had anticipated his cable, intercepted itand quietly suppressed it.

Major Castelani did not take the order to advance seriously,expecting at any moment the counter-order to be given, so itwas with a sense of disbelief and rising jubilation that he found

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himself actually aboard the leading truck, grinding the lastdusty miles through rolling landscape towards the setting sunand the Wells ofChaldi.

The heavy rainfall precipitated by the bulk of the Ethiopianmassif was shed from the high ground by millions of cascadesand runnels, pouring down into the valleys and the lowlands.The greater bulk of this surface water found its devious way atlast into the great drainage system of the Sud marshes and fromthere into the Nile River, flowing northwards into Egypt andthe Mediterranean Sea.

A smaller portion of the water found its way into blind riverslike the Awash, or simply streamed down and sank without tracein the soft sandy soils of the savannah and desert.

One set of exceptional geological circumstances that alteredthis general rule was the impervious sheet of schist that stretchedout from the foot of the mountains and ran in a shallow saucerbelow the red earth of the plain. Run-off water from the high-lands was contained and channelled by this layer, and formed along narrow underground reservoir stretching out like a fingerfrom the base of the Sardi Gorge, sixty miles into the dry hotsavannah.

Closer to the mountains, the water ran deep, hundreds of feetbelow the earth's surface, but farther out, the slope of the landcombined with the raised lip of the schist layer forced the waterup to within forty-five feet of the surface.

Thousands of years ago the area had been the grazing groundsof large concentrations of wild elephant. These indefatigableborers for water had detected the presence of this subterraneanlake. With tusk and hoof they had dug down and reached thesurface of the water. Hunters had long since exterminated theelephant herds, but their wells had been kept open by otheranimals, wild ass, oryx, camel, and, of course, by man who hadannihilated the elephant.

Now the wells, a dozen or more in an area of two or threesquare miles, were deep excavations into the blood-red earth.The sides of the wells were tiered by narrow worn paths that

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wound down so steeply that sunlight seldom penetrated to thelevel of the water.

The water itself was highly mineralized, so that it had a milkygreen appearance and a rank metallic taste, but nevertheless ithad supported vast quantities of life over the centuries. And thevegetation in the area, with its developed root systems, drewsustenance from the deep water and grew more densely andgreenly than anywhere else on the dry bleak savannah.

Beyond the wells, in the direction of the mountains, was anarea of confused broken ground, steep but shallow wadis andsquare hillocks so low as to be virtually only mounds of densered laterite. Over the ages, the shepherds and hunters who fre-quented the wells had burrowed into the sides of ravine andhillock, so that they were now honeycombed with caves andtunnels.

It was as though nature had declared a peace upon the wells.Here man and animal came together in wary truce that wasseldom violated. Amongst the grey-green thorn trees and densescrub goat and camel grazed in company with gazelle andgerenuk, oryx and greater kudu.

In the hush of noon, the column of four armoured cars camein from the east, and the hum of their engines carried at distanceto the multitude that awaited their arrival.

Jake led, as usual, followed by Vicky, then came Gregoriuswith Sara riding in the turret of his car and the white stalliontrailing them on a long lead rein. In the rear rode Gareth.Suddenly Sara shrieked at such a high pitch that her voicecarried over the engine noise and she pointed ahead to the lowvalley filled with green scrub and taller denser trees. Jake haltedthe column and climbed up into the turret.

Through his binoculars he studied the open forest, and thenstarted as he discerned a horde of moving figures coming head-long on wings of fine pale dust.

'My God,' he muttered aloud. 'There must be hundreds ofthem,' and he felt a stab of uneasiness. They looked anythingbut friendly.

At that moment, he was distracted by the sound of galloping

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hooves close by, and Sara came dashing past him. She wasmounted bareback on the white stallion, her robes streamingand fluttering in the sun-bright wind. She was shouting withalmost hysterical excitement as she galloped to meet the on-coming riders and her behaviour reassured Jake a little. Hesignalled the column forward once again.

The first ranks came swiftly in dust clouds, on running camelsand galloping shaggy horses. Fierce, dark-faced men in billow-ing robes of dirty white, and a motley of other colours. Urgingforward their mounts with wild cries, brandishing the smallround bronze and iron studded and bossed war shields, theycame racing towards the column. As they approached, they splitinto two wings and tore headlong past the startled drivers in asolid wall of moving men and animals.

Most of the men were bearded, and here and there somewarrior wore proudly a great fluffy headdress of lion mane -proclaiming his valour to the world. The manes rippled andwaved on the wind as the riders drove by, urging on theirmounts with the high 'Looloo' ululations so characteristic of theEthiopians.

The weapons they carried amazed Gareth, who as a profes-sional dealer recognized twenty different types and makes, eachone of them a collector's piece - from the long muzzle-loadingTower muskets with the fancy hammers over percussion caps,through a range of Martini Henry carbines, which fired a heavylead bullet in a cloud of black powder smoke, to a wide selectionof Mausers and Schneiders, Lee-Metfords, and obsolete modelsfrom half the arms-manufacturers of the world.

As the riders swept by, they fired these weapons into the air,long spurts of black powder against the evening sky, and thecrackle of musketry blended with the fierce ululations of wel-come.

After the first wave of riders came another of those on mulesand donkeys - moving more slowly but making as much noise -and immediately after them came a swarming mob of running,howling foot soldiers, mingled with whom were women andshrieking children, and dozens of yelping dogs, scrawny yellow

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curs with long whippy tails and ridges of standing hair runningdown their skeletal backbones.

As the first rank of riders turned, still loolooing and firinginto the air, to complete the encirclement of the armouredcolumn, they ran headlong into the following rabble and theentire congregation became a struggling mob of men andanimals.

Jake saw a mother with a child under her arm go down underthe hooves of a running camel, the child flying from her gripand rolling in the sandy earth. Then he was past, forgingahead through a narrow path in the sea of humanity.

Sara was keeping the path open, leading them in, riding justahead of Jake's car, laying about her viciously with a long quirtof hippo hide to hold back the mob, while around her wheeledthe wildly excited riders still firing their pieces into the air, anddozens of runners pressed in closely, trying to climb aboard themoving cars.

Gradually the press of bodies and animals built up, until atlast, following Sara, they moved slowly through the open forestthat surrounded the wells into one of the shallow but steeplysided wadis in the broken ground beyond.

Here any further forward movement became impossible. Thewadi was choked solidly with humanity, even the steep earthensides and the ledges above were crowded so closely that unfor-tunates, pushed by those behind, could no longer keep theirposition and came tumbling down the sheer sides on to theheads of those in the wadi below. The cries of protest were lostin the general hubbub.

From each of the turrets, the heads of the four driversappeared timidly, like gophers peering out of their holes. Theymade helpless signs and expressions at each other, unable tocommunicate in the uproar.

Sara leaped from the back of the plunging stallion on to thesponson of Jake's car and began raining blows and kicks onthose who were still attempting to climb aboard the vehicle. Shewas enjoying herself immensely, Jake realized, as he noticed thebattle lust in her eyes and heard the crack of her whip and the

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yelps of her victims. He thought of trying to restrain her - andthen discarded the idea as being highly dangerous. Instead, helooked about distractedly for some other means to subdue theboisterous welcome and noticed for the first time the entrancesto numerous caves in the sides of the wadi.

From a number of these dark openings now poured a bodyof men, wearing a semblance of uniform - jodhpurs and baggykhaki tunics, their chests crossed with bandoliers of ammuni-tion, putteed calves and bare feet, high turbans bound aroundtheir heads and Mauser rifles swinging heartily, the butts usedas clubs. They were every bit as enthusiastic as Sara, but con-siderably more successful in their attempts to quieten the crowd.

'My grandfather's guards,5 Sara explained to Jake, still pant-ing and grinning happily from her recent exertions. 'I am sorry,Jake, but sometimes my people get excited.'

'Yeah,' said Jake. 'So I noticed.'

With gun butts rising and falling the guards cleared a spacearound the four laden vehicles, and the noise dropped in volumeuntil it was equivalent to a medium-sized avalanche. The fourdrivers climbed warily down and came together in a defensivegroup in the small stretch of open ground before the caves.Vicky Camberwell placed herself strategically between Jake andGareth and behind the lanky robed figure of Gregorius - andshe felt even more secure when Sara slipped up beside her andtook her hand.

'Please do not worry,' she whispered. 'We are all your friends.'

'You could have fooled me, honey.' Vicky smiled back at her,and squeezed the slim brown hand. At that moment a proces-sion emerged from the caves, headed by four coal-black priestsof the Coptic Christian Church in their gaudy robes, chantingin Amharic, swinging incense and carrying ornate, if crudelywrought bronze crosses.

Immediately after the priests followed a figure so tall and thinas to appear a caricature of the human shape. A long flowingshamma of yellow and red stripes hung loosely on the gauntframe. There was the suggestion of legs as long and as thin asthose of an ostrich beneath the skirts of the robe as he strode

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forward, and the man's dark head was completely bald of hair -no beard or eyebrows - just a round glistening pate.

His eyes were completely enclosed in a web of deep wrinklesand fleshy folds of old dried-out skin. The mouth was utterlytoothless, so that the jaw seemed to be collapsible, folding theface in half like the bellows of a concertina. He gave an impres-sion of vast age that was offset immediately by the youthfulspring in his step and the twinkle in the.black birdlike eyes, andyet Gareth realized that he could not be less than eighty yearsold.

Gregorius hurried forward and knelt briefly for the old man'sblessing, while Sara whispered to the group.

'This is my grandfather, Ras Golam,' she explained. 'Hespeaks no English, but he is a great nobleman and a mightywarrior - the bravest in all Ethiopia.'

The Ras ran a lively eye over the group and selected GarethSwales, resplendent in thorn-proof tweeds. He leapt forward and,before Gareth could avoid it, enfolded him in an embrace thatwas redolent of powerful native tobacco, woodsmoke, and otherheady odours.

'How do you do ?' shouted the Ras, his only words of English.

'My grandfather is a great lover of the English,' explainedGregorius, as Gareth struggled in the Ras's embrace. 'That iswhy all his sons and grandsons are sent to England.'

'He has a decoration which even makes him an Englishmilord,' Sara told them proudly, and pointed to her grand-father's chest where nestled a star of gaudy enamel and shinypaste chips.

Noticing the gesture, the Ras released Gareth and invitedthem to admire the decoration, and, on his other breast, arosette of tricolour silk in the centre of which was a framedminiature of the old Queen Victoria herself.

'Tremendous, old boy - absolutely tremendous,' Garethagreed, as he re-adjusted the lapels of his jacket and smoothedback his hair.

'When he was a young man, my grandfather did a greatservice to the Queen - and that is why he is now an English

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milord,' Sara explained, and then she broke off to listen to hergrandfather, and to translate. 'My grandfather welcomes you toEthiopia, and says that he is proud to embrace such a distin-guished English gentleman. He has heard from my father ofyour fame as a warrior, that you bear the great Queen's medalfor courage'

'Actually, it was Georgie Five's gong,' Gareth demurredmodestly.

At that moment, the dignified figure of Lij Mikhael Sagudstepped from the entrance of the cave behind the Ras.

'My father recognizes only one English monarch, my dearSwales,' he explained quietly. 'It is useless to try and convincehim that she has passed away.'

He shook hands with all three of them, with a quick word ofwelcome for Jake and Vicky before turning back to listen to theRas again.

'My father asks if you have brought your medal - he wishesyou to wear it when you and he ride into battle side by sideagainst the enemy,' and Gareth's expression changed.

'Now hold on there, old fellow,' he protested. Gareth had nointention of riding into another battle in his life, but the momenthad passed and the Ras was shouting orders to his guard.

In response, they clambered aboard the armoured cars andbegan unloading the wooden cases of weapons and ammunitionwhich they stacked in the clearing before the caves, beating backthe eager crowds that pressed forward.

Now the priests came forward to bless the cars and weaponsof war, and Sara took the opportunity to pull Vicky away andlead her unobtrusively to one of the caves.

'My servants will bring you water to bathe,' she whispered.'You must look beautiful for the feast. Perhaps we will decidewhich one it will be tonight.'

As night fell, so the entire following of Ras Golam gatheredin the main wadi, those ranking highest or with most pushmanaging to find seating in the large central cave while theothers filled the valley with row upon row of seated and robedfigures. The whole scene was lit by leaping bonfires.

The fires reflected against the night sky with a faint orange glowwhich Major Luigi Castelani noticed at a distance of twentykilometres from the Wells.

He halted the column and climbed up on the roof of theleading truck to study this phenomenon, uncertain at first if thelight of the fires was some freak afterglow of the sunset, butsoon realizing that this was not the case.

He jumped down and snapped at the .driver, 'Wait for me,'before striding rapidly back along the long column of tallcanvas-covered trucks to where the command car stood at thecentre.

'My Colonel.' Castelani saluted the sulking figure of theCount who slumped on the rear seat of the Rolls with one handthrust into the front of his unbuttoned tunic, much like thedefeated Napoleon returning from Moscow. Aldo Belli had notyet recovered from the shock to his pride and self-esteem in-flicted by the General. He had temporarily withdrawn from thevulgar world, and he did not even look up as Castelani made hisreport.

'Do what you think correct in the circumstances,' he mutteredwithout interest. 'Only make certain we have control of the Wellsbefore dawn,' and the Count turned his head away, wonderingif Mussolini had yet received his cable.

What Castelani thought correct in the circumstances was todarken the column immediately and put his entire battalion in astate of instant readiness. No lights were to be shown in anycircumstances, and a rigorous silence was imposed. The columnnow advanced at little more than a walking speed, with eachdriver personally warned that engine noise was not to exceedidling volume. All the men had been alerted and rode now insilence with loaded weapons and tense nerves.

When at last the Eritrean guides pointed out to Castelani theshallow forested valley below them, there was sufficient lightfrom the sliver of silver moon overhead for Castelani to surveythe ground with the eye of an old professional. Within tenminutes, he had planned his dispositions, decided where to holdhis motor pool and main bivouac, where to site his machine-

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guns, place his mortars and lay his rifle trenches. The Colonelgrunted his agreement without even looking up, and quietly theMajor gave the orders which would put into effect his plans andkeep the battalion working all night.

'And the first man who drops a shovel or sneezes I willstrangle with his own guts,9 he warned, as he glanced appre-hensively at the faint glow that emanated from amongst the lowdark hills beyond the Wells.

In the main cave, the air was so thick and warm and moist thatit lay upon the company like a wet woollen blanket. In the un-even light of the fires it was impossible to see from one end tothe other of the cavernous room, with its rough earthen walland columns. The restless body of guests and servants flittedthrough the smoky gloom like wraiths. Every once in a whilethere would be the terrified bellow of an ox from the wadi out-side the main entrance of the cave. The bellows would ceaseabruptly as the blockman swung his long two-handed swordand the carcass fell with a thud that seemed to reverberatethrough the cavern. A vast shout of approval greeted the fall ofthe beast, and a dozen eager assistants flayed the hide, hackedthe flesh into bloody strips and piled them on to huge plattersof baked clay.

The servants staggered into the cave, bearing the laden plat-ters of steaming, quivering meat. The guests fell upon it, menand women alike, snatching up the bleeding flesh, taking an endbetween their teeth, pulling it tight with one hand and hackingfree a bite-sized piece with a knife grasped in the other. Theflashing blade passed a mere fraction from the end of the diner'snose and warm blood trickled unheeded down the chin, as thelump was swallowed with a single convulsive heave of the throat.

Each mouthful was washed down into the belly with a swigof the fiery Ethiopian tej - a brew made from wild honey, aliquid the colour of golden amber, with the impact of a chargingbuffalo bull.

Gareth Swales sat between the old Ras and Lij Mikhael in 140

the place of honour, while Jake and Vicky were a dozen placesfarther away amongst the lesser notables. In deference to theappetite and tastes of foreigners, they were offered, in place ofraw beef, an endless succession of bubbling pots containing thefiery casseroles of beef, lamb, chicken and game that are knownunder the inclusive title of wat. These highly spiced, pepperybut delicious concoctions were spooned out on to thin sheets ofunleavened bread and rolled into a cigar shape before eating.

Lij Mikhael warned his guests against the tej - and insteadoffered Bollinger champagne, wrapped in wet sacking to lowerits temperature. There was also pinch bottle Haig, London DryGin, and a vast array of liqueurs - Grand Marnier, yellow andgreen Chartreuse, Dom Benedictine, and the rest. These incon-gruous beverages in the desert reminded the guests that theirhost was wealthy beyond the normal concept of wealth, the lordof vast estates and, under the Emperor, the master of manythousands of human beings.

The Ras sat at the head of the feast, with a war bonnet oflion's mane covering his bald pate. It made a startling, butrather moth-eaten wig - for it was forty years since the Ras hadslain the lion, and the ravages of time were apparent.

Now the Ras cackled with laughter as he rolled a sheet of theunleavened bread, filled with steaming wat , into the shape andsize of a Havana cigar - and thrust it, dripping juice, into GarethSwales' unprepared mouth.

'You must swallow it without using your hands,' Lij Mikhaelexplained hastily. cIt is a game my father enjoys.'

Gareth's eyes bulged, his face turned crimson with lack of airand the bite of chili sauce. Gulping and gasping and chewingmanfully, he struggled to ingest the huge offering.

The Ras hooted merrily, drooling a little saliva from thetoothless mouth, his entire face a network of moving wrinklesas he encouraged Gareth with cries of cHow do you do ? Howdo you do?'

At last with his dignity in shreds, red-faced, sweating andpanting laboriously, the roll of bread disappeared down Gareth'sstraining throat. The Ras folded him once more in that brotherly

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embrace, and Lij Mikhael poured another goblet full of Bol-linger for him.

However, Gareth, who did not enjoy being the butt of any-one's joke, freed himself from the Ras, pushed the glass asideand waved one of the servants to him. From the reeking bloodyplatter he selected a strip of raw beef almost as thick as his wristand as long as his forearm. Without warning, he thrust one endof it into the Ras's gaping toothless mouth.

'Suck on that, you old bastard,' he shouted, and the Rasstared at him with startled rheumy bloodshot eyes. Then, al-though he was unable to smile because of the long red strip thathung from his lips like some huge swollen tongue, the Ras'seyes turned to slits in a mask of happy wrinkles. His jaw seemedto unhinge like a python swallowing a goat. He gulped and aninch of the meat shot into his mouth, he gulped again andanother inch disappeared. Gareth stared at him as gulp suc-ceeded gulp and swiftly the morsel dwindled in size. Withinseconds the Ras's mouth was empty, and he snatched up a bowlof tej and drank half a pint of the heady liquor, wiped blood and tej from his chin with the skirt of his shamma, belched like anair-locked geyser, then with a falsetto cackle of merriment hitGareth a resounding crack between the shoulder blades. In theRas's view, they were now comrades of the soul - both Englisharistocrats, renowned warriors, and each had eaten from theother's hand.

Gregorius Maryam had anticipated exactly what his grand-father's reaction to his white guests would be. He knew thatGareth's nationality and undoubted aristocratic backgroundwould overshadow all else in the Ras's estimation. However,the young prince's feelings for Jake Barton had become closeto adulation - and he did not intend that his hero should beignored. He chose the one subject which he knew would engagehis grandfather's full attention. He slipped unnoticed from thedin of the overcrowded cave, and when he returned, he carriedJake's stiff crackling lion skin that had by now completely driedout in the hot, dry desert wind.

Although he held it high above his head, the tail brushed the

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ground on one side and the nose on the other. The Ras, one armstill around Gareth's shoulder, looked up with interest and fireda string of questions at his grandson, as the boy spread the hugetawny skin before him.

The replies made the old man so excited that he leaped to hisfeet and grabbed his grandson by one arm, shaking him agi-tatedly as he demanded details - and Gregorius replied with asmuch animation, his eyes shining as he mimed the charge of thelion, and the act of hurling the bottle and the crushing of itsskull.

Comparative silence had fallen over the smoky, dim-lit cavern,and hundreds of guests craned forward to hear the details of thehunt. In that silence, the Ras walked down to where Jake sat.Stepping, without looking, into various bowls of food and kick-ing over a jug of tej3 he reached the big curly-headed Americanand lifted him to his feet.

'How do you do?' he asked, with great emotion, tears ofadmiration in his eyes for the man who could kill a lion withhis bare hands. Forty years before, the Ras had broken fourbroad-bladed spears before he had put a blade in the heart ofhis own lion.

'Never better, friend,' Jake grunted, clumsy with embarrass-ment, and the Ras embraced him fiercely before leading himback to the head of the board.

Irritably the Ras kicked one of his younger sons in the ribs,forcing him to vacate the seat on his right hand where he nowplaced Jake.

Jake looked across at Vicky and rolled his eyes helplessly asthe Ras began to ladle steaming wat on to a huge white roundof bread and roll it into a torpedo that would have daunted abattle cruiser. Jake took a deep breath and opened his mouthwide, as the Ras lifted the dainty morsel the way an executionerlifts his sword.

'How do you do ?' he said, and with another hoot of gleethrust it in to the hilt.

*

The Colonel and all the officers of the Third Battalion wereexhausted from long hours of forced march and, by the timethey reached the Wells of Chaldi, were anxious only to see theirtents erected and their cots made up - after that they were quitecontent that the Major be left to use his own initiative.

Castelani sited his twelve machine-guns in the sides of thevalley where they commanded a full arc of fire, and below themhe placed his rifle trenches. The men sank the earthworks swiftlyand with little noise in the loose sandy soil, and they buttressedtheir trenches and machine-gun nests with sand bags.

The mortar company he held well back, protected by bothrifle trenches and machine-gun nests, from where they coulddrop their mortar bombs across the whole area of the wells withcomplete impunity.

While his men worked, Castelani personally paced out dis-tances in front of his defences, and supervised the placing ofthe painted metal markers, so that his gunners would be ableto fire over accurately ranged sights. Then he hurried back tochivvy along the ammunition parties who staggered up in thedarkness, slipping in the sandy soil and cursing softly, but withfeeling, under the burden of the heavy wooden cases.

All that night he was tireless, and any man who laid down hisshovel for a few minutes of rest took the risk of being pouncedupon by that looming figure, the stentorian voice restrained to ahusky but ferocious whisper, and the rolling swagger tense withsuppressed outrage.

At last, the squat machine guns with their thick water-jacketedbarrels were lowered down into the new excavations and set upon their tripods. Only after Castelani had checked the traverseof each and sighted down through the high sliding rear-sightinto the moonlit valley was he satisfied. The men flung them-selves down to rest and the Major allowed the kitchen partiesto come up with canteens of hot soup and bags of hard blackbread.

Gareth Swales felt bloated with food and slightly bleary with 144

Cry Wolf

the large quantities of luke-warm champagne which Lij Mikhaelhad pressed upon him.

On one side, the Ras and Jake had established a rapport thatovercame the language barrier. The Ras had convinced himselfthat as Americans spoke English they were English, and thatJake as a lion-killer was clearly a member of the upper stratumof society - in short a kind of honorary aristocrat. Every timethe Ras drained another pint of tej, Jake became more sociallyacceptable - and the Ras had drained many pints of tej by thisstage.

The atmosphere was indeed so jovial and aflame with bon-homie and camaraderie that Gareth felt emboldened to ask, onbehalf of the partnership, the question that had been burninghis tongue for the last many hours.

'Toffee, old lad, have you got the money ready for us ?'

The Prince seemed not to have heard, but refilled Gareth'sglass with champagne, and leaned across to translate one ofJake's remarks for his father, and Gareth had to take his armfirmly.

'If it's all right by you, we'll take our wages and trouble youno more. Ride off into the sunset with violins playing, and allthat rot.'

'I'm glad you raised the point.' Toffee nodded thoughtfully,looking anything but glad. 'There are some things we have todiscuss.'

'Listen, Toffee old son, there is absolutely nothing to discuss.All the discussing was done long ago.'

'Now, don't upset yourself, my dear fellow.' It was, however,in Gareth's nature to become very agitated when someone whoowed him money wanted to discuss things. The usual subject ofdiscussion was how to avoid making payment, and Gareth wasabout to protest volubly and loudly when the Ras chose thatmoment to rise to his feet and make a speech.

This caused a certain amount of consternation, for the Ras'slegs had been turned by large quantities of tej to the consistencyof rubber, and it required the efforts of two of his guardsmen toget him to his feet and keep him there.

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However, once up, he spoke with clarity and force while LijMikhael translated for the benefit of the white guests.

At first, the Ras seemed to wander. He spoke of the first raysof the sun touching the peaks of the mountains, and the feel ofthe desert wind in a man's face at noon, he reminded them ofthe sound of the birth cry of a man's first-born child and thesmell of the earth turning under the plough. Gradually anattentive silence fell upon his unruly audience, for the old manhad still a power and force that demanded complete respect.

As he went on, so a greater dignity invested him; he shruggedoff the supporting hands of his guard and seemed to grow instature. His voice lost the querulous tremor of age and took ona more compelling ring. Jake did not need the Prince's trans-lation to know that he was speaking of a man's pride, and therights of a free man. The duty of a man to defend that freedomwith life itself, to preserve it for his sons and their children.

'And now there comes a powerful enemy to challenge ourrights as free men. An enemy so powerful, armed with suchterrible weapons, that even the hearts of the warriors of Tigreand Shoa shrivelled in their breasts like diseased fruit.'

The old Ras was panting now, and a scanty sweat trickledfrom under the tall lion headdress and ran down the wrinkledblack cheeks.

'But now, my children, powerful friends have come to standbeside us. They have brought to us weapons as powerful asthose of our enemies. No longer must we fear.'

Jake realized suddenly what pathetic store the Ras had placedin the worn and obsolete war materials they had brought him.He talked now of meeting the mighty armies of Italy on eventerms.

Abruptly, Jake felt a choking sense of guilt. He knew thata week after he left, the four armoured cars would be piles ofjunk. There was no man in all the Ras's following who couldkeep their elderly and temperamental engines running.

Even if they were brought into action before the engines ex-pired, they would present a threat only to unsupported infantry.The moment they engaged with Italian armour they would be

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instantly and hopelessly out-classed. Even the light Italian CV.3tanks would be immune to the lire of the Vickers guns that thecars mounted, while in return the thin steel of the cars wouldoffer no protection from the 50 mm armour-piercing shell thatthe enemy fired. There would be no-one to explain all this to theRas and teach him how to achieve the best from the punyweapons he commanded.

Jake visualized the first and probably the last battle that RasGolam would fight. Scorning manoeuvre and strategy, he wouldcertainly throw in all his force-armoured cars, Vickers machine-guns, obsolete rifles and swords - in a single frontal attack. Thiswas the way he had fought all his battles - and the way he wouldfight the last.

Jake Barton felt his heart go out to the gallant ancient, whostood now shouting a challenge to a modern military power,prepared to defend to the death what was his - and Jake felt acurious sense of recklessness. It was a reaction that he knewwell and usually it led him into positions of acute discomfortand danger.

'Forget it,9 he told himself firmly. 'It's their war. Take themoney and run.' Then suddenly he looked across the dimly litcave to where Vicky Camberwell sat. She listened to the oldRas with misty eyes, and her expression was enchanted as sheleaned her golden head close to the dark curly head of SaraSagud, not wanting to miss a word of the translation.

Now she saw Jake watching her, and she smiled and noddedvehemently - almost as though she had read his doubts.

'Leave Vicky also ?' Jake wondered. 'Leave them all and runwith the gold ?' He knew that nothing would induce Vicky toleave with them. For her the story was here, her involvementwas complete, and she would stay to the end-the inevitableend.

The smart thing was to go, the dumb thing to stay and fightanother man's war that was already lost before it had begun; thedumb thing was to stake twenty thousand dollars which was hisshare of the profits, and all his future plans, the Barton engine,and the factory to build it, against the remote chance of winning

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a lady who promised to be a lifetime of trouble once she waswon.

'I never was a dab hand at doing the smart thing,9 Jakethought ruefully, and smiled back at Vicky.

The Ras was suddenly silent, panting with the force of hisfeelings and the effort of voicing them. His listeners were mes-merized also, staring at the thin-robed figures with its wild lionwig.

The Ras made a commanding gesture and one of his guardshanded him the broad two-handed sword, its blade long andnaked. The Ras leaned his weight upon it and commandedagain, and they carried in the war drums. The Ras's ceremonialdrums, passed down to him by his father and his father beforehim, drums that had beaten at Magdala against Napier, atAdowa against the Italians and at a hundred other battles.

They were as tall as a man's shoulder, elaborately carved ofhardwood and covered with raw-hide, and the drummers tookup their stance with the barrels of their drums held betweentheir knees.

The drum with the deepest bass tone set the rhythm and thelesser drums joined in with the variations and counterpoints, achorus that jarred a man's gut and loosened his brain in his skull.

The old Ras listened to it with his head bowed over thesword, until the rhythm took a hold on him and his shouldersbegan to jerk and his head came up. With a leap like a whitebird taking flight, he landed in the open space before the drum-mers. The great sword whirled high above his head, and hebegan to dance.

Gareth took Mikhael Sagud by the sleeve and lifted his voicein competition with the drums, and resumed at the point wherehe had been interrupted.

'Toffee, you were telling me about the money.'

Jake heard him and leaned across to catch the Prince's reply,but the Prince was silent, watching his father leap and twirl inthe intricate and acrobatic dance.

'We have delivered the goods, old chap. And a deal is a deal.'

'Fifteen thousand sovereigns,' said the Prince thoughtfully.

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'That's the exact figure/ Gareth agreed.

'A dangerous sum of money,' murmured the Prince. 'Menhave been killed for much less.' And they made no reply.

'I think of your safety, of course,' the Prince went on. 'Yoursafety, and my country's chances of survival. Without an engineerto maintain the cars, and a soldier to teach my men to use thenew weapons - we will have wasted fifteen thousand sovereigns.'

'I feel very badly for you,' Gareth .assured him. 'I'll eat myheart out for you while I am having dinner at the Cafe Royal, Ireally will - but truly, Toffee, you should have thought of thislong ago.'

'Oh, I did - my dear Swales -1 assure you I gave it muchthought.' And the Prince turned to smile at Gareth. 'I thoughtthat no one would be foolish enough to take on his person fifteenthousand gold sovereigns in the middle of Ethiopia and then tryand get out of the country - without the Ras's personal approvaland protection.'

They stared at him.

'Can you imagine the delight of the shifta, the mountainbandits, when they learned that such a rich prize was movingunprotected through their territory ?'

'They would know, of course ?' murmured Jake.

'I fear that they might be informed.' The Prince turned tohim.

'And if we tried to go back the way we came ?'

'Through the desert on foot ?' the Prince smiled.

'We might use a little of the gold to buy camels,' Jake sug-gested.

'I fancy you might find camels hard to come by, and some-body might inform the Italians and the French of your move-ments - to say nothing of the Danakil tribesmen who would slitthe throats of their own mothers for a single gold sovereign.'

They watched the Ras send the great sword humming sixinches over the heads of the bass drummers, and then turn agrotesque flapping pirouette.

'God I' said Gareth. 'I took you at your word, Toffee. I meanword of honour, and old school-'

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'My dear Swales, these are not the playing fields of Eton, I'mafraid.'

'Still, I never thought you'd welsh.'

'Oh, dear me, I am not welshing. You can have your moneynow - this very hour.'

'All right, Prince,' Jake interrupted. 'Tell us what more youwant from us. Tell us, is there any way we get out of here with asafe conduct, and our money ?'

The Prince smiled warmly at Jake, leaning to pat his arm.'Always the pragmatist. No time wasted in tearing the hair orbeating the breast, Mr Barton.'

'Shoot,' said Jake.

'My father and I would be very grateful if you would workfor us for a six-month contract.'

'Why six months ?' demanded Gareth.

'By then all will be lost, or won.'

'Go on,' Jake invited.

'For six months you will exercise your skills for us - and teachus how best to defend ourselves against a modern army. Service,maintain and command the armoured cars.'

'In return ?' Jake asked.

'A princely salary for the six months, a safe conduct out ofEthiopia, and your money guaranteed by a London bank at theend of that time.'

'What is fair wages for putting one's head on the butcher'sblock ?' Gareth asked bitterly.

'Double - another seven thousand pounds each,' said thePrince without hesitation, and the men on each side of himrelaxed slightly and exchanged glances.

'Each ?' asked Gareth.

'Each,' agreed Lij Mikhael.

'I only wish I had my lawyer here to draw up the contract,'said Gareth.

'Not necessary/ Mikhael laughed, and shook his head anddrew two envelopes from his robes. He handed one to each ofthem.

'Bank-guaranteed cheques. Lloyds of London. Irrevocable, 150

I assure you - but postdated six months ahead. Valid on thefirst of February next year.5

The two white men examined the documents curiously. Care-fully Jake checked the date on the bank draft - 1st February,1936 - and then read the figures - fourteen thousand poundssterling only - and he grinned.

'The exact amount - the precise date.5 He shook his headadmiringly. 'You had it all figured out. Man, you were thinkingweeks ahead of us.5

'Good God, Toffee,5 Gareth intoned mournfully. 'I must sayI am appalled. Utterly appalled.5'Does that mean you refuse, Major Swales ?5Gareth glanced at Jake, and a flash of agreement passed be-tween them. Gareth sighed theatrically. 'Well, I must say thatI did have an appointment in Madrid. They've got themselvesthis little war they are working on, but5 and here he studiedthe bank draft again, 'but one war is very much like another.Furthermore, you have given me some fairly powerful reasonswhy I should stay on.5 Gareth withdrew the wallet from hisinside pocket and folded the draft into it. 'However, that doesn'talter the fact that I am utterly appalled by the way this wholebusiness has been conducted.5'And you, Mr Barton ?5 Lij Mikhael asked.'As my partner has just remarked - fourteen thousand poundsisn't exactly peanuts. Yes, I accept.5

The Prince nodded, and then his expression changed, becamebleak and savage.

'I must urge you most cogently not to attempt to leaveEthiopia before the expiry of our agreement - justice is crudebut effective under my father's administration.5

At that moment the gentleman under discussion lifted thesword high above his head and then drove the point deep intothe earth between his feet. He left it there, the blade shiveringand gleaming in the firelight, and staggered wheezing and cack-ling to his place between Jake and Gareth.

He flung a skinny old arm around each of them and greetedthem with a hug and an affectionate cry of 'How do you do ?5

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and Gareth cocked a speculative eye at him.

'How would you like to learn to play gin rummy, old son ?'he asked kindly. Six months was a lot of time to while away andthere might yet be further profit in the situation, he thought.

The sound of the drums woke Count Aldo Belli from a deep,untroubled sleep. He lay and listened to them for a while, to thedeep monotonous rhythm like the pulse of the earth itself, andthe effect was lulling and hypnotic. Then suddenly the Countcame fully awake and the adrenalin poured hotly into his blood-stream. A month before leaving Rome he had attended a screen-ing of the latest Hollywood release, Trader Horn , an Africanepic of wild animals and blood-thirsty tribesmen. The sound oftribal drums had been skilfully used on the sound track toheighten the sense of menace and suspense, and the Count nowrealized that out there in the night the same terrible drums werebeating.

He came out of his bed in a single bound with a roar that wokethose in the camp who were still asleep. When Gino rushed intothe tent, he found his master standing stark-naked and wild-eyed in the centre of his tent with the ivory-handled Beretta inone hand and the jewelled dagger clutched in the other.

The instant the drums began beating, Luigi Castelani hurriedback to the bivouac, for he knew exactly what reaction to expectfrom his Colonel. He arrived to find that the Count was fullyuniformed, had selected a bodyguard of fifty men and was onthe point of embarking in the waiting Rolls. The engine wasrunning and the driver was as eager to leave as his august pas-senger.

The Count was not at all pleased to see the bulky figure ofhis Major come hurrying out of the darkness with that unmis-takable swaggering gait. He had hoped to get clear beforeCastelani could intervene, and now he immediately went on theoffensive.

'Major, I am returning to Asmara to report in person to theGeneral,' shouted Aldo Belli, and tried to reach the Rolls, but

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the Major was too nimble for him and interposed his bulk andsaluted.

'My Colonel, the defences of the wells are now complete/ hereported. 'The area is secure.'

'I shall report that we are being attacked in overwhelmingforce,' cried the Count, and tried to duck around Castelani'sright side, but the Major anticipated the move and jumped side-ways to keep belly to belly.

'The men are dug in, and in good spirits.'

'You have my permission to withdraw in good order underthe enemy's bloodthirsty assault.' The Count attempted to lullthe man with the prospect of escape, and then lunged to theleft to reach the Rolls - but the Major was swift as a mamba,and again they faced each other. The entire officer corps of theThird Battalion, hastily dressed and alarmed by the drums inthe night, had assembled to watch this exhibition of agility asthe Count and Castelani jumped backwards and forwards likea pair of game cocks sparring at each other. Their sentimentswere heavily on the side of their Colonel, and they would haveenjoyed nothing more than the spectacle of the retreating Rolls.They would then have been free to follow in haste.

'I do not believe the enemy is present in any force.' Castelani'svoice was raised to a level where the Count's protests were com-pletely drowned. 'However, it is essential that the Colonel takescommand in person. If there is to be a confrontation, it willinvolve a value judgement.' The Major pressed forward a stepat a time, until his chest was an inch from the Colonel's andtheir noses almost touched. 'We are not formally at war. Yourpresence is essential to reinforce our position.'

The Colonel was pressed to the point where he had no choicebut to fall back a pace, and the watching officers sighed sadly.It was an act of capitulation. The contest of wills was over - andalthough the Count continued to protest weakly, the Majorworked him away from the Rolls the way a good sheep doghandles its flock.

'It will be dawn in an hour,' said Castelani, 'and as soon as itis light, we shall be in a position to evaluate the situation.'

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At that moment the drums fell silent. Up the valley in thecaves, the Ras had at last finished his dance of defiance, and tothe Count the silence was cheering. He threw one last wistfullook at the Rolls, and then let his gaze wander to the fiftyheavily armed men of his bodyguard - and took a little moreheart.

He squared his shoulders and drew himself erect, throwingback his head.

'Major,' he snapped. 'The battalion will stand firm.' Heturned to his watching officers, all of whom tried to fade intoinsignificance and avoid his eyes. 'Major Vito, take commandof this detachment and move forward to clear the ground. Therest of you fall in around me.*

The Colonel gave the Major and his fifty stalwarts a respect-able lead, so that they might draw any hostile fire, and then,surrounded by a protective screen of his reluctant juniors andprodded forward by Luigi Castelani, he moved cautiouslyalong the dusty path that wound down the slope of the valleyto where the battalion's forward elements had been so expertlyentrenched.

The most junior of Ras Golam's multitudinous grooms wasfifteen years of age. The previous day one of the Ras's favouritemares in his care had snapped her halter rope while he wastaking her down to the water. She had galloped out into thedesert, and the boy had followed her for the whole of that dayand half of the night until the capricious creature had allowedhim to come up with her and grasp the trailing end of the rope.

Exhausted by the long chase and chilled by the cold nightwind, the boy had huddled down on her neck and allowed themare to pick her own way back to the water holes. He was halfasleep, clinging by instinct alone to the mare's mane, when ashort while before dawn she wandered into the perimeter of theItalian base.

A nervous sentry had challenged loudly, and the startledanimal had plunged into a full run through the outskirts of the

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camp. Now, fully awake, the boy had clung to the gallopinghorse, and seen the lines of parked trucks and military tentslooming out of the darkness. He had seen the stacked rifles, andrecognized the shape of the helmet of another sentry who hadchallenged again as they passed through the outer lines.

Peering back under his own arm he had seen the flash of therifle shot and heard the crack of the bullet pass his bowed head,and he urged the horse on with heels and knees.

By the time the groom reached the deep wadi, the Ras'sfollowing was at last succumbing to the effects of a full night'sfestivities. Many of them had drifted away to find a place tosleep, others had merely huddled down in their robes and sleptwhere they had eaten. Only the hardened few still ate and drank,argued and sang, or sat in tej-numbed silence about the fires -watching the womenfolk begin to prepare the morning meal.

The boy flung himself off the mare at the entrance to thecaves, ducked under the arms of the sentries who would haverestrained him and ran into the crowded, smoky and dimly litinterior. He was gabbling with fright and importance, the wordstumbling over each other and making no sense - until Lij Mik-hael caught him by the upper arms and shook him to restore hissenses.

Then the story he told made sense, and rang with urgentconviction. Those within earshot shouted it to those furtherback, and within seconds the story, distorted and garbled, hadflashed through the gathering and was running wildly throughthe whole encampment.

The sleepers awakened, every man armed and every womanand child curious and voluble. They streamed out of the cavesand from the rough tents and shelters in the narrow ravines.Without command, moving like a shoal of fish without a leaderbut with a single purpose, laughing sceptically or shoutingspeculation and comment and query, brandishing shields andancient firearms, the women clutching their infants, and theolder children dancing around them or darting ahead, the shape-less mob streamed out of the broken ground and down into thesaucer-shaped valley of the wells.

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In the caves, Lij Mikhael was still explaining the boy's storyto the foreigners, and arguing the details and implications withthem and his father. It was Jake Barton who realized the danger.

'If the Italians have sent in a unit to grab the wells, then it'sa calculated act of war. They'll be looking for trouble. Prince.You'd best forbid any of your men to go down there, until wehave sized up the situation properly.'

It was too late, far too late. In the first faint glimmer of dawn,when the light plays weird tricks on a man's eyes, the Italiansentries peering over their parapets saw a wall of humanityswarming out of the dark and broken ground, and heard therising hubbub of hundreds of excited voices.

When the drumming had begun, many of the blackshirtswere huddled below the firing step of their trenches, swaddledin their greatcoats and sleeping the exhausted sleep of men whohad travelled all the previous day, and worked all the night.

The non-commissioned officers kicked and pulled them totheir feet, and shoved them to their positions along the parapet.From here they peered, befuddled with sleep, down into thevalley.

With the exception of Luigi Castelani, not a single man inthe Third Battalion had ever faced an armed enemy, and nowafter an infinity of nerve-tearing waiting, at last the experiencewas upon them in the dark before the dawn when a man'svitality is at its lowest ebb. Their bodies were chilled and theirbrains unclear. In the uncertain light, the mob that poured intothe valley was as numerous as the sands of the desert, each figureas large as a giant and as ferocious as a marauding lion.

It was in this moment that Colonel Aldo Belli, panting withexertion and nervous strain, stepped out of the narrow com-munication trench on to the firing platform of the forward lineof emplacements. The Sergeant in command of the trenchrecognized him instantly and let out a cry of relief.

'My Colonel, thank God you have come.' And forgetful ofrank and position he seized the Count's arm. Aldo Belli was sobusy trying to fight off the man's sweaty and importunateclutches that it was some seconds before he actually glanced

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down into the darkened valley - then his bowels turned to jellyand his legs seemed to buckle under him.

'Merciful Mother of God/ he wailed. 'AH is lost. They areupon us.' With clumsy fingers he unbuckled the flap of hisholster and as he fell to his knees he drew the pistol. 'Fire!' hescreamedw 'Open fire!' And crouching down well below the levelof the parapet, he emptied the Beretta straight upwards into thedawn sky.

Manning the Italian parapets were over four hundred com-batants; of these over three hundred and fifty were riflemen,armed with magazine-loaded bolt-action weapons, while anothersixty men in teams of five serviced the cunningly placedmachine-guns.

Every man of this force had endured grinding nervous strain,listening to the war drums and now confronted by a sweepingmob of threatening figures. They crouched like dark statuesbehind their weapons, fingers curled stiffly around the triggers,and squinted over the open sights of rifle and machine-gun.

The Count's shriek of command and the crackle of the pistolshots were all that was necessary to snap the paralysing bondsof fear that held them. The firing was started around Aldo Belli'sposition, by men close enough to hear his command. A long lineof muzzle flashes bloomed and twinkled along the forward slopeof the valley, and three machine-guns opened with them. Thetearing sound of their long traversing bursts drowned out thecrackle of musketry and their tracer flickered and flew in longwhite arcs out across the valley to bury itself in the dark movingblot of humanity.

Taken in flank, the mob broke and surged away towards thedark silence of the far slope of the valley, away from the sheetsof bright white tracer and the red rows of rifle fire. Leavingtheir dead and wounded scattered behind them, they spread likespilled oil across the valley floor.

The silent gunners on the far slope saw them coming, heldtheir fire for a few more confused panic-soured moments, andthen, seeing themselves threatened, they opened also. The delayhad the effect of allowing the survivors of the first volley to race

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deeply into the fields of overlapping fire that Castelani had socleverly planned.

Caught in the open ground, hemmed in by a murderousstorm of fire, the forward movement of the mob broke down,and they milled aimlessly, the women shrieking and clutchingat their children, the children darting and doubling like a shoalof fish trapped in a tidal pool, some of the warriors kneeling inthe open and beginning at last to return fire. The red flashes ofthe black powder were long and dull and smoky and ineffectualagainst men in entrenched positions; they served only to inten-sify the ferocity of the Italian attack.

Now the surge of uncontrolled, panic-stricken humanityslowed and eventually ceased. The unarmed women who stillsurvived gathered their children and covered them with theirrobes, crouching down over them as a mother hen does withher chicks, and the men crouched also, firing blindly and wildlyup the slopes of the valley at the muzzle flashes that were fadingnow as the sun rose and the light strengthened.

Twelve machine-guns, each firing almost seven hundredrounds a minute, and three hundred and fifty rifles poured asheet of bullets down into the valley. Minute after minute thefiring continued, and slowly the light strengthened, unmerci-fully exposing the survivors in the valley below.

The mood of the attackers changed. From panicky, nervouslystrung out green militia, they were transformed. The almostdrunken elation of victorious attackers gripped them, they werelaughing triumphantly now as they served the guns. Their eyesbright with the blood lust of the predator, the knowledge thatthey could kill without retribution made them bold and cruel.

The miserable popping and flashing of ancient muskets inthe valley below them was so feeble, so lacking in menace, thatnot a man amongst them was still afraid. Even Count Aldo Belliwas now on his feet, brandishing his pistol and shouting with ahigh, almost girlish hysteria.

'Death to the enemy! Fire! Keep firing!' and cautiously helifted his head another inch above the parapet. "Kill them! Oursis the victory!'

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The valley floor, as the first rays of sunlight touched it, wascovered with thick swathes of the dead and maimed. They layscattered singly, piled in clumps like mounds of old clothing ina flea market, thrown haphazardly on the pale sandy earth orarranged in neat patterns like fish on the slab.

In the centre of the killing-ground, there was still life andmovement. Here and there a figure might leap up and run withrobes flapping, and immediately the machjne-guns would followit, quick stabbing spouts of dust closing swiftly until they metand held on the running figure, when it would collapse and rollon the sandy earth.

The warriors who still crouched over their ancient rifles, withtheir dark faces lifted to the slopes, were now providing goodpractice for the riflemen above them. The Italian officers' voices,high-pitched and excited, called down fire upon them, andswiftly each of these defiants was hit by carefully aimed fire andfell, some of them kicking and twitching.

The firing had lasted almost twenty minutes now, and therewere few targets still on offer. The machine-guns traversed ex-pectantly, firing short bursts into the heaped carcasses, shatter-ing already mutilated flesh, or tore clouds of dust and flyingshale from the rounded lips of the deep water holes, from thecover of which a sporadic fire still popped and crackled.

'My Colonel.' Castelani touched Aldo Belli's arm to gain hisattention, and at last he turned wild-eyed and elated to hisMajor.

'Ha, Castelani, what a victory-what a great'victory, hey?They will not doubt our valour now.5

'Colonel, shall I order the cease fire ?5 and the Count seemednot to hear him.

'They will know now what kind of soldier I am. This brilliantvictory will win for me a place in the halls5

'Colonel! Colonel! We must cease fire now. This is a slaugh-ter. Order the cease fire.5

Aldo Belli stared at him, his face beginning to flush with out-rage.

'You crazy fool,5 he shouted. 'The battle must be decisive,

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crushing! We will not cease now - not until the victory is ours.*He was stuttering wildly and his hand shook as he pointed downinto the bloody shambles of the valley.

'The enemy have taken cover in the water holes, they must beflushed out and destroyed. Mortars, Castelani, bomb them out.'

Aldo Belli did not want it to end. It was the most deeplysatisfying experience of his life. If this was war, he knew at lastwhy the ages and the poets had invested it with such glory. Thiswas man's work, and Aldo Belli knew himself born to it.

'Do you question my orders ?' he shrieked at Castelani. 'Doyour duty, immediately.'

'Immediately,' Castelani repeated bitterly, and for a momentlonger stared stonily into the Count's eyes before he turnedaway.

The first mortar bomb climbed high into the clear desertdawn, before arcing over and dropping vertically down into thevalley. It burst on the lip of the nearest well. It kicked up a briefcolumn of dust and smoke, and the shrapnel whinnied shrilly.The second bomb fell squarely into the deep circular pit, burst-ing out of sight below ground level. Mud and smoke gushedupwards, and out of the water hole into the open ground crawledand staggered three scarecrow figures with their tattered anddirty robes fluttering like flags of truce.

Instantly the rifle fire and machine-gun fire burst over them,and the earth around them whipped by the bullets seemed toliquiefy into a cascade of flying dust, into which they tumbledand at last lay still.

Aldo Belli let out a hoot of excitement. It was so easy and so.deeply satisfying. 'The other holes, Castelani!' he screamed.'Clean them out! All of them!'

Concentrating their fire on one hole at a time, the mortarsranged in swiftly. Some of the holes were deserted, but at mostof them the slaughter was continued. A few survivors of theshimmering bursts of shrapnel staggered out into the open tobe cut down swiftly by the waiting machine-guns.

The Count was by now so emboldened that he climbed up onthe parapet, the better to view the field and watch the mortars

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fire on the remaining holes, and to direct his machine-gunners.

The hole nearest the wadis and broken ground at the head ofthe valley was the next target, and the first bomb was over,crumping in a tall jump of dust and pale flame. Before the nextbomb fell, a woman jumped up over the lip and tried to reachthe mouth of the wadi. Behind her she dragged a child of two orthree years, a naked toddler with fat little bow legs and a bellylike a brown ball. He could not keep up with the mother andlost his footing, so she dragged him wailing along the sandyearth. Straddling her hip and clutched with desperate strengthto her breast was another younger infant, also naked, also wail-ing and kicking frantically.

For several seconds, the running, heavily burdened womandrew no fire, and then a burst from a machine-gun fell abouther and a bullet struck and severed the arm by which she heldthe child. She staggered in a circle, shrieking dementedly andwaving the stump of the arm like the spout of a garden hose.The next burst smashed through her chest, the same bulletsshattering the body of the infant on her hip, and she fell androlled like a rabbit hit by a shotgun. The guns fell silent againand remained silent while the naked toddler stood up uncer-tainly.

He began to wail again, standing solidly at last on the fatdimpled legs, a string of blue beads around the tightly bulgingbelly and his penis sticking out like a tiny brown finger.

From the mouth of the wadi emerged a running horse, a raw-boned and rangy white stallion galloping heavily over the sandyground with a frail boyish figure lying low along its neck, a blackshamma flying out wildly behind. The rider drove the stallionon towards where the child stood weeping, and had almostcovered the open ground before the gunners realized what washappening.

The first machine-gun traversed on the galloping animal, butthe lead-off was stiff and the bullets kicked dust slightly highand behind. Then the horse reached the child and the riderreined in sharply, sending it rearing on its hind quarters^ andthe rider swung down to make the pick-up.

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At that moment, two other machine-guns opened up on thestationary target.

Jake Barton realized that there was only one way to prevent aconfrontation between the Italian force which had appeared sosilently and menacingly at the wells and the undisciplined mobof warriors and camp followers of the Ras's entourage.

There was no chance that he could make himself heard in thehubbub of anxiously raised voices and emotional outbursts ofAmharic as the Ras tried to make his view heard above theattempts of fifty of his chieftains and captains to do exactly thesame thing.

Jake needed an interpreter and he thrust his way towardsGregorius Maryam, grabbed him firmly by the arm and draggedhim out of the cave. It needed considerable force, for Gregoriuswas as intent as everybody else in having his views and sug-gestions aired.

Jake was surprised to find how light it was outside the caves,and that the night had passed so swiftly. Dawn was only minutesaway, and the dry desert air was sweet and heady after thecrowded cave with its smoking fires.

In the light of the camp fires and the pale sky, he saw the mobstreaming away down the wadi towards the wells, as happilyexcited as the crowds at a fairground.

'Stop them, Greg,5 he shouted. 'Come on, we've got to stopthem,5 and the two of them ran forward.

'What is it Jake?5

'We've got to stop them running into the Eyetie camp.5'Why?5

'It somebody starts shooting, there will be a massacre.5

'But we are not at war, Jake. They can't shoot.'

'Don't bet on it, buddy boy,' grunted Jake grimly, and hisalarm was contagious. Side by side, they caught up with thestraggling rear of the column and elbowed and kicked their waythrough it.

'Back, you bastards,' roared Jake. 'Get back, all of you,' and 162

made the meaning clear with flying fists and feet.

With Gregorius beside him, Jake reached the narrow mouthof the wadi where it debouched into the saucer-shaped valley ofthe wells. Like the wall of a dam the two of them linked armsand managed to hold the flood of humanity there for a minuteor so, but the pressure from those straining forward from therear threatened to sweep them away, while the mood changedfrom high-spirited curiosity to angry resentment at this checkupon their efforts to join the hundreds of their comrades whohad already passed out of the wadi and were streaming outacross the open valley.

At the moment when they were swept aside, the firing beganout there upon the slopes of the valley and instantly the mobfroze and their voices died away. There was no further forwardmovement, and Jake turned and scrambled up the steep side ofthe wadi for a better view out into the valley.

From there he watched the slaughter that turned the valleyinto a charnel house. He watched with a sick fascination thatchanged slowly, as minute after minute the guns continued theirclamour. He felt it become anger and outrage that outweighedall else, so that he was hardly aware of the slim cold hand thatsought his, and he glanced down only for an instant at Vicky'sgolden head at his shoulder, before turning his entire concentra-tion back to the dreadful tragedy being played out before them.

Vaguely he was aware that Vicky was sobbing beside him,and that she had gripped his hand so tightly that the nails weredriven deep into his palm. Yet even in his dreadful anger, Jakewas studying the ground and marking the Italian positions. Onhis other hand, Gregorius Maryam was praying softly, hissmooth young face turned to a muddy grey with horror and thewords of the prayer forced between tight lips like the last breathsof a dying man.

'Oh God,' whispered Vicky in a tight, choked voice, as themortar bombing began, dropping relentlessly into the depres-sions where the survivors huddled for shelter. 'Oh God, Jake,what can we do ?'

But he did not answer and it went on and on. They were

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caught in the nightmare of it, powerless in the grip of this horror- watching the mortars continue the hunt, until the woman withher two infants burst out into the open not three hundred yardsahead of them.

'Oh God, oh please Jesus,5 whispered Vicky. 'Please don't letit happen. Please make it stop now.'

The guns hunted the woman and they watched her die, andthe child rise to its feet and stand lost and bewildered beside themother's corpse. The thud of galloping hooves sounded in thewadi below them and Gregorius swung around and cried, 'Sara!No!' as the girl rode out, crouched low over the stallion's neck.She rode bare-backed, a tiny dark figure on the big white animal.

Cry Wolf

'Sara!' Gregorius cried again, and would have followed her,running out alone into that deadly plain, but Jake grabbed hisarm and held him easily, though he struggled and cried outagain in Amharic.

The girl rode on unscathed through the storm of fire, andVicky's breathing stopped as she watched. It was impossiblethat Sara could reach the child and return. It was stupid, sostupid as to make her anger leap even higher - and yet therewas something so moving about that frail beautiful child ridingout to her death, that if filled Vicky with a sense of her owninadequacy, a sense of great humility - for even in this proudmoment, she was aware that she was incapable of such sacrifice.

She watched the stallion rear, and the girl lean out to gatherthe small brown infant, saw the machine guns find their targetat last, and the stallion whinnied and went down in a tangle offlailing hooves, pinning both the girl and the child, while thebullets continued to spurt dust and slap loudly against the still-kicking body of the stallion.

Gregorius was still struggling and blabbering his horror, andJake turned and struck him an open-handed blow across theface.

'Stop that!' Jake snarled, his own anger and outrage making him brutal. 'Anybody who goes out there is going to get his arseshot off.'

The blow seemed to steady Gregorius. 164

'We have got to get her, Jake. Please, Jake. Let me fetch her.'

'We'll do it my way,' snapped Jake. His face seemed carvedfrom hard brown stone, but his eyes were ferocious and his jawsclamped closed with his anger. Roughly he shoved Gregoriusahead of him down into the wadi, and he dragged Vicky afterhim. She tried to resist, leaning back against his strength, herhead turned towards the plain, and her reluctant feet sliding inthe loose earth.

'Jake, what are you doing ?' she protested, but he ignored her.

'We'll mount the guns. It won't take long.' He was planningthrough his rage, as he dragged them back along the wadi towhere the cars were parked beyond the caves. Vicky and Gre-gorius were helpless in the ferocity of his grip, swept along byhis strength and his anger.

'Vicky, you will drive for me. I'll serve the gun,' he told her.'Greg, you drive for Gareth.'

Jake's breathing was shallow and fast with his rage. 'We canonly man two cars, one we will use as a diversion - you andGareth swing south along the back of the ridge and that willkeep them busy while Vicky and I pick up Sara and as many ofthe others as we can find alive.'

The two of them listened to him, and were swept forwardwith a fresh urgency. As they ran back along the wadi, a finalbrief storm of machine-gun fire and exploding mortar bombspreceded the deep aching silence which now fell over the desert.

The three of them turned the final bend in the course of thewadi and came upon a scene of utter pandemonium. The ravinewas filled solidly with those who had escaped the Italian firestruggling to load their possessions, their tents and bedding,their chickens and children, on to the panicky bellowing camelsand the skittering braying mules and donkeys.

Already hundreds of riders were galloping away, climbing thesides of the wadi or disappearing into the labyrinth of brokenground. New widows wailed in the uproar and their grief wascatching, the children shrieked and whimpered in sympathy,and over it all hung a blue miasma of smoke from the cookingfires and dust from the trampling hooves and milling feet.

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The four cars stood in their solid orderly rank, aloof from themasses of humanity, gleaming in their coats of white paint withthe vivid red crosses emblazoned upon their sides.

Jake pushed a way through for them, towering head andshoulders above the throng, and when they reached the nearestcar Jake grasped Vicky about the waist and swung her easily upinto the sponson. For a moment his expression softened.

'You don't have to come,' he said. CI guess I went a little madthen, you don't have to drive - Gareth and I will take one car.'

Her face was deathly pale also, and there were deep bruisedsmears under her eyes from a night without sleep and the horrorsof the slaughter. Her tears had dried, leaving dirty smears downher cheeks, but she shook her head fiercely.

'I'm coming,' she said. 'I'll drive for you.'

'Good girl,' said Jake. 'Help Gregorius top up. We will needfull fuel tanks. I'll get the Vickers.' He turned away, shouting toGregorius. 'We'll use Miss Wobbly and Tenastelin - Vicky willhelp you refuel.'

A detail from the Ras's personal bodyguard were alreadybringing the wooden cases of weapons and munitions out of thestorage cave as Jake arrived. Each case was carried between fourstraining troopers to where the camels knelt. It was then liftedinto the pannier on each side of the hump and hastily lasheddown.

'Hey, you lot.' Jake came up with a group carrying a cratedVickers. 'Bring that along this way.' They paused in theirlabours, not understanding until Jake made unmistakable signs,but at that moment a captain of the guard hurried up to inter-vene. After one shouted exchange Jake realized that the languagebarrier was insurmountable. The man was obstinate and timewas wasting.

'Sorry, friend,' he apologized. 'But I am in a bit of a hurry,'and he hit him a roundhouse clout that ended the argumentconclusively and sent the man flying backwards into the out-stretched arms of two of his men.

'Come along.' Jake pushed the guards with the crate towardswhere the cars stood. The thought of Sara lying out there in

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the valley was driving him frantic. He imagined her bleedingslowly to death, her bright young blood draining away into thesandy soil - and he hustled the two men forward through thepress of animals and human beings.

As he came up, Gregorius was swinging the crank handle onMiss Wobbly and the engine caught and ran smoothly as Vickyeased back the ignition.

'Where is Gareth ?' Jake shouted.

'Can't find him,' answered Gregorius. 'We'll have to go inone car,' and then both of them swung round at the familiarbantering laugh. Gareth Swales was leaning nonchalantly againstthe side of the car, looking as unruffled and calm as ever, his hairneatly combed and the tweed suit as immaculate as if it had justcome from his tailor.

'I say,' smiled Gareth, crinkling his eyes against the drift ofblue smoke from the cheroot between his lips. 'Big Jake Bartonand his two eager ducklings about to take on the entire Italianarmy.'

Vicky's head appeared in the driver's hatch.

'We've been looking for you,' she shouted furiously.

'Ah,' quoth Gareth lightly. 'We will now hear from the GirlGuides Association.'

'Sara is out there.' Gregorius ran to Gareth. 'We are going tofetch her. You and I will take the one car, Vicky and Jake theother.'

'Nobody is going anywhere.' Gareth shook his head, andGregorius seized the lapels of his suit and shook them urgently.'Sara. You don't understand - she's out there! We have to fetchher.'

'I say, old lad, would you mind unhanding me' murmuredGareth and removed Gregorius' hands from his lapel. 'Yes. Weknow about Sara, but'

Vicky yelled from the driver's hatch. 'Leave him, Gregorius.We don't need anyone who is afraid' and Gareth straightenedup abruptly, his expression grim and his eyes snapping.

'I have been called many things in my life, my dear younglady. Some of them justified, but nobody has ever called me acoward.' 1/V7

'Well, there is always a first time, buster,' shouted Vicky, herface crimson with anger and streaked with dirt, her blonde hairruffled and hanging into her eyes - and she pointed one quiver-ing finger at Gareth, 'and for you this is that first time!'

They stared at each other for a moment longer before LijMikhael strode between them, his dark face set but command-ing.

'Major Swales is acting on my express orders, Miss Camber-well. I have ordered that the cars and all my father's troops willfall back immediately.'

'Good God, man.' Vicky transferred her anger from Garethto the Prince. 'That's your daughter lying out there.'

'Yes,' said the Prince softly. 'My daughter on the one hand -my country on the other. There is no doubt which I mustchoose.'

'You're not making sense,' Jake interposed roughly.

'I think I am.' The Prince turned to him and Jake saw thedark torment in the man's eyes. 'I cannot make a hostile move,it's what the Italians are seeking. An excuse to attack in fullstrength. We must turn the other cheek now, and use thisatrocity to win world support.'

'But Sara,' Vicky interrupted. 'We could pick her up in aminute.'

'No.' The Prince lifted his chin. 'I cannot show the enemythese new weapons of ours. They must remain hidden until thetime is right to strike.'

'Sara,' cried Gregorius. 'What of Sara ?'

'When these machines and the new guns are safely on theirway back to the Sardi Gorge, I shall ride out myself to fetch herbody,' said the Prince with a simple dignity. 'But until then myduty must come first.'

'One car,' pleaded Gregorius. 'For Sara's sake.'

'No, I cannot use even one car,' said the Prince.

'Well, I can,' snapped Vicky and her tousled golden headdisappeared into the driver's hatch, the engine roared and MissWobbly shot forward scattering men and animals before her,and swung in a tight sliding right-hand turn towards the courseof the wadi.

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Unarmed and alone, Vicky Camberwell was going out to facethe machine guns and the mortars, and only one man amongstthem acted swiftly enough.

Jake shouldered the Prince aside and sprinted across the circleof the car's turn, coming alongside a moment before it plungedinto the narrow ravine. He got a grip on one of the weldedbrackets abaft the engine cowling, and although his shoulderjoint was almost wrenched from its socket, he swung himself upand fell belly down across the sponson.

Clinging grimly on to the leaping, jouncing vehicle, hedragged himself forward until he could peer down the driver'shatch.

'Are you crazy ?' he bellowed, and Vicky looked up and gavehim a fleeting but angelic grin.

'Yes. How about you ?' A heavier impact came up throughthe chassis of the car and momentarily drove Jake's breath fromhim so he could not answer. Instead, he clawed his way up theside of the turret, almost losing four fingers as the loose hatchcover slammed closed at another leap of the car.

Using all his strength, Jake lifted it again, and secured theretaining catch before he scrambled down into the cab. He wasonly just in time, for at that moment Vicky drove the car at fullthrottle out into the valley.

The sun was clear of the horizon now, smearing long darkshadows across the golden sands. Dust and smoke from themortar barrage still drifted in a stately brown cloud over theridge, and the bodies of the dead were thrown at random acrossthe bare plain. The women's dresses made bright splashes ofcolour against the monochrome of the desert.

Jake swept a swift glance around the ridge that commandedthe plain, and saw that many of the Italian troopers had lefttheir trenches. They wandered in small groups around the edgesof the slaughter ground, and their movements were awed andtimid - green troops still not hardened to the reality of openWounds and twisted corpses.

They froze in attitudes of surprise as the car burst out of theWadi, and flew on dusty wings towards the nearest water-hole.It took many seconds for them to move, and then they turned

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and pelted for their earthworks, tiny figures in dark uniformswith legs and arms pumping in frantic haste.

'Turn broadside,' yelled Jake. 'Show them the crosses!' andVicky reacted swiftly, swinging the car into a tight left-handerthat had her up on two wheels, sliding broadside in the sand,displaying to the Italians the huge scarlet crosses on the hull.

'Let me have your shirt,' Jake yelled again. It was the onlywhite cloth they had with them. 'I need a flag of truce!'

'It's all I have on,' Vicky shrieked back. 'I'm bare under-neath.'

'You want to be modest and dead ?' howled Jake. 'They'llstart shooting any moment now.' And she steered with one handas she unbuttoned her shirt front and leaned forward in the seatto yank the tails out of her skirt. She shrugged out of it andreached up into the turret to hand him the bundled shirt. Eachtime they hit another bump, Vicky's breasts bounced like rubberballs, a sight that distracted Jake for a hundredth part of asecond before chivalry and duty recalled him and he stood highin the turret, arms stretched above his head, streaming the whiteshirt like a flag, balancing with a sailor's legs against the wildantics of the car.

To the hundreds of men who lined the parapet of the Italiantrenches Jake displayed two emotive symbols, the red cross andthe white flag, symbols so powerful that even men in the white-hot musth of the blood lust hesitated with their fingers still curledabout the triggers of the machine guns.

'It's working,' shrieked Vicky, and swung the car on to itsoriginal heading, almost throwing Jake from his precarious roostin the turret. He dropped the shirt and clutched wildly at thecoamings of the turret, the shirt floating away like a white egreton the wing.

'There she is,' Vicky cried again. The carcass of the whitestallion lay dead ahead, as she braked hard and then pulled thecar to a standstill beside it, interposing the armoured body ofthe car between the pile of bodies and the watching Italians onthe ridge.

Jake dropped down into the cab and crawled back to open the 170

rear double doors of the car, knocking open the locking handlesas he called over his shoulder.

£Keep your hatch battened and don't, for crissakes, show yourhead.'

Til help you,' Vicky stated boldly.

'The hell you will,' snapped Jake, tearing his eyes off hermagnificent chest. 'You'll stay where you are - and keep theengine running.'

The doors flew open and Jake tumbled headfirst out on to thesandy earth. Spitting grit from his mouth, he crawled swiftly tothe carcass of the white horse. Close up, the hide was shaggyand flea-bitten, dappled with faint patches of chestnut. On thispale background the bullet holes were like dark red mouthswhere already the metallic blue flies clustered delightedly. Thestallion lay heavily across Sara's lower body, pinning her facedown to the earth.

The naked boy child had been hit by one of the hooves as thehorse fell. The side of the tiny bald skull had been crushed, adeep indentation above the temple into which a baseball wouldhave fitted neatly. There was no chance that he still lived andJake transferred his attention to the girl.

'Sara,' he called, and she lifted herself on her elbows, lookingback at him from huge terrified dark eyes. Her face was smearedwith dust, the skin shaved from one cheek where she had slidagainst the ground, exposing the pale pink meat from whichlymph leaked in clear liquid beads.

'Are you hit ?' Jake reached her.

'I don't know,' she whispered huskily, and he saw that thesatin of her breeches was soaked with dark blood. He placedboth feet against the carcass of the horse and tried to roll it offher legs, but the dead weight of the animal was enormous. Hewould have to stand, taking his chances with the guns.

Jake came to his feet and felt the cold fingers of fear brushlightly along his spine as he turned his back to the nearestItalian trenches and stooped to the horse.

Crouching with his weight balanced evenly on the balls ofboth feet, he took the tail and the lower hind leg of the animal;

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lifting and turning with all his strength, he began to roll thecarcass off Sara's legs and pelvis. She cried out in pain, such asharp high-pitched shriek that he had to stop.

She was praying incoherently in Amharic, weeping slow fattears of agony that cut runnels through the pale dust on hercheeks.

Jake panted, 'Once more - I'm sorry,' and he braced himself.At that moment Vicky yelled from the car.

'Jake, they are coming! Hurry, oh God, please hurry!'

Jake swung around and ran to the car, peering over the highengine compartment.

With a long plume of pale dust boiling out from behind it,a large open vehicle crowded with armed men was droppingswiftly down towards them from the ridge.

'My God,' grunted Jake, screwing up his eyes against thelow blinding rays of the morning sun. 'It can't be!' But even atthat range in the dust and bad light, there was no mistaking thegracious and dignified lines of a Rolls-Royce. Jake was seized bya feeling of unreality - that amid all this horror should appearsomething of such beauty.

'Hurry, Jake.' Vicky's voice spurred him on, and he ran backto the dead horse, seized its hind legs and began wrestling it onto its back with the girl's agonized cries as an accompaniment.

Grunting and straining, Jake lifted the horse by main strengthuntil it was balanced critically along its spine with the legspointed loosely at the morning sky, and now he could hear theapproaching engine-beat of the Rolls and the faint but excitedvoices of its occupants. He denied the temptation to look aroundagain and, instead, let the carcass flop heavily over on to its otherflank, freeing the frail body of the child-woman beneath it.

Still panting with his efforts, Jake dropped on one knee besideher. She was hit in the upper leg, he saw at once, the entrywound was six inches above the knee, and when he felt swiftlyfor a bone-break, there was another quick flood of dark crimsonblood that poured warmly over his fingers and drenched theslick satin of her breeches afresh. Jake found the exit wound inthe inside of her thigh, but knew by feel and instinct that it had

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missed the bone. Still, she was losing blood heavily and heinserted a forefinger into the tear in her breeches and ripped thecloth cleanly to the ankle; he pulled it up exposing her long slimleg to the crutch. The wound was deep and blue in the darklylustrous flesh, and Jake tore the flapping trouser-leg free andwound one quick turn of it around the thigh above the wound.

Using both arms and the strength of his shoulders he drewthe crude tourniquet so tight that the flow of blood was instantlystemmed and he tied the ends of the bandage with two swiftturns, and then looked up as the Rolls-Royce skidded to aviolent halt across the front of the armoured car.

There seemed to be a state of utter confusion amongst theoccupants of the Rolls, and again Jake felt a sense of unreality.In the front seat, the driver gripped the steering-wheel in onehand and a rifle in the other with white knuckles and fingers thatshook like those of a man in fever. His ashen face was shiningwith the sweat either of some terrible fever or some equallyterrible terror. On the seat beside him crouched a small wiry fig-ure with a rifle slung over one shoulder and with a brown wizenedmonkey face partly obscured by a square black Leica camerawith an enormous bellows lens. In the back seat of the Rolls wasa large powerfully built man, with a granite face and the levelcontrolled manner of a man of action. A dangerous man, Jakerecognized instantly, and he saw that he was a major. He held arifle in one hand and with the other was trying to help to his feeta smaller, more handsome man in a splendid uniform of elegantlytailored black gaberdine adorned with silver badges and insignia.

On this officer's head, a brimless black helmet with a silverskull and crossbones rode at a jaunty angle, like a pirate in aChristmas pantomime, but the face below it was fixed in thesame pale emotion as that of the driver. It became clear to Jakethat the last thing this gallant wanted was to be helped to hisfeet. He was curled up in the corner of the seat in such a way asto offer the smallest possible target, and he slapped petulantlyat the Major's helping hand. Protesting shrilly and brandishingan expensively plated and engraved pistol, it was clear that hispresence in the Rolls was by no means voluntary.

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Jake stooped over the body of the girl and slipped one armunder her shoulder and the other beneath her knees, careful notto inflict further hurt. Jake stood up with her in his arms whileshe clung to him like a child.

This action caused the big stern-faced Major to turn all hisattention on Jake, to level his rifle at him and call a peremptoryorder in Italian. It was clearly an order to stand where he was,and, looking into the muzzle of the rifle and into the pale ex-pressionless eyes, Jake knew that the man would shoot withouthesitation if he were not immediately obeyed. There was adeadliness, a quiet aura of menace about him that chilled Jakeas he stood with the slim warm body in his arms, and he col-lected his senses and his words.

CI am American,' he said firmly. 'American doctor.' Therewas no recognition in the Major's expression, but he turned hishead and glanced at the officer who stirred receptively, half-rosein his seat, then thought better of it. He sank back again, speak-ing carefully around the bulk of his Major.

'You are my prisoner,' he cried, his voice unsteady, but hisEnglish clear and unaccented. 'I place you in protective custody.'

'You are contravening the Geneva Convention.' Jake tried tomake his tone indignant, as he sidled towards the invitingly openrear doors of the car.

'I must inspect your credentials.' The officer was recoveringrapidly from his recent indisposition. Fresh colour flooded theclasically handsome face, new interest flashed in the dark gazelleeyes, and the smooth baritone voice gained strength and a fineringing timbre.

'I, Colonel Count Aldo Belli, command you to account tome.' His gaze switched to the huge steel body of the car. 'Thisis an armoured vehicle of war. You fly false colours, sir.'

As the Count spoke, he realized for the first time that neitherthe big curly-headed American nor the big old-fashioned vehiclewhich towered over them was armed. He could clearly see theempty gun-mounting in the turret - and his courage came flood-ing back. Now at last he leaped to his feet, throwing out hischest, one hand on his hip, the other aiming the pistol at Jake.

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'You are my prisoner!' he declaimed once more, then fromthe corner of his mouth he growled at the front seat, cGino,quickly. A shot of me capturing the American.'

'At once, Excellency.' Gino was focusing the camera.

'I protest,' shouted Jake, and sidled another few paces to-wards the inviting rear doors of the car.

'Stay where you are,' snapped the Count and glanced at Gino.'All right ?' he asked.

'Tell the American to move a little to the right,' Gino replied,still peering into the view-finder.

'A little to the right!' commanded the Count in English,gesturing with the pistol, and Jake obeyed, for it brought himcloser to his goal, but he was still shouting his protests.

'In the name of humanity-and the International RedCross'

'I shall radio Geneva today,' the Count shouted back, 'toenquire of your credentials.'

'Smile a little, Excellency,' said Gino.

The Count burst into a radiant smile and half-turned towardsthe camera.

'Then I shall have you shot!' he promised, still smiling.

'If you let this girl die,' yelled Jake, 'it will be the act of abarbarian.'

The smile vanished instantly and the Count scowled darkly.'And your actions, sir, are those of a spy. Enough talk - sur-render yourself.' He lifted the pistol threateningly and aimed atthe centre of Jake's chest. Jake felt a chill of despair, as he sawthe big Major reinforce the order by sliding the safety catch ofhis rifle to the 'fire' position and pointing it at Jake's belly.

At this critical moment, the driver's hatch of the armouredcar flew open with a clang that startled them all - and VickyCamberwell rose to view, her blonde hair awry and her cheeksburning with anger.

'I am an accredited member of the American Press Associa-tion,' she yelled as loudly as any of them. 'And I assure you thatthis outrage will be reported to the world in every detail. I warnyou that' There was much more in this vein, and Vicky's

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anger was such that she could not remain still, she jumped upand down and flung her arms about in wild gesticulations - forthe moment completely oblivious of the fact that she was baredto the waist.

Her audience in the Rolls was under no such illusion. Everyman of them was a member of a nation whose favourite pastimewas the adoration and pursuit of beautiful women, and everyone of them considered himself to be the national champion.

As Vicky's bounty wobbled and swung and bounced withagitation, the four Italians gaped half in disbelief and half indelight. The raised weapons sank and were forgotten. TheMajor attempted to rise to his feet in a gesture of chivalry, butwas thrust firmly backwards by the Count. The driver's footslipped off the clutch and the Rolls bucked violently and theengine stalled. Gino uttered an oath of approval, raised thecamera, found the film was expended, swore again and openedthe camera without taking his eyes off Vicky, dropped it fromclumsy hands, and abandoned it, grinning beatifically at thisblonde vision.

The Count began to raise his helmet, remembered he wasnow a warrior and with his other hand threw out a Fascistsalute, found he was still gripping the pistol and did not haveenough hands, so he held his helmet and the pistol to his chestwith one hand.

'Madam,' he said, dark eyes flashing, his voice taking on aromantic ring. 'My dear lady'

At that moment, the Major tried again to rise and the Countshoved him back into the seat once more - while Vicky con-tinued her tirade with no diminution in fervour.

Jake was completely forgotten by the Italians. He took fourrunning steps and dived through the rear doors into the steelcab of the car. He rolled over and dropped Sara into the spacefor the ammunition bins behind the driver's seat, and in a con-tinuation of the same movement he kicked the doors closed andturned the locking handle.

'Drive!' he shouted at Vicky, although only her backside wasvisible as she stood on the driver's seat. 'Come on!' and hauled

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her downwards so that she sat with a thud on the hard leatherseat, still shouting abuse at the enemy. 'Drive!' Jake shoutedlouder still. 'Get us out of here!'

The shocked dismay of the four Italians, as Vicky disappearedabruptly from view like an inverted jack-in-a-box, lasted formany seconds and held them paralysed by disappointment.

Then the armoured car's engine roared and it bounded for-ward, straight at them; swinging broadside at the last moment,it hit the Rolls only a glancing blow, crumpling the front mud-guard and shattering the glass headlamp, before it tore off in itsown dust storm towards the broken ground beyond the wells.

Castelani was the first to act; he leaped to the ground andraced to reach the crank handle, shouting at the driver to startthe engine. It fired at the first kick and the Major sprang on tothe running board.

'Chase them,' he shouted in the driver's ear, brandishing hisrifle, and once again the driver sprang the clutch and the Rollsleapt forward with such violence that the Count was tumbledbackwards onto the soft leather seat, his helmet sliding forwardover his eyes, his polished boots kicking to the skies and histrigger finger tightening involuntarily. The Beretta fired with avicious crack and the bullet flew an inch past Gino's ear, so thathe fell to the floorboards on top of his camera, and whimperedwith fright.

'Faster!' shouted the Major in the driver's ear. Head themoff, force them to turn!' and his voice was louder and moreauthoritative. He wanted a clean shot at the few vulnerablepoints in the car's armour - the driver's visor or the open gun-mounting.

'Stop!' screeched the Count. Til have you shot for this.'

Side by side, the two vehicles pitched and lurched togetherlike a team in harness, not ten feet separating them.

Within the armoured car, Vicky's vision through the visorwas limited to a narrow arc ahead, and she concentrated on thatas she shouted, 'Where are they ?'

Jake picked himself out of the corner where he and Sara hadbeen thrown, and crawled towards the command turret. In the

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Rolls alongside, Castelani braced himself and raised the rifle.Even at that close range, five of his shots struck the thick steelhull with ringing sledgehammer blows and went whining awayacross the desert spaces. Only one bullet entered the narrowbreech of the gun-mounting. Trapped within the hull, it rico-cheted amongst the three of them like an angry living thing,splattering them with stinging slivers of lead, and bringing deathwithin inches before it ploughed into the back of the driver'sseat.

Jake popped his head out of the turret and discovered theRolls running hard beside them, the burly Major franticallyreloading his empty rifle, and the other passengers bouncingaround helplessly.

'Driver!' shouted Jake. 'Hard right!' and felt a quick flush ofpride and affection as Vicky responded instantly. She swung thegreat armoured hull so suddenly that the other driver had notime to respond, the two vehicles came together with a showerof bright white sparks and a thunderous grinding crash.

'Save us, Mother of God!' shrieked the Count. 'We are killed.'The Rolls reeled under the impact, shearing off and losingground, her paintwork deeply scarred and her whole side dentedand torn. Castelani had leaped nimbly into the back seat at thelast possible moment, avoiding having his legs crushed by thecollision, and now he had reloaded the rifle.

'Closer,' he shouted at the driver. 'Give me another shot ather!' But the Count had at last recovered his balance andpushed his helmet on to the back of his head.

'Stop, you fool.' His voice was clear and urgent. 'You'll killus all,' and the driver braked with patent relief, smiling for thefirst time that day.

'Keep going, you idiot,' said Castelani sternly, and placed themuzzle of the rifle to the driver's earhole. His smile switched off,and his foot fell heavily on the pedal again.

'Stop!' said the Count, as he dragged himself up again, ad-justed his helmet with one hand and placed the muzzle of theBeretta pistol in the driver's vacant earhole. 'I, your Colonel,command you.'

'Keep going,' growled Castelani. And the driver closed his

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eyes tightly, not daring to move his head, and roared straight atthe ramparts of red earth that guarded the wadi.

In the moment before the Rolls ploughed headlong into awall of sunbaked earth, the driver's dilemma was resolved forhim. Gregorius, for lack of another ally, had appealed to hisgrandfather's warrior instincts, and despite the vast quantitiesof tej that he had drunk, that ancient had responded nobly,gathering his bodyguard about him and outstripping them inthe race down the wadi. Only Gregorius liimself kept pace withthe tall, gangling figure as he ran down to the plain.

The two of them came out side by side, and found the Rollsand the white-painted armoured car bearing down on them atpoint-blank range in a storm of dust. It was a sight to daunt thebravest heart, and Gregorius dived for the shelter of the redearth ramparts. But the Ras had killed his lion, and did notflinch.

He flung up the trusty old Martini Henry rifle. The explosionof black powder sounded like a cannon shot, a vast cloud of bluesmoke blossomed and a long red flame shot from the barrel.

The windscreen of the Rolls exploded in a silver burst of fly-ing glass splinters, one of which nicked the Count's chin.

4Holy Mary, I'm killed,' cried the Count, and the driverneeded nothing further to tip his allegiance. He swung the Rollsinto a tight, roaring U-turn and not all of Castelani's threatscould deter him. It was enough. He could take no more. He wasgoing home.

cMy God,' breathed Jake, as he watched the battered Rollsswinging tightly away, and then gathering speed as it acceleratedback towards the ridge, the arms and weapons of its occupantsstill waving wildly, and their voices raised in loud hystericalargument that faded with distance.

The Ras's cannon boomed again, speeding them on their way,and Vicky slowed the car as they came up to him. Jake reacheddown and helped the ancient gentleman aboard. His eyes werebloodshot and he smelled like an abandoned brewery, but hiswizened old face was crinkled into a wicked grin of satisfaction.

'How do you do ?' he asked, with evident relish.

'Not bad, sir,' Jake assured him. 'Not bad at all.'*

A little before noon, the formation of armoured cars parked inthe open grassland twenty miles beyond the wells. A halt hadbeen called here to allow the straggling mass of refugees thathad escaped the slaughter at Chaldi to come up with them, andthis was the first opportunity that Vicky had to work on Sara'sleg. It had stiffened in the last hour, and the blood had clottedinto a thick dark scab. Though Sara made no protest, she hadpaled to a muddy colour and was sweating in tiny beads acrossher forehead and upper lip as Vicky cleaned the wound andpoured half a bottle of peroxide into it. Vicky sought to distracther as she worked by bringing up the subject of the dead theyhad left scattered about the waterholes under the Italian guns.

Sara shrugged philosophically. 'Hundreds die every day ofsickness and hunger and from the fighting in the hills. They diewithout purpose or reason. These others have died for a pur-pose. They have died to tell the world about us' and she brokeoff and gasped as the disinfectant boiled in the wound.

T am sorry,' said Vicky quickly.

'It is nothing,' she said, and they were quiet for a while, thenSara asked, 'You will write it, won't you, Miss Camberwell ?'

'Sure,' Vicky nodded grimly. 'I'll write it good. Where can Ifind a telegraph office ?'

'There is one at Sardi,' Sara told her. 'At the railway office.'

'What I write will burn out their lines for them,' promisedVicky, and began to bind up the leg with a linen bandage fromthe medicine chest. 'We'll have to get these breeches off you.'Vicky inspected the blood-stained and tattered velvet dubiously.'They are so tight, it's a wonder you haven't given yourselfgangrene.'

'They must be worn so,' Sara explained. 'It was decreed bymy great-grandfather, Ras Abullahi.'

'Good Lord.' Vicky was intrigued. 'What on earth for ?'

'The ladies in those days were very naughty,' Sara explainedprimly. 'And my great-grandfather was a good man. He thoughtto make the breeches difficult to remove.'

Vicky laughed delightedly.

'Do you think it helps ?' she demanded, still laughing. 180

4Oh no,' Sara shook her head seriously. 'It makes it very hard.'She spoke with the air of an expert, and then thought for amoment. 'They come down quickly enough - it's when youwant to get them up again in a hurry - that can be very difficult.'

'Well, the only way we are going to get you out of these nowis to cut you loose.' Vicky was still smiling, as she took a largepair of scissors from the medicine chest and Sara shrugged againwith resignation.

'They were very pretty before Jake tore them - now it doesnot matter.' And she showed no emotion as Vicky snipped care-fully along the seam and peeled them off her.

'Now you must rest.' Vicky wrapped her naked lower body in a woollen shamma and helped her settle comfortably on one ofthe thin coir mattresses spread on the floor of the car.

'Stay with me,' Sara asked shyly, as Vicky picked up her port-able typewriter and would have climbed out of the rear doors.

'I must begin my dispatch.'

'You can work here. I will be very quiet.'

'Promise ?'

'I promise,' and Vicky opened the case and placed the type-writer in her lap, sitting cross-legged. She wound a sheet offresh paper into the machine, and thought for a moment. Thenher fingers flew at the keys. Almost instantly, the anger and out-rage returned to her and was transferred smoothly into wordsand hammered out on the thin sheet of yellow paper. Vicky'scheeks flamed with colour and she tossed her head occasionallyto keep the tendrils of fine blonde hair out of her eyes.

Sara watched her, keeping very still and silent until Vickypaused to wind a fresh sheet into the typewriter, then she brokethe silence.

'I have been thinking, Miss Camberwell,' she said.

'You have ?' Vicky did not look up.

'I think it should be Jake.'

'Jake ?' Vicky glanced at her, baffled by this sudden shift inthought.

'Yes,' Sara nodded with finality. 'We will take Jake as yourfirst lover.' She made it sound like a group project.

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'Oh, we will - will we ?' The idea had already entered Vicky'shead and was almost firmly rooted, but she baulked instantly atSara's bold statement.

'He is so strong. Yes!' Sara went on. 'I think we will definitelytake Jake,' and with that statement she dashed as low as theyhad ever been the chances of Jake Barton.

Vicky snorted derisively, and flew at the typewriter onceagain. She was a lady who liked to make her own decisions.

The river of moving men and animals flowed wedge-shapedacross the sparsely grassed and rolling landscape beneath themountains. Over it all hung a fine mist of dust, like sea fret on awindy day, and the sunlight caught and flashed from the burn-ished surfaces of the bronze war shields and the lifted lance-tips.Closer came the mass of riders until the bright spots of the silkshammas of the officers and noblemen showed clearly throughthe loom of the dust cloud.

Standing on the turret of Priscilla the Pig, Jake shaded thelens of his binoculars with his helmet and tried to see beyondthe dust clouds, searching anxiously for any pursuit by theItalians. He felt goose-flesh march up his arms and tickle thethick hair at the nape of his neck as he imagined this sprawlingrabble caught in a crossfire of modern machine guns, and hefretted for the arrival of their own weapons which were lostsomewhere amongst the ragged army.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned quickly to find LijMikhael beside him.

'Thank you, Mr Barton,' said the Prince quietly, and Jakeshrugged and turned back to his scrutiny of the distant plains.

'It was not the correct thing - but I thank you all the same.'

'How is she ?'

'I have just left her with Miss Camberwell. She is resting -and I think she will be well.'

Cry Wolf

They were silent a while longer, before Jake spoke again.

'I'm worried, Prince. We are wide open. If the Italians chasenow it will be bloody murder. Where are the guns ? We musthave the guns.'

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Lij Mikhael pointed out on to the left rear flank of the ap-proaching host.

'There/ and Jake noticed for the first time the ungainlyshapes of the pack camels, almost obscured by dust and dis-tances, but standing taller than the shaggy little Harari poniesthat surrounded them, and lumbering stolidly onwards towardswhere the cars waited. 'They will be here in half an hour.'

Jake nodded with relief. He began planning how he wouldarm the cars immediately, so that they* could be deployed tocounter another Italian attack - but the Prince interrupted histhoughts.

'Mr Barton, how long have you known Major Swales ?' Jakelowered the glasses and grinned.

'Sometimes I think too long,' and regretted it, as he noticedthe Prince's immediate anxiety.

'No. I didn't mean that. It was a bad joke. I haven't knownhim long.'

'We checked his record very carefully before' he hesitated.

'Before tricking him into taking on this commission,3 Jakesuggested, and the Prince smiled faintly and nodded.

'Precisely,' he agreed. 'All the evidence suggests that he is anunscrupulous man, but a skilled soldier with a proven record ofachievement in training raw recruits. He is an expert weaponsinstructor, with a full knowledge of the mechanism and exploi-tation of modern weapons.' The Prince paused.

'Just don't get into a card game with him.'

'I will take your advice, Mr Barton.' The Prince smiled fleet-ingly, and then was serious again. 'Miss Camberwell called hima coward. That is not so. He was acting under my direct orders,as a soldier should.'

'Point taken,' grinned Jake. 'But then I'm not a soldier, onlya grease monkey.' But the Prince brushed the disclaimeraside.

'He is probably a better man than he thinks he is,' said Jake,and the Prince nodded.

'His combat record in France is impressive. The MilitaryCross and three times mentioned in dispatches.'

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'Yeah, you have me convinced/ murmured Jake. 'Is that whatyou wanted ?'

'No/ admitted the Prince reluctantly. 'I had hoped that youmight convince me/ and they both laughed.

'And did you check my record also ?' Jake asked.

'No/ admitted the Prince. 'The first time I ever heard of youwas in Dar es Salaam. You and your strange machines were abonus - a surprise packet.' The Prince paused again, and thenspoke so softly that Jake barely caught the words, 'and perhapsthe best end of the bargain.' Then he lifted his chin and lookedsteadily into Jake's eyes. 'The anger is still with you,' he said. 'Ican see how strong it is.'

With surprise, Jake realized that the Prince was correct. Theanger was in him. No longer the leaping flames that had kindledat the first shock of the atrocity. Those had burned down into athick glowing bed in the pit of his guts, but the memory of menand women caught by the guns and the mortars would sustainthat glow for a long time ahead.

'I think now you are committed to us/ the Lij went on softly,and Jake was amazed at the man's perception. He had not yetrecognized that commitment himself; for the first time since hehad landed in Africa, he was motivated by something outsidehimself. He knew that he would stay now, and that he wouldfight with the Lij and these people as long as they needed him.In an intuitive flash he realized that if these simple people wereenslaved, then all of mankind - including Jake Barton - werethemselves deprived of a measure of freedom. A line, almostforgotten, imperfectly learned long ago and not then under-stood surfaced in his memory.

'“No man is an island”' he said, and the Lij nodded andcontinued the quotation.

*“entire of itself. Any man's death diminishes me, becauseI am involved in mankind.”' The Lij's dark eyes glowed. 'Yes,Mr Barton, John Donne. I think that in you I have been lucky.You are fire, and Gareth Swales is ice. It will work for me.Already there is a bond between you.'

'A bond ?' and Jake laughed, a brief harsh bark of laughter,

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but then stopped and thought about the Prince's words. Theman had even greater perception than Jake had at first realized.He had a knack of turning over unrecognized truths.

'Yes. A bond,' said the Lij. 'Fire and ice. You will see.' Theywere silent for a while, standing high on the steel turret of thecar, bare-headed in the sun, each man thinking his own thoughts.

Then the Lij roused himself and turned to point into thewest.

'There is the heart of Ethiopia,' he said. 'The mountains.'They both lifted their heads to the soaring peaks, and the greatflat-topped Ambas that characterized the Ethiopian highlands.

Each table land was divided from the next by sheer walls ofriven rock, blue with distance and remote as the clouds intowhich they seemed to rise, and by the deep dark gorges thatlooked to split the earth like the axe-stroke of a giant, plungingthousands upon thousands of feet to the swiftly raging torrentsin their depths.

'The mountains protect us. For a hundred miles on each sideno enemy may pass.' The Prince swept his arms wide to en-compass the curving blue walls of rock that faded both northand south into the smoky distances where they merged with thepaler bright blue of the sky.

'But there is the Sardi Gorge.' Jake saw it cleave the wall ofmountains, a deep funnel driving into the rock - perhaps fifteenmiles across at its widest point, but then narrowing swiftly andclimbing steeply towards the distant heights.

'The Sardi Gorge,' the Prince repeated. 'A lance pointed intothe exposed flank of the Lion of Judah.' He shook his head andhis expression was troubled and once again that haunted, huntedlook was in his eyes. 'The Emperor, Negusa Nagast, HaileSelassie, has gathered his armies in the north. One hundred andfifty thousand men to meet the main thrust of the Italians whichmust come from the north, out of Eritrea and through Adowa.The Emperor's flanks are secured by the mountains - excepthere at the gorge. This is the only place at which a modernmechanized army might win its way to the high ground. Theroad up the gorge is steep and rough, but the Italians are engi-

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neering masters. Their road-making wizardry dates back to theCaesars. If they force the mouth of the gorge, they could havefifty thousand men on the highlands inside of a week.' Hepunched his fist upward towards the far blue peaks. 'Theywould be across the Emperor's rear, between him and his capitalat Addis Ababa, with the road to the city wide open to them. Itwould be the end for us - and the Italians know it. Their pre-sence here at the Wells of Chaldi prove it. What we encounteredthere today was the advance guard of the enemy attack whichwill come through the gorge.'

'Yes,' Jake agreed. 'It seems that is so.'

'The Emperor has charged me with the defence of the SardiGorge,' said the Prince quietly. 'But at the same time he hasordained that the great bulk of my fighting men must join hisarmy which is now gathering on the shores of Lake Tana, twohundred miles away in the west. We will be short of men, soshort that without your cars and the new machine guns youhave brought to me, the task would be impossible.'

'It isn't going to be a push-over, even with these beaten-upold ladies.'

'I know that, Mr Barton, and I am doing everything in mypower to improve the betting in our favour. I am even treatingwith a traditional enemy of the Harari to form a common frontagainst the enemy. I am trying to put aside old feuds, and con-vince the Ras of the Gallas to join us in the defence of the Gorge.The man is a robber and a degenerate, and his men are all Shifta,mountain bandits, but they fight well and every lance now armsus against the common enemy.'

Jake was conscious of the faith that the Prince was placing inhim; he was being treated like a trusted commander and hisnewly realized sense of involvement was strengthened.

'An untrustworthy friend is the worst kind of enemy.'

'I don't recognize that quotation ?' the Prince inquired.

'Jake Barton, mechanic.' Jake grinned at him. 'Looks likewe've got ourselves a job of work. What I want you to do is pickout some of your really bright lads. Ones that I can teach todrive a car - or men that Gareth can use as gunners.'

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'Yes. I have already discussed that with Major Swales. Hemade the same suggestion. I will hand-pick my best for you.''Young ones/ said Jake. 'Who will learn quickly.'

The Ras sat crouched like an ancient vulture in the strip of shadethrown by Gareth's car, the Hump; his eyes were narrowed likethose of a sniper and he mumbled to himself, drooling a littlewith excitement. When Gregorius reached out and tried to viewthe fan of cards that the Ras held secretively to his bosom, hishand was slapped away angrily, and a storm of Amharic burstabout him. Gregorius was justly put out of countenance by this,for he was, after all, his grandfather's interpreter. He complainedto Gareth, who squatted opposite the Ras holding his own cardscarefully against the front of his tweed jacket.

'He does not want me to help him any more,' protested Gre-gorius. 'He says he understands the game now.'

'Tell him he is a natural.' Gareth squinted around the smokethat spiralled upwards from the cheroot in the corner of hismouth. 'Tell him he could go straight into the salon prive atMonte Carlo.'

The Ras grinned and nodded happily at the compliment, andthen scowled with concentration as he waited for Gareth todiscard.

'Anyone for the ladies ?' Gareth asked innocently as he laidthe queen of hearts face up on the inverted ammunition box thatstood between them, and the Ras squawked with delight andsnatched it up. Then he hammered on the box like an auctioneerand began laying out his hand.

'Skunked, by God!' Gareth's face crumpled in a convincingdisplay of utter dismay, and the Ras nodded and twinkled anddrooled.

'How do you do ?' he asked triumphantly, and Gareth judgedthat the Christmas turkey was now sufficiently fattened andready for plucking.

'Ask your venerable grandfather if he would like a little in-terest on the next game. I suggest a Maria Theresa a point ?'

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and Gareth held up one of the big silver coins between thumband forefinger to illustrate the suggestion.

The Ras's response was positive and gratifying. He summonedone of his bodyguard, who drew a huge purse of lion skin fromout of his voluminous shamma and opened it.

'Hallelujah!' breathed Gareth, as he saw the sparkle of goldensovereigns in the recesses of the purse. 'Your deal, old sport!'

The controlled dignity of the Count's bearing was modelledaristocratically on that of the Duce himself. It was the mien ofthe aristocrat, of the man born to command. His dark eyesflashed with scorn, and his voice rang with a deep beauty thatsent shivers up his own spine.

'A peasant, reared in the gutters of the street. I am amazedthat such a person can have reached a rank such as Major. Aperson like yourself' and his right arm shot out with theaccusing finger straight as a pistol barrel, 'a nobody, an upstart.I blame myself that I was soft-hearted enough to place you in aposition of trust. Yes, I blame myself. That is the reason I haveuntil this time overlooked your impudence, your importunity.But this time you have over-reached yourself, Castelani. Thistime you have refused to obey a direct command from yourown Colonel in the face of the enemy. This I cannot ignore!'The Count paused, and a shadow of regret passed fleetinglybehind his eyes. 'I am a compassionate man, Castelani - butI am also a soldier. I cannot, in deference to this honoureduniform that I wear, overlook your conduct. You know thepenalty for what you have done, for disobeying your superiorofficer in the face of the enemy.' He paused again, the chincoming up and dark fires burning in his eyes. 'The penalty,Castelani, is death. And so it must be. You will be an exampleto my men. This evening, as the sun is about to set, you will beled before the assembled battalion and stripped of your badgesof rank, of the beloved insignia of this proud command, andthen you will meet your just desserts before the rifles of thefiring-squad.'

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It was a longish speech, but the Count was a trained baritone and he ended it dramatically with arms spread wide. He heldthe pose after he had finished and watched himself with grati-fication in the full-length mirror before which he stood. He wasalone in his tent, but he felt as though he faced a wildly applaud-ing audience. Abruptly he turned from the mirror, strode to theentrance of the tent and threw back the flap.

The sentries sprang to attention and the Count barked, 'HaveMajor Castelani summoned here immediately.'

'Immediately, my Colonel,' snapped the sentry, and theCount let the flap drop back into place.

Castelani came within ten minutes and saluted smartly fromthe entrance of the tent.

'You sent for me, my Colonel ?'

'My dear Castelani.' The Count rose from his desk; the strongwhite teeth contrasted against the dark olive-gold tan, as hesmiled with all his charm and went to take the Major's arm. 'Aglass of wine, my dear fellow ?'

Aldo Belli was enough of a realist to see that without Caste-lani's professional eye and arm guiding the battalion, it wouldcollapse like an unsuccessful souffle, or more probably like adynamited cliff upon his head. Passing sentence of death on theman had relieved the Count's feelings, and now he could feelquite favourably disposed towards him.

'Be seated,' he said, indicating the camp chair opposite hisdesk. 'There are cigars in the humidor.' He beamed fondly, likea father at his eldest son. 'I would like you to read through thisreport and to place your signature in the space I have marked.'

Castelani took the sheaf of papers and began to read, frown-ing like a bulldog and with his lips forming the words silently.After a few minutes, he looked startled and glanced up at AldoBeHi.

'My Colonel, I doubt if it was forty thousand savages thatattacked us.'

'A matter of opinion, Castelani. It was dark. No one will everknow for certain how many there were.' The Count waved theobjection aside with a genial smile. 'It is merely an informed

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estimate - read on. You will find I have good things to say ofyour conduct.'

And the Major read on and blanched.

'Colonel, the enemy casualties were 126 dead, not 12,600.'

'Ah, a slip of the pen, Major, I will correct that before send-ing it to headquarters.'

'Sir, you make no mention of the enemy possessing anarmoured vehicle.'

And the Count frowned for the first time since the beginningof the meeting.

'Armoured vehicle, Castelani, surely you mean an ambu-lance ?'

The encounter with the strange machine was best forgotten,Belli had decided. It reflected no credit on anybody - particu-larly none upon himself. It would merely add a jarring note tothe splendours of his report.

'It would be quite in the normal course of things for theenemy to have some sort of medical service - not worth men-tioning. Read on! Read on! Caro mio, you will find that I haverecommended you for a decoration.'

General De Bono had summoned his staff to a lunchtime con-ference to appraise the readiness of the expeditionary force tocommence its invasion of the Ethiopian highlands. These con-ferences were a weekly affair, and the General's staff had nottaken long to understand that in exchange for a really superbluncheon, for the reputation of the General's chef was inter-national, they were expected to provide the General with goodreasons which he might relay to the Duce for delaying the startof the offensive. The staff had fully entered into the spirit of thegame, and some of their offerings had been inspired. However,even their fertile imaginations were now beginning to ploughbarren land. The Inspector General of the Medical Corps hadtentatively diagnosed a straightforward case of gonorrhoea con-tracted by an infantry man as 'suspected smallpox' and hadwritten a very good scare-story warning of a possible epidemic-

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but the General was not certain whether it could be used or not.They needed something better than that. They were discussingthis now over the cigars and liqueurs, when the door of thedining-room was thrown open and Captain Crespi hurried tothe head of the table. His face was flushed, and his eyes wild,his manner so agitated that an electric silence fell over the room-ful of very senior and slightly inebriated officers.

Crespi handed a message to the General, and he was sodisturbed that what was intended as a whisper came out as astrangled cry of outrage.

'The clown!' he panted. 'The clown has done it!'

The General, alarmed by this enigmatic statement, snatchedthe message and his eyes flew across the sheet before he handedit to the officer beside him and covered his face with both hands.

'The idiot!' he wailed, while the message passed swiftly fromhand to hand, and a hubbub of raised voices followed it.

'At least, your Excellency, it is a great victory,' called aninfantry commander, and suddenly the entire mood of theassembly changed.

'My planes are ready, General. We await the word to followup this masterly strategy of yours,' cried the Commander of theRegia Aeronautica, leaping to his feet - and the General un-covered his eyes and looked confused.

'Congratulations, my General,' called an artilleryman, andstruggled unsteadily upright, spilling port down the front of hisjacket. 'A mighty victory.'

'Oh dear!' murmured De Bono. 'Oh dear!'

'An unprovoked attack by a horde of savages' - Crespi hadretrieved the message and read the memorable words of CountAldo Belli aloud - 'firmly resisted by the courage of the flowerof Italian manhood.'

'Oh dear!' said De Bono a little louder, and covered his eyesagain.

'Almost fifteen thousand of the enemy dead!' shouted a voice.

'An army of sixty thousand routed by a handful of Fascistsons. It is a sign for the future.'

'Forward to the ultimate victory.'

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'We march! We march!'

And the General looked up again. 'Yes/ he agreed miserably.'I suppose we shall have to now.'

The Third Battalion of the Blackshirt 'Africa' regiment wasparaded in full review order on the sandy plain above the Wellsof Chaldi. The ground was neatly demarcated by the meticulousrows of pale canvas tents and neat lines of white stones. Intwenty-four hours, under the goading of Major Castelani, thecamp had taken on an air of permanence. If they gave him a dayor two more, there would be roads and buildings also.

Count Aldo Belli stood in the back of the Rolls, which, despitethe loving attentions of Giuseppe the driver, was showing signsof wear and attrition. However, Giuseppe had parked it withthe damaged side away from the parade and he had burnishedthe good side with a mixture of beeswax and methylated spiritsuntil it shone in the sunlight, and had replaced the shatteredwindscreen and the broken lamp glass.

'I have here a message received an hour ago which I shall readto you,' shouted the Count, and the parade stirred with interest.'The message is personal to me from Benito Mussolini.'

'II Duce. II Duce. II Duce,' roared the battalion in unison,like a well-trained orchestra, and the Count lifted a hand torestrain them and he began to read.

'“My heart swells with pride when I contemplate the feat ofarms undertaken by the gallant sons of Italy, children of theFascist revolution, whom you command”' the Count's voicechoked a little.

When the speech ended, his men cheered him wildly, throw-ing their helmets in the air. The Count climbed down from theRolls and went amongst them, weeping, embracing a man here,kissing another there, shaking hands left and right and thenclasping his own hands above his head like a successful prize-fighter and crying 'Ours is the victory,' and 'Death before dis-honour,' until his voice was hoarse and he was led away to histent by two of his officers.

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However, a glass of grappa helped him recover his composure and he was able to pour a warrior's scorn on the radio messagefrom General De Bono which accompanied the paean of praisefrom II Duce.

De Bono was alarmed and deeply chagrined to discover thatthe officer he had judged to be an ineffectual blowhard hadindeed turned out to be a firebrand. In view of the Duce'spersonal message to Belli, he could not, without condemninghimself to the political wilderness, order the man back to head-quarters and under his protective wing where he could be re-strained from any further flamboyant action.

The man had virtually established himself as an independentcommand. Mussolini had chided De Bono with his failure to goon the offensive, and had held up the good Count's action as anexample of duty and dedication. He had directly ordered DeBono to support the Count's drive on the Sardi Gorge and toreinforce him as necessary.

De Bono's response had been to send the Count a long radio-gram, urging him to the utmost caution and pleading with himto advance only after reconnaissance in depth and after havingsecured both flanks and rear.

Had he delivered this advice forty-eight hours earlier, it wouldhave been most enthusiastically received by Aldo Belli. But now,since the victory at the Wells of Chaldi and the Duce's congra-tulatory message, the Count was a changed man. He had tastedthe sweets of battle honours and learned how easily they couldbe won. He knew now that he was opposed by a tribe of primi-tive black men in long night-dresses armed with museum wea-pons, who ran and fell with gratifying expedition when his menopened fire.

'Gentlemen,' he addressed his officers. 'I have today receiveda code green message from General De Bono. The armies ofItaly are on the march. At twelve hundred hours today,' heglanced at his wristwatch, 'in just twelve minutes' time, theforward elements of the army will cross the Mareb River andbegin the march on the savage capital of Addis Ababa. We standnow at the leading edge of the sword of history. The fields of

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glory are ripening on the mountains ahead of us - and I, for one,intend that the Third Battalion shall be there when the harvestis gathered in.' His officers made polite, if uncommitted sounds.They were beginning to be alarmed by this change in theirColonel. It was to be hoped that this was rhetoric rather thanreal intention.

'Our esteemed commander has urged me to exercise theutmost caution in my advance on the Sardi Gorge,' and theysmiled and nodded vehemently, but the Count scowled drama-tically and his voice rang. 'I will not sit here quiescent, whileglory passes me by.' A shudder of unease ran through theassembled officers, like the forest shaken by the first winds ofwinter, and they joined in only half-heartedly when the Countbegan to sing 'La Giovinezza'.

Lij Mikhael had agreed that one of the cars might be used tocarry Sara up the gorge to the town of Sardi where a Catholicmission station was run by an elderly German doctor. The bulletwound in the girl's leg was not healing cleanly, and the heat andswelling of the flesh and the watery yellow discharge from thewound were causing Vicky the greatest concern.

Fuel for the cars had come down from Addis Ababa on thenarrow gauge railway as far as Sardi, and had then been packeddown the steeper, lower section of the gorge by mule and camel.It waited for them now at the foot of the gorge where the SardiRiver debouched through a forest of acacia trees into a triangularvalley, which in turn widened to a mouth fifteen miles acrossbefore giving way to the open desert. At the head of the valley,the river sank into the dry earth and began its long subterraneanjourney to where it emerged at last in the scattered water-holesat the Wells of Chaldi.

Lij Mikhael was going up to Sardi with Vicky's car, for hehad arranged to meet the Ras of the Gallas there in an attemptto co-ordinate the efforts of the two tribes against the Italianaggressors, and then an aircraft was being sent down to Sardifrom Addis to fly him to an urgent war conference with theEmperor at Lake Tana.

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Before he left, he spoke privately with Jake and Gareth, walk-ing with them a short way along the rugged road that climbedsteeply up the gorge - following the rocky water course of theSardi River.

Now they stood together, staring up the track to where itturned into the first steep bend and the river came crashingdown beside it in a tall white-plumed waterfall that drifted mistacross the surface of the track and induced a growth of darkgreen moss upon the boulders.

'It's as rough as a crocodile's back here,' said Jake. 'Will Vickyget the car up ?'

'I have had a thousand men at work upon it - ever since Iknew you were bringing these vehicles,' the Lij told him. 'It isrough, yes, but I think it will be passable.'

'I should jolly well hope so,' Gareth murmured. 'It's the onlyway out of this lovely little trap into which we have backed our-selves. Once the Eyeties close the entrance to the valley' andhe turned and swept a hand across the vista of plain and moun-tain that lay spread below them, and then he smiled at thePrince.

'Just the three of us here now, Toffee old boy. Let's hear fromyou. What exactly do you want from us ? What are the objectivesyou have set for us ? Are we expected to defeat the whole bloodyarmy of Italy before you pay us out ?'

'No, Major Swales.' The Prince shook his head. CI thought Ihad made myself clear. We are here to cover the rear and flankof the Emperor's army. We must expect that eventually theItalians will force their way up this gorge and reach the plateauand the road to Dessie and Addis - we can't stop them, but wemust delay them at least until the main engagements in thenorth are decided. If the Emperor succeeds, the Italians willwithdraw here. If he fails, then our task is over.'

'How long until the Emperor fights ?'

'Who can tell?'

And Jake shook his head, while Gareth took the stub of hiscigar from his mouth and inspected the tip ruefully.

'I'm beginning to think we are being underpaid,' he said. Butthe Prince seemed not to hear and he went on speaking quietly

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but with a force that commanded their attention.

'We will use the cars here on the open ground in front of thegorge to the best possible effect, and my father's troops willsupport you.' He paused, and they all looked down at the sprawl-ing encampment of the Ras's army, amongst the acacia trees.Stragglers were still drifting in across the plain from the rout atthe wells, lines of camels and knots of horsemen surrounded byamorphous formations of foot soldiers. 'If the Gallas join us,they can provide another five thousand fighting men that willbring our strength to twelve thousand - or thereabouts. I havehad my scouts study the Italian encampment, and they reportan effective strength of under a thousand. Even with their arma-ments, we should hold them here for many days'

'Unless they are reinforced, which they will be, or bring uparmour, which they will do,' said Gareth.

'Then we will withdraw into the gorge - demolishing theroad as we go, and resisting at each strong place. We won't beable to use the cars again until we reach Sardi - but there in thebowl of the mountains there is good open ground and room tomanoeuvre. It is also the last point at which we can effectivelyblock the Italian advance.' They were silent again and the soundof an engine came up to them. They watched the armoured carreach the foot of the gorge and begin growling and nosing itsway upwards, at the pace of a walking man, except where it hadto back and lock hard to make one of the steep hair-pin bends inthe road. The Lij roused himself and sighed With what seemeda deep weariness of the spirit.

'One thing I must mention to you, gentlemen. My father is awarrior in the old style. He does not know the meaning of fear,and he cannot imagine the effect of modern weapons - especiallythe machine gun - on massed foot soldiers. I trust you to restrainhis exuberance.'

Jake remembered the bodies hanging like dirty laundry onthe barbed wire of France, and felt the cold tickle run up hisspine. Nobody spoke again until the car, still blazoned with itscrimson crosses, drew up level with where they stood and theyscrambled down the bank to meet it.

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Vicky's head appeared in the hatch. She must have found anopportunity to bathe, for her hair was newly washed and shinyand caught behind her head in a silk ribbon. The sun hadbleached her hair to a whiter gold, but the peachy velvet of hercomplexion had been gilded by that same sun to a darker honeycolour. Immediately Jake and Gareth moved forward, neithertrusting the other to be alone with her for an instant.

But she was brusque, and concerned only with the injured girlwho was laid out on the floor of the cab on a hastily improvisedbed of blankets and skins. Her leave-taking was offhand anddistracted while the Lij climbed in through the rear doors, andshe pulled away again up the steep track followed by a squadronof the Prince's bodyguard looking like a gang of cut-throats ontheir shaggy mountain ponies, festooned with bandoliers ofammunition and hung with rifles and swords. They clatteredaway after the car, and Jake watched them out of sight. He felta sense of deep unease that the girl should be up there in themountains beyond any help that he could give her. He wasstaring after the car.

Tut your mind back in your pants,' Gareth advised himcynically. 'You're going to need it for the Eyeties, now.'

From the foot of the gorge to the lip of the bowl of land inwhich stood the town of Sardi was a few dozen miles across theground, but the track climbed five thousand feet and it took sixhours of hard driving for Vicky to reach it.

The Prince's labour gangs were working upon the track still,groups of dark men in mud-stained shammas, hacking away atthe steep banks and piles of boulders that blocked the narrowplaces. Twice these men had to rope up the car to drag andshove it over a particularly treacherous stretch with the torrentroaring in its bed a hundred feet below and the wheels of thecar inches from the crumbling edge of the precipice.

In the middle of the afternoon the sun passed behind thetowering ramparts of stone leaving the gut of the gorge in deepshadow, and a clammy chill made Vicky shiver even as shewrestled with the controls of the heavy vehicle. The engine was

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running very unevenly, and back-firing explosively at thechange of atmospheric pressure as they toiled upwards. AlsoSara's condition seemed to be worsening rapidly. When Vickystopped briefly to rest her aching arms and back muscles shefound that Sara was running a raging fever, her skin was dryand baking hot and her dark eyes were glittering strangely. Shecut short her rest and took the wheel again.

The gorge narrowed dramatically, so the sky was a narrowribbon of blue high above and the cliffs seemed almost to closejaws of granite upon the labouring car. Although it seemed im-possible, the track turned even more steeply upwards so thatthe big back wheels spun and skidded, throwing out fist-sizedstones like cannon balls and scattering the escort who followedclosely.

Then abruptly Vicky drove the car over the crest and cameout through rocky portals into a wide, gently inclined bowl ofopen ground hemmed in completely by the mountain walls.Perhaps twenty miles across, the bowl was cultivated in patches,and scattered with groups of the round tukuls , the thatch anddaub huts of the peasant farmers. Domestic animals, goats anda few milk cows grazed along the course of the Sardi River wherethe grass was green and lush and thick forests of cedar treesfound a precarious purchase along the rocky banks.

The town itself was a gathering of brick-built and white-plastered buildings, whose roofs of galvanized corrugated ironcaught the last probing rays of the sun as it came through thewestern pass.

Here in the west, the mountains fell back, allowing a broadgentle incline to rise the last two thousand feet to the level of theplateau of the highlands. Down this slope, the narrow-gaugerailway looped in a tight series of hairpins until it entered thetown and ended in a huddle of sheds and stock pens.

The Catholic mission station was situated beyond the townon the slopes of the western rise. It was a sadly dilapidatedcluster of tin-roofed daub buildings, grouped around a churchbuilt of the same materials. The church was the only buildingthat was freshly white-washed. As they drove past the open

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doors, Vicky saw that the rows of rickety pews were empty, butthat lighted candles burned upon the altar and there were freshflowers in the vases.

The church's emptiness and the sorry state of the buildingswere a reflection of the massive power of the Coptic Churchover this land and its people. There was very little encourage-ment given to the missionaries of any other faith, but this didnot prevent the local inhabitants from taking advantage of themedical facilities offered by the mission.

Almost fifty patients squatted along the length of the verandathat ran the full length of the clinic, and they looked up withminimal interest as Vicky parked the armoured car below them.

The doctor was a heavily built man, with short bowed legsand a thick neck. His hair was cropped close to the round skulland was silvery white, and his eyes were a pale blue. He spokeno English, and he acknowledged Vicky with a glance and agrunt, transferring all his attention to Sara. When two of hisassistants rolled her carefully on to a stretcher and carried herup on to the veranda, Vicky would have followed but the Lijrestrained her.

'She is in the best hands - and we have work to do.'

The telegraph office at the railway station was closed andlocked, but in answer to the Prince's shouts the station mastercame hurrying anxiously down the track. He recognized LijMikhael immediately.

The process of tapping out Vicky's dispatch on the telegraphwas a long, laborious business, almost beyond the ability of thestation master whose previous transmissions had seldom ex-ceeded a dozen words at a time. He frowned and muttered tohimself as he worked, and Vicky wondered in what mangledstate her masterpiece of the journalistic art would reach hereditor's desk in New York. The Prince had left her and goneoff with his escort to the official government residence on theoutskirts of the village, and it was after nine o'clock before thestation master had sent the last of Vicky's dispatch - a total ofalmost five thousand works - and Vicky found that her legswere unsteady and her brain woolly with fatigue when she went

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out into the utter darkness of the mountain night. There wereno stars, for the night mists had filled the basin and swirled inthe headlights as Vicky groped her way through the village andat last found the government residence.

It was a large sprawling complex of buildings with wideverandas, white-washed and iron-roofed, standing in a grove ofdark-foliaged casa flora trees from which the bats screeched andfluttered to dive upon the insects that swarmed in the light fromthe windows of the main building.

Vicky halted the car in front of the largest building and foundherself surrounded by silent but watchful throngs of dark men,all of them heavily armed like the Harari she knew, but thesewere a different people. She did not know why, but she was sureof it.

There were many others camped in the grove. She could seetheir fires and hear the stamp and snort of their tethered horses,the voices of the women and the laughter of the men.

The throng opened for her and she crossed the veranda andentered the large room which was crowded with many men, andlit by the smoky paraffin lamps that hung from the ceiling. Theroom stank of male sweat, tobacco and the hot spicy aroma offood and tej.

A hostile silence fell as she entered, and Vicky stood uncer-tainly in the threshold, scrutinized by a hundred dark suspiciouseyes, until Lij Mikhael rose from where he sat at the far end ofthe room.

'Miss Camber^U.' He took her hand. 'I was beginning toworry about you. Did you send your dispatch?' He led heracross the room and seated her beside him, before he indicatedthe man who sat opposite him.

'This is Ras Kullah of the Gallas,5 he said, and despite herweariness, Vicky studied him with interest.

Her first impression was identical to that she had receivedfrom the men amongst the casa flora trees outside in the dark-ness. There was a veiled hostility, a coldness of the spirit aboutthe man, an almost reptilian aura about the dark unblinkingeyes.

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He was a young man, still in his twenties, but his face andbody were bloated by disease or debauchery so that there wasa soft jelly-like look to his flesh. The skin was a pale creamycolour, unhealthy and clammy, as though it had never beenexposed to sunlight. His lips were full and petulant, a startlingcherry red in colour that ill suited the pale tones of his skin.

He watched Vicky, when the Prince introduced her, with thesame dead expression in his eyes, but gave no acknowledgement- though the flat snakelike eyes moved slowly over her body,like loathsome hands, dwelling and lingering on her breasts andher legs, before moving back to Lij Mikhael's face.

The pudgy, swollen hands lifted a buck-horn pipe to the darkcherry lips and Ras Kullah drew deeply upon it - holding thesmoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. When Vicky smelledthe smoke, she knew the reason for the dead eyes in the Ras'spuffy face.

'You have not eaten all day,' said Lij Mikhael, and gaveinstructions for food to be brought to Vicky. 'You will excuseme now, Miss Camberwell, the Ras speaks no English and ournegotiations are still at an early stage. I have ordered a roommade ready where you may rest as soon as you have eaten. Weshall be talking all the night,' the Lij smiled briefly, 'and sayingvery little, for a blood feud of a hundred years is what we aretalking around.' He turned back to the Ras.

The hot, spicy food warmed and filled the cold hollow placein the pit of Vicky's stomach, and a mug of fiery tej made herchoke and gasp, but then lifted her spirits and revived herjournalist's curiosity so that she could look again with interestat what was happening around her.

The interminable discussion went on between the two men,cautious plodding negotiations between implacable enemies,reluctantly drawn together by a greater danger and a morepowerful adversary.

On either side of Ras Kullah sat two young Galla women,pale sloe-eyed creatures, with noble regular features and thickdark hair frizzled out into a stiff round bush that caught thelight of the lanterns and glowed along the periphery like a

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luminous halo. They sat impassively, showing no emotion, evenwhen the Ras fondled one or the other of them with the absent-minded caress that he might have bestowed on a lap dog. Onlyonce, as he took a fat round breast in one plump soft paw andsqueezed it, the girl winced slightly and Vicky seeing the crim-son linen of her blouse dampened in a wet dark patch at thenipple realized that the girl's breast was heavy with milk.

Cry Wolf

Vicky's artificial sense of well-being was fast fading now,sinking once again under the weight of her weariness, and lulledby the food in her belly, the thick smoky atmosphere and thehypnotic cadence of the Amharic language. She was on thepoint of excusing herself from the Lij and leaving when therewas a disturbance outside the room, and the shrill angry criesof a voice creaking with age and indignation. The room wasimmediately electric with a charged feeling of expectation, andRas Kullah looked up and called out querulously.

A youth of perhaps nineteen years of age was dragged intothe room and held by two armed guards in the centre of thehastily cleared space before Ras Kullah. His arms were boundwith raw-hide that cut deeply into the flesh of his wrists, andhis face was wet and shiny with the sweat of fear, while his eyesrolled wildly in their sockets.

He was followed by a shrieking crone, a wizened baboon-likefigure, swathed in a voluminous black shamma, stiff with filthand greenish with age. Repeatedly she attempted to attack thecaptive youth, clawing at his face with bony hooked fingers, hertoothless old mouth opened in a dark pink-lined pit as sheleaped and cavorted before the terrified youth, trying again andagain to reach him, while the two guards pushed her away withcheerful guffaws and playful blows never relinquishing theirgrip on their prisoner.

The Ras leaned forward to watch this play with suddenlyawakening interest, his dark dull eyes taking on a sparkle ofanticipation as he asked a question, and the crone flew to himand flung herself full-length before him.

She began to bleat out a long high-pitched plea, attemptingat the same time to grasp and kiss the Ras's feet. The Ras gig-

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gled with anticipation, kicking away the old woman's hands and occasionally asking a question that was answered either by theguards or the grovelling crone.

'Miss Camberwell,' whispered the Prince. 'I suggest that youleave now. This will not be pleasant to watch.'

'What is it?' Vicky demanded, her professional instinctsroused. 'What are they doing ?'

'The woman accuses the youth of murdering her son. Theguards are her witnesses and the Ras is trying the case. He willgive judgement in a moment, and the sentence will be carriedout immediately.'

'Here ?' Vicky looked startled.

'Yes, Miss Camberwell. I urge you to leave. The punishmentwill be biblical, from the Old Testament which is the centre ofthe Coptic faith. It will be a tooth for a tooth.'

Vicky hesitated to take the Prince's advice, all human experi-ence was her field - no matter how bizarre, and suddenly it wastoo late.

Laughingly, the Ras thrust the old woman away again with akick to the chest that sent her sprawling across the beaten earthfloor - and he called a peremptory command to the guards whoheld the accused youth. Flapping like a maimed black crowupon the floor, the crone set up a wailing shriek of triumph asshe heard the verdict, and she tried to regain her feet. Theguards guffawed again and began to strip away the condemnedman's clothing, tearing it from his body until he stood com-pletely naked except for his bonds.

The crowded room now buzzed with excitement at the com-ing entertainment, and the doorway and windows were packedwith those who had come in from the encampment amongst thecasa flora trees. Even the two impassive madonnas who flankedthe Ras had become animated, leaning forward to chatter softlyto each other, smiling secretly as their dark-moon eyes shoneand the full swollen breasts swung heavily under the thinmaterial of their blouses.

The doomed youth was whimpering softly, his head turningback and forth, as though seeking escape, his naked body slim

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and finely muscled with dark amber skin that glowed in thelamplight, and his arms bound tightly behind his back. His legswere long and the muscles looked hard and beautifully sculp-tured, and the dark bush of curls in his groin was dense andcrisp-looking. His thick circumcised penis hung limply, seem-ing to epitomize the man's despair. Vicky tried to tear her eyesaway, ashamed to look upon a human being stripped thus of alldignity, but the spectacle was mesmeric.

The old woman hopped and flapped in front of the captive,her wrinkled brown features contorted in an expression of uttermalice - and she opened her toothless mouth and spat into hisface. The spittle ran down his cheek and dripped on to his chest.

'Please leave now,' Lij Mikhael urged Vicky, and she tried torise, but it seemed that her legs would not respond.

One of the Galla warriors sitting opposite Vicky drew thenarrow-bladed dagger from the tooled leather sheath on his hip.The handle was carved from the horn of a kudu bull and boundwith copper wire, the blade was slightly curved and viciouslypointed, twice the span of a man's hand in length. He shoutedto attract the woman's attention, then sent the weapon skiddingacross the floor towards her - and she pounced upon it withanother gleeful shriek and pranced before the cringing youth,brandishing the knife while the watchers shouted encourage-ment to her.

The captive began to twist and struggle, watching the knifewith the fixed concentration of despair and terror, but the twotall guards held him easily, chuckling like a pair of gaunt ogres,watching the knife also.

The old woman let out one more high-pitched shriek, andleapt at him - the long skinny black arm lunged out, the pointof the blade aimed at his heart. The woman's strength was toofrail to drive it home, and the point struck bone and glancedaside, skidding around the ribcage, opening a long shallow cutthat exposed the white bone in its depths for the instant beforeblood flooded out between the lips of the wound. A howl ofdelight went up from the assembled Gallas, and they goaded onthe avenger with mocking cries and yips like those of a pack ofexcited jackals.

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Again and again the old woman struck, and the youth kickedand struggled, his guards roaring with laughter and the bloodfrom the shallow wounds flying and sparkling in the lamplight,splattering the old woman's knife arm and speckling her angryscreeching face. Her frustration made her blows more wild andfeeble.

Unable to penetrate his chest, she turned her attack upon hisface. One blow split his nose and upper lip, and the next slashedacross his eye, turning the socket instantly into a dark blood-glutted hole. The guards let him fall to the floor.

The old woman leapt upon his chest and, clinging to him likea huge, grotesque vampire bat, she began to saw determinedlyat the youth's throat until at last the carotid artery erupted,dousing her robes and puddling the floor on which they rolledtogether - while the Galla watchers roared their approbation.

Only then could Vicky move; she leapt to her feet and pushedher way through the throng that jammed the doorway and ranout into the cool night. She realized that her blouse was dampwith the sweat of nausea and she leaned against the stem of acasa flora tree, trying to fight it, unavailingly; then she doubledover and retched tearingly, choking up her horror.

The horror stayed with her for many hours, denying her thesleep her body craved. She lay alone in the small room that LijMikhael had ordered for her, and listened to the drums beatingand the shouts of laughter and bursts of singing from the Gallaencampment amongst the casa flora trees.

When she slept at last, it was not for long, and then she awoketo a soft tickling movement on her skin and the first fiery itchacross her belly. Disgusted by the loathsome touch she threwaside the single blanket and lit the candle. Across the flat smoothplain of her belly, the bites of vermin were strung like a girdle ofangry red beads - and she shuddered, her whole body crawlingWith the thought of it.

She spent what remained of the night huddled uncomfortably 011 the floor of the armoured car. The mountain cold strucktrough the steel of Miss Wobbly's hull, and Vicky shivered

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into the dawn, scratching morosely at the hot lumps across herstomach. Then she filled the growling ache of her empty stomachwith a tin of cold corned beef from the emergency rations in thelocker under the driver's seat, before driving up the slope of thewestern pass to the German mission station where she experi-enced the first lift of spirits since the horrors of the night.

Sara had responded almost miraculously to the treatment shewas receiving, and although she was still weak and a little shaky,the fever had abated, and she was once more able to give Vickythe benefit of her vast wisdom and worldly experience.

Vicky sat beside the narrow iron bedstead in the overcrowdedward, while other patients coughed and groaned around her,and held Sara's thin dry hand from which the flesh seemed tohave wasted overnight - and poured out to her the horrors stillpent up inside her.

'Ras Kullah,' Sara made a moue of disgust. 'He is a degenerateman, that one. Did he have his milch cows with him ?' Vickywas for a moment at a loss, until she remembered the twomadonnas. 'His men scour the mountains to keep him suppliedwith pretty young mothers in full milk - ugh!' She shudderedtheatrically, and Vicky felt her unsettled stomach quail. 'Thatand his hemp pipe - and the sight of blood. He is an animal. Hispeople are animals - they have been our enemies since the timeof Solomon, and it shames me now that we must have them tofight beside us.' Then she changed the subject in her usualmercurial fashion.

'Will you go down the pass again today ?'

'Yes,' Vicky said, and Sara sighed.

'The doctor says that I cannot go with you - not for manydays still.'

'I will fetch you, as soon as you are ready.'

'No. No,' she protested. 'It is shorter and easier on horseback.I will come immediately - but until then carry my love to Gre-gorius. Tell him my heart beats with great fury for him, and hewalks through my thoughts eternally.'

'I will tell him,' agreed Vicky, delighted at the sentiment andthe choice of words. At that moment a tall young man in a white

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jacket, with the face of a brown pharaoh and huge dark eyes,came to record Sara's temperature, stooping solicitously overher and murmuring softly in Amharic as he felt for her pulsewith delicate finely shaped hands.

Sara was transformed instantly into a languid wanton, withsmouldering eyes and pouting lips, but when the orderly left,she was instantly herself again, giggling delightedly as she drewVicky's head down to whisper in her ear.

'Is he not as beautiful as the dawn ? He studies to be a doctor,and goes soon to the University at Berlin. He has fallen in lovewith me since last night - and as soon as my leg is less painful Ishall take him as a lover.' And when she saw Vicky's startledglance, she went on hurriedly, 'But just for a short time, ofcourse. Only until I am well enough to ride back to Gregorius.'

The Lij Mikhael came, riding with his wild horsemen. Theywaited outside in the sun while the Prince came into the wardto take farewell of his daughter. His sombre mood lightenedmomentarily as he embraced Sara, and he saw how well she wasrecovered. Then he told the two women,

'Yesterday at noon, the Italian army under General De Bonocrossed the Mareb River in force and has begun to march onAdowa and Amba Aradam. The wolf is into the sheepfold.There has already been fighting and the Italian aeroplanes arebombing our towns. We are now at war.'

'It is no surprise,' said Sara. 'The only surprise is that theytook so long.'

'Miss Camberwell, you must return as swiftly as you can tomy father at the foot of the gorge, and warn him that he mustbe ready to meet an enemy attack.' He drew a gold pocket-watch and glanced at it. 'Within the next few minutes, an air-craft will be landing here to take me to the Emperor. I would beobliged, Miss Camberwell, if you would accompany me to thelanding field.'

Vicky nodded, and the Lij went on. 'Ras Kullah's men areassembled there. He has agreed to send fifteen hundred horse-men to join my father, and they will follow you' He got nofurther, for Sara intervened hotly.

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'Miss Camberwell must not be left alone with those hyenas ofKullah's. They would eat their own mothers.'

The Lij smiled and held up a hand. 6My own bodyguard willride with Miss Camberwell, under my strict charge to protecther at all times.'

'I do not like it,' protested Sara, and groped for Vicky's hand.

'I will be all right, Sara.' She stooped and kissed the girl, whoclung to her for an instant.

'I will come soon,' whispered Sara. 'Do nothing until I amwith you. Perhaps it should be Gareth after all,' and Vickychuckled.

'You're getting me confused.'

'Yes,' agreed Sara. 'That's why I should be there to adviseyou.'

Lij Mikhael and Vicky stood side by side on the hull of MissWobbly and shaded the sun from their eyes as they watched theaircraft come in between the peaks.

As a pilot Vicky could appreciate the difficulty of the approach,down into the bowl of Sardi, where treacherous downdraughtsfell along the cliffs, creating whirlpools of turbulence. The sunhad already dispelled the chill of the night making the highmountain air even thinner and more treacherous.

Vicky recognized the aircraft type immediately, for she hadtrained for her own pilot's licence on a similar model. It was aPuss Moth, a small sky-blue high-winged monoplane, poweredby the versatile De Havilland four-cylinder aero engine. It wouldcarry a pilot and two passengers in a tricycle arrangement ofseating, the pilot up front in an enclosed cabin under the broadsweep of the wings. Seeing the familiar aircraft reminded her,with a fleeting but bitter pang, of those golden untroubled daysbefore October 1929, before that black Friday of evil reputation.Those idyllic days when she had been the only daughter of arich man, spoilt and pampered, plied with such toys as motorcars and speed boats and aircraft.

All that had been swept away in a single day. Everything hadgone, even that adoring godlike figure that had been her father

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- dead by his own hand. She felt the chill of it still, the sense ofterrible loss, and she turned her thoughts aside and concen-trated on the approaching aircraft.

The pilot came in down the western pass under the cliffs,then turned steeply and side-slipped in towards the only pieceof open ground in the valley that was free of rocks and holes. Itwas used as a stockyard, gymkhana ground or polo field as theneed arose - and at the moment the ankle-deep grass was pro-viding grazing for fifty goats.

Ras Kullah's horsemen drove the goats from the field at agallop, and then as the Puss Moth touched down, they wheeledand tore down the field at its wing-tips, firing their rifles intothe air and vying with each other to perform feats of horseman-ship.

The pilot taxied to where the car stood and opened the sidewindow. He was a burly young white man, with a sun-tannedface and curly hair. He shouted above the engine rumble in anindeterminate colonial accent - Australian, New Zealand orSouth African, 'Are you Lij Mikhael ?'

The Prince shook hands briefly with Vicky before jumpingdown. With his shamma fluttering wildly in the slipstream fromthe propeller, he hurried to the aircraft and climbed into thetiny cabin.

The pilot was watching Vicky with a lively interest throughthe side window and when she caught his eye he pursed his lipsand made a circle with thumb and forefinger in the universalsign of approval. His grin was so frank and boyishly open thatVicky had to grin back,

'Room for one more!' he shouted, and she laughed andshouted back,

'Next time, perhaps.'

'It will be a pleasure, lady,' and he gunned the motor andswung away - lining up on the short rough-surfaced runway.Vicky watched the Puss Moth climb laboriously up towards themountain crests. As the busy buzzing of its engine faded, afeeling of terrible aloneness fell over her and she glanced aroundapprehensively at the hordes of swarthy horsemen who sur-

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rounded the armoured car. Suddenly she realized that not oneof all these men could speak her language, and that now therewas a small cold cramp of fear at the base of her belly to go withthe aloneness.

Almost desperately, she longed for some contact with theworld which she knew, rather than these savage horsemen inthis land of wild mountains. For an instant she thought ofchecking the telegraph office for a reply to her dispatch, butdismissed the idea immediately. There was no chance that hereditor would yet have received, let alone replied to her com-munication. Now she looked around her and identified the knotof men and horses that comprised Lij Mikhael's bodyguard, butthey seemed very little different from the greater mass of Gallas.Little comfort there, and she climbed quickly down into thedriver's hatch of the car and engaged the low gear.

She bumped over the rough ground and found the track thatled down along the river towards the tall grey stone portals ofthe gorge. She was aware of the long untidy column of mountedmen that followed her closely, but her mind leapt ahead to herarrival at the foot of the gorge, to her reunion with Jake andGareth. Suddenly those two were the most important personsin her whole existence - and she longed for them, bpth or eitherof them, with a strength that showed in the white knuckles ofher hands as she gripped the steering-wheel.

The descent of the gorge was a more terrifying experiencethan the ascent. The steeper stretches fell away before Vickywith the gut-swooping feel of a ski-run, and once the heavycumbersome car was committed to it, its own weight tookcharge and it went down bucking and skidding. Even with thebrakes locking all four wheels, it kept plunging downwards,with very little steering control transmitted to the front wheels.

A little after noon, Vicky had come more than halfway downthe gorge, and she remembered that this final pitch was thetruly terrifying part, where the track clung to the precipice highabove the roaring river in its rocky bed. Her arms and back werepainfully cramped with the effort of fighting the kicking wheel,and sweat had drenched the hair at her temples and stung her

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eyes. She wiped it away with her forearm, and went at the slope,braking hard the moment that the car began rolling down thethirty-degree incline.

With rock and loose earth kicking and spewing out fromunder the big wheels, they descended in a heavy lumberingrush, and halfway down Vicky realized that she had no controland that the vehicle was gradually slewing sideways and swing-ing its tail out towards the edge of the cliff. .

She felt the first lurch as one rear wheel dropped slightly,riding out over the hundred-foot drop, and instinctively sheknew that in this instant of its headlong career, the car wascritically hanging at the extreme edge of its balance. In a hun-dredth of a second, it would go beyond the point of recovery,and she made without conscious thought a last instinctive graspat survival. She jumped her foot from the brake pedal, swungthe wheel into the line of skid and thrust her other foot downhard on the throttle. One wheel hung over the cliff, the othercaught with a vicious jerk as the engine roared at full power, andthe huge steel hull jumped like a startled gazelle, and hurleditself away from the cliff edge, struck the far bank of earth androcky scree and was flung back, miraculously, into its originalline of track.

At the bottom of the pitch, the slope eased. Vicky fought thecar to a standstill there and dragged herself out of the driver'shatch. She found that she was shaking uncontrollably, and thatshe had to get to a private place off the track, for in reaction shewas close to vomiting and her control of her other bodily func-tions was shaken by that terrible sliding, bucking ride.

She had left the column of horsemen far behind, and couldonly faintly hear their voices and the clatter of hooves on therocky track as she scrambled and clawed her way up the side ofthe gorge to a thicket of dwarf cedar trees, where she could bealone.

There was a spring of clear sweet water amongst the cedarsand when her body had purged itself and she had it under con-trol again, she knelt beside the rocky pool and bathed her faceand neck. Using the surface of the shining water as a mirror, she

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combed her hair and rearranged her clothing.

The reaction to extreme fear had left her feeling light-headedand slightly apart from reality. She picked her way out of thecedar thicket, and down to where the car stood upon the track.The Galla horsemen had arrived and they and their mountscrowded the entire area, back up the track for half a mile, andin a solid mob about the armoured car. Those nearest the carhad dismounted, and when she tried to make her way throughtheir ranks they gave her only minimal passage, so that she mustbrush close to them.

Suddenly she realized with a fresh lunge of fear in her chestthat the Harari bodyguard of Lij Mikhael was no longer withher - and she stopped uncertainly and looked about her, tryingto find where they were.

An aching silence had fallen on the Gallas, and now she sawthat their expressions were tense also. The faces, with theirhandsome, high-boned features and beaky noses, turned to-wards her with the predatory expectation of the hunting hawk,and the eyes burned with the same fierce excitement with whichthey had watched the old crone do her bloody work the previousnight.

The Harari, where were the Harari ? She looked about herwildly now but could not find a familiar face - and then in thesilence she heard the clatter of distant hooves from far down thegorge and she knew without any shade of doubt that they hadleft her, they had been driven away by the threats of theirancient enemies, who outnumbered them so heavily.

She was alone and she turned to go back, but found that theyhad closed about her, cutting off her retreat - and now theypressed gradually closer about her, with the same smouldering,gloating expression on every face.

She had to go forward, there was no way back - and she forcedherself to walk slowly on towards the car. At each step a tallrobed figure stood to block her way. She knew she must showno sign of fear, any show of weakness at all would trigger them,and she had a single brief image of her own pale body spread-eagled upon the rocky earth, plaything for a thousand. She

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thrust the image firmly aside and walked on slowly. At the lastpossible instant, each tall figure moved aside, but there wasalways another beyond to take its place and each time the throngpressed closer upon her. She could feel their heightening expec-tation, almost smell it in the hot musk of their packed bodies -the change in the faces was there too; they watched her with agrowing excitement, teeth grinning, breath shortening and eyeslike claws in her flesh.

Suddenly she could go no further; a figure taller and morecompelling than any other blocked her path. She had noticedthis man before. He was a Gerazmach, a high Galla officer. Hewore a shamma of dark blue silk wrapped about his throat andfalling to his knees. His hair was fluffed out in a wide halo aboutthe lean, cruel face - and a scar ran down from the outer cornerof his eye to the point of his jaw.

He said something to her in a voice that was thick with lust,and she did not understand the words - but the meaning wasclear. The crowd around her stirred and she heard the sound oftheir breathing and felt them press even closer towards her. Aman laughed near her, and there was something so ugly in thesound that it struck her like a physical force.

She wanted to scream, to turn and try and claw herself free -but she knew that was what they were waiting for. It neededjust that provocation and they would hurl themselves upon her.She gathered what was left of her reserves and put it all into hervoice.

'Get out of my way,' she said clearly, and the man before hersmiled. It was one of the most terrifying things she had everseen.

Still smiling, he dropped one hand to his groin, opened thefold of his shamma, and made a gesture so obscene that Vickyrecoiled, and she felt the scalding blood burn her throat and hercheeks. There was no control in her voice now as she blurted,'Oh, you swine - you filthy swine/ and the man reached for her,his robe still open. As she shrank back, she felt the others behindher thrust her forward again.

Then another voice spoke. The words were banal but the tone

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hissed like the sound of a scimitar swung at the cut.

'All right, chaps. That's enough of that nonsense.9

Vicky felt the pressure of bodies about her ease, and she spunaround with a sob catching in her throat.

Gareth Swales strolled down the passage that opened for himthrough the dense press of robed bodies. His whole carriageseemed indolent, and the white open-necked shirt with anI Zingari scarf at the throat was crisp and immaculate - butVicky had never before seen the expression he wore. The rimsof his nostrils were ice-white and his eyes burned with a con-trolled fury.

She would have flung herself at him, sobbing with relief, buthis voice crackled again.

'Steady. We're not out yet,' and she caught herself, lifted herchin and smothered the next sob before it escaped.

'Good girl,' he said, without taking his eyes from the face ofthe tall Galla in the blue robe, and he kept on walking steadilytowards him, taking Vicky's arm as he drew level with her. Shefelt the strength of his fingers through the thin stuff of herblouse, and it seemed to flow into her, charging her depletedreserves, and the jelly weakness in her legs firmed.

The Galla leader stood his ground as Gareth stepped up tohim, and for a space of time that was less than five seconds butseemed to Vicky like a round of eternity, the two men lockedgazes and wills. Blazing blue eyes levelled with smoulderingblack - then suddenly the Galla broke, he glanced aside andshrugged, chuckled weakly, and turned away to talk loudly withthe man who stood beside him.

Unhurriedly, Gareth stepped through the gap the man hadleft and they were at the car.

'Are you well enough to drive ?' Gareth asked quietiy, as heswung her up on the sponson and she nodded.

'The engine's switched off,' she blurted; they could not riskcranking to start.

'She's on the slope,' said Gareth, turning to face the crowdingGallas and hold them off with his level gaze. 'Roll her to a start.'

As Vicky scrambled into the driver's hatch, Gareth placed a

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cheroot between his lips, and struck a match with his thumbnail. The little act distracted the hostile pack for an instant, andthey watched his hands as he lit the cheroot and blew a long bluefeather of smoke towards them.

Behind him, the car began to roll, and Gareth swung himselfaboard easily with the cheroot clamped between his teeth andgave the horsemen a mocking salute as the car gathered speeddown the slope. Neither of them spoke as they dropped swiftlydownwards, two miles in silence.

Then, without taking her eyes off the track ahead, Vicky toldGareth as he stood above and behind her in the turret,

'You weren't even afraid'

Tn a blue funk, old girl - absolute blue funk.'

'And I once called you a coward.'

'Quite right too.'

'How did you get there so fast ?'

'I was up there looking for defensive positions - against thejolly old Eyeties. Saw your faithful bodyguard taking off andcame to have a look.'

The track ahead of Vicky dissolved in a mist of tears, and shehad to hit the brakes hard. Afterwards, she was not sure quitehow it happened but she found herself in Gareth's arms, press-ing herself to him with all of her strength and shaking violentlywith her sobs.

'Oh God, Gareth, I don't know what I'll ever do to repay youfor this.'

'I'm sure we will think of something,' he murmured, holdingher with a practised embrace that was lulling and so wonder-fully secure. She felt then that she did not want ever to leave hisarms - and she lifted her lips to his and with a mild amazementsaw on his face, in the usually mocking blue eyes, such an ex-pression of tenderness as she had never expected was possible.

His lips were another surprise, they were very warm and softand tasted of man and the bitter aromatic smoke of his cheroots;she had never realized that he was so tall and his body so hard,or his hands so strong. The last sob wracked her body, and thenshe sighed voluptuously and shuddered softly with the strength

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of physical awakening more intense than she had ever experi-enced in her entire life.

For a moment, the journalist in her attempted to analyse thesource of this sudden passion, and she knew it as the product ofthe previous night's sleepless horrors, of fatigue and of the day'sterrors. Then she no longer queried it, but let it spread throughher whole body.

The encampment of the Ras's army at the foot of the SardiGorge sprawled for four miles amongst the acacia forests, a vastagglomeration of living things which murmured softly with life,like a hive of honeybees at midday, and which had alreadycloaked itself in blue woodsmoke and the myriad odours ofhuman and animal ingestion and excretion.

The camp site that Gareth and Jake had chosen was set apartfrom the main body, in a denser, shadier patch of acacia, belowa tall rocky waterfall where the Sardi River fell the last steeppitch to the plain and formed a dark restless pool in which Vickycould bathe away the filth from her body and from her mind.

It was almost dark when she climbed back to the camp withher wet hair bound in a towel, carrying her wash bag. Garethwas seated upon a log beside the smouldering camp fire. He waswatching the steaks of a freshly butchered ox grilling on thecoals, and he made room for her on the log beside him andoffered her Scotch whisky and lukewarm water in a tin mug,which she accepted gratefully and which tasted as good as any-thing she had ever drunk.

In silence they sat together, almost but not quite touching,and watched the swift coming of the African night. They werealone, and the faint voices from the main encampment belowthem seemed only to emphasize this aloneness.

Jake, the Old Ras and Gregorius had taken out two of thearmoured cars and a camel patrol on a reconnaissance backtowards the Wells of Chaldi. In the same exercise, Jake was totrain the new gunners in the use of the Vickers machine guns.Gareth, as the military expert, had been left to survey the gorgeand to judge the ground for defence in the event of a forcedretreat up the gorge - under Italian pressure. He had been doing

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this when he had come across Vicky and the Galla horsemen.

Sitting now beside the fire, under a sky that was suddenlyvery black and half-obscured by the mountains that toweredover them, Vicky was aware of a feeling of complete acceptance,an Arabic kismet of the spirit, as though fate had arranged thismoment and the effort of avoiding it was too great.

They were alone, and that was how it was meant to be. Thedeep physical arousal and feeling of utter .commitment that shehad experienced earlier, on their escape from the threateninghorde of Gallas, still lingered - still filled her body and herconscious mind with an ethereal glow.

She ate a little of the grilled meat, hardly tasting it, not look-ing at the man beside her, but staring dreamily at the brilliantdiamond-white sparkle of the stars above the dark peaks, yetfully and electrically aware of him - of the nearness of him, soclose that although they were still not touching she could feelthe warmth emanating from his body upon her arm like thecaress of a desert wind. She could almost feel his eyes as hewatched her quietly. His gaze was so compelling that at last shecould no longer pretend not to be aware of it, and she turnedher head and met his eyes steadily.

The ruddy glow of the coals enhanced the clean regular planesof his face, and gilded the red gold of his hair. In that moment,she believed he was the most beautiful human being she hadever seen - and it required an effort to tear her eyes away fromhim.

As she stood up and walked away she felt her heart hammer-ing within her chest, like a wild animal trying to escape its cage,and she heard the roar of blood in her own ears.

The interior of her tent was lit softly by the firelight throughthe canvas, and she did not light the lamp, but undressed slowlyin the semi-darkness and dropped her clothing carelessly acrossthe folding chair beside the entrance. Then she lay down uponthe narrow cot, and the woollen blanket was rough against thenaked skin of her buttocks and back. Each breath was an effortnow, and she lay rigidly with her hands clenched at her sides -almost afraid, almost exultant - her head propped on the single

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pillow and staring down at her body, aware of it as never before.Watching, with a sense of wonder, how each breath changed theshape of her heavily rounded breasts and how the nipples firmedslowly and thrust out, darkening perceptibly until they were sotight and hard that they pained her exquisitely.

She heard the crunch of his footsteps approach the tent, andher breathing jammed, and she thought with a small shock thatshe might suffocate and die. Then the flap of the tent swungopen, and he stooped through and stood tall, letting the flap fallclosed behind him.

Instinctively she covered herself, one arm folding across herchest and the other hand spreading protective fingers over themound of fine fluff at the base of her belly.

He stood silently, outlined against the fire glow on the canvas,and she began to breathe again, quick and shallow. It seemedthat he stood there forever, silent and watchful, and she felt theskin of her arms and thighs prickle with gooseflesh at the slowsteady scrutiny. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide tothe earth. The fire glow flickered on his finely muscled arms,they rippled with a red gold sheen, like wet marble, as he moved.

He came at last to her bed and stood over her, and she won-dered that the body of a man could be so slim and supple, withsuch lovely line and balance - then she remembered how shehad once stood before the statue of Michelangelo's David withjust the same depth of awe.

She lifted her hands that covered her own body, reached uplike a supplicant, and drew him down upon herself.

She woke once during the night, and the fire had died awayoutside the tent, but a bright white moon had sailed up over themountains and it glowed now with a silvery light through thecanvas above them, striking down directly upon them.

The strange white light divested Gareth's sleeping face of allcolour. It was pale now, like that of a statue or of a corpse - andVicky experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling. There was asmall dull weight at the back of her mind. When she examinedit closely, she found that it was guilt - and she experienced amild anger at a society that had burdened her with that guilt.

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That she could not enjoy a man, that her body could not be usedas nature had intended without this backlash of emotion.

She raised herself on one elbow, careful not to disturb theman beside her, and she studied his face - pondering this newsense of guilt, and exploring her feelings for him. Slowly sherealized that the two were bound inextricably together.

There was no real depth to her feelings for Gareth Swales,she had been carried along on a treacherous tide of fatigue andreaction from fear and horror. The guilt she had experiencedwas a consequence of this lack of substance, and she felt sud-denly confused and sad.

She lay back beside the long fine length of his body, but nowshe had moved slightly, so that they no longer touched. Sheknew that after love, all animals are sad, but she thought thatthere was more to her feelings than that.

Suddenly, without really knowing why, she thought of JakeBarton - and the depth and cold of her sadness deepened. It waslong before she slept again, but then she slept late and themorning sunlight was striking through the canvas and outsidethere was the sound of engines and many voices.

She sat up hurriedly, still half asleep, clutching the roughblanket to her breast, confused and owl-eyed, to discover thatshe was alone upon the cot - and all that remained of the nightwas the indentation and warmth of Gareth's body upon theblanket beside her, and the swollen aching feeling deep withinher where he had been.

When Vicky threw on her clothes hurriedly and, still tying herhair, went out into the sunlight, she was just in time to witnessthe arrival of a sorry procession.

In the lead was Jake's car, Priscilla the Pig. No longer glossywhite and blazoned with the insignia of the International RedCross, it was painted instead a sandy tan colour with patches ofdarker camouflage in an earthy brown to break up the outlineof the big angular hull and turret. The thick barrel of a Vickersmachine gun protruded belligerently from the mounting.

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Above the turret fluttered the tricoloured green, yellow and red pennant of Ethiopia and below that the dark blue field and golden lion of the Ras's household standard - and everythingwas covered with a thick coating of fine red dust.

Close behind the Pig, and attached to her by a stout towline,came Tenastelin - Gregorius's car - similarly daubed with dullcamouflage paint and flying the standards of Ethiopia and theRas, and with her gun ports filled with lethalhardware. However,despite the warlike trappings, the machine had an air of dejec-tion as it was dragged ignobly into the camp and from its rearend came a frightful grinding clatter that brought Gareth Swaleshurrying half-dressed from his tent, with an angry question toshout as Jake's head appeared in the driver's hatch.

'What the hell happened ?' and Jake's face was red and scowl-ing with outrage.

'That old' and at a loss for a suitable expletive, he indicatedwith a jerk of his thumb the Ras, who sat proudly in the turretof the crippled car, showing no remorse whatsoever, but beam-ing fondly and toothlessly on Gareth. 'Not content with firingoff a thousand rounds of Vickers ammunition, he kicked Gre-gorius out of the driver's seat and gave us a demonstration thatwould have looked good at Indianapolis !'

'Oh my God!' groaned Gareth.

'How do you do ?' shouted the Ras cheerily, acknowledgingthe applause.

'Why didn't you stop him ?' demanded Gareth.

'Stop him! Jesus, have you ever tried to stop a chargingrhinoceros! I chased him halfway to the coast before I caughthim*

'What's the damage?'

'He's stripped the gearbox, and burned out the clutch - hemay have thrown a con rod - but I haven't gotten up enoughcourage to look yet.'

Jake climbed wearily from the driver's hatch, raising his dustgoggles. Red dust had sifted into the thick mop of his curls andclung in the stubble of his beard, and the protected skin aroundhis eyes was pale and naked-looking, giving him an innocentwide-eyed expression. He began beating the dust out of his

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trousers and shirt, still berating the happily grinning Ras.

'The old bastard is as happy as a pig in a mud wallow. Lookat his face. Reconnaissance in force! It was more like a bloodycircus.'

Cry Wolf

At that moment, Jake noticed Vicky for the first time, and thescowl disappeared miraculously, to be replaced by an expressionof such transparent delight that she felt her guilt return swiftlyand deeply, so that it gave her a cold sick feeling in the pit of herstomach.

'Vicky!' Jake called. 'God, I was worried about you!'

Vicky was able to purge a little of the feeling of guilt by busy-ing herself at the cooking fire, in a fine show of domesticity, andshe served the men with griddle cakes and grilled steaks, thelast of the potatoes they had brought with them and a pan fullof the pigeon-sized eggs laid by the scrawny native fowls. Thecamp table was set out under the acacias, in the dappled early-morning sunlight, and as Vicky worked at the fire, Jake reportedthe results of the reconnaissance.

'Once the Ras had tired of firing the Vickers, shooting upevery tree and rock we passed, and we were just about out ofammunition, we were able to circle out northwards, keeping thespeed down to avoid dust, and we found a good piece of groundfrom which to observe the road from Massawa to the Wells.There was a bit of traffic, transports mostly with motorizedescort, but we couldn't stay too long as the Ras, God bless hisfriendly little soul, wanted to continue his target practice onthem. We had a job stopping him. So I pulled back and wecame in towards the Wells from the west again.' Jake paused tosip at the mug of coffee, and Gareth turned to Vicky as shesquatted, rosy-faced, over the cooking fire.

'How's breakfast coming along, my dear ?' he said. It was notthe words nor the endearment, but rather the proprietorial tone,that made Jake glance sharply at Vicky. The tone Gareth hadused was that which a man uses to his own woman. For asecond, Vicky held Jake's glance, and then she turned busilyback to her cooking, and Jake dropped his eyes thoughtfully atthe steaming mug in his hands.

'How close did you get ?' Gareth asked easily. He had noticed

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the silent exchange between Vicky and Jake - and he was relaxedand contented, lolling back in the camp chair and rolling acheroot between his fingers.

'I left the cars in the broken ground, and went in on foot.Didn't want to take the Ras too close. I was able to watch theEyetie position for a couple of hours. They have dug in well,and I saw gun positions with a good field of fire placed alongthe ridge. They are in a hell of a defensive position - and itwould be crazy to attack them there. We will have to wait forthem to come to us.'

Vicky brought the food to them, and as she leaned acrossGareth he touched her bare upper arm in a casual caress. Shedrew back quickly and went to fetch the pan of eggs. Jake hadnoticed the gesture, yet his voice was even and unruffled as hewent on.

'I wanted to circle out and to figure the chances of attackingtheir positions from the rear, but that was when the old Ras gotbored and gave us a demonstration of hell-driving. My God,I'm hungry.' Jake filled his mouth with food, and then asked ina muffled voice, 'How did you get on, Gary ?'

'There is good defensive ground in the gorge. I have the con-struction gangs digging positions in the slopes. We should beable to give a good account, if the Eyeties try to force their waythrough.'

'Well, we have got scouts watching them. Gregorius picked ahundred of his best men for the job. We will know as soon asthey begin to move from the Wells, but I would like to knowhow much time we have before they move. Every day will giveus more time to prepare, to decide on our tactics, and train theHarari - teach them how to fight with modern weapons'

Vicky came back to the camp table and sat down.

'You haven't got time,' she said. 'No time at all.'

'What does that mean ?' Jake looked up.

'The Italians crossed the Mareb yesterday at noon. Theycrossed in force, and they have begun bombing the towns andthe roads. It's war now. It's begun.'

Jake whistied sofdy.

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cHey ho! Here we go!' he said, and then turned to Gareth.'You'd best be the one who tells the Ras. You are the only onewho can control him.''I'm touched by your faith,' murmured Gareth mildly.'I have a pretty good idea what the Ras's reaction will be.He'll want to rush straight out there and start throwing punches.He's likely to get his whole tribe wiped out. You've got to calmhim down.'

'How do you suggest I do that - give him a shot of morphineor hit him over the head ?'

'Get him into a gin-rummy game,' suggested Jake maliciously.He scooped the last of the egg into his mouth and stood up fromthe table still chewing. 'Good chow, Vicky - but I reckon I'dbetter have a look at the damage the Ras did to Tenastelin. Seeif we can get her running again for the Eyeties to shoot at.'

For two hours, Jake worked alone on Tenastelin, rigging theblock and tackle from one of the main branches of the big acaciatree and loosening the bolts to lift out the entire gearbox.Twenty yards away, Vicky sat at the table in front of her tent,and hammered out her next dispatch on the little portable type-writer. Both of them were very much aware of each other as theyworked, but their behaviour was elaborately unconcerned andthey each made a show of concentrating all their attention ontheir separate tasks.

At last, Jake strained on the tackle and the dismemberedgearbox lifted jerkily off its seating and swayed, dripping greasefrom the acacia branch. Jake stood back and wiped his hands ona lump of cotton waste soaked in gasoline.

'Coffee break,' he said, and went to the fire. He poured twomugs full of black coffee and took them to where Vicky sat.

'How are you doing ?' he asked, glancing at the page in hertypewriter. 'Pulitzer stuff, is it ?'

Vicky laughed, as she accepted the mug of coffee. 'Prizesnever go to the best man.'

'Or to those who really want them,' agreed Jake, sitting down

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opposite her, and she felt a flare of annoyance that he hadturned the conversation so neatly.

'Damn you, Jake Barton. I don't have to answer to you - orto anybody,' she said softly.

'Right,' he said. 'Quite right. You're a big girl now - but justremember that you're playing with the big boys. And some ofthem play very rough.'

'Is there any charge, counsellor?' She looked up at himdefiantly, and then she saw the look in his eyes and the angershrivelled within her.

'I don't want to fight with you, Vicky,' he said softly. 'That'sthe last thing in the world I want to do.' He swallowed the lastof his coffee. 'Well,' he said, 'back to work.'

'You give up easily, don't you ?' Vicky didn't realize she hadspoken until the words were out, and then she wanted themback - but Jake cocked an eye at her, and he grinned that bigboyish grin of his.

'Giving up ?' Now he laughed aloud. 'Oh, lady! If you believethat then you do me wrong - a grave injustice.' And he movedslowly towards where she sat and stood over her. The laughterfaded from his voice and from his eyes as he spoke in a newhusky tone.

'You really are very lovely.'

'Jake.' She held his eyes. 'I wish I could explain - but I justdon't understand myself.' He touched her cheek and stoopeddown to her. 'No, Jake, please don't' she said and made noeffort to avoid his lips, but before they touched hers, there wasthe urgent sound of galloping hooves, coming up through theforest.

The two of them drew slowly apart, still watching each other'seyes and Gregorius Maryam rode into the camp on a shaggylittle mountain pony.

'Jake,' he called, sliding down off the saddle. 'It's war! It'sbegun! The Italians have crossed the Magreb. Gareth has justtold my grandfather.'

'The timely messenger,' murmured Vicky, but her voice wasa little shaky, and her smile lopsided.

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Tve come to help you fix my car, Jake. We must be ready tofight,' called Gregorius, and tossed his reins to the servant whofollowed him. 'Let's get to work. There is little time - my grand-father has called all his commanders to a war council at noon.He wants you there.'

Gregorius turned away and hurried to the gutted hulk ofTenastelin. For a moment longer Jake stood over Vicky, andthen he shrugged with resignation.

'Just remember,' he threatened her mildly, 'I don't give up,'and he followed Gregorius.

An hour later they had stripped the gearbox and spread itscomponent parts on a sheet of clean canvas. Jake rocked back onhis heels.

'Well, grandpappy has cooked his goose,' he said, and Gre-gorius apologized solemnly.

'He is a very impetuous gentleman, my grandfather.'

'It's getting on towards noon.' Jake stood up. 'Let's go downand hear what next he has in store for us, that impetuous gentle-man.'

The Ras's encampment was set a little apart from the mainbody of his army, and housed only his personal entourage.There were at least two acres of hastily erected tukuls, made ofsapling frames covered with a range of material from thatch toflattened paraffin cans. Through this encampment wanderedthe naked snotty-nosed children and the Ras's multitudinousfemale retainers, together with goats, mangy dogs, donkeys,and camels.

The Ras's tent was set up in the centre of this community. Itwas a large marquee, patched so often that little of the originalcanvas was visible. His bodyguard was grouped protectively atthe entrance.

Beyond the Ras's tent was a large area of open sandy ground,almost completely covered by rank upon rank of patiently squat-ting warriors.

'My God,' exclaimed Jake. 'Everyone gets to the war council.'

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'It's the custom/ explained Gregorius. 'All may attend, butonly the commanders may speak.9

To one side, separated from the Harari troops by a smallspace of beaten earth and centuries of rankling hostility, werethe Galla contingent, and Vicky pointed them out to Jake.

'Pretty bunch/ he murmured. 'With allies like that, whoneeds enemies ?9

Gregorius led them directly to the Ras's tent, and the guardsstood aside for them to enter. The interior was dark and hot,redolent with the smell of the rank native tobacco and spicedfood. At the far end of the tent, a knot of silent men squattedin a tense circle about two figures - the Ras, swathed in darkwoollen robes, and Gareth Swales in a light silk shirt and whiteflannels.

For a moment Jake thought that the two central figures weredeeply immersed in planning the strategy and defence of theSardi Gorge - then he saw the neat piles of pasteboard spreadout on the golden Afghanistan rug between them.

'My God/ said Jake. 'He took me at my word.9 Gareth lookedup from the fan of cards he held in his right hand.

'Thank God.9 His face showed obvious relief. 'I only wish ithad been an hour earlier.9

'What's the trouble?9

'This old bastard is cheating/ said Gareth, with barely sup-pressed outrage quivering in his voice. 'He has caught me foralmost two hundred quid this morning. I'm utterly appalled, Imust say. They obviously have no scruples, these people' andhere Gareth glanced at Gregorius, 'no offence meant, of course.But I must admit I am staggered.'

And the Ras nodded and grinned happily, his eyes sparklingwith triumph, as he waved Jake and Vicky to a seat on a pile ofcushions beside him.

'If he's cheating - don't play with him,' suggested Vicky, andGareth looked pained.

'You don't understand, old girl. I haven't been able to figurehow he's doing it. He's invented a method new to science andthe gambling halls of the world. He might be an absolutely un-

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scrupulous old rogue, but he must be some sort of genius aswell. I've just got to keep on playing with him until I work outhis system.' Gareth's doleful expression became radiant. 'MyGod, when I do - Monte Carlo here I come!' He discarded asix of spades. The Ras leapt upon it with a cackle of triumphand began laying out his hand.

'Oh my God,' groaned Gareth. 'He's done it again.'

The tense group of counsellors and el4ers around the gameexploded in a delighted burst of cheers and felicitations, and theRas acknowledged their congratulations like a victorious prize-fighter. Grinning and snuffling he leaned across the rug andwith a loud cry of 'How do you do!' he punched Gareth's armplayfully, and Gareth winced and massaged the limb tenderly.

'He does that every time he wins. He's got a touch like ademented blacksmith - I'm black and blue.'

'How do you do!' cried the Ras again, louder than before, andhe shaped up to punch once more, but Gareth hastily producedhis purse, and the Ras relaxed.

'He keeps punching until I pay.' Gareth counted out the coins,while the Ras and his followers watched in heavy-breathingconcentration, which only broke into smiles and laughter againwhen the pile of coins in front of Gareth reached the stipulatedamount. 'No credit in this game,' Gareth explained, as heshoved the money across. 'Cash on the nail, or you get yourarm broken. This old bastard' Gareth glanced again at Gre-gorius, 'no offence, of course. But this old bastard wouldn'ttrust his own mother, probably with good reason. I'm absolutelyappalled! I've met some shockers in my time - but this chaptakes the biscuit.' There was a deep respect in Gareth's tone,which changed to mild alarm as the Ras gathered the cards pre-paratory to the next deal, and he turned to Gregorius.

'Please explain to your dear grandfather that, though I'd bedelighted to accommodate him at a future date, I do think heshould now concentrate a little of his skills on confounding thecommon enemy. The armies of Italy are waiting.'

Reluctantly, the Ras laid the cards aside and, with a sharpspeech in Amharic, put the war council into session, then

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immediately turned to Jake Barton.

'My grandfather wishes to know the state of his armouredsquadron. He is impressed with the cars, and is certain that theycan be used to great advantage.'

'Tell him that he has wrecked a quarter of his armouredsquadron. We've got three runners left.'

The Ras showed no remorse at this rebuke, but turned to hiscommanders and launched into a long vivid account of hisexploits as a driver, his wide gestures describing the speed anddash of his evolutions. The account was punctuated by loyalexclamations of wonder from his officers, and it was someminutes before he turned back to Jake.

'My grandfather says that three of these wonderful machineswill be enough to send the Italians running back into the sea.'

'I wish I shared his confidence,' remarked Gareth, and Jakewent on,

'There is one other small problem, we are short of crews -drivers and gunners - for the cars. We'll need a week or two totrain your men.'

The Ras interrupted fiercely, almost as though he had under-stood Jake, and there was a fierce murmur of agreement fromhis commanders.

'My grandfather intends to attack the Italian positions at theWells of Chaldi. He intends to attack immediately.'

Jake glanced at Gareth, who rolled his eyes to the heavens.'Give him the word, old son,' he said, but Jake shook his head.

'It'll come better from you.'

Gareth drew a deep breath and launched into a long expla-nation as to the suicidal futility of a frontal attack, even witharmoured support, against guns dug into a commandingposition.

'The Italians must advance. That is when our chance willcome.'

It took all Gareth's eloquence to make the Ras agree, albeitreluctantly, to wait for the enemy to make the first move, towatch with his forward scouts for the moment when the Italiansleft their fortified positions above the Wells and moved out into

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the open grassland where they would be more vulnerable.

Once the Ras had agreed, scowling and muttering, to cool hisardour that long, then Jake could take over from Gareth andsuggest the tactics that might best be employed.

Tlease tell your grandfather that we come back to my originalwarning - we do not have crews for all three cars.'

'I can drive,' interrupted Vicky Camberwell, suddenly awarethat she was being squeezed out of consideration.

Gareth and Jake exchanged glances again, and were bothinstantly in complete agreement, but it was Gareth who spokefor them.

'It's one thing acting as a ferry driver, and another as a com-batant, my dear. You are here to write about the fighting, notget mixed up in it.'

Vicky flashed a scornful glance at him and turned to Jake.

'Jake,' she began.

'Gareth's right.' He cut her short. 'I agree with that - all theway.' Vicky subsided angrily, knowing there was no profit inarguing now - not accepting their lordly decrees, but willing tobide her time. She listened quietly as the discussion flowedback and forth. Jake explained how the cars should be used toshock the enemy and punch open the Italian defences so thatthe Ethiopian cavalry could stream through and exploit the dis-ordered infantry.

The Ras's scowls smoothed away, and an unholy grin re-placed them. His eyes glowed like black coals in their beds ofdark wrinkled flesh, and when at last he gave his orders, hespoke with the ringing and final authority of a royal warriorthat brooked no further argument.

'My grandfather decrees that the first attack will be madeupon the enemy as soon as they advance beyond the caves ofChaldi. It will be made by all the horsemen of both Harari andGalla, and led by two armoured cars. The infantry, the Vickersguns and one armoured car will be held in reserve here at theSardi Gorge.'

'What about the crews for the cars ?' asked Jake.

'You and I, Jake, in one car, and in the other car Major Swales

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will be the driver and my grandfather will be the gunner.'

'I can't believe it's happening to me/ groaned Gareth. 'Thatold bastard is stark raving bloody mad. He's a menace to him-self and everyone within a fifty-mile range.'

'Including the Italians/ agreed Jake.

'It's all very well for you to grin like that - you won't belocked up in a tin can with a maniac. Gregorius, tell him'

'No, Major Swales.' Gregorius shook his head and his ex-pression was remote and frosty. 'My grandfather has given hisorders. I will not translate your objections - though if you insistI will give him an exact translation of what you have just saidabout him.'

'My dear chap.' Gareth held up his hands in a gesture ofcapitulation. 'I count it an honour to be selected by your grand-father - and my remarks were made in fun, I assure you. Nooffence, old chap, no offence at all.' And he watched helplessly,as the Ras picked up the pack of playing cards and began to dealthe next hand.

'I just hope the jolly old Eyeties get a move on. I can't affordmuch more of this.'

Major Luigi Castelani saluted from the entrance of the tent.

'As you ordered, my Colonel.'

Count Aldo Belli nodded to him in the full-length mirror abrief acknowledgement before he switched his attention back tohis own image.

'Gino,' he snapped. 'Is that a mark on the toecap of my leftboot ?' and the little sergeant dropped to his knees at the Count'sfeet and breathed heavily on the boot, dulling the glossy surfacebefore polishing it lovingly with his own sleeve. The Countglanced up and saw that Castelani still lingered in the entrance.His expression was so lugubrious and doom-laden that theCount felt his anger return.

'Your face is enough to sour the wine, Castelani.'

'The Count knows my misgivings.'

'Indeed,' he thundered. 'I have heard nothing but yourwhines since I gave my orders to advance.'

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'May I point out once more that those orders are in direct'

'You may not. II Duce, Benito Mussolini himself, has placeda sacred trust upon me. I will not fail that trust.'

'My Colonel, the enemy'

'Bah!' Scorn flashed from the dark, heavily fringed eyes. 'Bah,I say. Enemy, you say - savages, I say. Soldiers, you say - rabble,say I.'

'As my Colonel wishes, but the armoured vehicle'

'No! Castelani, no! It was not an armoured vehicle, but anambulance.' The Count had truly convinced himself of this. 'Iwill not let this moment of destiny slip through my fingers. Irefuse to creep about like a frightened old woman. It is not inmy nature, Castelani, I am a man of action - of direct action. Itis in my nature to spring like a leopard at the jugular vein of myenemy. The time of talking is over now, Castelani. The time foraction is upon us.'

'As my Colonel wishes.'

'It is not what I wish, Castelani. It is what the gods of wardecree, and what I - as a warrior - must obey.'

There did not seem a reply to this and the Major stood silentlyaside as the Count swept out of the tent, with chin upheld, andwith a firm, deliberate tread.

Castelani's strike force had been ready since dawn. Fifty of theheavy troop transporters made up a single column, and he hadspent most of the night deliberating on the order of march.

His final disposition was to leave a full company in the forti-fied position above the Wells of Chaldi, under the command ofone of the Count's young captains. All other troops had beenincluded in the flying column which was to drive hard on thegorge, seize the approaches and fight its way up to the high-lands.

In the van, Castelani had placed five truck-loads of riflemen,and immediately behind them were the machine-gun sections,which he knew he could bring into action within minutes.Another twenty truck-loads of infantry followed them - ten in

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the extreme rear. Under his eye and hand, he had placed hisfield artillery.

In the event of the column running into real trouble, he wasrelying on the infantry to buy him the precious time needed tounlimber and range his Howitzers. Under their protectivemuzzles, he was mildly confident that he could extricate thecolumn from any predicament into which the Count's new-found courage and vaunting visions of glory might lead them -mildly, but not entirely, confident.

Beside each stationary truck the driver and crew were sprawl-ing on the sandy earth, bareheaded, tunics unbuttoned andcigarettes lit. Castelani threw back his head, inflated his lungsand let out a bellow that seemed to echo against the clear highdesert sky.

'Fall in!' and the sprawling figures scrambled into frenziedactivity, grabbing weapons and adjusting uniforms as theyformed ragged ranks beside each truck.

'My children,' said Aldo Belli, as he began to pace down theline. 'My brave boys,' and he looked at them, not really seeingths misbuttoned tunics, the stubble on their chins, nor thehastily pinched-out cigarettes behind the ears. His vision wasmisted with sentiment, his imagination dressed them in bur-nished breastplates and horse-tail plumes.

'You are thirsty for blood ?' the Colonel asked, and threwback his head and laughed a reckless carefree laugh. 'I will giveyou buckets of it,' he said. 'Today you will drink your fill.'

The men within earshot shuffled their feet and glanced un-easily at each other. There was a definite preference for Chiantiamongst them.

The Count stopped before a thin rifleman, still in his teens,with a dark shaggy mop of hair hanging out from under hishelmet.

'Bambino,' said the Count, and the youth hung his head andgrinned in sickly embarrassment. 'We will make a warrior out of you today,' and he embraced the boy, then held him off atarm's length and studied his face. 'Italy gives of her finest, noneare too young or too noble to be spared sacrifice on the altar of

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war.' The boy's ingratiating grin changed swifdy to real alarm.

'Sing bambino, sing!' cried the Count, and himself opened'La Giovinezza' in his soaring baritone while the youth quavereduncertainly below him. The Count marched on, singing, andreached the head of the column as the song ended. He noddedto Castelani, too breathless to speak, and the Major let outanother bull below.

'Mount up!'

The formations of black-shirted troopers broke up into con-fused activity as they hurried to the cumbersome trucks andclimbed aboard.

The Rolls-Royce stood in pride of place at the head of thecolumn, Giuseppe sitting ready at the wheel with Gino besidehim, his camera at the ready.

The engine was purring, the wide back seat packed with theCount's personal gear - sports rifle, shotgun, travelling rugs,picnic hamper, straw wine carrier, binoculars, and ceremonialcloak.

The Count mounted with dignity and settled himself on thepadded leather. He looked at Castelani.

'Remember, Major, the essence of my strategy is speed andsurprise. The lightning blow, swift and merciless, delivered bythe steel hand at the enemy's heart.'

Sitting beside the driver in the rear truck of the column,eating the dust of the forty-nine trucks ahead, and already be-ginning to sweat freely in the oven heat of the steel cab, MajorCastelani inspected his watch.

'Mother of God,' he growled. 'It's past eleven o'clock. Wewill have to move fast if we'

At that moment, the driver swore and braked heavily, andbefore the truck had come to a halt, Castelani had leapt out onto the running board and climbed high on to the roof of the cab.

'What is it ?' he shouted to the driver ahead.

'I do not know, Major,' the man shouted back.

Ahead of them the entire column had come to a halt, andCastelani braced himself for the sound of firing - certain thatthey had run into an ambush. There was confused shouting of

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question and comment from the drivers and crews of thestranded convoy, as they climbed down and peered ahead.

Castelani focused his binoculars, and at that moment thesound of gunfire carried clearly across the desert spaces, and theswift order to deploy his field guns was on Castelani's lips as hefound the Rolls-Royce in the lens of his binoculars.

The big automobile was out on the left flank, racing throughthe scrubby grass, and in the back seat the Count was bracedwith a shot-gun levelled over the driver's head. Even as Caste-lani watched, a flock of plump brown francolin burst from thegrass ahead of the speeding Rolls, rising steeply on quick widewings. Long blue streamers of gun-smoke flew from the muzzlesof the shotgun, and two of the birds exploded in puffs of softbrown feathers, while the survivors of the flock scattered away,and the Rolls came to a halt in a skidding cloud of dust.

Castelani watched Gino, the little sergeant, jump from theRolls and run to pick up the dead birds and carry them to theCount.

Torco Dio!' thundered the Major, as he watched the Countpose for the camera, still standing in the rear of the Rolls, hold-ing the dangling feathered brown bodies and smiling proudlyinto the lens.

There was a rising feeling of despondency and alarm in theRas's army. Since the middle of the morning, through a day ofscalding heat and unrelenting boredom, they had waited.

The scouts had reported the first forward movement of theItalian force at ten o'clock that morning, and immediately theRas's forces had moved forward into their carefully preparedpositions.

Gareth Swales had spent days selecting the best possibleground in which to meet the first Italian thrust, and each con-tingent of the wild Ethiopian cavalry had been carefully drilledand properly cautioned as to the sequence of ambush and thenecessity of maintaining strict discipline.

The chosen field was situated between the horns of the

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mountains, in the mouth of the funnel formed by the debouch-ment of the Sardi Gorge. It was obvious that this was the onlyapproach route open to the Italians, and it was nearly twelvemiles away.

The attackers must be led in close to the southern horn of thefunnel, where the Vickers machine guns had been sited on therocky slopes, and where a minor water course had chiselled itsway down to the plain. The water course was dry now, and itmeandered out into the plain for five miles before vanishing,but it was deep and wide enough to conceal the large contingentsof Harari and Galla horsemen.

This mass of cavalry had been waiting all day, squattingbeside their mounts in the sugar-white sand of the river bed.The two separate factions had been diplomatically separated.The Harari were placed at the head of the trap, nearest therocky slopes of the mountain with the Vickers gunners hiddenon their flank in strong posts amongst the rocks. The Galla,under the scar-faced Gerazmach in the blue shamma, weregrouped farther out on the open plain at a point where the drywater course turned sharply and angled out towards the aridgrassland.

Here in the bend, the banks were still deep enough to concealfifteen hundred mounted men. These, with almost three thou-sand of the Ras's own cavalry, formed a formidable offensivearmy - especially if thrown in unexpectedly on a confused andunbalanced enemy. The mood of the Ethiopians, ever sangui-nary, was aggravated by the many hours of enforced inactivity,crouching without cover from the blinding sun on a white sandbed which reflected its rays like a mirror. The horses werealready distressed by the heat and lack of water - while the menwere murderous.

Gareth Swales had contrived a net, using the natural widecurve of the water course, into which he hoped to lure theItalian column. Two miles farther out in the plain, beyondwhere he now stood on the turret of the Hump, a fold of groundconcealed the small band of mounted men who were to providethe bait. They had been waiting there since the scouts had first

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reported the Italian movement early that morning. Like every-body else they must by this time be restless, bored and thoroughlyuncomfortable. Gareth wondered that this huge amorphousbody of undisciplined, independent, spirited hilismen had solong maintained cohesion. He would not have been surprised ifby this stage half of them had lost interest and had set off home-wards.

The only person who was occupied and seemed happyenough was Jake Barton, and Gareth lowered his binocularsand regarded what he could see of him with irritation. Thefront upper half of that gentleman was completely hiddenwithin the engine compartment of Priscilla the Pig, and onlyhis legs and backside protruded. The muffled strains of 'TigerRag3 whisded endlessly added to Gareth's irritation.

'How are you coming along there ?' he called, merely to stopthe music, and Jake's tousled head emerged, one cheek smearedwith black oil.

'I think I've found it,' he said cheerfully. CA lump of muck inthe carb,' and he wiped his hands on the lump of cotton wastethat Gregorius handed him. 'What are die Eyeties up to ?'

'I think we've got a small problem, old son,9 Gareth murmuredsoftly, turning once more to resume his vigil, and his expressionfor once was serious and concerned. eI must admit that I bankedon the old Latin dash and swagger to bring them charging downhere without a backward glance.9

Jake came across from his car and clambered up besideGareth. The two armoured cars were parked at the extreme endof the curved water course, just before it lost its identity andvanished into the limitless sea of grass and rolling sandy hills.Here the banks of the river were only just enough to cover thehulls of the two cars, but they left die turrets partially exposed.A light cover of cut thorn branches made them inconspicuous,while allowing them to act as observation posts for the crews.

Gareth handed Jake his binoculars. CI think we've got our-selves a really wily one here. This Italian commander isn't rush-ing. He's coming on nice and slow, taking his time.' Garethshook his head worriedly. eI don't like it at all.'

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'He's stopped again/ Jake said, watching the distant dust cloud that marked the position of the advancing column. Thedust cloud shrivelled, and subsided.

'Oh my God!' groaned Gareth, and snatched the binoculars.'The bastard is up to something. I'm sure of it. This is theseventh time the column has halted - and for no apparent rea-son at all. The scouts can't work it out - and nor can I. I've gota nasty hollow feeling that we are up against some sort of mili-tary genius, a modern Napoleon, and it's making me nervous ashell.'

Jake smiled and advised philosophically, 'What you reallyneed is a soothing game of gin. The Ras is waiting for you.' Asif on cue, the Ras looked up brightly and expectantly from theammunition box set in the small strip of shade under the hull.He had laid out a pattern of playing cards on the lid which hehad been studying. His body guard were grouped behind him.They also looked up expectantly.

'They've got me surrounded,' groaned Gareth. 'I'm not surewhich one is the most dangerous - that old bastard down there,or that one out there.'

He raised the binoculars again and swept the long horizonbelow the mountains. There was no longer any sign of dust.

'What the hell is he up to ?'

In fact this seventh halt called by Count Aldo Belli was to bethe briefest of the day, and yet one of the most unavoidable.

It was in fact an occasion of the utmost urgency, and whilethe Count's portable commode was hastily unloaded from thetruck carrying his personal gear, he twisted and wriggled im-patiently on the back seat of the Rolls while Gino, the batman,tried to comfort him.

'It is the water from those wells, Excellency,' he noddedsagely.

Once the commode had been set up, with a good view of thedistant mountains before it, a small canvas tent was raised^ound it to hide the seat from the curious gaze of five hundredkrfantry men.

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The job was completed, only just in time, and a respectfuland expectant hush fell over the entire column as the Countclimbed carefully down from the Rolls and then dashed like anOlympic athlete for the small lonely canvas structure and dis-appeared. The silence and expectation lasted for almost fifteenminutes - and was shattered at last by the Count's shouts fromwithin the tent.

'Bring the doctor!'

Five hundred men waited with all the genuine suspense of amovie audience, speculation and rumour running wildly downthe column until it reached Major Castelani. Even he, convincedas he was that he had seen it all, could not believe the cause ofthis fresh delay, and he went forward to investigate.

He arrived at the tent to find the Count and his medicaladvisers crowded around the commode and avidly discussingits contents. The Count was pale, but proud, like a new motherwhose infant is the centre of attention. He looked up as Castelaniappeared in the doorway, and the Major recoiled slightly as, fora moment, it seemed the Count might invite him to join in theexamination.

He saluted hastily, taking another step backwards.

'Has your Excellency orders for me ?'

'I am an ill man, Castelani,' and the Count struck a pose,drooping visibly, his head lolling weakly. Then slowly he drewback his shoulders, and his chin came up. A wan but bravesmile tightened his lips. cBut that is of no account. We advance,Castelani. Onwards! Tell the men I am well. Hide the truthfrom thern. If they know of my illness, they will despair. Theywill panic.'

Castelani saluted again. 'As you wish, my Colonel.'

'Help me to the car, Castelani,' he ordered, and reluctantlythe Major took his arm. The Count leaned heavily upon him asthey crossed to the Roils, but he smiled gallantly at his men and waved to the nearest of them.

'My poor brave boys,' he muttered. 'They must never know*I will not fail them now.'

*

What the hell is happening out there ?' fretted Gareth Swales,glancing up anxiously at Jake on the turret of the car above him.

'Nothing!' Jake assured him. 'No sign of movement.'

'I don't like it,' reiterated Gareth morosely, and his expressionhardly altered as the Ras let out one of his triumphant cries andbegan laying out his cards.

'I don't like that either,' he said again, and reached for hiswallet before the Ras reminded him. While the Ras shuffled anddealt the next hand, he continued his conversation with Jake.

'What about Vicky ? Nothing from that quarter either ?'

'Not a peep,' Jake assured him.

'That's another thing I don't like. She took it too calmly. Iexpected her to put in an appearance long ago - despite myorders.'

'She won't be coming,' Jake assured him, raising the binocu-lars again and sweeping the empty horizon.

'I wish I was that confident,' muttered Gareth, picking uphis cards. 'I've been expecting to see her car driving up at anyminute. It isn't like her to sit meekly in camp, while the actionis going on out here. She's a front-ranker, that one. She likes tobe right there when anything is happening.'

'I know,' Jake agreed. 'She had that mean look in her eyewhen she agreed to stay at the gorge. So I just made sure shewasn't going to use Miss Wobbly. I took the carbon rod out ofthe distributor.'

Gareth began to grin. 'That's the only good news I've hadtoday. I had visions of Vicky Camberwell arriving in the middleof a fire fight.'

'Poor bloody Italians,' observed Jake, and they both laughed.

'Sometimes you surprise me. Do you know that ?' said Gareth,and he drew a cheroot from his breast pocket and tossed it up towhere Jake stood. 'Thanks for looking after what is mine,' hesaid. 'I appreciate that.'

Jake bit the tip off the cigar, and gave him a quizzical look ashe flicked a match across the rough steel of the turret and heldthe flame in his cupped hands to burn off the sulphur.

'They are all mavericks until somebody puts a brand on them.

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That's the law of the range, old buddy/ he answered, and lit thecigar.

Vicky Camberwell had selected five full-grown men from theRas's camp attendants, rewarded each with a silver MariaTheresa dollar, and worn each of them down to the fine edge ofexhaustion. One after the other, they had taken hold of MissWobbly's crank handle and turned it like a squad of dementedorgan-grinders - while Vicky shouted encouragement and threatsat them from the driver's hatch, her eyes blazing and cheeksfiery with frustration.

Cry Wolf

After an hour of this she was convinced that sabotage hadbeen employed to keep her safely out of the way, and she beganto check out Miss Wobbly's internal organs. She was one ofthose unusual women who liked to know how things worked,arid throughout her life had plagued a long series of mechanics,boyfriends and instructors with her questions. It was notenough for her to switch on a machine and steer it. She hadmade herself an excellent driver and pilot, and in the processshe had acquired a fair idea of the workings of the internalcombustion engine.

'All right, Mr Barton - let's find out what you've done,' shemuttered grimly. 'Let's start on the fuel system.'

She rolled up her sleeves and tied a scarf firmly around herhair. Her five hefty helpers watched with awe as she approached the engine compartment and lifted the cowling, and then theycrowded forward to get a good view and offer their advice. Shehad to beat them back and shoo them away before she could begin work, but then she was completely absorbed in her task,and in half an hour had checked and tested the fuel system*making sure that gasoline was travelling freely from the tankalong the lines to carburettor and cylinders, and that the pumpwas functioning smoothly.

'Right, now let's check out the electrics,' she muttered toherself, and turned irritably as an insistent hand tugged at herbelt, breaking her concentration.

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'Yes, what is it ?' Her expression changed, lighting up happilyas she saw who it was.

'Sara!' She embraced the girl 'How on earth did you gethere?'

'I escaped, Miss Camberwell. It was so boring in the hospital.I had my father's men bring a horse for me and I climbed out ofthe window and rode down the gorge.'

4 What about your friend - the young doctor ?' Vicky demanded,still holding the girl and surprised by the strength of her affec-tion for her.

'Oh, him!' Sara's voice held a world of scorn and contempt.'He was the most boring thing in the hospital. Doctor! Ha! He,knows nothing about how a body works -1 had to try and teachhim, and that was no fun.'

'And your leg ?' she asked. 'How is your leg ?'

'It is nothing - almost well.' Sara tried to dismiss the injury -but Vicky saw that she was drawn and haggard. The long, roughride down the gorge must have taxed her, and as Vicky led hertenderly to a seat in the shade of the acacias, she favoured theinjured leg heavily.

'I heard there is going to be a battle. That's really why I came.I heard die Italians are advancing' She looked round herbrighdy, seeming to thrust her pain and weariness aside. 'Whereare Jake and Gareth ? Where is Gregorius ? We must not missthe battle, Miss Camberwell.'

'That's what I am working on.' Vicky's smile faded. 'Theyhave left us behind.'

'What!' Sara's bright look became bellicose and then out-raged as Vicky explained how they had been edged out.

'Men! You cannot trust them,' fumed Sara. 'If they aren'ttrying to tip you on your back, then it's something worse. Wearen't going to let them do it, are we ?'

'No,' Vicky agreed. 'We are most certainly not.'

With Sara beside her, it was impossible to continue her workon the armoured car, for the girl made up for a total ignoranceof the mechanism by an unbounded curiosity and when Vickyshould have been inspecting the magneto, she found instead

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that she was looking closely at the back of Sara's head whichhad been interposed. After she had forcibly elbowed her asidefor the sixth time, she asked widi exasperation,

'Do you know how to fire a Vickers machine gun ?'

'I am a mountain girl,' boasted Sara. 'I was born with a gunin one hand and a horse between my legs.'

'Or what have you,' murmured Vicky, and the girl grinnedimpishly.

'But have you ever fired a Vickers ?'

'No,' admitted Sara reluctantly, and then brightened. 'But itwon't take me long to find out how it works.'

'There!' Vicky indicated the thick water-jacketed barrel thatprotruded from the turret. 'Go ahead.'

When Sara scrambled awkwardly on to the sponson, stillfavouring the leg, Vicky could return to her inspection. It wasanother half hour before she exclaimed,

'He has taken the carbon rod out of the distributor. Oh, thesneaky swine.'

Sara's head popped out of the turret. 'Gareth ?' she asked.

'No,'answered Vicky.'Jake.'

'I didn't expect it of him. 'Sara climbed down beside Vicky toinspect the damage.

'They're all the same.'

'Where has he hidden it ?'

'Probably in his own pocket.'

'What are we going to do ?' Sara wrung her hands anxiously.'We'll miss the battle!'

Vicky thought a moment and then her expression changed.'In my bag, in the tent, is an Ever-Ready flashlight. There isalso a leather cosmetic case. Bring them both to me, please.'

One of the flashlight dry-cell batteries, split open by thecurved blade of the dagger from Sara's belt, yielded a thickcarbon rod from its core, and Vicky shaped it carefully with thenail-file from her cosmetic case, until it slipped neatly into thecentral shaft of the distributor - and the engine fired at the firstswing of the crank.

'You are really very clever, Miss Camber well/ said Sara, with

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such patent and solemn sincerity that Vicky was deeply touched.She smiled up at the girl who stood above the driver's seat, herhead and shoulders in the turret and her knees braced againstthe back of the driver's seat.

'Think you can work that gun yet?' she asked, and Saranodded uncertainly and placed her slim dark hands on theclumsy mahogany pistol grips, standing on tip-toe to squintthrough the sights.

'Just take me to them, Miss Camberwell.'

Vicky let out the clutch and swung the car in a tight lock outfrom under the acacia trees and on to the steep rocky trackwhich led to the wide open grassland in the funnel of themountains.

'I am very angry with Jake,' declared Sara, clutching wildlyfor support as the car pounded and thumped over the roughtrack. 'I did not expect him to behave that way - hiding thecarbon rod. That is more like Gareth. I am disappointed in him.'

'You are?'

'Yes, I think we should punish him.*

'How?'

'I think Gareth should be your lover,' Sara stated firmly. 'Ithink that is how we will punish Jake.'

In between wrestling with the heavy steering, and dancingher feet over the steel pedals of brake and clutch, Vicky thoughtabout what Sara had said. She thought also of Jake's broadrangy shoulders, and thickly muscled arms - she thought abouthis mop of curly hair and that wide boyish grin that couldchange so quickly to a heavy frown. Suddenly she realized howvery much she wanted to be with him, and how she would misshim if he were gone.

'I must thank you for sorting out my affairs for me,' she calledto the girl in the turret. 'You have a knack.'

'It's a pleasure, Miss Camberwell,' Sara called back. 'It is justthat I understand these things.'

As the afternoon wore on, so thunderheads of cloud formed

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upon the mountains in the west. They soared into a sky ofendless sapphire blue, smoothly rounded masses of silver thatrolled and swirled with a ponderous majesty, swelling high anddarkening to the colour of ripening grapes and old bruises.

Yet over the plain the sky was open, clear and high, and thesun burned down and heated the earth so that the air above itshimmered and danced, distorting vision and distance. At onemoment the mountains were so close that it seemed they reachedto the heavens and they must topple upon the small group ofmen crouched in the shade of the two concealed armoured cars;at the next they seemed remote and miniaturized by distance.

The sun had heated the hulls of the cars so that the steelwould blister skin at a touch - and the men who waited, all ofthem except Jake Barton and Gareth Swales, crawled like sur-vivors of a catastrophe beneath the hulls, seeking relief from theunrelenting sun.

The heat was so intense that the gin rummy game had longbeen abandoned, and the two white men panted like dogs, thesweat drying instantly on their skins and crusting into a thinfilm of white salt crystals.

Gregorius looked to the mountains, and the clouds uponthem, and he said softly, 'Soon it will rain.' He looked up towhere Jake Barton sat like a statue on the turret of Priscilla thePig. Jake had swathed his head and upper body in a white linenshamma to protect it from the'sun and he held the binoculars inhis lap. Every few minutes, he would lift them to his eyes andmake one slow sweep of the land ahead before slumping motion-less again.

Slowly the shadows crept out from the hulls of the cars, thesun turned across its zenith and gradually lost its white glare,its rays toned with yellows and reds. Once again, Jake lifted thebinoculars and this time paused midway in his automatic sweepof the horizon. In the lens the familiar dun feather of the distantcloud once again wavered softly at the line where pale earth andpaler sky joined.

He watched it for five minutes, and it seemed that the dust cloud was fading - shrivelling, and that the shimmering pillars

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of heat-distorted air were rising, screening his vision.

Jake lowered the glasses and a warm flood of sweat brokefrom his hairline, trickled down his forehead into his eyes. Heswore softly at die sting of salt and wiped it away with the hemof the linen shamma. He blinked rapidly, and then lifted dieglasses again - and felt his heart jump in his chest and the prickleof rising hair on the nape of his neck.

The freakish currents and whirlpools.of heated air clearedsuddenly, and the dust cloud that minutes before had seemedremote as the far shores of the ocean was now so close andcrisply outlined against the pale blue white sky that it filled thelens. Then his heart jumped again - below the rolling spreadingcloud he could make out the dark insect shapes of many swiftlymoving vehicles. Suddenly the viscosity of the air changedagain, and the shapes of the approaching column altered -becoming monstrous, looming through the mist of dust - closer,every second closer and more menacing.

Jake shouted, and Gareth was beside him in an instant.

'Are you crazy ?' he gasped. 'They'll overrun us in a minute/

'Get started,' Jake snapped. 'Get the engines started/ and sliddown into the driver's hatch. There was a flurry of suddenfrantic movement around the cars. The engines were crankedinto reluctant life, surging and missing and backfiring as thevolatile fuel turned to vapour in the heat and starved the engines.

The Ras was lifted into the turret of Gareth's car by half adozen of his men at arms, and installed behind the Vickers gun.Their job accomplished, his men were leaving him and hurryingto mount their ponies when the Ras let out a series of shrieks inAmharic and pointed at the empty cave of his own mouth,devoid of teeth and big enough to hibernate a bear.

There was a brief moment of consternation, until the seniorand eldest man at arms produced a large leather-covered boxfrom his saddle bag and hurried with it to kneel humbly on thesponson of the car and proffer the open box to the Ras. Molli-fied, the Ras reached into the box and brought out a magnificentset of porcelain teeth, big and white and sharp enough to fit inthe mouth of a Derby winner, complete with bright red gums.

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With only a short struggle he forced the set into his mouth,and then snapped them like a brook trout rising to the fly,before peeling back his hps in a death's head grin.

His followers cooed and exclaimed with admiration, andGregorius told Jake proudly,

'My grandfather only wears his teeth when he is fighting orpleasuring a lady,' and Jake spared a brief glance from theadvancing Italian army to admire the dazzling dental display.

'Makes him look younger, not a day over ninety,' he gave hisopinion, and revved the engine, carefully manoeuvring the carinto a hull-down position below the bank from where he couldkeep the Italians under observation. Gareth brought the othercar up alongside and grinned at him from the open hatch. Itwas a wicked grin, and Jake realized that the Englishman waslooking forward to the coming clash with anticipation.

It was no longer necessary to use binoculars. The Italiancolumn was less than two miles distant, moving swiftly on acourse that was carrying it parallel to the dry river-bed, beyondthe curved horns of the ambush into the open unprotectedfunnel of flat land between the mountains. Another fifteenminutes at this rate of advance and it would have turned theEthiopian flank and would be able to drive without resistanceto the mouth of the gorge - and Jake knew better than to hopeto be able to reorganize the rabble of cavalry once their forma-tions were shattered. Instinctively he knew that they wouldfight like giants as long as the tide carried them forward, butany retreat would become a rout, and they would race for thehills like factory workers at five o'clock. They were accustomedto fighting as individuals, avoiding set-piece battles, but snatch-ing opportunity as it was offered, swift as hawks, but givinginstantly before any determined thrust by an enemy.

'Come on!' he muttered to himself, pounding his fist againsthis thigh impatiently, and with the first stirring of alarm. Unlessthe bait was offered within the next few moments

Because they fought as individuals, each man his own general,and because the art of ambush and entrapment came as naturallyto the Ethiopian as the feel of a rifle in his hand, Jake need nothave fretted.

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Seeming to rise from the flat scorched earth under the wheelsof the leading Italian vehicles, a small galloping knot of horse-men flitted across the heat-tortured earth, seeming to float aboveit like a flock of dark birds. Their shapes wavering and indistinct,wrapped in pale streamers of dust, they cut back obliquely acrossthe Italian line of march, running hard for the centre of thehidden Ethiopian line.

Almost instantly a single vehicle detached itself from the headof the column and headed on a converging course with the flyinghorsemen. Its speed was frightening, and it closed so swiftly thatthe squadron of cavalry was forced to veer away, forced to edgeout towards where the two armoured cars were hidden.

Behind the single speeding vehicle the Italian column lost itsrigid shape. The front half of it swung away in a long untidyline abreast in pursuit of the horsemen. These were all larger,heavier vehicles, with high, canvas-covered cupolas, and theirprogress was ponderous and so slow that they could not gainperceptibly on the galloping horses.

However, the smaller faster vehicle was gaining rapidly andJake stood higher to give himself a better view as he re-focusedthe binoculars. He recognized instantly the big open Rolls-Royce tourer that he had last seen at the Wells of Chaldi. Itspolished metal work glittered in the sunlight, its low rakishlines enhancing the impression of speed and power, as the dustboiled out from behind its spinning rear wheels with their hugeflashing central bosses.

Even as he watched, the Rolls braked and skidded broadside,coming to a halt in a furiously billowing cloud of dust. A figuretumbled from the rear seat.

Jake watched the man brace himself over the sporting rifleand the spurt of gunsmoke from the muzzle as he fired sevenshots in quick succession, the rifle kicking up abruptly at therecoil and the thud thud of the discharge reaching Jake onlyseconds later.

The horsemen were drawing swiftly away from the Rolls, butneither the changing range nor the dust and mirage affected themarksman. At each shot a horse went down, sliding against theearth, legs kicking to the sky - or plunging and rolling, as it

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struggled to regain its legs, falling back at last and lying still.

Then the rifleman leaped aboard the Rolls again, and the pur-suit was continued, gaining swiftly on the survivors, the heavyphalanx of trucks and troop transports lumbering on behind it -the whole mass of horses, men and machines rolling steadilydeeper into the killing-ground that Gareth Swales had so care-fully surveyed and laid out for them.

'The bastard!' whispered Jake, as he watched the Rolls skidto a standstill once more. The Italian was taking no chances ofapproaching the horsemen closely. He was standing well off, outof effective range of their ancient weapons, and he was pickingthem off one at a time, in the leisurely fashion of a shot-gunnerat a grouse shoot - in fact, the whole bloody episode was beingplayed out in the spirit of the hunt. Even at the range of almosta thousand yards, Jake seemed able to sense the blood passionof the Italian marksman, the man's burning urge to kill merelyfor the sake of inflicting death, for the deep gut-thrill of it.

If they intervened now, cutting into the flank of the wide-spread and disordered column, they might save the lives ofmany of the frantically fleeing horsemen. But the Italian columnwas not yet fully enmeshed in the trap that had been laid.Swiftly, Jake traversed the glasses across the dust-swirling andheat-distorted plain - and for the first time he noticed that adozen trucks of the Italian rearguard had not joined the mad,tear-arse, helter-skelter stampede after the Ethiopian horsemen.This small group had halted, seemingly under some strict con-trol, and now they had been left two miles behind the roaring,dusty avalanche of heavy vehicles. Jake could spare no moreattention to this group, for now the slaughter was being con-tinued, the wildly flying horsemen being cut down by the crack rifleman from the Rolls.

The temptation to intervene now overwhelmed Jake. Heknew it was not the correct tactical moment, but he thought, 'The hell with it, I'm not a General, and those poor bastards out there need help.'

He shoved his right foot down hard on the throttle and theengine bellowed, but before he could pull forward and run atthe bank, he was forestalled by Gareth Swales. He had been

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watching Jake, and the play of emotion over his face was plainto read. At the moment he revved the engine, Gareth swung thefront end of the Hump across his bows, blocking him effectively.

'I say, old chap, don't be an idiot,' Gareth called across thenarrow space. 'Calm the savage breast, you'll spoil the wholeshow.'

'Those poor' Jake shouted back angrily.

'They've got to take their chances.' Gareth cut him short. 'Itold you once before your sentimental old-fashioned ideas wouldget us both into trouble.'

At this stage the argument was drowned by the Ras. He wasstanding tall in the turret above Gareth. He had armed himselfwith the broad, two-handed war sword, and now the excitementbecame too much for him to bear longer in silence. He let out aseries of shrill ululating war cries, and swung the sword in agreat hissing circle around his head - both the silver blade andhis brilliant set of teeth catching the sun and flashing like sema-phores.

He punctuated his shrill war cries with wild kicks at his driver,urging him in heated Amharic to have at the enemy, and Garethducked and twisted out of the way of his flying feet.

'A bunch of maniacs!' protested Gareth as he dodged. 'I'vegot myself mixed up with a bunch of maniacs!'

'Major Swales!' shouted Gregorius, unable to stay out of theargument a moment longer. 'My grandfather orders you to ad-vance!'

'You tell your grandfather to' but Gareth's reply was cutshort as a foot caught him in the ribs.

'Advance!' shouted Gregorius.

'Come on, for chrissake,' yelled Jake.

'Yaahooo!' hooted the Ras, and swung around in the turretto wave on his men at arms. They needed no further invitation.In a loose mob, they spurred dieir ponies past the stymied carsand, brandishing their rifles above their heads, robes streamingin the wind like battle ensigns, they lunged up the steep bankinto the open and galloped furiously on to the flank of thescattered Italian column.

'Oh my God,' sighed Gareth. 'Every man a bloody general'

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'Look!' shouted Jake, pointing back down the course of thedry river-bed, and they all fell abruptly silent at the spectacle.

It seemed as though the very earth had opened, disgorgingrank upon rank of wildly galloping horsemen. Where a momentbefore the sweep of land below the mountains had been emptyand silent, now it swarmed with men and horses, hundreds uponhundreds of them, dashing headlong upon the lumbering Italiancolumn.

The dust hung over it all, rolling forward like the fog off awinter sea, shrouding the sun, so that horses and machines weredark infernal shapes below the sombre clouds, and the ruddysun glinted dully on the steel of rifle and sword.

'That does it,' Gareth agreed bitterly, and reversed his car toclear Jake's front, before swinging away, engine roaring and thewheels spinning for purchase in the steep loose earth of theriver-bank.

Jake turned wide of the other car and took the bank at anangle to lessen the gradient, and the two cumbersome machinesburst out into the plain, wheel to wheel.

Before them was the open flank of massed soft-skinnedvehicles, as tempting a target as they had ever been offered intheir long and warlike careers. The two iron ladies swept for-ward together, and it seemed to Jake that there was a new toneto the deep engine note - as though they sensed that once againthey were fulfilling the true reason for their existence. Jakeglanced quickly at the Hump as she sailed along beside him.Her angular steelwork, with its flat abrupt surfaces from whichrose the tall turret, still gave her the ugly old-maidish silhouette,but there was a new majesty in the way she plunged forward -her bright Ethiopian colours fluttered gaily as a cavalry pennantand the high thin-rimmed wheels spurned the sandy earth likethe hooves of a thoroughbred. Beneath him, Priscilla drove for-ward as gamely, and Jake felt a warm flood of affection for histwo old ladies.

'Have at them, girls!' he shouted aloud, and Gareth Swales,head protruding from the driver's hatch of the Hump, turned towards him. There was a freshly lit cheroot clamped in the

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corner of his mouth, seeming to have sprouted there miracu-lously of its own accord, and Gareth grinned around it.

'Noli illegitimi carborundum /' Jake caught the words faintlyabove the roar of wind and motor, then turned his full attentionback to controlling the racing machine, and bringing her asswiftly as possible into the gaping breach in the Italian line.

Abruptly the pattern of movement ahead of him changed.The exultantly pursuing Italian warriors had realized belatedlythat the roles had been neatly switched.

The Count picked up the horseman in the sight, and led off justa touch, a hair's breadth, for the Mannlicher was a high-velocityrifle and the range was not more than a hundred metres.

He saw the hit clearly, the man lurched in the saddle andsprawled forward over the horse's neck, but he did not fall. Therifle dropped from his hands and cartwheeled across the earth,but the man clung desperately to the horse's mane while quickcrimson spread across the shoulder of his dirty white robe.

The Count fired again, aiming for the junction of the horse'sneck and shoulder, and saw the jarring impact spin the animaloff its feet, so that it fell heavily upon its wounded rider, crush-ing the air from his lungs in a short high wail.

The Count laughed, wild with excitement. 'How many, Gino ?How many is that?'

'Eight, my Colonel.'

"Keep counting. Keep counting,' he urged, as he swung therifle, seeking the next target, peering eagerly over the open veesight. Then suddenly he froze, the rifle barrel wavering andsinking to point at his glossy toe-caps. His lower jaw unhingedand slowly sank, as if in sympathy with the rifle barrel. Hisrecent affliction, forgotten in the excitement of the chase, re-turned suddenly with a force that turned his bowels to waterand his legs to rubber.

'Merciful Mary!' he whispered.

The entire horizon was moving, an unbroken line from oneedge of his vision to the other. It took him many seconds to

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assimilate what he was seeing, to realize that instead of fifteenhorsemen, there were suddenly thousands upon thousands, andthat rather than running before him they were now movingtowards him at a velocity which he would not have believedpossible. As he stared, he saw rank upon rank of the enemyseemingly rising from the very earth ahead of him, and rushingtowards him through a curtain of fine pale dust. He saw thelowering sun glint red as blood upon the naked blades, and thedrumming of galloping hooves sounded like the thunder of agiant waterfall. Yet faintly through the thunder, he heard theblood-freezing war shrieks of the horsemen.

'Giuseppe,' he gasped. 'Take us away from here - fast! Veryfast.' This was the sort of appeal that went directly to thedriver's heart. He spun the big car so nimbly that the Count'sconsiderably weakened legs collapsed and he fell backwardsonto the leather seat.

Spread over a front of a quarter of a mile behind and on eachside of the Rolls came thirty of the dun-coloured Fiat troop-carriers. Despite their most fervent efforts, they had lost groundsteadily to the thrusting Roils and they now lumbered alongalmost a thousand yards behind. However, the excitement ofthe chase had affected the occupants and they had climbed upon the cabs and cupolas, and hung there hooting and yelling asthey watched the sport, like runners at a fox hunt.

This solid phalanx of vehicles, advancing almost wheel towheel over the rough ground, at a speed which would havehorrified the manufacturers, was suddenly faced with the urgentnecessity of reversing its headlong career without any loss ofspeed.

The drivers of the two leading trucks whose need was mostcritical solved the problem by spinning the wheels to hard lock,one left and the other right, and they came together radiator toradiator at a combined speed in excess of sixty miles per hour.In a roaring cloud of steam, splintering glass and rending metal,their cargoes of black-shirted infantry men were scattered likewheat upon the earth, or impaled on various metal projectionsof the vehicle bodies. The trucks, inextricably locked into each

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other, settled slowly on their shattered suspensions, and no sooner had die dust begun to drift away than there was a belly-shaking tiiump as the contents of their shattered fuel tanksignited in a tall volcanic spout of flame and black smoke.

The other vehicles managed to reverse their courses withoutserious collision and streamed away into their own dust-clouds,pursued by a horde of galloping, gibbering cavalry.

Count Aldo Belli could not bring himself.to glance back overhis shoulder, certain that he would find a razor-edged swordswishing inches from his cringing rear, and he leaned over hisdriver, spurring him to greater speed by beating on his unpro-tected head and shoulders witii a fist clenched like a hammer.

'Faster!' shouted the Count, his fine baritone rising to anuncertain contralto. 'Faster, you idiot - or I will have you shot !'and he hit the driver again behind one ear, experiencing a smallspark of relief as the Rolls overtook the rear vehicles in the dis-ordered herd of fleeing trucks.

Now at last he judged it safe to look back, and his relief wasmore intense when he realized that the Rolls was easily capableof out-running a mounted man. He experienced a warm floodof returning courage.

'My rifle, Gino,' he shouted. 'Give me my rifle.' But theSergeant was trying to focus his camera on the pursuing horde,and the Count hit him a blow over the top of his head.

'Idiot. This is war,' he bellowed. 'And I am a warrior - giveme my rifle!'

Giuseppe, die driver, hearing him, reluctandy decided thathe was expected to slow the Rolls to give the Count an oppor-tunity to follow his warlike intentions - but at the first diminu-tion of speed, he received another lusty crack on the centre ofhis pate and the Count's voice went shrill again.

'Idiot,' he screeched. 'Do you want to get us killed ? Faster,*uan, faster!' and with unbounded relief the driver pushed hisfoot flat on the throttle and the Rolls leapt forward again.

Gino was down on his hands and knees at die Count's feet,aud now he came up with the Mannlicher in his hands andlanded it to the Count.

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'It's loaded, my Count.*

'Brave boy!' The Count braced himself with the rifle held athis hip, and looked about for something to shoot at. The Ethiopian cavalry had fallen well behind at this stage, and theRolls had overtaken most of the troop-carriers - they were be-tween the Count and the enemy. The Count was consideringordering Giuseppe to work his way out on to the flank, and thusgive him an open field of fire - weighing the pleasure of shootingdown the black riders at a respectable range against any possiblephysical danger to himself-and he turned on his precariousperch in the back seat to look out in that direction.

He stared incredulously at what he saw. Two great hump-backed shapes were sailing in across the open grassland. Theylooked like two deformed camels, coming on swiftly with acurious loping progress that was at once comical and yet dreadsfully menacing.

The Count stared at them uncomprehendingly, until with asudden jolt of shock and a new warm flood of adrenalin into hisblood stream, he realized that the two strange vehicles weremoving fast enough and at such an angle as to cut off his retreat.

'Giuseppe!' he shrieked, and hit the driver with the butt ofthe Mannlicher. It was not a heavy blow, it was meant merelyto attract his attention, but Giuseppe had already taken muchpunishment and was by now lightly concussed. He clung to thewheel with white knuckles and roared on directly into the pathof the new enemy.

'Giuseppe!' shrieked the Count again, as he suddenly recog-nized the gaily coloured flashes on the turret of the nearest machine, and at the same instant saw the thick stubby cylindrical shape that protruded ahead of it. It was fluted vertically and atthe far end a short pipelike muzzle thrust out of the heavy water-jacket.

'Oh, merciful Mother of God!' he howled as the machine altered course slightly and the muzzle of the Vickers machine gun pointed directly at him.

'You fool!' he shrieked at Giuseppe, hitting him again. 'Turn!You idiot, turn!'

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Suddenly through the tears of pain, the singing in his ears,and the blinding terror that gripped him, Giuseppe saw thehuge camel-like shape looming up ahead of him and he spunthe wheel again - just as the muzzle of the Vickers erupted in afluttering pillar of bright flame and the air all around them wastorn by the hiss and crack of a thousand bull whips.

Major Castelani stood on the cab of his truck, and peered dis-approvingly through his binoculars into the distant clouds ofrolling dust where confused movement and shadowy indistin-guishable shapes flitted without seeming purpose or pattern.

It had required all of his presence and authority to restrainthe ten trucks which carried the artillery men and towed theirfield pieces, to keep them under his personal command and toprevent them joining in the wildly enthusiastic rush after thesmall contingent of Ethiopian horsemen.

Castelani was about to give the order to mount up andcautiously follow the Count's charge into history and glory,when he raised the binoculars again - and it seemed that thepattern of dust-obscured movement out there had altered. Sud-denly he saw the unmistakable shape of a Fiat transport emergefrom the dust bank, and move ponderously back towards him.Through the glasses the men who clung to the canvas roof couldbe seen staring back in the direction from which they werecoming at speed.

He panned the glasses slowly and saw another truck lumberout of the dust-mist headed back towards him. One of thesoldiers on its roof was aiming and firing his rifle back into theobscuring clouds and his comrades, clinging to the roof aboutbim, were frozen in attitudes of trepidation and alarm.

At that moment, Castelani heard something which he recog-nized instantly, his skin prickling at the distant ripping tearingsound. The sound of a British Vickers machine gun. His eyesought the direction, turning swiftly to the right flank of the^tended Italian column which seemed now to be rushing backtowards him in confused and completely disordered retreat.

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He picked up the tall humpbacked shape instantly, standinghigh on the open plain, coming in fast with the strange bound-ing motion of a rocking horse, cutting boldly into the flank ofthe mass of soft-skinned Italian transports.

'Unlimber the guns,' shouted Castelani. 'Prepare to receiveenemy armour.'

The Vickers machine guns in the turrets of the two armouredcars had ball-type mountings. The barrels could be elevated ordepressed, but they could not traverse more then ten degrees toleft or right, this being the limit of the ball mountings' turn. Thedriver had of necessity to act as gun-layer, swinging the entirevehicle to aim the gun, or at least bring it within the limitedtraverse of the mounting.

The Ras found this frustrating beyond all enduring. Hewould select a target, and shout in perfectly clear and coherentAmharic to his driver. Gareth Swales, not understanding a wordof it, had already selected another target and was doing his bestto line up on it while the Ras delivered a series of wild kicks athis kidneys to register his royal right of refusing to engage it.

The consequence of this was that the Hump wove a crazy,unpredictable course through the Italian column, spinning offat sudden tangents as the two crew members shouted bitterrecriminations at each other, almost ignoring the sheets of riflefire that thundered upon the steel hull from point-blank range,like hail on a galvanized roof.

Priscilla the Pig, on the other hand, was doing deadly execu-tion. She had missed her first burst fired at the speeding Rolls,and it had ducked away behind the screen of dust and buckingtrucks. Now, however, Jake and Gregorius were working withall the precision and mutual understanding that had developed between them.

'Left driver, left, left,' called Gregorius, peering down theopen sights of the Vickers at the truck that roared and bounced along a hundred yards ahead of them.

'All right, I'm on him,' shouted Jake, as the vehicle appeared

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in the narrow field of his visor. This was a perforated steel platethat allowed only forward vision - but once Jake had the truckcentred, he followed its violent efforts to dislodge him, closingin rapidly until he was twenty yards behind it.

The back of the truck was packed with black-shirted infantrymen. Some of them were directing wild but rapid rifle fire at thepursuing car, the bullets clanging and whining off the hull, butmost of them clung white-faced to the sides of the truck andstared back with stricken eyes as the armoured death carrier boredown inexorably upon them.

'Shoot, Greg!' called Jake. Even through the cold anger thatgripped him, he was pleased that the boy had obeyed his ordersand held his fire until this moment. There would be no wastagenow, at so short a range every round ripped into the Italiantruck, tearing through canvas, flesh, bone and steel at the rateof seven hundred rounds a minute.

The truck swerved violendy and its front end collapsed; itwent over broadside, crashing over and over, flinging the menhigh in the air, the way a spaniel throws off the droplets from itsback as it leaps from water to land.

'Driver, right,' called Gregorius immediately. 'Another truck,right, a littie more right - that's it, you're on.' And they roaredin pursuit of another panic-stricken load of Italians.

A hundred yards away on their flank the Hump scored itsfirst success. Gareth Swales was no longer able to accept theindignity of the Ras's flying feet, and his frenzied and completelyunintelligible commands. He left the controls of the racing carto swing an angry punch at the Ras.

'Cut that out, old chap,' he snapped. 'Play the game - I'm onyour side, damn it.'

The car, no longer under control, jinked suddenly. Almostside by side with them sped a Fiat truck, filled with Italians, andthe driver had not yet realized that there was another enemyapart from the pursuing hordes of Ethiopian horsemen. Hishead was twisted around over his shoulder at an impossibleangle, and he drove by instinct alone.

The two uncontrolled vehicles came together at an acute

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angle and at the top of their combined speeds. Steel met steelin a storm of sparks and they staggered away from the blow,both of them veering over steeply. For a moment it seemed thatthe Hump would go over; she teetered at the extreme end of hercentre of gravity and then came back on to all four wheels with acrash that threw the men inside her unmercifully against hersteel sides, before racing on again with Gareth wrestling at thewheel for control.

The Fiat truck was lighter and stood higher; the armouredcar had caught her neatly under the cab and she did not evenwaver, but flipped over on her back, all four wheels still spinningas they pointed at the sky, and the cab and canvas-covered hoodwere torn away instantly, the men beneath them smeared be-tween steel and hard earth.

It was all too much for the Ras. He could no longer containhis frustration at being enclosed in a hot metal box from whichhe could see almost nothing, while all around hundreds of hishated enemies were escaping with complete impunity. He flungopen the hatch of the turret and stuck out his head and shoul-ders, yipping shrilly with bloodlust, frustration, anger andexcitement.

At that moment, an open sky-blue and glistening black Rolls-Royce tourer flashed across the front of the Hump. In the rear seat was an Italian officer bedecked with the glittering insigniaof rank - instantly Gareth Swales and the Ras were in perfect accord once again. They had found a target eminently accept- able to both of them.

(l say, tallyho!' cried Gareth, to be answered by a blood-curdling 'How do you do!5 like the crowing of an enraged rooster from the turret above him.

Count Aldo Belli was in hysterics, for the driver seemed to havelost all sense of direction; now more than just a little concussed,he had turned at right angles across the line of flight of theItalian column. This was as hazardous as running an oceanliner at full speed through a field of icebergs - for the rolling

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dust-clouds had reduced visibility to less then fifty feet, and outof this brown fog the lumbering troop-carriers appeared withoutwarning, the drivers in no fit condition to take evasive action, alllooking back over their shoulders.

Ahead of them, two more monstrous shapes appeared out ofthe dust; one was an Italian truck and the other was one of thecumbersome camel-backed vehicles with the Ethiopian colourssplashed upon its hull and a Vickers maclyne gun protrudingfrom its turret.

Suddenly the armoured car swerved and crashed heavily intothe side of the truck, capsizing it instantly and then swervingback towards the Rolls. It came so close, towering over them sothreateningly, that it entered even Giuseppe's limited field ofvision.

The effect was miraculous. Giuseppe shot bolt upright in hisseat and, with the touch of an inspired Nuvolari, brought theRolls round on two wheels, cutting finely across the armouredbows just at the moment that the hatch of the turret flew open anda wizened brown face, filled with the largest, whitest and mostflashing teeth the Count had ever seen, popped out of the turretand emitted a war cry so shrill and heart-chilling that the Count'sbowels flopped over like a stranded fish.

As the barrel of the Vickers swung on to the Rolls, theEthiopian gunner ducked down into the turret, and the barrelelevated slightly until the Count found himself staring stupidlyinto its dark round aperture - but Giuseppe had been watchingalso in the driving mirror, and now he spun the wheel and theRolls flashed aside like a mackerel before the driving charge ofthe barracuda. The blast of shot from the Vickers tore down itsleft side lifting a storm of dirt and pebbles in sp urting fountainshigh into the air.

The armoured car swung heavily to follow the Rolls' ma-noeuvre, the leaping dust fountains swinging with it, closing inmercilessly. However, Giuseppe, faced with the prospect ofdeath, hit the brakes so hard that the Count was catapultedforward, howling protests, to hang over the front seat, his ampleblack-clad buttocks pointing at the heavens and his glistening

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boots kicking wildly as he fought for balance.

The sheet of bullets from the swinging Vickers passed mereinches ahead of the Rolls, and Giuseppe swung the wheel tohard opposite lock, released the brakes and trampled hard onthe throttle. The Rolls kicked over hard, wheels spinning forpurchase, then bounded ahead with such impetus that theCount was thrown backwards again, crashing into a sittingposition on the rear leather seat, his helmet falling over his eyes.

'I'll have you shot,' he gasped, as he struggled weakly toadjust the helmet. Giuseppe was too busy to hear him. His duckand swerve had beaten the Ethiopian gunner, and the superiorspeed of the Rolls was carrying it swiftly out of harm's way.Just a few more seconds-then the ancient, but splendidlytoothed head of the gunner appeared once more in the turret,and the bows of the armoured car and the questing muzzle ofthe Vickers swung back. The gunner dropped back behind thegun and the roaring clatter of bullets sounded high above thebellow of straining engines. Once again, the dust storm ofbullets tore up the earth, swinging rapidly towards the Rolls.

Slightly ahead of the two vehicles, another growling, labour-ing troop-carrier loomed out of the dust on a parallel coursewith them, but travelling at only half the speed under its heavyload of terrified troopers.

Giuseppe touched the wheel, swaying out slightly away fromthe stream of bullets, then he swung hard the opposite way andas the armoured car turned to follow him he ducked neatlybehind the troop-carrier, screened by its high unstable bulkfrom the deadly machine gun. The Ethiopian kept firing.

As the solid hose of fire tore through the canvas hood of thetruck, ripping and shredding the men crowded shoulder toshoulder beneath it, the Rolls was pulling away swiftly in itslee. Suddenly, it was out of the dust clouds into the crystal desert air, with a vista of open land stretching away to thehorizon - a horizon which was the passionate destination ofevery man in the Rolls. The lumbering troop-carriers were leftbehind, and the Rolls could make a clean run of it. The way theCount felt at that moment, they would only stop once he was

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safely into his defensive positions above the Wells of Chaldi.

Then quite suddenly, he was aware of the guns on the openplain ahead of him. They were drawn up neady in spaced-outtriangular batteries, three vees of three guns each, with thegunners grouped about them and the long fat barrels coveringthe approaching mass of fleeing vehicles. There was a parade-ground feeling of calm and good order about them that madethe Count blubber with relief after the nightmare from whichhe had just emerged.

'Giuseppe, you have saved us,' he sobbed. 'I am going to giveyou a medal' The threat of capital punishment made a fewminutes earlier was forgotten. 'Drive for the guns, my braveboy. You have done good work - and you'll find me grateful.'

At that moment, emboldened by talk of safety, Gino liftedhimself from the floorboards where he had been resting theselast few minutes. He looked cautiously over the rear of the Rolls,and what he saw caused him to let out a single strangled cry andto drop once more into his original position on the floor.

Behind them the Ethiopian armoured car had burst out of thedust clouds and was bounding determinedly after them.

The Count took one look also, and immediately resumed hisencouragement of Giuseppe, beating on his head with a fist likea judge's gavel.

'Faster, Giuseppe!' he shrieked. 'If he kills us, I'll have youshot.' And the Rolls raced for the protection of the guns.

'Steady now!' intoned Major Castelani gravely, trying by thetone of his voice to quiet their nerves.

'Steady, my lads. Hold your fire. Hold your fire.

'Remember your drill,' he said. 'Just remember your rangedrill, soldier.' He paused a moment beside the nearest gun-layer,lifting his binoculars and sweeping the field ahead.

The dust cloud was rolling rapidly towards them, but all theaction was confused and indistinct.

' You are loaded with high explosive?' the Major asked quietly,and the gun-layer gulped nervously and nodded.

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'Remember, the first shot is the only one you can aim with care. Make it count.'

'Sir.' The man's voice was unsteady, and Castelani felt a stabof anger and contempt. They were all unblooded boys, unsteadyand nervous. He had been forced to push them to their placesand put the trails of the guns in their hands.

He turned abruptly, and strode to the next battery.

'Steady now, lads. Hold your fire until it counts.'

They turned strained, pale faces to him; one of the layerslooked as though he would burst into tears at any moment.

'The only thing you have to be afraid of is me,' growledCastelani. 'Let one of you open fire before I give the order - andyou'll'

A cry interrupted him, as one of the loaders stood up andpointed out on to the field.

'Take that man's name,' snapped Castelani, and turned withdignity, making a show of polishing the lens of his binoculars onhis sleeve before raising them to his eyes.

Colonel Count Aldo Belli was leading his men back so enthu-siastically that he had outstripped them by half a mile, and everymoment was widening the gap. He was driving directly at thecentre of the artillery batteries, and he was standing tall in theback seat of the Rolls, with both arms waving and gesticulatingas though he was being attacked by a swarm of bees.

Even as Castelani watched, from out of the brown curtainsof dust beyond the Rolls burst a machine that he recognizedinstantly, despite its new camouflage paint and the unfamiliar weapon in the turret. It did not need the gay pennant that flewabove it to identify his enemy.

'Very well, lads,' he said quietly. 'Here they come. Highexplosive, and wait for the order. Not a moment before.'

The speeding armoured car fired, a long tearing ripping burst.Much too long, Castelani thought with grim satisfaction. That gun would be overheating, and they could expect a jam. Anexperienced gunner laid down short, spaced bursts of fire - theenemy were green also, Castelani decided.

'Steady, lads,' he snapped, watching his men stir restlessly at

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the sound of gunfire and exchange nervous glances.

The car fired again, and he saw the fall of shot around theRolls, kicking up swift jumping spurts of dust and earth -another long ripping hail of fire. That ended abruptly and wasnot repeated.

'Ha!' snorted Castelani, with satisfaction. 'She has jammed.'His wavering gunners would not have to receive fire. It wasgood. It would steel them, give them confidence to shoot, with-out being shot at.

'Steady now. All steady. Not long to wait. Nice and steadynow.' His voice lost its jagged, emery-paper tone and becamesoothing and crooning like a mother at the cradle. 'Wait for it,lads. Easy now.'

The Ras did not understand what had happened, why the gunremained silent, despite all the strength of both his hands onpistol grip and triggers. The long canvas belt of ammunitionstill drooped from the bins and fed into the breech of the Vickers- but it no longer moved.

The Ras swore at the gun, such an oath that, had he hurled itat another man, would have led immediately to a duel to thedeath, but the gun remained silent.

Armed with his two-handed battle sword, the Ras climbedhalf out of the turret and brandished it about his head.

It is doubtful if he would have realized what three batteriesof modern 100 mm field guns would have looked like from thebusiness end, or, if he had recognized them, whether they wouldhave daunted his determined pursuit of the fleeing Rolls. As itwas, his reason and vision were clouded with the red mists ofbattle rage. He did not see the waiting guns.

Below him, Gareth Swales leaned forward in the driver's seatpeering short-sightedly through the visor, which narrowed hisfield of vision and partially obscured it as though he was lookingthrough the perforated bottom of a kitchen colander. His eyeswere swimming from the cordite smoke, the engine fumes andthe dust-motes - so that he blinked rapidly as he concentrated

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all his efforts in following the speeding ethereal shape of theRolls. He did not see the waiting guns.

'Shoot, damn you,' he shouted. 'We are going to lose him.5But above him the Vickers was silent, and from his seat lowdown in the hull, the slight fold of ground so carefully chosenby Major Castelani half-hid the batteries. He raced towardsthem, drawn on inexorably by the fleeting shape of the Rollsdancing elusively ahead of him.

'Good.' Castelani allowed himself a bleak little smile as hewatched the enemy vehicle come on steadily. Already it waswithin comfortable range for an experienced gunner, but heknew it must be half as close again before his own crews couldmake any certainty of their practice.

The Rolls, however, was a mere two hundred metres in frontof the guns, and coming on at a speed that could not have beenless than sixty miles an hour. Three terrified and chalky faceswere turned towards him in dreadful appeal and three voiceswere raised in loud cries for succour. The Major ignored themand swiftly turned his professional eye back to the enemy. Hefound it was still two thousand metres out across the plain butclosing satisfactorily. He was on the point of uttering anotherreassurance to his edgy gunners, when the Rolls roared throughthe narrow gap in the centre of his batteries.

The Count had at that moment temporarily found his feetand replaced his helmet on his head. Standing on the high plat-form of the Rolls, his voice, powered with adrenalin and shrillwith terror, carried clearly to every gunner.

'Open fire!' shrieked the Count. 'Open fire immediately - orI will have you all shot!' and then, realizing that they should beencouraged to remain at their posts and cover his withdrawal,he reached frantically for inspiration and flung over his shoulderone rousing 'Death before dishonour!' before the Rolls borehim away, still at sixty miles an hour, towards the long distanthorizon.

The Major lifted his voice in a great bugling bellow to counter- 264

mand the order, but even his lungs were no match for the thun-derous volley of nine field guns fired in as close to unison as theyhad never been in training. Each gunner took his Colonel at hisliteral word when he said immediately' and such refinements aslaying and aiming were forgotten in the dire urgency of firing asfuriously and as fast as possible.

In the circumstances, it was nothing short of a miracle thatone high-explosive shell found a mark. This was a Fiat troop-carrier which emerged at that moment from the dust clouds aquarter of a mile behind the Ethiopian armoured car. The shellwas fused to a thousandth of a second delay; it went in throughthe radiator, shattered the engine block, disintegrated the driver,then burst in the midst of the group of terrified infantrymenhuddled under the canvas hood. The engine and front wheel ofthe truck kept going forward for a few seconds before beginningto roll and bounce over the irregular ground - the rest of thetruck and twenty men went straight upwards, fifty feet in theair like a troupe of maniacal acrobats.

Only one other shell came close to hitting the enemy. It burstten yards in front of the Hump, erupting in a towering pillar offlame and yellow earth, and gouging a deep round crater, fourfeet across, into which the speeding car plunged.

The Ras, whose head was protruding from the turret, andwhose mouth and eyes were wide open, had all three of thesebody apertures filled with flying sand from the explosion - andhis war whoops were cut off abruptly, as he choked for breathand tried frantically to wipe his streaming eyes.

Gareth also had his vision abruptly closed by the pillar offlame and sand, and he drove blindly into the shell crater. Theimpact threw him out of his seat, and the steering-wheel hit himin the chest, driving the wind out of his lungs before snappingoff short at the floor boards.

With another bound, the Hump bounced jauntily out of theshell crater with streamers of dust and shell smoke swirlingabout her. She was hanging over on one side with her springssnapped off by the jolt, and her front wheels locked firmly toone side, yet her engine still bellowed at full power and she went

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into a tight right-hand circle, around and around like a circusanimal.

Wheezing for breath, Gareth dragged himself back into thedriver's seat, only to find that there was no longer a steeringcolumn and that the throttle had jammed at the fully openposition. He sat there for long seconds, shaking his head toclear it, and struggling desperately for breath, for the hull wasfilled with dust and smoke.

Another shell, bursting somewhere close beside the hull,roused him from the stupors of shock, and he reached up, un-latched the driver's hatch and stuck his head out into the openair. At what seemed like point-blank range, three full batteriesof Italian field guns were firing at him.

'Oh my God!' he gasped painfully, as another volley of highexplosive erupted around the rapidly circling car, the blastjarring his eyeballs and rattling his teeth in his head. 'Let's gohome!' he said and began to hoist himself out of the narrowhatch-way. His feet came clear of the steel flooring of the hullonly just in time to save every bone below his knees in both legsfrom being shattered into small fragments.

Two thousand yards away across the plain Major Castelani wasfighting for control against the panic that the Count had instilledin his gunners. They were loading and firing with such single-minded passion that all the other refinements of gunnery werecompletely forgotten. The layers were no longer making a pre-tence of seeking a target, but merely jerking the lanyard at thevery moment the breech block clanged shut.

Castelani's bellows made no impression on the half-deafenedand almost completely dazed gunners. The Count's last injunc-tion to death had shattered their nerves completely and theywere all of them beyond reason.

Castelani dragged the nearest layer from his seat behind thegun shield, and prised open the man's death grip on the lanyard.Cursing bitterly at the quality of the men under his command,he pedalled the traverse and elevating handles of the gun with a

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smooth expert action. The thick barrel dropped and swung untilthe insect speck of the armoured car loomed suddenly large inthe magnifying prism of the gunsight. It was tearing in a crazycircle, clearly out of control, and Castelani picked up therhythm of its circle and hit the lanyard with a short hard jerk ofthe wrist. The barrel flew back, arrested at last by the hydraulicpistons of the shock absorber, and the fifteen-pound cone-shaped steel shell was hurled on an almost.flat trajectory acrossthe plain.

It was aimed fractionally low. It passed inches below the tallshuttered bows of the car, between the two front wheels, andstruck the earth directly below the driver's compartment.

The released energy of the blast was deflected by the earth'ssurface up into the soft underbelly of the hull. It blew the engineblock off its seating, tore off the big front wheels like wings froma roast chicken, and stove in the steel floor of the hull with agreat Thor's hammer stroke.

If Gareth Swales' feet had been in contact with the steel floorof the hull, the shock would have been transmitted directly intothe bones of his feet and legs, and he would have suffered thatdreadful but characteristic wound of the tankman - below theknees his legs would have been transformed into bags of shat-tered bone.

He was, however, suspended half in and half out of thedriver's hatch with both legs kicking frantically in the air, andthe shock of the blast came up like carbon dioxide in a bottle offreshly opened champagne. He was the cork and he was shotout of the hatch, still kicking.

The effect on the Ras was the same. He came out of theturret, propelled high by the blast - and he met Gareth at thetop of his trajectory. The two of them came down to earthsimultaneously, with the Ras seated between Gareth's shoulderblades, and the wonder of it was that neither of them was im-paled upon the war sword which went with them and finallypegged deep into the earth six inches from Gareth's ear as helay face down and feebly tried to dislodge the Ras from hisback.

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'I warn you, old chap,' he managed to gasp. 'One day you aregoing to go too far.'

The sound of oncoming engines, many of them and all roar-ing in high revolutions, made Gareth's efforts to dislodge theRas more determined. He sat up spitting sand and blood fromhis crushed lips, and looked up to see the remaining Italiantransports bearing down on them like the starting grid of theLe Mans Grand Prix.

'Oh my God!' gasped Gareth, his scattered wits reassemblinghastily, and he crawled frantically into the shattered and stillsmoking carcass of the Hump, beginning to shrink down out ofsight before he realized that the Ras was no longer with him.

'Rassey, you stupid old bastard-come back,' he shouteddespairingly. The Ras, once again armed with his trusty broad-sword, was staggering out on unsteady stork's legs, stunned bythe shell burst but still fighting mad, and there was no doubtinghis intentions. He was going to take on the entire motorizedcolumn single-handed, and as he hurried to meet them, shout-ing a challenge, he loosened up with a few hissing two-handedcuts with the word.

Gareth had to duck under the swinging blade, going in low ina flying rugby tackle, to bring the old warrior down in an untidyheap.

He dragged him, still shouting and struggling furiously, undercover of the broken steel hull, just as the first Italian truckroared past them. The pale-faced occupants paid them not theslightest attention - they were intent on one thing only and thatwas to follow their Colonel.

'Shut up!' growled Gareth, as the Ras tried to provoke themwith some of the foulest oaths in the Amharic language. Finallyhe had to hold the Ras down, wrap his shamma around his head,and sit on it - while the Italian Fiats thundered past, and therolling clouds of dust spread over them as though driven by thekhamsin.

Once through the dust and confused stampede of trucks*Gareth thought he glimpsed the hump-backed shape of Priscillathe Pig, and he released the Ras for a moment to wave and shouts

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but the car disappeared almost instantly, hard on the trail of alumbering Fiat, and Gareth heard the short crashing burst ofthe Vickers clearly, even above the thunder of many engines.

Then suddenly they were all past, streaming away, the enginesounds fading, the dust settling - and then there was anothersound, faint yet but growing with every second. Although mostof the Harari and Galla horsemen had long ago given up thepursuit in favour of the more enjoyable and profitable occupa-tion of looting the capsized and damaged Italian trucks, a fewhundred of the more hardy souls still flogged on their founder-ing mounts.

This thin line of horsemen came sweeping forward, ululatingand casually cutting down the Italian survivors from the de-stroyed trucks who fled before them on foot.

'All right, Rassey.' Gareth unwound the shamma from aroundhis head. 'You can come out now. Call your boys up, and tellthem to get us out of here.'

In the few moments of respite while the main body of motor-ized infantry came through the batteries, Major Castelani hur-ried from gun to gun, lashing with tongue and cane imtil he hadcontained the infectious panic of his gunners and had themunder his hand again. Then out of the dust clouds, appearingat short pistol range as suddenly as a ghost ship, but with theVickers machine gun in its turret crackling wickedly and themuzzle blast flickering in an angry throbbing red glow, was asecond Ethiopian armoured car.

It was enough to destroy the semblance of control that Caste-lani had forced heavy-handedly upon the gun crews. As thearmoured car swung across their line at point-blank range,raking the exposed guns with a withering burst of machine-gunfire, the loaders dropped their ready shells and almost knockedthe layers from their seats in their anxiety to get behind thearmoured shield of the gun. They all huddled there with theirheads well down. The driver of the armoured car, after that onerapid pass down the front of the batteries, swung the vehicle

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abruptly back into the screen of dust. Jake had been just asstarded by the encounter as were the gunners; at one momenthe had been joyously tearing along after a fat wallowing Fiat,and at the next he had emerged from a cloud of dust to be con-fronted by the gaping muzzles of the big guns.

'My God, Greg.' Jake shouted up at the boy in the turret.'We nearly ran right into them.'

'Volleyed and thundered - do you remember the poem ?'

'Poetry, at a time like this ?' growled Jake, and he gave Priscillathethrottie.

'Where are we going ?'

'Home, and the sooner the quicker. That's a powerful argu-ment they are pointing at us.'

'Jake' Gregorius began to protest, when there was a bangand a flash that glowed briefly even through the shrouds of dust,and close beside the high turret passed a 100 mm shell. The airslammed against their eardrums and the shriek of it made bothof them flinch violently, the air stank of the electric sizzle of itspassing, and it burst half a mile beyond them in a tall tower offlame and dust.

'Do you see what I mean ?' asked Jake.

'Yes, Jake - oh yes, indeed.'

As he spoke, the dust clouds that had covered them so securelynow subsided and drifted aside, exposing them unmercifully tothe attentions of the Italian guns, but revealed also was anothertempting target. The Ethiopian cavalry were still coming on,and after a few futile volleys had burst around the tiny elusiveshape of the speeding car, Castelani resigned himself to thelimitations of his gunners and switched targets.

'Shrapnel,' he bellowed. 'Load with shrapnel fuse for airburst.' He hurried along the battery, repeating the order to eachlayer, emphasizing his orders with the cane. 'New target. Massed horsemen. Range two thousand five hundred metres,fire at will.'

The Ethiopian ponies were small shaggy beasts, bred forsure-footed ascent of mountain paths, rather than sustainedcharges across open plains - they had, moreover, been pastured

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for weeks now on the dry sour grass of the desert, and in conse- quence their strength was by this time almost expended.

The first shrapnel burst fifty feet above the heads of the lead-ing riders. It popped open like a gigantic pod of the cotton plant,blooming with sudden fearsome splendour against the milkyblue sky. It bloomed with a crack as though the sky had shat-tered, and instantly the air was filled with the humming, hissingknives of flying shrapnel.

A dozen of the ponies went down under the first burst, pitch-ing forward abruptly over their own heads and flinging theirriders free. Then the sky was filled with the deadly cotton balls,and the continuous crack of the bursts sent the ponies wheelingand the riders crouching low on their withers or swinging out ofthe saddle to hang low under the bellies of their mounts. Hereand there a braver soul would kick his feet free of the stirrupsand pick up a dismounted comrade on each of the leathers, thegallant little ponies labouring under their triple burdens. Withinseconds, the entire Ethiopian army - its single remaining ar-moured vehicle and all its cavalry - were in a retreat every bitas headlong as that of the motorized Italian column which wasstill on its way to the Wells of Chaldi. The field was left entirelyto Castelani's artillery - and the stranded crew of the Hump.

From the shelter of the shattered hull, Gareth Swales watchedhis hopes of quick rescue fading rapidly first in the shape of thedwindling cavalry.

'Don't blame them, not really,' he told the Ras, and then helooked across at the speeding armoured car. Priscilla the Pig wasrapidly overhauling the cavalry.

'Him I do,' he muttered. 'He saw us -1 know he did.' Therehad been a moment when Priscilla the Pig had passed within aquarter of a mile of them, had in fact turned directly towardsthem for a few moments. 'Do you know something, Rassey oldbellow, I do believe we are being set up for a couple of Fatsys.'

glanced at the Ras, who lay beside him like an old huntingdog that has been worked too hard; his chest laboured like ablacksmith's bellows, and his breathing whistled shrilly in histhroat.

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'Better take those choppers out of your mouth, old chap - 0relse you're going to swallow them. The fighting's over for theday. Take it nice and easy now. We've got a long walk hometonight.'

And Gareth Swales transferred all his attention back to thedisappearing car.

'Big-hearted Jake Barton is leaving us here - and going hometo spoon up the honey. Who was the chap that David pulled thesame trick on ? Come on, Rassey, you are the Old Testamentexpert - wasn't it Uriah the Hittite ?' He shook his head sadly.Gareth was already ready to believe the worst. 'I take it verymuch amiss, Rassey, I can tell you. Probably have done exacdythe same myself, mind you - but I do take it amiss coming froma fine upright citizen like Jake Barton.'

The Ras had not listened to a word of it. He was the onlyman in the two armies for whom the battle had not ended. Hewas just having a short rest, as behove a warrior of his advancedyears. Now, with a single bound, he was on his feet again,snatching up his sword and heading directly for the centre of theItalian batteries. Gareth was taken completely off balance, andthe Ras had covered fifty yards of the necessary two thousand tothe enemy positions before Gareth could overtake him.

It was unfortunate that one of the Italian gun-layers had hisbinoculars focused on the derelict hull of the Hump at thatmoment. The belligerence of the Italian gunners was in inverse proportion to the number and proximity of the enemy and allof them were giddy with elation at the total and unexpected victory that had dropped into their laps.

The first shell dropped close beside the broken hull of theHump, as Gareth caught up with the Ras. Gareth stooped andpicked up a rounded stone, about the size of a cricket ball.

'Frightfully sorry, old chap,' he panted, as he cupped thestone in his right hand. 'But we really can't go on like this.'

He made allowance for the brittle old bone of the Ras's skull* and with the stone he tapped him carefully, almost tenderly?above the ear, on the polished black bald curve of the Ras's pate.

As the Ras dropped, Gareth caught him, one arm under his

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knees and the other around the shoulders, as though he were asleeping child. The shells were falling heavily about him asGareth ran back for cover, carrying the Ras's unconscious formacross his chest.

Jake Barton heard the crumping explosion of the shells, andshouted up at Gregorius,

4What are they shooting at now ?'

Gregorius climbed higher out of the turjret and peered back.The crushed hull of the Hump would have been unnoticed atthat range, just another speck like a clump of camel-thorn or anamorphous pile of black rock. Indeed, both men had looked atit fifty times in the last few minutes without recognizing it, butthe shell bursts, which began to leap about it in fleeting gracefulostrich feathers of dust and smoke, drew Gregorius' eye imme-diately.

'My grandfather!' he cried anxiously. 'They have been hit,Jake.'

Jake swung the car and halted it, clambering out of the hatch,blowing dust from the lens of his binoculars and then focusingthem. The picture of the destroyed car leaped into close-up andhe recognized instantly the two distant figures, one in tailoredtweeds, the other in flowing robes and swirling skirts; the twoof them were locked together breast to breast and for an un-believing moment Jake thought they were doing a Strauss waltzin the midst of an artillery barrage. Then he saw Gareth lift theRas off the ground and stagger with him to the shelter of theoverturned car.

'We must rescue them, Jake,' Gregorius exclaimed passion-ately. 'They will be killed out there, if we do not.'

Perhaps it was the telepathic transfer of Gareth Swales' sus-picions, but Jake experienced the sudden guilty prick of temp-tation. At that moment he knew he loved Vicky Camberwell,aad there was an easy way to clear the field.

'Jake!' Gregorius called again, and suddenly Jake felt himself80 sickened by his own treacherous thoughts that there was ahollow nauseous feeling in the centre of his gut, and he felt theswift flow of saliva from under his tongue.

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'Let's go,' he said, and dropped down into the driver's hatch.He swung Priscilla the Pig in a tight skidding turn and ranstraight for the forest of shell-bursts.

They drew no fire, the Italians were concentrating on thestationary target - and they seemed to be making better practiceas they figured the range. It was a matter of seconds before theHump took a direct hit, and Jake pressed the throttle flat to thefloorboards, but Priscilla the Pig chose this moment to showher true nature. He felt her baulk, and the note of her enginechanged momentarily, missing and stuttering, power falling off- then suddenly she picked up again and roared onwards at fullpower.

'Good litde darling.' Jake peered ahead through the visor,and swung slightly out to the left, to come in under cover ofthe Italians' own shell-bursts and the capsized hull of the Hump.

A shell burst directly ahead, and Jake weaved die big carexpertly around the gaping smoking crater, pulled in sharplyand spun around to a sliding halt, facing back the wray he hadcome, ready for a quick pull-away. He was hard up under coverof the destroyed hull, partially screened from the Italians, andten paces from where Gareth Swales was sitting holding theRas's frail body on his lap.

'Gary!' yelled Jake, sticking his head out of the hatch, andGareth looked up at him with a startled unbelieving expression.He had been so deafened by shell-bursts that he had not realized that Jake had come back for him. Jake had to shout again.

'Come on, damn you to hell,' and this time Gareth moved with alacrity. He picked up the Ras like a bundle of dirty laundry and ran with him to the car. A shell burst so close that it almost knocked him off his feet, and stones and clouds of earth splat-tered against the armoured steel.

However, Gareth kept his feet and handed up the Ras to thewilling hands and loving care of his grandson.

'Is he all right ?' Greg demanded anxiously.

'Hit by a stone, he'll be all right,' Gareth grunted, and leaned for an instant against the side of the car, his breathing sobbing painfully in his diroat, his hair and moustache thick with white

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dust, and the sweat cutting deep wet runnels down his filth-caked cheeks.

He looked up at Jake. 'I thought you weren't coming back,'he croaked.

'It crossed my mind.' Jake reached down and took his hand.He boosted him up the side of the car, and Gareth held his handfor a second longer than was necessary, squeezing slightly.

'I owe you one, old son.'

'I'll call on you,' Jake grinned.

'Any time. Any time at all.'

At that moment, Priscilla the Pig roared heroically, thenabruptly backfired in opposition to the Italian shell-bursts. Herengine spluttered, surged, farted despairingly, and then fell

silent

'Oh, you son of a bitch!' said Jake with great and passionatefeeling. 'Not now! Please, not now!'

'Reminds me of a girl I knew in Australia'

'Later,' Jake told him. 'Get on the crank handle.'

'My pleasure, old boy,' and a near miss burst beside them andknocked him off his precarious perch on the sponson. Garethpicked himself up and dusted his lapels fastidiously as he limpedto the crank handle.

After a full minute at the handle, spinning it like a dementedorgan grinder with no effect at all, Gareth fell back pantingagain.

'I say, old chap, I'm a bit bushed,' and they changed placesquickly.

Jake stooped over the crank handle, ignoring the tempest ofbursting shells and swirling dust clouds, and the thick musclesin his arm writhed as he spun the crank.

'She's dead,' Gareth shouted after another minute. Jake per-severed, his face turning darkly red and the veins in his throatswelling into thick blue cords - but at last even he released thehandle with disgust and stepped back gasping.

'The toolkit is under the seat,' he said.

'You aren't going to do your handy man act here and now ?'^credulously Gareth made a wide gesture that took in the

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bloody battlefield, the Italian guns and the bursting shells.

'You've got a better idea ?' Jake asked brusquely, and Garethlooked about him forlornly, suddenly straightening his slump-ing shoulders, the droop of his mouth lifting into that eternallyjaunty grin.

'Funny you should ask, old son. It just so happens' and likea conjurer he indicated the apparition that appeared suddenlyout of the curtains of leaping dust and fuming cordite.

Miss Wobbly slammed to a dead stop beside them and bothhatches flew open. Sara's dark head appeared in one and Vicky'sgolden one in the other.

Vicky leaned across towards Jake, cupping her hands to hermouth as she shouted in the storm of shell fire,

'What's wrong with Priscilla ?'

And Jake gasped, still red-faced and sweating, 'She's thrownone of her fits.'

'Grab the tow rope,' Vicky instructed. 'We'll pull you out.'

The Ethiopian camp swarmed with victorious swaggeringwarriors; their laughter was loud and their voices boastful.Admiring womenfolk, who watched them from the cookingfires, were preparing the night's feast. The big, black iron potsbubbled with a dozen varieties of wat3 and the smell of spicesand meat lay heavily on the evening cool.

Vicky Camberwell bent over her typewriter, seated under theflap of her tenta and her long supple fingers flew at the keys asthe words tumbled from her - describing the courage andfighting qualities of a people who, armed only with sword andhorse, had routed a modern army equipped with all the most fearsome weapons of war. When she was in literary flight, Vickysometimes overlooked small details that might detract from thedramatic impact of her story - the fact that the biblical warriors of Ethiopia had been supported by armoured cars and Vickersmachine guns were details of this type, and she ignored them asshe ended,

'But how much longer can these proud, simple and gallant 276

people continue to fight off the greedy lusting hordes of a modern Caesar intent on Empire? A miracle happened heretoday on the plains of Danakil, but the age of miracles is passingand it is clear even to those who have thrown in their lot withthis fair land of Ethiopia that she is doomed - unless the sleep-ing conscience of a civilized world is aroused, unless the voiceof justice rings out clearly, calling to the tyrant - Hands off,Benito Mussolini!'

'That's wonderful, Miss Camberwell,' said Sara, leaning overto read the last words as they tapped out on the roller of themachine. 'It makes me want to cry, it's so sad and beautiful.'

'I'm glad you like it, Sara. I wish you were my editor.' Vickystripped the page from the machine and checked it swiftly,crossing out a word and inking in another before she was satis-fied, and she folded the dispatch into a thick brown envelopeand licked the flap.

' Are you sure he is reliable ?' she asked Sara.

'Oh, yes, Miss Camberwell, he is one of my father's best men.'Sara took the envelope and handed it to the warrior who hadbeen waiting an hour outside the tent, squatting at the head ofhis saddled horse.

Sara spoke to him with great fire and passion, and the mannodded vehemently as she exhorted him and then flung himselfinto the saddle and dashed away towards the darkening mouthof the gorge, where the smoky blue shadows of evening wereenfolding the harsh cliffs and jagged peaks of the mountains.

'He will be at Sardi before midnight. I have told him not topause along the way. Your message will go on to the telegraphat dawn tomorrow morning.'

Cry Wolf

'Thank you, Sara dear.' Vicky rose from the camp table andas she covered her typewriter, Sara eyed her speculatively. Vickybad bathed and changed into the one good dress she had broughtwith her, a light Irish linen in a pale blue, cut with a fashionablylow waist and skirt that covered her knees but displayed roundedcalves and the narrow delicately shaped ankles which gleamed

their sheaths of fine silk stockings.

'Your dress is pretty,' said Sara softly, 'and your hair is so soft

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and yellow.' She sighed. 'I wish I were beautiful like you are. Iwish I had a lovely white skin like you.'

'And I wish I had a beautiful golden skin like yours,' Vickycountered swiftly, and they laughed together.

'Are you dressed like that for Gareth ? He will love you verymuch when he sees you. Let us go and find him.'

'I've got a better idea, Sara. Why don't you go and findGregorius. I am sure he is looking for you.'

Sara thought about that for a moment, torn between duty andpleasure.

'Are you certain you'll be all right on your own, Miss Cam-berwell?'

'Oh, I think so - thank you, Sara. If I get into trouble I'll callyou.'

'I'll come right away,' Sara assured her.

Vicky knew exacdy where she would find Jake Barton, andshe came up silently beside the tall steel hull and watched for awhile as he worked, completely absorbed and totally obliviousof her presence. She wondered how she had been so blind asnot to have seen him properly before, not to have seen beneaththe boyish freshness the strength and quiet assurance of a fullymature man. It was an ageless face, and she knew that evenwhen he was an old man the illusion of youth and freshnesswould remain with him. Yet there was an intensity in the eyes,a steely purpose in the heavy line of the jaw that she had nevernoticed before. She remembered the dream of his that he hadtold her - the factory building his own engine - and in a clair-voyant flash she knew that he had the determination and thestrength to make it become reality. Suddenly she longed toshare it with him, and knew that their two dreams could beplaced together, his engine and her book, they could be created together, each gathering strength from the other, pooling theirdetermination and their creative reserves. She thought it would be worth while to share both dreams with a man like JakeBarton.

'Perhaps being in love allows one to see more clearly,' shethought, as she watched him with secret pleasure. 'Or perhaps

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it simply makes it easy to kid yourself/ and she felt annoyancethat her natural cynicism should overtake her now.

'No/ she decided. 'It's not make believe. He is strong andgood - and he'll stay that way/ and immediately she thoughtthat perhaps she was trying too hard to convince herself. Un-bidden, the memory of the night she had spent so recently withanother man flooded back to her, and for a moment she foundherself confused and uncertain. She tried to thrust the memoryfirmly aside, but it nagged at her, and she found herself com-paring two men, remembering the wanton and wicked delightsshe had known, and doubting wistfully that she might everrecapture them.

Then she looked closer at the man she thought she loved, andsaw that although his arms were thick and dark with hair, andhis hands were large and heavy-knuckled, yet the thick spatulatefingers worked with an almost sensuous skill and lightness, andshe tried to imagine them moving on her skin - and the imagewas so clear and voluptuous that she shuddered and drew in herbreath sharply.

Immediately Jake looked up at her, the surprise in his eyeschanging instantly to pleasure, and that slow warm smilespreading over his face as he ran his eyes swiftly from the top ofher silken head down to the silken ankles.

'Hello, haven't I met you somewhere before ?' he asked, andshe laughed and pirouetted, flaring the dress.

'Do you like it?' she asked. He nodded silently and thenasked,

'Are we going somewhere special ?'

The Ras's feast, didn't you know ?'

'I'm not sure I can stand another of his feasts, I don't knowwhich is more dangerous - an Italian attack or that liquid dyna-ttiite he serves.'

'You'll have to be there - you're one of the heroes of the greatvictory,' and Jake grunted and returned his attention to Priscillathe Pig's internal processes.

'Have you found the trouble ?'

'No.' Jake sighed with resignation. 'I've taken her to pieces

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and put her together again - and I can't find a thing.' He stoodback, shaking his head and wiping his greasy hands on a wad ofcotton waste. 'I don't know. I just don't know.'

'Have you tried starting her again ?'

'No point in that - not until I find and cure the trouble.'

'Try,' said Vicky, and he grinned at her.

'It's no use - but to humour you.'

He stooped to the crank handle, and Priscilla fired at the firstswing, caught and ran smoothly, purring like a great hump-backed cat in front of the fire.

'My God.' Jake stepped back and stared in amazement.'There's just no logic to it.'

'She's a lady,' Vicky explained. 'You know that - and thereisn't necessarily logic in the way a lady behaves.'

He turned to face her directly and grinned at her, such aknowing expression in his eyes that she felt herself flushing.'I'm beginning to find that out,' he said, and stepped towardsher, but she raised both hands protectively.

'You'll put grease on this dress'

'If I were to bath first ?'

'Bath,' she ordered. 'And then we'll talk again, mister.'

In the last few minutes of daylight, a rider had come down thegorge, clattering and sliding on the rough footing, and thenhitting the level ground and galloping into the Ras's camp on ablown and lathered horse.

Sara Sagud took the message he carried, came flying up to thecluster of tents under the flat-topped camel-thorn trees and burst into Vicky Camberwell's tent waving the folded cable-gram, without dreaming of announcing her entrance.

Vicky was deep in a bearlike enfolding embrace into which Jake Barton had taken her moments before, and the interruptioncame just as Vicky was abandoning herself to the pleasure of themoment. Jake towered over her, freshly scrubbed and smellingof carbolic soap, with his hair still wet and newly combed. Vicky broke out of his arms and turned furiously to the girl.

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'Oh!' exclaimed Sara, with the natural interest and fascina-tion of a born conspirator discovering a fresh intrigue. 'You arebusy.'

'Yes, I am,' snapped Vicky, cheeks aflame with embarrass-ment and confusion.

'I'm sorry, Miss Camberwell. But I thought this messagemust be important' and Vicky's irritation faded, as she sawthe cablegram. 'I thought you would want it.' Vicky snatched itfrom her, broke the seal and read avidly. Her anger faded as sheread, and she looked up with shining eyes at Sara.

'You were right - thank you, my dear,' and she spun back toJake, dancing up to him and flinging both arms around his neck,laughing and gay.

'Hey,' Jake laughed with her, holding her awkwardly in frontof the girl, 'What's this all about ?'

'It's from my editor,' she told him. 'My story about the attackat the Wells was an international scoop. Headlines around theworld - and there is to be an emergency session of the League ofNations.'

Sara snatched the cable form back from her, and read it asthough by right.

'This is what my father believed you could do for us, MissCamberwell - for our land and our people.' Sara was weeping,fat oily tears breaking from the dark gazelle eyes and clinging inher long lashes. 'Now the world knows. Now they will come tosave us from the tyranny.' The girl's faith in the triumph ofgood over evil was childlike, and she pulled Vicky from Jake'sarms and embraced her in his stead. 'Oh, you have given us achance again. We will always be grateful to you.' Her tearssmeared Vicky's cheek, and she drew back, sniffing wetly, andwiped her own tears from Vicky's face with the palm of herhand. 'We will never forget you,' she said, and then smiledthrough the tears. 'We must go and tell my grandfather.'

They found it impossible to convey to the Ras the exact natureof this new advancement of the Ethiopian cause. He was very

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hazy in his exact understanding of the role and importance ofthe League of Nations, or the power and influence of the inter-national press. After the first few pints of tej he had made surein his own mind that in some miraculous fashion the greatQueen of England had espoused their cause, and that the armiesof Great Britain would soon join him in the field. Both Gregoriusand Sara spoke to him at great length, trying to explain his error,and he nodded and grinned benevolently at them but remainedcompletely unshaken in his conviction, and ended by embracingGareth Swales, making a long rambling speech in Amharic,hailing him as an Englishman and a comrade in arms. Then,before the speech ended, the Ras fell suddenly and dramaticallyasleep in mid-sentence, falling face forward into a large bowl ofmutton zvat. The day's battle, the excitement of learning of hisnew and powerful ally, and the large quantities of tej were toomuch for him, and four of his bodyguard lifted him from thebowl and carried him snoring loudly to his household tent.

'Do not worry,' Sara told his guests. 'My grandfather will notbe gone for long - after a small rest he will return.'

'Tell him not to put himself out,9 murmured Gareth Swales.'I for one have seen about enough of him for one day.9

The glow of the bonfires turned the sky ruddy and paled themoon that sailed above the mountain peaks. It shone on thesteel and polished wood of the huge pile of captured weapons, rifles and pistols and ammunition bandoliers, that were heaped triumphandy in the open space before the royal party.

The sparks from the fires rose straight upwards into the stillnight and the laugher and voices of the guests became more unrestrained as the tej gourds circulated.

Farther along the valley, also within the acacia grove, dieGallas of Ras Kullah were celebrating the victory also, and therewas the occasional faint outburst of drunken shouts and a fusil-lade of shots from captured Italian rifles.

Vicky sat between Gareth and Jake. She had not arranged itso, and if given the choice would have sat alone with Jake, butGareth Swales had not been as easily discouraged as she hadbelieved he might.

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Sara came from her place beside Gregorius. Crossing the squatting circle of feasting guests, she knelt on the pile of leathercushions beside Vicky, pushing herself in between Gareth andthe girl and she leaned close to Vicky, an arm around hershoulder and her lips touching her ears.

'You should have told me,' she accused her sadly. 'I did notknow that you had decided on Jake first. I would have advisedyou'

At that instant a sound carried from the camp of the Gallas towhere they sat. It was muted by distance and almost obscuredby the closer hubbub of the feasting Harari - yet the terribleheart-stopping quality of it pierced Vicky so that she gasped andclutched Sara's wrist.

Beside her Jake and Gareth had stiffened and were listeningalso, their heads turned to catch the sound that rose and died ina long-drawn-out rending sob.

'You have not handled them correctly, Miss Camberwell.'Sara went on speaking, as if she had heard nothing.

'Sara, what is it-what was that?' Vicky shook her armurgently.

'Ah!' Sara made a gesture of disdain and contempt. 'That fatpervert Ras Kullah has come down from his hiding-place. Nowthat we have won the victory, he has come to enjoy the booty.He arrived an hour ago with his fat milch cows and now hefeasts and entertains himself.'

The sound came again. It was inhuman, a terrible high-pitched screech that tore across Vicky's nerves. It rose higherand higher, until Vicky wanted to cover her ears with bothhands. At the instant that it seemed her nerves must snap, thesound was cut off abruptly.

A listening silence had fallen upon the revelling throng aroundthe bonfires, and the silence persisted for a few seconds longerafter the scream had ended, then there was a murmur of commentand here and there a burst of careless, cruel laughter.

'What is it, damn it, Sara, what are they doing ?'

eRas Kullah is playing with the Italians,' Sara said quietly,and Vicky realized that she had thought no further of the

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prisoners taken that day from the routed Italian column.

'Playing, Sara ? What do you mean ?'

And Sara spat like an angry cat, a gesture of utter disgust.'They are animals, those beasts of Ras Kullah. They will makesport of them all night, and in the morning they will cut awaytheir man's things,' she spat again. 'Before they can marry, theymust take a man's things - what do you call them, the two thingsin the little sac ?'

'Testicles,' said Vicky hoarsely, almost choking on the word.

'Yes,' agreed Sara. 'They must kill a man and take his testiclesto the bride. It is their custom, but first they will make sportwith the Italians.'

'Can't we stop them ?' Vicky asked.

'Stop them ?' Sara looked amazed. 'They are only Italians,and it is the Galla custom.'

Again came that cry, and again there was complete silencefrom the revellers. It climbed high into the silent desert air,shriek upon shriek, so that it seemed impossible that it couldcome from a human lung, and their souls cringed at the dimen-sions of suffering which could give vent to that pinnacle ofagonized sound.

'Oh God! Oh God!' whispered Vicky, and she lifted her eyesfrom Sara's face to that of Gareth Swales who sat beyond her.

He was silent and still, his face turned half away from her, sothat she saw the godlike profile, perfect and cold. As the cry ofagony died away, he leaned forward, took a burning twig fromthe fire and lit the long black cheroot between his white teeth.

He drew deeply and held the smoke, then let it trickle out through his nostrils. Then he turned deliberately to Vicky.

'You heard what the lady said. It's the custom.' He spoke toVicky, but the remark was addressed to Jake Barton, and hiseyes flicked mockingly to him, a half smile on his lips. The twomen held each other's eyes, unblinkingly and expressionless.

The cry of agony came again - but this time weaker, the achingringing tone reduced to a sobbing echo on the dark night.

Jake Barton rose to his feet, coming erect with one fluidmovement, and in a continuation of the same movement he

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crossed to the piles of captured Italian weapons. He stoopedand picked up an officer's automatic pistol, a 7 mm Beretta, stillin its polished leather holster, and he unbuckled the flap anddrew the weapon, discarding the leather holster and waist belt.He checked the loaded magazine and then, with a slap of hispalm, thrust it back into the recessed butt, pumped the slide tothrow a round into the breech, flicked the safety-catch acrossand slipped the pistol into the pocket of his breeches.

Without looking again at any of the others, he strode away,disappearing beyond the firelight into the darkness, in the direc-tion of the Galla encampment.

'I told him a long time ago that sentimentality is an old-fashioned luxury - an expensive one in this age, and especiallyin this place,' murmured Gareth, and inspected the ash of hischeroot.

'They will kill him if he goes in there alone,' said Sara in acompletely matter-of-fact tone. 'They will be hungry for moreblood and they'll kill him.'

'Oh, I don't know that it's as bad as that,' Gareth demurred.

'Oh, yes. They'll kill him,' said Sara, and turned back toVicky. 'Are you going to let him go ? They are only Italians,'she pointed out. For a moment, the two women stared at eachother, and then Vicky leaped to her feet and went after Jake, theblue linen swirling gracefully around her legs and the firelightplaying like liquid bronze gold on her hair as she ran.

She caught up with Jake at the perimeter of the Galla encamp-ment, and she fell in beside him, taking two quick steps to eachof his strides.

'Go back,' he said softly, but she did not reply and skipped tokeep up with him.

'Do what I say.'

'No, I'm coming with you.'

He stopped and swung to face her, and she lifted her chindefiantly, throwing back her shoulders and drawing herself upto her full height so that she came to his shoulder.

'Listen to me' he began, and then stopped as the torturedbeing cried again in the night, and it was a blubbering inco-

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herent sound, half moan, half sob - followed almost immedi-ately by the throaty roar of many hundred voices, the bloodroar of a hunting pack, deep and savage.

'That's what it will be like.' His head was turned away fromher to listen and his eyes were haunted.

'I'm coming,' she said stubbornly, and he did not reply, butbroke away and hurried forward towards the glowing reflectionof the Galla fires which turned the branches of the camel-thornsto high cathedral roofs of ruddy hght over the encampment.

There were no sentries posted, and they passed unnoticedthrough the horse lines and the hastily thatched tukuls andleather tents, coming suddenly into the centre of the campwhere the fires were burning and the Gallas were assembled, ahuge dark circle of squatting figures; the firelight bronzed theireager hawk features, and the whole assembly hummed with thecharged tension that always holds the spectators at a bloodspectacle. Jake remembered it from a prize fight in MadisonSquare Garden and again from a cock fight in Havana.

The blood lust was running high, and they growled like ananimal pack.

'That is Ras Kullah,' whispered Vicky, tugging at Jake'ssleeve, and he glanced across the open arena of beaten earth.

Kullah sat on a pile of carpets and cushions, a silk shawlstriped in a dozen brilliant colours was draped across his headand shoulders, masking his soft smooth face with shadow - butthe firelight caught his eyes and made them glitter with a pecu-liarly feverish fury.

One of his fat ivory-coloured hands was clenched in his lap,while his other arm was cast around the waist of the womanwho sat beside him, and his hand kneaded and worked heryielding flesh. The hand seemed to have life of its own, and itmoved, pale and obscene, like a huge slug pulsing softly as itdevoured the swollen ripe fruits of the woman's bosom.

Beyond the fires, on the far side of the circle of open eartha group of three Italian soldiers were clustered fearfully, theirfaces shiny white with sweat and terror in the firelight, andtheir hands bound behind their backs. They had been stripped

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to their breeches, and the exposed skin of their backs and armswas welted and bruised where they had been beaten and abused.Their naked feet were swollen and bloody; clearly they had beenforced to march thus for long distances across the harsh stonyearth. Their dark eyes, huge with horror, were fastened on thespectacle that was being enacted on the open stage of bare earthin the limelight of the fires.

Vicky recognized the woman as one of Ras Kullah's favouriteswhom she had last seen that night at the rest house of Sardi.Now she knelt, heavy-breasted and intent on her work. Theround madonna face was alight with an almost religious ecstasy,the full lips parted and the dark sloe eyes glowing like those of apriestess at some mystic rite. However, more prosaically thesleeves of her shamma were drawn up in businesslike fashionabove the elbows like those of a butcher, and her hands werebloody to the wrists. She held the thin curved dagger like a sur-geon, and its silver blade was dull and red in the firelight.

The thing over which she worked still wriggled and movedconvulsively against its bonds, still breathed and sobbed, butit was no longer recognizable as a man. The knife had strippedaway all resemblance - and now as the waiting crowd growledand swayed and sighed, the woman worked doggedly at thebase of the disembowelled belly, cutting and tugging, so thatthe victim screamed again, but feebly - and the woman leaptto her feet and held aloft the mutilated handful she had cut free.

She did a triumphant circuit of the arena, holding her prizehigh, laughing, dancing on shuffling swaying feet, and the bloodtrickled down her raised forearm and dripped from the crook ofher elbow.

'Stay close,' Jake said softly, but Vicky had never heard thattone in his voice before. She tore her horrified gaze from thespectacle, and saw that his face was stern and drawn, his jawclenched hard and his eyes terrible.

He drew the pistol from his pocket, and held it against histhigh, his arm hanging loosely at his side, and he moved swiftly,thrusting his way through the press of bodies with such strengththat he cleared a path for her to follow him.

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Every single Galla was concentrating with all his attention onthe dancing woman, and Jake reached Ras Kullah before any ofthem realized his presence.

Jake took the soft thick upper arm in his left hand, his fingersdigging deeply into the putty-soft flesh, and he jerked him tohis feet and held him dangling off balance, swinging him face toface, and he pressed the muzzle of the Beretta into his upper lip,just under the wide nostrils.

They stared at each other, Ras Kullah cringing away fromJake's blazing eyes, and then whimpering at the pain of thefingers cutting into his flesh and fear of the steel muzzle bruisinghis upper lip.

Jake assembled the few words of Amharic he had learnedfrom Gregorius.

'The Italians,' he said softly. Tor me.'

Ras Kullah stared at him, seeming not to hear - then he saidone word and the men nearest them swayed forward, as thoughto intervene.

Jake screwed the muzzle of the pistol into Ras Kullah's lip,twisting and smearing the soft flesh against his teeth so that theskin tore and blood sprang swiftly.

'You die,' said Jake, and the man shrilled a denial to hiswarriors. They drew back reluctantly, fingering their knivesand watching with smouldering eyes for their opportunity. Thewoman with the bloody hands sank to her haunches and a greatwaiting silence gripped the assembly. They squatted in com-plete stillness, all their faces turned towards Jake and RasKullah. In the silence, the broken bleeding thing beside the firecried out again, a long-drawn-out breathy sound that tore atJake's nerves and made his expression ferocious.

'Tell your men,' he said, his voice thick and grating with hisanger. Ras Kullah's voice quavered, high as a young girl, andthe warriors who guarded the three half-naked prisoners shuffled uncertainly and exchanged glances.

Jake ground the steel fiercely into Ras Kullah's face, and hisvoice squeaked urgently as he repeated the order. Reluctantly?the guards prodded the prisoners forward in a forlorn terrified group.

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'Take his dagger/ Jake said quietly to Vicky, without remov-ing his gaze from Ras Kullah's eyes. Vicky stepped close besidethe Ras and gripped the hilt of the weapon on the embroideredbelt around his sagging paunch. It was worked in beaten goldand set with crudely cut amethyst, but the blade was brilhantand the edge keen.

'Cut them loose,' said Jake, and in the dangerous momentswhile she was away from his side, he increased the brutal pres-sure on the pistol barrel. Ras Kullah stood with his head cockedat an impossible angle, the lips drawn back from his teeth in afixed snarl and his eyes rolling in their sockets until the whitesshowed, and the tears of pain poured freely down his cheeks,glinting in the firelight like dew on the yellow petals of a rose.

Vicky cut the raw-hide bindings at the Italians' wrists andelbows, and they massaged the circulation back into their arms,huddling together, their pale faces still smeared with dirt anddried blood and their eyes terrified and uncomprehending.

Quickly, Vicky crossed back to Jake and stood close besidehim. Somehow there was safety and security when she was nearto him. She stayed beside him as Jake forced Ras Kullah, stepby step, across the open ground to where the maimed, half-destroyed thing still moved weakly and drew each agonizedbreath of air with a bubbling sigh.

Jake stooped slightly away from Ras Kullah, but still holdinghim, and Vicky saw the compassion alter the fierce expressionin his eyes for a moment. She did not realize what he was goingto do until he dropped the pistol from Ras Kullah's face, andextended his arm at full stretch.

The crack of the pistol was sharp and cutting in the stillness,and the bullet hit the mutilated Italian in the centre of his fore-head, leaving a dark blue hole in the gleaming white skin of thebrow. His eyelids fluttered like the wings of a dying dove, andthe arched straining body sagged and relaxed. A long gusty sighcame from the tortured throat, the sigh a man might make at thevery edge of sleep - and then he was still.

Without another look at the man to whom he had given peace, Jake lifted the pistol to Ras Kullah's face again, and with freshPressure on his arm he forced him to turn and walk slowly back.

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With a curt inclination of the head, he signalled the threeItalians to move. They went first, moving slowly, still shrinkingtogether, then Vicky followed them, one hand for comfortreaching back to touch Jake's shoulder. Jake held Ras Kullahtwisted off balance, and forced him step by step onwards. Heknew they must not hurry, must not show weakness, for theflimsy bonds which held the Gallas frozen would snap at theleast strain, and they would be upon them in a pack, bearingthem down under the press of bodies, and hacking and tearingthem to pieces.

Pace after slow steady pace, they moved forward. Time andagain their way was blocked by sullen groups of tall dark Gallas,who stood shoulder to shoulder, fingering their weapons, thenJake twisted the muzzle of the pistol into Ras Kullah's soft skin.The man cried out and reluctantly the way opened, the darkwarriors moving aside just sufficiently to let them pass, and thenfalling in behind them and following closely, so closely theleaders were always within arm's length.

Once they were clear of the pack, Jake could increase the paceand he moved steadily up the path through the camel-thorn,shepherding the terrified Italians ahead of him and draggingRas Kullah bodily along.

'What are we going to do with them ?' Vicky asked breath-lessly. 'We can't keep Kullah at gun point much longer.'

Jake did not answer; he did not want the closely followingGallas to hear the uncertainty in his voice, yet he didn't wantthe girl to show signs of fear.

She was right, of course, the Gallas followed them now withan implacable malevolence, pressing closely in an avengingthrong that filled the darkness.

'The cars' said Jake, as inspiration came to him. 'Get theminto one of the cars.'

'And then?'

'One thing at a time,' growled Jake. 'Let's get them into thecar first.'

And they moved steadily up the path, the Gallas pressingthem more closely. One of the tall cloaked figures jostled Jake

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roughly, trying him, beginning to push harder, and Jake movedsmoothly, swinging his weight across and swivelling a quarterof a turn. It was so swift that the Galla could not avoid the blow;even if he had seen it, he was hemmed in and constrained by thepress of his comrades' bodies.

Jake hit him with a forearm chop, and die barrel of the pistolcaught him in the mouth, snapping off his front teeth cleanlyfrom the upper gum, and the shock of the blow was transferreddirectly through the frontal sinuses to the brain. The mandropped without a sound and was immediately hidden fromview by the men who stumbled over him as they followed. Butthey did not press so hard now, and Jake switched the pistolback to Ras Kullah's head. The entire incident was over beforeKullah could cry out or squirm in the punishing grip that hadbruised and twisted his upper arm.

Jake shifted his grip again, forcing the man farther off balance,and hustled him on more urgentiy. Ahead of them, through thetrees, he could make out the ugly humped shapes of the cars,silver grey in the moonlight and silhouetted by the dying ashheaps of the camp fires.

'Vicky, we'll use Miss Wobbly. I'm not taking a chance onPriscilla starting first kick,' he grated. 'Use the driver's hatch.Don't worry about anything else but getting behind that wheel.'

'What about the prisoners ?'

'Do what you're told, don't argue, damn it.' They were withintwenty feet of the car now, and he told her. 'Now, go, fast as youcan.'

She darted away, reaching the high side of Miss Wobblybefore any of the Gallas could intervene and she went up it witha single agile bound.

'Close down,' Jake shouted after her, and felt a quick lift ofrelief as the hatch clanged shut. The Gallas growled like thewolf-pack denied its prey - and they swarmed forward, pressinghard and surrounding the car.

Jake fired a single shot in the air, and Ras Kullah screamed acommand. The Gallas drew back fractionally and fell into asullen silence.

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'Vicky, can you hear me ?' Jake called, as he shepherded theItalian prisoners close in against the hull.

Her voice was muffled and remote from behind the steel plateas she acknowledged.

'The rear doors/ he told her urgently. 'Get them open - butnot before I tell you.5 He pushed the Italians around towardsthe rear of the car, but it was slow work, for they were confusedand stupid with terror.

'Now,' Jake shouted and knocked impatiently against the hullwith the pistol. The lock grated and the doors swung outwards,and came up against the packed bodies outside.

'Goddamn it,' growled Jake, and got his shoulder to one leafof the door. He shoved it open, knocking down two of theclosest Gallas and in the same movement boosted one of theItalians through the opening into the dark interior of the car.In a panicky scramble, the other two followed him and Jakeswung the door closed on them and put his back flat against it,and heard the bolts shot closed on the inside, facing the hatingdark faces, and the surging press of their hundreds of bodies.Voices were raised at the rear of the crowd and violence wasseconds away - they had seen most of their prey escape, andit needed little more to trigger the mob reflex.

Jake found he was panting as though he had run a long way,and his heart pounded, so that he could feel it jump against hisrib cage - but he held Ras Kullah, changing his grip from thepudgy upper arm to the thick wiry bush of his hair, twining hisfingers deeply into the stiff, dark halo at the back of his skulland twisting the head so that Ras Kullah faced his men. Withthe other hand Jake thrust the pistol deeply into the aperture ofthe man's earhole.

'Speak to them, sweetlips.' He made his voice vicious andmenacing. 'Otherwise I'm going to push this piece right outthrough the other ear.'

Ras Kullah understood the tone, if not the words, and hegabbled out a few hysterical words of Amharic; the front war-riors drew back a pace and Jake slid slowly along the hull, keep-ing his back to the steel and Ras Kullah pinned helplessly by his

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hair to cover his front. The crowd moved with tiiem, keepingstation with them, their faces glowering in the moonlight, crueland angry, balancing critically on the pinnacle of violence. Avoice rang out from the darkness, an authoritative voice urgingaction, the crowd growled, and Ras Kullah whimpered in Jake'sgrip.

The sound of Ras Kullah's terror warned Jake that theywould be frustrated no longer, the moment was upon them.

'Vicky, are you ready to start ?' he called urgently, and hervoice was just audible.

'Ready to start.'

He felt the fixed crank handle catch him in the back of thelegs, and at that instant a woman's voice shrilled and echoedthrough the grove of camel-thorn trees. In that heart-stoppingululation of the blood trill, the invocation to violence that theheart of the African warrior cannot resist, the sound struck thejostling press of Gallas like a whip-stroke and their bodies con-vulsed and their voices rose in an answering blood roar.

'Oh Jesus, here they come,' thought Jake, and put all hisstrength into the arm and shoulder that took Ras Kullah betweenthe shoulder blades and hurled him forward into the front rankof his own men. He crashed into them, bringing down half adozen of them in a sprawling tangle over which the next ranktumbled and fell.

Jake turned swiftly and stooped to the crank handle. He hadchosen Miss Wobbly for this moment, knowing that she was themost gentle and well-intentioned of all the cars. He would havetrembled to put the same trust in Priscilla - and as it was, evenshe coughed and hesitated at the first swing.

'Please, my darling, please,' Jake pleaded desperately, and atthe next swing of the handle she hacked, choked and fired -then suddenly she was running sweetly. Jake jumped for thesponson, just as a great two-handed sword swung down at himfrom on high.

He heard the hiss of the blade, passing like the flight of a batin the darkness, and he ducked under it. The sword struck thesteel hull of the car and sprayed a fiery burst of sparks, and Jake

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rolled and fired the Beretta as the Galla raised the sword toswing again.

He heard the bullet slog into flesh, a meaty thump, and theman collapsed backwards, the sword spinning from his hand ashe went down - but from every direction, robed figures wereswarming up the hull of the car, like safari ants over the carcassof a helpless scarab beetle, and the roar of voices was a stormsurf of anger.

'Drive, Vicky - for God's sake, drive,' he yelled, and slammedthe pistol over the woolly head of a Galla as it rose beside him.The man fell away and the engine bellowed, the car boundedforward with a jerk that threw most of the Gallas from the hull,and Jake was himself thrown half clear, snatching at one of thewelded brackets as he went over and saving himself from fallinginto the swarming pack of Gallas - but the pistol dropped out ofhis hand as he clung grimly to his precarious hold.

Miss Wobbly, under Vicky's thrusting foot, roared into thethick wall of men ahead of her and few of them had a chance toavoid her charge. Their bodies went down before her, thuddingagainst the frontal plate of the car, their blood roar changingswiftly to yells and shrieks of consternation as they scatteredaway into the darkness and the car burst free of die press andtore on down the slope.

Jake dragged himself back on board and steadied himselfagainst the turret, as he rose to his knees. Beside him a Gallaclung like a tick to the back of an ox, wailing in terror while hisshamma swirled over his head in the stream of racing air. Jakeput one foot against the man's raised buttocks and thrust hard.The man shot head first over the side of the speeding car, and hit the earth with a crunch that was audible even above theroaring engine.

Jake crawled back along the heaving, violendy rocking hulland with fist and foot he threw overside one at a time her deckcargo of terrified Gallas. Vicky took the car down the slopeunder full throttle, weaving wildly through the trees of thegrove and at last out on to the open moonlit plain.

Here at last, by pounding with his fist on the driver's hatch,

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Jake managed to arrest Vicky's wild drive, and she braked the car to a cautious halt.

She came out through the hatch and embraced him with botharms wound tightly around his neck. Jake made no attempt toavoid the circle of her arms, and a silence settled over themdisturbed only by their breathing. They had both almost for-gotten about their prisoners in the pleasure of the moment, butwere reminded by the scuffing and muttering in the depths ofthe car. Slowly they drew apart, and Vicky's eyes were soft andlustrous in the moonlight.

'The poor things,' she whispered. 'You saved them fromthat-' and words failed her as she remembered the one theyhad been too late to save.

'Yes,' Jake agreed. 'But what the hell do we do with themnow ?'

'We could take them up to the Harari camp - the Ras wTouldtreat them fairly.'

'Don't bet money on it.' Jake shook his head. 'They are allEthiopians - and their rules of the game are different from ours.I wouldn't like to take a chance on it.'

'Oh Jake, I'm sure he wouldn't allow them to be'

'Anyway,' Jake interrupted, 'if we handed them over to theHarari, Ras Kullah would be there the next minute demandingthem back for his fun - and if they didn't agree, we'd all be inthe middle of a tribal war. No, it won't do.'

'We'll have to turn them loose,' said Vicky at last.

'They'd never make it back to the Wells of Chaldi.' Jakelooked to the east, across the brooding midnight plain. 'Theground out there is crawling with Ethiopian scouts. They wouldhave their throats slit before they'd gone a mile.'

'We'll have to take them,' said Vicky, and Jake looked sharplyat her.

'Take them ?'

'In the car - drive out to the Wells of Chaldi.'

'The Eyeties would love that,' he grunted. 'Have you for-gotten those flaming great cannons of theirs ?'

'Under a flag of truce,' said Vicky. 'There is no other way, Jake. Truly there isn't.' 295

Jake thought about it silently for a full minute and then hesighed wearily.

'It's a long drive. Let's get going.'

They drove without headlights, not wanting to attract theattention of the Ethiopian scouts or the Italians, but the moonwas bright enough to light their way and define the ravines androugher ground with crisp black shadows, although occasionallythe wheels would crash painfully into one of the deep roundholes dug by the aardvarks, the nocturnal long-nosed beastswhich burrowed for the subterranean colonies of termites.

Cry Wolf

The three half-naked Italian survivors huddled down in therear compartment of the car, so exhausted by fear and the day'sadventures that they passed swiftly into sleep, a sleep so deepthat neither the noisy roar of the engine within the metal hullnor the bouncing over rough ground could disturb them. Theylay like dead men in an untidy heap.

Vicky Camberwell climbed down out of the turret to escapethe flow of cool night air, and squeezed into the space besidethe driver's seat. For a while she spoke quietly with Jake, butsoon her voice became drowsy and finally dried up. Then slowlyshe toppled sideways against him, and he smiled tenderly andeased her golden head down on to his shoulder and held herlike that, warm against him in the noisy hull, as he drove oninto the eastern night.

The Italian sentries were sweeping the perimeter of theircamp at regular intervals with a pair of powerful anti-aircraftsearchlights, probably in anticipation of a night attack by theEthiopians, and the glow of the beams burned up in a tall whitecone of light into the desert sky. Jake homed in upon it, graduallyreducing his throttle setting as he closed in. He knew that theengine beat would carry many miles in the stillness, but that atlower revs it would be diffused and impossible to pinpoint.

He guessed he was within two or three miles of the Italiancamp when in confirmation that the sentries had heard hisapproach, and that after their recent experiences they were highly sensitive to the sound of a Bentley engine, a star shell sailed upwards a thousand feet into the sky and burst with a

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fierce blue-white light that lit the desert like a stage for milesbeneath it. Jake hit the brakes hard, and waited for the shell to sink slowly to earth. He did not want movement to attractattention. The light died away and left the night blacker thanbefore, but beside him the abrupt change of motion had wokenVicky and she sat up groggily, pushing the hair out of her eyesand muttering sleepily.

'What is it?'

'We are here,' he said, and another star shell rose in a higharc and burst in brilliance that paled the moon.

'There.' Jake pointed out the ridge above the Wells of Chaldi.The dark shapes of the Italian vehicles were laagered in orderlylines, clearly silhouetted by the star shell. They were two milesahead. Suddenly there was the distant ripping sound of amachine gun, a sentry firing at shadows, and immediately after,a scattered fusillade of rifle shots which petered out into asheepish silence.

'It seems that everybody is awake, and jumpy as hell,' Jakeremarked drily. 'This is about as close as we can go.'

He crawled out of the driver's seat and went back to wherethe prisoners were still piled upon each other like a litter ofsleeping puppies. One of them was snoring like an asthmaticlion, and Jake had to put his boot amongst them to stir themback to consciousness. They came awake slowly and resent-fully, and Jake swung open the rear doors and pushed them outinto the darkness.

They stood dejectedly, clasping their naked trunks in thechill of the night and peering about them fearfully to discoverwhat new unpleasantness awaited them. At that instant anotherstar shell burst almost overhead, and they exclaimed and blinkedowlishly without immediate comprehension as Jake made shoo-ing gestures, trying to drive them like a flock of chickens towardsthe ridge.

Finally Jake grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck,Pointed his face at the ridge and gave him a shove that sent himtottering the first few paces. Suddenly the man recognized hisown camp and the lines of big Fiat trucks in the light of the

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star shell. He let out a heart-felt cry of relief and broke into ashambling run.

The other two stared for a moment in disbelief and then setout after him at the top of their speed. When they had gonetwenty yards, one of them turned back and came to Jake, seizedhis hand and pumped it vigorously, a huge smile splitting hisface; then he turned to Vicky and covered both her hands withwet noisy kisses. The man was weeping, tears streaming downhis cheeks.

'That's enough of that,' growled Jake. 'On your way, friend,'and he turned the Italian and once more pointed him at thehorizon and helped him on his way.

The unaffected joy of the released Italians was contagious.Jake and Vicky drove back in a high good mood, laughingtogether secredy in the dark and noisy hull of the car. They hadcovered half of the forty miles back to the Sardi Gorge, andbehind them the lights of the Italian camp were a mere sug-gestion of lesser darkness low on the eastern horizon, but stilltheir mood was light and joyous and at some fresh sally of Jake'sVicky leaned across to kiss him on the soft pulse of his throatbeneath his ear.

As if of her own accord, Miss Wobbly's speed bled away andshe rocked to a gentle standstill in the centre of a wide openarea of soft sandy soil and low dark scrub.

Jake earthed the magneto, and the engine note died away intosilence. He turned in the seat and took Vicky fully in his arms,crushing her to him with sudden strength that made her gaspaloud.

'Jake!' she protested, half in pain, but his lips covered hers,and her protests were forgotten at the taste of his mouth.

His jaw and cheeks were rough with new beard, the samestrong wiry growth of dark hair which curled out of his shirtfront, and the man smell of him was like the taste of his mouth. She felt the softness of her own body crave the hardness of hisand she pressed herself to him, finding pleasure in the pain ofcontact, in the bruising pressure of his mouth against her lips.

She knew she was arousing emotions that soon would bebeyond either of their control, and the knowledge made her

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reckless and bold. The thought occurred to her that she had itin her power to drive him demented with passion, and the ideaaroused her further, and immediately she wanted to exercisethat power.

She heard his breathing roaring in her ears, then realized thatit was not his - it was her own, and each gust of it seemed toswell her chest until it must burst.

It was so cramped in the cockpit of the caV, and their move-ments were becoming wild and unrestrained. Vicky felt re-stricted and itching with constraint. She had never known thiswildness before, and for a fleeting instant she remembered theskilful, gentle minuet of formal movements which had been herloving with Gareth Swales, and she compared it to this stormymeeting of passions; then the thought was borne away on theflood, on the need to be free of confinement.

Outside the car, the chill of the desert night prickled the skinof her back and flanks and thighs, and she felt the fine goldenhairs come erect on her forearms. He flapped out the bed rolland spread it on the earth. Then he returned to her, and theheat of his body was a physical shock. It seemed to burn withall the pent-up fires of his soul, and she pressed herself to itwith complete abandon, delighting in the contrast of his burn-ing flesh and the cool desert breeze upon her bare skin.

Now at last there was nothing to prevent the range of herhands and she knew they were cold as ghost fingers on him,delighting to hear his gasp again at their touch. She laughedthen, a hoarse throaty chuckle.

'Yes.' She laughed again, as he lifted her easily and droppedto his knees on the bed-roll, holding her against his chest.

cYes, Jake.' She let the last restraint fly. 'Quickly, quickly -my darling.'

It was a raging, a roaring of all her senses. It was an aching,tumultuous storm that ended at last - and afterwards the vasthissing silence of the desert was so frightening that she clungto him like a child and found to her amazement that she wasWeeping - the tears scalded her eyes and yet were as icy as thetouch of frost upon her cheeks.

General De Bono's first cautious but ponderous thrust acrossthe Mareb River, into Ethiopia, met with a success that left himstunned.

Ras Muguletu, the Ethiopian commander in the north, offeredonly token resistance - then withdrew his forty thousand mensouthwards to the natural mountain fortress of Amba Aradam.Unopposed, De Bono drove the seventy miles to Adowa andfound it deserted. Triumphantly he erected the monument tothe fallen Italian warriors - and thereby expunged the stain ofdefeat from the arms of Italy.

The great civilizing mission had begun. The savage was beingtamed, and introduced to the miracles of modern man - amongstthem the aerial bomb.

The Royal Italian Air Force ranged the skies above the tower-ing Ambas, reporting all troop movements and swooping downto bomb and machine-gun any concentrations.

The Ethiopian forces were confused and scattered under theirtribal commanders. There were half a dozen breaches in theirline that a forceful commander could have exploited - indeedeven General De Bono sensed this and made another convulsiveleap forward as far as Makale. However, here he stoppedappalled at his own audacity, stunned by his own achievement.

Ras Muguletu was skulking on Amba Aradam with his fortythousand, while Ras Kassa and Ras Seyoum were struggling tomove the great unwieldy masses of their two armies through the mountain passes to link up with the army of the Emperoron the shores of Lake Tana.

They were disordered, vulnerable, ripe to be cut down likewheat - and General De Bono closed his eyes, covered his browwith one hand and turned his head aside. History would neveraccuse him of recklessness and impetuosity.

'FROM GENERAL DE BONO COMMANDER OF THE ITALIAN EXPE-DITIONARY FORCE AT MAKALE TO BENITO MUSSOLINI PRIMEMINISTER OF ITALY HAVING CAPTURED ADOWA AND MAKALE ICONSIDER MY IMMEDIATE OBJECTS HAVE BEEN ATTAINED STOP

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IT IS NOW VITALLY NECESSARY TO CONSOLIDATE THESE SUCCESSESTO FORTIFY MY POSITION AGAINST ENEMY COUNTER ATTACK ANDTO SECURE MY LINES OF SUPPLY AND COMMUNICATION.5

'FROM BENITO MUSSOLINI PRIME MINISTER OF ITALY MINISTEROF WAR TO GENERAL DE BONO OFFICER COMMANDING THEITALIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE IN AFRICA HIS MAJESTY WISHESAND I COMMAND YOU TO ADVANCE WITHOUT HESITATION ONAMBA ARADAM AND BRING THE MAIN BODY OF THE ENEMY TOBATTLE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE STOP REPLY TO ME.'

cFROM GENERAL DE BONO TO THE PRIME MINISTER OF ITALYGREETINGS AND FELICITATIONS I WISH TO POINT OUT TO YOUREXCELLENCY THAT THE OBJECTIVE AMBA ARADAM IS TACTICALLYUNDESIRABLE . . . THE TERRAIN FAVOURS AMBUSH . . . COURTDISASTER BY UNCONSIDERED ACTION . . . CONDITION OF ROADSVERY POOR . . . TRUST MY JUDGEMENT . . . URGE YOUR EXCELLENCYTO RECONSIDER AND TO TAKE COGNIZANCE OF THE FACT THAT THEMILITARY SITUATION MUST TAKE PRECEDENCE OVER ALL POLITICALCONSIDERATION.'

'FROM BENITO MUSSOLINI TO MARSHAL DE BONO PREVIOUSLYOFFICER COMMANDING THE ITALIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE INAFRICA HIS MAJESTY ORDERS ME TO CONVEY HIS FELICITATIONSON YOUR ELEVATION TO THE RANK OF MARSHAL OF THE ARMY ANDTO THANK YOU FOR THE IMPECCABLE EXECUTION OF YOUR DUTYIN RECAPTURING ADOWA STOP WITH THE ATTAINMENT OF THISOBJECTIVE I CONSIDER THAT YOUR MISSION IN EASTERN AFRICAHAS BEEN COMPLETED STOP YOU HAVE EARNED THE GRATITUDEOF THE NATION BY YOUR OBVIOUS MERITS AS A SOLDIER AND YOURSTEADFAST DISCHARGE OF YOUR DUTY AS A COMMANDER STOPYOU ARE REQUESTED TO HAND OVER YOUR COMMAND TO GENERAL

PIETRO BADOGLIO ON HIS IMMINENT ARRIVAL IN AFRICA.'

*

Marshal De Bono accepted both his promotion and his recallwith such good grace that it could have been mistaken, by anuninformed observer, for profound relief. His departure forRome was completed with such despatch as to avoid by a hair'sbreadth the semblance of indecorous haste.

General Pietro Badoglio was a fighting soldier. He had staffedthe headquarters before Adowa, although he had played no partin that debacle, and he was a veteran of Caporetto and VittorioVeneto. He believed that the purpose of war was to crush theenemy as swiftly and as ruthlessly as was possible, with the useof any weapon at his disposal.

He came ashore at Massawa with a furious impatience, angrywith everything he found, and impatient of the policies andconcepts of his predecessor - although in truth seldom had anincoming commander been handed such an enviable strategicsituation.

He inherited a huge, well-equipped army with a buoyantmorale, in a commanding tactical position, and backed by amagnificent network of communications and a logistics inven-tory that was alpine in proportions.

The small but magnificently equipped air force of the expe-dition was flying unopposed over the Amba mountains, observ-ing all troop movements and pouncing immediately on anyEthiopian concentrations. During one of the first dinners at thenew headquarters, Lieutenant Vittorio Mussolini, the youngerof the Duce's two sons, one of the dashing Regia Aeronauticaaces, regaled his new C-in-C with accounts of his sorties overthe enemy highlands - and Badoglio, who had not had closeaerial support in any of his previous campaigns, was delightedwith this new and deadly weapon. He listened transfixed to theyoung flier's descriptions of the effect of aerial bombardment -particularly an account of an attack on a group of three hundred or more enemy horsemen led by a tall, dark-robed figure. Theyoung Mussolini told him,

CI released a single hundred-kilo bomb from an altitude ofless than a hundred metres, and it fell precisely in the centre ofthe galloping horsemen. They opened like the petals of a

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flowering rose, and the dark-robed leader was thrown so highby the blast that he seemed to almost touch my wingtips as Ipassed. It was a spectacle of great beauty and magnificence.'

Badoglio was happy that his new command included youngmen with such fire in their veins, and he leaned forward in hisseat at the head of the table to peer down over the glitteringsilver and sparkling leaded crystal at the flier in his handsomeblue uniform. The classical features and dark: curly head of hairwere the artist's conception of young Mars. Then he turned tothe airforce Colonel who sat beside him.

'Colonel, what is the opinion of your young men in the RegiaAeronautica ? I have heard much argument for and against -but I would be interested to have your opinion. Should we usethe nitrogen mustard ?'

T think I speak for all my young men.' The Colonel sippedhis wine and glanced for confirmation at the young ace who wasnot yet twenty years of age. 'I think the answer must be - yes,we must use every weapon available to us.'

Badoglio nodded. The thinking agreed with his own, and thenext morning he ordered the canisters of mustard gas shippedfrom the warehouses of Massawa, where De Bono had beencontent to let them lie, and despatched them to every airfieldwhere flights of the Regia Aeronautica were based. Thousandsupon thousands of the wild tribesmen of Ethiopia would cometo know the corrosive dew when later they endured bombard-ment by artillery and aerial attack with a stoicism greater thanmost European troops were able to muster-yet they couldnever come to terms with this terrible substance that turnedthe open pastures of their mountain fastness to fields of terror.Barefoot, as most of them were, they were pathetically vulner-able to the silent insidious weapon that flayed the skin fromtheir bodies, and then stripped the living flesh from the bone.

This single decision was one of many made that day by thenew commander, and signalled the change from De Bono'sbumbling, but not unkindly civilizing invasion, to the new con-cept of total war - war with only one objective.

Mussolini had wanted a hawk, and he had chosen wefl.

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The hawk stood in the centre of the lofty second-storey head-quarters office at Asmara. He was too consumed with furiousimpatience to sit at the wide desk, and when he paced the tiledfloor, his heels cracked on the ceramic like drum beats. Theelasticity of his stride was that of a man far younger than sixty-five.

He carried his head low on boxer's shoulders, thrusting hischin forward - a heavy chin below a big shapeless round nose,a short-cropped grey moustache and a wide hard mouth.

His eyes were deep sunken into dark cavities, like those of acorpse, but their glitter was alive and aware as he worked swiftlythrough the lists of his divisional and regimental commanders,assessing each by one criterion only, Ts he a fighting man ?'

Too often the answer was 'no', or at the least uncertain, so itwas with a fierce pleasure that he recognized one who was with-out question a hard-fighting man on whom he could rely.

'Yes,' he nodded vehemently. 'He is the only field commanderwho has displayed any initiative, who has made any attempt tocome to grips with the enemy.' He paused to lift his readingglasses to his eyes and glance again at the reports he held in hisother hand. 'He has fought one decisive action, inflicting almostthirty thousand casualties without loss himself. That in itself isan achievement that seems to have gone without suitable recog-nition. The man should have had a decoration, the order of StMaurice and St Lazarus at the least. Good men must be singledout and rewarded. Look at this - this is typical! When he wasaware that the enemy had armoured resources, he was soldier enough to lure that armour into a baited trap, to lead it skilfullyand with cool courage on to his entrenched artillery. It was abold and resourceful stroke for an infantry commander to make - and it deserved to succeed. If only his artillery commander had been a man of equally steely nerves, he would have suc-ceeded in luring the entire enemy armoured column to itstotal destruction. It was no fault of his that the artillery losttheir nerve and opened fire prematurely.'

The General paused to focus his reading glasses on the large glossy photographic print which depicted Colonel Count Aldo

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Belli standing like a successful big game hunter on the carcassof the Hump. The shattered hull was pierced by shot and in thebackground lay half a dozen corpses in tattered shammas. Thesehad been collected from the battlefield and tastefully arrangedby Gino to give the photograph authenticity. Against his betterjudgement and his strong instincts of survival, Count Aldo Bellihad returned to make these photographic records only afterMajor Castelani had assured him that the enemy had desertedthe field. The Count had not wasted too much time about it,but had his photographs taken, urging Gino to haste, and whenit had been done he had returned swifdy to his fortified positionabove the Wells of Chaldi and had not moved from there since.However, the photographs were an impressive addendum to hisofficial report of the action.

Now Badoglio growled like an angry old lion. 'Despite theincompetence of his junior officers, and there my heart achesfor him, this man has wiped out half the enemy armour - as wellas half the opposing army.' He hit the report fiercely with hisreading glasses. 'The man's a fire-eater, no question about it. Iknow one when I see one. A fire-eater. This kind of examplemust be encouraged - good work must be rewarded. Send forhim. Radio him to come in to headquarters immediately.'

As far as Count Aldo Belli was concerned, the campaign hadcome upon a not unpleasant hiatus. The camp at the Wells ofChaldi had been transformed by his engineers from an outpostof hell into a rather pleasant refuge, with functional amenities,such as ice-making machines and a water-borne seweragesystem. The defences were now of sufficient strength to givehim a feeling of security. The engineering as always was of thehighest quality with extensive covered earthworks, and Caste-lani had laid out carefully over-lapping fields of fire, and barbed-Wire defences in depth.

The hunting in the area was excellent by any standards, withgame drawn to the water in the Wells from miles around. Thesand-grouse in the evenings filled the heavens with the whistle

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of their wings, and wheeled in great dark flocks across the set-ting sun, affording magnificent sport. The bag was measured ingrain bags of dead birds.

In the midst of this pleasantly relaxed atmosphere, the newcommanding officer's summons exploded like a 100-kilo aerialbomb. General Badoglio's reputation had preceded him. Hewas a notorious martinet, a man who could not be sidetrackedfrom single-minded purpose by excuse or fabrication. He wasinsensitive to political influence or power considerations - somuch so that it was rumoured that he would have crushed thevery Fascist movement itself with force if the issue had beenput into his hands back in 1922. He had an almost psychicpower to detect subterfuge, and to place a finger squarely onmalingerers or lack-guts. They said his justice was swift andmerciless.

The shock to the Count's system was considerable. He hadbeen singled out from thousands of brotiier officers to face thisogre's wrath - for he could not convince himself that the smalldeviations from reality, the small artistic licences contained inhis long, illustrated reports to De Bono had not been instantlydiscovered. He felt like a guilty schoolboy summoned to direretribution behind the closed doors of the headmaster's study.The shock hit him squarely in the bowels, always his weak spot,bringing on a fresh onslaught of the malady first caused by thewaters of Chaldi Wells, from which he had believed himselfcompletely cured.

It was twelve hours before he could summon the strength tobe helped by his concerned underlings into the Rolls-Royce -and to lie wan and palely resigned upon the soft leather seat.

'Drive on, Giuseppe,' he murmured, like an aristocrat givingthe order to the driver of the tumbril.

On the long hot dusty drive into Asmara, the Count laywithout interest in his surroundings, without even attemptingto marshal his defence against the charges he knew he mustsoon face. He was resigned, abject - his only solace was theconsiderable damage he would do this upstart, ill-bred peasant, once he returned to Rome, as he was certain he was about to.

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He knew that he could ruin the man politically - and it gave hima jot of sour pleasure.

Giuseppe, the driver, knowing his man as he did, made thefirst stop outside the casino in Asmara's main street. Here, atleast, Count Aldo Belli was treated as a hero, and he perked upvisibly as the young hostesses rushed out on to the sidewalk towelcome him.

Some hours later, freshly shaven, his uniform sponged andpressed, his hair pomaded, and buoyed up on a fragrant cloudof expensive eau de cologne, the Count was ready to face histormentor. He kissed the girls, tossed back a last glass of cognac,laughed that gay reckless laugh, snapped his fingers once toshow what he thought of the peasant who now ran this army,clenched his buttocks tightly together to control his fear andmarched out of the casino into the sunlight and across the streetinto the military headquarters.

His appointment to meet General Badoglio was for fouro'clock and the town hall clock struck the hour as he marchedresolutely down the long gloomy corridor, following a youngaide-de-camp. They reached the end of the corridor and theaide-de-camp threw open the big double mahogany doors andstood aside for the Count to enter.

His knees felt like boiled macaroni, his stomach gurgled andseethed, the palms of his hands were hot and moist, and tearswere not far behind his quivering eyelids as he stepped forwardinto the huge room with its lofty moulded ceiling.

He saw that it was filled with officers from both the army andthe airforce. His disgrace was to be made public, then, and hequailed. Seeming to shrivel, his shoulders slumping, his chestcaving and the big handsome head drooping, the Count stoodin the doorway. He could not bear to look at them, and miser-ably he studied his gleaming toe caps.

Suddenly, he was assailed by a strange, a completely aliensound-and he looked up startled, ready to defend himselfagainst physical attack. The roomful of officers were applaud-ing, beaming and grinning, slapping palm to palm - and theCount gaped at them, then glanced quickly over his shoulder

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to be certain there was no one standing behind him, and thatthis completely unexpected welcome was being directed at him.

When he looked back he found a stocky, broad-shoulderedfigure in the uniform of a General advancing upon him. Hisface was hard and unforgiving, with a fierce grey moustacheover the grim trap of his mouth and glittering eyes in deep darksockets.

If the Count had been in command of his legs and his voice,he might have run screaming from the room, but before hecould move the General seized him in a grip of iron, and themoustache raking his cheeks was as rank and rough as thefoliage of die trees of the Danakil desert.

'Colonel, I am always honoured to embrace a brave man,'growled the General, hugging him close, his breath smellingpleasantly of garlic and sesame seed, an aroma that blended inan interesting fashion with the fragrant clouds of the Count'sperfume. The Count's legs could no longer stand the strain,they almost collapsed under him. He had to grab wildly at theGeneral to prevent himself falling. This threw both of them offbalance, and they reeled across the ceramic floor, locked in eachother's arms, in a kind of elephantine waltz, while the Generalstruggled to free himself.

He succeeded at last, and backed away warily from the Count,straightening his medals and reassembling his dignity - whileone of his officers began to read out a citation from a scroll ofparchment and the applause faded into an attentive silence.

The citation was long and wordy, and it gave the Count time to pull his scattered wits together. The first half of the citation was lost to him in his dreamlike state of shock, but then sud- denly the words began to reach him. His chin came up as herecognized some of his own composition, litde verbal gemsfrom his combat reports - 'Counting only duty dear, scorningall but honour' - that was his own stuff, by the Virgin and Peter.

He listened now, with all his attention, and they were talkingabout him. They were talking of Aldo Belli. His caved chest filled out, the high colour flooded back into his cheeks, theturmoil of his rebellious bowels was stilled, and fire flashed inhis eye once more.

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By God, the General had realized that every phrase, everyword, every comma and exclamation mark of his report was theliteral truth - and the aide-de-camp was handing the General aleather-covered jewel box, and the General was advancing onhim again-albeit with a certain caution-and then he waslooping the watered silk ribbon over his head so that the bigenamelled, white cross with its centre star emerald green andsparkling diamantine, dangled down the front of the Count'stunic. The order of St Maurice and St Lazarus (military divi-sion) of the third class.

Keeping well out of his clutches, the General pecked each ofthe Count's flushed cheeks and then took a hasty step back-wards to join in the applause - while the Count stood therepuffed with pride, feeling that his heart might burst.

'You will have that support now,' the General assured him,scowling heavily to hear how his predecessor had grudged theCount sufficient force to win his objectives. T pledge it to you.'

They were seated now, just the three of them - GeneralBadoglio, his political agent and the Count-in the smallerprivate study adjoining the large formal office. Night had fallenoutside the shuttered windows and the single lamp was hoodedto throw light down on the map spread on the table top, andleave the faces of the three men in shadow.

Cognac glowed in the leaded crystal glasses and the big ship'sdecanter on its silver tray, and the blue smoke from the cigarsspiralled up slow and heavy as treacle in the lamplight.

'I will need armour,' said the Count without hesitation. Thethought of thick steel plate had always attracted him strongly.

T will give you a squadron of the light CV. 3's,' said theGeneral, and made a note on the pad at his elbow.

4And I will need air support.'

'Can your engineers build a landing-strip for you at theWells ?' The General touched the map to illustrate the question.

'The land is flat and open. It will present no difficulty,' saidthe Count eagerly. Planes and tanks and guns, he was beinggiven them all. He was a real commander at last.

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'Radio to me when the strip is ready for use. I will send in aflight of Capronis. In the meantime, I will have the transportsection convoy in the fuel and armaments -1 shall consult thestaff at airforce, but I think the 100-kilo bombs will be mosteffective. High explosive, and fragmentation.'

4Yes, yes,' agreed the Count eagerly.

'And nitrogen mustard - will you have use for the gas ?'

'Yes, oh yes, indeed,' said the Count. It was not in his natureto refuse bounty, he would take anything he was offered.

'Good.' The General made another note, laid aside his pencil,and then looked up at the Count. He glowered so ferociouslythat the Count was startled and he felt the first nervous stir inhis belly again. He found the General terrifying, like living onthe slopes of a temperamental Vesuvius.

'The iron fist, Belli,' he said, and the Count realized withrelief that the scowl was directed not at him, but at the enemy.Immediately the Count assumed an expression every bit asbellicose and menacing. He curled his lip and he spoke, justbelow a snarl.

'Put the blade at the enemy's throat, and drive it home.'

'Without mercy,' said the General.

'To the death,' agreed the Count. He was on his home groundnow, and only just hitting his stride; a hundred blood-thirstyslogans sprang to mind - but, recognizing his master, the Generalchanged the snowballing conversation adroitly.

'You are wondering why I have put such importance on your objectives. You are wondering why I have given you suchpowerful forces, and why I have set such store on you forcingthe passage of the Sardi Gorge and the road to the highlands.'

The Count was wondering no such thing, right now he wasbusy coining a phrase about wading through blood, and heaccepted the change of theme reluctantly, and arranged hisfeatures in a politely enquiring frame.

The General waved his cigar expansively at the political agent who sat opposite him.

'Signor Antolino.' He made the gesture and the agent sat forward obediently so that the lamplight caught his face.

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'Gentlemen.5 He cleared his throat, and looked from one tothe other with mild brown eyes behind steel-framed spectacles.He was a thin, almost skeletal figure, in a rumpled white linensuit. The wings of his shirt collar were off-centre of his promi-nent Adam's apple and the knot of the knitted silk tie had sliddown and hung at the level of the first button. His head wasalmost bald, but he had grown the remaining hairs long andgreased them down over the shiny freckled plever-egg scalp.

His moustache was waxed into points, but stained yellow withtobacco, and he was of indefinite age - over forty and under sixty- with the dark malarial yellow tan of a man who has lived all hislife in the tropics.

'For some time we have been concerned to design an appro-priate form of government for the captured - ah - the liberatedterritories of Ethiopia.'

'Come to the point,' said the General abruptly.

'It has been decided to replace the present Emperor, HaileSelassie, with a man sympathetic to the Italian Empire, andacceptable to the people'

'Come on, man,' Badoglio cut in again. Verbal backing andfilling were repugnant to him. He was a man of action ratherthan words.

'Arrangements have been completed after lengthy negotia-tion, and I might add the promise of several millions of lire,that at the politically opportune moment a powerful chieftainwill declare for us, bringing all his warriors and his influenceacross to us. This man will in due course be declared Emperorof Ethiopia and will administer the territory under Italy.'

'Yes, yes. I understand,' said the Count.

The man governs part of the area which is the direct objec-tive of your column. As soon as you have seized the Sardi Gorgeand entered the town of Sardi itself, this Chief will join youwith his men and, with appropriate international publicity, bedeclared King of Ethiopia.'

'The man's name ?' asked the Count, but the agent would notbe hurried.

'It will be your duty to meet with this Chief, and to synchro-

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nize your efforts. You will also make the promised payment ingold coin.'

'Yes.'

'The man is an hereditary Ras by rank. He is presently com-manding part of the army that opposes you at Sardi. However,that will change' said the agent, and produced a thick enve-lope from the briefcase beside his chair. It was sealed with thewax tablet and the embossed eagles of the Department ofColonial Affairs. 'Here are your written orders. You will signfor them, please.'

He inspected the Count's signature suspiciously, then, at lastsatisfied, went on in the same dry disinterested voice.

'One other matter. We have identified one of the white mer-cenaries fighting with the Ethiopians - those mentioned by youas being reported by the three of your men captured by theenemy and subsequently released.'

The agent paused and drew on his almost dead cigar, puffingup the tip to a bright healthy glow.

'The woman is a notorious agent provocateur, a bolshevik withradical and revolutionary sympathies. She poses as a journalist,employed by an American newspaper whose sentiments havealways been strongly anti-Empire. Already some of this woman'sbiased inflammatory writings have reached the outside world.They have been a severe embarrassment to us at the Depart-ment'

He drew again on the cigar, and spoke again through thebillowing cloud of smoke.

'If she is taken, and I hope that you will place priority on hercapture, she is to be handed over immediately to the newEthiopian Emperor-designate, you understand ? You are not tobe involved, but you will not interfere with the Ras's executionof the woman.'

'I see.' The Count was becoming bored. This political nit-picking was not the type of thing which would hold his atten-tion. He wanted to show the young lady hostesses at the Casinothe great cross which now hung around his neck and thumpedon his chest each time he moved.

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'As for the white man, the Englishman, the one responsiblefor the brutal shooting of an Italian prisoner of war in front ofwitnesses, he has been declared a murderer and a politicalterrorist. When you capture him, he is to be shot out of hand.That order goes for all other foreigners serving under arms withthe enemy troops. This type of thing must be put down sternly.'

'You can rely on me,' said the Count. 'There will be noquarter for the terrorists.'

As General Pietro Badoglio moved forward to Amba Aradam,there were some minor brushes while the Italian General de-ployed his men for the major stroke. At Abi Addi and Tembienhe received advance warning of the fighting qualities of hisenemy, barefoot and armed with spear and muzzle-loading gun.As he wrote himself,

'They have fought with courage and determination. Againstour attacks, methodically carried out and covered by heavymachine-gun fire and artillery barrage, their troops have stoodfirm, and then engaged in furious hand-to-hand fighting; orthey have moved boldly to counter-attack, regardless of theavalanche of fire that had immediately fallen upon them. Againstthe organized fire of our defending troops, their soldiers - manyof them armed only with cold steel - attacked again and again,pushing right up to our wire entanglements and trying to beatthem down with their great swords.'

Brave men, perhaps, but they were brushed aside by the hugeItalian war machine. Then at last Badoglio could come at RasMuguletu, the war minister of Ethiopia, with his entire armywaiting like an old lion in the caves and precipitous heights ofthe natural mountain fortress of Amba Aradam.

He loosed his full might against the old chieftain, the bigthree-engined Capronis roared in, wave after wave, to drop fourhundred tons of bombs upon the mountain in five days of con-tinuous raids, while his artillery hurled fifty thousand heavyshells, arcing them up from the valley into the ravines and deepgorges until the outline of the mountain was shrouded in the

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red mist of dust and cordite fumes.

Up to now, the time of waiting had passed pleasantly enoughfor Count Aldo Belli at the Wells of Chaldi. The addition to hisforces had altered his entire way of life. Together with themagnificent enamelled cross around his neck, they had addedimmeasurably to his prestige and correct sense of self-import-ance.

For the first few weeks he never tired of reviewing andmanoeuvring his armoured forces. The six speedy machines,with their low rakish lines and moulded turrets, intrigued him.Their speed over the roughest ground, bouncing along on theirspinning tracks, delighted him. They made wonderful shooting-brakes, for nothing held them up, and he conceived the masterstrategy of using them for game drives.

A squadron of light CV.3 tanks, in extended line abreast,could sweep a thirty-mile swathe of desert, driving all gamebefore them, down to where the Count waited with the Mann-licher. It was the greatest sport of his hunting career.

The scope of this activity was such that even in the limitlessspaces of the Danakill desert, it did not pass unnoticed.

Like their Ras, the Harari warriors were men of short patience.Long inactivity bored them, and daily small groups of horse-men, followed by their wives and pack donkeys, drifted awayfrom the big encampment at the foot of the gorge, and beganthe steep rocky ascent to the cooler equable weather of the high-lands, and the comforts and business of home. Each of themassured the Ras before departure of a speedy return as soon asthey were needed - but nevertheless it irked the Ras to see hisarmy dwindling and dribbling away while his enemy sat invul-nerable and unchallenged upon the sacred soil of Ethiopia.

Tensions in the encampment were running with the strengthand passion of the ground-swell of the ocean, when storms arebuilding out beyond the horizon.

Caught up in the suppressed violence in the boiling pot ofemotion, were both Gareth and Jake. Each of them had used

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the lull to set his own department in order.

Jake had gone out under cover of night behind a screen ofEthiopian scouts to the deserted battlefield, where he hadstripped the carcass of the Hump. Working by the light of ahooded bull's-eye lantern, and assisted by Gregorius, he hadtaken the big Bendey engine to pieces, small enough for thedonkey packs - and lugged it all home to the encampment belowthe camel-thorn trees. Using the replacements, he had rebuiltthe engine of Tenastelin ruined by the Ras in his first flush ofenthusiasm. Then he had stripped, overhauled and reassembledthe other two cars. The Ethiopian armoured forces were now asquadron of three, all of them in as fine fetde as tiiey had beenfor the past twenty years.

Gareth, in the meantime, had selected and trained Hararicrews for the Vickers guns, and then exercised them with theinfantry and cavalry, teaching the gunners to lay down sheetsof covering fire. Foot soldiers were taught to advance or retreatin concert with the Vickers.

Cry Wolf

Gareth had also found time to complete the survey of theretreat route up the gorge, mark each of his defensive positions,and supervise the digging of the machine-gun nests and supporttrenches in the steep rocky sides of the gorge. An enemy ad-vancing up the twisting hairpin track would come under firearound each bend of the road, and would be open to the steam-roller charge of the foot warriors from the concealed trenchesamongst the lichen-covered rocks above the track.

The track itself had been smoothed, and the gradients alteredto allow the escape of the armoured cars once the position onthe plains was forced by the overwhelming build-up of Italianforces. Now all of them waited, as ready as they could be, andthe slow passage of time eroded all their nerves.

It was, then, with a certain relief that the scouts who werekeeping the Italian fortifications under day and night surveil-lance reported back to the Ras's war council that a host ofstrange vehicles that moved at great speed - without the benefitof either legs or wheels - had arrived to swell the already for-midable forces arrayed against them, and that these vehicles

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were daily engaged in furious activity, from sun-up to sun-down, racing in circles and aimless sweeps across the vast emptyspaces of the plains.

'Without wheels,' mused Gareth, and cocked an eyebrow atJake. 'You know what that sounds like, don't you, old son ?'

'I'm afraid I do.' Jake nodded. 'But we'd better go and take alook.5

Haifa moon in the sky gave enough light to show up clearly thedeeply torn runnels of the steel tracks, like the spoor of giganticcentipedes in the soft fluffy soil.

Jake squatted on his haunches, and regarded them brood-ingly. He knew now that what he had dreaded was about tohappen. He was going to have to take his beloved cars andmatch them against tracked vehicles with heavier armour, andrevolving turrets, armed with big-bored, quick-firing guns.Guns that could crash a missile into his frontal armour, throughthe engine block, through the hull compartment and any crewmembers in its path, then out through the rear armour withsufficient velocity still on it to do the same again to the carbehind.

'Tanks,' he muttered. 'Bloody tanks.'

'I say, an eagle scout in our midst,' murmured Gareth, sittingcomfortably up in the turret of Priscilla the Pig. 'A tenderfootmight have thought those tracks were made by a dinosaur - butyou can't fool old hawk-eye Barton, son of the Texas prairies/and he reached out to stub his cheroot against the side of theturret, an action which he knew would annoy Jake intensely.

Jake grunted and stood up. 'I'm going to buy you an ashtrayfor your next birthday.' His voice was brittle. It did not matterthat his beloved cars might be shot at by rifle, machine gun andnow by cannon - that they had been scarred by flying gravel and harsh thorn. The deliberate crushing of burning tobacco against the fighting steel annoyed him, as he knew it was meant to.

'Sorry, old son.' Gareth grinned easily. 'Slipped my mind. Won't happen again.'

Jake swung up the side of the car and dropped into thedriver's seat. Keeping the engine noise down to a low murmur,

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a sound as sweet and melodious in his ears as a Bach concerto,he let Priscilla move away across the moon-gilded plain.

When Jake and Gareth were alone like this, out on a recon-naissance or working together in the gorge, the dagger of rivalrywas sheathed and their relationship was relaxed and comforting,spiced only by the mild needling and jostling for position. Itwas only in Vicky Camberwell's physical presence that the knifecame out.

Jake thought about it now, thought about the three of themas he did a great deal each day. He knew that, after that magicalnight when he and Vicky had known each other on the harddesert earth, she was his woman. It was too wonderful an ex-perience to have shared with another human being for it not tohave marked and changed both of them profoundly.

Yet in the weeks since then there had been little opportunityfor reaffirmation - a single stolen afternoon by a tall mist-smoking waterfall in the gorge, a narrow ledge of black rock,cool with shadow and green with soft beds of moss, andscreened from prying eyes by the overhang of the precipice.The moss had been as soft as a feather bed, and afterwards theyswam naked together in the swirling cauldron of the pool, andher body had been slim and pale and lovely through the darkwater.

Then again, he had watched her with Gareth Swales - theway she laughed, or leaned close to him to listen to a whisperedcomment, and the mock-modest shock at his outrageous sallies,the laughter in her eyes and on her lips. Once she touched hisarm, a thoughtless gesture while in conversation with Gareth, agesture so intimate and possessive that Jake had felt the blackjealous anger fill his head.

There was no cause for it, Jake knew that. He could notbelieve she was fool enough or so naive as to walk into theobvious web that Gareth was weaving - she was Jake's woman.What they had done together, their loving was so wonderful, socompletely once in a life-time, that it was not possible she couldturn aside to anyone else.

Yet between Vicky and Gareth there was the laughter and theshared jokes. Sometimes he had seen them together, standing

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on a rock-promontory above the camp or walking in the groveof camel-thorn trees, leaning towards each other as they talked.Once or twice they had both been absent from the camp at thesame time - for as long as a complete morning. But it meantnothing, he knew that. Sure, she liked Gareth Swales. He couldunderstand that. He liked Gareth also - more than liked, herealized. It was, rather, a deep comradely feeling of affection.You could not but be drawn by his fine looks, his mocking senseof the ridiculous, and the deep certainty that below that polishedexterior and the overplayed role of the foppish rogue was adifferent, a real person.

'Yeah.' Jake sardonically grinned in the darkness, steering thecar south and east around the sky glow that marked the Italianfortifications at the Wells. 'I love the guy. I don't trust him,but I love him - just as long as he keeps the hell away from mywoman.'

Gareth stooped out of the turret at that moment and tappedhis shoulder.

'There is a ravine ahead and to the left. It should do,' he said,and Jake swung towards it and halted again.

'It's deep enough,' he gave his opinion.

'And we should be able to see across to the ridge and cover allthe ground to the east once the sun comes up.' Gareth pointedto the glow of the Italian searchlights and then swept his armwidely across the open desert beyond. 'That looks like wherethey hold their fun and games every day. We should get agrandstand view from here. We'd better get under cover now.'

They intended to spend the whole of that day observing theactivity of the Italian squadron, pulling out again under cover of darkness; so Jake reversed Priscilla gingerly down the steepslope of the ravine, backing and filling carefully, until she was in a hull-down position below the bank - with just the top ofher turret exposed - but facing back towards the west with herfront wheels at a point in the bank which she could climb handily, if a quick start and a fast escape were necessary.

He switched off the engine, and the two of them armed them-selves with machetes and wandered about in the open, hacking

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down the small wiry desert brush and then piling it over theexposed turret, until from a hundred yards it blended into thedesert landscape.

Jake spilled gasoline from one of the spare cans into a bucketof sand, then placed the bucket in the bottom of the ravine andput a match to it. They crouched over the primitive stove,warming themselves against the desert chill, while the coffeebrewed. They were silent, thawing out slowly, each thinking hisown thoughts.

'I think we've got a problem,' said Jake at last, as he staredinto the fire.

'With me that condition goes back as far as I can remember,'Gareth agreed politely. 'But apart from the fact that I am stuckin the middle of a horrible desert, with savages and bleedinghearts for company, with an army of Eyeties trying to kill me,broke except for a post-dated cheque of dubious value, not abottle of the old Charlie within a hundred miles, and no imme-diate prospect of escape - apart from that, I'm in very goodshape.'

'I was thinking of Vicky.'

'Ah! Vicky!'

'You know that I am in love with her.'

'You surprise me.' Gareth grinned devilishly in the flickeringfirelight. 'Is that why you have been mooning around with thatsoppy look on your face, bellowing like a bull moose in themating season ? Good Lord, I would never have guessed, oldboy.'

'I'm being serious, Gary.'

'That, old son, is one of your problems. You take everythingtoo seriously. I am prepared to offer odds of three to one thatyour mind is already set on the ivy-covered cottage, bulgingwith ghastly brats.'

'That's the picture,' Jake cut in sharply. 'It's that serious, I'mafraid. How do we stand ?'

Gareth drew two cigars from his breast pocket, placed onebetween Jake's lips, lit a dry twig from die fire and held it forhim. The mocking grin dropped from his Hps and his voice was

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suddenly thoughtful, but the expression in his eyes was hard toread in the uncertain firelight.

'Down in Cornwall, there's a place I know. A hundred andfifty acres. Comfortable old farm house, of course. I'd have todo it up a bit, but the cattle sheds are in good nick. Always didfancy myself as the country squire, bit of hunting and shootingin between tilling the earth and squirting the milk out of thecows. Might even run to three or four brats, at that. Withfourteen thousand quid, and a whacking great mortgage bond,I could just about swing it.'

They were both silent then, as Jake poured the coffee anddoused the fire, and squatted again facing Gareth.

'It's that serious,' Gareth said at last.

'So there isn't going to be a truce ? No gentlemen's agree-ment ?' Jake murmured into his mug.

'Tooth and claw, I'm afraid' said Gareth. 'May the best manwin, and we'll name the first brat after you. That's a promise.'

They were silent again, each of them lost in his own thoughts,sipping at the mugs and sucking on their cheroots.

'One of us could get some sleep,' said Jake at last.

'Spin you for it.' Gareth flipped a silver Maria Theresa dollar,and caught it neatly on his wrist.

'Heads,' said Jake.

'Tough luck, old son.' Gareth pocketed the coin and flickedout the coffee grounds from his mug. Then he went to spreadhis blanket on the sandy ravine bottom, under Priscilla the Pig's

chassis.

Jake shook him gently in the dawn, and cautioned him with atouch on the lips. Gareth came swiftly awake, blinking his eyesand smoothing back his hair with both hands, then rolling to hisfeet and following Jake quickly up the side of Priscilla's hull.

The dawn was a silent explosion of red and gold and brilliantapricot that fanned out across half the eastern sky, touched thehigh ground with fire but left the long grey-blue shadowssmeared across the low places. The crescent of the sinking moon

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low on the western horizon was white as a shark's tooth.

'Listen/ said Jake, and Gareth turned his head slightly tocatch the tremble of sound in the silence of the dawn.

'Hear it?' '

Gareth nodded, and lifted his binoculars. Slowly he sweptthe distant sun-touched ridges.

'There,' said Jake sharply, and Gareth swung the glasses inthe direction of Jake's arm.

Some miles off, a string of dark indefinite blobs were movingthrough one of the depressions in the gentle undulating terrain.They looked like beads on a rosary; even in the magnifying lensof the glasses they were too far off and too dimly lit to afforddetails.

They watched them, following the almost sinuous line as itsnaked across their front - until the leading blob drew the lineup the gentle slope of ground. As it reached the crest, it wasstruck with startling suddenness by the low golden sun. In thestill cool air there was no distortion, and the dramatic side-lighting made every detail of its low profile clear and crisp.

'CV.3 cavalry tanks,' said Gareth, without hesitation. 'Fifty-horse-power Alfa engines. Ten centimetres of frontal armourand a top speed of eighteen miles an hour.' It was as though hewere reading the specifications from a catalogue, and Jake re-membered that these were part of his stock-in-trade. 'There'sa crew of three, driver, loader gunner and commander - and itlooks as though they are mounting the fifty-mm Spandau. Theyare accurate at a thousand yards and the rate of fire is fifteenrounds a minute.'

As he was speaking the leading tank dropped from sight over

ic reverse slope of the ridge, followed in quick succession bythe five others - and their engine noise droned away into silence.

Gareth lowered his glasses and grinned ruefully. 'Well, weare a little out of our class. Those Spandaus are in fully revolv-ing turrets. We are out-gunned all to hell.'

'We are faster than they are,' said Jake hotly, like a motherwhose children had been scorned.

'And th$t, old son, is all we are,' grunted Gareth.

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'How about a bite of breakfast ? It's going to be a long hardday to sit out before it's dark enough to head for home.'

They ate tinned Irish stew, heated over the bucket, andsmeared on thick spongy hunks of unleavened bread, washeddown by tea, strong and sweet with condensed milk and lumpybrown sugar. The sun was well up before they finished.

Jake belched softly. 'My turn to sleep,' he said, and he curledup like a big brown dog in the shade under the hull.

Gareth tried to make himself comfortable against the turretand keep watch out across the open plain, where the mirage wasalready starting to quiver and fume in the rising heat. He con-gratulated himself comfortably on his choice of shift; he'd hada good few hours sleep in the night, and now he had the com-parative cool of the morning. By the time it was Jake's turn onwatch again, the sun would be frizzling, and Priscilla's hull hotas a wood stove.

'Look out for Number One,' he murmured, and took aleisurely sweep of the land with the glasses. There was no waythat an Italian patrol could surprise them here. He had selectedthe stake-out with a soldier's eye for ground, and he congratu-lated himself again, as he slumped in relaxation against theturret and lit a cheroot.

'Now,' he thought. 'Just how do you take on a squadron ofcavalry tanks, without artillery, minefields or armour -piercingguns?' and he let his mind tease and worry the problem. Acouple of hours later he had decided that there were ways, butall of them depended on having the tanks come in at the rightplace, from the right direction at the right time. 'Which, ofcourse, is an animal of a completely different breed,' and thattook a lot more thought. Another hour later he knew there wasonly one way the Italian armoured squadron could be made toco-operate in its own destruction. 'The jolly old donkey and thecarrot trick again,' he thought. 'Now all we need is a carrot.' Instinctively he looked down at where Jake lay curled. Jake hadnot moved once in all the hours, only the deep soft rumble ofhis breathing showed he was still alive. Gareth felt a prickle ofirritation that he should be enjoying such undisturbed rest.

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The heat was a heavy oppressive pall, pressing down uponthe earth, beating like a gong upon Gareth's head. The sweatdried almost instandy upon his skin, leaving a rime of saltcrystals, and he screwed up his eyes as he swept the horizonwith the glasses.

The glare and the mirage had obscured the horizon, blottedout even the nearest ridges behind a shifting throbbing curtainof hot air that seemed thick as water, swirling and spiralling inwavering columns and sluggish eddies.

Gareth blinked his eyes, and shook the drops of sweat fromhis eyebrows. He glanced at his watch. It was still another houruntil Jake's shift, and he contemplated putting his watch for-ward. It was distincdy uncomfortable up on the hull in the sun,and he glanced again at the sleeping form in the shade.

Just then he caught a sound on the thick heated air, a softquiver of sound, like the hive murmur of bees. There was noway in which to tell the direction of the sound, and Garethcrouched attentively, straining for it. It faded and returned,faded and returned again, but this time stronger and moredefinite. The configuration of the land and the flawed and heat-faulted air were playing tricks on the ear. Suddenly the volumeof sound climbed swifdy, becoming a humming growl thatshook in the heat.

Gareth swung the glasses to the east; it seemed to emanatefrom the whole curve of the eastern horizon, like the animalgrowl of the surf.

For an instant the glare and swirling mirage opened enoughfor him to see a huge darkly distorted shape, a grotesque lum-bering monster on four stilt-like legs, seeming as tall as a double-storey building. Then the mirage closed down again swiftly,leaving Gareth blinking with doubt and alarm at what he hadseen. But now the growl of sound beat steadily in the air.

6Jake,' he called urgendy, and was answered by a snort and achanged volume of snore. Gareth broke off a branch from thelayer of camouflage and tossed it at the reclining figure. Itcaught Jake in the back of the neck and he came angrily awake,one fist'bunched and ready to punch.

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'What the hell' he snarled.

'Come up here,' called Gareth.

'I can't see a damned thing,' muttered Jake, standing high onthe turret and peering eastwards through his glasses. The soundwas now a deep drumming growl, but the wall of glare andmirage was close and impenetrable.

'There!' shouted Gareth.

'Oh my God!' cried Jake.

The huge shape leaped out at them suddenly. Very close,very black and tall, blown up by distortion and mirage to gar-gantuan proportions. Its shape changed constantly, so at onemoment it looked like a four-masted ship under a full suit ofblack sails - then it altered swiftly into a towering black tadpoleshape that wriggled and swam through the soupy air.

'What the hell is it ?' Gareth demanded.

T don't know, but it's making a noise like a squadron ofItalian tanks and it's coming straight at us.'

The Captain who commanded the Italian tank squadron wasan angry, disgruntled and horribly disillusioned man - a manburdened by a soul-corroding grudge.

Like so many officers of the cavalry tradition, the arme blanche of the army, he was a romantic, obsessed by the image of him-self as a dashing, reckless warrior. The dress uniform of hisregiment still included skin-tight breeches with a scarlet silkstripe down the outside of the leg, soft black riding boots andsilver spurs, a tightly fitting bum-freezer jacket encrusted withthick gold lace and heavy epaulets, a short cloak worn carelesslyover one shoulder and a tall black shako. This was the picturehe cherished of himself - all elan and swagger.

Here he was in some devil-conceived, god-cursed desert,where day after day he and his beloved fighting machines weresent out to find wild animals and drive them in on a set point,where a mad megalomaniac waited to shoot them down.

The damage it was doing his tanks, the grinding wear ontracks running hard over rough terrain and through diamond-

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hard abrasive sand, was as nothing compared to the damage hispride was suffering.

He had been reduced to nothing but a gamekeeper, a beater,a peasant beater. The Captain spent much of each day at thevery edge of tears, the tears of deep humiliation. Every eveninghe protested to the mad Count in the strongest possible terms -and the following day found him once more pursuing wildanimals over the desert.

So far the bag had consisted of a dozen lions and wild dogs,and many scores of large antelope. By the time these were de-livered to where the Count waited, they were almost exhausted,lathered with sweat, and with a froth of saliva drooling fromtheir jaws, barely able to trot after the long chase across theplains.

The condition of the game detracted not at all from theCount's pleasure. Indeed, the Captain had been given specificorders to run the game hard so that it came to the guns docileand winded. After his alarming experience with the beisa oryx,the Count was not eager to take foolhardy risks. An easy shotand a good photograph were his yardsticks of the day's sport.

The greater the bag, the greater the pleasure - and the Counthad enjoyed himself immensely since the arrival of the tanks.However, the wastes of the Danakil desert could not supportendless quantities of animal life, and the bag had fallen offsharply in the last few days as the herds were scattered andannihilated. The Count was displeased. He told the Captain oftanks so forcibly, adding to the man's discontent and sense ofgrudge.

The Captain of tanks found the old bull elephant standingalone, like a tall granite monument, upon the open plain. Hewas enormous, with tattered ears like the sails of an ancientschooner, and tiny hating eyes in their webs of deep wrinkles.One of his tusks was broken off near the lip, but the other wasthick and long and yellow, worn to a blunt-rounded tip at theend of its curve.

The Captain stopped his tank a quarter of a mile from wherethe elephant stood, and examined him through his binoculars

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while he got over the shock of his size - then the Captain beganto smile, a wicked twist of the mouth under his handsomemoustache, and his dark eyes sparkled.

'So, my dear Colonel, you want game, much game,' he whis-pered. 'You will have it. I assure you.'

He approached the elephant carefully from the east, crawlingthe tank in gingerly towards the animal, and the old bull turnedand watched them come. His ears were spread wide and hislong trunk sucked and coiled into his mouth as he tested theair, breathing it onto the olfactory glands in his top hp as hegroped for the scent of this strange creature.

He was a bad-tempered old bull, who had been harried andhunted for thousands of miles across the African continent, andbeneath his scarred and creased old hide were the spear-heads,the podegs fired from muzzle-loading guns, and the jacketedslugs from modern rifled firearms. All he wanted now in hisgreat age was to be left alone - he wanted neither the demandingcompany of the breeding cows, the importunate noisy play of thecalves, nor the single-minded pursuit of the men who huntedhim. He had come into the desert, to the burning days andcoarse vegetation to find that solitude, and now he was movingslowly down to the Wells of Chaldi, water which he had lasttasted as a young breeding bull twenty-five years before.

He watched the buzzing growling things creeping in towardshim, and he tasted their rank oily smell, and he did not like it.He shook his head, flapping his ears like the crash of canvastaking the wind on a new tack, and he squealed a warning.

The growling humming things crept closer and he rolled histrunk up against his chest, he cocked his ears half back andcurled the tips - but the tank Captain did not recognize thedanger signals and he kept on coming.

Then the elephant charged, fast and massive, the fall of hishuge pads thumping against the earth like the beat of a bassdrum, and he was so fast, so quick off die mark that he almost caught the tank. If he had he would have flicked it over on itsback without having to exert ail his mountainous strength. But the driver was as quick as he, and he swung away right under

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the outstretched trunk, and held his best speed for half a milebefore the bull gave up the pursuit.

'My Captain, I could shoot it with the Spandau,' urged thegunner anxiously. He had not enjoyed the chase.

'No! No!' The Captain was delighted.

'He is a very angry, dangerous and ferocious animal,' thegunner pointed out.

'Si /' the Captain laughed happily, rubbing his hands togetherwith glee. 'He is my very special gift to the Count.'

After the fifth approach by the tanks, the old bull grew boredwith the unrewarding effort of chasing after them. With hisbelly rumbling protestingly, his stubby tail twitching irritably,and the musk from the glands behind his eyes weeping in a long,wet smear down his dusty cheeks, he allowed himself to beshepherded towards the west by the following line of cavalrytanks - but he was still a very angry elephant.

'You're not going to believe this,' said Gareth Swales softly.'I'm not even sure I believe it myself. But it's an elephant, andit's leading a full squadron of Eyetie tanks straight to us.'

'I don't believe it,' said Jake. 'I can see it happening - but Idon't believe it. They must have trained it like a bloodhound.Is that possible, or am I going crazy ?'

'Both,' said Gareth. 'May I suggest we get ready to move.They are getting frightfully close, old son.'

Jake jumped down to the crank handle, while Gareth droppedinto the driver's hatch and swiftly adjusted the ignition andthrottle setting.

'All set,' he said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. Thegreat elephant was less than a thousand yards away. Coming onsteadily, in that long driving stride, a pace between a walk anda trot that an elephant can keep up for thirty miles withoutcheck or rest.

'You might hurry it up, at that,' he added, and Jake spun thecrank. Priscilla made no response, not even a cough to encourage Jake as he wound the crank frantically.

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After a full minute, Jake staggered back gasping, and doubledover with hands on his knees as he sucked for air.

'This bloody infernal machine' Gareth began, but Jakestraightened up with genuine alarm.

'Don't start swearing at her, or she'll never start,' he cautionedGareth, and he stooped to the crank handle again. 'Come alongnow, my darling,' he whispered, and threw his weight on thecrank.

Gareth took another quick glance over his shoulder. Thebizarre procession was closer, much closer. He leaned out of thedriver's hatch and patted Priscilla's engine-cowling tenderly.

'There's my love,' he crooned. 'Come along, my beauty.'

The Count's hunting party sat out in collapsible camp chairsunder the screens, double canvas to protect them from the cruelsim. The mess servants served iced drinks and light refresh-ments, and a random breeze that flapped the canvas occasionallywas sufficient to keep the temperature bearable.

The Count was in an expansive mood, host to half a dozen ofhis officers, all of them dressed in casual hunting clothes, armedwith a selection of sporting rifles and the occasional service rifle.

'I think we can rely on better sport today. I believe that ourbeaters will be trying harder, after my gentle admonitions.' Hesmiled and winked, and his officers laughed dutifully. 'Indeed,I am hoping'

'My Count. My Count.' Gino rushed breathlessly into thetent like a frenzied gnome. 'They are coming. We have seenthem from the ridge.'

'Ah!' said the Count with deep satisfaction. 'Shall we godown and see what our gallant Captain of tanks has for us thistime ?' And he drained the glass of white wine in his hand, whileGino rushed over to help him to his feet, and then backed awayin front of him, leading him to where Giuseppe was hastily re-moving the dust covers from the Rolls.

The small procession, headed by the Count's Rolls -Royce, wound down the slope of the low ridge to where the blinds had

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been sited in a line across the width of the shallow valley. Theblinds had been built by the battalion engineers, dug into thered earth so as not to stand too high above the low desert scrub.They were neatly thatched, covered against the sun, with loop-holes from which to fire upon the driven game. There werecomfortable camp chairs for those long waits between drives, asmall but well-stocked bar, ice in insulated buckets, a separatescreened latrine-in fact all the comforts to make the day's sportmore enjoyable.

The Count's blind was in the centre of the line. It was thelargest and most luxuriously appointed, situated so that thegreat majority of driven game would bunch upon this point.His junior officers had earlier learned the folly of exceeding theColonel's personal bag or of firing at any animal which wasswinging across their front towards the Count. The first offenderin this respect had found himself reduced from Captain to Lieu-tenant, and no longer invited to the hunt, and the second wasalready back in Massawa writing out requisition forms in thequartermaster's division.

Gino handed the Count from the Rolls, and helped himdown the steps into the sunken shelter. Giuseppe saluted andclimbed back into the Rolls, swung away and bumped back upthe ridge and over the sky-line.

The Count settled himself comfortably in the canvas chair.With a sigh, he unbuttoned the front of his jacket, and acceptedthe damp face cloth that Gino handed him. While the Countwiped the film of sweat from his forehead with the cool cloth,Gino opened a bottle of Lacrima Cristi from the ice bucket andplaced a tall frosted crystal glass of the wine on the folding tableat the Count's elbow. Next, he loaded the Mannlicher withshiny new brass cartridges from a freshly opened packet.

The Count tossed the cloth aside and leaned forward in hischair to peer through the loophole in front of him, out acrossthe shimmering plain where the small dark desert scrub dancedin the heat.

'I have a feeling we shall have extraordinary sport today,Gino.'

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eI hope so indeed, my Count,' said the little sergeant andstood to attention behind his chair with the loaded Mannlicherheld at the ready across his chest.

'Come on, darling,' croaked Jake, sweat dripping from his chinon to his shirt front as he stooped over the crank handle andspun it for the hundredth time. 'Don't let us down now,sweetheart.'

Gareth scrambled up on to the sponson of Priscilla and tooka long despairing glance back over the turret. He felt somethingfreeze in his belly, and his breath caught. The elephant was ahundred paces away, coming directly down on top of them at aloose shambling walk, the great black ears flapping sullenly andthe little piggy eyes alight with malevolence.

Right behind it, fanned out on each side, pressing closely onthe great beast's heels, came the full squadron of Italian tanks.The sun glittered on the smoothly rounded frontal armour, andcaught the bright festival flutter of their cavalry pennants. Fromeach hatch protruded the black-helmeted head of the tank com-mander. Through the binoculars Gareth could make out theindividual features of each commander, they were that close.

Within minutes they would be overrun, and there was nochance that they could escape detection. The elephant wasleading the Italians directiy to the ravine, and their scantycamouflage of scrub branches would not stand scrutiny at lessthan a hundred yards.

They could not even protect themselves, the Vickers machine gun was pointed away from the approaching enemy, and thelimited traverse of the ball mounting was not sufficient to bringit to bear. Gareth was engulfed suddenly by a black and burning rage for the stubborn piece of machinery beneath his feet. Hetook a vicious heartfelt kick at the steel turret.

'You treacherous bitch,' he snarled, and at that moment theengine fired and, without preliminary gulping and popping*roared angrily.

Jake bounded up the side of the hull, droplets of sweat flying 330

from his sodden hair, red-faced as he gasped at Gareth,

'You've got the gentle touch.'

'With all women there is the psychological moment, old son,'Gareth explained, grinning with relief as he scrambled into theturret and Jake dropped behind the controls.

Jake gunned the motor, and Priscilla threw off her coveringof cut thorn branches. Her wheels spun in the loose sand of theravine, blowing up a cloud of red dust, and she tore up the steepbank and lunged out into the open - directly under the startledoutstretched trunk of the elephant.

The old bull had by this stage suffered provocation sufficientto take him to the edge of a blind, black rage. It needed onlythis new buzzing frightfulness to launch him over the edge. Theleisurely pace that he had set up until now left his mountainousstrength and endurance untouched, and now he trumpeted, aringing earsplitting challenge that rolled across the vast silencesof the desert like die trumpet of doom. His ears curled backagainst his skull and with his trunk coiled against his chest, hecrashed forward into a terrible ground-shaking charge.

His speed over the broken ground was greater than that ofPriscilla the Pig, and he bore down upon her like a cliff of greygranite - huge, menacing and indestructible.

The Captain of tanks had been shepherding the old elephantalong gently. He did not want him to tax his strength. Hewanted to deliver to his commanding officer an animal in thepeak of its anger and destructive capabilities.

He was sitting up in his turret, chuckling and shaking hishead with anticipation and growing delight, for the hunter'slines were only a mile or so ahead - when suddenly, directlyahead of him, the ground erupted and an armoured car roaredout in a cloud of red dust. It was of a model that the Captainhad seen only in illustrated books of military history - like anapparition out of the remote past.

It took him some seconds to believe what he was seeing, thenwith a jarring impact on his already highly strung nerve-ends,he recognized the enemy colours that the ancient machine wasflying.

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'Advancei' he screamed. 'Squadron, advance!' and he gropedinstinctively at his side for his sword. 'Engage the enemy.'

On each side of him his tanks roared forward, and for wantof a sword, the Captain tore his helmet off and waved it over hishead.

'Charge!' he screamed. 'Forward into battle!' Now at last hewas not a mere game-beater. Now he was a warrior leading hismen into action. His excitement was so contagious and the dustthrown up by the car, the elephant and the steel tracks so thick,that the first two tanks did not even see the fifteen-foot-deepsheer-sided ravine. Running side by side, they went into it atthe top of their speed - and were destroyed effectively as thoughthey had been demolished by a 100-kilo aerial bomb, the ridingwheels ripped away by the impact and the heavy steel tracksflying loose and snaking viciously into the air like living angrycobras. The revolving turrets were torn from their seatings,neatly bisecting the men at the waist, who stood in the hatchesas though with a gigantic pair of scissors.

Clinging to the rim of his own turret and peering backwards,Gareth saw the two machines disappear into the earth, and thegreat leaping towers of dust that rose high into the air to marktheir destruction.

'Two down,' he shouted.

'But another four to go,' Jake shouted back grimly, fightingPriscilla over the rough earth. 'And how about that jumbo ?'

'How indeed!'

The elephant, goaded on by the roar of engines and crash ofsteel behind and by the buzzing bouncing car ahead of it, wasmaking incredible speed over the broken scrubby plain.

'He's right here with us,' Gareth told Jake anxiously. So close was the great beast that Gareth had to look up at it, and he sawthe thick grey trunk uncoiling from its chest and reaching out to pluck him from the turret.

'As fast as you like, old son, or you'll have him sitting onyour head.'

*

'I have told that idiot not to run the game down on the guns sohard/ snapped the Count petulantly. 'I have told him a dozentimes, have I not, Gino ?'

'Indeed, my Count.'

'Rim them hard at the beginning, then bring them in gentlyfor the last mile or so.' The Count took an angry gulp at hisglass. 'The man is a fool, an insufferable fool - and I can't abidefools around me.'

'Indeed not, my Count.'

'I shall send him back to Massawa' the rest of the threattrailed away, and the Count sat suddenly upright, the canvaschair creaking under his weight.

'Gino,' he murmured uneasily. 'There is something verystrange taking place out there.'

Both of them peered anxiously out through the rifle slots inthe thatched wall of the blind at the billowing dust-clouds thatraced down upon them with quite alarming speed.

'Gino, is it possible ?' asked the Count.

'No, my Count,' Gino assured him, but without any trueconviction. 'It is the mirage. It is not possible.'

'Are you certain, Gino ?' The Count's voice took on a stridentedge.

'No, my Count.'

'Nor am I, Gino. What does it look like to you ?'

'It looks like' Gino's voice choked off. CI do not like to say,my Count,' he whispered. 'I think I am going mad.'

At that moment the Captain of tanks, whose efforts to catchup with the fleeing armoured car and stampeding elephant wereunavailing, opened fire with the 50 mm Spandau upon them.More accurately, he opened fire in the general direction of therolling dust-cloud which obscured his forward vision, andthrough which he caught only occasional glimpses of beast andmachine. To confound further the aim of his gunner, the rangewas rapidly increasing, the manoeuvres with which the armouredcar was trying to throw off the close pursuit of the elephant wereviolent and erratic, and the cavalry tank itself was plunging andleaping wildly over the rough ground.

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'Fire!' shouted the Captain. 'Keep firing/ and his gunner senthalf a dozen high-explosive shells screeching low over the plain.The other tanks heard the banging of their Captain's cannonand immediately and enthusiastically followed his example.

One of the first shells struck the thatched front wall of dieblind in which the Count and Gino cowered in horrified fasci-nation. The flimsy wall of grass did not trigger the fuse of theshell so there was no explosion, but nevertheless the high-velocity shell passed not eighteen inches from the Count's leftear, with a crack of disrupted air that stunned him, before exit-ing through the rear wall of the blind and howling onwards toburst a mile out in the empty desert.

Cry Wolf

'If the Count no longer needs me5 Gino snapped a hastysalute and before the Count had recovered his wits enough toforbid it, he had dived through the shell hole in the rear wall ofthe blind and hit the ground on the far side, already running.

Gino was not alone. From each of the blinds along the lineleapt the figures of the other hunters, the sound of their hys-terical cries almost drowned by the roar of engines, the trumpet-ing of an angry bull elephant and the continuous thudding roarof cannon fire.

The Count tried to rise from his chair, but his legs betrayedhim and he managed only a series of convulsive leaps. Hismouth gaped wide in his deathly pale face, but no sound cameout of it. The Count was beyond speech, almost beyond move-ment - just the strength for one more desperate heave, and thechair toppled forward, throwing the Count face down upon thesunken earth floor of the blind, where he covered his head withboth arms.

At that instant, the armoured car, still under full throttie,came in through the front wall. The thatched blind exploded around it, but the impetus of the car's charge was sufficient tocarry it in a single leap over the dugout. The spinning wheels hurled inches over the Count's prostrate form, showering himwith a stinging barrage of sand and loose gravel. Then it wasgone.

The Count struggled to sit up, and had almost succeeded 334

when the huge enraged form of the bull elephant pounded overthe blind. One of its great feet struck the Count a glancing blowon the shoulder and he screamed like a band-saw and once againflung himself flat on the floor of the dugout - while the elephantpounded onwards towards the far horizon, still in pursuit of theflying car.

The earth shook beneath the approach of another heavy body,and the Count flattened himself to the floor of the dugout -deafened, dazed and paralysed with terror, until the commanderof tanks stood over him and asked solicitously,

'Was the game to your liking, my Colonel ?'

Even after Gino returned and helped the Count to his feet,dusted him down and helped him into the back seat of the Rolls,the threats and insults still poured from the Count's chokedthroat in a high-pitched stream.

'You are a degenerate and a coward. You are guilty of dere-liction of duty, of gross irresponsibility. You allowed them toescape, sir - and you placed me in deadly peril' They easedthe Count down on the cushions of the Rolls, but as the carpulled away he jumped up to hurl a parting salvo at the Captainof tanks.

'You are an irresponsible degenerate, sir - a coward and abolshevik - and I shall personally command your firing squad'His voice faded into the distance as the Rolls drew away up theridge in the direction of the camp, but the Count's good armwas still waving and gesticulating as they crossed the skyline.

The elephant followed them far out across the desert, long afterthe pursuing tank squadron had been left behind and abandonedthe chase. The old bull lost ground steadily over the last mile orso, until at last he also gave up and stood swaying with exhaus-tion but still shaking out his ears and throwing up his trunk inthat truculent, almost human gesture of challenge and defiance.

Gareth saluted him with respect as they drew away and lefthim, like a tall black monolith, out on the dry pale plains. Thenhe lit two cheroots, crouching down into the turret out of the

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wind, and passed one down to Jake in the driver's compartment.

'A good day's work, old son. We pranged two of the godlessones, and we have put the others in the right frame of mind.'

'How's that again ?' Jake puffed gratefully at the cheroot.

'Next time those tankmen lay eyes on us, they'll not stop tocount consequences, but they'll be after us like a pack of longdogs after a bitch.'

'And that's a good thing ?' Jake removed the cheroot from hismouth to ask incredulously.

'That's a good thing,' Gareth assured him.

'Well, you could have fooled me.' He drove on for a few moreminutes in silence towards the mountains, then shook his headbemusedly.

'Pranged ? What the hell kind of word is that ?'

'Just thought of it this minute,' Gareth said. 'Expressive,what ?'

The Count lay face down upon his cot; he wore only a pair ofsilk shorts, of a pale and delicate blue, embroidered with hisfamily coat of arms.

His body was smooth and pale and plump, with that sleekwell-fed sheen which takes a great deal of money, food anddrink to nourish. On the pale skin his body hair was dark andcurly and crisp as newly picked lettuce leaves. It grew in a lightcloud across his shoulders, and then descended his back to dis-appear at last - like a wisp of smoke - into the cleft of his milkybuttocks that showed coyly above the waist-band of his shorts.

Now the smoothness of his body was spoiled by the ugly redabrasions and new purple bruises which flowered upon his ribsand blotched his legs and arms.

He groaned with a mixture of agony and gratification as Ginoknelt over him, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and worked the liniment into his shoulder. His dark sinewy fingers sankdeeply into the sleek pale flesh, and the stench of liniment stungthe eyes and nostrils.

'Not so hard, Gino. Not so hard, I am badly hurt.'

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CI am sorry, my Colonel,' and he worked on in silence whilethe Count groaned and grunted and wriggled on the bed underhim.

'My Colonel, may I speak ?'

'No,' grunted the Colonel. 'Your salary is already liberal. No,Gino, already I pay you a prince's ransom.'

'My Colonel, you do me wrong. I would not speak of such amundane subject at this time.'

'I am delighted to hear it,' groaned the Count. 'Ah! There!That spot! That's it!'

Gino worked on the spot for a few seconds. 'If you study thelives of the great Italian Generals - Julius Caesar and' Ginopaused here while he searched his mind and more recent historyfor another great Italian General; the silence stretched out andGino repeated, 'Take Julius Caesar, as an example.'

'Yes?'

'Even Julius Caesar did not himself swing the sword. Thetruly great commander stands aside from the actual battle. Hedirects, plans, commands the lesser mortals.'

'That is true, Gino.'

'Any peasant can swing a sword or fire a gun - what are theybut mere cattle ?'

'That is also true.'

'Take Napoleon Bonaparte, or the Englishman Wellington.'Gino had abandoned his search for the name of a victoriousItalian warrior within the last thousand years or so.

'Very well, Gino, take them ?'

'When they fought, they themselves were remote from theactual conflict. Even when they confronted each other at Water-loo, they stood miles apart like two great chess masters, direct-ing, manoeuvring, commanding'

'What are you trying to say, Gino ?'

'Forgive me, my Count, but have you not perhaps let yourcourage blind you, have not your warlike instincts, your instinctto tear the jugular from your enemy ... have you not perhapslost sight of a commander's true role - the duty to stand backfrom the actual fighting and survey the overall battle ?'

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Gino waited with trepidation for the Count's reaction. It hadtaken him all his courage to speak, but even the Count's wrathcould not outweigh the terror he felt at the prospect of beingplunged once more into danger. His place was at the Count'sside; if the Count continued to expose them botii to all theterrors and horrors of this barren and hostile land, then Ginoknew that he could no longer continue. His nerves weretrampled, raw, exposed, his nights troubled with dreams fromwhich he woke sweating and trembling. He had a nerve belowhis left eye that had recendy begun to twitch without control.He was fast reaching the end of his nervous strength. Soonsomething within him might snap.

'Please, my Count. For the good of all of us you must curbyour impetuosity.'

He had touched a responsive chord in his master. He hadvoiced precisely the Count's own feelings, feelings which hadover the last few weeks' desperate adventures become deep-seated convictions. He struggled up on one elbow, lifted hisnoble head with its anguished brow and looked at the littiesergeant.

'Gino,' he said. 'You are a philosopher.'

'You do me too much honour, my Count.'

'No! No! I mean it. You have a certain gutter wisdom, theperceptions of the streets, a peasant philosopher.'

Gino would not himself have put it quite that way, but hebowed his head in acquiescence.

'I have been unfair to my brave boys,' said the Count, andhis whole demeanour changed, becoming radiant and glowingwith good will, like that of a reprieved prisoner. 'I have thoughtonly of myself - my own glory, my own honour, recklessly Ihave plunged into danger, without reckoning the cost. Ignoringthe terrible risk that I might leave my brave boys without aleader - orphans without a father.'

Gino nodded fervendy. 'Who could ever replace you in theirhearts, or at their head ?'

'Gino.' The Count clapped a fatherly hand to his shoulder.'I must be less selfish in the future.'

'My Count, you cannot know how much pleasure it gives me

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to hear it,' cried Gino, and he trembled with relief as he thoughtof long, leisurely days spent in peace and security behind theearthworks and fortifications of Chaldi camp. 'Your duty is tocommand !'

'Plan!' said the Count.

'Direct!' said Gino.

'I fear it is my destiny.'

'Your God-given duty.' Gino backed him up, and as theCount sank down once more upon the cot, he fell with renewedvigour upon the injured shoulder.

'Gino,' said the Count at last. 'When last did we speak ofyour wages Y

'Not for many months, my Count.'

'Let us discuss it now,' said Aldo Belli comfortably. 'You area jewel without price. Say, another hundred lire a month.'

'The sum of one hundred and fifty had crossed my mind,'murmured Gino respectfully.

The Count's new military philosophy was received with un-bounded enthusiasm by his officers, when he explained it tothem that evening in the mess tent, over the liqueurs and cigars.The idea of leading from the rear seemed not only to be prac-tical and sensible, but downright inspired. This enthusiasmlasted only until they learned that the new philosophy appliednot to the entire officer cadre of the Third Battalion, but to theColonel only. The rest of them were to be given every oppor-tunity to make the supreme sacrifice for God, country andBenito Mussolini. At this stage the new philosophy lost muchpopular support.

In the end, only three persons stood to benefit from the re-arrangement - the Count, Gino and Major Luigi Castelani.

The Major was so overjoyed to learn that he now had whatamounted to unfettered command of the battalion that for thefirst time in many years he took a bottle of grappa to his tentthat evening, and sat shaking his head and chuckling fruitilyinto his glass.

The following morning's burning, blinding headache that

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only grappa can produce, combined with his new freedom,made the Major's grip on the battalion all the more ferocious.The new spirit spread like a fire in dry grass. Men cleaned theirrifles, burnished their buttons and closed them to the neck,stubbed out their cigarettes and trembled a little - while Caste-lani rampaged through the camp at Chaldi, dealing out duties,ferreting out the malingerers and stiffening spines with theswishing cane in his right hand.

The honour guard that fell in that afternoon to welcome thefirst aircraft to the newly constructed airfield were so beauti-fully turned out with polished leather and glittering metal, andtheir drill was so smartly performed, that even Count Aldo Bellinoticed it, and commended them warmly.

The aircraft was a three-engined Caproni bomber. It camelumbering in from the northern skies, circled the long runwayof raw earth, and then touched down and raised a long rollingstorm of dust with the wash of its propellers.

The first personage to emerge from the doorway in the bellyof the silver fuselage was the political agent from Asmara, SignorAntolino, looking more rumpled and seedy than ever in hiscreased, ill-fitting tropical linen suit. He raised his straw panamain reply to the Count's flamboyant Fascist salute, and they em-braced briefly - the man stood low on the social and politicalscale - before the Count turned to the pilot.

CI wish to ride in your machine.' The Count had lost interestin his tanks, in fact he found himself actively hating them andtheir Captain. In sober mood he had refrained from executingthat officer, or even packing him off back to Asmara. He hadcontented himself with a full page of scathing comment in theman's service report, knowing that this would destroy his career.A complete and satisfying vengeance, but the Count was finishedwith tanks. Now he had an aircraft. So much more exciting andromantic.

4We will fly over the enemy positions,' said the Count, 'at arespectable height.' By which he meant - out of rifle shot.

'Later,' said the political agent, with such an air of authoritythat the Count drew himself up in a dignified manner, and gave

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the man a haughty stare before which he should have quailed.

'I carry personal and urgent orders from General Badoglio'sown lips/ said the agent, completely unaffected by the stare.

The Count's stiffly dignified mien altered immediately.

'A glass of wine, then,' he said affably, and took the man's

'The General stands now before Amba Aradam. He has themain concentration of the enemy at bay upon the mountain,and under heavy artillery and aerial bombardment. At the rightmoment he will fall upon them - and the outcome cannot be indoubt.'

'Quite right,' nodded the Count sagely; the prospect of fight-ing a hundred miles away to the north filled him with the reflectedwarmth of the glory of Italian arms.

'Within the next ten days, the broken armies of the Ethiopianswill be attempting to withdraw along the road to Dessie and tolink up with Haile Selassie at Lake Tana - but the Sardi Gorgeis like a dagger in their ribs. You know your duty.'

The Count nodded again, but warily. This was much closerto home.

'I have come now to make the final contact with the EthiopianRas who will declare for us, the Emperor-designate of Ethiopia -our secret ally. It is necessary to co-ordinate our final plans, sothat his defection will cause the greatest possible confusionamongst the ranks of the enemy, and his forces can be bestdeployed to support your assault up the gorge to Sardi and theDessie road.'

'Ah!' the Count made a sound which signified neither agree-ment nor dissent.

'My men, working in the mountains, have arranged a meetingwith the Emperor-designate. At this meeting we will make thepromised payment that secures the Ras's loyalty.' The agentmade a moue of distate. 'These people!' and he sighed at thethought of a man who would sell his country for gold. Then hedismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. 'The meeting is

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fixed for tonight. I have brought one of my men with me whowill act as a guide. The place arranged is approximately eightykilometres from here and we will move out at sundown - whichwill give us ample time to reach the rendezvous before theappointed hour of midnight.'

'Very well/ the Count agreed. 'I will place transport at yourdisposal.'

The agent held up a hand. 'My dear Colonel, you will be theleader of the delegation to meet the Ras.'

'Impossible.' The Count would not so swiftly abandon hisnew philosophy. 'I have my duties here - to prepare for theoffensive.' Who knew what new horrors might lurk out in themidnight wastes of the Danakil ?

'Your presence is essential to the success of the negotiations -your uniform will impress the'

'My shoulder, I am suffering from an injury which makestravel most inconvenient -1 shall send one of my officers. ACaptain of tanks, the uniform is truly splendid.'

'No.' The agent shook his head.

'I have a Major - a man of great presence.'

'The General expressly instructed that you should lead thedelegation. If you doubt this, your radio operator could estab-lish immediate contact with Asmara.'

The Count sighed, opened his mouth, closed it again, andthen regretfully abandoned his vow to remain within the peri-meter of Chaldi camp for the duration of the campaign.

'Very well,' he conceded. 'We will leave at sundown.'

The Count was not about to plunge recklessly into danger again. The convoy which left Chaldi that evening in the fieryafterglow of the sunset was led by two CV.3 cavalry tanks, thenfollowed four truck-loads of infantry, and behind them the re-maining two tanks made up a formidable rearguard.

The Rolls was sandwiched neatly in the centre of this column. The political agent sat on the seat beside the Count, with hisfeet firmly on the heavy wooden case on the floorboards. The

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guide that the agent had produced from the fuselage of theCaproni was a thin, very dark Galla, with one opaque eyeballof blue jelly caused by tropical ophthalmia which gave him aparticularly villainous cast of features. He was dressed in aonce-white shamma that was now almost black with filth, andhe smelled like a goat that had recently fought a polecat. TheCount took one whiff of him and clapped his perfumed hand-kerchief to his nose.

'Tell the man he is to ride in the leading tank - with theCaptain,' and a malicious expression gleamed in his dark eyesas he turned to the Captain of tanks. 'In the tank, do you hear ?On the seat beside you in the turret.'

They drove without lights, jolting slowly across the moon-silver plains under the dark wall of the mountains. There wasa single horseman waiting for them at the rendezvous, a darkshape in the darker shadows of a massive camel-thorn. Theagent spoke with him in Amharic and then turned back to theCount.

'The Ras suspects treachery. We are to leave the escort hereand go on alone with this man.'

'No,' cried the Count. 'No! No! I refuse - I simply refuse.'It took almost ten minutes of coaxing, and the repeated men-tion of General Badoglio's name, to change the Count's stance.Miserably, the Count climbed back into the Rolls, and Ginolooked sadly at him from the front seat as the unescorted,terribly vulnerable car moved out into the moonlight, followingthe dark wild horseman on his shaggy pony.

In a rocky valley that cut into the towering bulk of themountains, they had to abandon the Rolls and complete thejourney on foot. Gino and Giuseppe carrying the wooden casebetween diem, the Count with a drawn pistol in his hand, theystaggered on up the treacherous slope of rocks and scree.

In a hidden saucer of rock, around the rim of which wereposted the shadowy, hostile figures of sentries, was a largeleather tent. Around it were tethered scores of the wild, shaggyponies - and the interior was lit by smoky paraffin lamps andcrowded with rank upon rank of squatting warriors. Their faces

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were so black in the dim light that only the whites of their eyesand the gleam of their teeth showed clearly.

The political agent strode ahead of the Count, down the openaisle, to where a robed figure reclined on a pile of cushionsunder a pair of lanterns. He was flanked by two women, stillvery young, but full-blown - heavy-breasted, and pale-skinned,dressed in brilliant silks, both of them wearing crudely wroughtsilver jewellery dangling from their ears and strung about theirlong graceful necks. Their eyes were dark and bold, and atanother time and in different circumstances the Count's interestwould have been intense. But now his knees felt rubbery, andhis heart thumped like a war drum. The political agent had tolead him forward by the arm.

'The Emperor-designate,' whispered the agent, and the Countlooked down on the bloated, effeminate dandy who lolled uponthe cushions, his fat fingers covered with rings and his eyelidspainted like those of a woman. 'Ras Kullah, of the Gallas.'

'Make the correct reply,' instructed the Count, his voicehoarse with strain, and the Ras eyed the Count with apprehen-sion as the agent made a long flowery speech. The Ras wasimpressed with the imposing figure in its sinister black uniform.In the lamplight, the insignia glittered and the heavy enamelledcross on its ribbon of watered silk blinked like a beacon. TheRas's eyes dropped to the jewelled dagger and ivory-handledpistol at the Count's belt, the weapons of a rich and noblewarrior - and he looked up again into the Count's eyes. Theyalso glittered with an almost feverish fanatical light, the Count 'sregular features were flushed angrily and a murderous scowlfarrowed his brow. He breathed like a fighting bull. The Rasmistook the signs of fatigue and extreme fear for the warlike rage of a berserker. He was impressed and awed.

Then his attention was drawn irresistibly away from theCount, as Gino and Giuseppe staggered into the tent, sweatingin the lamplight, and bowed over the heavy chest they carried between them. Ras Kullah hoisted himself into a kneelingposition, with his soft paunch bulging forward under theshamma and his eyes glittering like those of a reptile.

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With an abrupt command, he cut short the agent's speech,and beckoned the two Italians to him. With relief they depositedthe heavy chest before the Ras, amid a hubbub of voices fromthe dark mass of watchers. They pressed forward eagerly, thebetter to see the contents of the chest, as the Ras prised openthe clips with the jewelled dagger from his belt, and lifted thelid with his fat pale hands.

The chest was closely packed with paper-wrapped rolls, likewhite candles. The Ras lifted one and slit the paper cover withthe point of his dagger. There was a silent explosion of flatmetal discs from the package. They cascaded into the Ras'sample lap, glittering golden and bright in the lantern light, andhe cooed with pleasure, scooping a handful of the coins. Eventhe Count, with his own vast personal fortune, was impressedby the contents of the chest.

'By Peter and the Virgin,' he muttered.

'English sovereigns,' the agent affirmed. 'But not a high pricefor a land the size of France.'

The Ras giggled and tossed a handful of coins to his nearestfollowers, and they fought and squabbled over the coins ontheir hands and knees. Then the Ras looked up at the Countand patted the cushions, grinning happily, motioning him to beseated, and the Count responded gratefully. The long walk upthe valley and his fevered emotions had weakened his legs. Hesank down on the cushions and listened to the long list of furtherdemands that the Ras had prepared.

'He wants modern rifles, and machine guns,' translated theagent.

'What is our position ?' asked the Count.

'Of course we cannot give them to him. In a month's time, ora year, he may be an enemy not an ally. You cannot be certainwith these Gallas.'

'Say the correct thing.'

'He wants your assurance that the female agent provocateur and the two white brigands in the Harari camp are delivered tohim for justice as soon as they are captured.'

'There is no reason against this ?'

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'Indeed, it will save us trouble and embarrassment.'

'What will he do with them - they are responsible for thetorture and massacre of some of my brave lads ?' The Countwas recovering his confidence, and the sense of outrage returnedto him. 'I have eye-witness accounts of the terrible atrocitiescommitted on helpless prisoners of war. The wanton shootingof bound prisoners - justice must be done. They must meetretribution.'

The agent grinned without mirth. 'I assure you, my dearCount, that in the hands of Ras Kullah they will meet a fate farmore terrible than you would imagine in your worst nightmares,'and he turned back to the Ras and said in Amharic, 'You haveour word on it. They are yours to do with as you see fit.'

The Ras smiled, like a fat golden cat, and the tip of his tongueran across his swollen purple hps, from one corner of his mouthto the other.

By this time, the Count had recovered his breath, and realiz-ing that contrary to all his expectations the Ras was friendly andthat he was not in imminent danger of having his throat slit andhis personal parts forcibly removed, the Count regained muchof his old aplomb.

'Tell the Ras that I want from him, in exchange, a full accountof the enemy's strength - the number of men, guns and armouredvehicles that are guarding the approaches to the gorge. I want toknow the enemy's order of battle, the exact location of all hisearthworks and strong points - and particularly I want to beinformed of the positions occupied by the Ras's own Gallas atthe present time. I want also the names and ranks of all foreigners serving with the enemy' He went on ticking off the points oneat a time on his fingers, and the Ras listened with growing awe.Here was a warrior, indeed.

'We have to bait the trap,' said Gareth Swales.

He and Jake Barton squatted side by side in the shade cast bythe hull of Priscilla the Pig. Gareth had a short length of twigin his right hand, and he had been using it to draw out his

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strategy for receiving the renewed thrust by the Italians.

'It's no good sending horsemen. It worked once, it's not goingto work again.'

Jake said nothing, but frowned heavily at the complicateddesigns that Gareth had traced on the sandy earth.

'We hav^ conditioned the tank commander. The next look hegets at an armoured car, and he's going to be after it like'

'Like a long dog after a bitch,' said Jake. ^

'Exactly,' Gareth nodded. 'I was just going to say that my-self.'

'You already did,' Jake reminded him.

'We'll send out one car - one is enough - and hold another inreserve - here.' Gareth touched the sand map. 'If anything goeswrong with the first car'

'Like a high-explosive shell between the buttocks?' Jakeasked.

'Precisely. If that happens the second car pops in like this andkeeps them coming on.'

'The way you tell it, it sounds great.'

'Piece of cake, old son, nothing to it. Trust the celebratedSwales genius.'

'Who takes the first car ?' Jake asked.

'Spin you for it,' Gareth suggested, and a silver Maria Theresaappeared as if by magic in his hand.

'Heads,' said Jake.

'Oh, tough luck, old son. Heads it is.' Jake's hand was quickas a striking mamba. It snapped closed on Gareth's wrist andheld his hand in which the silver coin was cupped.

'I say,' protested Gareth. 'Surely you don't believe that Imight' and then he shrugged resignedly.

'No offence,' Jake assured him, turned Gareth's hand towardshim and examined the coin cupped in his palm.

'Lovely lady, Theresa,' murmured Gareth. 'Lovely high fore-head, very sensual mouth - bet she was a real goer, what ?'

Jake released his wrist, and stood up, dusting his breeches tocover his embarrassment.

'Come on, Greg. We'd better get ready,' he called across to

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where the young Harari was supervising the preparations takingplace on the higher ground above where the cars were parked.

'Good luck, old son,' Gareth called after them. 'Keep yourhead well down.'

Jake Barton sat on the edge of Priscilla's turret with his longlegs dangling into the hatch, and he looked up at the mountains.Only their lower slopes were visible, rising steeply into the vasttowering mass of cloud that rose sheer into the sky.

The cloud mass bulged, swelling forward and spilling withthe slow viscosity of treacle down the harsh ranges of rock. Themountains had disappeared, swallowed by the cloud monster,and the soft mass heaved like a belly digesting its prey.

For the first time since they had entered the Danakil, the sunwas obscured. The cold came off the clouds in gusts, touchingJake with icy fingers of air, so that the gooseflesh pimpled hismuscular forearms and he shivered briefly.

Gregorius sat beside him on the turret, looking up also at thesilver and dark blue of the thunderheads.

'The big rains will begin now.'

'Here?'

'No, not down here in the desert, but upon the mountains therain will fall with great fury.'

For a few moments longer, Jake stared up at the pinnaclesand glaring slopes of grandeur and menace, then he turned hisback upon them and swept the rolling tree-dotted plains to theeastward. As yet, there was no sign of the Italian advance thatthe scouts had reported, and he turned again and focused hisbinoculars on the lower slopes of the gorge at the point fromwhich Gareth would signal the enemy's movements to him.There was nothing to be seen but broken rock and the tumbledslopes of scree and rubble.

He dropped his scrutiny lower to where the last small dunesof red sand lapped like wavelets against the great rock reef ofthe mountains. There were wrinkles in the surface of the plain,sparsely covered with the pale seared desert grasses, but in their

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troughs thick coarse bush had taken root. The bush was tall anddense enough to hide the hundreds of waiting Harari who laypatiently, belly down, under its cover. Gareth had worked outthe method of dealing with the Italian tanks, and it was he whohad sent Gregorius up the gorge to the village of Sardi with agang of a hundred men and fifty camels. Under Greg's direc-tion, they had torn up the rails from the shunting yard of therailway station, packed the heavy steel rails on to the camels andbrought them down the perilous path to the desert floor.

Gareth had explained how the rails were to be used, split hisforce into gangs of twenty men each and exercised them withthe rails until they were as efficient as he could hope for. All thatwas needed now was for Priscilla the Pig to lead the Italian tanksinto the low dunes.

Without armour, Gareth estimated they could hold theItalians for a week at the mouth of the gorge. His order ofbattle placed the Harari on the left and centre, in good positionsthat interlocked with those of the Galla on the right flank. TheVickers guns had lanes of fire laid down that would make anyinfantry assault by the Italians suicidal witiiout armoured cover.

They would have to blast their way into the gorge with artil-lery and aerial bombardment. It would take them a week at theleast - that is, if they could persuade Ras Golam from attackingthe Italians, a task which promised to be difficult, for the oldRas's fighting blood was coursing through his ancient veins.

Once they forced the mouth of the gorge and drove theEthiopian forces into its gut, they had another week's hardpounding to reach the top and the town of Sardi - provided onceagain that the Ras could be restrained in the role of defender.

Once the Italians broke out of the head of the gorge, thearmoured cars could be flung in to hold them for a day or twomore, but when they were expended, it was all over. It was aneasy drive for the Italians through the rolling highlands on tothe Dessie road, to close the jaws of the trap - hopefully afterthe prey had fled.

Gareth had reported all this to Lij Mikhael, contacting himby telegraph at the Emperor's headquarters on the shores of

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Lake Tana. The Prince had telegraphed back the Emperor'sgratitude and assurances that within two weeks the destiny ofEthiopia would be decided.

'hold the gorge for two weeks and your duty will be

fully discharged stop you will have earned the gratitudeof the emperor and all the peoples of ethiopia.'

A week here on the plains, but it all depended on this firstencounter with the Italian armour. Gareth and Jake's observa-tions, backed up by those of the scouts, placed the total numberof surviving Italian tanks at four. They must take them out at asingle stroke, the whole defence of the gorge pivoted on this.

Jake found that he had been day-dreaming, his mind wander-ing over the problems they faced and the chances they musttake. It took Gregorius' hand on his shoulder to rouse him.

'Jake! The signal.'

Quickly he looked back at the slope of the mountains, andhe did not need the binoculars. Gareth was signalling with aprimitive heliograph he had contrived with the shaving-mirrorfrom his toilet bag. The bright flashes of light pricked Jake'seyeballs even at that range.

'They are coming in across the valley, line abreast. All fourtanks, supported by motorized infantry.' Jake read the signal,and jumped into the driver's hatch while Gregorius slid downthe side of the hull and ran to the crank handle.

'That's my darling.' Jake thanked Priscilla, as the enginespluttered busily into fife, and then he called up to Gregorius ashe climbed into the turret above him. 'I'll warn you every timeI turn to engage.'

'Yes, Jake.' The boy's eyes burned with the fire of his anger,and Jake grinned.

cAs bad as his grandpappy.' He let in the clutch. Theygathered speed swifdy and flew over the crest of the rise, andbehind them rolled a long billow of dust, proclaiming theirwhereabouts to all the world.

The line of Italian tanks was coming straight in, a mile and ahalf out on their flank.

'Engaging now,' shouted Jake.

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'Ready.' Gregorius was crouched over the Vickers in theturret, straining it to the limit of its traverse, ready to fire at thevery instant the gun could bear.

Jake put the wheel over hard, and Priscilla swung towards thedistant dark beetle shapes of the Italian armour, sailing jauntilyright into their teeth.

Above Jake the Vickers roared, and the spent cartridgesspewed down into the hull, ringing and pinging against the steelsides, while the sudden acrid stink of burned cordite made Jake'seyes sting and flood with tears.

Through blurred eyes he watched the electric white tracer arcout across the open ground, and fall about the leading tank.Even at that range, Jake made out the tiny spurting fountains ofdust and dirt kicked up by the hose of bullets.

'Good lad,' grunted Jake; it was accurate shooting from thebouncing, bounding car at extreme range. Of course, it could dono damage to the thick steel armour of the CV.3, but it wouldcertainly startle and anger the crew, goad them into retaliation.

As he thought it, Jake saw the turret of the tank traversearound as the commander called the target. The stubby barrelof the Spandau foreshortened rapidly, and then disappeared.Jake was looking directly down the muzzle.

He counted slowly to three, it would take that long for thegunner to get on to him, then he yelled,

'Disengaging!' and flung Priscilla hard over, so that she cameup on two wheels, ungainly and awkward as she swung awayfrom the enemy line. From the corner of his eye Jake saw theglow of the muzzle flash, and almost instantly afterwards heardthe crack of passing shot.

'Son of a gun - that was close!' he muttered, and reached upto throw the hatch and visor open. There was no point in closingdown, these Spandau could penetrate any point of the car's hullas though it were made of papier mdchi - and Jake would need agood and unlimited view during the next desperate minutes.

Running parallel to the Italian line, he looked across and sawthat all four tanks were firing now, and they were bunching,each tank turning towards him as he raced across their front,

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losing their rigid pattern of advance in their eagerness to keepPriscilla under fire.

'Come along/ muttered Jake. 'Three balls for a dollar, gentle-men, every throw a coconut!' It was too close to the truth to befunny, but he grinned nevertheless. 'Jake Barton's famous coco-nut shy.'

A shell burst close alongside, showering sand and gravel intothe open hatch. They were ranging in on him now, it was timeto confuse the range again.

He spat sand from his mouth and yelled, 'Engaging!'

Priscilla spun handily towards the Italian line, and wentbounding in towards them with that prim rocking action, herugly old silhouette grim and uncompromising as the visage ofa Victorian matron.

They were close, horribly frighteningly close, so that Jakecould hear the Vickers bullets hammering against the blackcarapace of the leading tank. Gregorius had picked out theformation leader by his command pennant, and was concen-trating all his fire upon him.

'Good thinking,' grunted Jake. 'Get the bastard's blood up.'As he spoke, there was a thunderous clank close beside his head,as though a giant had swung a hammer against the steel hull, andthe car reeled to the blow.

'We've taken a hit,' Jake thought desperately, and his earsbuzzed from the impact and there was the hot acrid stench ofburned paint and hot metal in his nostrils. He swung the wheelover and Priscilla responded as handsomely as ever, turningsharply away from the Italian line.

Jake stood up in his compartment, sticking his head out intothe open and he saw immediately how lucky they had been. Theshell had struck one of the brackets he had welded on to thesponson to carry the arms crates. It had torn the bracket away,and dented the hull, leaving the metal glowing with the heat of the strike - but the hull was intact, they had not been penetrated.

'Are you all right, Greg ?' he yelled as he dropped back intohis seat.

'They are following, Jake,' the boy called down to him, ignor-ing the hit. 'They are after us - all of them.'

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'Home and mother - here we come/ Jake said, and turneddirectly away from them, once again changing the range andaim of the Italian gunners abruptly.

Cry Wolf

Shot burst close, driving the air in upon their eardrums, andmaking them both flinch involuntarily.

'We are pulling too far ahead, Jake,' called Greg, and Jakeglancing up saw that he had his hatch open and his head out.

'Lame bird,' Jake decided reluctantly. If they outstripped theItalians too rapidly, there was a danger they would abandon thechase.

Another shell burst close alongside, covering them with aveil of pale dust, and Jake faked a hit, cutting back the throttleso that their speed bled off, and he swung Priscilla into anerratic broken pattern of flight, like a bird with a broken wing.

'They're gaining on us now,' Greg reported gleefully.

'Don't sound so damned happy about it,' Jake muttered, buthis voice was lost in the whine and crack of passing shot.

'They're still coming,' howled Greg. 'And they're still shoot-ing.'

'I noticed.' Jake peered ahead, still flinging the car mercilesslyfrom side to side. The ridge of the first dune was half a mileahead, but it seemed like an hour later that he felt the earth tiltup under him and they went slithering and skidding up theslip-face of the dune and crashed over the crest into safety.

Jake swung Priscilla into a broadside skid, like a skier per-forming a christy, bringing her to an abrupt halt in the lee ofthe dune and then he backed and manoeuvred up until he wasin a hull-down position behind the sand, with only the turretexposed.

'That's it, Jake,' cried Greg delightedly, as he found hisVickers would bear again. He crouched over it, and fired shortcrisp bursts at the four black tanks that roared angrily towardsthem across the plain.

From the stationary position behind the dune, Gregoriusmade every burst of fire sweep the oncoming hulls, driving theLatin tempers of the crews into frenzy, like the sting of a tsetsefly on the belly of a bull buffalo.

'That's about close enough,' decided Jake, judging the charge

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of enemy armour finely. They were less than five hundred yardsoff now and already they were dropping shell close around thetiny target afforded by the car's turret. 'Let's get the hell out ofhere.'

He swung Priscilla hard and she plunged down the side of thedune into the trough. As she crashed through die dense darkscrub, Jake caught a glimpse of the men lying in wait under thescreen of vegetation. They were stripped to loin-cloths, huddleddown over the long steel rails, and two of them had to rollfrantically aside to avoid being crushed beneath Priscilla's tall,heavily bossed wheels.

The momentum of her charge down the side of the dunecarried her up on the second dune with loose sand pouring outin a cloud from her spinning rear wheels. She reached the crestand went over it at speed, dropping with a gut-swooping divedown the far side.

Jake cut the engine before she had come to rest, and he andGregorius sprang out of the opened hatches and went peltingback up the dune, labouring in the heavy loose footing, andpanting as they reached the crest and looked down into thetrough at almost the same instant as the four Italian tanks cameover the crest opposite them. Their tracks boiling in the loosesand, they came crashing over the top of the dune, and roareddown into the trough.

They tore into the thick bank of scrub, and immediately diebush was alive with naked black figures. They swarmed aroundthe monstrous wallowing hulls like ants around the bodies ofshiny black scarab beetles.

Twenty men to each steel rail, using it like a battering ram,they charged in from each side of every tank, thrusting the endof the rail into the sprocketed jockey wheels of the tracks.

The rail was caught up immediately, and with the screech ofmetal on metal was whipped out of the hands of the men whowielded it - hurling them effortlessly aside. To an engineer, thesound that the machines made as they tore themselves to pieceswas like the anguish of living things, like that terrible death squeal of a horse.

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The steel rails tore the jockey wheels out of them, and thetracks sprang out of their seating on the sprockets and whippedinto the air, flogging themselves to death in a cloud of dust andtorn vegetation.

It was over very swiftly, the four machines lay silent andstalled, crippled beyond hope of repair - and around them laythe broken bodies of twenty or more of the Ethiopians who hadbeen caught up by the flailing tracks as they broke loose. Thebodies were torn and shredded, as though clawed and mauledby some monstrous predator.

Those who had survived the savage death of the tanks, hun-dreds of almost naked figures, swarmed over the stranded hulls,loolooing wildly and pounding on the steel turrets with theirbare hands.

The Italian gunners still inside the hulls fired their machineguns despairingly, but there was no power on their traversinggear and the turrets were frozen. The guns could not be aimed.They were blinded also - for Jake had armed a dozen Ethiopianseach with a bucket of engine oil and dirt mixed to a thick paste.This they had slapped in gooey handfuls over the drivers' andgunners' visors. The tank crews were helplessly imprisoned andthe attackers pranced and howled like demented things. Thedin was such that Jake did not even hear the approach of theother car.

It stopped on the crest of the dune opposite where Jake stood.The hatches were flung open, and Gareth Swales and Ras Golamleaped out of the hull.

The Ras had his sword with him, and he swung it around hishead as he charged down the slope to join his men around thecrippled tanks.

Across the valley that separated them, Gareth threw Jake acavalier salute, but beneath the mockery, Jake sensed real re-spect. Each of them ran down into the trough and they metwhere the gallon cans of gasoline were buried under a fine layerof sand and cut branches.

Gareth spared a second to punch Jake lightly on the shoulder.

'Hit the beggars for six, what ? Good for you,' and then they

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stooped to drag the cans out of the shallow hole, and with onein each hand staggered through the waist-deep scrub to the tankcarcasses.

Jake passed a can up to Gregorius who was already perchedon the turret of the nearest tank where his grandfather wastrying to prise open the turret hatch with the blade of his broad-sword. His eyes flashed and rolled wildly in his wrinkled blackhead, and a high-pitched incoherent 'Looloo' keened from themouthful of flashing artificial teeth - for the Ras was transportedinto the fighting mania of the berserker.

Gregorius hefted the gasoline can up on to the tank's sponson,and plunged his dagger through the thin metal of the lid. Theclear liquid spurted and hissed from the rent, under pressure ofits own volatile gases.

cWet it down good!' shouted Jake, and Gregorius grinnedand splattered gasoline over the hull. The stink of it was sharp,as it evaporated from the hot metal in a shimmering haze.

Jake ran on to the next tank, unscrewing the cap of the canas he clambered up over the shattered jockey wheels. Avoidingthe stationary barrel of the forward machine gun, he stood tallon the top of the turret and splashed gasoline over the hull,until it shone wetly in the sunlight and little rivulets of the stufffound the joints and gaps in the plating and splattered into theinterior.

'Get back,' shouted Gareth. 'Everybody back.' He had dousedthe other steel carcasses and he stood now on the slope of thedime with an unfit cheroot in the corner of his mouth and a boxof Swan Vestas in his left hand.

Jake jumped lightly down from the hull, laying a trail ofgasoline from the can he carried as he backed up to whereGareth waited.

'Hurry. Everybody out of the way,' Gareth called again.Gregorius was laying a wet trail of gasoline back to Gareth.

'Somebody go get that old bastard out of the way,' Gareth called with exasperation. A single figure pranced and howled and loolooed on the nearest tank, and Jake and Gregorius dropped the empty cans and raced back. Ducking under the

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swinging arc of the sword, Jake got an arm around the Ras'sskinny, bony chest, swung him bodily off his feet and passedhim down to his grandson. Between them they carried himaway to safety, still howling and struggling.

Gareth struck one of the Swan Vestas and casually lit thecheroot in his mouth. When it was drawing nicely, he cuppedthe match to let the flame flare brightly.

'Here we go, chaps/ he murmured. 'Guy.Fawkes, Guy. Stickhim in the eye. Hang him on a lamp post' he flicked the burn-ing match on to the gasoline-sodden earth, cand leave himthere to die.'

For a moment nothing happened, and then with a thump thatconcussed the air against their eardrums, the gasoline ignited.Instantly the belt of scrub turned to a tall roaring red inferno,and the flames boiled and swirled, leaped and drummed highinto the desert air, engulfing the four stranded tanks in sheets offire that obscured their menacing silhouettes.

The Ethiopians watched from the dunes, awed by the terriblepageant of destruction they had created. Only the Ras stilldanced and howled at the edge of the flames, the blade of hissword reflecting the red leaping flames.

The hatches of the nearest tank were thrown open, and outinto the searing air leaped three figures, indisctinct and shadowythrough the flames. Beating wildly at their burning uniforms,the tank crew came staggering out on to the slope of the dune.

The Ras flew to meet them, the sword hissing and glinting asit swung. The head of the tank commander seemed to leap fromhis fire-blackened shoulders, as the blade cut through. The headstruck the ground behind him and rolled back down the dimelike a ball, while the decapitated trunk dropped to its knees witha fine crimson spray from the neck pumping straight up into theair.

The Ras raced on towards the other survivors, and his menroared angrily and swarmed forward after him. Jake uttered ahorrified oath and started forward to restrain them.

'Easy, old son.' Gareth caught Jake's arm, and swung himaway. 'This is no time for one of your boy scout acts.'

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From below them rose the ugly blood roar of the destroyers,as they fell upon the survivors of the other tanks, and theItalians' screams cut like a whiplash across Jake's nerves.

'Let's leave them to it.' Garedi drew Jake away. 'Not ourbusiness, old boy. The beggars have got to take their ownchances. Rules of the game.'

Across the crest of the dime they leaned together against thesteel hull of Priscilla. Jake was panting heavily from his exer-tions and his horror. Gareth found him a slightly crumpledcheroot in the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, and straightenedit carefully before placing it between Jake's lips.

'Told you before, your sentimental but endearing ways willget us both into trouble. They'd have torn you to pieces also ifyou'd gone down there.'

He lit Jake's cheroot.

'Well, old boy' he changed the subject diplomatically.'That takes care of our biggest problem. No tanks - no worries,that's an old Swales family motto,' and he chuckled lightly.'We'll be able to hold diem at the mouth of the gorge for anotherweek now. No trouble at all.'

Abrupdy the sunlight was obscured, and instantiy the tem-perature dropped sharply. Both of them glanced up involun-tarily at the sky, at the gloom and the sudden chill.

In the last hour, the masses of cloud had come slumpingdown from the mountains, blotting them out completely, andspreading out on to the fringes of the Danakil desert. From thisthick, dark mattress of swirling cloud, fine pale streamers ofrain were already spiralling down towards the plain. Jake felt adroplet splatter against his forehead and he wiped it away withthe back of his hand.

'I say, we're in for a drop or two,' murmured Gareth, and asif in confirmation the deep mutter of thunder echoed down fromthe cloud-shrouded mountains, and lightning flared sulkily,trapped within the towering cloud masses and lighting theminternally with a smouldering infernal glow.

'That's going to make things' Gareth cut himself off, andboth of them cocked their heads.

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'Hello, that's decidedly odd.' Faintly on the brooding air,carrying above the mutter of thunder, came the popping ofmusketry and the sound of machine-gun fire, like the sound oftearing silk, made indistinct and unwarlike by distance and themuting banks of heavy cloud.

'Deuced odd,' Gareth repeated. 'There should not be anyfiring from there.' It was in their rear, seeming to come fromthe very mouth of the gorge itself.

'Come on,' snapped Jake, picking his binoculars out ofPriscilla's hatch and scrambling through the loose red sand forthe crest of the tallest dune.

The cloud and misty streamers of rain obscured the mouth ofthe gorge, but now the sound of gunfire was continuous.

'That's not just a skirmish,' muttered Gareth.

'It's a full-scale fire fight,' Jake agreed, peering through thebinoculars.

'What is it, Jake ?' Gregorius came up the dune to where theystood. He was followed by his grandfather - but the old manmoved slowly, exhausted and stiff with age and the aftermath ofburned-out passions.

'We don't know, Greg.' Jake did not lower the binoculars.

'I don't understand it.' Gareth shook his head. 'Any Italianprobe from the south would have rim into our positions in thefoothills, and from the north it would have run into the Gallas.Ras Kullah is in a pretty strong spot there. We would have heardthe fighting. They can't have gone through there'

'And we are here in the centre,' Jake added, 'they didn't comethrough here.'

'It doesn't make sense.'

At that moment, the Ras reached the crest. He paused wearilyand removed the teeth from his mouth, wrapped them carefullyin a kerchief and tucked them away in some secret recess ofhis shamma. The mouth collapsed into a dark empty pit, andimmediately he looked his age again.

Quickly Gregorius explained this new phenomenon to the oldman, and while he listened he ran the blade of his sword intothe dune between his feet, scrubbing it clean of the clotted black

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blood in the dry friable sand. He spoke suddenly in his tremu-lous old man's voice.

4My grandfather says that Ras Kullah is a piece of dried dungof a venereal hyena/ Gregorius translated quickly. 'And he saysmy uncle, Lij Mikhael, was wrong to treat with him, and thatyou were wrong to trust him.'

'Now what the hell does that mean ?' Jake demanded fret-fully, and lifted the binoculars sweeping again towards themouth of the Sardi Gorge away across the undulating goldenplain - then he exclaimed again. 'Damn it to hell, everything isblowing up. That crazy woman! She promised me, she sworeon oath that she would keep out of it for once - and now hereshe comes again!'

Emerging through the curtains of rain, indistinct under thedark rolling mass of cloud, throwing no dust column on therain-dampened earth, the tiny sand-coloured shape of MissWobbly came bowling towards them with its distinctive statelygait. Even at this distance, Jake could make out the dark speckof Sara's head in the hatch of the high, old-fashioned turret.

Jake started to run down the slip-face of the dune to meet theoncoming car.

'Jake!' Vicky screeched above the engine beat, before shecame to a halt, her head thrust out of the driver's hatch, hergolden hair shaking in the wind and her eyes huge in the paleintense face.

'What the hell are you doing ?' Jake shouted back angrily.

'The Gallas,' Vicky screeched. 'They've gone! Every lastman of them! Gone!'

She braked hard and tumbled down to the ground so thatJake had to catch and steady her.

'What do you mean - gone ?' Gareth demanded, coming upat that moment - and Sara answered him from Miss Wobbly' sturret with her dark eyes sparkling hotly.

'They went, like smoke, like the dirty hill bandits they are.'

'The left flank' Gareth exclaimed.

'Nobody there. The Italians have come through withoutfiring a shot. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They are at thegorge, they have overrun the camp.'

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'Jake, they would have cut off all our own Harari, it wouldhave been a massacre - Sara gave the order, in her grandfather'sname, she ordered them to abandon the right flank.'

'Oh, good Christ I'

'They are trying to fight their way back into the gorge now -but the Italians are covering the mouth with machine guns. It'sterrible, Jake, oh the desert is thick with the dead.'

'We've lost it all. Everything we gained^at a single throw, it'sall gone. This was a feint, the tanks were sent to draw us off. Themain attack was through the left - but how did they know theGallas had deserted ?'

'As my grandfather says, never trust either a snake or a Galla.'

'Oh Jake, we must hurry.' Vicky shook his arm. 'They'll cutus off.'

'Right,' snapped Gareth. 'We'll have to get back into thegorge and rally them on the first line of defence in the gorgeitself - otherwise they'll run straight back to Addis Ababa.' Heswung around to Gregorius. 'If we try and take these men,' andhe indicated the hundreds of half-naked, unarmed Harari whowere now straggling out of the dunes, 'if we try to take themback through the mouth of the gorge, they'll be shot to piecesby the Italian guns. Can they find their own way on foot up themountain slopes ?'

'They are mountain men,' Gregorius answered simply.

'Good. Tell them to work their way back and assemble at thefirst waterfall in the gorge. That's the rallying point - the firstwaterfall.' He turned back to the others. 'On the other hand, we'll have to use the gorge - the only way to save the cars. We'llrush the mouth in a tight formation - and pray that the Eyetieshaven't had a chance to bring up their artillery yet. Let's go!'He grabbed Ras Golam by the shoulder and dragged him, at anawkward run, back towards where they had left their armouredcar parked on the crest of the first dune.

'Get back in the car,' Jake instructed Vicky. 'Keep the enginerunning. We'll bring up the two other cars. I want you in thecentre of the line, then go like hell. Don't stop for anything untilwe are into the gorge. Do you hear me ?'

Vicky nodded grimly.

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'Good girl/ he said, and would have turned away, but Vickyheld his arm and pressed herself to him. She reached up andkissed him full on the lips, her mouth open and wet and soft andsweet.

'I love you,5 she whispered huskily.

cOh my darling, what a hell of a time you picked to tell me.'

'I only just found out,' she explained, and he crushed herfiercely to his chest.

'Oh, that's lovely,' cried Sara from the turret above them.'That's beautiful.' She clapped her hands delightedly.

'Until later,' whispered Jake. 'Now get out of here!' and heturned her away and pushed her towards the car. He turnedhimself and ran lightly back into the dunes, with his heartsinging.

'Oh, Miss Camberwell, I am so pleased for you.' Sara reacheddown to help Vicky up on to the hull. 'I knew it was going to beMr Barton. I picked him for you long ago, but I wanted you tofind out for yourself.'

'Sara, my dear. Please don't say any more.5 Vicky hugged herbriefly before dropping into the driver's hatch. 'Or the wholething will turn upside down again.'

Ras Golam was so tired and drained that he could move onlyat a creaking walk up the dune, even though Gareth tried toprod him into a trot. He plodded on up the dime dragging thesword behind him.

Suddenly there was a sound in the sky above them, as thoughthe heavens had been split by all the winds of hell. A rising,rattling shriek that passed and then erupted in a toweringcolumn of sand and yellow swirling fumes against the side ofthe dune ahead of them, fifty paces below the car diat wassilhouetted upon the crest.

'Guns,' said Gareth unnecessarily. 'Time to go, Grandpa,'and he would have prodded the Ras again, but there was noneed. The sound of gunfire had rejuvenated the Ras instantiy;he leaped high in the air, uttering that dreadful screech of achallenge and hunting frantically for his teeth in the folds of hisshamma.

'Oh no, you don't.5 Grimly, Garetii forestalled the next wild 362

suicidal charge by grabbing the Ras and dragging him protest-ingly towards the car. The Ras had tasted blood now, and hewanted to go in on foot with the sword - the way a real warriorfights - and he was frantically searching the open horizons forthe enemy, as Gareth towed him away backwards.

The next shell burst beyond the crest, out of sight in thetrough.

cThe first one under, and the second over,' muttered Gareth,struggling to control the Ras's wild lunges. 'Where does thenext one go ?'

They had almost reached the car when it came in, arcingacross the wide lion-coloured plain, through the low grey cloud,howling and rattling the heavens; it plunged down at an acuteangle, going in through the thin plating behind the turret of thecar, and it burst against the steel floor of the cab.

The car burst like a paper bag. The entire turret was liftedfrom its seating and went high in the air in a flash of crimsonflame and sooty smoke.

Gareth dragged the Ras down on to the sand and held himthere while scraps of flying steel and other debris splatteredaround them. It lasted only seconds and the Ras tried to riseagain, but Gareth held him down while the shattered hull of thecar brewed up into a fiery explosion of burning gasoline and theVickers ammunition in the bins began popping and flying likefireworks.

It lasted a long time, and when at last the crackle of ammuni-tion died away, Gareth lifted his head cautiously; immediatelyanother belt caught and rattled away with white tracer flyingand spluttering, forcing them flat again.

'Come on, Rassey,' sighed Gareth at last. 'Let's see if we canbeg a ride home.' At that moment, the ugly, well-beloved shapeof Priscilla the Pig roared abruptly over the crest of the duneand slewed to a halt above them.

'God,' Jake shouted from the driver's hatch. 'I thought youwere in it when she blew. I came to pick up the pieces.'

Dragging the Ras, Gareth climbed up the side of the tall hull.

'This is becoming a habit,' Gareth grunted. 'That's two I oweyou.'

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Til send you an account/ Jake promised, and then duckedinstinctively as the next shell came shrieking in to burst so closethat dust and smoke blew into their faces.

'I get this strange feeling we should move on now/ suggestedGareth mildly. That is, if you have no other plans.' Jake sentthe car plunging steeply down the face of the dune, turninghard as he hit the firmer earth of the plain and setting a runningcourse for where the mouth of the gorge was hidden by thesmoky writhing curtains of cloud and rain.

Vicky Camberwell saw them coming and she swung MissWobbly and gunned her on to a parallel course. Wheel to wheel,the two elderly machines bounded across the flat land, and therain began to crackle against the steel hulls in minute whitebursts that blurred their outlines as the next Italian shell burstfifty feet ahead of them, forcing them to swerve to avoid thefuming crater.

'Can you see where the battery is ?' yelled Jake, and Garethanswered him, clinging to one of the welded brackets above thehatch, rain streaming down his face and soaking the front of hiswhite shirt.

They are in the ground that the Gallas deserted, they'veprobably taken over the trenches I dug with such loving care.'

'Could we have a go at them ?' Jake suggested.

'No we can't, old son. I sited those positions myself. They'retight. You just keep going for the gorge. Our only hope is to getinto the second line of positions that I have prepared at the firstwaterfall.' Then he shook his head sorrowfully, screwing up hiseyes against the stinging raindrops. 'You and this crazy oldbastard,' he turned his head to the Ras beside him, 'you'll be thedeath of me, you two will.'

The Ras grinned happily at him, convinced that they werecharging into a battle again, and deliriously happy at the pros-pect.

'How do you do ?' he cackled, and punched Gareth's shouldergleefully.

'Could be better, old boy,' Gareth assured him. 'Could be alot better,' and they both ducked as the next shell came howlinglow over their heads.

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'Those fellows are improving/ Gareth observed mildly.

'God knows they've had plenty of practice recently/ Jakeshouted, and Gareth rolled his eyes upwards to the heavybruised cloud banks.

'Let there be rain/ he intoned, and instantly the thundercracked and the clouds lit internally with a brilliant electricburst of light. The splattering drops increased their tempo, andthe air turned milky with slanting drumming lances of rain.

'Amazing, Major Swales. I would not have believed it,' saidGregorius Maryam from the turret above Gareth's head, andhis voice was hushed with awe.

'Nothing to it, my lad,' Gareth disclaimed. 'Just a direct lineto the top.'

Rain filled the air in a white teeming fog, so that Jake had toscrew up his eyes against the driving needles, and his black curlsclung in a sodden mass to his scalp.

Rain wiped out the mountains and the rocky portals of thegorge, so that Jake steered by instinct alone. It roared againstdie racing steel hull, and closed down visibility to a circle oftwenty yards. The Italian shellfire stopped abruptly, as thegunners were unsighted.

Rain pounded every inch of exposed skin, striking with aforce that stung painfully, snapping against their faces with a jar-ring impact that made die teeth ache in their jaws, and sent themcrouching for what little cover there was on the exposed hull.

'Good Lord, how long does this go on for ?' protested Garedi,and he spat the sodden butt of his cheroot over the side.

'Four months,' shouted Gregorius. 'It rains for four monthsnow.'

'Or until you tell it to stop.' Jake grinned wryly, and glancedacross at the other machine.

Sara waved reassuringly from the turret of Miss Wobbly, herface screwed up against the driving raindrops and the thickmane of hair plastered to her shoulders and face. Icy rain hadsoaked the silken shamma she wore and it clung transparentiyto her body, and her fat littie breasts showed through as thoughthey were naked, bouncing to each exaggerated movement ofthe car. ^ 365

Suddenly the mist of rain ahead of them was filled with hurry-ing figures, all of them clad in the long sodden shammas of theHarari; carrying their weapons, they were running and stagger-ing 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 astartled oath Jake braked and swung the car violently to avoida 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 camethe tearing ripping sound of the machine guns off in the rainmist.

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

'Now what the hell!' He realized they were alone. 'Thatwoman. That crazy woman,' and he braked, slammed Priscillainto reverse and roared back into the fog until the dark shape ofMiss Wobbly loomed up again.

'No,' said Gareth. 'I can't bear it.'

Vicky and Sara were out of the parked car, hurrying amongstthe piles of bodies, stooping over a wounded warrior and be-tween them dragging him upright and thrusting him throughthe open rear doors of the cab. Others, less gravely wounded,were limping and crawling towards the machine, and draggingthemselves 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'vegot to stop the retreat.' But he might not have spoken, for thetwo women turned back again 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 thehatch.

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Both cars were crammed with dreadfully wounded and dyingNarari, and the hulls were thick with those who still had strengthto hold on, before Vicky was satisfied.

'We've lost fifteen minutes,' Gareth glanced at his pocketwatch in the rain that still poured down with unabated fury.'And that could be enough to get us all killed, and lose us thegorge.'

£It was worth it,' Vicky told him stubbornly, and ran to hercar. Again the heavily burdened machines ground on towardsthe mountain pass, and now they had to ignore the pitifulappeals of the wounded they passed. They lay in huddles ofrags soaked with rain and diluted pink blood, or they crawledpainfully and doggedly on towards the mountains, lifting brown,agonized faces and pleading, clawlike hands as the two machinesroared past in the mist.

Once a freak gap in the rain opened visibility to a mile aroundthem, and a pale shaft of watery sunlight slanted down to strikethe cars like a stage light, glistening on the wet steel hulls.Immediately the Italian machine guns opened on them from arange of a mere two hundred yards, and the bullets cut into theclinging mass of humanity, knocking a dozen of them shriekingfrom their perch before the rain closed in again, hiding them inits soft white protective bosom.

They ran into the main camp below the gorge, and foundthat it was plunged into terrible confusion. It had been heavilyshelled and machine-gunned, and then the rain had turned it allinto a deep muddy soup of broken tukuls, flattened tents, andscattered equipment.

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

Spasmodic fighting was still taking place in the rocky groundaround the camp, and they caught glimpses of Italian uniformson the slopes and muzzle-flashes in the gloom. Every fewseconds a shell would howl in through the rain and cloud andburst with sullen fury somewhere out of sight.

'Head for the gorge,' shouted Gareth. 'Don't stop here,' and

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Jake took the path that skirted the grove of camel-thorns, thedirect path that passed below and out of sight of the fighting onthe slopes, crossed the Sardi River and plunged into the gapingmaw 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 forthe first time. 'They can't hold here - not when the Eyetie bringsup his guns. We've got to get set at the first waterfall to have achance.' He looked back to where the other car should havebeen following, and he groaned.

'No! Oh, please God, no.'

'What is it ?' Jake's head popped out of the driver's hatchwith alarm.

'They've done it again.'

'Who ?' But Jake need not have asked. The following carhad swung off the direct track, and was now storming up throughthe rain-blurred camel-thorn trees, heading for the old tentedcamp in the grove, and only incidentally running directly intothe area where the heavy fighting was still rattling and cracklingin the rain.

'Catch her,' Gareth said. 'Head her off.' Jake swung off thetrack and went zigzagging up through the grove with the rearwheels spinning and spraying red mud and slush. But MissWobbly had a clear start and a straight rim up the secondarytrack directly into the enemy advance; she disappeared amongstthe trees and curtains of rain.

Jake brought the car bellowing out into the camp to find MissWobbly parked in the open clearing. The tents had been flat-tened and the whole area trodden and looted, cases of rationsand clothing burst open and soaked with rain; the muddy redcanvas of the tents hung flapping in the trees or lay half buried.

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

'Get into them, Greg,' he yelled, and the boy crouched down

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behind the gun and fired a long thunderous burst that toreshreds of bark off the trees and dropped at least one of therunning 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, ploddingaround in the soup of red mud, oblivious to the gunfire thatwhickered and crackled about her.

'Vicky!' he cried in despair, and she stooped and snatchedsomething out of the mud with a cry of triumph. Now at lastshe turned and scampered back to Miss Wobbly, crossing a fewfeet in front of Jake.

'What the hell' he protested.

'My typewriter and my toilet bag,' she explained reasonably,holding her muddy trophies aloft. 'One has got my make-up init, and I can't do my job without the other,' and then she smiledlike a wet bedraggled puppy. 'We can go now,' she said.

The track up the gorge was crowded with men and animalstoiling wearily upwards in the icy rain. The pack animals slippedand slidiered in the loose footing. Gareth's relief was intensewhen he saw the bulky shapes of the Vickers strapped to thehumpy backs of a dozen camels, and the cases of ammunitionriding high in the panniers. His men had done their work andsaved the guns.

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

'There's no fight left in them,' said Jake, looking down intothe dispirited brown faces, running with rainwater and shiver-ing in the cold.

'They'll fight,' answered Gareth, and he nudged the Ras.'What do you say, Grandpa ?' The Ras grinned a weary tooth-less grin, but his wet clothing clung to die gaunt old frame likethe rags of a scarecrow, as Jake brought the car round theslippery, glassy hairpin bend below the first waterfall.

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'Pull in here/ Gareth told him, and then scrambled downbeside the hull, drawing the Ras down with him.

'Thanks, old son.' He looked up at Jake. 'Take the cars up toSardi, and get rid of these' He indicated the sorry cargo ofwounded. 'Try and find a suitable building for a hospital.Leave that to Vicky - it'll keep her out of mischief. Either thator we'll have to tie her up' he grinned, and then was serious.'Try and contact Lij Mikhael. Tell him the position here. Tellhim the Gallas have deserted - and I'll be hard pressed to holdthe gorge another week. Tell him we need ammunition, guns,medicine, blankets, food - anything he can spare. Ask him tosend a train down to Sardi with supplies, and to take out thewounded.'

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. Ithink we left most of our supplies down there' - he glanceddown into the misty depths of the gorge - 'and these fellowswon'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 entirestock down there. Can't fight without a whiff or two.' Hegrinned and waved. 'Keep it warm, old son,' he called, andturned away to begin stopping the trudging column of refugees,pushing them off the track towards the prepared trenches thathad been dug into the rocky sides of the gorge, overlooking thedouble sweep of the track below them.

'Come along, chaps,' Gareth shouted cheerfully. 'Who's fora touch of old glory P

'from general badoglio, commander in chief of the africanexpeditionary force before amba aradam, to colonel countaldo belli, officer commanding the danakil column at thewells of chaldi.

'the moment for which we have planned is now at hand,i confront the main body of the enemy, and have hadthem under continuous bombardment for five days. at

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dawn tomorrow i shall attack in force and drive themfrom the high ground back along the dessie road. do younow advance with all despatch to take up a positionastride the dessie road and stem the tide of the enemy'sretreat, so that we may take them on both tines of thepitchfork.'

Forty thousand men lay upon Amba Aradam, cowering in theirtrenches and caves. They were the heart and spine of theEthiopian armies, and the man who led them, Ras Muguletu,was the ablest and most experienced of all the warlords. But hewas powerless and uncertain in the face of such strength andfury as now broke around him. He had not imagined it couldbe so, and he lay with his men, quiescent and stoic. There wasno enemy to confront, nothing to strike out at, for the hugeCaproni bombers droned high overhead and the great guns thatfired the shells were miles below in the valley.

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

Day after day the storm of explosive roared around themuntil they were dazed and stupefied, deafened and uncaring -enduring, only enduring - not thinking, not feeling, notcaring.

On the sixth night the drone of the big three-engined bomberspassed overhead, and Ras Muguletu's men, peering up fearfully,saw the sinister shapes pass overhead, dark against the silverpricking of the stars.

They waited for the bombs to tumble down upon them oncemore, but the bombers circled above the flat-topped mountainfor many minutes and there were no bombs. Then the bombersturned away and the drone of the engines died into the lighten-ing dawn sky.

Only then did the soft insidious dew that they had sown comesifting down out of the still night sky. Gently as the fall of snow-flakes, it settled upon the upturned brown faces, into the fear-

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fully staring eyes, on to the bare hands that held the ancientfirearms at the ready.

It burned into the exposed skin, blistering and eating into theliving flesh like some terrible canker; it burned the eyes in theirsockets, turning them into cherry-red, glistening orbs fromwhich the yellow mucus poured thickly. The pain it inflictedcombined both the searing of concentrated acid and the fierceheat of live coals.

Cry Wolf

In the dawn, while thousands of Ras Muguletu's men whim-pered and cried out in their consuming agony, and their com-rades, bemused and bewildered, tried unavailingly to render aid,in that dreadful moment, the first wave of Italian infantry cameup over the lip of the mountain, and they were into the Ethiopiantrenches before the defenders realized what had happened. TheItalian bayonets blurred redly in the first rays of the morningsun.

The cloud lay upon the highlands, blotting out the peaks, andthe rain fell in a constant deluge. It had rained without ceasingfor the two days and three nights since the disaster of AmbaAradam. The rain had saved them, it had saved the thirty thou-sand survivors of the battle from being overtaken by the samefate as had befallen the ten thousand casualties they had left onthe mountain.

High above the cloud, the Italian bombers circled hungrily;Lij Mikhael could hear them clearly, although the thick blanketof cloud muted the sound of the powerful triple engines. Theywaited for a break in the cloud, to come swooping down uponthe retreat. What a target they would enjoy if that happened!The Dessie road was choked for a dozen miles with the slowunwieldy column of the retreat, the ragged files of trudgingfigures, bowed in the rain, their heads covered with theirshammas, their bare feet sliding and slipping in the mud.Hungry, cold and dispirited, they toiled onwards, carryingweapons that grew heavier with every painful step - still theykept on.

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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 withthe muddy brown rain waters. They had to be bridged by theItalian engineers before the transports could be manhandledacross, and the pursuit continued.

The Italian General Badoglio had been denied a crushingvictory and thirty thousand Ethiopian tropps had escaped himat Aradam.

It was Lij Mikhael's special charge, placed upon him per-sonally by the King of Kings, Haile Selassie, to bring out thosethirty thousand men. To extricate them from Badoglio's talons,and regroup them with the southern army - and the Emperor'spersonal command - upon the shores of Lake Tana. Anotherthirty-six hours and the task would be accomplished.

He sat on the rear seat of the mud-spattered Ford sedan,huddled into the thick coarse folds of his greatcoat, and althoughit was warm and lulling in the sedan interior, and although hewas exhausted to the point at which his hands and feet feltcompletely numb and his eyes as though they were filled withsand, yet no tiiought of sleep entered his mind. There was toomuch to plan, too many eventualities to meet, too many detailsto ponder - and he was afraid. A terrible black fear pervadedhis whole being.

The ease with which the Italian victory had been won atAradam filled him with fear for the future. It seemed as thoughnothing could stand against the force of Italian arms - againstthe big guns, and the bombs and the nitrogen mustard. Hefeared that another terrible defeat awaited them on the shores ofLake Tana.

He feared also for the safety of the thirty thousand in hischarge. He knew that the Danakil column of the Italian expe-ditionary force had fought its way into the Sardi Gorge andmust by now have almost reached the town of Sardi itself. Heknew that Ras Golam's small force had been heavily defeatedon the plains and had suffered doleful losses in the subsequentdefence of the gorge. He feared that they might be swept aside

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at any moment now and that the Italian column would comeroaring like a lion across his rear cutting off his retreat to Dessie.He must have time, a little more time, a mere thirty-six hoursmore.

Then again, he feared the Gallas. At the beginning of theItalian offensive they had taken no part in the fighting but hadmerely disappeared into the mountains, betraying completelythe trust that the Harari leaders had placed in them. Now, how-ever, that the Italians had won their first resounding victories,the Gallas had become active, gathering like vultures for thescraps that the Hons left. His own retreat from Aradam had beenharassed by his erstwhile allies. They hung on his flanks, hidingin the scrub and scree slopes along the Dessie road, awaitingeach opportunity to fall upon a weak unprotected spot in theunwieldy slow-moving column. It was classical shifta tactics,the age-old art of ambush, of hit and run, a few throats slit anda dozen rifles stolen, but it slowed the retreat - slowed it drastic-ally while close behind them followed the Italian horde, andacross their rear lay the mouth of the Sardi Gorge.

Lij Mikhael roused himself and leaned forward in the seat topeer ahead through the windscreen. The wipers flogged sullenlyfrom side to side, keeping two fans of clean glass in the mud-splattered screen, and Lij Mikhael made out the railway crossingahead of them where it bisected the muddy rutted road.

He grunted with satisfaction and the driver pushed the Fordthrough the slowly moving mass of miserable humanity whichclogged the road. It opened only reluctantly as the sedan buttedits way through with the horn blaring angrily, and closed againbehind it as it passed.

They reached the railway level crossing and Lij Mikhaelordered the driver to pull off the road beside a group of hisofficers. He slipped out bareheaded and immediately the raindewed on his bushy dark hair. The group of officers surroundedhim, each eager to tell his own story, to recite the list of his ownrequirements, his own misgivings - each with news of freshdisaster, new threats to their very existence.

They had no comfort for him, and Lij Mikhael listened witha great weight growing in his chest.

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At last he gestured for silence. 'Is the telephone line to Sardistill open ?' he asked.

'The Gallas have not yet cut it. It does not follow the railwayline but crosses the spur of Amba Sacal. They must have over-looked it.'

'Have me connected with the Sardi station -1 must speak tosomebody there. I must know exactly what is happening in thegorge.'

He left the group of officers beside the railway tracks andwalked a short way along the Sardi spur.

Down there, a few short miles away, the close members ofhis family - his father, his brothers, his daughter - were riskingtheir lives to buy him the time he needed. He wondered whatprice they had already paid, and suddenly a mental picture ofhis daughter sprang into his mind - Sara, young and lithe andlaughing. Firmly he thrust the image aside and he turned tolook back at the endless file of bedraggled figures that shuffledalong the Dessie road. They were in no condition to defendthemselves, they were helpless as cattle until they could be re-grouped, fed and rearmed in spirit.

No, if the Italians came now it would be the end.

'Excellency, the line to Sardi is open. Will you speak ?'

Lij Mikhael turned back and went to where a field telephonehad been hooked into the Sardi-Dessie telephone line. Thecopper wires dangled down from the telegraph poles overhead,and Lij Mikhael took the handset that the officer handed himand spoke quietly into the mouthpiece.

Beside the station master's office in the railway yards of Sarditown stood the long cavernous warehouse used for the storageof grain and other goods. The roof and walls were clad withcorrugated galvanized iron which had been daubed a dull rustyred with oxide paint.

The floor was of raw concrete, and the cold mountain windwhistled in through the joints in the corrugated sheets. At ahundred places, the roof leaked where the galvanizing had

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rusted away, and the rain dripped steadily forming icy puddleson the bare concrete floor.

There were almost six hundred wounded and dying mencrowded into the shed. There was no bedding or blankets, andempty grain bags served the purpose. They lay in long lines onthe hard concrete, and the cold came up through the thin jutebags, and the rain dripped down upon them from the high roof.

There was no sanitation, no bed pans, no running water, andmost of the men were too weak to hobble out into the slush ofthe goods yard. The stench was a solid tangible thing that per-meated the clothing and clung in a person's liair long after hehad left the shed.

There was no antiseptic, no medicine - not even a bottle ofLysol or a packet of Aspro. The tiny store of medicines at themissionary hospital had long ago been exhausted. The Germandoctor worked on into each night with no anaesthetic andnothing to combat the secondary infection. Already the stink ofputrefying wounds was almost as strong as the other stench.

The most hideous injuries were the burns inflicted by thenitrogen mustard. All that could be done was to smear thescalded and blistered flesh with locomotive grease. They hadfound two drums of this in the loco shed.

Vicky Camberwell had slept for three hours two days ago.Since then, she had worked without ceasing amongst the longpitiful lines of bodies. Her face was deathly pale in the gloomof the shed, and her eyes had receded into dark bruised craters.Her feet were swollen from standing so long, and her shouldersand her back ached with a dull unremitting agony. Her linendress was stained with specks of dried blood, and other lesssavoury secretions - and she worked on, in despair that therewas so little they could do for the hundreds of casualties.

She could help them to drink the water they cried out for,clean those that lay in their own filth, hold a black pleadinghand as the man died, and then pull the coarse jute sacking upover his face and signal one of the overworked male orderlies tocarry him away and bring in another from where they werealready piling up on the open stoep of the shed.

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One of the orderlies stooped over her now, shaking hershoulder urgently, and it was some seconds before she couldunderstand what he was saying. Then she pushed herself stifflyup off her knees, and stood for a moment holding the small ofher back with both hands while the pain there eased, and thedark giddiness in her head abated. Then she followed the orderlyout across the muddy fouled yard to the station office.

She lifted the telephone receiver to her.ear and her voice washusky and slurred as she said her name.

'Miss Camberwell, this is Lij Mikhael here.' His voice wasscratchy and remote, and she could hardly catch the words, forthe rain still ratded on the iron roof above her head. 'I am at theDessie crossroads.'

'The train,' she said, her voice firming. 'Lij Mikhael, whereis the train you promised ? We must have medicine - antiseptic,anaesthetic - don't you understand? There are six hundredwounded men here. Their wounds are rotting, they are dyinglike animals.' She recognized the rising hysteria in her voice,and she cut herself off.

'Miss Camberwell. The train -1 am sorry. I sent it to you.With supplies. Medicines. Another doctor. It left Dessie yester-day morning, and passed the crossroads here yesterday eveningon its way down the gorge to Sardi'

'Where is it, then ?' demanded Vicky. 'We must have it. Youdon't know what it's like here.'

'I'm sorry, Miss Camberwell. The train will not reach you. Itwas derailed in the mountains fifteen miles north of Sardi. RasKullah's men - the Gallas - were in ambush. They had torn upthe tracks, they have massacred everybody aboard and burnedthe coaches.'

There was a long silence between them, only the static hissedand buzzed across the wires.

'Miss Camberwell. Are you there ?'

'Yes.'

'Do you understand what I am saying ?'

'Yes, I understand.'

'There will be no train.'

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'No.'

'Ras Kullah has cut the road between here and Sardi.'

'Yes.'

'Nobody can reach you - and there is no escape from Sardi upthe railway line. Ras Kullah has five thousand men to hold it.His position in the mountains is impregnable. He can hold theroad against an army.'

'We are cut off,' said Vicky thickly. 'The Italians in front ofus. The Gallas behind us.'

Again the silence between them, then Lij Mikhael asked,

'Where are the Italians now, Miss Camberwell ?'

'They are almost at the head of the gorge, where the lastwaterfall crosses the road' She paused and listened intently,removing the receiver from her ear. Then she lifted it again.'You can hear the Italian guns. They are firing all the time now.So very close.'

'Miss Camberwell, can you get a message to Major Swales ?'

'Yes.'

'Tell him I need another eighteen hours. If he can hold theItalians until noon tomorrow, then they cannot reach the cross-roads before it is dark tomorrow night. It will give me anotherday and two nights. If he can hold until noon, he will have dis-charged with honour all his obligations to me, and you will allhave earned the undying gratitude of the Emperor and all thepeoples of Ethiopia. You, Mr Barton and Major Swales.'

'Yes,' said Vicky. Each word was an effort.

'Tell him that at noon tomorrow I shall have made the bestarrangements I can for your evacuation from Sardi. Tell him tohold hard until noon, and then I will spare no effort to get all ofyou out of there.'

'I will tell him.'

'Tell him that at noon tomorrow he is to order all the remain-ing Ethiopian troops to disperse into the mountains, and I willspeak to you again on this telephone to tell you what arrange-ments I have been able to make for your safety.'

'Lij Mikhael, what about the wounded, the ones who cannotdisperse into the hills ?'

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The silence again, and then the Prince's voice, quiet but heavywith grief.

'It would be best if they fell into the hands of the Italians -rather than the Gallas.'

'Yes,' she agreed quietly.

'There is one other thing, Miss Camberwell.' The Princehesitated, and then went on firmly, 'Under no circumstancesare you to surrender yourself to the Italians. Even in the mostextreme circumstances. Anything' he emphasized the word, 6anything is preferable to that.''Why?'

'I have learned from our agents that sentence of death hasbeen passed on you, Mr Barton and Major Swales. You havebeen declared agents provocateurs and terrorists. You are to behanded over to Ras Kullah for execution of sentence. Anything would be better than that.'

'I understand,' said Vicky softly, and she shuddered as shethought of Ras Kullah's thick pink lips, and the soft bloatedhands.

'If everything else fails, I will send an' his voice was cut offabruptly, and now there was no hiss of static across the wires,only the dead silence of the lost contact.

For another minute Vicky tried to re-establish contact, butthe handset was mute and the silence complete. She replaced iton its cradle, and closed her eyes tightly for a moment to steadyherself. She had never felt so lonely and tired and afraid in herentire life.

Vicky paused as she crossed the yard to the warehouse, and shelooked up at the sky. She had not realized how late it was. Therewere only a few hours of daylight left - but the cloud seemed tobe breaking up. The sombre grey roof was higher, just on thepeaks, and there were light patches where the sun tried to pene-trate the cloud.

She prayed quietly that it would not happen. Twice duringthese last desperate days, the cloud had lifted briefly, and each

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time the Italian bombers had come roaring at low level up thegorge. On both occasions, the terrible damage they had inflictedhad forced Gareth to abandon his trenches and pull back to thenext prepared position, and a flood of wounded and dying hadengulfed them here at the hospital.

'Let it rain,' she prayed. 'Please God, let it rain and rain.'

She bowed her head and hurried on into the shed, into thestench and the low hubbub of groans and wails. She saw thatSara was still assisting at the plain wooden table, inadequatelyscreened by a tattered curtain of canvas, and lit by a pair ofPetromax lamps.

The German doctor was removing a shattered limb, cuttingbelow the knee while the young Harari warrior thrashed weaklyunder the weight of the four orderlies who held him down.

Vicky waited until they carried the patient away and shecalled to Sara. The two of them went out and stood breathingthe sweet mountain air with relief as they leant close togetherunder the overhanging roof of the veranda while Vicky repeatedthe conversation she had held with Lij Mikhael.

'Then we were cut off. The line just went dead.'

'Yes,' Sara nodded. 'They have cut the wires. It is only asurprise that Ras Kullah did not do so before. The wires crossover the top of Amba Sacal. Perhaps it has taken this long forthem to reach it.5

'Will you go down the gorge, Sara, and give the message toMajor Swales ? I would go down in Miss Wobbly, but there isalmost no fuel in the tank, and I have promised Jake not towaste it. We will need every drop later'

'It will be quicker on horseback anyway,' Sara smiled, 'and Iwill be able to see Gregorius.'

'No, it won't take long,' Vicky agreed. 'They are very close.'

Both of them paused to listen to the Italian guns. The thump-ing detonations of the high explosive reverberated against themountains, close enough to make the ground tremble undertheir feet.

'Don't you want me to give a message to Mr Barton ?' Sarademanded archly. 'Shall I tell him that your body craves'

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'No,' Vicky cut her short, her alarm obvious. 'For goodnesssake don't go giving him one of your salacious inventions.'

'What does “salacious” mean, Miss Camberwell?' Sara'sinterest was aroused immediately.

'It means lecherous, lustful.'

'Salacious,' Sara repeated, memorizing it. 'It's a fine word,'and with gusto she tried it out. 'My body craves you with agreat salacious yearning.'

'Sara, if you tell Jake that I said that, I will murder you withmy bare hands,' Vicky warned her, laughing for the first time inmany days, and her laughter was cut off in mid-flight by thesingle ringing scream of terror, and the wild animal roar thatfollowed it.

Suddenly the goods yard was filled with racing figures; theypoured out of the thick stand of cedar trees that flanked the rail-way line, and they crossed the tracks in a few leaping bounds.There were hundreds of them and they poured into the ware-house and fell like a pack of wolves on the rows of helplesswounded.

'The Gallas,' whispered Sara huskily, and for a moment theystood paralysed with horror, staring into the gloomy cavern ofthe shed.

Vicky saw the old German doctor run to meet the Gallawave, with his arms spread in a gesture of appeal, trying toprevent the slaughter. He took the thrust of a broadsword fullin the centre of his chest, and a foot of the blade appearedmagically from between his shoulder-blades.

She saw a Galla, armed with a magazine-loaded rifle, rundown a line of wounded, pausing to fire a single shot at point-blank range into each head.

She saw another with a long dagger in his hand, not bother-ing even to slit the throat of the Harari wounded, before hejerked aside the covering of coarse jute bags and his daggerswept in a single cutting stroke across the exposed lower belly.

She saw the shed filled with frenzied figures, their sword-arms rising and falling, their gunfire crashing into the supinebodies, and the screams of their victims ringing against the high

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roof, blending with the high excited laughter and the wild criesof the Galla.

Sara dragged Vicky away, pulling her back behind the shel-tering wall of the shed. It broke the spell of horror which hadmesmerized Vicky, and she ran beside the girl on flying feet.

'The car,' she panted. Tf we can reach the car.'

Miss Wobbly was parked beyond the station buildings underthe lean-to of the loco shed where it was protected from therain. Running side by side, Vicky and Sara turned the corner ofthe shed and ran almost into the arms of a dozen Galla comingat a run in the opposite direction.

Vicky had a glimpse of their dark faces, shining with rain andsweat, of the open mouths and flashing wolf-like teeth, the madstaring eyes, and she smelt them, the hot excited animal smell oftheir sweat.

Then she was twisting away, like a hare jinking out of thetrack of a hound. A hand clutched at her shoulder, and she felther blouse tear, then she was free and running, but she couldhear the pounding of their feet close behind her, and the crazyloolooing of excitement as they chased.

Sara ran with her, drawing slightly ahead as they reached thecorner of the station building. There was the flash and the crackof a rifle-shot out on their left, and the bullet slammed into thewall beside them. From the corner of her eye Vicky saw otherrunning Gallas, racing in from the main road of the village,their long shammas flapping about them as they ran to headthem off.

Sara was drawing away from her. The girl ran with the graceand speed of a gazelle, and Vicky could not keep pace with her.She rounded the corner of the station building ten paces aheadof Vicky, and stopped abruptly.

Under the lean-to shelter, the angular shape of Miss Wobblywas wreathed in furious petals of crimson flame, and the blackoily smoke poured from her hatches. The Gallas had reached herfirst. She had clearly been one of their first targets, and dozensof them pranced around her as she burned - and then scatteredas the Vickers ammunition in the bins began exploding.

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Sara had halted for only a second, but it was long enough forVicky to reach her.

'The cedar forest/ gasped Sara, a hand on Vicky's arm asthey changed direction.

The forest was two hundred yards away across the tracks, butit was dense and dark, covering the broken ground along theriver. They raced out into the open, and immediately twentyother Gallas took up the chase, their voices raised in the packclamour.

The open yard seemed to stretch to eternity as Vicky ran onahead of the Gallas. The ground was slushy, so that she sank tothe ankles with each step, and the clinging red mud sucked oneof the shoes off her foot. So she ran on lopsidedly, her feetsliding and her knees turning weak under her.

Sara raced on lightly ahead, leaping the steel railway track,and her feet flying lightly over the muddy ground. The edge ofthe forest was fifty feet away.

Vicky felt a foot catch as she tried to jump the tracks and shewent down sprawling in the mud. She dragged herself to herknees. On the edge of the forest Sara looked back, hesitating,her eyes huge and glistening white in her smooth dark face.

'Run,' screamed Vicky. 'Rim. Tell Jake,' and the girl wasgone into the dark forest, with only a flicker of her passing likea forest doe.

The butt of a rifle struck Vicky in the side, below the ribs,and she went down with an explosive grunt of pain into thecold red mud. Then there were hands tearing at her clothing,and she tried to fight, but she was blinded by the clinging wettresses of her hair, and crippled with the pain of the blow. Theyhoisted her to her feet, and suddenly a new authoritative voicecracked like a whiplash, and the hands released her.

She lifted her head, hunched up over her bruised belly andside. Through eyes blurred with tears and mud, she recognizedthe scarred face of the Galla Captain. He still wore the blueshamma, sodden now with rain, and the scar twisted his grin,

making it seem even more cruel and vicious.

*

The front edge of the trench had been reinforced witii sand-bagsand screened with brush, and through the square observationaperture the view down the gorge was uninterrupted.

Gareth propped one shoulder against the sand-bags andpeered down into the gathering gloom. Jake Barton squatted onthe firing step beside him and studied the Englishman's face.Gareth Swales' usually immaculate turnout was now red withdried mud, and stained with sweat, rain water and filth.

A thick golden stubble of beard covered his jaw like the peltof an otter, and his moustache was ragged and untrimmed.There had been no opportunity to change clothing or bathe inthe last week. There were new lines etched deeply into thecorners of his mouth, his forehead, and around his eyes, linesof pain and worry, but when he glanced up and caught Jake'sscrutiny, he grinned and lifted an eyebrow, and the old devilishgleam was in his eyes. He was about to speak when from belowthem another shell came howling up through the deep shades ofthe gorge, and both of them ducked instinctively as it burst inclose, but neither of them remarked. There had been hundredsof bursts that close in the last days.

Tt's breaking for certain,' Gareth observed instead, and theyboth looked up at the strip of sky that showed between themountains.

'Yes,' Jake agreed. 'But it's too late. It will be dark in twentyminutes.'

It would be too late for the bombers, even if the cloud liftedcompletely. From bitter experience they knew how long it tookfor the aircraft to reach them from the airfield at Chaldi.

'It will clear again tomorrow,' Gareth answered.

'Tomorrow is another day,' Jake said, but his mind dwelt onthe big black machines. The Italian artillery fired smoke mar-kers on to their trenches just as soon as they heard the drone ofapproaching engines in the open cloudless sky. The Caproniscame in very low, their wing-tips seeming to scrape the rockywalls on each side of the gorge. The beat of their engines roseto an unbearable, ear-shattering roar, and they were so closethat they could make out the features of the helmeted heads of

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the airmen in the round glass cockpits.

Then, as they flashed overhead, the black objects detachedfrom under their fuselage. The 100-kilo bombs dropped straight,their flight controlled by the fins, and when they struck, theexplosion shocked the mind and numbed the body. In com-parison the burst of an artillery shell was a squib.

The canisters of nitrogen mustard were not aerodynamicallystable, and they tumbled end over end and burst against therocky slopes in a splash of yellow, jellylike liquid that sprayedfor hundreds of feet in all directions.

Each time the bombers had come one after the other, end-lessly hour after hour, they left the defence so broken that thewave of infantry that followed them could not be repelled. Eachtime they had been driven out of their trenches, to toil back,upwards to the next line of defence.

This was the last line, two miles behind them stood thegranite portals that headed the gorge, and beyond them, thetown of Sardi and the open way to the Dessie road.

'Why don't you try and get a little sleep,' Jake suggested, andinvoluntarily glanced down at Gareth's arm. It was swathed instrips of torn shirt, and suspended in a make-shift sling fromaround his neck. The discharge of lymph and pus and the coat-ing of engine grease had soaked through the crude bandage. Itwas an ugly sight covered, but Jake remembered what it lookedlike without the bandage. The nitrogen mustard had flayed itfrom shoulder to wrist, as though it had been plunged into a potof boiling water - and Jake wondered how much good the coat-ing of grease was doing it There was no other treatment, how-ever, and at least it kept the air from the terrible injury.

'I'll wait until dark,' Gareth murmured, and with his goodhand lifted the binoculars to his eyes. 'I've got a funny feeling.It's too quiet down there.'

They were silent again, the silence of extreme exhaustion.

'It's too quiet,' said Gareth again, and winced as he movedthe arm. 'They haven't got time to sit around like this. They'vegot to keep pushing - pushing.' And then irrelevantly, 'God,I'd give one testicle for a cheroot. A Romeo y Juliette'

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He broke off abruptly, and then both of them straightenedup.

'Do you hear what I think I hear ?' asked Gareth.

'I think I do.'

'It had to come, of course,' said Gareth. 'I'm only surprisedit took this long. But it's a long, hard ride from Asmara to here.So that's what they were waiting for.'

The sound was unmistakable in the brooding silence of thegorge, funnelled up to them by the rock walls. It was faint still,but there was no doubting the clanking clatter, and the shrillsqueak of turning steel tracks. Each second it grew clearer, andnow they could hear the soft growl of the engines.

'That has got to be the most unholy sound in the world,' saidJake.

'Tanks/ said Gareth. 'Bloody tanks.'

'They won't get here before dark/ Jake guessed. 'And theywon't risk a night attack.'

'No,' Gareth agreed. 'They'll come at dawn.'

'Tanks and Capronis instead of ham and eggs ?'

Gareth shrugged wearily. 'That's about the size of it, old son.'

Colonel Count Aldo Belli was not at all certain of the wisdomof his actions, and he thought that Gino was justified in lookingup at him with those reproachful spaniel's eyes. They shouldhave been still comfortably ensconced behind the formidabledefences of Chaldi Wells. However, a number of powerfulinfluences had combined to drive him forward once again.

Not the least powerful of these were the daily radio messagesfrom General Badoglio's headquarters, urging him to intersectthe Dessie road, 'before the fish slips through our net.' Thesemessages were daily more harsh and threatening in character,and were immediately passed on with the Count's own embel-lishments to Major Luigi Castelani who had command of thecolumn struggling up the gorge.

Now at last Castelani had radioed back to the Count thewelcome news that he stood at the very head of the gorge, and

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the next push would carry him into the town of Sardi itself. TheCount had decided, after long and deep meditation, that to rideinto the enemy stronghold at the moment of its capture wouldso enhance his reputation as to be worth the small danger in-volved. Major Castelani had assured him that the enemy wasbroken and whipped, had suffered enormous casualties and wasno longer a coherent fighting force. Those odds were acceptableto the Count.

The final circumstance that persuaded him to leave the camp,abandon the new military philosophy, and move cautiously upthe Sardi Gorge was the arrival of the armoured column fromAsmara. These machines were to replace those that the savageenemy had so perfidiously trapped and burned. Despite all theCount's pleading and blustering, it had taken a week for themto be diverted from Massawa, brought up to Asmara by train,and then for them to complete the long slow crossing of theDanakil.

Now, however, they had arrived and the Count had immedi-ately requisitioned one of the six tanks as his personal commandvehicle. Once he was within the thick armoured hull, he hadexperienced a new flood of confidence and courage.

'Onwards to Sardi, to write in blood upon the glorious pagesof history!' were the words that occurred to him, and Gino'sface had creased up into that spaniel's expression.

Now in the lowering shades of evening, grinding up the rockypathway while walls of sheer rock rose on either hand, seemingto meet the sullen purple strip of sky high above, the Count washaving serious doubts about the whole wild venture.

He peered out from the turret of his command tank, his eyeshuge and dark and melting witii apprehension, a black polishedsteel helmet pulled down firmly over his ears, and one handgripping the ivory butt of the Beretta so fiercely that his knucklesshone white as bone china. At his feet, Gino crouched miserably,keeping well down within the steel hull.

At that moment a machine gun opened fire ahead of them,and the sound echoed and re-echoed against the sheer walls ofthe gorge.

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'Stop! Stop this instant!' shouted the Count at his driver.The gunfire sounded very close ahead. 'We will make thisbattalion headquarters. Right here,' announced the Count, andGino perked up a little and nodded his total agreement. 'Sendfor Major Castelani and Major Vito. They are to report to mehere immediately.'

Jake awoke to the pressure of somebody's hand on his shoulder,and the light of a storm lantern in his eyes. The effort of sittingup required all his determination and he let the damp blanketfall and screwed up his eyes against the light. The cold hadstiffened every muscle in his body, and his head felt light andwoolly with fatigue. He could not believe it was morningalready.

'Whois it?'

'It's me, Jake,' and then he saw Gregorius' dark intense facebeyond the lamp.

'Take that bloody thing out of my eyes.'

Beside him, Gareth Swales sat up suddenly. Both of them hadbeen sleeping fully dressed upon the same ragged strip of canvasin the muddy bottom of the dugout.

'What's going on?' mumbled Gareth, also stupid withfatigue.

Gregorius swung the lantern aside and the light fell on theslim figure beside him. Sara was shivering with cold and herlight clothing was sodden and muddy. Thorn and branches hadscored bloody lines across her legs and arms, and ripped thefabric of her breeches.

She dropped on her knees beside Jake, and he saw that hereyes were haunted with terror and horror, her lips trembleduncontrollably, and the slim hand she laid on Jake's arm wascold as a dead man's, but it fluttered urgently.

'Miss Camberwell. They have taken her' she blurted wildly,and her voice choked up.

*

'You should stay on here/ Jake muttered, as they hurried upthe slope to where Priscilla the Pig was parked half a mile backfrom the line of trenches. 'There will be a dawn attack, they'llneed you.'

'I'm coming on the ride, Jake,' Gareth answered quietly, butfirmly. 'You can't expect me to sit here while Vicky' he brokeoff. 'Got to keep a fatherly eye on you, old son,' he went on inthe old bantering tone. 'The Ras and his lads will have to taketheir own chances for a while.'

As he spoke, they reached the hulking shape of the armouredcar, parked in the broken ground below the head of the gorge.Jake began to drag the canvas cover off the vehicle, and Garethdrew Gregorius aside.

'One way or another, we should be back before dawn. If wearen't, you know what to do. God knows, you've had enoughpractice these last few days.'

Gregorius nodded silently.

'Hold as long as you can. Then back to the head of the gorgefor the last act. Right ? It's only until noon tomorrow. We canhold them that long, tanks or no bloody tanks, can't we ?'

'Yes, Gareth, we can hold them.'

'Just one other thing, Greg. I love your grandfather like abrother - but keep that old bastard under control, will you.Even if you have to tie him down.' Gareth slapped the boy'sshoulder, changed the captured Italian rifle into his good handand hurried back to the car, just as Jake boosted Sara up theside of the hull and then ran to the crank handle.

Priscilla the Pig ground up the last few hundred yards ofsteep ground to the head of the gorge, and they passed gangs ofHarari working by torchlight. They had been at it in shifts sincethe previous evening when Jake and Gareth had heard theItalian tanks coming up the gorge.

Although all his concern was with Vicky, yet Gareth notedalmost mechanically that the work gang had performed theirtask well. The anti-tank walls were higher than a man's headand built from the heaviest, most massive boulders that couldbe carried down from the cliffs. There was only a gap narrow

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enough, to allow the car to pass in the centre of the walls.

cTell them to close the gap now, Sara. We won't take the carinto the gorge again,' Gareth instructed quietly as they wentthrough and she called out to a Harari officer who stood on topof the highest point of the wall; he waved an acknowledgement,and turned away to supervise the work.

Jake took the car through the natural granite gates, and be-yond them lay the saucer-shaped valley and the town of Sardi.

It was burning, and at the sight Jake halted the car and theystood on the hull and looked across at the ruddy glow of theflames that lit the underbelly of the clouds, and dimly definedthe mountain masses that enclosed the valley.

'Is she still alive ?' Jake voiced all their fears, but it was Sarawho answered.

'If Ras Kullah was there when they caught her, then she isdead.'

Then silence again, both men staring out into the night, withanger and dread holding them captive.

'But if he was skulking up in the hills, as he usually does,waiting for the attack to succeed before he shows himself,' shespat expressively over the side of the hull, 'then his men wouldnot dare begin the execution, until he was there to watch andenjoy the work of his milch cows. I have heard they can takethe skin off a living body working carefully with their littleknives, every inch of skin from head to toes, and the body stilllives for many hours.'

And Jake shuddered with horror.

'If you're ready, old boy. I think we could move on now,'said Gareth, and with an effort Jake roused himself and droppedback into the driver's hatch.

There seemed to be a suggestion of the false dawn lightening thenarrow strip of sky high above the mountains when GregoriusMaryam scrambled back into the front-line trenches.

There was activity already amongst the shadowy figures thatcrowded the narrow dugouts, and one of the Ras's bodyguard

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carrying a smoky paraffin lantern greeted him with relief.

'The Ras asks for you.' Gregorius followed him down thetrench, stepping carefully amongst the hundreds of figures thatslept uncaring on the muddy floor.

The Ras sat huddled in a grey blanket, in one of the largerdugouts off the main trench. The open pit had been roofed inwith the remnants of one of the leather tents, and a small fireburned smokily in the centre. The Ras was surrounded by adozen of the officers of his bodyguard, and he looked up asGregorius knelt quietly before him.

'The white men have gone ?' the Ras asked and coughed, ahacking old man's cough that shook his whole frail body.

'They will return in the dawn, before the enemy attack.'Gregorius defended them quickly, and went on to explain thereasons and the change of plans.

The Ras nodded, staring into the flickering fire, and whenGregorius paused, he spoke again in that rasping, queruloustone.

'It is a sign - and I would have it no other way. Too long Ihave listened to the council of the Englishman, too long I havequenched the fire in my belly, too long I have slunk like a dogfrom the enemy.'

Cry Wolf

He coughed again, painfully.

'We have run far enough. The time has come to fight,' andhis officers growled angrily in the gloom around him, andswayed closer to listen to his words. 'Go you to your men,rouse them, fill their bellies with fire and their hands with steel.Tell them that the signal will be as it was a hundred years ago,a thousand years ago. Tell them to listen for my war drums,' asuppressed roar of exultation came from their throats, 'thedrums will beat up the dawn, and when they cease, that will bethe moment.' The Ras had struggled to his feet, and he stoodnaked above them; the blanket fallen away, and his skinny oldchest heaved with the passion of his anger. 'In that moment, I,Ras Golam, will go down to drive the enemy back across thedesert and into the sea from which they came. Every man whocalls himself a warrior and an Harari will go down with me

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and his voice was lost in the shrill loolooing of his officers, andthe Ras laughed, with the high ringing laugh close to madness.

One of his officers handed him a mug of the fiery tej and theRas poured it down his throat in a single draught, then hurledthe mug upon the fire.

Gregorius leapt to his feet and laid a restraining hand uponthe skinny old arm.

'Grandfather.'

The Ras swung to him, the bloodshot rheumy eyes burningwith a fierce new light.

Tf you have woman's words to say to me, then swallow them- and let them choke the breath in your lungs, and turn topoison in your belly.' The Ras glared at his grandson, andsuddenly Gregorius understood.

He understood what the Ras was about to do. He was a manold and wise enough to know that his world was passing, thatthe enemy was too strong, that God had turned his back uponEthiopia, that no matter how brave the heart and how fierce thebattle - in the end there was defeat and dishonour and slavery.

The Ras was choosing the other way - the only other way.

The flash of understanding passed between the youth andthe ancient, and the Ras's eyes softened and he leaned towardsGregorius.

'But if the fire is in your belly also, if you will charge besideme when the drums fall silent - then kneel for my blessing.'

Suddenly Gregorius felt all care and restraint fall away, andhis heart soared up like an eagle, borne aloft by the ancientatavistic joy of the warrior.

He fell on one knee before the Ras.

'Give me your blessing, grandfather,' he cried, and the Rasplaced both hands upon his bowed head and mumbled thebiblical words.

A warm soft drop fell upon Gregorius' neck, and he lookedup startled.

The tears were running down the dark wrinkled cheeks, and

dripping unashamedly from the Ras's chin.

*

Vicky Camberwell lay face down upon the filthy earthen floorof one of the deserted tukuls on the outskirts of the burningtown. The floor swarmed with legions of lice, and they crawledsoftly over her skin, and their bites set up a burning irritation.

Her hands were bound behind her back with strips of raw-hide rope, and her ankles were bound the same way.

Outside, she could hear the rusde and crackle of the burningtown, with an occasional louder crash op a roof collapsed. Therewere also the shouts and wild laughter of the Gallas, drunk onblood and tej , and the chilling sound of the few Harari captiveswho had been saved from the initial massacre to provide enter-tainment during the long wait before Ras Kullah arrived in thecaptured town.

Vicky did not know how long she had lain. Her hands andfeet were without feeling, for the raw-hide ropes were tightlyknotted. Her ribs ached from the blow that had felled her, andthe icy cold of the mountain night had permeated her wholebody so that the marrow in her bones ached with it, and fits ofshivering racked her as though she were in fever. Her teethchattered uncontrollably and her lips were blue and tight, butshe could not move. Any attempt to alter her position or relieveher cramped limbs was immediately greeted with a blow or akick from the guards who stood over her.

At last her mind blacked out, not into sleep, for she could stilldimly hear the din from around the hut, but into a kind of comain which sense of time was lost, and the acute discomfort of thecold and her bonds receded.

Hours must have passed in this stupor of exhaustion and cold,when she was roused by another kick in her stomach and shegasped and sobbed with the fresh pain of it.

She was aware immediately of a change in the volume ofsound outside the hut. There were many hundreds of voicesraised in an excited roar, like that of a crowd at a circus. Herguards dragged her roughly to her feet, and one of them stoopedto cut the raw-hide that bound her ankles, and then straightenedto do the same to those at her wrists. Vicky sobbed at the brightagony of blood flowing back into her feet and hands.

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Her legs collapsed under her and she would have fallen, butrough hands held her and dragged her forward on her kneestowards the low entrance of the hut. Outside, there was a densepack of bodies that filled the narrow street. Dark menacingfigures that pressed forward eagerly as she appeared in theentrance of the hut, and a blood-crazed roar went up from thecrowd.

Her guards dragged her forward along the street, and thecrowd swarmed forward, keeping pace with her, and the roar oftheir voices was like the sound of a winter storm-

Hands clutched at her, and her guards beat them awaylaughingly, and hustled her onwards with her paralysed legsflopping weakly under her. They carried her forward into thegoods yards of the railways, through the steel gate, past themountainous pile of naked mutilated corpses, all that remainedof men whom she had helped to nurse.

The yard was lit by the smoky fluttering light of hundredsof torches, and it was only when she was almost up to thewarehouse veranda that she recognized the figure that lolledindolently upon his cushions, using the raised concrete ramp asa grandstand from which to direct and watch the execution.

Vicky's terror came rushing back like a black icy flood, andshe tried desperately to twist herself free of the clutching hands,but they carried her forward and then lifted her suddenly.

Three of the heavy Galla lances had been set into the softearth of the yard in the form of a tripod, with the steel lance tipsbound firmly at the apex of the pyramid. With a force that shecould not resist, her arms and legs were spread, and again shefelt the lashing of raw-hide at her wrists and ankles.

Her captors fell back in a circle, and she found herself sus-pended from the tripod of lances like a starfish, and the weightof her body cut the leather straps viciously into her flesh.

She looked up. Directly above her on the concrete ramp satRas Kullah. He said something to her in a high piping voice,but she did not understand the words and she could only starein fascinated terror at his thick, soft lips. The tip of his tonguecame out and ran slowly across his lips, like a fat golden cat.

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He giggled suddenly and motioned to the two women whoflanked him on the cushions. They came down into the yard,with their silver jewellery tinkling and the multi-coloured silkof their robes glowing in the lamplight like the plumage of twobeautiful birds of paradise.

As though they had rehearsed their movements, one went toeach side of Vicky as she hung on the tripod of lances. Theirfaces were serene, remote and lovely as two exotic blooms onthe long graceful stems of their necks.

It was only when they reached up to touch her that Vicky sawthe little silver knives in their hands, and she wriggled helplessly,her head twisting to watch the blades.

With expert economical movements the two women slit thefabric of Vicky's clothing, from the yoke of her blouse at thethroat, down in a single stroke to the hem of her skirt, and thedress fell away like an autumn leaf, and dropped into the mudbelow her.

Ras Kullah clapped his hands with glee, and the dense packof dark bodies swayed and growled, pressing a little closer.

With the same unhurried knife strokes, the sheer silk ofVicky's underwear was cut away and discarded, and she hungthere naked and vulnerable, unable to cover her pale smoothbody, with the long finely sculptured limbs spread and pinioned.

She dropped her head forward so that the golden hair fellforward and covered her face.

One of the Galla women moved around until she faced Vickydirectly. She reached out with the little silver knife and touchedthe point to the white skin just below the base of her throatwhere a pulse beat visibly like a tiny trapped animal, and slowly,achingly slowly, she drew the blade downwards.

Vicky's whole body convulsed, every limb stiffened and herback arched rigidly so that the shape of the muscle stood outclearly beneath the smooth unblemished skin.

Her head flew back, her eyes wide and staring, her mouthgaping open - and she screamed.

The woman drew the knife on downwards, between the tensestraining breasts. The white skin opened to the shallow carefully

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controlled razor point, and a vivid scarlet line marked the slowtrack of the blade as it moved on inexorably downwards.

The voice of the crowd rose, a gathering roar like the soundof a storm wind coming from afar, and Ras Kullah leaned for-ward on his cushions. His eyes shone and the wet pink lips wereparted.

Two things happened simultaneously. From the darknessbeyond the station buildings, Priscilla the Pig burst out into thetorchlit area. Up until that moment when Jake Barton thrustdown fully on the throttle, the gentle hum of the engine hadbeen drowned by the animal roar of the crowd.

The heavy steel hull, driven by the full thrust of the oldBentley engine, ploughed into the crowd and went through itlike a combine harvester through a field of standing wheat.Without any slackening of speed, it tore a pathway through thedense pack, directly towards the clearing where Vicky hung onthe tripod of lances.

At the same moment, Gareth Swales stepped out of the blackoblong of the warehouse door, directiy behind where Ras Kullahsat.

He had the Italian rifle over the crook of his injured arm, andhe fired without lifting the butt to his shoulder.

The bullet smashed into the elbow of the Galla woman'sknife arm, and the arm snapped like a twig, the knife flew fromthe nerveless fingers and the woman shrieked and collapsed intothe mud at Vicky's feet.

The second woman swirled, her right hand drew back likethe head of a striking adder, and she aimed the knife blade atVicky's soft white stomach; as she began the stroke that wouldplunge it hilt-deep, Gareth moved the rifle muzzle fractionallyand fired again.

The heavy bullet caught the woman in the exact centre of hergolden forehead. The black hole appeared there like a thirdempty eye socket, and her head snapped backwards as thoughfrom a heavy blow.

As she went down, Gareth worked the bolt of the rifle anddropped the muzzle, again only fractionally, but as Ras Kullahtwisted arqund desperately on his cushions, his mouth wide

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open and a gurgling cry keening from the thick wet lips, themuzzle of the rifle was aimed directly into the pink pit of histhroat - and Gareth fired the third shot. It shattered the frontteeth in Ras Kullah's upper jaw, before plunging on into histhroat and then exiting through the back of the neck. The Raswent over backwards, and flapped and jumped like a maimedfrog.

Gareth stepped over him, and jumped down lightly into theyard. A Galla rushed at him with a broadsword held high abovehis head. Gareth fired again without lifting the rifle, steppedover the body and reached Vicky's side just as Jake Bartonswung the car to a skidding halt next to them and tumbled outof the driver's hatch with a Harari dagger in his hand.

In the turret above them, Sara fired the Vickers in a longcontinuous blast, swinging it back and forth in its limitedtraverse - and the Galla crowd scattered panic-stricken into thenight.

Jake slashed the thongs that held Vicky suspended and shefell forward into his arms.

Gareth stooped and gathered Vicky's torn clothing out of themud and bundled it under his injured armpit.

'Shall we move on now, old son ?' he asked Jake genially. 'Ithink the fun is over,' and between them they lifted Vicky upthe side of the hull.

The drums brought Count Aldo Belli out of a troubled dream-plagued sleep - and he sat bolt upright from his hard couch onthe floorboards of the hull, with his eyes wide and staring, andfumbled frantically for his pistol.

'Gino!' he shouted. 'Gino!' and there was no reply. Onlythat terrible rhythm in the night, pounding against his head sothat he thought it might drive him mad. He tried to close hisears, pressing the palms of his hands to them, but the soundcame through, like a gigantic pulse, the heart-beat of this crueland savage land.

He could bear it no longer, and he crawled up inside the hulluntil he reached the rear hatch of the tank, and thrust his headout.

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'Gino!'

He was answered instantly. The little Sergeant's head poppedup from where he had been cowering in his blankets on therocky ground between the steel tracks. The Count could hearhis teeth clattering in his skull like typewriter keys.

'Send the driver to fetch Major Castelani, immediately.'

'Immediately.'

Gino's head disappeared, and a few moments later appearedagain so abruptly that the Count let out a startled cry andpointed the loaded pistol between his eyes.

'Excellency,' squawked Gino.

'Idiot,' snarled the Count, his voice husky with terror. 'Icould have killed you, don't you realize I have the reactions ofa leopard ?'

'Excellency, may I enter the machine ?'

Aldo Belli thought about the request for a moment, and thenenjoyed a perverse pleasure in refusing.

'Make me a cup of coffee,' he ordered, but when it came hefound that the incessant cacophony of drums that filled his headhad worked on his nerves to the point where he could not holdthe mug steady, and the rim rattled against his teeth.

'Goat's urine!' snapped the Count, hoping that Gino had notnoticed the unsteady hand. 'You are trying to poison me,' heaccused and tossed the steaming liquid over the side, and at thatmoment the stocky figure of the Major loomed out of the dark-ness of the gorge.

'The men are standing to, Colonel,' he growled. 'In anotherfifteen minutes it will be light enough'

'Good. Good.' The Count cut him short. 'I have decided thatI should return immediately to headquarters. General Badogliowill expect me'

'Excellent, Colonel,' the Major interrupted in his turn. 'I havereceived intelligence that large bands of the enemy have infil-trated our lines, and are operating in the rear areas. There isa good chance you might be able to bring them to account.'Castelani, by this time, knew his man intimately. 'Of course,with the small escort that can be spared, it will be a desperatebusiness.'

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'On the other hand/ the Count mused aloud, 'I wonder if myheart does not lie here - with my boys ? There comes a timewhen a warrior must trust his heart rather than his head - and Iwarn you, Castelani, my fighting blood is aroused.'

'Indeed, Colonel.'

'I shall move up immediately,' announced Aldo Belli, andglanced anxiously back into the dark depths of the gorge. Hisintention was to place his command tank fairly in the centre ofthe armoured column, protected from both front and rear.

The drumming continued, booming and pounding against hisbrain until he felt he must scream aloud. It seemed to emanatefrom the very earth, out of the fierce dark slope of rock directlyahead, and it bounced and reverberated from the rock walls ofthe gorge, driving in upon him in great hammers of sound.

Suddenly, the Count realized that the darkness was dispers-ing. He could make out the shape of a stimted cedar tree on thescree slope above his position where, moments before, there hadbeen only black shades. The tree looked like some misshapenmonster, and quickly the Count averted his eyes and lookedupwards.

Between the mountains the narrow strip of sky was defined,a paler pink light against the black brooding mass of rock. Hedropped his gaze and looked ahead, the darkness retreatedrapidly, and the dawn came with dramatic African suddenness.

Then the beat of the drums stopped. It was so abrupt, thetransition from a pounding sea of sound to the deathly, un-earthly silence of the African dawn in the mountains. The shockof it held Aldo Belli transfixed and he peered, blinking like anowl, up the gorge.

There was a new sound, thin and high as the sound of nightbirds flying, plaintive and weird, an ululation that rose and fellso that it was many moments before he recognized it as thesound of hundreds upon hundreds of human voices.

Suddenly he started, and his chin snapped up. 'Mary, Motherof God,' he whispered, as he stared up the gorge.

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It seemed that the rock was rolling down swiftly upon themlike a dark fluid avalanche, and the ululation rose, becoming awild loolooing clamour. Swiftly the light strengthened and theCount realized that the avalanche was a sweeping tide of humanshapes.

Tray for us sinners,' breathed the Count and crossed himselfswiftly, and at that instant he heard Castelani's voice, like thebellow of a wild bull, out of the darkened Italian positions.

Instantly the machine guns opened together in a thunderoushammering roar that drowned out all other sound. The tide ofhumanity seemed no longer to be moving forward; like a waveupon a rock it broke on the Italian guns, and milled and eddiedabout the growing reef of their own fallen bodies.

The light was stronger now - strong enough for the Count tosee clearly the havoc that entrenched machine guns made of themassed charge of Harari warriors. They fell in thick swathes,dead upon dead, as the guns traversed back and forth. Theypiled up in banks in front of the Italian positions so that thosestill coming on had to clamber over the fallen, and when theguns swung back, they too fell building a wall of bodies.

The Count's terror was forgotten in the fascination of thespectacle. The racing figures coming down the narrow gorgeseemed endless, like ants from a disturbed nest. Like fields ofmoving wheat, and the guns reaped them with great scythe-strokes and piled them in deep windrows.

Yet here and there, a few of the racing figures came on,reached the barbed wire that Castelani had strung, beat it downwith their swords, and were through.

Of those who breached the wire, most died on the very lipsof the Italian trenches, shot to bloody pieces by close-rangevolleys of rifle fire - but a few, a very few came on still. A groupof three figures leaped the wire at a point where two deadEthiopians had fallen and dragged it down, making a breach forthose who followed.

They were led by a tall, skeletal figure in swirling white robes.He was bald, the pate of his head gleaming like a black cannonball, and perfect white teeth shone in the sweat-coiled face. He

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carried only a sword, as long as the spread of a man's arms andas broad as the span of his hand, and he swung the huge bladelighdy about his head as he jinked and dodged with the agilityof a goat.

The two warriors who followed him carried ancient MartiniHenry rifles which they fired from the hip as they ran, each shotblowing a long thick blue flag of black powder smoke, while theleader swung the sword above his he^d and loolooed a wild warcry. A machine gun picked up the group neatly and a singleburst cut two of them down - but the tall leader came on at adead run.

The Count, peering over the turret of die tank, was soastonished by the man's persistence that his own fear wasmomentarily forgotten. In the tank parked beside his, themachine gun fired, a ripping tearing burst, and this time theracing white-clad figure staggered slightly and Aldo Belli sawthe bullets strike, lifting tiny pale puffs of dust from the war-rior's robes, and leaving bloody splotches across his chest - yethe came on running, still howling, and he leaped the first lineof trenches, coming straight down towards the line of tanks,and it seemed as though he had recognized the Count as hisparticular adversary. His charge seemed to be directed at himalone, and he was suddenly very close. Standing fascinated inthe turret, Aldo Belli could clearly see the staring eyes in thedeeply lined face, and noticed the incongruity of the man'srows of perfect white teeth. His chest was sodden with dark redblood, but the swinging sword in his hands hissed through theair and the dawn light flickered on the blade like summerlightning.

The machine gun fired again, and this time the burst seemedto tear the man's body to pieces. The Count saw shreds of hisclothing and flesh fly from him in a cloud, yet incredibly he keptcoming onwards, staggering and dragging the sword beside him.

The last burst of fire struck him, and the sword dropped fromhis hand; he sank to his knees, but kept crawling - now he hadseen the Count and his eyes fastened on the white man's face.He tried to shout something, but the sound was drowned in a

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bright flooding gout of blood that filled his open mouth. Thecrawling, mutilated figure reached the hull of the stationarytank, and the Italian guns fell silent - almost as though in aweof the man's tenacity.

Laboriously, the dying warrior dragged his broken body uptowards the Count, watching him with a terrible dying anger,and the Count fumbled nervously with the ivory butt of theBeretta, slipping a fresh clip of cartridges into the recessed butt.

'Stop him, you fools,' he cried. 'Kill him! Don't let him getin.' But the guns were silent.

With shaking hands, the Count slapped the magazine homeand lifted the pistol. At a range of six feet he sighted briefly intothe crawling Ethiopian.

He emptied the magazine of the Beretta in frantic haste, theshots crashing out in rapid succession in the sudden silence thathung over the field.

A bullet struck the warrior in the centre of his sweat-glazedforehead, leaving a perfectly round black hole in the gleamingbrown skin, and the man slithered backwards and then rolleddown the hull, coming to rest at last upon his back, and hestared up at the swiftly lightening sky with wide, unseeing eyes.Out between the slack lips dropped a set of artificial teeth, andthe old mouth collapsed and fell inwards.

The Count was shaking still, but then quite unexpectedly asurging emotion swept away the terrors that had gripped him.He felt a vast proprietorial sense of emotional involvement withthe man he had killed - he wanted to take some part of him,some trophy of his kill. He wanted to scalp him, or take his headand have it cured so that he might preserve this moment forever, but before he could move, there was the shrilling ofwhistles, and a bugle began urgently to sound the advance.

On the slope ahead of them, only the dead lay in their pilesand mounds, while the last of those who had survived that crazysuicidal charge were disappearing like wisps of smoke backamong the rocks.

The road to Sardi was open, and like the hard professional hewas, Luigi Castelani seized the chance. As the bugle sang its

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brassy command, the Italian infantry rose from the trenches,and the formation of tanks rumbled forward.

The corpse of the ancient Harari warrior lay directly in thetrack of the command tank, and the rumbling steel treadspressed it into the rocky ground as it passed over, squashing itlike the carcass of a rabbit on a highway, as it bore ColonelCount Aldo Belli triumphantly up the gorge to . Sardi and theDessie road.

At the wall of rock built right across the throat of the gorge, thearmoured column ground to a halt, blocked at the very lip of thevalley, and when the Italian infantry, who had moved undercover of the black steel hulls, swarmed out to tear the wall down,they met another wave of Ethiopian defenders who rose fromwhere they had been lying behind the wall, and immediatelyattackers and defenders had become so extricated in a singlestruggling mass that the artillery and machine guns could notfire for fear of gunning down their own.

Three times during the morning the infantry had been thrownback from the wall, and the heavy artillery barrage that they haddirected against it made no impression on the granite boulders.When the tanks came clanking and squealing like great blackbeetles hunting for a breach, there was none, and the tracks hadclawed sparks from the rock but been unable to lift the greatweight of steel at the acute angle necessary to climb the wall.

Now there was a lull that had lasted almost half an hour, andGareth and Jake sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning against one ofthe massive granite blocks. Both of them were staring upwardsat the sky, and it was Jake who broke the silence.

'There is the blue.5 They saw it through the last eddyingbanks of cloud that still clung like the white arms of a lover tothe shoulder of the mountain, but were slowly smeared away bythe fresh dry breeze off the desert.

A ray of brilliant sunlight burst into the valley, and threw arainbow of vivid colour in a mighty arc from mountain tomountain.

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'That's beautiful,' murmured Gareth sofdy, staring upwards.

Jake drew the watch from his pocket, and glanced at the dial.

'Seven minutes past eleven.' He read the hands. 'Just aboutright now they'll radio them that the clouds are open. They'llbe sitting in the cockpits, eager as fighting cocks.' He patted thewatch back into his pocket. 'In just thirty-five minutes they'llbe here.'

Gareth straightened up and pushed the lank blond hair offhis forehead.

'I know one gentleman who won't be here when they come.'

'Make that two,' Jake agreed.

'That's it, old son. We've done our bit. Old Lij Mikhael can'tgrouse about a couple of minutes. It will be as close to noon aspleasure is to sin.'

'What about these poor devils?' Jake indicated the fewhundreds of Harari who crouched with them behind the wall ofrock - all that remained of Ras Golam's army.

'As soon as we hear the bombers coming, they can beat it. Offinto the mountains like a pack of long dogs'

'after a bitch,' Jake finished for him, and grinned.

'Precisely.'

'Someone will have to explain it to them.'

'I'll go and fetch young Sara to tell them,' and he crawledaway, using the wall as cover from the Italian snipers who hadtaken up position in the cliffs above them.

Priscilla the Pig was parked five hundred yards back in agrassy wrinkle of ground, under a screen of cedar trees, besidethe road.

Gareth saw immediately that Vicky had recovered from thestate of collapse in which they had found her, although she washaggard and pale, and the torn rags of her clothing were filthy,stained with dried blood from the long flesh wound between herbreasts. She was helping Sara with the boy who lay on the floor-boards of the cabin, and she looked up with an expression whichtold of regained strength and determination.

'How is he doing ?' Gareth asked, leaning forward throughthe open rear doors. The boy had been hit twice - and been

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carried back from the killing-ground in the gorge by two of hisloyal tribesmen.

'He will be all right, I think,' said Vicky, and Gregoriusopened his eyes and whispered.

'Yes, I'll be all right.'

'Well, that's more than you deserve,' grunted Gareth. 'I leftyou in charge - not leading the charge.'

'Major Swales.' Sara looked up fiercely, protective as a motiier.'It was the bravest'

'Spare me from brave and honest men,' Gareth drawled.'Cause of all the trouble in the world.' And before Sara couldflash at him again he went on, 'Come along with me, my dear.Need you to do a bit of translating.'

Reluctantly she left Gregorius and climbed down out of thecar. Vicky followed her, and stood close to Gareth beside theside of the hull.

'Are you all right ?' she asked.

'Never better,' he assured her, but now she noticed for thefirst time the flush of unnatural colour in his cheeks and thefeverish glitter in his eyes.

Quickly she reached out and before he could prevent it shetook the hand of his injured arm. It was swollen like a balloon,and it had turned a sickly greenish purple. She leaned forwardto sniff the filthy stained rags that covered the arm, and she felther gorge rise at the sweet stench of putrefaction.

Alarmed, she reached up and touched his cheek.

'Gareth, you are hot as a furnace.'

'Passion, old girl. The touch of your lily-white'

'Let me look at your arm,' she demanded.

'Better not.' He smiled at her, but she caught the iron in hisvoice. 'Let sleeping dogs lie, what ? Nothing we can do about ituntil we get back to civilization.'

'Gareth'

'Then my dear, I will buy you a large bottle of Charlie, andsend for the preacher man.'

'Gareth, be serious.'

'I am serious.' Gareth touched her cheek with the fingers of

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his good hand. 'That was a proposal of marriage/ he said, andshe could feel the fiery heat of the fever in his finger-tips.

'Oh Gareth! Gareth!'

'By which I take it you mean - thanks, but no thanks.'

She nodded silently, unable to speak.

'Jake ?' he asked, and she nodded again.

'Oh well, you could have done a lot better. Me, for instance,'and he grinned, but the pain was there with the fever in hiseyes, deep and poignant. 'On the other hand, you could havedone a lot worse.' He turned away abruptly to Sara, taking herarm. 'Come along, my dear.' Then over his shoulder, 'We'll beback as soon as the bombers come. Get ready to run.'

'Where to ?' she called after them.

'I don't know,' he grinned. 'But we'll try to think of a pleasantplace.'

Jake heard them first, so far off that it was only the hive-soundof bees on a drowsy summer's day, and almost immediately itwas gone again, blanketed by the mountains.

'Here they come,' he said, and almost immediately, as if inconfirmation, a shell burst under the lee of the rock wall, firedfrom the Italian battery a mile down the gorge. The yellowsmoke from the marker poured a thick column into the stillsunlit air.

'Move!' shouted Gareth, and placed the silver commandwhistle between his lips and blew a series of sharp blasts.

But by the time they had hurried along the wall, makingcertain that all the Harari had understood and were runningback down the valley into the cedar forests, the drone ofapproaching engines was growing louder.

'Let's go!' called Jake urgently, and caught Gareth's goodarm.

They turned and ran, pelting back across the open ground tothe lip of the valley, and Jake looked back over his shoulder asthey reached it.

The first gigantic bomber came out of the mouth of the gorge,

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and the spread of its black wings seemed to darken the sky. Twobombs fell from under it; one burst short but the second struckthe wall, and the blast knocked them both off their feet, slam-ming them savagely against the earth.

When Jake lifted his head again, he saw through the fumesand smoke the gaping breach it had blown in the rock wall.

'Well, now the party is definitely over,9 he said, and hauledGareth to his feet.

'Where are we going?' shouted Vicky from the cabin belowthem, and neither Jake in the driver's seat not Gareth in theturret replied.

'Can't we just drive up the road to Dessie ?' Sara demanded;she sat cross-legged on the floor of the cabin with Gregorius'head cushioned on her lap. 'We could fight our way throughthose cowardly Gallas.'

'We've got enough gas to take us about another five miles.'

'Our best bet is to drive to the foot of Amba Sacal.' Garethpointed to the towering bulk of the mountain that rose sheerinto the southern sky. 'Ditch the car there and try to make it onfoot across the mountains.'

Vicky crawled up into the turret beside him, and thrust herhead out of the hatch. Together they stared up at the sheer sidesof the Amba.

'What about Gregorius ?' she asked.

'We'll have to carry him.'

'We'll never make it. The mountains are crawling with Gallas.'

'Have you got a better idea ?' Gareth asked, and she lookeddespairingly around her.

Priscilla the Pig was the only thing that moved in the wholevalley. The Harari had vanished into the rocky ground on theslopes of the mountains, and behind them the Italian tanks hadnot yet come in over the lip of the valley.

She lifted her eyes to the sky again, where only a few wreathsof cloud still clung to the peaks, and suddenly her whole mood changed. Her chin came up, and new colour flooded into her

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cheeks - her hand shook as she pointed up between the peaks.

'Yes/ she cried. 'Yes, I've got a better idea. Look! Oh, won'tyou look!'

The tiny blue aircraft caught the sun as it banked in steeply,turning in under the rearing granite cliffs, and it flashed like adragonfly in flight.

'Italian ?' Gareth stared up at it.

'No! No!' Vicky shook her head. 'It's Lij Mikhael's plane. Irecognize it. It came to fetch him here before.' She was laughingalmost hysterically, her eyes shining. 'He said he would send it,that's what he was trying to tell me before he was cut off.'

'Where will it land ?' Gareth demanded, and Vicky scrambleddown into the driver's compartment to direct him towards thepolo field beyond the burned and still smoking town.

They watched anxiously, all of them except Gregorius, standingon the edge of the open field close beside the bulk of the car, alltheir heads craning to watch the little blue aircraft circle.

'What the hell is he doing ?' Jake demanded angrily. 'TheEyeties will be here before he makes up his mind.'

'He's nervous,' Gareth guessed. 'He doesn't know what thehell is going on down here. From where he is, he can see thetown has been destroyed, and he can probably see the tanks -and the trucks following us down from the gorge.'

Vicky turned from them and ran back to the car; she climbedup on to the turret and stood high, waving bodi arms above herhead.

On the next circuit the little blue Puss Moth dropped lower,and they could see the pilot's face in the side window of thecockpit peering down at them. He banked steeply over thesmoking remains of the town, with the lower wing pointingdirecdy at the earth and then he came back at them, this timeonly ten feet above the field.

He was staring at Vicky, and with a lift of her heart sherecognized the same young white pilot as had flown Lij Mikhael.He recognized her at the same instant, and she saw him grin and

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lift a hand in salute as he flashed past.

As he came out of his next turn, he was lined up on the fieldfor his landing and he touched down and taxied tail-up to wherethey stood.

As the light aircraft rolled to a halt, they crowded up to thecabin door. The wash of the propeller buffeted them savagelyand the pilot slid back the pane of his window and shoutedabove the noise of his engine.

'I can take three small ones - or two big ones.'

Jake and Gareth exchanged a single brief glance and thenJake jerked the cabin door and roughly they thrust the two girlsinto the tiny cramped cabin.

'Hold it/ Gareth shouted into the pilot's ear. 'We've gotanother small one for you.'

They carried Gregorius between them, trying to be as gentleas haste would allow. The pilot was already turning the machineinto the wind and they staggered after it - lifting the boy's bodyinto the open door as it was moving.

'Jake' Vicky shouted, and her eyes were wild with grief.

'Don't worry,' Jake shouted back, as they tumbled Gregoriusacross the girls' laps. 'We'll get out - just remember I love you.'

'I love you, too,' Vicky called back, and her eyes swam withbright tears. 'Oh Jake'

He was struggling to close the cabin door, running beside thefuselage as the aircraft gathered speed for the take-off, but oneof Gregorius's feet was holding it open. Jake stopped to free thefoot, and rifle-fire snapped past his head, and twanged into thecanvas fabric of the fuselage.

He looked up in time to see the next shot star the side windowof the cockpit and then go on to strike the young pilot in thetemple, killing him instantly, and knocking his body sidewaysso that it hung drunkenly out of the seat, held only by theshoulder straps.

The aircraft slewed sideways at the loss of control, and Jakesaw Vicky reach over the pilot's body and close the throttle, buthe was turning away and running back towards Priscilla the Pig.

More rifle-fire kicked up spurts of dust around them as theyran. 409

'Where are they ?' he shouted at Gareth.

'On the left.' Jake twisted his head and glimpsed the Italiansin the scrub and grass two hundred yards away on the edge ofthe field. Beyond them was parked the transport that had carriedthem ahead of the lumbering tank formation.

Priscilla's engine was still running, and he headed her in aquick turn for the riflemen in the grass. Above him, Garethfired the Vickers and the Italians jumped up and ran like rabbits.

One quick pass scattered them and a burst of Vickers fireexploded the transport in a dragon's breath of flame, and thenJake swung the car back to where the little blue aircraft stoodforlornly on the edge of the field. He parked the tall steel hullclose beside her to screen her from Italian snipers.

Sara and Vicky between them had dragged the pilot's bodyout of the cockpit. He was a big man, heavy in the shoulder andbelly, and the blood oozed from the bullet hole in his templeinto the thick mop of his hair as he lay on his back in the shortgrass under the wing.

Cry Wolf

Vicky turned away from him and scrambled up into the cock-pit settling herself behind the controls.

'Jesus!' said Jake, relief shining on his face. 'She said shecould fly.'

A rifle bullet spranged against Priscilla's hull and went wail-ing away over their heads.

Gareth glanced down at the pilot's body. 'He was a big 'un -poor beggar.'

'There's room for one more now,' Vicky shouted from thecockpit; 'with both of you we'd never make it over the moun-tains,' and they saw what torture the words caused her. Anotherbullet clanged against steel. 'We can take only one more.'

'Spin you for it.' Gareth had the silver Maria Theresa on histhumb and he grinned at Jake.

'Heads,' said Jake and it spun silver in the sunlight andGareth caught it in the palm of his good hand and glanced atit.

'It had to come - your turn at last.' Gareth's grin lifted thecorners of his mouth. 'Well done, old son. Off you go.'

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But Jake caught the wrist, and twisted it. He glanced at the

coin.

'Tails/ he snapped. 'I always knew you were a cheat, youbastard,' and he turned away towards Vicky. 'I'll cover thetake-off, Vicky, I'll keep Priscilla between you and the Eyetiesas long as I can.'

Behind him, Gareth stooped and picked up a stone the size ofa gull's egg out of the grass.

'Sorry, old son,' he drawled. 'But I owe you two already,'and tenderly he tapped Jake above the right ear with the stoneheld in the cup of his hand, and then dropped the stone andcaught him under the armpits as his legs sagged and he beganto collapse.

He put his knee under Jake's backside and with a heaveboosted him headfirst and unconscious through the cabin door.Then he put his foot on Jake's protruding posterior and thrusthim farther into the cramped cabin until he could slam and lockthe door.

Rifle-fire pounded and crashed against the screening hull ofPriscilla. Gareth reached into his inside pocket and pulled outthe pigskin wallet. He dropped it through the side window intoVicky's lap as she sat at the controls.

'Tell Jake if I'm not there on the first to cash the Lij's chequeand buy you a bottle of Charlie from me - and when you drinkit, remember I really did love you' Before she could reply hehad turned and darted back to the armoured car and scrambledup into the driver's hatch.

Side by side, like a team in harness, the car and the little blueaircraft ran side by side down the open field and the Italian firedrummed against the steel hull of the car.

Then slowly the heavily laden aircraft drew ahead of thespeeding car, but by then they were beyond effective rifle range,and as Vicky felt the Puss Moth come alive and the wheelsbumped clear of the rough turf, she glanced quickly backwards.

Gareth stood in the driver's hatch, and she saw his lips moveas he shouted after her, and he lifted his bandaged arm in agesture of farewell.

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She did not hear the words, but she read them upon his lips. 6Noli illegitimi carborundum ,' and saw the flash of that devilishbuccaneer smile, before the aircraft lifted away from the earthand she must turn all her attention back to it.

Gareth halted Priscilla at the edge of the field and he stood inthe hatch, shielding his eyes with his good hand, and watchedthe little blue aircraft climb laboriously into the thin mountainair. Again it caught the sun and flashed as it turned unsteadilytowards the gap in the mountains where the pass led into thehighlands.

His whole attention was fixed on the dwindling speck of blue,so that he did not see the three CV.3 tanks crawl out of the mainstreet of the village five hundred yards away.

He was still staring upwards as the tanks stopped, rockinggendy on their suspensions, and die turrets with the longSpandaus traversed around towards him.

He did not hear the crash of cannon, for the shell struck longbefore the sound carried to him. There was only the earth-stopping impact and the burst of shell that hurled him from thehatch.

He lay on the earth beside the shattered hull, and he feltdownwards with his good hand, for there was something wrongwith his stomach. He groped down, and there was nothingwhere his stomach should have been, just a gaping hole intowhich his hand sunk, as though into the soft warm flesh of arotten fruit.

He tried to withdraw his hand, but it would not move. Therewas no longer muscular control, and it grew darker. He tried toopen his eyes and then realized that they were wide open, staringup at the bright sky. The darkness was in his head, and the coldwas in his whole body.

In the darkness and the icy cold, he heard a voice say inItalian, CE morto - he is dead.'

And he thought with mild surprise, 'Yes, I am. This time, Iam,' and he tried to grin, but his lips would not move and he

412

went on staring up at the sky with pale blue eyes.

'He is dead/ repeated Gino.

'Are you certain ?' Count Aldo Belli demanded from theturret of the tank.

'S*, I am certain.' Warily the Count climbed down the hull.

'You are right/ he agreed, studying the man. 'He is trulydead.' Then he straightened up and puffed out his chest.

'Gino/ he commanded. 'Get a picture of me with the cadaverof the English bandit.' And Gino backed away, staring into theview-finder of the big black camera.

'Chin up a little, my Colonel,' he instructed.

Vicky Camberwell brought the Puss Moth out over the finalcrest of the pass, with a mere two hundred feet to spare, for thesmall overladen aircraft was fast approaching its ceiling.

Ahead of her, the highlands stretched away to Addis Ababain the south. Below her passed the thin raw muddy bisectinglines of the Dessie road. She saw the road was deserted. Thearmy of Ethiopia had passed. The fish had slipped through thenet - but the thought gave her no pleasure.

She turned in her seat and looked back, down the longgloomy corridor of the Sardi Gorge. From the cliffs on eachside of the gorge, the rain waters still fell in silver white water-falls and muddy cataracts - so that it seemed that even themountains wept.

She straightened up in her seat, and lifting her hand to herface she found without surprise that her own cheek was wet andslick with tears.

Wilbur Smith

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Table of Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22