Текст книги "Cry Wolf"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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were at the car.

"Are you well enough to drive?" Gareth asked quietly, as he swung her

up on the sponson and she nodded.

"The engine's switched off," she blurted; they could not risk cranking

to start.

"She's on the slope," said Gareth, turning to face the crowding

Gallas and hold them off with his level gaze. "Roll her to a start."

As Vicky scrambled into the driver's hatch, Gareth placed a cheroot

between his lips, and struck a match with his thumb nail. The little

act distracted the hostile pack for an Instant, and they watched his

hands as he lit the cheroot and blew a long blue feather of smoke

towards them.

Behind him, the car began to roll, and Gareth swung himself aboard

easily with the cheroot clamped between his teeth and gave the horsemen

a mocking salute as the car gathered speed down the slope. Neither of

them spoke as they dropped swiftly downwards, two miles in silence.

Then, without taking her eyes off the track ahead, Vicky told

Gareth as he stood above and behind her in the turret, "You weren't

even afraid-2

"In 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 the jolly old

Eyeties. Saw your faithful bodyguard taking off and came to have a

look." The track ahead of Vicky dissolved in a mist of tears,

and she had to hit the brakes hard. Afterwards, she was not sure quite

how it happened but she found herself in Gareth's arms, pressing

herself to him with all of her strength and shaking violently with her

sobs.

"Oh God, Gareth, I don't know what I'll ever do to repay you for

this."

"I'm sure we will think of something," he murmured, holding her with a

practised embrace that was lulling and so wonderfully secure.

She felt then that she did not want ever to leave his arms and she

lifted her lips to his and with a mild amazement saw on his face, in

the usually mocking blue eyes, such an expression of tenderness as she

had never expected was possible.

His lips were another surprise, they were very warm and soft and 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 then she sighed

voluptuously and shuddered softly with the strength of physical

awakening more intense than she had ever experienced in her entire

life.

For a moment, the journalist in her attempted to analyse the source of

this sudden passion, and she knew it as the product of the previous

night's sleepless horrors, of fatigue and of the day's terrors. Then

she no longer queried it, but let it spread through her whole body. The

encampment of the Ras's army at the foot of the Sardi

Gorge sprawled for four miles amongst the acacia forests, a vast

agglomeration of living things which murmured softly with life, like a

hive of honeybees at midday, and which had already cloaked itself in

blue woodsmoke and the myriad odours of human and animal ingestion and

excretion.

The camp site that Gareth and Jake had chosen was set apart from the

main body, in a denser, shadier patch of acacia, below a tall rocky

waterfall where the Sardi River fell the last steep pitch to the plain

and formed a dark restless pool in which Vicky could bathe away the

filth from her body and from her mind.

It was almost dark when she climbed back to the camp with her wet hair

bound in a towel, carrying her wash bag.

Gareth was seated upon a log beside the smouldering camp fire. He was

watching the steaks of a freshly butchered ox grilling on the coals,

and he made room for her on the log beside him and offer'd her

Scotch whisky and lukewarm water in a tin mug, which she accepted

gratefully and which tasted as good as anything she had ever drunk.

In silence they sat together, almost but not quite touching, and

watched the swift coming of the African night.

They were alone, and the faint voices from the main encampment below.

them seemed only to emphasize this aloneness.

Jake, the old Ras and Gregorius had taken out two of the armoured cars

and a camel patrol on a reconnaissance back towards the Wells of

Chaldi. In the same exercise, Jake was to train the new gunners in the

use of the Vickers machine guns. Gareth, as the military expert, had

been left to survey the gorge and to judge the ground for defence in

the event of a forced retreat up the gorge under Italian pressure.

He had been doing this when he had come across Vicky and the Galla

horsemen.

Sitting now beside the fire, under a sky that was suddenly very black

and half obscured by the mountains that towered over them, Vicky was

aware of a feeling of complete acceptance, an Arabic kismet of the

spirit, as though fate had arranged this moment and the effort of

avoiding it was too great.

They were alone, and that was how it was meant to be.

The deep physical arousal and feeling of utter commitment that she had

experienced earlier, on their escape from the threatening horde of

Gallas, still lingered still filled her body and her conscious mind

with an ethereal glow.

She ate a little of the grilled meat, hardly tasting it, not looking at

the man beside her, but staring dreamily at the brilliant diamond-white

sparkle of the stars above the dark peaks, yet fully and electrically

aware of him of the nearness of him, so close that although they were

still not touching she could feel the warmth emanating from his body

upon her arm like the caress of a desert wind.

She could almost feel his eyes as he watched her quietly. His gaze was

so compelling that at last she could no longer pretend not to be aware

of it, and she turned her head and met his eyes steadily.

The ruddy glow of the coals enhanced the clean regular lanes of his

face, and gilded the red gold of his hair. In that moment, she

believed he was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen and it

required an effort to tear her eyes away from him.

As she stood up and walked away she felt her heart hammering 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 through the

canvas, and she did not light the lamp, but undressed slowly in the

semi-darkness and dropped her clothing carelessly across the folding

chair beside the entrance. Then she lay down upon the narrow cot, and

the woollen blanket was rough against the naked skin of her buttocks

and back. Each breath was an effort now, and she lay rigidly with her

hands clenched at her sides almost afraid, almost exultant, her head

propped on the single pillow and staring down at her body, aware of it

as never before. Watching, with a sense of wonder, how each breath

changed the shape of her heavily rounded breasts and how the nipples

firmed slowly and thrust out, darkening perceptibly until they were so

tight and hard that they pained her exquisitely.

She heard the crunch of his footsteps approach the tent, and her

breathing jammed, and she thought with a small shock that she might

suffocate and die. Then the flap of the tent swung open, and he

stooped through and stood tall, letting the flap fall closed behind

him.

Instinctively she covered herself, one arm folding across her chest and

the other hand spreading protective fingers over the mound 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 seemed that he stood there for ever, silent and watchful, and she

felt the skin of her arms and thighs prickle with goose-flesh at the

slow steady scrutiny. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide to

the 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 wondered that

the body of a man could be so slim and supple, with such lovely line

and balance then she remembered how she had once stood before the

statue of Michelangelo's David with just the same depth of awe.

She lifted the hands that covered her own body, reached up like a

supplicant, and drew him down upon herself.

She woke once during the night, and the fire had died away outside the

tent, but a bright white moon had sailed up over the mountains and it

glowed now with a silvery light through the canvas above them,

striking down directly upon them.

The strange white light divested Gareth's sleeping face of all colour.

It was pale now, like that of a statue or of a corpse and

Vicky experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling. There was a small

dull weight at the back of her mind. When she examined it closely, she

found that it was guilt and she experienced a mild anger at a society

that had burdened her with that guilt. That she could not enjoy a man,

that her body could not be used as nature had intended without this

backlash of emotion.

She raised herself on one elbow, careful not to disturb the man beside

her, and she studied his face pondering this new sense of guilt, and

exploring her feelings for him.

Slowly she realized 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 and reaction from fear

and horror. The guilt she had experienced was a consequence of this

lack of substance, and she felt suddenly confused and sad.

She lay back beside the long fine length of his body, but now she had

moved slightly, so that they no longer touched.

She knew that after love, all animals are sad, but she thought that

there was more to her feelings than that.

Suddenly, without really knowing why, she thought of Jake Barton and

the depth and cold of her sadness deepened. It was long before she

slept again, but then she slept late and the morning sunlight was

striking through the canvas and outside there was the sound of engines

and many voices.

She sat up hurriedly, still half asleep, clutching the rough blanket to

her breast, confused and owl-eyed, to discover that she was alone upon

the cot and all that remained of the night was the indentation and

warmth of Gareth's body upon the blanket beside her,

and the swollen aching feeling deep within her where he had been.

Then Vicky threw on her clothes hurriedly and, still tying her hair,

went out into the sunlight, she was just in time to witness the arrival

of a sorry procession.

In the lead was Jake's car, Priscilla the Pig. No longer glossy white

and blazoned with the insignia of the International Red Cross,

it was painted instead a sandy tan colour with patches of darker

camouflage in an earthy brown to break up the outline of the big

angular hull and turret.

The thick barrel of -a Vickers machine gun protruded belligerently from

the mounting.

Above the turret fluttered the tri coloured green, yellow and red

pennant of Ethiopia and below that the dark blue field and golden lion

of the Ras's household standard and everything was 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 dull camouflage

paint and flying the standards of Ethiopia and Ras, and with her gun

ports filled with lethal hardware. However, despite the warlike

trappings, the machine had an air of dejection as it was dragged

ignobly into the camp and from its rear end came a frightful grinding

clatter that brought Gareth Swales hurrying half-dressed from his tent,

with an angry question to shout as Jake's head appeared in the driver's

hatch.

"What the hell happened?" and Jake's face was red and scowling with

outrage.

"That old,–and at a loss for a suitable expletive, he indicated with a

jerk of his thumb the Ras, who sat proudly in the turret of the

crippled car, showing no remorse whatsoever, but beaming fondly and

toothlessly on Gareth.

"Not content with firing off a thousand rounds of Vickers ammunition,

he kicked Gregorius out of the driver's seat and gave us a

demonstration that would have looked good at Indianapolis!"

"Oh my

God!" groaned Gareth.

"How do you do?" shouted the Ras cheerfully, . acknowledging the

applause.

"Why didn't you stop him? "demanded Gareth.

"Stop him! Jesus, have you ever tried to stop a charging rhinoceros! I

chased him halfway to the coast before I caught him-"

"What's the damage?"

"He's stripped the gearbox, and burned out the clutch he may have

thrown a con rod but I haven't gotten up enough courage to look yet."

Jake climbed wearily from the driver's hatch,

raising his dust goggles. Red dust had sifted into the thick mop of

his curls and clung in the stubble of his beard, and the protected skin

around his eyes was pale and naked-looking, giving him an innocent

wide-eyed expression. He began beating the dust out of his trousers

and shirt, still berating the happily grinning Ras.

"The old bastard is as happy as a pig in a mud wallow.

Look at his face. Reconnaissance in force! It was more like a bloody

circus." At that moment, Jake noticed Vicky for the first time,

and the scowl disappeared miraculously, to be replaced by an expression

of such transparent delight that she felt her guilt return swiftly and

deeply, so that it gave her a cold sick feeling in the pit of her

stomach.

"Vicky!" Jake called. "God, I was worried about you!" Vicky was able

to purge a little of the feeling of guilt by busying herself at the

cooking fire, in a fine show of domesticity, and she served the men

with griddle cakes and grilled steaks. the last of the potatoes they

had brought with them and a pan full of the pigeon-sized eggs laid by

the scrawny native fowls. The camp table was set out under the

acacias, in the dappled early-morning sunlight, and as Vicky worked at

the fire, Jake reported the results of the reconnaissance.

" once the Ras had tired of firing the Vickers, shooting up every tree

and rock we passed, and we were just about out of ammunition, we were

able to circle out northwards, keeping the speed down to avoid dust,

and we found a good piece of ground from which to observe the road from

Massawa to the Wells. There was a bit of traffic,

transports mostly with motorized escort, but we couldn't stay too long

as the Ras, God bless his friendly little soul, wanted to continue his

target practice on them. We had a job stopping him. So I pulled back

and we came in towards the Wells from the west again. "Jake paused to

sip at the mug of coffee, and Gareth turned to Vicky as she squatted,

rosy-faced, over the cooking fire. my dear?" he said. It was "How's

breakfast coming along, not the words nor the endearment, but rather

the proprietorial tone, that made Jake glance sharply at Vicky. The

tone Gareth had used was that which a man uses to his own woman. For a

second, Vicky held Jake's glance, and then she turned busily back to

her cooking, and Jake dropped his eyes thoughtfully at the steaming mug

in his hands.

"How close did you get?" Gareth asked easily. He had noticed the

silent exchange between Vicky and Jake and he was relaxed and

contented, lolling back in the camp chair and rolling a cheroot 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 the

Eyetie position for a couple of hours. They have dug in well, and I

saw gun positions with a good field of fire placed along the ridge.

They are in a hell of a defensive position and it would be crazy to

attack them there. We will have to wait for them to come to us." Vicky

brought the food to them, and as she leaned across Gareth he touched

her bare upper arm in a casual caress.

She drew back quickly and went to fetch the pan of eggs.

Jake had noticed the gesture, yet his voice was even and unruffled as

he went on, "I wanted to circle out and to figure the chances of

attacking their positions from the rear, but that was when the old Ras

got bored and gave us a demonstration of hell-driving. My God, I'm

hungry." Jake filled his mouth with food, and then asked in a muffled

voice, "How did you get on, Gary?"

"There is good defensive ground in the gorge. I have the construction

gangs digging positions in the slopes. We should be able to give a

good account, if the Eyeties try to force their way through."

"Well, we have got scouts watching them.

Gregorius picked a hundred of his best men for the job. We will know

as soon as they begin to move from the Wells, but I would like to know

how much time we have before they move.

Every day will give us more time to prepare, to decide on our tactics,

and train the Harari 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. They crossed in

force, and they have begun bombing the towns and the roads. It's war

now. It's begun." Jake whistled softly.

"Hey 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 one who 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 calm him

down."

"How do you suggest I do that? give him a shot of morphine or 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 from the table

still chewing. "Good chow, Vicky but I reckon I'd better have a look

at the damage the Ras did to Tenastelin. See if we can get her running

again for the Eyeties to shoot at." For two hours,

Jake worked alone on Tenastelin, rigging the block and tackle from one

of the main branches of the big acacia tree 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 despatch on the little

portable typewriter. Both of them were very much aware of each other

as they worked, but their behaviour was elaborately unconcerned and

they each made a show of concentrating all their attention on their

separate tasks.

At last, Jake strained on the tackle and the dismembered gearbox lifted

jerkily off its seating and swayed, dripping grease from the acacia

branch. Jake stood back and wiped his hands on a lump of cotton waste

soaked in gasoline.

"Coffee break," he said, and went to the fire. He poured two mugs full

of black coffee and took them to where Vicky sat.

"How are you doing?" he asked, glancing at the page in her typewriter.

"Pulitzer stuff, is it?" Vicky laughed, as she accepted the mug of

coffee. "Prizes never go to the best man."

"Or to those who really want them," agreed Jake, sitting down opposite

her, and she felt a flare of annoyance that he had turned the

conversation so neatly.

"Damn you, Jake Barton. I don't have to answer to you or to anybody,"

she said softly.

"Right," he said. "Quite right. You're a big girl now but just

remember that you're playing with the big boys. And some of them play

very rough."

"Is there any charge, counsellor?" She looked up at him defiantly, and

then she saw the look in his eyes and the anger shrivelled within

her.

"I don't want to fight with you, Vicky," he said softly.

"That's the last thing in the world I want to do." He swallowed the

last of his coffee. "Well," he said, "back to work.

"You give up easily, don't you?" Vicky didn't realize she had spoken

until the words were out, and then she wanted them back but

Jake cocked an eye, at her, and he grinned that big boyish grin of

his.

"Giving up?" Now he laughed aloud. "Oh, lady! If you believe that

then you do me wrong, – a grave injustice." And he moved slowly

towards where she sat and stood over her.

The laughter faded from his voice and from his eyes as he spoke in a

new husky tone.

"You really are very lovely."

"Jake." She held his eyes. "I wish

I could explain but I just don't understand myself" He touched her

cheek and stooped down to her. "No, Jake, please don't-" she said and

made no effort to avoid his lips, but before they touched hers, there

was the -urgent sound of galloping hooves, coming up through the

forest.

The two of them drew slowly apart, still watching each other's eyes and

Gregorius Maryarn rode into the camp on a shaggy little mountain

pony.

"Jake," he called, sliding down off the saddle. "It's war! It's

begun! The Italians have crossed the Mareb. Gareth has just told my

grandfather."

"The timely messenger," murmured Vicky, but her voice was a little

shaky, and her smile lopsided.

"I've come to help you fix my car, Jake. We must be ready to fight,"

called Gregorius, and tossed his reins to the servant who followed him.

"Let's get to work. There is little time my grandfather has called all

his commanders to a war council at noon. He wants you there."

Gregorius turned away and hurried to the gutted hulk of

Tenastelin. For a moment longer Jake stood over Vicky, and then 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 its component

parts on a sheet of clean canvas. Jake rocked back on his heels.

"Well, grand pappy has cooked his goose," he said, and Gregorius

apologized solemnly.

"He is a very impetuous gentleman, my grandfather."

"It's getting on towards noon." Jake stood up. "Let's go down and

hear what next he has in store for us, that impetuous gentleman." The

Ras's encampment was set a little apart from the main body of his army,

and housed only his personal entourage. There were at least two acres

of hastily erected tukuLs, made of sapling frames covered with a range

of material from thatch to flattened paraffin cans. Through this

encampment wandered the naked snotty-nosed children and the Ras's

multitudinous female retainers, together with goats, mangy dogs,

donkeys, and camels.

The Ras's tent was set up in the centre of this community. It was a

large marquee, patched so often that little of the original canvas was

visible. His bodyguard was grouped protectively at the entrance.

Beyond the Ras's tent was a large area of open sandy ground,

almost completely covered by rank upon rank of patiently squatting

warriors.

"My God," exclaimed Jake. "Everyone gets to the war council."

"It's the custom," explained Gregorius. "All may attend, but only the

commanders may speak." To one side, separated from the Harari troops

by a small space of beaten earth and centuries of rankling hostility,

were the Galla contingent, and Vicky pointed them out to Jake.

"Pretty bunch," he murmured. "With allies like that, who needs

enemies?" Gregorius led them directly to the Ras's tent, and the

guards stood aside for them to enter. The interior was dark and hot,

redolent with the smell of the rank native tobacco and spiced food. At

the far end of the tent, a knot of silent men squatted in a tense

circle about two figures the Ras, swathed in dark woollen robes, and

Gareth Swales in a light silk shirt and white flannels.

For a moment Jake thought that the two central figures were deeply

immersed in planning the strategy and defence of the Sardi Gorge then

he saw the neat piles of paste, board spread out on the golden

Afghanistan rug between them.

"My God," said Jake. "He took me at my word." Gareth looked up from

the fan of cards he held in his right hand.

"Thank God." His face showed obvious relief. "I only wish it had been

an hour earlier."

"What's the trouble."

"This old bastard is cheating," said Gareth, with barely suppressed

outrage quivering in his voice. "He has caught me for almost two

hundred quid this morning.

I'm utterly appalled, I must say. They obviously have no scruples,

these people-" and here 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 sparkling with triumph, as he waved Jake

and

Vicky to a seat on a pile of cushions beside him.

"If he's cheating don't play with him," suggested Vicky, and

Gareth looked pained.

"You don't understand, old girl. I haven't been able to figure how

he's doing it. He's invented a method new to science and the gambling

halls of the world. He might be an absolutely unscrupulous old rogue,

but he must be some sort of genius as well. I've just got to keep on

playing with him until I work out his system." Gareth's doleful

expression became radiant. "My God, when I do Monte Carlo here I

came!" He discarded a six of spades. The Ras leapt upon it with a

cackle of triumph and began laying out his hand.

"Oh my God," groaned Gareth. "He's done it again." The tense group of

counsellors and elders around the game exploded in a delighted burst of

cheers and felicitations, and the Ras acknowledged their

congratulations like a victorious prizefighter. Grinning and snuffling

he leaned across the rug and with a loud cry of "How do you do!" he

punched Gareth's arm playfully, and Gareth winced and massaged the limb

tenderly.

"He does that every time he wins. He's got a touch like a demented

blacksmith I'm black and blue."

"How do you do!" cried the Ras again, louder than before, and he

shaped up to punch once more, but

Gareth hastily produced his 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-breathing

concentration, which only broke into smiles and laughter again when the

pile of coins in front of Gareth reached the stipulated amount. "No

credit in this game," Gareth explained, as he shoved the money

across.

"Cash on the nail, or you get your arm broken. This old bastard Gareth

glanced again at Gregorius, I no offence, of course.

But this old bastard wouldn't trust his own mother, probably with good

reason. I'm absolutely appalled! I've met some shockers in my time

but this chap takes the biscuit." There was a deep respect in

Gareth's tone, which changed to mild alarm as the Ras gathered the

cards preparatory to the next deal, and he turned to Gregorius.

"Please explain to your dear grandfather that, though I'd be delighted

to accommodate him at a future date, I do think he should now

concentrate a little of his skills on confounding the common enemy.

The armies of Italy are waiting. Reluctantly, the Ras laid the cards

aside and, with a sharp speech in Amharic, put the war council into

session, then immediately turned to Jake Barton.

"My grandfather wishes to know the state of his armoured squadron.

He is impressed with the cars, and is certain that they can be used to

great advantage."

"Tell him that he has wrecked a quarter of his armoured squadron. We've

got three runners left." The Ras showed no remorse at this rebuke, but

turned to his commanders and launched into a long vivid account of his

exploits as a driver, his wide gestures describing the speed and dash

of his evolutions. The account was punctuated by loyal exclamations of

wonder from his officers, and it was some minutes before he turned back

to Jake.

"My grandfather says that three of these wonderful machines will be

enough to send the Italians running back into the sea."

"I wish I

shared his confidence," remarked Gareth, and Jake went 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 to train your men." The Ras

interrupted fiercely, almost as though he had understood Jake, and

there was a fierce murmur of agreement from his commanders.

"My grandfather intends to attack the Italian positions at the

Wells 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 explanation as to the suicidal futility of a frontal

attack, even with armoured support, against guns dug into a commanding

position.

"The Italians must advance. That is when our chance will come."

It took all Gareth's eloquence to make the Ras agree, albeit

reluctantly, to wait for the enemy to make the first move, to watch

with his forward scouts for the moment when the Italians left their

fortified positions above the Wells and moved out into the open

grassland where they would be more vulnerable.

Once the Ras had agreed, scowling and muttering, to cool his ardour

that long, then Jake could take over from Gareth and suggest the

tactics that might best be employed.

"Please tell your grandfather that we come back to my original warning

we do not have crews for all three cars."

"I can drive,"

interrupted Vicky Camberwell, suddenly aware that she was being

squeezed out of consideration.

Gareth and Jake exchanged glances again, and were both instantly in

complete agreement, but it was Gareth who spoke for them.

"It's one thing acting as a ferry driver, and another as a combatant,

my dear. You are here to write about the fighting, not get 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 the way."

Vicky subsided angrily, knowing there was no profit in arguing now not

accepting their lordly decrees, but willing to bide her time.

She listened quietly as the discussion flowed back and forth. Jake

explained how the cars should be used to shock the enemy and punch open

the Italian de fences so that the Ethiopian cavalry could stream

through and exploit the disordered infantry.

The Ras's scowls smoothed away, and an unholy grin replaced them.

His eyes glowed like black coals in their beds of dark wrinkled

flesh,

and when at last he gave his orders, he spoke with the ringing and

final authority of a royal warrior that brooked no further argument.

"My grandfather decrees that the first attack will be made upon the