Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 53

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The sentries sprang to attention and the Count barked, "Have Major

Castelani summoned here immediately."

"Immediately, my Colonel," snapped the sentry, and the Count let the

flap drop back into place.

Castelani came within ten minutes and saluted smartly from the entrance

of the tent.

"You sent for me, my Colonel?"

"My dear Castelani." The Count rose from his desk; the strong white

teeth contrasted against the dark olive-gold tan, as he smiled with all

his charm and went to take the Major's arm. "A glass of wine, my dear

fellow?" Aldo Belli was enough of a realist to see that without

Castelani's professional eye and arm guiding the battalion, it would

collapse like an unsuccessful souffle, or more probably like a

dynamited cliff upon his head. Passing sentence of death on the man

had relieved the COUnt's feelings, and now he could feel quite

favourably disposed towards him.

"Be seated," he said, indicating the camp chair opposite his desk.

"There are cigars in the humidor." He beamed fondly, like a father at

his eldest son. "I would like you to read through this report and to

place your signature in the space I have marked." Castelani took the

sheaf of papers and began to read, frowning like a bulldog and with his

lips forming the words silently. After a few minutes, he looked

startled and glanced up at Aldo Belli.

"my Colonel, I doubt if it was forty thousand savages that attacked

us."

"A matter of opinion, Castelani. It was dark. No one will ever know

for certain how many there were." The Count waved the objection aside

with a genial smile. "It is merely an informed estimate read on. You

will find I have good things to say of your 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 sending it to

headquarters."

"Sir, you make no mention of the enemy possessing an armoured vehicle."

And the Count frowned for the first time since the beginning of the

meeting.

"Armoured vehicle, Castelani, surely you mean an ambulance?" The

encounter with the strange machine was best forgotten, he had decided.

It reflected no credit on anybody particularly none upon himself It

would merely add a jarring note to the splendours of his report.

"It would be quite in the normal course of things for the enemy to have

some sort of medical service not worth mentioning. Read on! Read on!

Caro mio, you will find that I have recommended you for a decoration."

eneral De Bono had summoned his staff to a lunchtime conference to

appraise the readiness of the expeditionary force to commence its

invasion of the Ethiopian highlands. These conferences were a weekly

affair, and the General's staff had not taken long to understand that

in exchange for a really superb luncheon, for the reputation of the

General's chef was international, they were expected to provide the

General with good reasons which he might relay to the Duce for delaying

the start of the offensive. The staff had fully entered into the

spirit of the game, and some of their offerings had been inspired.

However, even their fertile imaginations were now beginning to plough

barren land. The Inspector General of the Medical Corps had

tentatively diagnosed a straightforward case of gonorrhoca contracted

by an infantry man as "suspected smallpox" and had written a very good

scare story warning of a possible epidemic but the General was not

certain whether it could be used or not. They needed aj something

better than that. They were discussing this now over the cigars and

liqueurs, when the door of the dining room was thrown open and Captain

Crespi hurried to the head of the table. His face was flushed, and his

eyes wild, his manner so agitated that an electric silence fell over

the roomful of very senior and slightly inebriated officers.

Crespi handed a message to the General, and he was so disturbed that

what was intended as a whisper came out as a strangled cry of

outrage.

"The clown!" he panted. "The clown has done it!" The General,

alarmed by this enigmatic statement, snatched the message and his eyes

flew across the sheet before he handed it to the officer beside him and

covered his face with both hands.

"The idiot!" he wailed, while the message passed swiftly from hand to

hand, and a hubbub of raised voices followed it.

"At least, your Excellency, it is a great victory," called an infantry

commander, and suddenly the entire mood of the assembly changed.

"My planes are ready, General. We await the word to follow up this

masterly strategy of yours," cried the Commander of the Regia

Aeronautica, leaping to his feet and the General uncovered his eyes and

looked confused.

"Congratulations, my General," called an artilleryman, and struggled

unsteadily upright, spilling port down the front of his jacket. "A

mighty victory."

"Oh dear!" murmured De Bono. "Oh dear!" "An unprovoked attack by a

horde of savages" - Crespi had retrieved the message and read the

memorable words of Count Aldo Belli aloud "firmly resisted by the

courage of the flower of Italian manhood." "Oh dear!" said De Bono a

little louder, and covered his eyes again.

"Almost fifteen thousand of the enemy dead!" shouted a voice.

"An army of sixty thousand routed by a handful of Fascist sons. It is

a sign for the future."

"Forward to the ultimate victory."

"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 black shirt "Africa" regiment was paraded in full

review order on the sandy plain above the Wells of Chaldi. The ground

was neatly demarcated by the meticulous rows of pale canvas tents and

neat lines of white stones. In twenty-four hours, under the goading of

Major Castelani, the camp had taken on an air of permanence. If they

gave him a day or two more, there would be roads and buildings also.

Count Aldo Belli stood in the back of the Rolls, which, despite the

loving attentions of Giuseppe the driver, was showing signs of wear and

attrition. However, Giuseppe had parked it with the damaged side away

from the parade and he had burnished the good side with a mixture of

beeswax and methylated spirits until it shone in the sunlight, and had

replaced the shattered windscreen and the broken lamp glass.

"I have here a message received an hour ago which I shall read to you,"

shouted the Count, and the parade stirred with interest. "The message

is personal to me from Benito Mussolini."

"II Duce. 11 Duce. "Duce,"roared the battalion in unison, like a

well-trained orchestra, and the Count lifted a hand to restrain them

and he began to read.

"My heart swells with pride when I contemplate the feat of arms

undertaken by the gallant sons of Italy, children of the Fascist

revolution, whom you command'-" the Count's voice choked a little.

When the speech ended, his men cheered him wildly, throwing their

helmets in the air. "The Count climbed down from the Rolls and went

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