Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 76

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raking the exposed guns with a withering. burst of machine-gun fire,

the loaders dropped their ready shells and almost knocked the layers

from their seats in their anxiety to get behind the armoured shield of

the gun. They all huddled there with their heads well down. The

driver of the armoured car, after that one rapid pass down the front of

the batteries, swung the vehicle abruptly back into the screen of

dust.

Jake had been just as startled by the encounter as were the gunners;

at one moment he had been joyously tearing along after a fat

wallowing

Fiat, and at the next he had emerged from a cloud of dust to be

confronted 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 Priscilla the

throttle.

"Where are we going?"

"Home, and the sooner the quicker. That's a powerful argument they are

pointing at us."

"Jake-" Gregorius began to protest, when there was a bang and a flash

that glowed briefly even through the shrouds of dust, and close beside

the high turret passed a

100 men. shell. The air slammed against their eardrums and the shriek

of it made both of them flinch violently, the air.

stank of the electric sizzle of its passing, and it burst half a mile

beyond them in a tall tower of flame 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 securely now subsided and drifted aside, exposing them

unmercifully to the attentions of the Italian guns, but revealed also

was another tempting target. The Ethiopian cavalry were still coming

on, and after a few futile volleys had burst around the tiny elusive

shape of the speeding car, Castelani resigned himself to the

limitations of his gunners and switched targets.

"Shrapnel," he bellowed. "Load with shrapnel fuse for air burst."

He hurried along the battery, repeating the order to each layer,

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 for sure-footed ascent of

mountain paths, rather than sustained charges across open plains they

had, moreover, been pastured for weeks now on the dry sour grass of the

desert, and in consequence their strength was by this time almost

expended.

The first shrapnel burst fifty feet above the heads of the leading

riders. It popped open like a gigantic pod of the cotton plant,

blooming with sudden fearsome splendour the milky blue sky. It bloomed

with a crack as though the sky had shattered, and instantly the air was

filled with the humming, hissing knives of flying shrapnel.

A dozen of the ponies went down under the first burst, pitching forward

abruptly over their own heads and flinging their riders free.

Then the sky was filled with the deadly cotton balls, and the

continuous crack of the bursts sent the ponies wheeling and the riders

crouching low on their withers or swinging out of the saddle to hang

low under the bellies of their mounts. Here and there a braver soul

would kick his feet free of the stirrups and pick up a dismounted

comrade on each of the leathers, the gallant little ponies labouring

under their triple burdens. Within seconds, the entire Ethiopian army

its single remaining armoured vehicle and all its cavalry were in a

retreat every bit as headlong as that of the motorized Italian column

which was still on its way back to the Wells of Chaldi. The field was

left entirely to Castelani's artillery and the stranded crew of the

Hump.

From the shelter of the shattered hull, Gareth Swales watched his hopes

of quick rescue fading rapidly in the shape of the dwindling cavalry.

"Don't blame them, not really," he told the Ras, and then he looked

across at the speeding armoured car. Priscilla the Pig was rapidly

overhauling the cavalry.

"He saw us, - I know he did." There had "Him I do," he muttered.

been a moment when Priscilla the Pig had passed within a quarter of a

mile of them, had in fact turned directly towards them for a few

moments. "Do you know something, Rassey old fellow, I do believe we

are being set up for a couple of Patsys." He glanced at the Ras, who

lay beside him like an old hunting dog that has been worked too hard;

his chest laboured like a blacksmith's bellows, and his breathing

whistled shrilly in his throat.

"Better take those choppers out of your mouth, old chap or else you're

going to swallow them. The fighting's over for the day. Take it nice

and easy now. We've got a long walk home tonight." And Gareth

Swales transferred all his attention back to the disappearing car.

"Big-hearted Jake Barton is leaving us here and going home to spoon up

the honey. Who was the chap that David pulled the same trick on? Come

on, Rassey, you are the Old Testament expert wasn't it

Uriah the Hittite?" He shook his head sadly. Gareth was already ready

to believe the worst. "I take it very much amiss, Rassey, I can tell

you.

Probably have done exactly the same myself, mind you but I do take it

amiss gaming from a fine upright citizen like Jake Barton." The Ras

had not listened to a word of it. He was the only man in the two

armies for whom the battle had not ended.

He was just having a short rest, as behave a warrior of his advanced

years. Now, with a single bound, he was on his feet again,

snatching up his sword and heading directly for the centre of the

Italian batteries. Gareth was taken completely off balance, and the

Ras had covered fifty yards of the necessary two thousand to the enemy

positions before Gareth could overtake him.

It was unfortunate that one of the Italian gun-layers had his

binoculars focused on the derelict hull of the Hump at that moment.

The belligerence of the Italian gunners was in inverse proportion to

the number and proximity of the enemy and all of 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 the Hump,

as Gareth caught up with the Ras. Gareth stooped and picked up a

rounded stone, about the size of a cricket ball.

"Frightfully sorry, old chap," he panted, as he cupped the stone 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 knees and the

other around the shoulders, as though he was a sleeping child. The

shells were falling heavily about him as Gareth ran back for cover,

carrying the Ras's unconscious form across his chest.

Jake Barton heard the crumping explosion of the shells, and shouted up

at Gregorius, "What are they shooting at now?" Gregorius climbed

higher out of the turret and peered back. The crushed hull of the Hump

would have been unnoticed at that range, just another speck like a

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