popped out of the turret and emitted a war cry so shrill and
heart-chilling that the Count's bowels flopped over like a stranded
fish.
As the barrel of the Vickers swung on to the Rolls, the Ethiopian
gunner ducked down into the turret, and the barrel elevated slightly
until the Count found himself staring stupidly into its dark round
aperture but Giuseppe had been watching also in the driving mirror,
and now he spun the wheel and the Rolls flashed aside like a mackerel
before the driving charge of the barracuda. The blast of shot from
the
Vickers tore down its left side lifting a storm of dirt and pebbles in
spurting fountains high into the air.
The armoured car swung heavily to follow the Rolls" manoeuvre, the
leaping dust fountains swinging with it, closing in mercilessly.
However, Giuseppe, faced with the prospect of death, hit the brakes so
hard that the Count was catapulted forward, howling protests, to hang
over the front seat, his ample black-clad buttocks pointing at the
heavens and his glistening boots kicking wildly as he fought for
balance.
The sheet of bullets from the swinging Vickers passed mere inches ahead
of the Rolls, and Giuseppe swung the wheel to hard opposite lock,
released the brakes and trampled hard on the throttle. The Rolls
kicked over hard, wheels spinning for purchase, then bounded ahead with
such impetus that the Count was thrown backwards again, crashing into a
sitting position on the rear leather seat, his helmet falling over his
eyes.
"I'll have you shot," he gasped, as he struggled weakly to adjust the
helmet. Giuseppe was too busy to hear him. His duck and swerve had
beaten the Ethiopian gunner, and the superior speed of the Rolls was
carrying it swiftly out of harm's way. just a few more seconds then
the ancient but splendidly toothed head of the gunner appeared once
more in the turret, and the bows of the armoured car and the questing
muzzle of the Vickers swung back. The gunner dropped back behind the
gun and the roaring clatter of bullets sounded high above the bellow of
straining engines.
Once again, the dust storm of bullets tore up the earth, swinging
rapidly towards the Rolls.
Slightly ahead of the two vehicles, another growling, labouring
troop-carrier loomed out of the dust on a parallel course with them,
but travelling at only half the speed under its heavy load of terrified
troopers.
Giuseppe touched the wheel, swaying out slightly away from the stream
of bullets, then he swung hard the opposite way and as the armoured car
turned to follow him he ducked neatly behind the troop-carrier,
screened by its high unstable bulk from the deadly machine gun. The
Ethiopian kept firing.
As the solid hose of fire tore through the canvas hood of the truck,
ripping and shredding the men crowded shoulder to shoulder beneath it,
the Rolls was pulling away swiftly in its lee. Suddenly,
it was out of the dust clouds into the crystal desert air, with a vista
of open land stretching away to the horizon a horizon which was the
passionate destination of every man in the Rolls. The lumbering troop
carriers were left behind, and the Rolls could make a clean run of it.
The way the Count felt at that moment, they would only stop once he was
safely into his defensive positions above the Wells of Chaldi.
Then quite suddenly, he was aware of the guns on the open plain ahead
of him. They were drawn up neatly in spaced-out triangular batteries,
three vees of three guns each, with the gunners grouped about them and
the long fit barrels covering the approaching mass of fleeing
vehicles.
There was a parade-ground feeling of calm and good order about them
that made the Count blubber with relief after the nightmare from which
he had just emerged.
"Giuseppe, you have saved us," he sobbed. "I am going to give you a
medal. "The threat of capital punishment made a few minutes earlier
was forgotten. "Drive for the guns, my brave boy. You have done good
work and you'll find me grateful." At that moment, emboldened by talk
of safety, Gino lifted himself from the floorboards where he had been
resting these last few minutes. He looked cautiously over the rear of
the Rolls, and what he saw caused him to let out a single strangled cry
and to drop once more into his original position on the floor.
Behind them the Ethiopian armoured car had burst out of the dust clouds
and was bounding determinedly after them.
The Count took one look also, and immediately resumed his encouragement
of Giuseppe, beating on his head with a fist like a judge's gavel.
"Faster, Giuseppe!" he shrieked. "If he kills us, I'll have you
shot." And the Rolls raced for the protection of the guns.
ready now!" intoned Major Castelani gravely, trying by the tone of his
voice to quiet their nerves.
"Steady, my lads. Hold your fire. Hold your fire.
"Remember your drill," he said. "Just remember your range drill,
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 the action was
confused and indistinct.
