confirmation that the sentries had heard his approach, 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 fierce blue-white light that lit the desert like a
stage for miles beneath it. Jake hit the brakes hard, and waited for
the shell to sink slowly to earth. He did not want movement to attract
attention. The light died away and left the night blacker than before,
but beside him the abrupt change of motion had woken Vicky and she sat
up groggily, pushing the hair out of her eyes and muttering sleepily.
"What is it?"
"We are here," he said, and another star shell rose in a high arc 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 orderly
lines,
clearly silhouetted by the star shell. They hall let were two miles
ahead. Suddenly there was the distant ripping sound of a machine gun,
a sentry firing at shadows, and immediately after, a scattered
fusillade of rifle shots which petered out into a sheepish silence.
"It seems that everybody is awake, and jumpy as hell," Jake remarked
drily. "This is about as close as we can go." He crawled out of the
driver's seat and went back to where the prisoners were still piled
upon each other like a litter of sleeping puppies. One of them was
snoring like an asthmatic lion, and Jake had to put his boot amongst
them to stir them back to consciousness. They came awake slowly and
resentfully, and Jake swung open the rear doors and pushed them out
into the darkness. They stood dejectedly, clasping their naked trunks
against the chill of the night and peering about them fearfully to
discover what new unpleasantness awaited them. At that instant another
star shell burst almost overhead, and they exclaimed and blinked
owlishly without immediate comprehension as Jake made shooing gestures,
trying to drive them like a flock of chickens towards the 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 him
tottering the first few paces. Suddenly the man recognized his own
camp and the lines of big Fiat trucks in the light of the star shell.
He let out a heartfelt cry of relief and broke into a shambling run.
The other two stared for a moment in disbelief and then set out after
him at the top of their speed. When they had gone twenty yards,
one of them turned back and came to Jake, seized his hand and pumped it
vigorously, a huge smile splitting his face; then he turned to Vicky
and covered both her hands with wet noisy kisses. The man was
weeping,
tears streaming down his cheeks.
"That's enough of that," growled Jake. "On your way, friend," and he
turned the Italian and once more pointed him at the horizon 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, laughing together secretly in the
dark and noisy hull of the car. They had covered half of the forty
miles back to the Sardi Gorge, and behind them the lights of the
Italian camp were a mere suggestion of lesser darkness low on the
eastern horizon, but still their mood was light and joyous and at some
fresh sally of Jake's Vicky leaned across to kiss him on the soft pulse
of his throat beneath his ear.
As if of her own accord, Miss Wobbly's speed bled away and she rocked
to a gentle standstill in the centre of a wide open area of soft sandy
soil and low dark scrub.
Jake earthed the magneto, and the engine note died away into silence.
He turned in the seat and took Vicky fully in his arms,
crushing her to him with sudden strength that made her gasp aloud.
"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 same strong wiry
growth of dark hair which curled out of his shirt front, 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 his and she pressed herself to
him,
finding pleasure in the pain of contact, in the bruising pressure of
his mouth against her lips.
She knew she was arousing emotions that soon would be beyond either of
their control, and the knowledge made her reckless and bold.
The thought occurred to her that she had it in her power to drive him
demented with passion, and the idea aroused her further, and
immediately she wanted to exercise that power.
She heard his breathing roaring in her ears, then realized that it was
not his it was her own, and each gust of it seemed to swell her chest
until it must burst.
It was so cramped in the cockpit of the car, and their movements were
becoming wild and unrestrained. Vicky felt restricted and itching with
constraint. She had never known this wildness before, and for a
fleeting instant she remembered the skilful, gentle minuet of formal
