so that the big enamelled, white cross with its centre star of emerald
green and sparkling diamantine, dangled down the front of the Count's
tunic. The order of Irish St. Maurice and St. Lazarus (military
division) of the third class.
Keeping well out of his clutches, the General pecked each of the
Count's flushed cheeks and then took a hasty step backwards to join in
the applause while the Count stood there puffed with pride, feeling
that his heart might burst.
You will have that support now," the General assured him, scowling
heavily to hear how his predecessor had grudged the Count sufficient
force to win his objectives. "I pledge it to you." They were seated
now, just the three of them General Badoglio, his political agent and
the Count in the smaller private study adjoining the large formal
office. Night had fallen outside the shuttered windows and the single
lamp was hooded to throw light down on the map spread on the table
top,
and leave the faces of the three men in shadow.
Cognac glowed in the leaded crystal glasses and the big ship's decanter
on its silver tray, and the blue smoke from the cigars spiralled up
slow and heavy as treacle in the lamplight.
"will need armour," said the Count without hesitation.
The thought of thick steel plate had always attracted him strongly.
"will give you a squadron of the light CV.3s," said the General,
and made a note on the pad at his elbow.
"And I will need air support."
"Can your engineers build a landing-strip for you at the Wells?" The
General touched the map to illustrate the question.
"The land is flat and open. It will present no difficulty," said the
Count eagerly. Planes and tanks and guns, he was being given them all.
He was a real commander at last.
"Radio to me when the strip is ready for use. I will send in a flight
of Capronis. In the meantime, I will have the transport section convoy
in the fuel and armaments I shall consult the staff at airforce, but I
think the 100-kilo bombs will be most effective. High explosive, and
fragmentation."
"Yes, yes," agreed the Count eagerly.
"And nitrogen mustard will you have use for the gas?"
"Yes, oh yes, indeed, said the Count. It was not in his nature to
refuse bounty, he would take anything he was offered.
"Good." The General made another note, laid aside his pencil, and then
looked up at the Count. He glowered so ferociously that the Count was
startled and he felt the first nervous stir in his belly again. He
found the General terrifying, like living on the slopes of a
temperamental Vesuvius.
"The iron fist, Belli," he said, and the Count realized with relief
that the scowl was directed not at him, but at the enemy.
Immediately the Count assumed an expression every bit as bellicose and
menacing. He curled his lip and he spoke, just below a snarl.
"Put the blade at the enemy's throat, and drive it home."
"Without mercy, said the General.
"To the death," agreed the Count. He was on his home ground now,
and only just hitting his stride; a hundred bloodthirsty slogans sprang
to mind but, recognizing his master, the General changed the
snowballing conversation adroitly.
"You are wondering why I have put such importance on your objectives.
You are wondering why I have given you such powerful forces, and why I
have set such store on you forcing the passage of the
Sardi Gorge and the road to the highlands." The Count was wondering no
such thing, right now he was busy coming a phrase about wading through
blood, and he accepted the change of theme reluctantly, and arranged
his features in a politely enquiring frame.
The General waved his cigar expansively at the political agent who sat
opposite him.
"Signor Antolino." He made the gesture and the agent sat forward
obediently so that the lamplight caught his face.
"Gentlemen." He cleared his throat, and looked from one to the other
with mild brown eyes behind steel-framed spectacles. He was a thin,
almost skeletal figure, in a rumpled white linen suit. The wings of
his shirt collar were off-centre of his prominent Adam's apple and the
knot of the knitted silk tie had slid down and hung at the level of the
first button. His head was almost bald, but he had grown the remaining
hairs long and greased them down over the shiny freckled plover-egg
scalp.
His mustache was waxed into points, but stained yellow with tobacco,
and he was of indefinite age over forty and under sixty with the dark
malarial yellow tan of a man who has lived all his life in the
tropics.
"For some time we have been concerned to design an appropriate form of
government for the captured ah the liberated territories of
Ethiopia."
"Come to the point," said the General abruptly.
"It has been decided to replace the present Emperor, Baile
Selassie, with a man sympathetic to the Italian Empire, and acceptable
to the people-"
"Come on, man," Badoglic, cut in again. Verbal backing and filling
were repugnant to him. He was a man of action rather than words.
"Arrangements have been completed after lengthy negotiation, and I
might add the promise of several millions of lire,
