through his ancient veins.
Once they forced the mouth of the gorge and drove the Ethiopian forces
into its gut, they had another week's hard pounding to reach the top
and the town of Sardi provided once again that the Ras could be
restrained in the role of defender.
Once the Italians broke out of the head of the gorge, the armoured cars
could be flung in to hold them for a day or two more, but when they
were expended, it was all over. It was an easy drive for the
Italians through the rolling highlands on to the Dessie road, to close
the jaws of the trap hopefully after the prey had fled.
Gareth had reported all this to Lij Mikhael, contacting him by
telegraph at the Emperor's headquarters on the shores of Lake Tona.
The Prince had telegraphed back the Emperor's gratitude and assurances
that within two weeks the destiny of Ethiopia would be decided.
"HOLD THE GORGE FOR TWO WEEKS AND YOUR DUTY WILL BE FULLY
DISCHARGED STOP YOU WILL HAVE EARNED THE GRATITUDE OF THE EMPEROR AND
ALL THE PEOPLES OF ETHIOPIA." A week here on the plains, but it all
depended on this first encounter with the Italian armour. Gareth's
and
Jake's observations, backed up by those of the scouts, placed the total
number of surviving Italian tanks at four. They must take them out at
a single stroke, the whole defence of the gorge pivoted on this.
Jake found that he had been day-dreaming, his mind wandering over the
problems they faced and the chances they must take. It took
Gregorius's hand on his shoulder to rouse him.
"Jake! The signal." Quickly he looked back at the slope of the
mountains, and he did not need the binoculars. Gareth was signalling
with a primitive heliograph he had contrived with the shaving-mirror
from his toilet bag. The bright flashes of light pricked Jake's
eyeballs even at that range.
"They are coming in across the valley, line abreast. All four tanks,
supported by motorized infantry." Jake read the signal, and jumped
into the driver's hatch while Gregorius slid down the side of the hull
and ran to the crank handle.
"That's my darling." Jake thanked Priscilla, as the engine spluttered
busily into life, and then he called up to Gregorius as he climbed into
the turret above him. "I'll warn you every time I tUrn to engage."
"Yes, Jake." The boy's eyes burned with the fire of his anger,
and Jake grinned.
"As bad as his grand pappy He let in the clutch. They gathered speed
swiftly and flew over the crest of the rise, and behind them rolled a
long billow of dust, proclaiming their whereabouts to all the world.
The line of Italian tanks was coming straight in, a mile and a half out
on their flank.
"Engaging now, "shouted Jake.
"Ready." Gregorius was crouched over the Vickers in the turret,
straining it to the limit of its traverse, ready to fire at the very
instant the gun could bear.
Jake put the wheel over hard, and Priscilla swung towards the distant
dark beetle shapes of the Italian armour, sailing jauntily right into
their teeth.
Above Jake the Vickers roared, and the spent cartridges spewed down
into the hull, ringing and pinging against the steel sides, while the
sudden acrid stink of burned cordite made Jake's eyes sting and flood
with tears.
Through blurred eyes he watched the electric white tracer arc out
across the open ground, and fall about the leading tank. Even at that
range, Jake made out the tiny spurting fountains of dust and dirt
kicked up by the hose of bullets.
"Good lad," grunted Jake; it was accurate shooting from the bouncing,
bounding car at extreme range. Of course, it could do no damage to the
thick steel armour of the CV.3, but it would certainly startle and
anger the crew, goad them into retaliation.
As he thought it, Jake saw the turret of the tank traverse around as
the commander called the target. The stubby barrel of the Spandau
foreshortened rapidly, and then disappeared. Jake was looking directly
down the muzzle.
He counted slowly to three, it would take that long for the gunner to
get on to him, then he yelled, "Disengaging!" and flung Priscilla hard
over, so that she came up on two wheels, ungainly and awkward as she
swung away from the enemy line. From the corner of his eye Jake saw
the glow of the muzzle flash, and almost instantly afterwards heard the
crack of passing shot.
"Son of a gun that was close!" he muttered, and reached up to throw
the hatch and visor open. There was no point in closing down,
these Spandaus could penetrate any point of the car's hull as though it
were made of paper, and Jake would need a good and unlimited view
during the next desperate minutes.
Running parallel to the Italian line, he looked across and saw that all
four tanks were firing now, and they were bunching, each tank turning
towards him as he raced across their front, losing their rigid pattern
of advance in their eagerness to keep Priscilla under fire.
"Come along," muttered Jake. "Three balls for a dollar,
gentlemen, every throw a coconut!" It was too close to the truth to be
funny, but he grinned nevertheless. "Jake Barton's famous coconut
