They lay in huddles of rags soaked with rain and diluted pink blood, or
they crawled painfully and doggedly on towards the mountain, lifting
brown, agonized faces and pleading, clawlike hands,
hands as the two machines roared past in the mist.
Once a freak gap in the rain opened visibility to a mile around them,
and a pale shaft of watery sunlight slanted down to strike the cars
like a stage light, glistening on the wet steel hulls.
Immediately the Italian machine guns opened on them from a range of a
mere two hundred yards, and the bullets cut into the clinging mass of
humanity, knocking a dozen of them shrieking from their perch before
the rain closed in again, hiding them in its soft white protective
bosom.
They ran into the main camp below the gorge, and found that it was
plunged into terrible confusion. It had been heavily shelled and
machine-gunned, and then the rain had turned it all into a deep muddy
soup of broken flattened tents, and scattered equipment.
Dead horses and human corpses were half buried in the mud, here and
there a terrified dog or a lost child scurried through the rain.
Spasmodic fighting was still taking place in the rocky ground around
the camp, and they caught glimpses of Italian uniforms on the slopes
and muzzle-flashes in the gloom.
Every few seconds a shell would howl in through the rain and cloud and
burst with sullen fury somewhere out of sight.
"Head for the gorge," shouted Gareth. "Don't stop here," and Jake took
the path that skirted the grove of camel thorns the direct path that
passed below and out of sight of the fighting on the slopes,
crossed the Sardi River and plunged into the gaping maw of the gorge.
"My men are holding them," Gregorius shouted proudly.
"They are holding the gorge. We must go to their aid."
"Our place is at the first waterfall. "Gareth raised his voice for the
first time.
"They can't hold here not when the Eyetie brings up his guns. We've
got to get set at the first waterfall to have a chance." He looked
back to where the other car should have been following them, and he
groaned.
"No! Oh, please God, no."
"What is it? "jake head popped out of the driver's hatch with alarm.
"They've done it again."
"Who ?" But Jake need not have asked.
The following car had swung off the direct track, and was now storming
up through the rain-blurred camel-Thorn trees, heading for the old
tented camp in the grove, and only incidentally running directly into
the area where the heavy fighting was still rattling and crackling in
the rain.
"Catch her," Gareth said. "Head her off." Jake swung off the track
and went zigzagging up through the grove with the rear wheels spinning
and spraying red mud and slush. But Miss Wobbly had a clear start and
a straight run up the secondary track directly into the enemy advance;
she disappeared amongst the trees and curtains of rain.
Jake brought the car bellowing out into the camp to find Miss
Wobbly parked in the open clearing. The tents had been flattened and
the whole area trodden and looted, cases of rations and clothing burst
open and soaked with rain; the muddy red canvas of the tents hung
flapping in the trees or lay half buried.
From the turret, Sara was firing the Vickers into the trees of the
grove, and answering fire whined and crackled around the car. Jake
glimpsed running Italian figures, and turned the car so that his own
gun would bear.
"Get into them, Greg," he yelled, and the boy crouched down behind the
gun and fired a long thunderous burst that tore shreds of bark off the
trees and dropped at least one of the running Italians. Jake lifted
himself out of the driver's hatch, and then froze and stared in
disbelief.
Victoria Camberwell was out of the armoured car, plodding around in the
soup of red mud, oblivious to the gunfire that whickered and crackled
about her.
"Vicky!" he cried in despair, and she stooped and snatched something
out of the mud with a cry of triumph. Now at last she turned and
scampered back to Miss Wobbly, crossing a few feet in front of
Jake.
"What the hell-" he protested.
"My typewriter and my toilet bag," she explained reasonably,
holding her muddy trophies aloft. "One has got my make-up in it, and
I
can't do my job without the other," and then she smiled like a wet
bedraggled puppy.
"We can go now, "she said.
The track up the gorge was crowded with men and "animals, toiling
wearily upwards in the icy rain.
The pack animals slipped and slithered in the loose footing.
Gareth's relief was intense when he saw the bulky shapes of the Vickers
strapped to the humpy backs of a dozen camels, and the cases of
ammunition riding high in the panniers. His men had done their work
and saved the guns.
"Go with them, Greg," he ordered. "See them safely up to the first
waterfall," and the boy jumped down to take command, while the two cars
ploughed on slowly through the sea of humanity.
"There's no fight left in them," said Jake, looking down into the
dispirited brown faces, running with rainwater and shivering in the
cold.
"They'll fight," answered Gareth, and he nudged the Ras.
