"We'll do it my way," snapped Jake. His face seemed carved from hard
brown stone, but his eyes were ferocious and his jaws clamped closed
with his anger. Roughly he shoved Gregorius ahead of him down into the
wadi, and he dragged Vicky after him. She tried to resist, leaning
back against his strength, her head turned towards the plain, and her
reluctant feet sliding in the loose earth.
"Jake, what are you doing?" she protested, but he ignored her.
"We'll mount the guns. It won't take long." He was planning through
his rage, as he dragged them back along the wadi to where the cars were
parked beyond the caves.
Vicky and Gregoflus were helpless in the ferocity of his grip, swept
along by his strength and his anger.
"Vicky, you will drive for me. I'll serve the gun," he told her.
"Greg, you drive for Gareth." Jake's breathing was shallow and fast
with his rage. "We can only man two cars, one we will use as a
diversion you and Gareth swing south along the back of the ridge and
that will keep them busy while Vicky and I pick up Sara and as many of
the others as we can find alive." The two of them listened to him, and
were swept forward with a fresh urgency. As they ran back along the
wadi, a final brief storm of machine-gun fire and exploding mortar bomb
preceded the deep aching silence which now fell over the desert.
The three of them turned the final bend in the course of the wadi and
came upon a scene of utter pandemonium.
The ravine was filled solidly with those who had escaped the Italian
fire struggling to load their possessions, their tents and bedding,
their chickens and children, on to the panicky bellowing camels and the
skittering braying mules and donkeys.
Already hundreds of riders were galloping away, climbing the sides of
the wadi or disappearing into the labyrinth of broken ground. New
widows wailed in the uproar and their grief was catching, the children
shrieked, and whimpered in sympathy, and over it all hung a blue miasma
of smoke from the cooking fires and dust from the trampling hooves and
milling feet.
The four cars stood in their solid orderly rank, aloof from the masses
of humanity, gleaming in their coats of white paint with the vivid red
crosses emblazoned upon their sides.
Jake pushed a way through for them, towering head and shoulders above
the throng, and when they reached the nearest car Jake grasped Vicky
about the waist and swung her easily up into the sponson. For a moment
his expression softened.
"You don't have to come," he said. "I guess I went a little mad then,
you don't have to drive Gareth and I will take one car." Her face was
deathly pale also, and there were deep bruised smears under her eyes
from a night without sleep and the horrors of the slaughter. Her tears
had dried, leaving dirty smears down her cheeks, but she shook her head
fiercely.
"I'm coming," she said. "I'll drive for you."
"Good girl," said Jake. "Help Gregorius top up. We will need full
fuel tanks. I'll get the Vickers." He turned away, shouting to
Gregorius. "We'll use Miss Wobbly and Tenastelin Vicky will help you
refuel." A detail from the Ras's personal bodyguard were already
bringing the wooden cases of weapons and munitions out of the storage
cave as Jake arrived. Each case was carried between four straining
troopers to where the camels knelt.
It was then lifted into the pannier on each side of the hump and
hastily lashed down.
"Hey, you lot." Jake came up with a group carrying a crated Vickers.
"Bring that along this way." They paused in understanding until Jake
made unmistakable signs, but at that moment a captain of the guard
hurried up to intervene. After one shouted exchange Jake realized that
the language barrier was insurmountable. The man was obstinate and
time was wasting.
"Sorry, friend," he apologized. "But I am in a bit of a hurry," and he
hit him a roundhouse clout that ended the argument conclusively and
sent the man flying backwards into the outstretched arms of two of his
men.
"Come along." Jake pushed the guards with the crate towards where the
cars stood. The thought of Sara lying out there in the valley was
driving him frantic. He imagined her bleeding slowly to death, her
bright young blood draining away into the sandy soil and he hustled the
two men forward through the press of animals and human beings.
As he came up, Gregorius was swinging the crank handle on Miss Wobbly
and the engine caught and ran smoothly as Vicky eased back the
ignition.
"Where is Gareth? "Jake shouted.
"Can't find him," answered Gregorius. "We'll have to go in one car,"
and then both of them swung round at the familiar bantering laugh.
Gareth Swales was leaning nonchalantly against the side of the car,
looking as unruffled and calm as ever, his hair neatly combed and the
tweed suit as immaculate as if it had just come from his tailor.
"say," smiled Gareth, crinkling his eyes against the drift of blue
smoke from the cheroot between his lips. "Big Jake Barton and his two
eager ducklings about to take on the entire Italian army." Vicky's
head appeared in the driver's hatch.
