the column has halted and for no apparent reason at all. The scouts
can't work it out and nor can I. I've got a nasty hollow feeling that
we are up against some sort of military genius, a modern Napoleon, and
it's making me nervous as hell." Jake smiled and advised
philosophically, "What you really need is a soothing game of gin. The
Ras is waiting for you." As if on cue, the Ras looked up brightly and
expectantly from the ammunition box set in the small strip of shade
under the hull. He had laid out a pattern of playing cards on the lid
which he had been studying. His bodyguard were grouped behind him.
They also looked up expectantly.
"They've got me surrounded," groaned Gareth. "I'm not sure which one
is the most dangerous that old bastard down there, or that one out
there." He raised the binoculars again and swept the long horizon
below the mountains. There was no longer any sign of dust.
"What the hell is he up to?" In fact this seventh halt called by
Count Aldo Belli was to be the briefest of the day, and yet one of the
most unavoidable.
It was in fact an occasion of the utmost urgency, and while the
Count's portable commode was hastily unloaded from the truck carrying
his personal gear, he twisted and wriggled impatiently on the back seat
of the Rolls while Gino, the batman, tried to comfort him.
"It is the water from those wells, Excellency," he nodded sagely.
Once the commode had been set up, with a good view of the distant
mountains before it, a small canvas tent was raised around it to hide
the seat from the curious gaze of five hundred infantry men.
The job was completed, only just in time, and a respectful and
expectant hush fell over the entire column as the Count climbed
carefully down from the Rolls and then dashed like an Olympic athlete
for the small lonely canvas structure and disappeared. The silence and
expectation lasted for almost fifteen minutes and was shattered at last
by the Count's shouts from within the tent.
"Bring the doctor!" Five hundred men waited with all the genuine
suspense of a movie audience, speculation and rumour running wildly
down the column until it reached Major Castelani. Even he, convinced
as he was that he had seen it all, could not believe the cause of this
fresh delay, and he went forward to investigate.
He arrived at the tent to find the Count and his medical advisers
crowded around the commode and avidly discussing its contents. The
Count was pale, but proud, like a new mother whose infant is the centre
of attention. He looked up as Castelani appeared in the doorway, and
the Major recoiled slightly as, for a moment, it seemed the Count might
invite him to join in the examination.
He saluted hastily, taking another step backwards.
"Has your Excellency orders for me?"
"I am an ill man,
Castelani," and the Count struck a pose, drooping visibly, his head
lolling weakly. Then slowly he drew back his shoulders, and his chin
came up. A wan but brave smile tightened his lips. "But that is of no
account.
We advance, Castelani. Onwards! Tell the men I am well.
Hide the truth from them. If they know of my illness, they will
despair. They will panic." Castelani saluted again. "As you wish,
my
Colonel."
"Help me to the car, Castelani," he ordered, and reluctantly the Major
took his arm. The Count leaned heavily upon him as they crossed to the
Rolls, but he smiled gallantly at his men and waved to the nearest of
them.
"My poor brave boys," he muttered. "They must never know. I will not
fail them now." What the hell is happening out there?" fretted
Gareth Swales, glancing up anxiously at Jake on the turret of the car
above him.
"Nothing!" Jake assured him. "No sign of movement." don't like it,"
reiterated Gareth morosely, and his expression hardly altered as the
Ras let out one of his triumphant cries and began laying out his
cards.
"I don't like that either," he said again, and reached for his wallet
before the Ras reminded him. While the Ras shuffled and dealt the next
hand, he continued his conversation with Jake.
"What about Vicky? Nothing from that quarter either?"
"Not a peep, "Jake assured him.
"That's another thing I don't like. She took it too calmly.
I expected her to put in an appearance long ago despite my orders."
"She won't be coming," Jake assured him, raising the binoculars again
and sweeping the empty horizon.
"I wish I was that confident," muttered Gareth, picking up his cards.
"I've been expecting to see her car driving up at any minute.
It isn't like her to sit meekly in camp, while the action is going on
out here. She's a front-ranker, that one.
She likes to be right there when anything is happening."
"I know,"
Jake -agreed. "She had that mean look in her eye when she agreed to
stay at the gorge. So I just made sure she wasn't going to use Miss
Wobbly. I took the carbon rod out of the distributor." Gareth began
to grin. "That's the only good news I've had today. I had visions
of
Vicky Camberwell arriving in the middle of a fire fight."
"Poor bloody
Italians," observed Jake, and they both laughed.
