Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur (книги онлайн без регистрации полностью .TXT) 📗

against the stinging raindrops. "You and this crazy old bastard,"

he turned his head to the Ras beside him, "you'll be the death of me,

you two will The Ras grinned happily at him, convinced that they were

charging into a battle again, and deliriously happy at the prospect.

"How do you do?" he cackled, and punched Gareth's shoulder

gleefully.

"Could be better, old boy," Gareth assured him. "Could be a lot

better," and they both ducked as the next shell came howling low over

their heads.

"Those fellows are improving Gareth observed mildly.

"God knows they've had plenty of practice recently, "Jake shouted,

and Gareth rolled his eyes upwards to the heavy bruised cloud banks.

"Let there be rain," he intoned, and instantly the thunder cracked and

the clouds lit internally with a brilliant electric burst of light.

The splattering drops increased their tempo, and the air turned milky

with slanting drumming lances of rain.

"Amazing, Major Swales. I would not have believed it," said

Gregorius Maryam from the turret above Gareth's head, and his voice was

hushed with awe.

"Nothing to it, my lad," Gareth disclaimed. "Just a direct line to the

top." Rain filled the air in a white teeming fog, so that Jake had to

screw up his eyes against the driving needles, and his black curls

clung in a sodden mass to his scalp.

Rain wiped out the mountains and the rocky portals of the gorge,

so that Jake steered by instinct alone. It roared against the racing

steel hull, and closed down visibility to a circle of twenty yards.

The Italian shellfire stopped abruptly, as the gunners were

unsighted.

Rain pounded every inch of exposed skin, striking with a force that

stung painfully, snapping against their faces with a jarring impact

that made the teeth ache in their jaws, and sent them crouching for

what little cover there was on the exposed hull.

"Good Lord, how long does this go on for?" protested Gareth, and he

spat the sodden butt of his cheroot over the side.

"Four months," shouted Gregorius. "It rains for four months now."

"Or until you tell it to stop." Jake grinned wryly, and glanced across

at the other machine.

Sara waved reassuringly from the turret of Miss Wobbly, her face

screwed up against the driving raindrops and the thick mane of hair

plastered to her shoulders and face. Icy rain had soaked the silken

sharnma she wore and it clung transparently to her body, and her fat

little breasts showed through as though they were naked, bouncing to

each exaggerated movement of the car.

Suddenly the mist of rain ahead of them was filled with hurrying

figures, all of them clad in the long sodden sharnmas of the Harari;

carrying their weapons, they were running and staggering forward

through the rain towards the mouth of the gorge.

Gregorius shouted encouragement to them as they sped past, and then

translated quickly.

"I have told them we will hold the enemy at the first waterfall they

are to spread the word." And he turned back to shout again when

suddenly with a startled oath Jake braked and swung the car violently

to avoid a pile of human bodies strewn in their path.

"This is where the Italian machine-gunners caught them," Sara yelled

across the gap, and as if in confirmation there came the tearing

ripping sound of the machine guns off in the rain mist.

Jake threaded the car past the piles of bodies and then looked around

to make sure Vicky was following.

"Now what the hell!" He realized they were alone. "That woman.

That crazy woman," and he braked, slammed Priscilla into reverse and

roared back into the fog until the dark shape of Miss Wobbly loomed up

again.

"No," said Gareth. "I can't bear it." Vicky and Sara were out of the

parked car, hurrying amongst the piles of bodies, stooping over a

wounded warrior and between them dragging him upright and thrusting him

through the open rear doors of the cab. Others, less gravely

wounded,

were limping and crawling towards the machine, and dragging themselves

aboard.

"Come on, Vicky, "Jake yelled.

"We can't leave them here, she yelled back.

"We've got to get to the waterfall," he tried to explain.

"We've got to stop the retreat." But he might not have spoken, for the

two women turned back to their task.

"Vicky!" Jake shouted again.

"If you help it won't take so long, "she called obstinately, and

Jake shrugged helplessly before climbing down out of the hatch.

Both cars were crammed with dreadfully wounded and dying Harari,

and the hulls were thick with those who still had strength to hold

on,

before Vicky was satisfied.

"We've lost fifteen minutes. "Gareth glanced at his pocket watch in

the rain that still poured down with unabated fury.

"And that could be enough to get us all killed, and lose us the

gorge."

"It was worth it," Vicky told him stubbornly, and ran to her car. Again

the heavily burdened machines ground on towards the mountain pass, and

now they had to ignore the pitiful appeals of the wounded they passed.

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