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

yourselves to the Italians. Even in the most extreme circumstances.

Anything-" he emphasized the word, "anything is preferable to that."

?

"I have learned from our agents that sentence of death has been passed

on you, Mr. Barton and Major Swales. You have been declared agents

provocateurs and terrorists. You are to be handed over to Ras

Kullah for execution of sentence. Anything would be better than

that."

"I understand," said Vicky softly, and she shuddered as she thought

of

Ras Kullah's thick pink lips, and the soft bloated hands.

"If everything else fails, I will send an-" his voice was cut off

abruptly, and now there was no hiss of static across the wires, only

the dead silence of lost contact.

For another minute Vicky tried to re-establish contact, but the handset

was mute and the silence complete. She replaced it on its cradle, and

closed her eyes tightly for a moment to steady herself. She had never

felt so lonely and tired and afraid in her entire life.

Vicky paused as she crossed the yard to the warehouse, and she looked

up at the sky. She had not realized how late it was. There were only

a few hours of daylight left but the cloud seemed to be breaking up.

The sombre grey roof was higher, just on the peaks, and there were

light patches where the sun tried to penetrate the cloud.

She prayed quietly that it would not happen. Twice during these last

desperate days, the cloud had lifted briefly, and each time the

Italian bombers had come roaring at low level up the gorge. On both

occasions, the terrible damage they had inflicted had forced Gareth to

abandon his trenches and pull back to the next prepared position, and a

flood of wounded and dying had engulfed them here at the hospital.

"Let it rain," she prayed. "Please God, let it rain and rain."

She bowed her head and hurried on into the shed, into the stench and

the low hubbub of groans and wails. She saw that Sara was still

assisting at the plain wooden table, inadequately screened by a

tattered curtain of canvas, and lit by a pair of Petromax lamps.

The German doctor was removing a shattered limb, cutting below the knee

while the young Harari warrior thrashed weakly under the weight of the

four orderlies who held him down.

Vicky waited until they carried the patient away and she called to

Sara. The two of them went out and stood breathing the sweet mountain

air with relief as they leant close together under the overhanging roof

of the veranda while Vicky repeated the conversation she had held

with

Lij Mikhael.

"Then we were cut off. The line just went dead."

"Yes," Sara nodded. "They have cut the wires. It is only a surprise

that Ras

Kullah did not do so before. The wires cross over the top of Ambo

Sacal. Perhaps it has taken this long for them to reach it."

"Will you go down the gorge, Sara, and give the message to Major

Swales? I would go down in Miss Wobbly, but there is almost no fuel in

the tank, and I

have promised Jake not to waste it. We will need every drop later--2

"It will be quicker on horseback anyway," Sara smiled, and I will be

able to see Gregorius."

"No, it won't take long," Vicky agreed.

"They are very close." Both of them paused to listen to the Italian

guns. The thumping detonations of the high explosive reverberated

against the mountains, close enough to make the ground tremble under

their feet.

"Don't you want me to give a message to Mr. Bartonr Sara demanded

archly. "Shall I tell him that your body crave, "No," Vicky cut her

short, her alarm obvious. "For goodness sake don't go giving him one

of your salacious inventions."

"What does "salacious" mean, Miss

Camberwell?" Sara's interest was aroused immediately.

"It means lecherous, lustful."

"Salacious," Sara repeated,

memorizing it. "It's a fine word," and with gusto she tried it out.

"My body craves you with a great salacious yearning."

"Sara, if you tell Jake that I said that, I will murder you with my

bare hands,"

Vicky warned her, laughing for the first time in many days, and her

laughter was cut off in mid flight by the single ringing scream of

terror, and the wild animal roar that followed it.

Suddenly the goods yard was filled with racing figures; they poured out

of the thick stand of cedar trees that flanked the railway line, and

they crossed the tracks in a few leaping bounds. There were hundreds

of them and they poured into the warehouse and fell like a pack of

wolves on the rows of helpless wounded.

"The Gallas," whispered Sara huskily, and for a moment they stood

paralysed with horror, staring into the gloomy cavern of the shed.

Vicky saw the old German doctor run to meet the Galla wave, with his

arms spread in a gesture of appeal, trying to prevent the slaughter. He

took the thrust of a broadsword full in the centre of his chest, and a

foot of the blade appeared magically from between his

shoulder-blades.

She saw a Galla, armed with a magazine-loaded rifle, run down a line of

wounded, pausing to fire a single shot at pointblank range into each

head.

She saw another with a long dagger in his hand, not bothering even to

slit the throat of the Harari wounded, before he jerked aside the

covering of coarse jute bags and his dagger swept in a single cutting

stroke across the exposed lower belly.

She saw the shed filled with frenzied figures, their sword-arms rising

and falling, their gunfire crashing into the supine bodies, and the

screams of their victims ringing against the high roof, blending with

the high excited laughter and the wild cries of the Galla.

Sara dragged Vicky away, pulling her back behind the sheltering wall of

the shed. It broke the spell of horror which had mesmerized

Vicky and she ran beside the girl on flying feet.

The car," she panted. "If we can reach the car." Miss Wobbly was

parked beyond the station buildings under the lean-to of the loco shed

where it was protected from the rain. Running side by side, Vicky

and

Sara turned the corner of the shed and ran almost into the arms of a

dozen Gallas coming at a run in the opposite direction.

Vicky had a glimpse of their dark faces, shining with rain and sweat,

of the open mouths and flashing wolf-like teeth, the mad staring eyes,

and she smelt them, the hot excited animal smell of their sweat.

Then she was twisting away, like a hare jinking out of the track of a

hound. A hand clutched at her shoulder, and she felt her blouse tear,

then she was free and running, but she could hear the pounding of their

feet close behind her, and the crazy loolooing of excitement as they

chased.

Sara ran with her, drawing slightly ahead as they reached the corner of

the station building. There was the flash and the crack of a

rifle-shot out on their left, and the bullet slammed into the wall

beside them. From the corner of her eye Vicky saw other running

Gallas,

racing in from the main road of the village, their long shammas

flapping about them as they ran to head them off.

Sara was drawing away from her. The girl ran with the grace and speed

of a gazelle, and Vicky could not keep pace with her. She rounded the