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

say U "As my Colonel wishes, but the armoured vehicle-"

"No!

Castelani, no! It was not an armoured vehicle, but an ambulance."

The

Count had truly convinced himself of this. "I will not let this moment

of destiny slip through my fingers. I refuse to creep about like a

frightened old woman.

It is not in my nature, Castelani, I am a man of action of direct

action. It is in my nature to spring like a leopard at the jugular

vein of my enemy. The time of talking is over now, Castelani.

The time for action is upon us."

"As my Colonel wishes."

"It is not what I wish, Castelani. It is what the gods of war decree,

and what I as a warrior must obey." There did not seem a reply to this

and the

Major stood silently aside as the Count swept out of the tent, with

chin upheld, and with a firm, deliberate tread.

astelani's strike force had been ready since dawn.

Fifty of the heavy troop transporters made up a single column, and he

had spent most of the night deliberating on the order of march.

His final disposition was to leave a full company in the fortified

position above the Wells of Chaldi, under the command of one of the

Count's young captains. All other troops had been included in the

flying column which was to drive hard on the gorge, seize the

approaches and fight its way up to the highlands.

In the van, Castelani had placed five truckloads of riflemen, and

immediately behind them were the machinegun sections, which he knew he

could bring into action within minutes. Another twenty truck-loads of

infantry followed them ten in the extreme rear. Under his eye and

hand, he had placed his field artillery.

In the event of the column running into real trouble, he was relying on

the infantry to buy him the precious time needed to unlimber and range

his Howitzers. Under their protective muzzles, he was mildly confident

that he could extricate the column from any predicament into which the

Count's newfound courage and vaunting visions of glory might lead them

mildly, but not entirely, confident.

Beside each stationary truck the driver and crew were sprawling on the

sandy earth, bareheaded, tunics unbuttoned and cigarettes lit.

Castelani threw back his head, inflated his lungs and let out a bellow

that seemed to echo against the clear high desert sky.

"Fall in!" and the sprawling figures scrambled into frenzied activity,

grabbing weapons and adjusting uniforms as they formed ragged ranks

beside each truck.

"My children," said Aldo Belli, as he began to pace down the line.

"My brave boys," and he looked at them, not really seeing the

mis-buttoned tunics, the stubble on their chins, nor the hastily

pinched-out cigarettes behind the ears. His vision was misted with

sentiment, his imagination dressed them in burnished breastplates and

horsetail plumes.

"You are thirsty for blood?" the Colonel asked, and threw back his

head and laughed a reckless carefree laugh. "I will give you buckets

of it," he said. "Today you will drink your fill. The men within

earshot shuffled their feet and glanced uneasily at each other. There

was a definite preference for Chianti amongst them.

The Count stopped before a thin rifleman, still in his teens, with a

dark shaggy mop of hair hanging out from under his helmet.

"Bambino," said the Count, and the youth hung his head and grinned in

sickly embarrassment. "We will make a warrior out of you today,"

and he embraced the boy, then held him off at arm's length and studied

his face. "Italy gives of her finest, none are too young or too noble

to be spared sacrifice on the altar of war." The boy's ingratiating

grin changed swiftly to real alarm. -Sing, bambino, sing!" cried the

Count, and himself opened "La

Giovinezza" in his soaring baritone while the youth quavered

uncertainly below him. The Count marched on, singing, and reached the

head of the column as the song ended. He nodded to Castelani, too

breathless to speak, and the Major let out another bull bellow.

"Mount up!" The formations of black-shirted troopers broke up into

confused activity as they hurried to the cumbersome trucks and climbed

aboard.

The Rolls-Royce stood in pride of place at the head of the column,

Giuseppe sitting ready at the wheel with Gino beside him, his camera at

the ready.

The engine was purring, the wide back seat packed with the Count's

personal gear sports rifle, shotgun, travelling rugs, picnic hamper,

straw wine carrier, binoculars, and ceremonial cloak.

The Count mounted with dignity and settled himself on the padded

leather. He looked at Castelani.

"Remember, Major, the essence of my strategy is speed and surprise. The

lightning blow, swift and merciless, delivered by the steel hand at the

enemy's heart." Sitting beside the driver in the rear truck of the

column, eating the dust of the forty-nine trucks ahead,

and already beginning to sweat freely in the oven heat of the steel

cab, Major Castelani inspected his watch.

"Mother of God," he growled. "It's past eleven o'clock.

We will have to move fast if we At that moment, the driver swore and

braked heavily, and before the truck had come to a halt, Castelani had

leapt out on to the running board and climbed high on to the roof of

the cab.

"What is it?"he shouted to the driver ahead.

"I do not know, Major," the man shouted back.

Ahead of them the entire column had come to a halt, and Castelani

braced himself for the sound of firing certain that they had run into

an ambush. There was confused shouting of question and comment from

the drivers and crews of the stranded convoy, as they climbed down and

peered ahead.

Castelani focused his binoculars, and at that moment the sound of

gunfire carried clearly across the desert spaces, and the swift order

to deploy his field guns was on Castelani's lips as he found the

Rolls-Royce in the lens of his binoculars.

The big automobile was out on the left flank, racing through the

scrubby grass, and in the back seat the count was braced with a shotgun

levelled over the driver's head.

Even as Castelani watched, a flock of plump brown francolin burst from

the grass ahead of the speeding Rolls, rising steeply on quick wide

wings. Long blue streamers of gunsmoke flew from the muzzles of the

shotgun, and two of the birds exploded in puffs of soft brown feathers,

while the survivors of the flock scattered away, and the

Rolls came to a halt in a skidding cloud of dust.

Castelani watched Gino, the little Sergeant, jump from the Rolls and

run to pick up the dead birds and carry them to the Count.

Torco Dio!" thundered the Major, as he watched the Count pose for the

camera, still standing in the rear of the Rolls, holding the dangling

feathered brown bodies and smiling proudly into the lens.

There was a rising feeling of despondency and alarm in the Ras's army.

Since the middle of the morning, through a day of scalding heat and

unrelenting boredom, they had waited.

The scouts had reported the first forward movement of the Italian force

at ten o'clock that morning, and immediately the Ras's forces had moved

forward into their carefully prepared positions.

Gareth Swales had spent days selecting the best possible ground in