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

Rolls. It came so close, towering over them so threateningly, that it

entered even Giuseppe's limited field of vision.

The effect was miraculous. Giuseppe shot bolt upright in his seat and,

with the touch of an inspired Nuvolari, brought the Rolls round on two

wheels, cutting finely across the armoured bows just at the moment that

the hatch of the turret flew open and a wizened brown face, filled with

the largest, whitest and most flashing teeth the Count had ever seen,

popped out of the turret and emitted a war cry so shrill and

heart-chilling that the Count's bowels flopped over like a stranded

fish.

As the barrel of the Vickers swung on to the Rolls, the Ethiopian

gunner ducked down into the turret, and the barrel elevated slightly

until the Count found himself staring stupidly into its dark round

aperture but Giuseppe had been watching also in the driving mirror,

and now he spun the wheel and the Rolls flashed aside like a mackerel

before the driving charge of the barracuda. The blast of shot from

the

Vickers tore down its left side lifting a storm of dirt and pebbles in

spurting fountains high into the air.

The armoured car swung heavily to follow the Rolls" manoeuvre, the

leaping dust fountains swinging with it, closing in mercilessly.

However, Giuseppe, faced with the prospect of death, hit the brakes so

hard that the Count was catapulted forward, howling protests, to hang

over the front seat, his ample black-clad buttocks pointing at the

heavens and his glistening boots kicking wildly as he fought for

balance.

The sheet of bullets from the swinging Vickers passed mere inches ahead

of the Rolls, and Giuseppe swung the wheel to hard opposite lock,

released the brakes and trampled hard on the throttle. The Rolls

kicked over hard, wheels spinning for purchase, then bounded ahead with

such impetus that the Count was thrown backwards again, crashing into a

sitting position on the rear leather seat, his helmet falling over his

eyes.

"I'll have you shot," he gasped, as he struggled weakly to adjust the

helmet. Giuseppe was too busy to hear him. His duck and swerve had

beaten the Ethiopian gunner, and the superior speed of the Rolls was

carrying it swiftly out of harm's way. just a few more seconds then

the ancient but splendidly toothed head of the gunner appeared once

more in the turret, and the bows of the armoured car and the questing

muzzle of the Vickers swung back. The gunner dropped back behind the

gun and the roaring clatter of bullets sounded high above the bellow of

straining engines.

Once again, the dust storm of bullets tore up the earth, swinging

rapidly towards the Rolls.

Slightly ahead of the two vehicles, another growling, labouring

troop-carrier loomed out of the dust on a parallel course with them,

but travelling at only half the speed under its heavy load of terrified

troopers.

Giuseppe touched the wheel, swaying out slightly away from the stream

of bullets, then he swung hard the opposite way and as the armoured car

turned to follow him he ducked neatly behind the troop-carrier,

screened by its high unstable bulk from the deadly machine gun. The

Ethiopian kept firing.

As the solid hose of fire tore through the canvas hood of the truck,

ripping and shredding the men crowded shoulder to shoulder beneath it,

the Rolls was pulling away swiftly in its lee. Suddenly,

it was out of the dust clouds into the crystal desert air, with a vista

of open land stretching away to the horizon a horizon which was the

passionate destination of every man in the Rolls. The lumbering troop

carriers were left behind, and the Rolls could make a clean run of it.

The way the Count felt at that moment, they would only stop once he was

safely into his defensive positions above the Wells of Chaldi.

Then quite suddenly, he was aware of the guns on the open plain ahead

of him. They were drawn up neatly in spaced-out triangular batteries,

three vees of three guns each, with the gunners grouped about them and

the long fit barrels covering the approaching mass of fleeing

vehicles.

There was a parade-ground feeling of calm and good order about them

that made the Count blubber with relief after the nightmare from which

he had just emerged.

"Giuseppe, you have saved us," he sobbed. "I am going to give you a

medal. "The threat of capital punishment made a few minutes earlier

was forgotten. "Drive for the guns, my brave boy. You have done good

work and you'll find me grateful." At that moment, emboldened by talk

of safety, Gino lifted himself from the floorboards where he had been

resting these last few minutes. He looked cautiously over the rear of

the Rolls, and what he saw caused him to let out a single strangled cry

and to drop once more into his original position on the floor.

Behind them the Ethiopian armoured car had burst out of the dust clouds

and was bounding determinedly after them.

The Count took one look also, and immediately resumed his encouragement

of Giuseppe, beating on his head with a fist like a judge's gavel.

"Faster, Giuseppe!" he shrieked. "If he kills us, I'll have you

shot." And the Rolls raced for the protection of the guns.

ready now!" intoned Major Castelani gravely, trying by the tone of his

voice to quiet their nerves.

"Steady, my lads. Hold your fire. Hold your fire.

"Remember your drill," he said. "Just remember your range drill,

soldier." He paused a moment beside the nearest gun layer lifting his

binoculars and sweeping the field ahead.

The dust cloud was rolling rapidly towards them, but all the action was

confused and indistinct.

"You are loaded with high explosive?" the Major asked quietly, and the

gun-layer gulped nervously and nodded.

"Remember, the first shot is the only one you can aim with care.

Make it count."

"Sir." The man's voice was unsteady, and Castelani felt a stab of

anger and contempt. They were all un blooded boys, unsteady and

nervous. He had been forced to push them to their places and put the

trails of the guns in their hands.

He turned abruptly, and strode to the next battery.

"Steady now, lads. Hold your fire until it counts." They turned

strained, pale faces to him; one of the layers looked as though he

would burst into tears at any moment.

"The only thing you have to be afraid of is me! growled

Castelani. "Let one of you open fire before I give the order and

you'll-" A cry interrupted him, as one of the loaders stood up and

pointed out on to the field.

"Take that man's name," snapped Castelani, and turned with dignity,

making a show of polishing the lens of his binoculars on his sleeve

before raising them to his eyes.

Colonel Count Aldo Belli was leading his men back so enthusiastically

that he had outstripped them by half a mile, and every moment was

widening the gap. He was driving directly at the centre of the

artillery batteries, and he was standing tall in the back seat of the

Rolls, with both arms waving and gesticulating as though he was being

attacked by a swarm of bees.

Even as Castelani watched, from out of the brown curtains of dust

beyond the Rolls burst a machine that he recognized instantly, despite

its new camouflage paint and the unfamiliar weapon in the turret. It