Cry Wolf

by Wilbur Smith

  and blazoned with the insignia of the International Red Cross,

  it was painted instead a sandy tan colour with patches of darker

  camouflage in an earthy brown to break up the outline of the big

  angular hull and turret.

  The thick barrel of -a Vickers machine gun protruded belligerently from

  the mounting.

  Above the turret fluttered the tri coloured green, yellow and red

  pennant of Ethiopia and below that the dark blue field and golden lion

  of the Ras's household standard and everything was covered with a thick

  coating of fine red dust.

  Close behind the Pig, and attached to her by a stout towline, came

  Tenastelin - Gregorius's car similarly daubed with dull camouflage

  paint and flying the standards of Ethiopia and Ras, and with her gun

  ports filled with lethal hardware. However, despite the warlike

  trappings, the machine had an air of dejection as it was dragged

  ignobly into the camp and from its rear end came a frightful grinding

  clatter that brought Gareth Swales hurrying half-dressed from his tent,

  with an angry question to shout as Jake's head appeared in the driver's

  hatch.

  "What the hell happened?" and Jake's face was red and scowling with

  outrage.

  "That old,--and at a loss for a suitable expletive, he indicated with a

  jerk of his thumb the Ras, who sat proudly in the turret of the

  crippled car, showing no remorse whatsoever, but beaming fondly and

  toothlessly on Gareth.

  "Not content with firing off a thousand rounds of Vickers ammunition,

  he kicked Gregorius out of the driver's seat and gave us a

  demonstration that would have looked good at Indianapolis!"

  "Oh my

  God!" groaned Gareth.

  "How do you do?" shouted the Ras cheerfully, . acknowledging the

  applause.

  "Why didn't you stop him? "demanded Gareth.

  "Stop him! Jesus, have you ever tried to stop a charging rhinoceros! I

  chased him halfway to the coast before I caught him-"

  "What's the damage?"

  "He's stripped the gearbox, and burned out the clutch he may have

  thrown a con rod but I haven't gotten up enough courage to look yet."

  Jake climbed wearily from the driver's hatch,

  raising his dust goggles. Red dust had sifted into the thick mop of

  his curls and clung in the stubble of his beard, and the protected skin

  around his eyes was pale and naked-looking, giving him an innocent

  wide-eyed expression. He began beating the dust out of his trousers

  and shirt, still berating the happily grinning Ras.

  "The old bastard is as happy as a pig in a mud wallow.

  Look at his face. Reconnaissance in force! It was more like a bloody

  circus." At that moment, Jake noticed Vicky for the first time,

  and the scowl disappeared miraculously, to be replaced by an expression

  of such transparent delight that she felt her guilt return swiftly and

  deeply, so that it gave her a cold sick feeling in the pit of her

  stomach.

  "Vicky!" Jake called. "God, I was worried about you!" Vicky was able

  to purge a little of the feeling of guilt by busying herself at the

  cooking fire, in a fine show of domesticity, and she served the men

  with griddle cakes and grilled steaks. the last of the potatoes they

  had brought with them and a pan full of the pigeon-sized eggs laid by

  the scrawny native fowls. The camp table was set out under the

  acacias, in the dappled early-morning sunlight, and as Vicky worked at

  the fire, Jake reported the results of the reconnaissance.

  " once the Ras had tired of firing the Vickers, shooting up every tree

  and rock we passed, and we were just about out of ammunition, we were

  able to circle out northwards, keeping the speed down to avoid dust,

  and we found a good piece of ground from which to observe the road from

  Massawa to the Wells. There was a bit of traffic,

  transports mostly with motorized escort, but we couldn't stay too long

  as the Ras, God bless his friendly little soul, wanted to continue his

  target practice on them. We had a job stopping him. So I pulled back

  and we came in towards the Wells from the west again. "Jake paused to

  sip at the mug of coffee, and Gareth turned to Vicky as she squatted,

  rosy-faced, over the cooking fire. my dear?" he said. It was "How's

  breakfast coming along, not the words nor the endearment, but rather

  the proprietorial tone, that made Jake glance sharply at Vicky. The

  tone Gareth had used was that which a man uses to his own woman. For a

  second, Vicky held Jake's glance, and then she turned busily back to

  her cooking, and Jake dropped his eyes thoughtfully at the steaming mug

  in his hands.

  "How close did you get?" Gareth asked easily. He had noticed the

  silent exchange between Vicky and Jake and he was relaxed and

  contented, lolling back in the camp chair and rolling a cheroot between

  his fingers.

  "I left the cars in the broken ground, and went in on foot.

  Didn't want to take the Ras too close. I was able to watch the

  Eyetie position for a couple of hours. They have dug in well, and I

  saw gun positions with a good field of fire placed along the ridge.

  They are in a hell of a defensive position and it would be crazy to

  attack them there. We will have to wait for them to come to us." Vicky

  brought the food to them, and as she leaned across Gareth he touched

  her bare upper arm in a casual caress.

  She drew back quickly and went to fetch the pan of eggs.

  Jake had noticed the gesture, yet his voice was even and unruffled as

  he went on, "I wanted to circle out and to figure the chances of

  attacking their positions from the rear, but that was when the old Ras

  got bored and gave us a demonstration of hell-driving. My God, I'm

  hungry." Jake filled his mouth with food, and then asked in a muffled

  voice, "How did you get on, Gary?"

  "There is good defensive ground in the gorge. I have the construction

  gangs digging positions in the slopes. We should be able to give a

  good account, if the Eyeties try to force their way through."

  "Well, we have got scouts watching them.

  Gregorius picked a hundred of his best men for the job. We will know

  as soon as they begin to move from the Wells, but I would like to know

  how much time we have before they move.

  Every day will give us more time to prepare, to decide on our tactics,

  and train the Harari teach them how to fight with modern weapons.-"

  Vicky came back to the camp table and sat down.

  "You haven't got time," she said. "No time at all."

  "What does that mean? "Jake looked up.

  "The Italians crossed the Mareb yesterday at noon. They crossed in

  force, and they have begun bombing the towns and the roads. It's war

  now. It's begun." Jake whistled softly.

  "Hey ho! Here we go!" he said, and then turned to Gareth. "You'd

  best be the one who tells the Ras. You are the only one who can

  control him."

  "I'm touched by your faith," murmured Gareth mildly.

  "I have a pretty good idea what the Ras's reaction will be.

  He'll want to rush straight out there and start throwing punches.r />
  He's likely to get his whole tribe wiped out. You've got to calm him

  down."

  "How do you suggest I do that? give him a shot of morphine or hit him

  over the head?"

  "Get him into a gin-rummy game," suggested Jake maliciously. He

  scooped the last of the egg into his mouth and stood up from the table

  still chewing. "Good chow, Vicky but I reckon I'd better have a look

  at the damage the Ras did to Tenastelin. See if we can get her running

  again for the Eyeties to shoot at." For two hours,

  Jake worked alone on Tenastelin, rigging the block and tackle from one

  of the main branches of the big acacia tree and loosening the bolts to

  lift out the entire gearbox. Twenty yards away, Vicky sat at the table

  in front of her tent, and hammered out her next despatch on the little

  portable typewriter. Both of them were very much aware of each other

  as they worked, but their behaviour was elaborately unconcerned and

  they each made a show of concentrating all their attention on their

  separate tasks.

  At last, Jake strained on the tackle and the dismembered gearbox lifted

  jerkily off its seating and swayed, dripping grease from the acacia

  branch. Jake stood back and wiped his hands on a lump of cotton waste

  soaked in gasoline.

  "Coffee break," he said, and went to the fire. He poured two mugs full

  of black coffee and took them to where Vicky sat.

  "How are you doing?" he asked, glancing at the page in her typewriter.

  "Pulitzer stuff, is it?" Vicky laughed, as she accepted the mug of

  coffee. "Prizes never go to the best man."

  "Or to those who really want them," agreed Jake, sitting down opposite

  her, and she felt a flare of annoyance that he had turned the

  conversation so neatly.

  "Damn you, Jake Barton. I don't have to answer to you or to anybody,"

  she said softly.

  "Right," he said. "Quite right. You're a big girl now but just

  remember that you're playing with the big boys. And some of them play

  very rough."

  "Is there any charge, counsellor?" She looked up at him defiantly, and

  then she saw the look in his eyes and the anger shrivelled within

  her.

  "I don't want to fight with you, Vicky," he said softly.

  "That's the last thing in the world I want to do." He swallowed the

  last of his coffee. "Well," he said, "back to work.

  "You give up easily, don't you?" Vicky didn't realize she had spoken

  until the words were out, and then she wanted them back but

  Jake cocked an eye, at her, and he grinned that big boyish grin of

  his.

  "Giving up?" Now he laughed aloud. "Oh, lady! If you believe that

  then you do me wrong, - a grave injustice." And he moved slowly

  towards where she sat and stood over her.

  The laughter faded from his voice and from his eyes as he spoke in a

  new husky tone.

  "You really are very lovely."

  "Jake." She held his eyes. "I wish

  I could explain but I just don't understand myself" He touched her

  cheek and stooped down to her. "No, Jake, please don't-" she said and

  made no effort to avoid his lips, but before they touched hers, there

  was the -urgent sound of galloping hooves, coming up through the

  forest.

  The two of them drew slowly apart, still watching each other's eyes and

  Gregorius Maryarn rode into the camp on a shaggy little mountain

  pony.

  "Jake," he called, sliding down off the saddle. "It's war! It's

  begun! The Italians have crossed the Mareb. Gareth has just told my

  grandfather."

  "The timely messenger," murmured Vicky, but her voice was a little

  shaky, and her smile lopsided.

  "I've come to help you fix my car, Jake. We must be ready to fight,"

  called Gregorius, and tossed his reins to the servant who followed him.

  "Let's get to work. There is little time my grandfather has called all

  his commanders to a war council at noon. He wants you there."

  Gregorius turned away and hurried to the gutted hulk of

  Tenastelin. For a moment longer Jake stood over Vicky, and then he

  shrugged with resignation.

  Just remember," he threatened her mildly, "I don't give up, and he

  followed Gregorius.

  An hour later they had stripped the gearbox and spread its component

  parts on a sheet of clean canvas. Jake rocked back on his heels.

  "Well, grand pappy has cooked his goose," he said, and Gregorius

  apologized solemnly.

  "He is a very impetuous gentleman, my grandfather."

  "It's getting on towards noon." Jake stood up. "Let's go down and

  hear what next he has in store for us, that impetuous gentleman." The

  Ras's encampment was set a little apart from the main body of his army,

  and housed only his personal entourage. There were at least two acres

  of hastily erected tukuLs, made of sapling frames covered with a range

  of material from thatch to flattened paraffin cans. Through this

  encampment wandered the naked snotty-nosed children and the Ras's

  multitudinous female retainers, together with goats, mangy dogs,

  donkeys, and camels.

  The Ras's tent was set up in the centre of this community. It was a

  large marquee, patched so often that little of the original canvas was

  visible. His bodyguard was grouped protectively at the entrance.

  Beyond the Ras's tent was a large area of open sandy ground,

  almost completely covered by rank upon rank of patiently squatting

  warriors.

  "My God," exclaimed Jake. "Everyone gets to the war council."

  "It's the custom," explained Gregorius. "All may attend, but only the

  commanders may speak." To one side, separated from the Harari troops

  by a small space of beaten earth and centuries of rankling hostility,

  were the Galla contingent, and Vicky pointed them out to Jake.

  "Pretty bunch," he murmured. "With allies like that, who needs

  enemies?" Gregorius led them directly to the Ras's tent, and the

  guards stood aside for them to enter. The interior was dark and hot,

  redolent with the smell of the rank native tobacco and spiced food. At

  the far end of the tent, a knot of silent men squatted in a tense

  circle about two figures the Ras, swathed in dark woollen robes, and

  Gareth Swales in a light silk shirt and white flannels.

  For a moment Jake thought that the two central figures were deeply

  immersed in planning the strategy and defence of the Sardi Gorge then

  he saw the neat piles of paste, board spread out on the golden

  Afghanistan rug between them.

  "My God," said Jake. "He took me at my word." Gareth looked up from

  the fan of cards he held in his right hand.

  "Thank God." His face showed obvious relief. "I only wish it had been

  an hour earlier."

  "What's the trouble."

  "This old bastard is cheating," said Gareth, with barely suppressed

  outrage quivering in his voice. "He has caught me for almost two

  hundred quid this morning.

  I'm utterly appalled, I must say. They obviously have no scruples,

  these people-" and here Gareth glanced at Gregorius, no offence

  meant,

  of course. But I must admit I am staggered."
And the Ras nodded and

  grinned happily, his eyes sparkling with triumph, as he waved Jake

  and

  Vicky to a seat on a pile of cushions beside him.

  "If he's cheating don't play with him," suggested Vicky, and

  Gareth looked pained.

  "You don't understand, old girl. I haven't been able to figure how

  he's doing it. He's invented a method new to science and the gambling

  halls of the world. He might be an absolutely unscrupulous old rogue,

  but he must be some sort of genius as well. I've just got to keep on

  playing with him until I work out his system." Gareth's doleful

  expression became radiant. "My God, when I do Monte Carlo here I

  came!" He discarded a six of spades. The Ras leapt upon it with a

  cackle of triumph and began laying out his hand.

  "Oh my God," groaned Gareth. "He's done it again." The tense group of

  counsellors and elders around the game exploded in a delighted burst of

  cheers and felicitations, and the Ras acknowledged their

  congratulations like a victorious prizefighter. Grinning and snuffling

  he leaned across the rug and with a loud cry of "How do you do!" he

  punched Gareth's arm playfully, and Gareth winced and massaged the limb

  tenderly.

  "He does that every time he wins. He's got a touch like a demented

  blacksmith I'm black and blue."

  "How do you do!" cried the Ras again, louder than before, and he

  shaped up to punch once more, but

  Gareth hastily produced his purse, and the Ras relaxed.

  "He keeps punching until I pay." Gareth counted out the coins,

  while the Ras and his followers watched in heavy-breathing

  concentration, which only broke into smiles and laughter again when the

  pile of coins in front of Gareth reached the stipulated amount. "No

  credit in this game," Gareth explained, as he shoved the money

  across.

  "Cash on the nail, or you get your arm broken. This old bastard Gareth

  glanced again at Gregorius, I no offence, of course.

  But this old bastard wouldn't trust his own mother, probably with good

  reason. I'm absolutely appalled! I've met some shockers in my time

  but this chap takes the biscuit." There was a deep respect in

  Gareth's tone, which changed to mild alarm as the Ras gathered the

  cards preparatory to the next deal, and he turned to Gregorius.

  "Please explain to your dear grandfather that, though I'd be delighted

  to accommodate him at a future date, I do think he should now