'My planes are ready, General. We await the word to follow up this
masterly strategy of yours,' cried the Commander of the Regia
Aeronautica, leaping to his feet and the General uncovered his eyes and
looked confused.
'Congratulations, my General,' called an artilleryman, and struggled
unsteadily upright, spilling port down the front of his jacket. 'A
mighty victory.'
'Oh dear!' murmured De Bono. 'Oh dear!' 'An unprovoked attack by a
horde of savages' - Crespi had retrieved the message and read the
memorable words of Count Aldo Belli aloud 'firmly resisted by the
courage of the flower of Italian manhood.' 'Oh dear!' said De Bono a
little louder, and covered his eyes again.
'Almost fifteen thousand of the enemy dead!' shouted a voice.
'An army of sixty thousand routed by a handful of Fascist sons. It is
a sign for the future.'
'Forward to the ultimate victory.'
'We march! We march!' And the General looked up again. 'Yes,' he
agreed miserably. 'I suppose we shall have to now.' The Third
Battalion of the black shirt 'Africa' regiment was paraded in full
review order on the sandy plain above the Wells of Chaldi. The ground
was neatly demarcated by the meticulous rows of pale canvas tents and
neat lines of white stones. In twenty-four hours, under the goading of
Major Castelani, the camp had taken on an air of permanence. If they
gave him a day or two more, there would be roads and buildings also.
Count Aldo Belli stood in the back of the Rolls, which, despite the
loving attentions of Giuseppe the driver, was showing signs of wear and
attrition. However, Giuseppe had parked it with the damaged side away
from the parade and he had burnished the good side with a mixture of
beeswax and methylated spirits until it shone in the sunlight, and had
replaced the shattered windscreen and the broken lamp glass.
'I have here a message received an hour ago which I shall read to you,'
shouted the Count, and the parade stirred with interest. 'The message
is personal to me from Benito Mussolini.'
'II Duce. 11 Duce. 'Duce,'roared the battalion in unison, like a
well-trained orchestra, and the Count lifted a hand to restrain them
and he began to read.
'My heart swells with pride when I contemplate the feat of arms
undertaken by the gallant sons of Italy, children of the Fascist
revolution, whom you command'-' the Count's voice choked a little.
When the speech ended, his men cheered him wildly, throwing their
helmets in the air. 'The Count climbed down from the Rolls and went
amongst them, weeping, embracing a man here, kissing another there,
shaking hands left and right and then clasping his own hands above his
head like a successful prizefighter and crying 'Ours is the victory,'
and 'Death before dishonour,' until his voice was hoarse and he was led
away to his tent by two of his officers.
However, a glass of grappa helped him recover his composure and he was
able to pour a warrior's scorn on the radio message from General De
Bono which accompanied the paean of praise from 11 Duce.
De Bono was alarmed and deeply chagrined to discover that the officer
