'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
